#i have gripes with some of the choices they made in some of the other super music collections but this is the onyl one that like

[sharklovingaquarist]

Hey! Well, to preface, I'll admit I myself am still an undergraduate (although I was in many biological science classes, still far from professional. I still believe I can ask questions because it is undeniable to me that science is based on a male perspective). I understand your gripe with the general, unprofessional nature of the word "conception." I myself use it because to me, the word "fertilize" seems like we are saying the sperm takes action against the egg. It makes it seem as if the egg is inviable or infertile until a sperm "penetrates" it. But eggs are more complex than sperm (if I remember correctly), so why isn't it that we word it as an egg fertilizing the sperm? I also made an inference based on the way people talk about reproduction outside of a scientific context. A mans sperm is sometimes called his "seed," but a seed is an embryonic plant, not a gamete. Another example would be the fact that eggs on their own are called "unfertilized." There's something off about the fact that there are "fertilized eggs," too. Maybe you could explain, but once sperm and egg unite, wouldn't it be considered a whole new thing (ex. zygote). To me, there doesn't seem to exist a vocabulary that depicts the action of sperm and egg uniting in a way that acknowledges female and male involvement, just male doing onto female. Again, this culture can be seen in how women are often treated as vessels for a fetus. I dont know if I made any sense there... I hope I did.

As for the actual mechanics, I very much thank you for your in-depth explanation! It was my mistake, I should have looked deeper into my claims as I only knew the general idea of gamete involvement in mate selection. I did look into the study you mentioned, very interesting!!! However, when I said that eggs chose sperm, I was alluding to the basic idea of eggs having a preference. I wasn't trying to be too specific because I didn't know all the details, but I should've elaborated 😬 but it still does prove my point. Eggs are (theorized) to be attracted to more compatible sperm from a certain mate. Even if it is not a choice between sperm from the same man, there is still interaction and choice on the female gamete. I guess my issue with the way we speak about reproduction is that it's almost worded in a way that portrays the egg as an inanimate house for a sperm.

I 100 percent also see your concern with this theory being misused. I think that comes down to people not understanding involuntary bodily functions and voluntary bodily functions. My concern is about the perception of the female body as a tool for males to use during procreation (I use that analogy a lot lmfao I'm a bit repetitive sometimes) not as a body that also puts in effort and has credibility during the process. Credibility other than "carrying a fetus."

As for this theory being correct, I'm unsure of its current status. However, looking at their findings, it's pretty convincing! I hope this can be the start of a more equitable science, to be honest. Maybe the female body is finally getting the credit it deserves, especially concerning our control and power in reproductive relationships. I mean, just from interacting with people in my area of study, they seem to forget about female mate selection ALL THE TIME. They insist that rape is a staple in nature, though from my observations its very inefficient! But that's a personal experience. Although I am still plenty ignorant on a lot of biological science, I do think my question has merit in some way. We do need to consider how males have vastly populated sciences. I mean, let's look at how little they even know about the female body. Just think of how much there's left to discover about our own bodies!

Thank you for your very respectful and educational addition. I understand where you are coming from with the religious part. To me, it just seems like "conception" acknowledges a team effort much better than fertilization (again, because it is worded as something a sperm bestows an egg. It appears, to me, that men have a bit of an obsession with controlling or defining a female body through their actions). Really, it may come down to our own personal opinions. Im a very unorthodox person with science, but I believe there is a place for questioning things within our studies. When I said, "My hands are tied academically," I was more talking about the fact that when I DO go to specialize in my selected fields, my unprofessional view will not be accepted.

Alright, sorry for yapping so much. I hope this cleared things up because it may or may not have 😛

Edit: And I would also love to include that the fact that so many sperm die before meeting the egg seems like a test in itself to weave out the weak ones and only include the best of the best haha 😈 sorry for any confusion I have caused or any misinformation I have spread. This was a great lesson in really diving into the things I say.

No @anomalys-bane you do have a point. I have many posts that concern the reproductive process and our wording of it. It always relies on the perception of a female vessel being done to by a male catalyst. You are the machine he operates. If men are feeling gracious, they'll say you're the goddess of life or whatever bullshit, but then word it as if they grant us permission to our "power to create life." I often talk about how I am going into zoological fields and how I am invested in animal hobbies (including breeding animals). The male ego is so vast, so prevalent, that a vocabulary does not exist to properly describe this process. I try my hardest, but academically, my hands are tied. I know later on I'll be corrected for not following the science made to make men feel more important than they are. More in control than they are. More credible and powerful. Fertilization, I try to replace with conception. We now know that eggs choose sperm, but that will never be integrated into our dialog as scientists. It's been a male field, it continues to be so. Women who enter don't question, I feel as if they actually enjoy this view of themselves bestowed to them by male overlords. As for "impregnation," I try to avoid seeing pregnancy as a direct action of a male and more as a process. Conception is male, "impregnation" is not. We become pregnant when an embryo attaches to our uterus, not when a sperm enters our uterus. Pregnancy is not an action done to by the male, it is a result of two people acting together. I refuse to see it as a man putting an embryo inside of me. He ejaculates inside of a woman so his sperm can meet her egg, not so he can impregnate her. The wording makes it seem as if she has no effort in the matter, when eggs are a more complex gamete than sperm is.

Basically, our view is heavily male centered. Most things are. It's miserable being in this field.

Edit: I feel as if I should provide an explanation for my take on female creation being the wrong way of viewing gestation. You have to see the process for how it is. People on the one side must stop acting as if female bodies are tools, and people on the other side must stop glorifying the female body in an inhuman, deified way. It is neither of the two radical ideas. Females do not create life through pregnancy. Females and males create life through conception (albeit NOT sentience, this is a process, after all. Sentience is achieved by an individual after birth). A bird chick forms away from a female in an egg. The truth of pregnancy is that it closely resembles parasitism. It's not a perfect definition because it can benefit females in the case of a healthy, stable-minded female spreading her genetics (impossible in our modern society imo). However, my point is that the fetus leeches nutrients from the female body. The female body is a nutrient source, not a machine that stitches together arms, legs, and a torso. The embryo is able to build parts to its body because of the nutrients it steals. The true power of female reproduction comes from our ability to withstand this. Endurance. But males are unable to eat their pride and admit this proves our capability, so then we become either vessels or artistic creators. We can not be strong in the same sense they are.

The female body should strive to be neutral. Not an inferior, not a deity. The fact is women have had their identities repressed for so long that we have no idea how to stay in the lines of humanity. I will say, though, that the women who glorify their female bodies are much MUCH better than those who see it as inferior. It is just a nitpick I have

[moonsidesong]

i like pokemon diamond and pearl's soundtrack but im also eternally mad at it because the super music collection is sorted in the most annoying manner physically possible and it makes you actively bored of music you otherwise liked

[isaidyoulookshitty]

idk it is so upsetting to me that veilguard is the first dragon age game i won't be replaying. when i was 15 i played origins so many times (almost a dozen) it is one of the only games i have ever 100% finished. da2 was the same! and while i didn't make it through as many playthroughs of inquisition i put hundreds of hours into it and made an effort to get to the bottom of everything the game threw at me. until veilguard, i had bought every available dragon age dlc for all games, tried to play almost every route given in the story choices, and spent hours reading through codex entries to soak up as much lore as i could.

veilguard has rendered all of that completely null.

it feels almost spiteful at this point that this new frakenspliced bioware cared so little to honor the bones and meat of the first three games. 15 years i have spent loving and cherishing (and criticizing) this franchise and now i feel like a fucking idiot for it. my grey warden? canonically awol and never addressed again. hawke? irrelevant and, for some players, potentially stuck in the fade forever. inquisitor? stripped of any complexity or depth i had given her in favor of the most syrupy, out of character fairytale true love's kiss ending with a man that shattered her worldview and broke her heart. how do you take 10 years to craft an ending this dissatisfying and thoughtless?

and the world i spent a decade and a half fighting for, shaping with player choices, and calling home? gone. "overwhelmed by the blight." literally scorched earth for the next game to build on with whatever the writers pull out of their ass to make players forget all about the original dragon age. it's tragic! disrespectful to longtime fans at best, at worst it feels intentional and like i am being made the butt of a joke told by writers who in the promotional material sound like they could not even be assed to play the games they're attempting to draw from. veilguard is just a product to be sold, not a story worthy of The Dragon Age Setting.

and i haven't even touched on all my gripes with the game's writing, the sanitization of any canon conflict that could be uncomfortable or difficult to address, the stale and cutesy therapyspeak and lessons in basic morality that are baked into every in-game interaction (most of which are shallow and all the same anyways) compared to the dialogue trees from the other 3 games. it is so frustrating to see that the devs chose to cave to a decade of vitriolic fandom politics in favor of addressing the kettle they wrote themselves into.

instead of hand-waving racism toward elves, the panic over qunari, the isolation of the dwarves, the corruption of the chantry, the abuse in the circles of magi, and slavery in tevinter, we should have been given the chance to confront all of it. to put a real end to it. we will never get to do that now. in fact, in their failure to follow through, bioware has only succeeded in exacerbating all of these issues. they have made the elves, which they have openly ADMITTED were "inspired" by Jewish and indigenous peoples, their mouthpiece for white guilt and shame passed down from one's ancestors (while also gutting elves' religion, culture, history, social differences, etc. i could go on). they PERPETUATE the same stereotypes of barbarity, violence, and warmongering imposed on the qunari by the rest of thedas by continuing to make them an opposing enemy force with the exception being a couple of friends they have neatly packaged for us. the unsatisfying conclusion to the mage-templar schism in inquisition is inconsequential. who the player chose to HEAD THE SOUTHERN CHANTRY as divine is deliberately made irrelevant. the dwarves are still isolated and ignorant of their origins save for harding (assuming she doesn't end up killed) and a single closed-off group. and the slaves in tevinter (again, mostly elves)? conveniently kept out of sight and conversation when we finally get to minrathous. everything that happened to fenris to make him the character he is, arguably the most impactful and sympathetic out of all the da2 companions, is not even addressed, much less tackled. all of it is swept under the rug.

i wanted dragon age: dreadwolf. i wanted a solid conclusion to a story almost 20 years in the making. a dragon age reboot might even have been a great idea somewhere down the line, but this was not the game to do it with. it was supposed to be a sequel and they couldn't even get that right. did i enjoy parts of it? of course! i finished it! but i won't be doing it again. the game clearly intends you to, considering a significant portion is locked away by decisions players are forced to make pretty early on, but i can't make myself do it. it makes me way too sad.

i could go on about how i, a queer and nonbinary adult fan, thought their handling of gender and LGBTQIA+ identities was heavy-handed, infantilizing, and felt so out of place within the setting it makes easy fodder for the "woke=broke" crowd that wouldn't have been receptive to queer rep anyway, but that would need to be another post in itself. not to mention the romance! unfortunate that i chose to romance lucanis not knowing his is now notorious for a lack of content, meaningful dialogue, pacing, and actual development. i won't even get to see the other romances in comparison because, as i have said, i will not be replaying.

[aymayzing]

Fate of Southern Thedas Rant

Okay, so

All in all, I enjoyed Veilguard. I have some gripes with the game and I can already point to a few things and go "yeah, I don't care what the game says. I am discarding that and filling it in with some headcanons" which happens with literally every Dragon Age game.

BUT

The main thing I dislike is what the game present as happening in the South of Thedas.

I've spent three games saving the South, piece by piece, I cannot accept it falling now, in a game that doesn't care about these parts of Thedas, so much so that it's only really acknowledged in codex entries.

I say - if for some reason the devs want Veilguard to be separted from the other three games, then give us LESS infromation about the South. I don't need letters telling me that the places I've saved once are now lost and therefore it didn't really matter. Tell me that the South is fighting its own battle and leave it there.

In a perfect world, however, here is where we'd have an acknowledgement of previous games.

Mention that mages in their new orgnization have been supporting the fight. Or that the rebuilt Templar order is leading the charge somewhere. If the Inquisitor encouraged Cassandra to rebuild Seekers new and better, mention that they're a great help with fighting demons. Bring up the conclusion of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. If a truce was forced upon Celene, Briala and Gaspard, say that they're using the chaos to fight for power. Or that Gaspard, as a soldier, has been great at protecting Orlais. What about the decision regarding the Wardens? Say it sucks there aren't Grey Wardens in the South or how fortunate that they're here.

Mention HoF. If they're alive, they're protecting Denerim. If they allied with the Architect, say there's darkspawn infighting in northern Ferelden. That thanks to the Warden being an X, there's a strong bond between Orzammar/the Dalish/mages and Ferelden and they're fighting hand in hand or that the elves of Denerim have been especially well organized and are protecting their city.

And then it can all be in codex, in missives. It's a positive thing then. I get to know that the choices from previous games influenced something in this one and I'm happy to read about it in a codex or a letter from the Inquisitor. But my friend who's playing DA for the first time doesn't care and they can skip those codexes.

I don't think the South has fallen and will never get back up again. I see Rook defeating the gods as a deus ex machina. With them gone, everything else is saved. If Minrathous can be rebuilt after being thouroughly blighted and destroyed during the finale, so can Denerim, Kirkwall, Val Royeux.

But. I just wish it was stated in game and not something I have to come up with on my own based on some ending slides. I wish the devs didn't discard the parts of Thedas I've grown to love over the previous games twice over. I wish they made another decision here

[daltonsnightmare]

@impossiblepluto I've been thinking about your tags all day. YES TO ALL OF THIS

MacGyver (2016) s4e1 Fire + Ashes + Legacy = Phoenix | Cold Open

[dresshistorynerd]

Ranking Men's Costumes in Period Dramas - Part II: The Good

Part I: The Bad

This is the second part to my ranking of men's costumes in Renaissance period dramas. I selected 10 shows and films which I think have great costuming for the female characters and ranked them according to their costumes for male characters. I have noticed that even when women's costuming is great, men's costuming might be absolutely dog shit. And that's very much what we saw in the first part, where I ranked the five worst entries. For some reason shows and movies are afraid to put men, especially the characters who are supposed to be cool, manly and hot, into historical costumes. And I'm not even asking for historical accuracy, I just don't want my male characters living in the actual 1500s in basically modern leather jackets and pants. Like I don't watch period dramas for vaguely historically inspired modern fashion, I watch it for the historical setting, which costumes help create. This time we will be looking some rare gems that actually imo have really good costuming even for the male characters. For the five best entries, we'll go from worst to best.

5. Eizabeth R (1971)

Elizabeth R is incredibly committed to historical accuracy in it's outfits, especially for queen Elizabeth herself, many of her costumes being directly recreated from her portraits. It covers the whole reign of Elizabeth, so this commitment is especially admirable as the timeline is more than 40 years, including a stark shift in fashion from less structured and more toned down Tudor fashion to the extremes of the highly structured Elizabethan fashion. It's not perfect, The hair is not always great and like many others they fail at French hoods, though they are not upward pointing or pseudo crowns detached from the hood, so could be much worse.

The men's costumes are also very good. They are faithful to history, they wear stockings, very short trunk hose, ruffs and even have some structuring in their doublets and jerkins. However, the reason this is not higher is that the men's costumes especially, but also many other costumes beside Elizabeth's are looking a little sloppy. There's some structure yes, but the men's silhouettes are just not bold enough and they end up looking a little costumy. Even the codpieces are shrunk so small I'm not even sure if they are there half the time. Cowardice. Here's two Robert Dudley's costumes and an actual portrait of him. I think the second costume is probably an attempt at recreation of that portrait, but it's just kinda halfway there.

4. Taming of the Shrew (1967)

This film is set in Renaissance Italy, the women's costumes fit well to 1520s-30s. They are honestly really great and cohesive. My only gripe is that their bodices have a very 1960s shape and the make-up is a little distractingly modern. But the costuming is not attempting to recreate historical accuracy, rather they took the historical silhouette and basic elements and crafted a very over the top but cohesive look. I honestly love these very much.

An interesting choice is made with the men's costuming, especially the main male lead, whose costume is based much more on the Renaissance German men's fashion of that period. His costumes resemble the over the top fashion of the German Landsknecht (first image below). In Italy (second image below) the doublets were also very voluminous and quite colourful but not to that extent as by the Landsknecht and literally no one, not even the other Germans, rocked that slashed style as hard.

This is not really criticism though. In fact I respect that choice a lot. His costumes are certainly not historically accurate, but they do fit the bombastic aesthetics of the overall costuming, they are loud, large and not afraid to fuck around. This man oozes sex-appeal much more than any character with some modern plain black pants and leather jacket. This is how you costume a Renaissance man who fucks.

3. Tulip Fever (2017)

I am stretching the definition or Renaissance here a bit, I admit. This movie is set during the 1630s tulip mania, by which point the remnants of Renaissance fashion had already been left to the previous decade. However, I do think most of the movies and TV set in Baroque era also struggle with the men's costumes. Though not as much, because black was fashionable for everyone, the cod piece was gone, trunk hose were replaced by more palatable Venetian hose, fashion was much more stripped down from embellishments, leather was not uncommon in jerkins and appeared even in doublets and hose and the Hollywood's beloved boots became actual fashion items. The men's silhouette in this period is very silly in my opinion and people seem to agree because it's usually skipped in costuming, but overall the period seems to fit modern masculinity standards much more easily than Renaissance era.

But I just really wanted to include this because the costuming is absolutely stunning (and let's be honest we are a bit desperate here trying to find 5 actually good examples). I have not watched the movie and probably never will because the post production was an absolute mess and it apparently came out as just a very bad movie, which is a shame, since the costumes are so good. The ruffs are perfectly crispy. The buttons are dense and look just right. The shoes, both boots and otherwise are so on point. The fabrics are honestly perfect. The silhouettes are just as goofy as they are supposed to be. And the women too have perfect silhouettes. All the details are just simply perfect. You rarely find costuming this meticulously created with historical details and great construction.

Honestly these top three could all be the best one. This final order was decided purely on which costumes I like more. And while I love the women's fashion of this period, I think the men's fashion is kinda stupid and boring, so I don't like these costumes on aesthetic level as much as the top two.

2. Romeo and Juliet (1968)

This movie is a perfect counterpart to the movie with the worst men's costuming which I talked about in the first post, Rosaline. They are both set in Italy around very end of 15th century and retell Romeo and Juliet. Both have very good costuming for female characters but obviously I think differ greatly in the male character costuming department. Romeo and Juliet costuming takes some artistic liberties to create a heightened reality quite similar to Taming of the Shrew costuming, but follows history much more closely. The colors are bright, the hose are tight, the giorneas are voluminous, the sleeves are long and massive and the cod pieces are prominent. Even the hair is perfect, even for women, they even use hairnets. I imagine the men's hair was quite easy to get right as hairstyles in 60s and 70s were basically lifted directly from 1400s Italian men's hairstyles. The men are even wearing appropriate goofy hats??? Amazing.

