#i made them fuck to achieve inner peace

[earthtodora]

excerpts from my latest pwp itafushi brainrot fic, cause... yeah, i have no real excuse for this.

summary: a curse leaves megumi with the power to read the thoughts of anyone he touches. he finds out that yuuji's been harboring a lot of inappropriate thoughts about him, and decides to put those fantasies to good use.

read here.

[punkitt-is-here]

I went back, read the FAQ, figured out I was working with bad information, and would like to present an actually polite version of the previous ask.

The other women you were having the "AFAB trans woman" debate with haven't been able to let go of it,

because anons have been accusing them of gatekeeping and TERF politics for providing anecdotes of, basically, AFAB people identifying as trans women to mock or overthrow their social groups. Citations below:

https://strawberry-crocodile.tumblr.com/post/742523159739334656/aita-for-warning-new-transfem-friends-that-someone

https://necronatural.tumblr.com/post/754196456131428352/sorry-but-if-youre-afab-you-do-not-get-to-call

I understand that the brazen, all-caps-bold-text mockery of any ask on this topic is great for driving off hateful anons pointed at you,

but if you could lend some credit to @patricia-taxxon 's responses, for example, it'd help take some hate off her back and really hep build my respect for you as an artist.

This will be likely my last proper response on any of this so be chill about it

I really, genuinely do not care that much about this subject much at all. It is a passing thought to me. I made the original post, responded once or twice, and made a quesadilla. it was fucking delicious. I do not appreciate the way you have talked to me. If you're going to treat yourself like someone I have to earn the respect back of instead of a random stranger on the internet who was very brazen to me in a one-off inbox message, I am not going to care.

With that out of the way: I have read the citations you have listed. I do not care. I have read them, thoroughly considered their points, and I still do not give a shit. What you are pointing at here in the first one is an individual perpetrating shitty behavior. I am not saying that this is the case, but if there was an assigned-male-at-birth woman perpetrating the same information, it would become very apparent very quickly how obvious it is that the issue is not with their gender identity, it is with the information they are spreading. Anyone is capable of misinformation, and I am not going to shit on and belittle a completely niche gender identity because one woman on the internet fucked up one time. If I did that, I'd be a hypocrite and would not be practicing any sort of good faith towards people with gender identities I do not fully understand. This is a core tenant of how I approach queerness. I do not need to understand someone to respect them. I do not need to worry about how conservatives will see us. I do not need to worry about the larger queer community when one person is being off-putting. I am not a fucking square. I achieve a lot of inner peace by simply practicing what you have named "tits-and-beer gender liberalism".

The second post you have linked is also something that I have read. I have considered the points in said post. My stance has still not changed. I do not think ID'ing as a transfeminine person when you were assigned female at birth is an inherently transphobic concept. Plenty of people in my notes have described experiences that very clearly and understandably outline why they do or why others might identify with the concept. I fundamentally disagree with the response because I do not believe that it is a transphobic idea. I am a transgender woman and have been for about half a decade now. My relationship with femininity is complex, and I am a binary transgender woman. I think in the grand scheme of gender identities, switching from one binary to the other has been pretty easy for me mentally. I am not intersex, I have never detransitioned in any way, and my family has been incredibly supportive. I transitioned specifically for the euphoria I got from identifying as a woman. I still have a complicated relationship with womanhood. Someone who has gone through many more hardships than I have is probably going to have an even more complicated relationship with femininity, and that is why I have no trouble imagining why something like an AFAB trans woman would exist. Perhaps someone has a complicated relationship with gender in relation to their intersex status and feels that the journey that transgender women take more closely aligns with their own rather than cisgender womanhood. Perhaps they are non-binary and have still transitioned to a more feminine-leaning identity. Perhaps they have de-transitioned, but now they are irreversibly changed by that experience and they are, in a way of thinking, "trans-feminine" because they are transitioning back to femininity. It is not hard for me to think of reasons. It is not saying that trans women are not real women. I think it is very clear to me that "transfem" can easily describe an experience with femininity that differs from the cisgender experience. It is no less valid, it is simply different, as with all things.