The costuming perfectly captures the era, but they still clearly had fun with it too. Honestly even though I appreciate the meticulously recreated historically accurate costuming, like in Tulip Fever, I tend to like more costuming that does take some artistic liberties to create a distinct look and atmosphere for the movie or TV show. There's some small things they don't get quite right, like having standard lacing instead of ladder lacing, metal eyelets (which would become a thing as late as in 1830s) and most egregiously Juliet in one scene has this very dumb supportive undergarment without even shift under it (first picture below)?? The outer garments were supportive during this era, there was no such thing as supportive undergarment which was any different from the outer kirtle (or gamurra in Italy). Shift was the only truly undergarment. But I will forgive these errors because the costuming is overall so fun and gorgeous. And they did get some details so so right, like look at Romeo's arming doublet (second picture below)! It has Lombardian sleeves!! This was a very specific style of arming doublet for this era and place. However those errors does prevent it from taking the first place. Which leads us to...

1. Orlando (1992)

This movie has Tilda Swinton in flamboyant Elizabethan men's clothing. That's all.

Okay, I that is all that needs to be said, but I will say more. This movie spans centuries and shows excellent costumes from several different periods, but I will focus on the Elizabethan costumes only for the sake of this post. The costuming is not super historically accurate in all the detailing, and clearly not trying to be, but it is always impeccable. Even while it takes artistic liberties and the story has an immortality fantastical element it still captures the men's fashion's silhouette much better than any other movie or TV show I know of set in this period. It does that better than the "we recreated these portraits" Elizabeth R. But what really makes this the best in my humble opinion, is that the movie is not afraid of the effeminate and emasculated modern perception of Renaissance men's fashion, no, it leans into it and uses it to explore the themes. The whole story is very much about gender and gender fuckery. Tilda Swinton plays the titular Orlando who is a cis man in Elizabethan era, becomes inexplicably immortal and later inexplicably turns into a woman for the rest of their several centuries. He is the embodiment of "I'm not sure if they are a butch or a twink" and as a bisexual I can only be grateful. But in all seriousness I think the costuming and the casting (queen Elizabeth is also played by a male actor) are so perfectly utilized to highlight the arbitrary construction of gender without needing to say it explicitly.

Conclusion

I have some closing thoughts. I took on this task as a way to show a point, which is that for some reason in Renaissance shows and film especially men's costuming is piss-poor, even when women's costuming is great. Male characters tend to have very bad costuming in Medieval media too, though this is also an issue for female characters. I don't think I have ever seen a Medieval show or movie with truly excellent costuming for anyone. In Renaissance media the issue is clearly not lack of skill or knowledge, they choose to do so. My thesis was that the producers think that the Renaissance men's fashion is too effeminate and too unsexy for the Hot Very Heterosexual Male Lead, who the mostly female audience are supposed fawn over like the female characters do. After the analysis think my hypothesis holds up.

Though there's an interesting trend I only noticed while doing this ranking; every entry (except the least bad) in the worst five list are from 21th century, and every entry (except Tulip Fever which is a little bit cheating anyway) in this best five list are from 20th century. I have some theories on why it turned out this way. First is that the studios have become increasingly more concerned with growing profits so they don't take risks and they put pressure on movies and TV shows to be as broadly appealing as possible. This means they can't just make period dramas for the core audience of period dramas, aka mostly women who are history nerds, so they pander to the modern sensibilities in costuming and not to the people who love to see actual historical costuming. Secondly, I think this might also tie to the broader conservative backlash against loosening of gender roles and broader queer acceptance. Among the core audiences of period dramas there are two distinct groups, queer nerds and conservative women, who don't want politics in their media, which is why they love historical stories because obviously queerness wasn't invented yet and people of colour didn't exist yet (they were and did). (They are ofc not always this extreme, but you get the point.) As men wearing dresses has become a culture war issue, I think the studio executives are afraid that anything not masculine enough in modern standards might alienate the more conservative audiences, and more broadly those who don't want to feel like they are engaging with modern political culture war topics in their escapist media. Even if they knew about the queer nerds, they wouldn't care about them and assume they will go along with it anyway. After all not challenging modern gender roles is not seen as an active choice, it's the default.

This bears repeating: cowards.

As a thank you for reading all the way to the end I will leave you with the image of Tilda Swinton in mid 1600s men's clothing. You are welcome.

Part I: The Bad

[restwellsoon]

Off Tangent

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x F!Reader x Kirishima Eijiro, minor Todoroki Shouto x Kirishima Eijirou

Summary: Girl math is thinking that you can take pro heroes Shouto and Red Riot at once when you can hardly take two fingers. Luckily for you, having a good romp doesn’t have to be as mind-boggling as algebra.

/ While Kirishima explored you with wonder over the new and unknown, to Shouto, he knew you well enough, knowing every place that made you ache. The redhead’s excitement was a reminder that though he shared you tonight, you were his tomorrow and the next.

Warnings: Double penetration (double vaginal), threesome, sexualizing their Quirks, light degradation, dom/sub undertones, temp play, praise kink, humor, fluff, established relationship, alcohol

Minors and blank blogs DNI!

Even if things weren’t adding up, you could hardly complain about your situation. The wet sounds of skin on skin and murmurs of praise made it all too easy to get lost in sensation. There shouldn’t have been anything more pressing to think about, only things to feel, and yet your mind still wandered, even if it was just for a moment. 

Tonight was unusual, no, maybe special was a better word for the occasion. Getting drinks with Shouto’s friends wasn’t outside of the norm. The bar beside your apartment was known for its discrete treatment of superpowered patrons, making it an easy choice for meet ups. You were used to seeing Momo and Midoriya, but they weren’t there tonight; both were tasked with the night patrol in their designated precincts. Instead, there was Bakugou who finally warmed up to you, and Kirishima who you hardly, if ever, saw. It was a rare occasion to see him with the group. Similar to Iida, his patrol route and schedule were often opposite of Shouto’s, so the redhead usually wasn’t present. At least Camie was there to fill the lull in any conversations.

“Hey beautiful!” She beckoned, drawing a few looks, mostly from an annoyed Bakugou. She slapped on the vinyl seat beside her–a special spot reserved for you.

Kirishima shot up, pulled out the chair, and even took care to push you in. You swore you felt a calloused sweep of fingertips across your shoulders, but Shouto’s lack of reaction convinced you that it was nothing. 

“A gentleman, isn’t he?” Camie commented before glancing at the blond to her side. “Unlike some people.” He grunted in response. It seemed that Camie was still bitter about their team-up a few months back. An allegedly careless Bakugou blasted too close to her scene, ruining her illusion, but more importantly her fresh blowout.

And it was nothing other than good food, good drinks, and good conversation until Bakugou was the first to go.

He smirked at Shouto before tugging a mask loop behind his ear–a sorry excuse of a disguise, really, since his trademark red eyes and blond hair were still visible.

“Moving up in the ranks just means that I’ll be busier. Might be awhile before I see you extras again.”

You winced at his cringiness. You still weren’t used to his manner of speaking, but Shouto wasn’t phased.

“I suppose that means that Midoriya will be busier than all of us.”

Stifling a laugh behind your hand, Camie and Kirishima diffused the situation with exaggerated ‘oohs’ and teasing.

“Luckily for you,” the redhead slapped his friend’s back, “Shou’s got ice for that sick burn.”

“Oof! Just take the L, Bakubro, and don’t say anything,” Camie sniggered, hooking her arm through his. “And to help you walk outta here with some dignity left, I’ll even walk with ya to the train station.” 

She flashed you a peace sign, “Gotta wake up early for a podcast interview overseas. Later, girlie!”

With only you, Shouto, and Kirishima left, you expected him to say his goodbyes as well, but instead he ruffled the back of his head before shoving his fists in his pockets, looking at you both with puppy dog eyes. “Well, shit, I didn’t expect the night to end this soon, unless…?”

You felt bad. Kirishima was just griping about how his precinct being understaffed due to some injuries. He’s been working overtime for three months now.

“It’s not like we have any plans for tomorrow,” you started, waiting for Shouto’s agreement. He nodded.

“Come over. Our place is right there anyway.”

Kirishima followed behind you, practically bouncing the entire way.

–

It was a dumb question yet you couldn’t help but feel flustered otherwise. Drawing the duvet up to your nose, you wondered why your boyfriend didn’t automatically know your answer. Daring to look at him, Shouto waited for your answer patiently. There wasn’t any way you could avoid this.

Swallowing nervously, you answered before trying to hide back into the blanket, “Obviously, it’s you.”

Tutting, he undid your work to push back a strand of hair that got in your face—a flimsy shield from his questioning. His movement pushed back the blanket too, and gooseflesh prickled your skin.

“You didn’t even know who I was when we met.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he looked down at you with thick lashes. There wasn’t any offense in his voice, only amusement.

You argued back, “Did too. I just pretended not to know you. How could I act normal when one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors was approaching me?”

That heated hand strayed from your ear to the side of your neck, settling along its curve. “That’s a conversation for another time.” And you knew that your little comment wouldn’t be forgotten. “But really, who’s your hero crush? Everyone has at least one.”

Embarrassment and shyness crept up your chest and towards your cheeks, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel the difference. He could, he’d later tell you.

“Red Riot,” you finally admitted, before adding “it’s not like I’m a fan girl though!”

How could you ignore him when he was plastered all over your social media feeds? It’s not like you actively sought out all those posts about Red Riot either. Apparently the algorithm thought you hung out with thirsty motherfuckers–and it was true for the most part; officer workers needed some sort of eye candy to help them through the day–and decided to share their horniess with you.

Satisfied with your answer, he settled back into his spot beside you. “Maybe you have a thing for redheads,” he mused before asking if he should dye all his hair that color.

“Absolutely not!” You sat up in bed to prove your point, nearly knocking Shouto out in the process. “That’s part of your appeal! It’s like two different looks depending on the angle.”

Shouto didn’t need to hear anymore about how opposites attract and how his looks were the perfect embodiment of that, but if he kept teasing you like this, you were willing to steer the conversation in that direction.

His lips curved upwards, turning into an actual smile, the playfulness practically spilling from his mouth. It took you months into the relationship to recognize the slightest tells of his teasing. 

“Oh, so it’s like you have two boyfriends depending on which side you’re on?”

Your index finger dug into his chest. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Playtime was over. Your show was starting soon, and you’d prefer to be at ease in his arms instead of squirming for his amusement.

–

It was hard to take Camie seriously in general but even more so when she wagged her index finger around like a mother who knew best, pointing at the cushioned space between you and Mina.

“The best way to go about it is to find two randos to bone.” Finally her manicured nail landed on you as she advised that couples should hook up with someone they knew but weren’t close to. You weren’t sure why she looked at you with those eyes of certainty, as if they were silently begging you to know some secret. “If it sucks–in a bad way obvi–you probs won’t care if you tell  your third to get the bird.” She made a crude gesture with her hand.

Bottomless mimosas made sure that whatever arithmetic skills you had were gone for the day. What was the point of making things make sense when you were having fun?  The conversation kept ping ponging from couples to threesomes to the abysmal sex your friends were having while single. You laughed as Mina divulged in her latest date.

“Are you talking about the latest hero team ups?” Shouto’s voice called from the entry way before the door shut behind him.

His hair was damp, meaning that he must have showered at the agency. The occasional droplets that fell from his hair were enough to distract you from the conversation.

“Yeah,” Mina laughed, “somethin’ like that, Icy Hot.”

From the way you were eyeing him, it was clear that it was time for your friends to leave. She reached over to Camie, pulling her up, but the honey blonde wasn’t ready to leave until Mina gave her an obvious nudge. 

“Well, girly pop, we’ll leave you lovebirds alone for now!” She leaned in for a quick hug, “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

Shouto waited for them by the door to say a quick goodbye, making a comment about Midoriya keeping everyone updated on the latest duos and teams. It was informative, he told them,  encouraging them to sign up for the mailing list if they wanted to know more.

“Those ain’t the double teams we’re interested in, bub.” Camie giggled. “Thanks though. Alright–one last goodbye. TTFN, babes!”

As the click of their heels faded down the hall, you rounded on Shouto. Now that the initial stun of his good looks were gone, you were bold enough to tell him to drop the  oblivious act now that your friends were gone.

“What do you mean?” He smiled, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

You gave him a hard look, and he stretched out his arms in return.

With a huff, you went into his arms. It’d be easier to scold him up close anyway.

“Your PR manager can make you act as oblivious as you want in public, but I know that you heard everything we were talking about Shou.”

One of his hands slipped from your waist to play underneath your shirt. He might as well have gotten underneath your skin with the tone he was speaking in.

“Why were you talking about that anyway? Do you want to bring someone into our bed?”

Luckily for you, your bra unhooked while you answered, giving you a plausible reason for the hitch in your voice. “No–well, uh, yes, but um, Mina was the one to bring it up first! You know that she’s been single for a while, and Camie well, you know how she is…”

His pause was long as his fingers trailed up your spine. He hummed. “Well, alright. We can talk about this again when you’re less embarrassed.”

“You little shit,” you groused, “you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

“Aren’t you happy that I’m only this way with you?” He leaned down.

Any intentions of acting out begrudgingly faded as the kiss led to more clothes on the floor and  urged steps towards the bedroom.

–

You were happy to have the help of alcohol to keep the conversation going. Shouto’s hand was heavy whenever he poured drinks, the habit worsened when he was even the slightest bit buzzed. They weren’t enough to send you over the edge, but you were in that sweet spot where everything tingled and had a pleasant haze. 

“Seriously!” Kirishima laughed. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” It was probably the alcohol that was making your heart flutter when he said your name. “Kirishima is what my manager calls me when I’m in trouble. You can just call me Kiri.”

“Alright, Kiri,” you acquiesced, staring at your drink. At the time, you didn’t know that you’d be calling out that name all night.

–

You still couldn’t remember what sparked the conversation. Maybe a comment, a look, a laugh. All that really stuck out was a playful peck on the cheek that turned into a heated kiss with wandering hands. Kirishima’s red gaze was on you, but you didn’t mind it at that moment. 

His words stuck out as oddly shy from his usual manner of speaking. “Did you really mean that?”

The smoothness and confidence in Shouto’s voice surprised you and Kirishima too. “Don’t feel pressured if you don’t want to.”

When he said that he might not make it back to his place, Kirishima didn’t think you’d take his comment so seriously. “You can stay here tonight then,” you told him, only looking back at Shouto to see if it was okay after the offer. When he told him that he could stay in your bed too, Kirishima thought it was a classic case of Shouto being overly polite. He practically choked when he clarified that he meant in bed with both of you.

Never in his wildest dreams would he peg Shouto to be interested in something like this, but when he saw that nervous yet hopeful look in your eyes, he realized he was doing it for you. And maybe it was drunk logic, but what kind of friend would he be if he couldn’t help a friend in need?

“So what exactly do you want me to do?”

Shouto looked at you for the answer. Having both of their eyes on you made everything feel so real to the point that it was nearly sobering. You felt self-conscious as you rambled out your list of wants. Your glass was still half-full; it was difficult to look at either of them directly.

“I want both of you at once.”

“Where?” Kirishima asked.

Your pause clued Shouto in to what you wanted, and you swore you felt the pride swell in his chest when he told Kirishima that he’d show him where.

“I just want to feel good. I want to feel pretty and used but cherished. Does that make sense? Seriously Shou, don’t give me that look. This is embarrassing enough as it is. Is there anything you want?”

Shouto was straight-forward and simple as always. “Make her cum.”

To ease your nerves, he kissed you with sweetness, ending it with an affectionate peck on the lips and that softness in his eyes that always made you swoon.

You worked on removing each other’s clothes, and now with a groan of frustration and need, you realized that your liquid courage hadn’t left you completely. Your hands kept fiddling with Shouto’s pants.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” Kirishima asked from behind. Your heart nearly lept into your throat as his body pressed into yours. His desire brushed behind your thigh as his hand took your shaking one, guiding it in one smooth motion to pull down Shouto’s zipper, the last of his clothes finally falling to the floor.

“Thanks Kiri.”

“No prob, gorgeous.” 

You were close enough to hear the pull of his lips twist up into a smile, to feel his heated breath against your neck. Again, your hands stalled, awkwardly skimming Shouto’s chiseled hip.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” your boyfriend reassured you as he guided you onto your back. Shouto’s voice was an anchor, smoothly giving you commands. The couch was comfortable and felt familiar beneath your fingertips. He was right. It was okay to relax too. “Because we’re going to take care of you,” he promised. “We’ll make you feel good.”

It wasn’t difficult to admire either of them, but seeing them together was nearly too much stimulation for your eyes. Embarrassingly, you spent more time looking at Kirishima. Shouto’s body was familiar with his long, lean muscles and smooth skin. Kirishima was noticeably wider and thick with more fat padding the muscles beneath it. You didn’t dare to look at Shouto’s eyes. You both knew that you were staring.

Feeling a cold touch on your knee, your eyes finally met his. “I’m telling you to do this for us, love, not asking you.” His hand pushed your knee outwards. He wanted you to spread your legs. And you did, the change in Shouto’s tone making your heart flutter. 

When you were finally spread, you fought the urge to close them once more. Both men looked at your center intently. 

“I told you, didn’t I?” Shouto spoke to Kirishima. It was as if you weren’t there or couldn’t hear them. “Look at how pretty her pussy looks?” 

He nodded in agreement, saying that he couldn’t wait to taste you. Though he and Shouto had a similar directness in their speech, you felt shy towards his enthusiasm.

“Kiri!”

His tongue already lapped at your clit before licking a stripe downwards, sucking and tasting all of your wetness. The thick index finger he added earned another yelp, followed by a moan. After a minute of gentle prodding, he added a second finger.

“Nothing beats a wet and wanting cunt,” he pulled back to tell Shouto. The way he smiled at him was shameless, his lower lip and chin covered in saliva and your sweetness. Kirishima even demonstrated his point, moving his thick body aside so Shouto could see you. He scissored your hole, gave it a pump, and pulled out as quick as he could. The sounds were lewd as he fingered you lazily.

And the sounds didn’t go unnoticed by Shouto. He peered over Kirishima’s shoulder, leaning over to look as if he hadn’t seen your body before, as if he hadn’t felt it, before giving a pleased smile. While Kirishima explored you with wonder over the new and unknown, to Shouto, he knew you well enough, knowing every place that made you ache. The redhead’s excitement was a reminder that though he shared you tonight, you were his tomorrow and the next.

His eyes trailed up your hips, lingering at your heaving chest, before finally meeting your eyes. “So noisy,” he commented–whether it was about your pussy or your whimpers, you weren’t sure. Kirishima’s fingers were thicker and calloused from his training and Quirk. 

“She’s greedy,” he told Kirishima, “look how she keeps on whining for more.”

“Love,” he addressed you, “you can hardly take two fingers, but now you want three?” He smirked. “Soon you’ll be asking for two cocks at once.” Heat rose up your body, or was it the effect of Shouto’s hand on your thigh? He cocked his head at your embarrassment, using that tone you hated. “What? Isn’t that what you were asking for last night? Begging to have your pretty little pussy stretched by my cock and your toy?”

Kirishima perked up from his place between your legs, making a show of the wetness he wiped from his mouth. “Oh yeah? You took them both?” 

He didn’t know the size of your toy, but like everything else on Shouto, his cock was impressive–good proportions, cut, and a nice thick head that was drooling with pre-cum. His trimmed pubes and pink sack only highlighted it more.

“And she took them so well,” Shouto cooed.

Giving himself a quick pump to provide his cock some relief, Kirishima took Shouto’s words as a sign to add in a third finger. It already felt so tight, but the extra digit made you wetter as he continued his pace, this time slower because of the cramped space.

“Your boyfriend’s right, sweetheart,” he said. “You really know how to take it.”

If you just focused on the pleasure, it would be enough to send you over the edge. Kirishima kept bumping and nudging all the spots that made you jump, but it was Shouto’s soft coaching and Kirishima’s praise that would be the ones to push you over. Your toes curled as your breathing hitched, going and going and going until emptiness made you whine.

There were no fingers or Shouto’s hands on your thighs. The boys were talking to each other.

“Mind if I get her ready for us?”

“Be our guest.”

Maybe you were just sensitive or maybe you were annoyed, but the sound of Kirishima spitting was loud, as if it were some display of masculinity. The saliva pooled on the middle of his shaft and he made a show of rubbing it in.

His cock was thick like the rest of his body, not quite the length of Shouto’s but impressive nonetheless. What caught your eye in the haze of your edging were three rows of black beads, one on either end, sitting horizontally beneath his head. You wondered what needle was sharp enough to pierce his skin, then thought he did it without Quirk activation.

Red eyes followed yours before he gave you a wink. “Ribbed for your pleasure,” he joked. “You’ll get what I mean in a second.”

When he entered, your breath was stolen and held in your throat, holding it still until you felt his entirety inside you. Shouto moved to his spot behind Kirishima again, watching you take his cock. Kindly, Kirishima gave you a chance to breathe, pressing your legs back until they touched your shoulders. You thought he’d be positioning you for your comfort, but instead you felt every inch of him. The slightest readjustment made you feel the drag and pressure of his piercings.

“Don’t you look so pretty taking another man’s cock?” Shouto teased you from somewhere in the room. You couldn’t keep your eyes open, breathing focused so you wouldn’t cum just yet. You wanted to feel him fuck you, but the dark tone in Shouto’s voice was making you melt. You had to get a grip on yourself, but it was easier for both men to see that you were losing it.

“Play with her tits, Kiri,” Shouto told him. “Her nipples are sensitive.”

As masculine as Kirishima presented, it was surprising how well he obeyed. His weight pressed into you and the couch as he bent down to suck on your tits. Up close, he lingered for a brief second to watch their sway with the movement before starting with the left, then the right. 

The attention he gave them was nice, more than that, it was delicate as he sucked and nibbled on them. Perhaps you were too used to Shouto’s amusement as he used his Quirk to harden them, giving them a rough pinch to help you cum. It was clear that multi-tasking wasn’t his forte though. His thrusts were shallow. 

“I need to cum,” you finally whined. Between his body and yours, you were able to sneak a hand to your clit, rubbing to get what you were owed.

“You heard her, didn’t you?”

Kirishima’s will power was always one of his more noteworthy traits. It was something your co-workers swooned over. You were learning just how strong it was in a different way though. His movements were rough and shaking the couch. You made a note to yourself that you’d later forget: realign it with the rug. 

The man was talking more to himself than you or Shouto, mumbling about your tightness. His words were clearer when you came. His cock was out–a smart move or else he would have joined you. Continuing to rub it, it was sleek with your juices. “I can’t wait to feel how tight you are when Shouto and I are fucking you.”

Like a rag doll, you let them reposition you as they pleased, still chasing the waves of your orgasm. They buried your face in the cushions as Kirishima pulled your hips up and behind. Your pussy felt tighter when he entered you again. This time your breath was still with you.

“We need to make sure you’re prepped for us.” Shouto’s voice was disembodied and distant again.

Kirishima’s voice was distant too. You were sure if his voice was heavier from the work he was doing or his need to cum. “I’m gonna add a few fingers in, okay? If it’s too much, just tell me. If it’s not enough, beg for more.”

He was true to his word, adding in the first and second digits slowly. “It feels good,” you reassured him.

“Not good enough,” he huffed. He felt your pussy fluttering around his cock and fingers, but you weren’t quite where he wanted you. Kirishima wanted to hear you cry out his and Shouto’s names. He wanted you cock-dumb and slutty where you could only speak in whines.

When you were cumming for the second time tonight, Shouto decided you were ready. Again, they moved you around since you were useless.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” You asked your boyfriend. Everything was hazy, this time from sex instead of alcohol.

“Nah, I got him,” Kirishima said. That will power of his kept his cock hard and begging for a break. You were surprised he didn’t cum inside you.

His fingers were glossy from their time inside you, and he used that wetness–your wetness–to slick up Shouto’s cock. It was a couple of skilled jerks that slid up Shouto’s length, his large hand wrapping around his girth. He palmed whatever residual was left around his head, and Shouto closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh.

You weren’t expecting Kirishima to suck your boyfriend off before they fucked you, but you also weren’t expecting him to handle him so casually. He did it with such ease, and even Shouto looked comfortable. It was surprising how turned on you were from watching someone else play with Shouto’s cock. A part of you thought they’d look so pretty rubbing against each other, both sleek from spit and cum, but that could be a fantasy for another time.

Facing Shouto, he pushed into you, and you felt the familiar press of his cock. When he was fully seated, he pulled you close–a moment of tenderness throughout this debauchery. “Miss me?” You nodded. He gave you a kiss in return.

His lips caught your gasp as your nails dug into his shoulders as Kirishima positioned himself from behind. At first, he could only fit his head. Shouto’s hand trailed the length of your spine before settling on your hip. His Quirk warmed your tense muscles, and with a groan, both cocks were in.

It felt like minutes where there wasn’t any movement, for fear of cumming first. Kirishima finally broke the sounds of heavy breathing. “A pretty cunt and a nice cock to rub against? Seriously, are you two trying to make me cum first?”

“You can if you want to,” Shouto told him. If he left it at that, you would have laughed. “Our poor girl’s cunt will get messy regardless.” You held onto his unspoken promise of multiple creampies.

As if to encourage him, Shouto even took the lead, moving his hips in long, slow strokes. Your sighs were caught in his collarbones as you buried your head there. The intimacy was almost enough to make Kirishima cum then and there.

“Does it feel good too?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Kiri’s cock, I mean.”

The question earned a low rumble from the man behind you. Shouto paused, before saying an almost embarrassed yes. The tightness, the heat, his cock. It was almost overwhelming in the best possible way. Shouto had never had such an experience. “The piercings are… a nice touch.”

“Nice enough to make you cum?”

Kirishima didn’t care much about hero rankings but the thought of beating a Top Ten hero this way would give him a different sort of pride. 

“We have all night to find out,” Shouto told him.

His statement pulled out something primal and competitive inside them as each man started moving at once. You were so greedy to think that you could handle more; you couldn’t. All you could do was whimper and let yourself give in to the pleasure. Was it really so bad to cum first? Their cocks gave you a fullness that you couldn’t even comprehend as each showered you–and each other–in praise. Their hands were needy and wandering as they searched for the spots that would set you off–your tits, your clit, your neck.

Maybe your mind wandered or maybe this orgasm was finally too much. There were stars in your eyes and that familiar tingling that ran from your toes to your spine as your body shook from Shouto and Kirishima’s touch. Everything felt hot and sensitive after that moment.

But you had little time to wonder what happened exactly as a voice sweetly mocked you. “Exhausted already? But we’ve just begun.”

Rest's Main Masterlist / Todoroki Masterlist

[bananaactivity]

More Edgy with the three Edge Lords

Edge, Edger, and Edgiest

Stupid Virus makes them basically feral so they get lil fangs and scruffy hair ( They're also paler then my usual pallet for them lmao)

Lowkey Adam needa stick that tounge back in bruh. I also think this is the first time I've avoided finishing a hand. Very unlike me, I love hands

Also for those with a minute are two to burn here is the draft for that fic I was working on :

“ Douglas come on, we’re gonna be late for the car show!” Leo fussed, tussling with his jacket as he inched toward the door. Next to him, Adam was shining his tennis shoes and nodding enthusiastically. “ Yeah Dougy we gotta get going or all the dopeass parking spots will be gone.”

Douglas had spent most of the day moving his old boxes from the Academy to the Davenport Penthouse and was frankly tired at this point. He’d made the questionable choice to promise Leo and Adam a trip to the Centuim City Car show for “good behavior” and couldn't deny that they kept up their end of the bargain. 

“ Parking? Really Adam?” he sighed, taking a moment to sift through a box marked. Evil Items to deal with/ Figure out later. Damn himself he really outta not leave things to be done at a later date…

“ Yeah! I heard they have killer hotdogs too! Get this… They have a condiment bar and the condiments come out in little gasoline pumps!” he exclaimed holding his hands out with a tilt as if he had said something groundbreaking. They looked at him for a bit. Leo opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again before returning to Douglas.

“ Come on Lil D… You can deal with those boxes later. We gotta get outta here before Chase and Big D come back and beg to go too. You know those two are real party poopers.” Douglas grimaced a bit as he dug deeper in the box. “ Geez Leo I get it. I just really wanna get all these boxes to my room before tomorrow!” 

“ Whats happening down here?”

Kaz chuckled, dragging his way down the steps. “ Actually, save your breath. I was eavesdropping. Heh. Classic Kaz move.” He flew the last two steps, to lazy to even walk the rest of the way down, and stopped with a hover over the boxes. Oliver came down right after him his nose buried in a comic.

“ Oh, this is perfect!” Leo gasped. “ Pepper spray and Frosty the Nerd here can use their freaky deeky powers to put these boxes away for you Dougy!” Adam nodded along enthusiastically.

“ Yes! Wait, I thought their super names were Wild-Spark and Frost-Flare? I already had them sign my limited edition Frost-Spark branded thermoses with those names… How can I resell them on Eway for triple the auction price now!” Adam questioned with a whine.

“Doesn't matter because I don't trust these super-powered geeks with a fresh chicken egg let alone my personal belongings.” Douglas griped; continuing to dig in the box. “ And I think some collectors would actually pay top dollar for items with the original names…” he added with a nod to Adam. Just as his hand came into contact with a suspiciously familiar bag, Oliver used his super strength to lift the whole box away. 

“ Who says you can't trust us? We’re very trustworthy!” he bargained while flinging the box like it was weightless. 

“ Us. Yeah, we don't trust you guys, You are very inexperienced. Super. Yeah. Yea..” the Davenports and Dooley mildly commented their opinions overlapping each other but all agreeing to the same conclusion. “Yeah, I would NOT trust the supes personally…” Kaz added flipping through the comic Oliver had left discarded.  

Oliver swatted at his arm. “ OW. Super strength Oli!”

“ Well, I want you guys to trust us. We’re on the same team and if gaining your trust involves putting up a few boxes… well I think we can handle that.” He said with a sure nod. Kaz was quiet. Oliver swatted at him again.“ DUDE. SUPER. STRENGTH.” 

“ Kaz. Don't leave me hanging here!” Oliver hissed as he set the box down. With a groan, Kaz began his reprisal:

“ Do I have to?” 

“ No. KAZ. I’ll do all the work while you sit there and look pretty.” 

“Pretty sure that’s what I’m best at. But alright, fine. I’ll move the box.”

Using as little strength as possible Kaz used his foot to shift a small box a few inches before settling back down to read the comic.  “ Done.”

“ Kaz!” Oliver began. “ Chill Oli, I'm a professional.” 

The Davenports and Dooley stood there for a second before Leo clasped his hands again. “ Good enough for us! Come on. Dougy. Adam. Let's go.” He grabbed his uncle and brother with his bionic limb and drug them out.

“ Alright! Alright!” Douglas fussed. “ You two just put those boxes in my room, I'll deal with them later. Do NOT look in them, especially the ones that say Evil on ‘em.”

“He's not talking to me,” Kaz assured his buddy

“I'm only talking to you, Kaz.” Douglas reaffirmed from the hall outside the apartment.

As soon as Douglas, Adam, and Leo had rushed out, leaving the penthouse in a flurry of excitement for the car show, Kaz took a moment to sit back, stretch, and lazily inspect the room. His eyes landed back on the box that Douglas had left behind, and the familiar mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

He zipped over to the box as fast as he could. The label Evil Items to deal with/ Figure out later practically screamed "Look in me!" in Kaz’s mind.

Oliver, still awkwardly hovering near the box, raised an eyebrow and shot a wary glance at Kaz. “Kaz, do you ever listen to anyone?”

Kaz’s face brightened, as he peered at Oliver. “ Come on Oli-pop, Dougie told me not to look. Nothing about riffling through them. So you know what that means.”

“Uh…” Oliver hesitated. “It means you’re gonna “riffle” through it anyway and probably make a mess?”

“Bingo!” Kaz grinned wide and started sifting through the box.

Oliver sighed. “Kaz, you're like a walking disaster, man. I swear.” He watched, making no real effort to stop his friend with his arms crossed, as Kaz dug deeper into the box, tossing aside old, dusty items like he was shopping for treasure.

To be frank he was curious too. The Davenports had told little about Douglas’ past before rejoining his family. And maybe this box would hold some juicy secrets.

Kaz dug in deep pushing past through innators and doomsday devices before pulling out a black bag marked with a large, red "DESTROY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE" tag. His eyes sparkled. “Oooh, what’s this? If it says ‘destroy,’ it’s gotta be good!”

Oliver immediately raised his voice. “Kaz, don’t—”

Just as he spoke, the door to the penthouse swung open, and in strode Chase and Donald. Donald was talking to his wife Tasha, assuring her that Leo was with Douglas and that he and Chase had safely arrived.

Chase’s eyes immediately landed on Kaz, and his face scrunched in typical exasperation as he fumbled with his satchel.  

“Kaz!” he shouted, beeling toward him. “ I know that look on your face! Whatever that is you shouldn't be touching it!”

Kaz grinned and shrugged. “Yeah, but like, if it says destroy on it and I find that interesting, that’s like… an invitation, right? Like, maybe I’m doing the owner a favor!”

Chase’s expression darkened and he lunged for the bag. “No, Kaz! That’s literally the opposite of a favor!”

Kaz, now holding the black bag aloft like a prized find, gave it a little shake. “C’mon, Chaser, what’s the worst that could happen~”

“A lot, if you're involved, Super klutz!” Chase fussed.

“Puulease~” Kaz gaufed. “ I can be-”

As if on cue, the bag slipped from Kaz’s hands as they tussled over it, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. Both boys froze for a moment, looking down at the bag.

Then, with a horrifying crack, the object inside shattered into a million glass-like pieces. Which then slid out of the shredded bag.

“Great Job Kazemerias!” Chase proclaimed sarcasm oozing from his voice as he lunged down to pick them up, but the jagged shards glinted dangerously.

“Chase, careful!” Oliver yelled, taking a step forward, but Chase ignored him.

“Get back!” he barked, swatting at Kaz and Oliver who were trying to help, but clearly making things worse in Chase’s mind. 

Donald, who had finished his call with Tasha from the doorway, now stepped forward. His face twisted in mild frustration, but the calm, authoritative edge to his voice cut through the tension. “ That looks like one of Doug's boxes. He's got some really dangerous stuff in storage... I can't imagine he’d let you look-” he stopped himself before continuing. “ No wait he would do that. Well- Oliver I wouldn't expect you to go through someone's private belongings like that. ” 

Oliver muttered a nervous, “Sorry, Mr. Davenport.” and Kaz gasped in annoyance. 

“ The emphasis on the you is really telling Mr. Davenport.”

Chase let out his own indignant huff. “ You made this mess Kaz so I think it’s a well-deserved discrepancy.” 

The glass pieces were still scattered across the floor, glimmering menacingly. Chase let out a sharp hiss of pain and clutched his palm. Blood began to seep from a slit on his hand, from where he’d cut himself while trying to handle the shards. His eyes flashed with frustration and… something else,  as he pressed the wound against his side, not looking at anyone else as he pulled out a pen-like machine from his satchel. Staring at it for a second before shaking his head as if he had escaped a trance, and began fiddling with the device.

“Chase!” Donald’s voice softened, the concern obvious. He quickly strode over, knelt beside him, and examined the cut. “Let me get you a bandage, kid. I've been working on these quick healing strips. This cut is a bit deep but it should help…” He strode off to get the bandages

Kaz scratched his head. “I didn’t mean to break it. Honest. I thought it’d be like… a million dollars or something. Ya know rich people leave stacks of those in random places…”

Oliver awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor. “Yeah, I—I didn’t exactly stop him. So... I’m sorry too. We should’ve just put the boxes in Doug’s room like he asked.”

Chase gave a half-hearted glare, wincing as he flexed his palm to examine the cut “ Whatever. I should've been more careful cleaning this mess. God knows you probably would've sliced your finger clean off. ”

Kaz’s face twisted in mock offense. “ Maybe, Chaser…”

“Mm-hmm,” Donald muttered, coming back up with the bandage. He leaned down, applying a glowing blue strip to Chase's palm. It shrunk to the exact parameters of the cut and faded to match his son's skin tone.

“How many trail runs did you test this thing with, Mr. Davenport?” Chase asked, running a finger over it. “ Loads, I've been toying with these for decades and they've been doing amazing in practice these past two years. What I can’t figure out is how to manufacture them at a less expensive cost so they can be sold to distributors and consumers for less” Donald stood up and dusted his hands off. “ These strips can help a lot of people… they’ll pull out bacteria and all kinds of icky stuff out of wounds.”

“And ,Next time Kaz, leave the dangerous stuff alone. That includes whatever that was.” He gestured at the broken pieces, which were nowhere to be seen anymore.

“I, uh... got rid of the pieces with my mini-atomizer,” Chase added sheepishly holding up the pen-like contraption, finally glancing up. “It’s... gone now. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Kaz eyed the pen, already planning things. “Well, that’s one way to make it disappear, I guess.”

“I swear, you two...” Donald sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just... just go sit down, okay? All three of you and Chase don't mess around too much with the healing strip. Whatever you do, don't get it wet. I haven't figured out water resistance for this particular model yet.” He cast a pointed glance at Kaz and Oliver before leaving them all to sulk quietly.

Kaz and Oliver, both apologized again to Chase, sat down, the atmosphere hanging with a mixture of guilt and awkwardness. Chase went to the Kitchen planning to cook up a five-star meal probably.