"Transfem" can mean "a man transitioning into a woman", but it can also describe a complex approach towards self-identification. We can argue semantics all we want, but I do not care personally. I do not think transfem means transitioning from man to woman exclusively. I am a binary transgender woman, and I do not agree that that is all it is. My journey as a transgender individual has been very uncomplicated compared to others, but it is still an ocean deep. I do not want to reduce that journey and identification down to a simple "man become woman" because that betrays the inherent complexity of transitioning and figuring out yourself.

Ultimately, to me, it comes down to not giving a shit. I am rarely, if ever, going to meet an AFAB transfem person. You are rarely, if ever, going to meet an AFAB transfem person. It is an incredibly niche gender identity with a lot of baggage, as we have seen. It is never going to matter in the broad scheme of things that they exist because 99% of people are not going to bring them up in the wider conversation about transfemininity. I know that finding your identity can be a rough, arduous process. I am not going to deprive someone of the joy of self-discovery, even if it is a complex or contradictory idea. I do not fully understand neopronouns. I do not fully understand things like polyamory or he/him lesbians or AFAB transfems. I do not need to. In real life, you hang out with people and share food and good times together. None of this shit matters. If I am ever so lucky to meet someone with a contradictory or confusing identity, I am happy that my words may provide them comfort and that they won't live to hide themselves around me. Making someone feel like they have to hide parts of their self is the last thing I would ever want anyone to experience.

I have no beef with Patricia. I quite like her work. When I saw her response, I disagreed. I still do. I am not going to start agreeing with an idea I am expressly opposed to because someone asked. But it is not the end of the world. I would appreciate, if my followers are sending her harassment, that they fucking stop, because it's not that big a deal. If anyone from my post is sending anyone hate because of a public disagreement on that post, I ask you kindly to stop and go outside. I do not condone the behavior. It is not that big a deal.

I am going to go make myself a ham and egg sandwich and practice tits and beer gender liberalism now. I hope this satisfies your request in some way.

[malusokay]

Being your own best friend

Babes, It's time to become your own best friend, showing yourself kindness, empathy, and respect!! Being your own bestie is KEY to inner peace and happiness. <3

Self-care is a priority!! Skincare, alone time, reading, and so on. Don't feel bad for taking care of yourself!!

Set boundaries and learn to say no when necessary. It takes time to establish boundaries but keep making them clear!! You got this :)

Treat yourself like you would treat your best friend. Be kind, supportive, and forgiving towards yourself. Also, don't speak badly about yourself!!

Positive affirmations. "I am enough", "I deserve to be happy", "I'm the hottest person on the entire fucking planet, and everyone is madly in love with me." <3

Take care of your body, bestie!! Eat nutritious foods, get enough sleep, and stay hydrated…

Invest time in your hobbies. Keep doing what makes you happy, and make it a priority to actually make time for those things!! I've been trying to crochet a sweater; I'm going to be unstoppable once I'm done, just wait…

Avoid toxic people and situations!! Boundaries baby!! Don't waste your energy!!

Embrace cringyness. This may sound stupid, but life is so much more fun when you don't care about being cringy; also, most memorable moments are always a bit cringe!! <3

Prioritize your mental health. Journal, meditate, and go to therapy if necessary!! It's 2023, we all go to therapy; take care of yourself :)

Celebrate all your achievements and successes!! Got good grades? SLAYYY!! Made scrambled eggs? SLAYY!! Got into Harvard Law? What, like it's hard??

Remember, being your own best friend takes time, but it's worth it for a lifetime of self-love and happiness. Let's support each other on this journey!! :)

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[deepestdelulu]

Being your own best friend

Babes, It's time to become your own best friend, showing yourself kindness, empathy, and respect!! Being your own bestie is KEY to inner peace and happiness. <3

Self-care is a priority!! Skincare, alone time, reading, and so on. Don't feel bad for taking care of yourself!!