Kaz stretched out on the couch, looking unbothered again despite everything. “That was kind of fun, though.”

Oliver shot him a warning look but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to the spot where the mysterious black glass had vanished and thought about the mini-atomizer and how he could get his hands on it.

It's def not finished I didn't even write the super slasher-y parts yet. (No ones gonna die) Feel free to critique lowkey

[sunsetsover]

I don't think people say GMMTV is sabotaging FK; the correct word would be neglecting. GMMTV neglects FK, and it is extremely obvious if you pay attention.

idk what exactly prompted this ask bc i made that post like a week ago and from what i can tell it hasn't really got any notes for the past few days and i haven't even been online so maybe this is just something that had been bothering you? idk but. and i don't mean to be rude when i say this! but i must say i don't like the tone of this. i'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was accidental, but jsyk this came off as very passive aggressive, like im somehow an idiot for not seeing it. and i will tell you that i have definitely seen people accusing gmmtv of sabotaging fkt and thk, which as i said is silly, but yes some do say that! i've seen it with my own two eyes lmao

like literally today i saw someone on twitter saying exactly this bc the gmmtv twt account posted upcoming events for the next week. now mind you! first is LITERALLY on holiday with his family rn, so how (and more importantly why) do they expect him to have events next week? well when someone mentioned that in the replies, their response was just 'well clearly you don't see it the way i do' which ?? what way is that ?? that he's on holiday?? that he can't be in two places at once??? and other people in the replies were like 'well why can't khaotung have solo events!' and it's like ?? idk maybe bc he's at home gaming, hanging out with his sister and playing his instruments ?? maybe it's bc the two of them are CLEARLY on a break and just bc khaotung is still at home doesn't mean he's not RESTING??

and yes i'm mad about that kind of stuff! it comes off as so selfish and spoilt!! and not to make everything about bts but bts have this exact same issue w some fans to the point where armys literally came up w a name for to refer to these kind of fans: mantis (manager+anti). an explanation of what that means from reddit (bc it's better than i could ever explain it): 'Mantis are antis who essentially hide behind “stanning” so much that they themselves feel like they know the group, and their career, better than the group does. These are the fans constantly trying to "protect" them, beyond normal levels. The type to think they are constantly mistreated/tortured by the company and don't get to make any decisions of their own. Also tend to call out other fans "for not being real fans" if they don't join in on the concern.' like literally i read some of stuff some (emphasis on SOME) fkt fans say and it literally is like. i have played these games before!

and listen i'm not gonna pretend i know much of anything abt that company. i'm new here as it is and i really don't pay attention to any other actors or shows or whatever to compare it to so im deffo not the authority in this regard!

but all that said i 1000% get the impression that there are some fans that kinda... infantilise fkt when it comes to their work. like they have no choice or agency and gmmtv are keeping them locked in a basement somewhere. and i do believe that the majority of them mean well (altho i do think a lot of them want/expect way too much from fkt but i'll get to that), but it's almost as if they forget they're grown men who are more than capable of advocating for themselves. i mean fucking hell, was it not them aggressively advocating for themselves for years that got them put on a show together in the first place? first and khaotung are clearly not people who have difficulty going after what they want, esp when together. i've heard that fkt are notoriously picky about which scripts they accept, which doesn't sound to me like people who are really being neglected by their company. neglected actors don't get the luxury of being picky about jobs. neglected actors are lucky to get any jobs.

(and this goes for events and stuff too, which is a common gripe i've seen. in my opinion - and this is just mine! - people who take their acting as seriously as first and khaotung may not want to take loads of events where they're essentially glorified salesmen. and i mean that with no shade bc make that bag always, but as i see it that's all those events are - extra money in their pockets. i can't see how they would do anything for their career really. and doesn't it just make sense that if they're picky abt their jobs that would also extend into events and stuff too? like? i mean ppl are free to disagree w me on this bc this is just my opinion but yknow. i just think ppl make this into a bigger thing than it is)

and funnily enough i also saw a thread on twt the other day abt how fkt are much bigger internationally than they are in thailand. the shows they've opted to do (again, opted, bc they have a choice) are shows that allegedly don't appeal to a domestic market like most other gmmtv shows do. and so, no matter how you or i might feel abt it, from a business pov it makes sense that they might not be getting the opportunities some other actors might be getting if there simply just isn't demand for it domestically. which sucks, but if that's how it is, that's how it is.

and don't get me wrong i completely get viciously advocating for your faves ok? im an army. for half of bts' career fans were all they had. but sometimes that advocacy becomes a) kinda ridiculously demanding given the context and b) almost condescending. or very condescending sometimes. this goes for bts and fkt both. and while it's all well and good wanting things for them, all i'm saying is let's not forget that they are grown men who are not new to this business. not to mention the fact they have a known track record of advocating for themselves, or the fact that they enough scripts coming their way to be able to be picky, or the fact that already have a new show lined up. first has two even! and a show currently airing! and a cameo that just aired like last week! and another one we know is coming! like my god these are not men who are hurting for work rn.

and in my humble opinion, coming to learn about this industry relatively recently, i think ppl expect too much from these actors overall. i think a lot of them - fkt included - work a hell of a fucking lot actually. i think demanding much more is just selfishness. if im honest. like yes it's nice to see them doing events and stuff. but it's not necessary. and i'll be honest! would i like more interviews and magazines and things like that? sure! but like i said if the demand isn't there, neither will the offers be. that's just the reality of what it is! i'm not going to be sending trucks about it lmfao

the bottom line is this: i'm not saying gmmtv do or don't neglect them. i don't have enough information to have a strong enough opinion one way or the other. but from the outside looking in they seem to be doing just fine. they've got work. they've seemingly got money. and like i said, they're grown men. this is their careers. if they have issues with one thing or another, i trust that they will address those issues as they see fit between themselves and their company. until the day that first and/or khaotung themselves express unhappiness or discontentment, i will take them at face value and believe that they're happy w the way things are. bc literally who tf am i to tell them they should be doing anything different?

[sugary-daydreams3]

Grief trapped in blue sunglass lens [Gojo's funeral fanfiction]

Summary: Now that the students and Jujutsu associates healed their physical wounds, they have no choice but to face the elephant in the room. Satoru Gojo is gone and everyone deals with the void in their own way before the funeral begins.

Word count: 6.4k

Series: Lost chapters I wish Gege wrote about

A/N: Made this because me and many other people didn't get to see a Gojo funeral nor the character's feelings on him being gone. This is one of my biggest gripes with the ending of JJK. I had no problems with Gojo dying but I feel that how he was handled physically post Yujo fight left much to be desired.

So I decided to write about (mostly) everyone's coping with Gojo's death and a funeral service for him. Forgive me if the funeral may seem culturally inaccurate. Hopefully, no characters come across as too OOC, but some of these characters are hard to get right when they don't have much room to shine their personality in canon.

Glossy nails trail the white engraved letters and numbers above the matte black. She forgot to give back his credit card.  The last time she used it was Hallo-- 

Hall-- 

October 31st. 

October 31st. 

October. 

That fucking month with that fucking day. Like an alarm that keeps ringing and a clock that won’t move forward fused together. 

The month of horror, trick or treating, and bloody exploding eyeballs. The month were kids face real horror, not those stupid dumb skeletons, werewolves, and vampires. The kind of horror that will make someone either sample death or have it as their final meal. 

31st should have ended with her rocking the clothes she picked up eight hours before that fight. Gojo should have been eating endless candy and telling them “Job well done!” in that stupid annoying comforting voice of his. Not boxed away and expecting his students to come out on top in the chilly wild. 

She didn’t even see him die. She didn’t get to say her final words to him that just would have amounted to... 

“If you die your card is mine forever. So die, okay?” 

She couldn’t even say her fucked up, dark, cruel joke that was a mask of “Please don’t fucking die”. 

Why couldn’t I move? 

Why wasn’t I awake? 

Why wasn’t I present? 

Who wants to hear recollections of what happened between October 31st and December 24th? She wanted to help out with the Culling Games. She wanted to see the great battle of Sukuna vs. Gojo. She wanted to finally meet this Yuta kid and see everyone’s reaction to him coming back. She wanted to save Megumi when Yuji couldn’t. Picking up the pieces of Yuji’s mistakes. Being that deciding factor that could have prevented so much bullshit. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why wasn’t I here? 

Her only eye stings, blinking two tears to fall on the muted black card. The heartache trails down to the 2754 of the four-part row of digits. Nobara quivers her lips as she tries to swallow down pills of regrets, exclusion, and despondency. 

Residing dust forces a couple of coughs out of Inumaki. He waves off the floating particles and goes for the next book off Gojo sensei’s shelve. He grabs the spine of the book and slowly pulls it out.  

He gave up being curious on the subject matter of these books once he cleared the first row. Just of bunch of thick, mind-numbing pieces on Jujutsu, Cursed Energy, or Autobiographies on retired sorcerers.  

Turning from the back cover, in red bold letters his purple eyes reads: Learning Sign Language for your students. Written by... sounds like a random Japanese woman with some fancy doctor degree. 

Narrow eyes widen as confusing experiences lingering in his memory begin to click and warp into sense.  

On the third day of his first year, he remembers cringing at Gojo’s attempt to speak random rice ball ingredients to him. That was his “way” of trying to connect with him. Offended, Inumaki wrote him off and ignored any potential conversation to have with him at that point. 

Around early June, he walked up to see Gojo silently greeting him with fluid movements of his hands and fingers. As fluent as someone who been signing JSL for several years. Was that the reason he stopped trying to conversate with him three weeks prior? 

Taken back, Inumaki slowly signed back, leading to having their first full conversation ever. It ended with Gojo patting him on the shoulder and Inumaki turning to watch his goofy sensei walk off in a cheerful mood.  

Inumaki caresses the book and notices the personal sticky notes poking out of many pages. He looks behind him to see Panda pre-occupied. Inumaki sets the book in his bag, setting it aside to read through later. He shakes his head and stares at the half empty shelve for a long moment before continuing his duty.  

Panda was busy distracting himself with Satoru’s doodads instead of effectively cleaning out his office. Throw in the fact that it was a journey to simply carry things that would have taken him a few seconds to put away had he been in his original big body. But the funeral starts in a few hours so he has to stop monkeying around soon.  

Panda frowned. There was barely any time to “monkey around” ever since Satoru died. It seems like when he died, he took the fun and security with him. Did most of his friends grow to be so powerful from the battle on Shinjuku? Sure, they’re practically monsters at this point.  

But for a long time, Satoru’s level of strength gave them breathing room to take off the sorcerer mask sometimes. Now that he’s gone, there was no room to be a kid anymore. His friends are teenagers cursed with adult responsibilities; the rest of their adolescence stripped away like a bloody band aid.  

He’s a panda so he doesn’t really understand that feeling. However, he sees it with the forced smiles he’s greeted one second with frowns pulling them down moments after. Desensitized responses they all show in public contrasted with the quiet weeping he hears going on late night campus walks. It will always give him emotional whiplash. 

Life after Satoru was a canvas board of still grey with overwhelming dark blue surrounding it.  

Panda opens a brown box to see a bunch of stuffing peeking out. Dropping down, he turns the box around to see in black marker: Spare stuffing for Panda. 

Panda releases a deep sigh. He feels his stitches ache all over. 

Loose blue strains spills over the wholesome photo of her and Gojo that day. A day where her biggest concern was not looking stupid in front of the cute, strong, funny teacher at the Tokyo campus of Jujutsu High. A day where her classmates bickered with coal still in their eyes. A day when Mai was cranky and alive. When Mechamaru... 

Miwa shuts her eyes as her tears soaks her eyelashes. Blurry eyes open to take in the photo that seem like centuries ago, when it was only since September. Gojo’s peace sign and shared chipper smiles fill the holes in Miwa’s heart for a moment. Her thumbs zoom in on Gojo and lingers over his tall figure dominating most of the selfie. 

A small smile forms behind the isolated blues. “Gojo...” 

Kusakabe groans, rubbing the back of his head whenever his mind wanders to that blue eyed trouble maker. There were days he enjoyed the consistent stillness without that loudmouth breaking it. Then there were others where the silence was drowning; his cheery, obnoxious voice completely void to lift up everyone’s spirits when needed. Today was one of those days. 

Twirling his toothpick, he remembers the countless times Gojo annoyed the hell out of him with his comments and pranks. There wasn't a day where he wouldn’t drag one of the Jujutsu faculty and staff in his shenanigans. So bad that one-time Gojo went too far and it ended with Kusakabe wishing he was dead. 

Be careful what you wish for, I guess. 

Kusakabe looks up at the passing clouds trailing through the blue. For such a day for Jujutsu High, the sky didn’t reflect the collective feeling. The man bats his eyes as the ambient nature lures him into a still mind. 

“Kusakabe!? Are we serious right now!?” One of the higher ups barked. 

Gojo shakes his head, “Is there ever a day you guys don’t bitch about--” 

“I agree that sending me would be a horrible idea.” Kusakabe interrupted. Gojo turns to see Kusakabe wearing a “Yes sir. No sir.” attitude. He knew he was lying.  

Kusakabe has been looking forward to a sorcerer mission like this ever since he met him. A mission where all you do is investigate and gather information, no risking your life, no fighting at all really. More like a trip out on Japan’s quiet grassy countryside with a side quest of being an undercover sorcerer representing Jujutsu High.  

Gojo steps forward. “Kusakabe is our best grade 1 sorcerer. He’s no fighter and a nice guy for the most part. He would be better to talk to lame country folk than I am...” 

The elders remain silent. Kusakabe can feel the tension rising. “Gojo, you don’t have to--” 

“I got too much other shit going on to do some boring mission in the countryside. If you send me instead of him then you guys are more senile than I thought.” 

“Gojo!” Kusakabe quickly turned to the many shoji screens hiding the higher up’s bodies. The fact that he had no idea how they were reacting put his worry in overdrive. 

One of the elders sighs, “We don’t feel like arguing with you on this. If you truly think Kusakabe of all people would fit this mission then so be it. But if he fails this, he will suffer the consequences. His mistakes are not on us.” 

“When is it ever on you?” Gojo bounced back. 

“Dismissed.” The other elder said. 

Once they left the room, Gojo wraps his arms around Kusakabe shoulders and bellowed out his carefree laugh. “Don’t forget to bring me back some gifts. You owe me afterall.” 

Kusakabe lowers his head away from the blue and moving white to face the cracked, washed solid grey.  

His heart didn’t ache for Gojo. Tears didn’t trail down for him either. But the crumbs of memories made him appreciate the little explosive highlights he gave his boring, uneventful life. Like those popping candies that felt like fireworks in your mouth.  

Yeah, Gojo was those popping rock candies. 

Hakari holds the stack of yen as the various fights go on the multiple T.V. screens. Licking his thumb, he counts through the overwhelming amounts of money from his lucky bets. Although he’s been hanging around Jujutsu High more as of recent, lately everything has been about Gojo, his death and preparing for his funeral. All of the mope and serious mumbo jumbo was getting to Hakari, so he retreated to his fight club. 

“When does it start?” Kirara asked, her pink french tips gently caressing his ashy blonde thick hair.  

Hakari shrugs, “Donno. Seems like everyone is too depressed to talk n’ shit.” 

Banding up the yen, Hakari montages the times Gojo left him feeling the fever he often seeks out of many.  

Training him so hard he puked the rest of that day. Pushing him to go after Kirara and teasing him about his crush. Giving him shitty relationship advice. That one time they did that silly pose where they flashed their teeth then flexed their muscles for the camera. Cheating Gojo out of thousands of yen over a wrong move during Blackjack. 

Hakari traces the numbers of the yen, smirking over the fun times that crazy man with the blindfold gave him. 

Two streaks of damp wet are noticed when the wind sway past Ijichi’s jawline. Another dam of woe threatens to burst until he quickly wipes his sore undereye. He doesn’t even know why he’s getting so emotional over someone who and still-- 

Not sill. Damnit brain, get with the program. 

Someone who used to bully him relentlessly ever since they were kids up until just a few weeks ago. To him, Gojo was nothing but... 

Why are you still here? Need me to punch you to get the message? 

You failed you’re driving test again? You can’t even do that? Go join a local circus at this point. 

Shoko is out of your league, man. You don’t even have the balls to talk to her. How can you expect her to like you. 

Ijichi, don’t piss me off.  

A guy like that doesn’t deserve his tears. Nope, not at all... 

The only person I trust to catch me if I fall is me and, um, Ijichi I think. 

Wanna go out for some hot cocoa? It’s freezing today. 

Well, well, well. You finally took Shoko out for dinner, huh? I guess the world is ending soon. So, how did it go? 

Look, Ijichi may be a wet doormat but he’ll get things done for us and the students. C’mon guys, give him more credit than that. 

Ijichi huffs a stuttered breath. Nope. Nope. No. No. No-- 

You’re the man I trust the most. That’s the only reason I need. 

Ijichi breaks down. A new coat of tears staining his dry skin. His wrung heart soaked again with a grief too complex to explain. 

Cigarette smoke brush past Shoko’s dry, dull brown hair. No tears had nor will shed for her childhood friend. She wasn’t a crier, even when she was little. When her father died a long time ago, not one tear dropped.  

Instead, there was heavy rocks that magically weighed in her chest. A weight too heavy for her slim body to carry. A weight she dismisses publicly but can’t ignore in private. So, in true Shoko fashion, she grabs a pack of ciggies and breaks her 11th vow to never smoke again. Looking out on the campus field, her eyes strain with stress and lack of sleep. Her heavy heart was to blame this time. 

“Can’t believe I’m being peer pressured right now.” Gojo says in a jokingly nervous tone. 

Shoko lifts up the cigarette, unlit and waiting. “I’m tired of being “The Smoker Chick” of our school. It’s always so lonely smoking by myself.” 

“Regardless if I smoke this or not, you’ll always be “The Smoker Chick”.” 

“Gojo please.”  

Gojo sighs and contemplates the nicotine stick itching to ruin someone’s lungs. He was far from being a goody too shoes but smoking wasn’t his thing. 

“You’ll look so cool doing it. It’ll just be between us.” Shoko persisted. 

Gojo rolled his eyes and snatched the cig from her. He placed it between his perfect, straight whites and waited a moment before turning to Shoko. Shoko stood in disbelief until Gojo snapped his fingers in front of her. 

“Well hurry up and light it!” Shoko quickly digs in her pocket and lights the white end. It takes a few seconds for the cigarette to burn before smoke waves out of the tip. Gojo inhales then blows out a line of smoke effortlessly. Shoko gasps, “How did you not cough?” 

“Duh! Look who you’re talking to.” 

“Oh...yeah. Right.”  

The juxtaposition of Gojo’s divine-like aura and angelic appearance partaking in the trashy, commoner act of smoking was a sight to behold. Almost like he gave a middle finger to his reputation as the strongest sorcerer and decided to be a normal dude for once. Shoko remembers judging Gojo’s bougie attitude during freshman year. She saw his snobbish nature a mile away before he even introduced himself to the class. One thing about Gojo though, he never failed to surprise her with his willingness to bring himself down from heaven. 

Shoko is dazed by Gojo puffing out a few quick smokes before she is presented a hit. 

“This shit tastes awful. How do you smoke these every thirty minutes?” Gojo barfed his tongue out. 

Shoko giggles and breathes in the loud smoke that always hugs her brain. “Helps me stay numb to the bad stuff in the world.” 

Although that was Gojo’s first and last time ever smoking, their budding friendship springs tenfold. 

Shoko was back at that same spot they wasted their youth a decade and so ago. Only there was no arrogant, annoying but funny classmate to secretly cast her judgement on anymore. What only remains is a cigarette and a woman who had an uneventful life outside of being a sidekick to Gojo’s adventures. 

She takes another hit, her tongue recoils at the cigarette taste. Now she gets what he meant back then. 

The drizzling rain show no signs of giving nature a break from the drab, cold atmosphere. Megumi lays against his cushioned but firm mattress, his brain refusing to move his body. Tears quietly drip down to damp the grey sheets, adding to the collection of wet dots on his bed. The air condition overpowered the pitter-patter behind the window. The dull sound clearing his head to reflect his whirlwind called life these past couple months. 

Countless memories punched his mind. There was so many foggy, forgettable memories of Gojo growing up. His attempt to give them meaning and higher resolution gave him a slight headache. 

First his sister then-- 

Gojo.  

He saw it while being a few feet away; Gojo’s blood forming small puddles, leaving his body with his life tagging along. The tired whisper of “My bad, Megumi.” a few moments before his eyes went still. He couldn’t even respond due to that curse going on about some dumb speech after almost getting both of them killed. 

Sukuna.  

Heat overwhelmed his body as soon as the name rung. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Red and blue hatred evolves into purple flames the longer it sits, burns, and melds. Never has he felt so much rage off a name alone. 

Blood on his hands without the purpose and maliciousness to back it up. Sukuna was gone but the damage will never fade away. It’s here to overstay it’s welcome and haunt him forever.  

“Good riddance.” Maki lets the intrusive thoughts travel to whispers.  

Alone in the tidy bathroom, she struggles to create grief over someone that just annoyed her most of the time. The only one she believes deserved her grief was her sister, Mai. 

Don’t get her wrong, she respected the hell out of Gojo’s strength. But the only solid memories she has of him is sending her favorite junky snacks whenever it was her time of the month and excused her from class that week.  

Other than that, he was like a gnat that wouldn’t get out of your face. Loud for no reason. Failed to read the room. Teased her about Yuta, even during the time he went to Africa. Pestering her about dumb school shit. Yeah, that’s the Gojo she knows. Not this revisionist history almost everyone on campus is crafting for him now that the bastard is gone gone.  

Yuta and Gojo had a closer relationship than others students, which unfortunately, makes him stricken with the depressing “Gojo is gone” epidemic too. But compared to him and the Jujutsu High students and staff, he actually has good reason to grieve.  

It’s just too overwhelming to deal with for more than an hour. She had to get a breather from seeing someone she cares about so defeated emotionally. She seen Yuta cry before but not to this extent, not this long either. 

Another round of sobs scolds her indifference to Gojo as they breakthrough the thick bathroom door. Maki looks down and moves her toes against the maroon bathroom rug to build back her patience and tolerance. Letting out a short breath, she pushes herself off the sink and keeps her stoic disposition.  

A blank, emotionally collected expression that means well beneath the surface.  

Yuta cries drag out as he lays on the floor. Maki shifts when she places a palm against his back, not sure how to handle his anguish and piercing sobs. 

Thankfully, Yuta’s dorm was positioned to be isolated at the end of the hall. The other male student's dorms are spaced out from each other so he didn’t have any direct neighbors. But still, his mourning was loud enough to hear muffles across his front door. 

“Yuta.” Maki said.  

She didn’t know what to say exactly. She, like many other Zenins, weren’t the best when it came to nurturing. Even though she feels nothing about Gojo dying, she feels everything seeing her best friend so ...devastated. 

Yuta looks up at her for a long moment, tears trailing by the second, lips quivering, throat tight with words he can no longer say to his sensei. He hugs her waist and cries into her chest.  

“I used him, Maki. He’s gone and the first thing I did was use him. It should have been--” 

“Stop. Don’t finish that. It shouldn’t have been anyone else instead. He did what he had to do for us to win.” Maki comforted. Yuta shakes his head, unable to accept logical reasoning. 

“I-I-I...” He sucks in his breath after every attempt to speak. "I didn’t even get to say--”  

Yuta hurls, his mouth seconds away from bursting open. Maki quickly goes for the bucket and puts it under his head. He pukes for the third time today, projecting out yesterday's lunch and dinner that he ate too little of. Maki sighs and pats his back to get him to vomit it all out. Ever since he returned back to his original body, Yuta has been puking whenever he thinks about the most fucked-up stunt he ever pulled. 

Once Yuta was done, he sobs tamed down to a string of lingering cries. He didn’t bother to change his shirt or wipe the corners of his mouth. Maki grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the small bits of vomit around his mouth. She heads back into the bathroom to clean out the half-filled blue bucket yet again. 

Looking up, he sees a framed picture of him and Gojo during his time in Africa. Gojo had him in a headlock whilst making him laugh about something he hates that he can’t remember. Yuta heart swells, the picture clearly being taken off guard by Miguel. Another wave of sorrow drowns him the longer he stares at Gojo in his white dress shirt, sunglasses, alive and well... 

Yuta face scrunches, a fresh sting of tears falling down. He lays down on the cold floor, allowing the grief to lure him to sleep. 

Yuji rubs over his face, a stubborn migraine pinching his thoughts. Snot leaking to tease the tip of his tongue. Eyes in desperate need of a bottle of eyedrops to make up for the tiny streams it released the past few hours. His mind was active but his body was lazy, lying on his bed through the whole morning. But he had to get this eulogy done, if nothing else. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled...whether you were a man, woman, or child. He’d... He’d... He-- dammit!” 

He turns on his stomach and picks up the paper again. He reads over the line again, then two more times to write it on his memory. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.”  

Again. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Yuji groans. 

“Don’t say hell, that might not fly well.” He scolded himself. 

Yuji sets the paper on his nightstand so his brain can have a break. He read over his eulogy so many times that his mind is starting to slip with the constructed presentation he went over since last night. It doesn’t help that throughout this practicing, he’s been crying whenever he gets lost in thought about Gojo-sensei. Maybe he needs to cool down a bit. 

On the edge of his window sits one of Gojo’s many blindfolds. Yuji reaches over with minimal effort and caress the fabric. Black cotton comforts his fingertips while Yuji gives this simple thing a soft gaze. The very first thing he noticed about that strange looking man on that life changing night. 

Scenes of warm and fun premiere from his memory bank, each starring Gojo sensei. Smiles to laughter with jokes, ease, and good food in between. 

Sensei steals a fry from Nobara’s-- 

Sliced open. Blood dripping down white baggy pants and black combat slippers. Torso on the ground. Harsh ice blue still yet soft. Live and unskippable. Live with no rewinds. Sukuna’s joy celebrated in the wrong body. No more rough ruffles on the head. No more boring lessons elevated by high-energy humor and multiple tangents of his glory days. 

Yuji winces and attempts to rub out the migraine and horrible memories intruding the good. There is a knock on the door. “You’re not naked are you?” Nobara voice is heard from behind the door. 

Yuji shakes his head as if Nobara could see. “No.”  

Nobara walks in, remnants of rain dripping from her raincoat. She had a blank face, her usual energy turned down a few notches. “Hey.” 

Yuji barely lifts up a wave, still smoothing out his nerves. “Hi.”  

“So everyone is either busy or depressed so you’re my last hope around here.” Nobara confessed. Yuji lifted up the eulogy, “Can’t. Too busy.” 

Nobara sucks her teeth then observes Yuji’s face. “You look like you’re more in the too depressed camp than the too busy one.” 

“Yeah, that too.” 

Nobara walks over and grabs the eulogy. Yuji lays back down, “Since you’re here, I need to clarify one last thing for my speech. Did sensei buy you those tampon things or those purple diapers?” 

Nobara stops reading and shoots him a look. “Why are you broadcasting my period for the whole Jujutsu High to hear?” 

“It’s supposed to be one of the many things Gojo did for us as students. I couldn’t think of anything else, cut me some slack.” 

Nobara sighs, “He used to get me pain meds and a bunch of tampons whenever my cramps would go into overdrive. And it’s called pads, not purple diapers.” 

Yuji nodded and formed a curve of a smile. “Thanks, Kugisaki.” 

“I could go and hang out with some girls I know from other schools but it looks like the rain is getting worse. What time is the funeral anyway?” 

“It’s in four hours, around two I think.” 

Nobara nodded, “Guess I’ll just go back to my dorm and sulk like everyone else. See you later.” She gets off to leave. “Oh, save me a seat too.” 

Yuji nodded with a frown, not having enough optimism left to give fake smiles. “Sure, see you.” 

Alone again, Yuji picks up the worn white sheet with creases and wrinkles. Headache tamed, he decides to recite again. You can never be too polished. 

“Gojo-sensei was a...” 

Todo sheds single strings of tears while many games of ping pong against Gojo replays in his mind. Besides Mei Mei, Gojo was his common partner in his favorite sport. Now that he’s gone, he had no one to slam “cheating” allegations to in an intense game during the humid, long summer afternoons. 

Ui Ui sniffles as he looks down, avoiding the blunt reality of the casket up ahead. He wasn’t the biggest acquaintance of Gojo but a few moments of the past built a friendly nature between them. His briberies of fried bananas to get direct access to Mei Mei. Being a one-man audience (he slept through his blindfold) for spoken word poetry he wrote about his sister when no one else bothered to hear. Gojo never failed to match his childish energy when other adults or big kids were “too busy” to entertain him. The boy’s quiet sniffles prompted a head rub from his older sibling. 

The pointy ends of Mei Mei’s red nails pierce through her left palm. Her right palm comforts the juvenile emotions of her baby brother. Her face remains calm but blue fire bursts in her heart.  

1.5 Million yen. All that rich fuck had to do is pay me 1.5 million yen back and what does he do? Fuck around and die. Hmph! He probably died to cheap his way out of his debt. Damn you Satoru Gojo. Damn him. 

Ino stood with his ski-mask firm against his chest, looking forward with respect. Gojo was more like an older brother than a co-worker. Despite the pain he feels, he refuses to look away from the body. 

Momo stands next to Miwa, people watching the many guests standing in line to pay their personal respects to the body. As soon as she came, she made sure to grab the nearest seat and keep her head down. Dead bodies always freaked her out. People always assumed she be fine with that kind of stuff since she gives “witchy” vibes but no way. It was the way the body just sat there, all sense of spark or fire vanished. Also, that silly fear that a dead body will raise and walk towards her. God, she hopes they close the casket soon.  

Kirara hugs on to Hakari’s arm as she quietly weeps to herself. Hakari wasn’t the “comforting” type but all she needs from him was his arm and shoulder for support. During the time it was her vs. the conservative Jujutsu World when she decided to transition, Gojo was one of the few who had her back. She has his support from the moment she began dressing feminine all the way to the moment she began going by Kirara. It wasn’t a problem for Gojo to call her by her true name right away since he thought her dead name was forgettable as hell. 

Sure, Gojo wasn’t perfect and had his moments where his views were a bit dated, but he was willing to own up to his mistakes and learn for the better. She’ll never forget the stereotypical girly shit he would buy her because he didn’t know her personal taste that well, not that she even knew at the time either. Corny gifts and unconditional support are why her mascara and eyeliner were messy all around her under eye.  

Most attendees dressed in purple while others sulked in black. Ages from teen to end of the road mingled together within a pot of grief, visible respect, and reservation. Some felt internal relief that the bastard was gone. Some cried harder than they would if their actual father died.  

Gojo lied still in a polished classic black casket, wearing a blank emotion that he would hate everyone to see. His cut, pieced back by Shoko, was barely noticeable. If you weren’t given the details of his death, you’d probably would question how he died. The line to view his body was beginning to reach its end, preparing everyone to mentally checkout for an hour and a half. 

A collected Megumi stared at Gojo in a distracted haze. It was stupid, but he felt like Gojo was playing some sick prank and he’s going to pop out and yell some stupid shit any second now. The longer he stares at the body’s lack of movement, the confirmation rings hollow in his mind. Thankfully Nobara and Yuji kept to themselves, because he’s not in the mood to make idle small talk to take their mind off the obvious.  

Yuta’s sorrow could be heard faintly throughout the large quiet space but not loud enough to distract from the ceremony. His tears took all of the moisture from his face, leaving him paler than usual. Messy black hair clashed with his neat tux that took forever to fit him in. It was a miracle for Maki to get him in that, let alone bring him here. 

 It was a tough sight to see as Yuta was now regarded as the strongest sorcerer of the upcoming generation. Yuta usually had a friendly, shy demeanor around his peers while being focused and stoic during battle. It was rare to see such a rock morph into glass, his pieces laid for the whole institution to see.  

Yuta could care less, the repercussions of his public image being in an awkward, pitiful state wasn’t even a thought in the thick of his pain. He could repair that with time and his rapid growing reputation. This is the last time he’ll ever see Gojo-sensei and his heart can’t take it. 

Throughout most of the service, Yuji idly stares at Gojo-sensei’s memorial card. A portrait of him wearing a bright, goofy smile placed above the December 7th, 1989 - December 25th, 2018 felt like visual whiplash. Yet, he kept staring at it until a microphoned call of his name lifts his head up. 

“Itadori-kun, are you still going to read your eulogy for us today?” Ijichi directs, slightly confused of Yuji’s zoned out state. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just...” Yuji grabs the piece of paper from Nobara’s lap and scoots through the aisle. He walks up to the podium, feeling stares and invisible opinions hover over his back. He gently grabs the mic from Ijichi and sets his eulogy across his face.  

Looking up, the stares feel more intense as the rows and rows of straight-faces set social anxiety in his stomach. It was weird, he usually had no problem speaking publicly to an audience, he was a social butterfly after all. Funerals love throwing everyone’s vibe off, even a generally confident one like his, he assumes. 

“Um, hi guys—hi everyone.” 

He quickly goes over the first line to trigger his trained memory to make the speech sound fluent and genuine. He prays to whoever is listening to not let his mind go blank at a time like this. 

“Gojo sensei was a goofball.”  

The silence screams for a moment as the opening line registers in everyone’s minds. A few chuckle, most keep their solemn unimpressed looks, while others are not even on this planet. Yuji clears his throat. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled you whether you were a man, woman, or child. Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you, only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Many students laughed at the last comment. Yuji looks up and chuckles along, a confidence block stacked. 

“He wasn’t a teacher who sugar-coated things, his words were more salt-coated. It stings from being so blunt, but it was needed in order for you to have more flavor.” Yuji takes a quick scan and sees that more people are in tuned with his words. Second block stacked. 

“Growing up, I only had my grandfather for family. So while I kinda knew what it was like to have a dad, I spent a good portion of my life taking care of him during his last years so I forgot what it felt like. Gojo reminded me of that feeling.” 

“He gave life advice outside of teaching. He would take us out for ice cream after missions. One time, he bought those weird tampon things and sea salt caramel ice cream for Nobara during her...y’know.” Nobara gives him a look after he shoots a nervous chuckle her way. 

“He would walk Megumi’s dogs on Saturday mornings. He’d crack a joke in sign that only Inumaki-senpai would understand. He was tough on me, Hakari-senpai, and Okkotsu-senpai during training because he wanted us to take advantage of the potential we couldn’t see. He was...” 

Yuji looks up to see Yuta staring at him with teary but curious eyes, desperate to know what he’s about to lay on the crowd next. Yuji directs a small, sympathetic smile at him then looks down. 

“He was our constant entertainment during the long, boring hours of our jobs. He unlocked the laughter and ease that we often hid to condition ourselves so we could endure the next mission. He made hell feel like home. He was our Gojo-sensei when the world just saw him as Gojo Satoru.” 

Tears don’t hold back on some folks faces. What they expected to be a generic but appropriate eulogy turned out to be an off-beat, heartfelt, kinda corny eulogy written by a dude who loved his teacher. A rare case of a dude who isn’t clever with words evoking more emotions out of a crowd more than any writer ever could. 

“I’m sure some of you struggle to move forward with this loss. Some of you may simply be here to pay respects and move on with their lives preferably without sensei. Or you may be like me, someone just going through the motions and may not know what to do, say, think, or feel. But Gojo-sensei is gone and all we can do is reflect on the echos of his existence.” 

Yuji lets out a deep breath, satisfied to have gotten through his eulogy, the weight off his shoulders. His eyes flickers to see many nodding at his last statement. He scans through his last sentence and nods to himself to bring it home. 

“Thank you, Gojo-sensei, for being the goofball with the blindfold and thank you all for listening.” Everyone except the elders clapped for Yuji, moved by his honest words and pure approach. Yuji didn’t register the applause nor Ijichi’s transition to the next segment since his heart was pounding against his left chest. 

There was another wrinkle added to the eulogy when he goes to sits back down. He stares at his knees to contemplate his social triumph. Nobara looks at him and pats his upper back while Megumi simply gives him a blank look, jailing his “Good job.”. Yuji breathes deep through his nose and gives himself little nods, back in his own world to process those past few minutes. 

The rest of the service goes smoothly, time moving quicker due to Yuji black flashing through the seemingly unbreakable ice. After the main service, many students and staff agreed to meet at the school yard where the funeral bonfire repast will be held. 

While Gojo was being cremated, the bonfire turned out to be a lively celebration of life after so much grief wrung at the service. Snow trinkled down amongst the light conversations, coping dark humor, taste bud-rising food and drinks, and tear stains. Taking a break entertaining his peers, Yuji looked up to admire the floating ice. His irises went up and down, low right and high left, no different from when he saw snow as a kid. Laughter and smiles were behind Yuji, but all he can feel was the snow nurturing the child he locked away. 

Ashes leave out of the hands of many, gliding above the flowers revived by spring. Cherry blossom petals dance with Gojo in the gentle wind. The early days of April was always Gojo’s favorite time of the year, it was only fitting that his departure was during its peak.  

The new year of Jujutsu High begins without the blindfolded goofball to kick it off with overwhelming enthusiasm and junior high-level jokes. Second years, third years, and even the students that graduated are moving forward after months of mental detours. Now, there was a fresh set of first years oblivious to the horrors and traumas that awaits them. It’s a pity they won’t have that funny man in the sunglasses to help them endure their next twelve months of hell.  