Set boundaries and learn to say no when necessary. It takes time to establish boundaries but keep making them clear!! You got this :)

Treat yourself like you would treat your best friend. Be kind, supportive, and forgiving towards yourself. Also, don't speak badly about yourself!!

Positive affirmations. "I am enough", "I deserve to be happy", "I'm the hottest person on the entire fucking planet, and everyone is madly in love with me." <3

Take care of your body, bestie!! Eat nutritious foods, get enough sleep, and stay hydrated…

Invest time in your hobbies. Keep doing what makes you happy, and make it a priority to actually make time for those things!! I've been trying to crochet a sweater; I'm going to be unstoppable once I'm done, just wait…

Avoid toxic people and situations!! Boundaries baby!! Don't waste your energy!!

Embrace cringyness. This may sound stupid, but life is so much more fun when you don't care about being cringy; also, most memorable moments are always a bit cringe!! <3

Prioritize your mental health. Journal, meditate, and go to therapy if necessary!! It's 2024, we all go to therapy; take care of yourself :)

Celebrate all your achievements and successes!! Got good grades? SLAYYY!! Made scrambled eggs? SLAYY!! Got into Harvard Law? What, like it's hard??

Remember, being your own best friend takes time, but it's worth it for a lifetime of self-love and happiness. Let's support each other on this journey!! :)

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[yeonmuse]

BLUE HOUR | Day 15

PAIRING lyricist/soloist Joong x stranger reader

WORD COUNT |

GENRE Smut, Escapism

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ‼️

SUMMARY wanting to escape the nuisance of his fame and clear his head Joong goes for a stroll through the sleepless city. What he hadn’t expected was he’d meet someone as daring as you.

MORE | Day 15 of the Groupie Love Series

Fame always came with a price, whether it was those that sold their soul or those that worked all on their own to get there, life was never easy. No matter how you achieved it it never became easy, the stress or anxiety never went away, and privacy the one thing you’d wish to have would slip through the cracks of your fingers.

Hongjoong knew that better than anyone, there had been many days where he wished he hadn’t entered the rock scene, yes he loved the music but the constant attention on him wasn’t exactly something he craved. Tonight was the one night where he had finally found some sort of peace, a heavy silence washed over him as he walked along the beach after what felt like hours upon hours of being on his feet performing. He had been walking for so long that the stars and the mood had begun to take the place of the sun and the clouds, blue hour had fallen upon the city.

“You look like you had a rough day.” Someone's voice draws him out of his inner thoughts, he mentally curses himself for not having realized their presence ahead of time but they had seen them now and it was too late to not acknowledge them.

“A tiring one for sure, this is the first time I’ve gotten peace in the last week.”

“You chose the perfect time then, blue hour, it's always beautiful when you catch it at the right time, there’s something surreal about it.” As he finally turned to fully acknowledge the presence of the woman beside him, he fell silent, she herself was also surreal.

“yn, I come here often around this time, and you are?” She didn’t know him? Though hongjoong was relieved to finally be talking to someone that had no idea who he was, after seeing you he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that someone as beautiful as you had no idea who he was.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“Well hongjoong, there's more to the city than just the beach, if you’re looking for more to see. When life gets tiring and you need something to make you feel anything other than that.”

“If I take your word then how about you show me, lead the way.”

“You’ll let a complete stranger show you around the city?”

“I met completely strangers everyday and trust them with far more.”

“Well the Hongjoong, let me show you my city.”

Hongjoong honestly didn’t know what the fuck he was thinking letting a complete stranger show him around the city, knowing his managers would throw a complete fit but in all honesty he didn’t care in that moment. You were like some sort of beacon of light that attracted him to you, and the longer the night went on the more that attraction grew. He didn’t even know if what he had been doing at that moment was legal nor did he truly care. He watched from down below as you ascended the ladder of the apartment building and he wasn’t too far behind, he found howls staring at your ass as he climbed up behind you, how could he not when it was right there on display before him, that of course didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Once the two of you finally made it to the rooftop, Hongjoong was stunned to say the least, by the view of the city. Though he could easily access a view like this in a penthouse or plane, there was something different about seeing it this way, out in the open. Blue hour was a magical time. His gaze then shifts from the view to you, he wonders how you yourself even knew how to access a view like this, his wondering then turned into admiration as he once again drank in the view of you.

“You’re staring again.”

“Again?”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t stare at my ass the entire climb up here?”

“Can’t exactly resist when it’s in full display in front of me, besides it’s kind of a hard sight to miss.”

“Well which view is better then?” Hongjoong was taken back by your sudden boldness, though he was used to women throwing themself at him or acting desperate, she was the complete opposite, you hadn’t once tried to throw yourself at him, and perhaps that was the reason he found himself attracted to you even more.

“I honestly think I prefer the city.” He responds, simply wanting to tease you though that may have backfired on him in the best way possible.

“You prefer that view over this one?” You respond giving a full spin, stopping with your back facing him. Tension between the two was now building, this night had been turning into something he had absolutely not been expecting, but he didn’t hate it.

“This view is also very tempting.” He responds, his eyes now glued to you, you had him hanging on your every move.

“Tempting? Does it tempt you?” You respond finally turning to face him again.

“Should we head back down? You still have more to show me right?” He wanted to end things here, to change the subject because he knew if they got caught you’d be dragged into the life that he himself was growing tired of, but you were making that hard.

“Tell me then what’s so tempting about me?” He watched as you bent your body over the edge of the building, your arms resting on the concrete balcony.

“Fuck.” He mumbles under his breath at the sight.

“Are you tempted to touch it? Or was your mind going further than just a touch?”

“Yn I shouldn’t-“

“Touch me then, go on.” He fell silent, you were giving him a clear invite and as much as he wanted to refute, the way you looked bent over that balcony made any possible self control leave his body.

“Fuck this.” In less than a few seconds he had his hand around your throat and your body pressed to his as he kissed on your neck.

“Can I? Fuck, please say I can?” Hongjoong wasnt used to this, he had never in his life pleaded to fuck anyone mostly because it usually came easy, but here he was aching to have you, to taste you, hear your moans.

“Yes.”

He wasted no time then and there ripping through the fabric of your jeans , it was then that he had gotten the most satisfying view, your legs spread wide as he had you bent over. Once he lifts your shirt and unlatches your bra he lets out a curse at the way your breasts fall loosely from your lifted shirt. It made for all the more satisfaction once he filled you up from behind. His eyes traced your every curve. From the dip in your back to the curves of your waist, but the main visual was getting to watch the way his cock so easily pushed past your folds until he was completely bottomed out inside of you, your tight grip around him immediately pulling a groan from his lips.

“Fucking hell If you keep clenching so much you’ll be full a lot faster than you should be sweetheart.’’ Hongjoong groans as he rests his hands on your waist and his head falls back. His hand wraps around your throat from behind and the other rest easily on the small of your back.

He gazes down at you, eyes full of hunger, he wanted to ravish you, to make sure every time you walked the next week all you would think about was him and the things he was now doing to you. A complete burst of pleasure overwhelms your body and you’d have sworn you saw stars as Hongjoongs fingers meet your clit, he rubbed rough circles against you as he watched how his entire cock pushed in and out of you. He didn’t miss the way your legs trembled or you’d occasionally fuck back against him which needless to say brought a smirk to his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, you keep sucking me in?’’ His gaze had lingered on you long enough to know that you were reaching your limit, too bad even when you surpassed that limit he wouldn't be done with you.

“Shit just hold out a little longer pretty.” He grunts, his nails digging into the skin of your hips earning a soft cry from you which set a fire in his eyes. As the two of you were reaching your climaxes it seemed his thrusts grew rougher, Each thrust getting less merciful, he pushed into you with feverish movement, and he didn’t let up until your cunt was completely full to the brim with evidence of his doing. The two of you came at the same time, he gave a proud smile at the feeling of your legs trembling under him.