[transsongtaewon]

The cork popped to loud cheers, sending foam and champagne flying into the air. Yoojin backed away, laughing, barely even annoyed by how the drops landing on Hyunjae's hair only made him look more beautiful. Like gems sparkling in the sun.

"Hand me your glass, dear husband."

Yoojin was pulled out of his revery. Husband. It would take him some time yet to get used to this title.

"Do you need help even with something as simple as this?", he griped but came closer, holding out his glass. Hyunjae carefully poured the rosé champagne, making sure not to spill a single drop more.

Even their champagne was pink. Matching the rest of the wedding, from their suits, to the decorations, and even the flower petals thrown by his children were all various shades of pink, ranging from a pale pastel to eye-searingly bright.

"As my beloved partner, isn't it your job to assist me in everything, as I shall assist you?" Hyunjae handed the bottle over to Yoojin, who started filling a second glass.

"I suppose I have no other choice, then."

He handed the glass to Hyunjae and turned to look at their guests. Everyone he loved was gathered here, smiling back at him (some more reluctant than others). An arm slid around his waist, Hyunjae's presence as reassuring as always.

"Thank you all, our dear guests, for coming to this wedding." Yoojin raised his glass. "To many happy years!"

He heard the toast echoed from all directions and took a sip of his champagne. Sweet and fruity, making him want to lick his lips.

Before he could get too absorbed in his drink, Hyunjae's face leaned closer. "To many happy years, dear husband."

The kiss tasted even sweeter than the champagne.

Written for Sctir Pride Week Day 1: Pink/Alcohol

[more-sonorous]

It seems the people want my rant, since 100% of you answered yes to the poll— so here goes, and please don’t flame me too bad! I know uksies is beloved but after talking to @jackmkelly I gotta share my opinion

here goes

I really do not like Davey’s costume in uksies. I don’t despise all of it- I like the shape of his sleeves, the proper cut of his pants and the height of his collar, but I especially hate his color palette. Actually I sort of despise his color palette, or lack of one. Uksies colors Jack, Katherine, and Crutchie pretty well, and I’m only saying that because they manage to stand out splendidly against the mass of miserable, bland gray and black and white. In my opinion, they fucked Davey’s color palette up so incredibly hard— like WHY is Davey gray and brown like a background newsie? Why doesn’t he have any color at all?

(Take a moment to admire Ryan’s beauty and perfect Davey portrayal before rejoining me on my soapbox. Does this not look positively gray? It’s so *bland*.)

Okay so either I’m colorblind, or this is just the most boring, nondescript pallete known to man. why, even in act 2, is he still blending in with the background? You’d be hard pressed to spot bro in a group of newsies, which doesn’t make any sense because he’s co-leading a strike at this point.

in livesies (and also in 92sies), we see Davey’s personality journey in his costume. In livesies he adopts Jack’s signature blue, rolls his sleeves up and unbuttons his waistcoat to show that he’s truly grown into his position as leader. In 92sies, Davey’s silhouette also changes to mimic the casualty of Jack’s costume. The color symbolism in the film and in 92sies is really important to me and I think it shows off Dave’s journey as a character very well.

In uksies he just remains so boring and it makes me so angry because it’s literally blatant Davey erasure imho. Why doesn’t he get a smidge of Jack’s red? Or literally any other color? Just a necktie or some suspenders would suffice. Some sort of visible change. Why can’t he roll up his sleeves or unbutton his collar? I’ve seen people saying his color is green (I haven’t seen any physical green on his costume but I could be missing something. @make-friends-with-the-rats sent me a picture that looks fairly green but that disappears under the stage lighting, as you can see in the pics above) but idk. It just rubs me the wrong way that the only change we see is an unbuttoned vest.

Where’s the determination? Where’s the assimilation into the rest of the group? Ryan Kopel’s Davey is anxious, yeah, but he gets angry and frustrated in act 2. He has character growth that is not acknowledged in his costume.

Anyways, rant over. This has bothered me since I watched the bootleg. It’s probably not a big deal in the end but those are my thoughts lol. If you have a potential explanation for this choice pls do lmk

(Uksies lovers please do not flame me too hard, I love Ryan’s portrayal of Davey I just think they did bro dirty with the black and white fit. I have huge gripes with their costuming in general but this is the biggest offense to me. Again— love the production. It made serious strides and it was very well done. But this costume… :( )

[maxwellatoms]

Would you trust ANY Korean studio for hand-drawn animation today? I ask because, when The Powerpuff Girls came back in 2016, I noticed how slow and stiff the Korean animation was. Since then, most Burbank cartoons animated in Korea, namely Cartoon Network shows, have been like that — mostly on 2s & with less inbetweening. Look at any Digital eMation episode of Victor and Valentino or Samurai Jack Season 5; do they animate as loosely and smoothly as Digital eMation episodes of Billy & Mandy do?

Sure I would. It would all depend on the studio and the circumstances. There are good studios and bad studios, and either of those will treat your show differently based on their perception of how valuable it is to their client. In the early 2000s Rough Draft was a top-notch studio. One of the reasons I switched over to eMation from Rough Draft was that I felt like Rough Draft was putting all of its resources into making Samurai Jack look beautiful, and we were still calling retakes on three year old issues. I knew we weren't a priority to Rough Draft, and I knew that stemmed from Cartoon Network's negotiations with them, so my griping was only going to get us so far. It seemed to me that I needed a studio that was smaller and scrappier like we were. We were putting in a lot of work on our end to make cool stuff and it wasn't ending up on the screen, so we needed people who were just as hungry on the back-end, and eMation stepped up.

There's also the fact, though, that animation itself has changed a lot in the last fifteen years. Powerpuff Girls and Samurai Jack's animation always seemed to have an air of "motion comics" to it. And frankly, that's part of what I love about it. It was all a throwback to the old UPA cartoons, which were built on strong, clear poses and made for the cost equivalent of a turkey dinner. Likewise, CN storyboard artists usually had around four weeks to write and draw their boards on paper, so there just wasn't time to take the effort to do anything too complex. It was all about snapping between those 300-ish storyboard drawings and momentarily savoring them for their humor and design mastery. Now we have tons of digital tools that make the basics of animation a lot more accessible to everyone, and have changed the entire studio pipeline. Things just won't look like they used to because nobody makes them that way anymore.

When I've had to choose an overseas animation studio, the network's production arm usually gives me one or three choices and tells me that's all there is. Deals have already been made. (Sometimes they make you pick two to save on costs, which (IMO) usually results in two studios that are less functional than any one of them would have been.) The studios usually have reels, so that gives you a basic idea of what they can do. You can (hopefully) find some other show creators who have worked with the studios and get an honest review. It's an important enough decision that it's worth whatever research you can put into it. Even over good bones, an ill-fitting skin can ruin the mood.

The most important thing to remember, I think, is that it's your job and your crew's job to make animating the show as easy as possible. Really, it's everyone's job to make the next person in line's job as simple as they can. Ideally, there shouldn't be a lot of questions because the materials you sent down the chain are clear.

So... yeah. I'd still trust Korean studios as much as I'd trust any overseas or domestic animation studio. You get out of them what you put into them by feeding them money and your own labor. It's quite possible that the shows you mentioned didn't do enough of either.

I imagine the overseas studios are hurting right now, so who knows what that landscape is even going to look like in a few years.

As with every step of the process making a TV show, you just sort of have to weigh your options and find the path.

Hmm. That got long.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 1 - The Demon of Vyrantium

This story will have spoilers from the game. Like entire quests. If you don’t want those don’t read this. You have been warned.

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: The gods strike at D’Meta’s Crossing. Neve suggests hiring the Antivan Crows and the most respected mage killer out there, turns out he has problems of his own.

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of slavery, cursing, let me know if I missed something it's so long I lost track

A/N: I told you I’d take more creative liberties with the next one didn’t I ;3

Prologue DATV Masterlist Chapter 2(WIP)

I sat across from Neve and Harding at the circle table in the lighthouse to go over next steps.

“So. We stopped the ritual,” Neve said.

“And Varric paid the price,” Harding answered.

“Hey. Varric made his choice to go talk with Solas. He knew the risks. We all did,” I said.

“And now Solas is… gone. And we’re here, wherever here is—besides in the Fade,” Harding thought.

“Solas called it the lighthouse,” I told them.

“He did?” Neve questioned. “When?”

“While I was out cold. He showed up in my dream, and he’s really mad that we stopped his ritual.”

“Good,” Harding said smugly.

“He’s also trapped in some kind of prison in the Face. Not happy about that either,” I explained.

“You’re sure that wasn’t just a dream? It’s a reasonable reaction,” Neve said.

“Solas can speak with people in their dreams. Even kill them,” Harding told her.

“I’m safe on that front. I bled a little when I got knocked out. Enough that he can gripe at me, but not enough that he can make my head explode.”

“So Solas is using blood magic. Like any normal mage would to play with your mind,” Neve replied.

“But he’s not a normal mage. Like I told you, he’s an elven god,” Harding said.

“Putting together a nice ritual doesn’t make him a god,” she shot back.

“The gods of my people were incredibly powerful,” I interrupted their squabbling. “I don’t mean they were powerful like a skilled mage. I mean they destroyed entire cities. They shattered mountains. So no, they might not literally be gods, but they’re a lot worse than whatever you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Well, we’ve stopped the ritual, and there doesn’t seem to be an immediate danger. For now. You’re certain Solas can’t use blood magic to affect your mind?” Neve asked.

“I’m certain that if he could he already would have, but I’m still pissed at him as ever. I’m not certain of anything else, but we’re not out of danger,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked.

“Solas had two of the other elven gods imprisoned. When he got trapped, they escaped.”

“So those things we saw come out of the fade when the ritual went wild… those are…” Neve’s voice faded.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Two of the ancient elven gods that Solas rebelled against. Solas warned me about them being evil, which is pretty rich coming from the guy who just tried to tear down the Veil,” I said.

“You don’t believe him?” Neve questioned.

“No, that’s the problem. I do believe him. He said they were horrific tyrants.”

“Tyrants so powerful elven history remembers them as gods,” Harding added.

“Solas says Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain drew on the blight for power and became corrupted. That was when he imprisoned them.”

“So instead of one… god… running around, we have two. And they’re not just powerful, they’re blighted,” Neve scowled.

“We need to get out there and stop them,” Harding said firmly.

“Just like that? Without Varric? And you’re still getting back on your feet,” Neve looked over at her.

“I’m fine. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“We need to investigate. Figure out what we’re dealing with before we rush in and make things worse,” Neve told her.

“And how many more people will get hurt—get killed—while we spend time investigating?”

I cut them both off. “If Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are worse than Solas, we can’t go in blind. We need to know what they can do and what they want.”

“But we only have Solas’s word about all of this,” Harding said.

I shrugged. “Then let’s go investigate for ourselves. We find out what we’re dealing with, and then we take our shot.”

“Fine. The eluvian led us here instead of back to Minrathous.”

“Let’s hope it goes back to the ritual site,” Neve said. “Maybe we can find some clues at the scene of the crime.”

“All right, then. Let’s get back to the ritual site,” I said.

—------------------------------------

The second we stepped through the Eluvian, a group of Veil Jumpers were running at us for their lives. Some kind of old elven construct was chasing them, swinging a massive golden axe at their heads. One of them, a woman, was using her magic on a device in her hands, trying to stop the construct, but it didn’t look to be working.

One of them got knocked to the side against a boulder, groaning from the impact. An older dark skinned elf parried the swings of the mighty axe, giving the girl time to work. The construct swung past the elf, the blade going through the device in the girl’s hands. As the device broke, the construct shut down, falling limp.

Harding seemed to know the older elf and the girl. She addressed them as Strife and Irelin. She told us that she met them with Varric when they first started the hunt for Solas. Veil Jumpers, she said they were called, experts in ancient elven magic.

Strife told us millions of artifacts are being faulty and coming alive because of Solas’s ritual, pointing the finger at us because we were supposed to stop him.

I informed him that we did, in fact, stop him, but Solas was now trapped in the Fade and two of the Evanuris escaped. The Veil Jumpers knew the extent of the horrors the Evanuris caused centuries ago. 

“I was really hoping Solas was lying about all of this,” I told them.

Strife frowned. “The god of lies, but some things are sacrosanct, even to him. He might be a bastard, but he’s a damned sight better than the Evanuris.”

I snorted. “No kidding.”

They still had dozens of Veil Jumpers unaccounted for, but Irelin said if we could find Bellara Lutare it would be a massive assist. Apparently, she was the best there is at working with the ancient elven artifacts. She was off looking for one before the ritual shook everything loose.

Harding told them we would go and get Bellara, but I told her to stay behind and help the Veil Jumpers because they needed her. Definitely not because she was still injured and way too stubborn to see sense.

—--------------------------------------

“Protocol is to wait at least a week before sending anyone to look for me, I’ve only been gone for three days,” she said, twisting her hips back and forth in place like a child being scolded.

“Well, things have taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid,” I told her. “Our gods are back and they’re trying to take over the world.”

“Our gods… I need a moment,” she said.

“Take all the time you need. It won’t help, unfortunately, I’ve known for days and it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” I replied.

“That is quite a predicament.” She sighed, looking around. “All right, but I need your help first, I’m on to something big here.”

“Just tell me what you need,” I smiled.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Neve told her.

As it turned out, Ancient Elven ruins could be tricky. Barriers and old mechanical devices that were rare in these times. Luckily, it was pretty straightforward to figure out and Bellara was a great help finding our way through the ruins. Whatever work she had done with elven ruins and artifacts would definitely come in handy.

It was all fine and dandy when we found what we were looking for, except for the ogre that decided to pay us a visit and try to wreck our shit.

A lot of its attacks I could parry or at least redirect. Some I could only dodge, and I spent most of the fight doing so, shooting firebolts in between its attacks.

It finally fell, and I sheathed my dagger, fighting to regain my breath. 

Bellara found what she was looking for, the “Nadas Dirthalen” or the eighth archive or the archive spirit. Pick whichever you want to describe it, it was an artifact crafted with the knowledge of the gods and it could give us information we might need. If she could fix the crystal, that is.

We headed back to the Veil Jumper camp and they told us one of the towns they work closely with had gone dark. A place called D’Meta’s Crossing. With everything going on, it likely wasn’t a coincidence. Harding rejoined the three of us and we boarded a boat to go check it out.

—----------------------------------

D’Meta’s Crossing was on the far side of the lake. It was bleak when we approached on the water. 

“This isn’t right,” Bellara said. “The dock usually has people bringing goods to market, bartering and shouting… It’s always busy.”

“Stay sharp,” I said as I climbed out of the boat.

The main entrance to town was barricaded. Clearly not to keep anything out. We moved to the side, seeing a smaller barricade. I pulled myself over it, eyes going wide as I dropped down. The place reeked, and there was blight everywhere. These masses, they looked like rotting tumors, not the decay or stagnation of the normal blight, this was alive.

There were cysts that popped like blisters when fired at or hit with anything and exploded. The second I stepped foot in this place I felt I needed a shower.

We moved further in, sticking close together. There was a villager standing by a home completely taken over with the blight.

His face was drained of all color and his eyes were black. “What happened here?”

He stared at me. Well, through me. “Keep them inside. Listen to the mayor.”

My brows furrowed. I waved a hand in front of his face. Unresponsive. “What’s controlling them? Blood magic? The blight?”

We moved deeper in. The town square was even worse for wear. There were bodies everywhere taken over by the blight-cysts. We continued on, keeping an eye out for survivors. There was no one that the blight hadn’t taken over, either their bodies or their minds.

We came to a part of town blocked off by a wall of the blight. A bright red bulb pulsated at the center of it. I shuddered, taking a couple steps back and blasting cold from my fingers to minimize the explosiveness.We had gotten through it, but only a narrow passageway. Squeezing between a corridor of the blight was not on the top of my bucket list.

I would desperately need a bath after this.

We came to the other side and a giant mass of the blight stood in the center. At the center of it looked like a person was being held there.

“Mihlva!” Bellara gasped, running over to one of the bodies.

“One of your fellow Veil Jumpers?” I asked, watching the blight tendrils wrap around them and pull them away. I moved to the mass at the center. The man in it was moving. “Bellara!”

She looked over. “Jahel! He’s alive!”

“Bellara?” The man groaned.

“We’re going to help you… we’ll get you down, Jahel,” Bellara said.

A tendril snaked around his neck. “No… listen. The gods… the gods have returned. I saw… them. I heard their voices.”

“The gods did this?” Bellara questioned, panic evident in her voice.

“A blood ritual,” he said. “To release the blight. The villagers… they said they needed power… Bellara… be careful…” That tendril looped around his neck twice over, caressing his lips as he spoke before tightening around his throat.

His body was strangled, blood spilled to the cobbled streets, the blight pooling at our feet. The ground shook, and I heard someone shout for help.

We ran through the remains of the village, shooting down the blight we could along the way. Coming through an archway of it, we came out to the other side of the village. A man was wrapped in barbed fleshy pink tentacles, a writhing mass of the blight.

“Help me! Hurry!” He yelled, panicked.

The ground shook and a dragon shot up into the sky, screeching as it landed, crushing debris underfoot.

“No! Please!” The man yelled as the writhing mass drew tighter around him. I looked between him and the dragon, feeling my chest tighten. I stepped forward, putting two fingers to my lips to produce a loud whistle.

It took a step toward me, and I stared it down as embers floated from its mouth. After a moment, as though fighting a command, I watched it back off and fly into the horizon, roaring as it went.

I took a breath, approaching the man in the mass. 

“I know you,” Bellara said. “You’re the mayor of this town.”

“The village… the people… are they…?”

“Blighted. Dead. All of them,” Harding said.

“You gave them to the gods, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Bellara spat.

The mayor sobbed. “They were in my head… infecting my thoughts. They made me do it… Please, help me!”

“Deep breaths… Tell me what happened,” I said gently. If it really was blood magic he may not have been acting completely of his own will.

“I tried to protect people. You have to believe me. The gods told me to lure the Veil Jumpers to the center of town. The others were to be rounded up and kept safe. They would be the first to witness the glory of Ghilan’nain’s new creation… She showed me gold. So much gold…”

“So you brought the Veil Jumpers to the middle of town…” I said.

“For a blood sacrifice!” Bellara cut me off.

“Because the gods needed power,” Neve concluded.

“Did you know what the gods would do?” I questioned him.

“The Veil Jumpers… they were just strangers. I thought if they were taken first, everyone else might be spared.”

“So you did know!” Bellara yelled.

“The gods exploited his greed and fear,” Neve said.

“I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? I say we leave him right here,” Bellara said.

“But I’ll die. The blight’s everywhere. What if the dragon comes back?” He panicked. “I understand what they do now. I won’t be tempted again! I swear!”

“Rook?” Harding asked.”

I sighed. “Let’s get him out of there.”