He loved the way you seemed to fall apart completely, that. He now had you leaned against the balcony struggling to catch your breath, your hair a complete mess and makeup ruined, the remnants of this encounter lingering all over your body.

[kimdokjas]

why you should read Mystic Prince if you enjoyed ORV

Mystic Prince / Prince of Myolyeong (묘령의 황자) is a fantasy and action-adventure manhwa with art & story by Aheuredal (아흐레달) and in my humble opinion, an absolute hidden gem. it's literally one the best manhwas i've ever read (among the top 2) and i've finally gathered my thoughts enough to try to articulate why i love it so much, and hopefully convince you to give it a chance!

here's the official summary on webtoon:

An immortal emperor rules the Kingdom of Yeol, a divine country blessed by gods with awesome powers. After a thousand years of peaceful rule, the time has come for a new emperor to be chosen. This is determined by a series of trials, in which twenty princes with special powers who have trained since birth must compete. As all princes of varying personalities and agendas gather to partake in the trials, intrigue and possibly even bloodshed seem all but certain. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the other princes, the Fourth Prince Jeok-yeon Ryu hides a secret he must guard with his life.

anyway i literally made a carrd for this, that's how much i care about this manhwa and i worked very hard on it!! you can find the carrd here*

(* also if you hate daily pass like me pls note that there's a fan translation as well! just keep in mind that some episodes have ost but you can find the links to youtube on the carrd as well. but if you enjoy it please do try to leave likes, comments, and a good rating on webtoon to support the creator!)

Mystic Prince is incredibly unique in terms of story and execution that i can't really compare it to anything else but here's why i think you'll enjoy it, especially if you also liked orv:

strong-willed MC who's not naturally skilled but works extremely hard

said MC is willing to suffer and hurt themselves to achieve their goals (aka kim dokja-esque tendencies)

seemingly cold and aloof ML with yoo joonghyuk vibes at first, naturally gifted and seems to look down on everyone

...but is actually head over heels for MC and just doesn't know how to express his feelings

ensemble cast of incredibly complex and well-developed characters with different personalities and motivations

MC seems a little dense at times but they have a tragic backstory that explains why they're Like That

incredibly bisexual vibes !! like literally off the charts

slowburn romance that is cooking up such a great meal

MC and ML have actually known each other for centuries

characters go through trials that involve risking death

extremely unique lore and world-building

i said ML before but there are actually multiple potential MLs with how much complexity all the character dynamics have

beautiful character designs (literally over 10+ within the main cast and they're all so unique)

evocative writing and heartfelt monologues that seem taken out of a book of pure poetry

narratively significant motifs of fire and water (à la orv's black/white and reader/protagonist)

profound and realistic depiction of the inner feelings and troubles that the characters go through

incredibly heart-wrenching original soundtrack! (actually made me cry)

some of the most gorgeous art i've seen in any manhwa (seriously pls just open the 1st episode and look at the first few panels)

[spoilers below for chapter ~10]

delicious gender fuckery

MC is actually cross-dressing afab (i personally hc them as genderqueer; korean doesn't have gendered pronouns but the official tl uses she/her pronouns)

bonus: they're built like a fucking tank (as seen here) like hello??? which is so refreshing to see for an afab MC

plus they're also canonically lacking in empathy but still deeply compassionate which again is really refreshing

i'm sure there's even more stuff i'm forgetting but these are just some reasons off the top of my head why i think this manhwa is so amazing

please do give Mystic Prince a chance, it's an absolute delight!! there are multiple beautiful covers but here's a couple of them, BE ART BAITED <3

and finally some of my personal reactions to Mystic Prince and also a note regarding the content warnings under the cut!

feel free to skip this part lol but personally when i look for recs, i love when people tell me their emotional reactions and how passionate they are about it! so if this tells you anything,

this is the ONLY manhwa to have made me cry so far (yes that includes the orv webtoon, but not the novel ofc) like actually ugly sobbing with snot and tears and everything lmao

(it's not all sad though! this manhwa will have you clutching your heart one moment and then cackling out loud the next)

and it's also the ONLY manhwa i've ever spent actual money on before the fan tl picked it up just so i could read the advanced chapters (i'm notoriously cheap so this says a lot imo)

and i'm not alone in this, every other comment on webtoon is people saying the exact same thing. the general consensus is that this is 100% a hidden gem (webtoon DP my behated why'd you have to shoot yourself in the foot like that)

also regarding the content warnings on the carrd: this was my first time making a list of cws (i don't think anyone else has made one yet?) and i was a little hesitant to add them, so i sincerely apologize if i missed anything!! if anyone else has anything else to add (cws or otherwise) then please feel free to send me a message and i'll be happy to edit it!!

(btw this was inspired by this post which is also a great summary for why u should read a cnovel called mist unlimited)

[reijukisser]

Part 1 of One piece hcs that no one asked for!!

(this one is purely Sanji centred bcs she's my princess, literally)

★ Sanji is bigender.

He thought he was exclusively a woman at first on kamabakka, since wearing a dress made him feel the most confident he ever had, and he loved the idea of long hair a lot. He was finally slowly letting go of his internalized homophobia, and also finally accepting himself as bisexual, but he soon realized that he still felt comfortable in his masculinity, and he was basically having an entire gender crisis before iva-chan explained to him that he could be literally anyone he wanted to, that he could be a man, a woman, both, neither — whatever he felt most like himself in. After some research he found out that he's probably bigender, and goes by he/she :3

★ Sanji has heterochromia.

His right eye is brown, the color he inherited from his father, but was too afraid to hide his entire life, because it displayed his identity to everyone, how he was nothing but germa's failure, not enough flesh and bones to be human and not the lack of empathy and metal skin he needed to be a heartless soldier. Not enough, never enough, (this ties into how he has imposter syndrome, probably. feels like a thief, to have stolen his mother's life, her hair and her eyes from her, to have stolen zeff's fighting style, his goddamn leg, only to be inadequate, useless, weak.) after some well needed therapy on kamabakka, (it didn't really change anything, but Sanji liked to pretend it did) and literally running away from his problems, his desire to pretend he was nothing but a cog in the machine, a sacrificial lamb good for nothing but to give away his life so high, that he literally learned to fucking fly, Sanji embraced his identity, if only the slightest bit. So now, he shows off his crystalline blue eyes, waves of the ocean and reflections of the sky, of sora encapsulated in them, and that makes all the difference, even if sometimes, (all the time) when he looks in the mirror and all he sees is his mother, he feels like the shittiest person on earth, who does not deserve the life given to him, does not deserve life at all. This is also why he decided to grow out his hair, at first he was very against the idea, to replicate his mother's appearance so closely, put on a facade of a heart nearly as pure, as kind as hers, (he is, but he'll never understand) but I hc that Nami once said he'd look pretty with long hair, and he never let go of that. In a way, slowly, very, very slowly, it's helping him accept that he isn't a monster like he thinks. But he still is covering up part of himself. I think Sanji achieveing true inner peace would be him showing off both his eyes, the good and the bad. (It'll never happen though because he is literally the incarnation of angst sjsjjs)

[chromisomi]

lifebuoy, a reylo fic | ch 8 is up!

Saturday afternoon brings a strong wind down the mid-Atlantic roads, making the chilly air a lot more cooler than it actually is. Rey wraps her coat tightly around herself as she steps out of Finn’s car, but the winds strike at her face and hair, whipping it back with a sharp sting.

Grumbling a barrage of colorful words under her breath, Rey pulls her equipment out of the car and walks up the cobblestone pathway to Ben’s door. It opens before she reaches it.

“Hi.” Rey looks up at him with arms full of equipment. She duly notes that the family portrait in the foyer had been taken down. “Think you can help with a few things?”