“What? This entire village is dead because of him.” Bellara argued.

“I know.”

“Then why spare him?”

“We don’t kill people. Not like this. We’re not murderers. We’re not like the gods. We are better than them,” I explained. “If we leave him to be a source of their power we’re no better than he is.”

“Thank you… I think,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for your gratitude,” I snapped.

“Then if I may offer some advice: steel yourself. I felt their power, the promises they made. It’s irresistible.”

“Then try harder next time. Don’t make me regret saving you,” I said firmly.

“Yes, of course. But you should be worried about the rest of the world. Or this will be our future.”

—---------------------------------

We made our way back to the Veil Jumper camp. We were speaking with them when an old friend of the Inquisition, Morrigan, made an appearance. She told us to find Solas’s ritual dagger and that the eluvian at the lighthouse should go anywhere there is an existing eluvian. Bellara offered to come with us to fix it.

I just wished Varric was here to give better advice. He was always stronger at speeches than I was. Doing this without him to guide me felt wrong.

Neve, Harding, and I made our way back to the ritual site. After a wild goose chase after a darkspawn that stole the dagger, and watching Harding get possessed by some kind of new strange dwarf magic—which doesn’t exist, mind you—I was ready for a nap.

We came back to the Lighthouse and talked about Harding’s new abilities. I encouraged her to explore them but be wary. It wasn’t like any magic I’d seen before, and dwarves didn’t have any connection to the Fade, so it was completely new territory.

I went up the stairs, seeing a new area branched next to the hall leading to the infirmary. I could hear Varric snoring from here. At least I knew he was still alive.

I headed down that hall, pushing the door open to see an aquarium of sorts. There was a bookshelf to the right and a wardrobe to the left. In the center of the room was a chaise lounge with a bookcase behind it.

I saw my pack sitting in front of that bookshelf. Neve or Harding must’ve brought my pack in here. It made sense, it was a better place to sleep than the infirmary. I suppose I could spare a few moments to unpack my things.

I pulled Varric’s shaving mirror out, placing it on the bookshelf behind where I would be sleeping. Varric and his life lessons. I asked him how we were supposed to stop Solas, and he gave me the mirror.

“Take a long hard look in it, kid. It’ll always show the face of a hero who can get it done,” he said.

I don’t know if I see a hero’s face, but it’s a face that has seen a lot. Got a few new scars. Some that show up in a mirror, some that don’t. But Varric believed in me then, and he believes in me now. I can do this.

I moved to the small armoire on the right side of the room, placing an elven scroll down. A peddler gave it to me after I saved his caravan from bandits. He said the scroll went back to even before Tevinter. Said that elves had a rich history, “even more than the rest of us.”

Too many humans look down on us, even though elves were here first. It was nice to have someone see how much our people have done. I just wish I could’ve been a part of it.

On the opposite side from the mirror, I put my broken chains. I helped a lot of Minrathous slaves escape to freedom the night I met Varric, including my mother. Freed only to be killed in the chaos. Another time Varric had shown up for me. I remembered his hand on my shoulder as I wept over her.

“Come on, kid. It’s time to go. I’m sorry.”

Then the magisters cracked down in retaliation, and the Shadow Dragons decided I was too much trouble to keep around. We could have taken a stand and dared the magisters to come after us. At least people are free because of what I did.

I sighed, brushing my fingers over the cold metal before going to sit in the chaise lounge. Carefully, I laid back, letting my eyes drift shut. I was wound tight despite my exhaustion. I don’t know how long it took me to actually fall asleep.

I woke in the Fade, Solas’s voice already penetrating my thoughts. “Back so soon. It must have been worse than I thought.”

“Hello, Dread Wolf.”

“Ah, but perhaps I am mistaken. You may be here to correct me, to tell me that my concerns were unfounded. I am, after all, remembered as the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion.”

Haunted, hopeless, hurting… a voice nagged at the back of my head. No, not nagged. Soothed. 

“So you’re gonna be insufferable about it. See, this is the reason nobody likes you,” I told him.

“I led a rebellion for centuries that culminated the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the elven empire.”

“Okay, this is among the reasons nobody likes you,” I corrected.

“My information was accurate. Now you realize that the danger is real.”

“I need to know what the gods are planning,” I said plainly.

“You are asking for knowledge no mortal in this world is privy to,” he replied. “If I am to share it with you, I need to know what makes you the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“Well, for starters, I’m the only one here,” I said, throwing my arms out and looking around the desolate prison. “And I stopped you, didn’t I?”

“You disrupted the ritual.”

“Yeah, I did. Even though I’m nowhere near as powerful as you. Even though I’m just a slave.”

His brow furrowed, and I saw him blink as the only hint of surprise. “You were a slave?”

“Yeah. Varric said you hated slavery. I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.”

He only nodded. “Your plan is to tell me how powerful you aren’t?”

“I met Varric when he asked the Shadow Dragons for help with freeing an old friend from Venatori slavers. The Shadow Dragons had a safe plan that wasn’t going to work, and Varric wasn’t the only one with something to lose if we failed.”

“So you and Varric led an armed rebellion and dealt a devastating blow to the Venatori,” he finished for me.

“You did your research,” I said, looking him up and down.

“I would’ve been a fool not to. You and Varric were pursuing me for the better part of a year. I needed to learn who was hunting me.”

“Then you obviously also know that powerful opposition doesn’t frighten me. I find a way to get the job done, whatever it takes.”

“I suppose I was not so different when I started.”

“No,” a voice said, inches from me and lightyears away all at once. “You were not different. You are not different.” The voice of a friend.

“Cole.” Now, I did see the Dread Wolf’s surprise evident in his expression. “How did you…”

“You are trapped,” he said. “She is hopeless, haunted, hurting, just like before. Escaped one master just to be fighting another. You are not different,” Cole said, looking up at Solas. “Hello, Solas.”

“Hello Compassion,” Solas dipped his head in greeting. “It has been an age.”

“You left the Inquisition to free us, but it didn’t work. Instead you freed them. The Evanuris.”

“Someone got in my way,” Solas leveled a condescending glare at me from his high horse—or at least his slightly higher piece-of-floating-rock.

“People were dying. I heard their screams,” Cole said. “The Veil needs to stay.”

“Oookay, this is all fine and good, but what are you doing here, Cole?” I asked, turning to him. “I thought I’d seen the last of you when Dorian freed me?”

“I felt the Veil weaken, and I knew. I knew it was Solas behind it, I always knew, even when he didn’t want me to, even when he hid it from everyone else. I went back to that place where it’s still weakest, and I felt your despair. I followed it here.”

“The gods need two things to reclaim their dominance of the world,” Solas interrupted, clearly growing bored. “First, the blight. What exists in this world is a bare fragment of its power. The rest is imprisoned… until they release it.”

“What would they need to do to free the blight, and how do we stop them from doing it?” I asked.

“They will need to pierce the Veil to reach the blight’s prison. My lyrium dagger is one of the few artifacts capable of doing so.”

“We’ve already recovered it from the ritual site.”

“Excellent,” I could’ve sworn he almost looked proud, but I doubted the smug bastard was capable. “Then they will have to make their own. That will give you time. The second is followers. They have called themselves gods, and what is a god without worshipers to sing their praises?”

“I’m not gonna bend a knee to blighted murdering monsters just because their ears are pointed like mine. I don’t think many other elves are going to either.”

“Agreed. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain care little for the elves. They will find worshipers among those hungry for power. Tyrants and bullies. The cruel and corrupt, who fear their own vulnerability and seize any chance to feel strong. If you hunt them, they will lead you to Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

I laughed without humor. “You want me to pick fights with tyrants and bullies? Sounds fun.”

“I gave no orders. All I can offer are suggestions.”

“I’m on it. What else?”

“The Vi’Revas, the Lighthouse eluvian, can take you anywhere, if you master its secrets. Have you done so?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got one of the Veil Jumpers working on it. She’ll get it sorted, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Yes. I suppose we will. And when you speak with Varric, please tell him that I… regret what happened.”

Cole put his hand on my arm, and the world spun for a moment before I opened my eyes. We were in a grove, the stars above us, trees towering around us.

“Woah.” I put a hand to my head. “Where are we?”

“The Fade.”

“Right…” I took a seat in the grass with a sigh.

Cole crouched down, fingers fidgeting with the blades of grass. “You feel heavy again. Like before.”

“Varric picked me up to help him, but I disrupted the ritual, Varric got hurt, and the gods escaped. That doesn’t much feel like helping.”

“Varric used to help me. He wanted me to understand things, I think.”

“I don’t know how to lead, Cole. I’m barely used to being in charge of my life.”

“You’re already leading,” he said simply. His head bowed, and he glanced back behind him, as though listening for something. “They need you, it’s time to wake up.”

I gasped sitting upright, my chest heaving and my palms sweaty. I hadn’t seen Cole in years. Not since I was a slave. Not since I was at my lowest in life. Shit…

I needed to talk to Varric. I wiped my hands on my pants, standing with a huff. Having Solas in my head might prove to be more hindrance than help if he wouldn’t let me sleep in peace.

I made my way out, rubbing out the kink in my neck, hoping he might be awake. If not, I would let at least one of us get some restful sleep.

I approached him, sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed opposite where he was sitting up against a pillow.

“So Solas told the truth about the gods,” he said as I sat down.

“You heard? It’s bad, Varric,” I shook my head. “If you’d seen D’Meta’s Crossing…”

“The team needs to act fast… and it can’t do that with me leading from a bed,” he said. “You’ve gotta take point on this.”

My chest tightened. “I can’t do what you do. I’ve barely been holding it together in the short time you’ve been out.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to do what I do. You just need to get it done. Rook, when I put this team together, what did I look for? A detective to find the Dread Wolf and a scout to get us the lay of the land. Exactly the people he’d expect me to recruit. Disciplined. Predictable. And then there’s you. Remember when we first met, kid?”

“Of course I do.”

“You risked your neck to bring down an entire slavery ring. Pretty much by yourself,” he grinned.

“I had help.”

“Sure. I got winded about five minutes in. You did most of the work. Ticked off a bunch of Minrathous big shots, but… You’ve got a knack, kid.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “A knack for what? Almost dying?”

“Exactly. You’ve got a knack for finding a way through the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. With a plan that no one expects. You can do this,” he said with a softness in his eyes I’d only ever really seen when it was just us. The protective kind. “And don’t worry. I’ll still be here to talk if you need me.”

“There is something… D’Meta’s Crossing was awful. While we were there, we found one survivor—the mayor.”

“You took him back to the Veil Jumpers,” he said. Harding must’ve filled him in.

“Not everyone was happy about my decision…” I told him. “We’re just starting out and I’m already losing their trust.”

Varric sat up a little straighter. “The key to earning the team’s trust isn’t to only make decisions everyone agrees with. It’s showing the team that they can tell you whatever’s on their mind, even if they think you’re full of crap, and know you’ll listen. It’s showing them that you’re capable of making the hard decisions, even if they don’t agree.”

“When I took over at the ritual site, I had to make a call on who came with me to knock over that statue. It was the first decision I made leading this team, and Harding got hurt because of it.”

“You made a decision with the best information you had. Sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. Or worse,” he said simply.

“What would you have done?” I asked.

“What would I have done? Probably gotten myself killed and failed to stop the ritual if you hadn’t stepped in,” he laughed. “A good leader isn’t someone who never makes mistakes: It’s someone who admits when they make one. That’s how you earn their trust.”

“Did Neve tell you about me talking to Solas in the Fade?” I asked.

“I had some good arguments with Chuckles back in the day. I can’t imagine being stuck with him in my head. But how are you feeling about it?” He asked.

“Your old friend is kind of an asshole, Varric.”

He chuckled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall while the two of you get into it. Solas fought a rebellion against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. He didn’t want to be a god. But he’s also a lot older and more powerful than any of us. He looks at us like we’re toddlers.”

“So how do I deal with him?”

“Act like you’re as smart as he is, and he’ll be insufferable. Show him you respect his age and experience, and he’ll remind you he’s just a man. Honestly, pick whichever of those pisses you off less,” he grinned.

“He also asked me to tell you that he regrets what happened. Hurting you, I mean,” I told him, letting my knees fall back to either side.

“Chuckles is sentimental. He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals.”

“He seems the type. Cole visited me. I know last time I told you about him you said he was with the Inquisition. He came to my dream with Solas too, and he looked almost… regretful, if you could even call it that.”

“Well, shit. How’s he doing? What was he doing?” Varric asked, shifting slightly.

“Apparently, he sensed my despair when he was checking out the ritual site because of how thin the Veil is there. He followed it back to me.” I sighed, standing and brushing myself off, whatever invisible dust there was. “I’ll let you rest.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Rook. Hey, one last thing before you go,” he said. “I’ve been racking my brain thinking of contacts who might help us with these gods.”

“You got any ideas?” 

“Nothing. But being a leader isn’t about having all the answers yourself: It’s about knowing who does. Neve has connections to a whole world that Harding and I barely know. A world you barely got the chance to learn. Might be worth talking to her.”

“Will do. Thanks, Varric,” I offered him a smile. One of the few I was sure I would be able to give in the coming days.

“Any time, kid.”

I closed the door behind me so he could rest as I made my way out to Neve’s floating office. She told me we needed to hire the Antivan Crows, but specifically their most feared mage killer. The Demon of Vyrantium. I had heard of his work, and most of us in the wards and servants’ quarters revered his assassinations of our masters. They had given us plenty of reasons to side with the trained killer over them.

Neve said she set up a meeting with their bosses. Next, she said that we needed to take a trip back home. The Shadow Dragons of course made sense to take out the gods in the capital city of Tevinter where blood magic was strongest. We had done so much work against it and the Venatori, but I was a bit worried about seeing them again after the stunt I pulled. We trained to be the best at countering evil magic, it was time we proved it. Hopefully together this time and not just me and Varric.

The Antivan Crows seemed our best bet to start off. I wasn’t ready to go back to Minrathous yet. Not after everything.

Neve and I made our way down to the Vi’Revas, the eluvian, where Bellara was working. We watched her tinker with it for a moment before it lit up, showing the path to what Morrigan called The Crossroads. A spirit appeared beside it in tattered blue robes. Though I tensed instinctively, I felt nothing malicious from it.

“The wolf’s fang. You carry it now. Old paths. A new journey. Through there. I will wait,” he gestured to the eluvian before fading away.

When we entered, the spirit introduced itself as the caretaker who goes where they are needed. The Crossroads was a beautiful place in the fade. Paths branched out, the caretaker guiding us in a levitating boat to each island of Eluvians. This place was slowly becoming tainted, though. I could feel the blood magic and blight like invisible eyes or a forgotten touch. It caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

We made it to the eluvian leading to Treviso after killing some Venatori trying to take over the crossroads. Neve and I glanced at each other before stepping through. Treviso… One of the finest cities in Antiva, or so I’d been told. It was now under occupation by the Antaam. Hopefully our contact would still be able to meet us.

Neve and I made our way to the coordinates given to us, seeing a petit woman leaning against the railing of the bridge. She looked over as we approached.

“Welcome to Antiva. You must be Rook. Follow me,” she said, running off, leaving me to follow in her wake.

“And you’re Andarateia Cantori. Of the Crows?” I asked.

“Teia, please. Come, my associate Viago is gathering the others.”

We ran through the streets of Treviso, through the market and up the lattice on the side of a building. From there, we ziplined to a casino, the headquarters of the Crows.

“Welcome to the Cantori Diamond,” Teia said as we went up the stairs to the right.

As soon as I entered, I felt as though I was going to be interrogated, stripped of my valuables and tossed to the streets, if the expression of the woman eyeing me and the cane in her hand were anything to say for it.

Teia took up her spot on the left, a man with a very well groomed mustache to the right of her, followed by the older woman in the throne, and on her other side a younger man who looked way too charming for anyone’s good.

The man next to Teia spoke. “You’re the client?”

“This is Rook,” Teia said with a smile. “Did you want a drink? I promise not to let Viago near it.” It struck me how pretty she was. And the man next to her.

“Viago de Riva. Fifth Talon,” he introduced. “And this is Caterina Dellamorte. First Talon of the Crows.” He gestured to the woman in the throne.

“An honor. And you are?” I asked, glancing at the man beside her.

“Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?” He asked.

“Right,” I took a breath. “My target is a pair of elven gods—or that’s what they call themselves. They’re ancient blighted mages. My detective says you have a man who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.”

“Lucanis,” Caterina said. “My grandson. They called him “the Demon of Vyrantium.” He was the one who did those jobs.”

“Sounds like there’s more to it,” I said carefully, tilting my head.

“Lucanis Dellamorte is dead. He was killed a year ago, now,” Viago said solemnly.

“What I say doesn’t leave this room,” Caterina said slowly. “The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.”

“My cousin is still alive?” Illario questioned. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” Something was off about Illario. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that I would rather have dealings with Teia and Viago more than him in the future if we had any at all.

“His ship was attacked,” Viago interrupted my thoughts. “We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

“But you’ve brought it up now. Why?” I asked, looking back to the First Talon.

“I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me. They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes. And now I have a location. The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept. Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You’ll have your god-killer. And I’ll have my grandson.”

Something about the way she presented him twisted my gut. Like that was all he was, a weapon to be used and discarded. Even not having met him, the thought didn’t sit right with me. I knew what it was like to be seen only for what you could do for other people, and that was not a feeling I wanted for anyone else.

I wondered though, how a mage killer captured by the Venatori would feel about two Tevinter mages freeing him.

Illario led us to our lift to the Ossuary. I was almost relieved when he didn’t get in the boat with us. Surprisingly, he was the only Crow I had met so far that had major stab-you-in-the-back vibes.

We were boated out to the middle of the sea, the Crow mage with us parting the waters below us to grant us passage to the underwater prison. When we got there, bodies littered the sand, bloodstains running red. We passed over two dozen bodies as we made our way through the prison.

It seemed to have been some ancient elven ruins before being repurposed. It was a wonder it still functioned. If the wards on this place ever broke…

I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened when the gods got released. I was more relieved I didn’t have to be the one fending off all the guards. We came to a Venatori barrier with three crystals connected to it that I beamed fire at before the barrier fell. A large corridor led down a set of stairs where a group of Venatori gathered.

“We don’t have to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte.” The mage in the center slammed his staff into the ground, the wisps of red blood magic gathering around its tip. “Get ready,” I said to Neve, who braced for a fight.

“Razikale, Dragon of Mystery. Lusacan, Dragon of Night. Hear your faithful call—”

A man in blue leathers flipped down from seemingly out of thin air, black and purple glowing wings sprouted from his back as he fell. He grappled the mage, pulling him as he spun so that the Venatori next to him stabbed straight through his comrade’s gut. He ducked as another sword came at him, kicking the Venatori in the gut. The cultist flew backward, impaling on one of the ice spikes surrounding us.