They set up where Rey left off last time, in the rooms on the second floor. Ben’s a quiet presence beside her, helping her set up the tripod and the lighting equipment. If their hands brushed every now and then, Ben didn’t seem to notice.

Rey did though.

She’d jolt every time her fingers brushed with any part of him – his fingers, his wrist, his arm. She’d pointedly tried to stand a few ways from him, just to make sure they wouldn’t touch. But they seemed to, irritatingly, gravitate towards one another naturally, and each time their touches met, Rey would jump back away.

For some odd reason, she’s more aware of him than ever. The way he glides smoothly about the bedroom, tidying a few items up to further prep it. The way he towers over her, especially when she goes to show him the last photos of the room she’d taken on the camera. The way his breathing would hitch when she’d fall back away from him. Why did his breathing seem to change whenever she was-

No. Rey thinks. Get a fucking hold of yourself.

Because whatever happened between them last Saturday was not to repeat again today. Rey vows to that. Being back at the house makes it horrifyingly clear that she had drunk the last time she was there. On the fucking job. And had a heart-to-heart with Ben, who seems to actually care for her now. At least enough so to offer her help.

The mornings after he’d run after her that past Tuesday were, to safely label it, a bit awkward. At least for Rey. He’d come in with his usual order, and Rey would work extra hard not to spill the drink each time, hyperaware of his and Jessika’s attention combined. Each time she’d finally get enough courage to glance up at him, he’d already be right there, looking at her with that look. The one that she had no fucking way of figuring out.

The one he’s giving her now, actually.

“All good?” he asks once they’re done.

Nod, Rey. Rey nods. “Thanks for the help.”

Ben lingers by the door, watching as she ducks down and starts up her camera. She isn’t facing him when she hears him ask, “Do you need anything to dr-”

“Nope!” She interrupts him. “No drinks, I’m okay.” She pauses before saying, with an afterthought, “Thank you.”

And then she gets to work, moving about the room to get the best shots and angles she could find. From there, she moves down the hall, capturing images of the five – five! – bedrooms of the house, until she reaches the last one.

It’s Ben’s room, there’s no doubt about it. It’s the only room in the house that has any personal touches to it, though there has barely been any decorating done. The walls hold a light, charcoal color and in the middle of the space sits a bed with neatly tucked covers that Rey traces with mild fascination. The comforter is soft and plump, its dark linen made from Egyptian cotton. Besides the bed sits a 5-tier wooden shelf with different items in each nook. Ben’s alarm clock and a lone book sits on the nook leveled with the bed.

Without thinking, Rey picks up the book.

Mastering the Art of Zen Mindset: A Step-by-Step Guide to Achieving Inner Peace.

Hm. Rey thinks as she flips through the pages. I might have to ask him where he bought this.

“I see you’ve reached my room.”

read the rest of the chapter on ao3!

[dumbbitchfrommars]

on another note (please let me distract myself from my pathetic past times) - MY PRESENTATION WENT REALLY WELL! well as well as i am capable of. i was reading from the cue cards the entire time but my script was good and so were my slides. i was shaking but my voice was steady, and my knees didn't buckle from the adrenaline-anxiety, so i think i did pretty fucking fantastic. for the others who are used to presenting and dont know the depths of my shame associated with a lifetime of crippling anxiety - its easy to critique my lack of connection with the audience. but in all honesty... IT IS SUCH A PRIVILEGE AND AN HONOUR TO RECEIVE SUCH CRITICISM. like, my presentation was substantial enough to even receive comments. and you understood what i said, and you listened to me, and it wasnt completely terrible, and i didnt have to watch myself so i survived. and i did it!!! it makes me cringe to imagine seeing myself up there not even glancing up at them for a second but sometimes you have to do what you can to get through difficult situations. i am so fucking proud of myself. like... i can hear my inner child jumping for joy. im actually fucking traumatised from the one time i tried to present in grade 7 and the dickhead class clown made fun of me for having badly made slides. in retrospect... he was criticising me because i was the teachers pet and was probably jealous of how smart i really was. and its easy to pick on someone whos already shy. but man did that fuck me up. and that shyness carried on into high school. i cant believe no one saw me and thought hm, she looks like shes struggling, maybe she needs counselling. maybe she needs help. maybe she deserves a little compassion. instead everyone took advantage of their power over the girl raised to be a people pleaser and subservient to authority. NOW LOOK AT ME YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! i wont listen to bullshit from anyone. not kim telling me oh, but makeup wont get paid as much as here, oh youll probably only get around $28 an hour. GUESS WHAT BITCH, I GET THE SAME EXACT RATES AS THIS SHITHOLE. and ill be even happier doing it. no more drunks, no more creeps, no more druggies, no more aggros, no more smelly homeless weirdos, and no more energy vampire coworkers.