The man sprinted at the other two, a dagger in one hand and a rapier in the other. In a flash that was barely visible, he spun, slitting both of their throats before turning and putting his sword through the final cultist’s back.

He stood with his back turned to us, chest heaving. My eyes were wide. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here,” I said carefully.

His wings flapped and dissipated as he turned back toward us. “Who are you? Who sent you?” He asked, the thick accent of Antiva coming through in his voice.

Something about his presence was calm, assured, even though he just murdered six people before my eyes. It drew me in, and I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to back out.

“My name’s Rook. Caterina sent me.”

“Caterina…” He looked at the ground. “But… you’re not a Crow.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I’m breaking you out of here,” I told him. “But… you’re not just you. Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rook. He’s possessed by a demon,” Neve said carefully.

“It’s complicated,” Lucanis said with a slight shrug.

“Caterina promised us a mage killer if we could get you out of here,” I told him.

“I can still work,” he assured me.

“Good,” I smiled. “Cause I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.”

“They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan. Crows don’t break contracts,” Lucanis said.

“All right, we’ll help. But in return, I need help killing some things,” I told him.

“I’ll owe you,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. Let’s go.”

We made our way back through the prison, coming to a huge gap that none of us would be able to jump across.

“What are you—Fine. He says he can help. There is something in the Fade close enough to grab onto.”

I watched Lucanis’s wings come out, energy flowing from his hands and a large piece of floating cobblestone came into being. “All of that… came from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you,” Lucanis said honestly.

Eventually, we came to a room protected by at least six of the Venatori’s crystals powering the barrier. Behind it, was a massive garnished vial of blood. “Yeah, they can’t do anything subtle, can they?” I asked, aiming a beam of flames at it, making it explode on impact.

Through a close-by archway, there was a lift. We took it and it led to an audience chamber, a mage standing in the middle of it.

As we approached, Calivan did as all villains do, and started giving a long-winded speech. Something something, Zara said it would be ironic, he’s already the Demon of Vyrantium, now it’s just more literal. Lucanis smirked at me, glancing sidelong as Calivan went on his tangent, and I found myself smiling back. Something something she always leaves him to clean up the mess.

Maybe he should’ve picked someone better to follow.

I put my hands together, feeling the energy build between them as I loosed a death ray of fire and lightning right at his face. That’ll shut him up, surely.

Lucanis blinked at me as Calivan fell to his knees. “Sorry,” I said impulsively. “I know that was your contract. He was getting on my nerves.”

“Don’t be. Imagine how I feel,” Lucanis said, the corners of his lips twitching up. He spat on Calivan’s body. “The Crows send their regards.”

I glanced down at the ashen body, and when I looked up again I saw a purple version of Lucanis standing right beside him, and I blinked.

“The contract is done,” Lucanis said.

“Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet,” The purple man said. From what I was sensing, this was his demon. Though he was closer to a spirit, not quite monstrous yet. I opted to ignore him for now. Not drawing attention to it was likely safer at least for the moment.

Lucanis just stared at him blankly. “Lucanis? Are you alright?” I asked.

“Careful, they know. We’re not right.”

“You cannot see him. I wondered,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else,” I told him.

“Agreed. I think… it’s time I got some air.”

—--------------------------------------------

Back at the Cantori Diamond we found Teia and Viago looking at Illario who was leaned over against the table, breathing heavily. The two of them turned around and Teia’s face went whiter than I thought possible.

“Maker…” She said.

“Lucanis?” Viago’s eyes were wide.

Lucanis looked around at them. “What happened here?” He questioned.

Illario’s fist hit the table, and I flinched instinctively. “A message,” he snarled. “From Zara Renata. I can’t believe it. You’re home.” Illario put a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder.

“Zara… Her people got this close?” Lucanis asked.

“The woman who runs the prison?” I guessed.

“The Venatori witch who captured me,” he answered.

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe,” I said.

“Where’s Caterina?” Lucanis asked, eyes darting around at the three of them frantically.

“She’s…” Teia’s voice broke, and her head bowed with an impossible weight on her shoulders.

Viago came up behind her, hands on her shoulders comfortingly. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

“I got one of you back, only to lose the other,” Illario said, sounding devastated. I wanted to feel bad for him, but something still felt off.

“Lucanis…” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I need to work,” he said, shifting on his feet.

“Are you sure?” Teia asked. “You should take some time.”

“I don’t need time—I need a target,” he said darkly.

“You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” Illario questioned. How he didn’t understand was beyond me.

“Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that’s done… I’ll come home,” he told them.

“I’ll return him in one piece,” I promised.

“Thank you,” Illario smiled at me. “Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there.”

Viago shook his head. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—”

“No, Viago,” Teia interrupted. “Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort.”

“I’ll give her your regards, Teia,” Lucanis said.

“For Caterina,” she looked around at all of us.

—--------------------------------------

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Well, kind of,” Bellara said as I walked in.

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both,” Neve replied.

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis leaned against the fireplace, one hand braced against it, the other on his hip.

“What’s everyone talking about?” I asked.

“Spite,” Lucanis looked back over his shoulder at me.

“The demon in Lucanis,” Neve said. “When a person gets possessed—the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just… molds them. However they want,” Bellara added.

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though,” Neve thought.

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s well… we’d have to, um…”

“You’d have to kill me,” Lucanis finished.

“That can’t be the only solution. Can’t we… reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade him to leave?” I asked.

“Talk doesn’t work on Spite,” Lucanis said.

“She won’t hurt you. How sweet,” Spite crooned, the ghost of his form next to me. He vanished and appeared in front of Lucanis. “I want to talk to her!” Lucanis kept his gaze on me, no doubt seeing my eyes track the demon.

“Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution,” Bellara said. I braced my hands against their chairs, leaning over them slightly.

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Neve said.

“All right. So, what’s next?” I asked.

“Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!” Spite swung, punching Lucanis in the nose. Blood spattered, and Lucanis winced, his hand going to his nose.

Bellara and Neve stood. “Lucanis!” Bellara cried.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he said, putting his arm out.

“He’s done this before? Enough that you just… shrug it off?” I questioned, leveling a glare at the aspect of Spite next to him.

“He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”

I leveled him with a stare that said I would absolutely not be leaving even as Bellara and Neve got up and left. Neve shot me a glance that said ‘be careful’, but I just nodded to her.

He put his hand back up against the fireplace and stared into the flames as I walked around the table, sliding up to sit on the edge of it.

“I thought you couldn’t see him. At the Ossuary…”

“I didn’t want him to know I could see him. That was the last thing we needed there,” I told him.

“You can hear him too?” He asked, looking back at me with furrowed brows.

“When I can see him or when he’s showing through you, yes,” I answered honestly.

“But the others, they can’t. Why is that?” He asked, looking at me curiously, if not a bit suspiciously.

I shrugged. “I’ve always had a connection to the Fade. In worse times I was in such turmoil a spirit of Compassion appeared in my dreams or pulled me out of reality if things got bad. And now that connection is stronger than ever. Some of my blood is circulating around in the Fade from when we interrupted Solas’s ritual. That’s how he visits me in my sleep.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I can’t stand him, I didn’t want him to be a problem for you too.” I just shook my head. “I would kill for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

“Have you? For coffee, I mean,” I grinned.

I saw the corner of his lip twitch up. “Not today. You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, watching him. “You’re the best mage killer in the Antivan Crows. So how’d the Venatori catch you?”

“Someone set me up,” he said simply. “I had a contract for Calivan. In the Ossuary. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous. They were waiting for me. Knew which ship and when it would arrive. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.”

“Blood magic.” I could tell him that at least. One thing I had the answer to. “Caterina said they had dressed the body in your clothes and altered it with blood magic to look like your face too. I can’t even imagine… I know she… “volunteered” you to work with us. Are you okay with that?” I asked sincerely.

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a job, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. But, there’s plenty of reason for me to work with you beyond that, Rook,” he said.

“Such as?” I tilted my head, kicking my feet under the table.

“I owe you a debt, for one. And after a year in that hole, maybe I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back,” he answered.

“Two!” Spite hissed.

“The Crossroads can be dicey, but the Lighthouse is safe. Oh, and if you see a spirit around called the Caretaker, they’re friendly,” I smiled.

“After the Ossuary, that will be a pleasant change,” he said with a grin. After a moment’s silence, he put his hands on his hips. “You haven’t asked anything about Spite.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, I’d say he picked the right name.”

“He’s stronger when I sleep. So… I try not to do it much. No one was in the Ossuary by choice. Not even the demons. We both did what we had to, to get out of there,” he told me.

“I admire you,” I told him. “What you’ve been through would break most people.”

“I would not give Zara the satisfaction,” he smirked.

“I understand. Still, you must be a very courageous man,” I smiled.

“A very stubborn one, perhaps. But, that’s… kind of you to say. Leave Spite to me. If he’s trapped in this world, he has a good reason to fight for it. For now, I must honor our contract. Gods, magic, politics…” he hummed, the rumble in his chest trying to drag me toward him. “Things are going to get very bloody.”

I gave him one last smile as he turned back toward the fire. “If you’re stubborn, I’d say Zara picked the right demon. If I remember right, Spite is a demon of Determination,” I smirked, looking back at him.

His brows were raised. “Perhaps it was the only thing she got right. She was nothing if not fond of irony.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Please give me your thoughts on this. I missed Cole and he was so important to me in Inquisition I wanted him to have a role in this story too, however minor. Also the back and forth with Solas gets me every time XD

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list! <3

Have a good day lovelies!

[buggywiththefolkmagic]

Buggy's Book Reviews: The Old Mountain Spellbook

Well well well, look who has returned after a long hiatus while life kicked my ass from here to Sunday. Let's get started with a bang shall we? TW: Slavery mentions, appropriation, generalized frustration at the writing space currently with the rise of ghost writers and AI.

This is: The Old Mountain Spellbook by Alda Dagny

Rating: 1/10 

Buckle up. This is gonna be a bumpy ride. Prepare to be shocked, horrified, and gobsmacked.

For context the cover art of this book caught my eye and then I read the small blurb of a subtitle for it and cringed so incredibly hard that the moment it showed up in my Spotify audio book list, I had to give it a listen for a measly 3 and a half hours of my life while at work. 

I regret this decision so very hard.

For further context:

This “author” Alda Dagny has also written books on…”The Secrets of the Nile” a three part series called “The Old Norse Spellbook:”, and “Secrets of Mesoamerica”. 

My head hurts from thinking about the gall to “write” on such a wide variety of topics in a seniority form. But before I get ahead of myself let me go back into my proper format for these reviews.

Pros: SOME of the information is right. The mentions of planting by the signs and how the signs works was very accurate. The generalized description of grannies, while very surface level and focused far too heavily on the midwife aspect, which don’t get me wrong is super mega ulta important! Was right if not very generalized. That’s about all I’ve got. 

It does mention that Hoodoo is a closed practice that stems from African Dispora/the Trans-Atlantic slave trade which good for this “author”. You will understand why that term is in parenthesis later! 

This book also included a Bell Witch mention twice which made my Tennessee heart hopeful for like two seconds.

Cons: Gods help me. For starters, I know this was likely not a choice this “author” made, but why in the seven hells did the publisher pick an AUSTRALIAN PERSON to do the narration for this book? The mispronunciation of Appalachia and Asfidy are now burned into my brain for life. I do not appreciate it. The MINIMUM a narrator should do is glance through for proper pronunciations. 

My gripes with the audiobook out of the way let’s get into the meat of this review: The book’s contents and why I believe this was ghost written/stolen from other places and put forward by an ai generated “author”. 

The second entire chapter of this book, a whopping 40 minutes of the audiobook, is all about Hoodoo. The real thing that got me was it SAYS that Hoodoo is a CLOSED PRACTICE stemming from Africa Diaspora. And what does this book do anyway? Break Hoodoo down into stupid candle magic and mojo bags and tell you how to do “it”. I was surprised it got the origin of Hoodoo right! It was RIGHT! And then it shits on itself. 

Examples: Hoodoo shares similarities with wicca. Tarot is incredibly important to the practice. And it is a religion and not a practice. The practice is “rootwork”. Did I mention that Hoodoo focuses on “doing no harm”? Oh and the third eye is important too, especially to Hoodoo despite it being a Hindu concept. I cannot make this up.

The wording of this book is also incredibly strange. I don’t have a ebook version to double check but I am positive the words Furthermore and However are included at least 50 times. EACH. The book also repeats itself numerous times. A good example is with the Furnace Ghost story it tells in the 4th chapter I believe? Where it repeats the same end of sentence with just slightly different beginnings within the same paragraph. There’s also other phrases used at the end of chapters to usher in the next that just read…weirdly? Examples: “Let me set the stage” “You are not going to want to miss this.” What are you writing a script or a book? 

Now for the proper “Appalachian Magic” side of the book. It consistently uses the term Granny Witch, and states numerous times that witchcraft was just fine! Appalachia did not care and the “fear” of witches never penetrated the mountains. But yet a “granny witch” would use faith not as a proper form of healing, oh no! It was “to keep doubters at bay”. So faith healing was a cover up and not the actual practice itself. 

This book also has two whole chapters on legends and myths, which is fine, if it didn’t focus on the ones everyone knows like Bigfoot and Mothman only. Like it doesn’t cover any of the smaller localized things or spirits at all. Just the things you could easily find if you googled “appalachia spooky”. Hmmmmmm. Strange isn’t it? 

This book also stated that tarot and black tourmaline was ULTRA important to Appalachian magic. Like where does that come from? There’s another chapter dedicated to the phases of the moon and “spells”  which they mean in a modern new-age witchcraft way and definitely not Appalachian, although I will give it props for saying the moon phases and astrology are different here. Because they are.

Tiktok was mentioned twice; it appropriates dreamcatchers and other Hoodoo items in the “non-Hoodoo” sections of the book. Hell, it even said, accurately mind you, that Mothman has even “spawned fanfiction”. It even got the information on where Roanoke was…wrong.  Roanoke is in Virginia. This book claims it is in North Carolina. 

The most damning thing however, and I use that however in a very sarcastic tone, is the “author” herself. I painstakingly typed in some text from the book and was surprised to see it come back as “human written”. I don’t think that’s quite true, if it is then they text portions must be stolen from other sources and shoved into a book form. Because this author? A bot.

Her profile image used on Amazon, which is the ONLY SOURCE of information on her, no socials, no google, nothing. Is AI generated. Proof is here: 

And a blurb from the book I wanted to include as well. The first of many furthermores used.

The author's Biography, which again is the ONLY SOURCE OF INFORMATION on this supposed person, says as follows: "Alda Dagny has always been drawn to history. Growing up in Scandinavia, history has always been all around her, gods and goddesses, pagan rituals and spells. Ancient ruins that dot her homeland captivated her from an early age, giving her a lifelong love of all things history. " That's all I can find. That's it. Just AI and or ghost writing/theft has officially found itself in the AFM space. I hate this society.

[maoam]

You've posted about the internalized homophobia from naruto's character writing. Other sns blog also posted about him being written as a closeted gay and the one who is in-denial about the nature of his feelings/relationship to sasuke, what with him not being able to define his feelings when sasuke kept asking him why did you go so far for me? So naruto always just says it's because of friendship as a cop-out. Also how sasuke looks unsatisfied and lowkey annoyed the last time naruto says it at the end in vote2, which ofc led him to ask naruto to clarify more and all. I agree with all the analysis that says sasuke has always been the one who is more self aware about the romantic implications of their bond from the start.

But what I'm trying to ask here is specifically about something from naruto's side. We've established that there is that one panel where he was thinking about sasuke and then when sai and sakura approaches he says he was thinking of sakura instead. Other sns blog also has posted on how naruto's entire "childhood crush" on sakura is just a projection of his feelings on sasuke, citing panels on how he didn't react when Lee made a move on sakura but everytime it's sasuke that is involved, he always went above and beyond to show how 'jealous' he is. I also agree with this and you also has posted about when minato assumed sakura was his girlfriend, he hastily didn't correct him to please his family's expectation. All of this is very much familiar to a closeted/in-denial gay person who is experiencing comphet and wants to appease to heteronormativity to conform.

Which brought me to my concern here. It always rubbed me the wrong way how one of the life advice Kushina gave him is to find a 'nice girl'. Especially how we know that after the war, he was also being guilttripped to accept hinata's confession. In a comic written by kishi after the last, the villagers are shown to be in awe of the 'picture perfect' couple of the soon-to-be-hokage and the heiress, implying that the entire reason nh happens is for this. To paint a respectable image for the war hero amidst the village's politics. All of this leading to gaiden/boruto where it is shown that while he does loves his family (in the same way he 'loves' the village, 'loves' being a hokage) there is some intentional distance that he kept from them. Other than constantly choosing to be on the office rather than at home, he also asked his own son to call him with formalities.

I think other blog has posted in great details how much it is implied that the life naruto choose for himself, marrying into a respectable family, settling down with kids, taking up the hokage mantle, is no longer his own wants but just to conform into society/familial expectations that became a burden for him. He slept through his own inauguration, even his own son is wondering why is he not more prepared/estatic to the day that supposedly is his biggest dream coming true.

I think all this reasoning became my main gripe with minakushi and all the sns parallels with them. Sure, naruto and sasuke being hokage and shadow kage, working alongside each other is a valid and canon narrative. Sasuke telling Boruto about naruto's development since he was a kid through his eyes also parallels what Kushina says to naruto. It's a cool thing but sns is also laced with a lot of anguish in these things that the other (heterosexual) ships just dont get.

We're not even gonna go to very charged and ambigous panels such as their last interaction in ch 699 where they promised to "have their real fight" and the implications of that headband (that sasuke eventually gave to boruto in the end, using the same exact words he used "hold on to it" vs "I'll hold on to it until we have our real fight"), that weird interaction in gaiden where it seems like sasuke is taunting naruto for his choices, calling him 'hokage' when in other times he called him by name, highlighting their philosophical differences too (naruto stays in the village, sasuke works outside of it) as "cooperation", highlighting how "the mission" that he's doing is 'top secret that nobody can know', "ignorance is bliss"????. It's probably the most subtext we're ever gonna get into those two's arrangement and it haunts me still.

Hi. I talked a bit about this [link]

I understand the bitterness towards het couples. Kushina's comment is realistic since most people expect their children to find a member of the opposite sex, get married and have children. Heteronormativity is a thing. I do feel the recent Boruto chapters have been oddly playing with the subtext that makes me wonder where it's all going. But we shall see.

The "cooperation" part is a very suspect moment, like a private conversation we aren't given full context of. As you said, the charged tone, the unsaid things, Sasuke's sad face and Naruto's taken aback/nervous face, Sakura's nervous face etc. Sasuke's conversation with Boruto as well, especially with the last frame of him saying maybe I'm the one who has to show his resolve next. Like why so vague? I do hope Kishi some day will explain all this!