fuck you scott for being less mature than me, someone probably less than half your age. i am the adult when youre around and it must make you so fucking insecure. anyway. i always get like this before the weekend when i am forced back into that hell hole place.... at least i dont have to deal with the annoying ones tomorrow. and fridays are usually more fun because there are more young people heading out for the night.

working in alcohol is just not appropriate, safe, fun, or nurturing for a beautiful 22 year old girl. sorry guys. i got to go. its not my fault my energy triggered you because youre old and afraid of change and settled for a shitty job just because it paid well. LIFE IS FOR LIVING NOT FOR MAKING MONEY.

on that note, i know its a privilege to up and leave a job simply because the "vibes werent right". its a privilege to say money doesnt matter to me. and its a privilege to choose a job based on my personal preference and not on survival. but its a privilege we all have, if youre willing to work hard enough. im sick of lowering my voice and downplaying my strengths and my achievements for fear of pissing people off, for triggering people, for bringing their insecurities to light. LET ME WIN IN PEACE FOR ONCE. smile for me for once. pretend to be happy for ME for once.

i hate fucking pretending its not that big of a deal when its secretly a huge deal for me. i have achieved so fucking much in the last year of my life. i finished an undergraduate bachelors degree, i got a new job and excelled in it, literally made all the customers prefer me over my longstanding coworkers who are miserable with the worst attitudes even towards me who is nothing but kind and friendly. i started and honours degree whilst working part time - and im excelling in that too. because i am hardworking as much as everyone wants to pretend im not, and that im not that capable, and that i need things to be explained to MAYBE YOU SHOULD FUCKING LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE. cause i clearly have a lot more going for me that you want to believe. i might only be 22 but i was raised to work hard and strive and always find something new and better to challenge me to work towards. anyway, i also went on a trip to europe this year . though it feels like ive already erased that from my memory, cause it didnt go the way i wanted it to. anyway. i know how to handle my finances, i am independent, i am strong, i push myself. i joined a gym after years of avoiding and bein afraid and not believing in myself enough to do it. I AM PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY STRONG AND GETTING STRONGER EVERY DAY. ugh . i just wish people could see that. i wish people appreciated that...

yes i was very sad to say i was leaving my job. but God instantly reminded me why i wanted to leave in the first place. why i decided to make that application, go to that interview, and pray for months on end that my time to leave would come soon. because no matter how much love and kindness i pour into that place, it will always take and never give. i am completely drained by it. i will break if i stay there. and i cannot fucking wait to leave and know that slowly but surely, every single one of the stupid, pathetic alcoholics that frequent that place will notice my absence and be disappointed that im gone. and they will wonder why, and they will realise and know, that the people there were so fucking terrible to me that i had no other choice but to find something better. that in their own little way, they contributed to me leaving.

even my manager. i already know im gonna miss him like crazy when i leave but its for the best. not only is this crush fucking relentless and so stupid, but hes not even that great, and he doesnt deserve my respect and adoration to this level. as cute and funny he is, he is just another white man. sigh

i didnt realise i had such a rant to get out... i think scott triggered me yesterday. the good thing is i dont really notice in the moment how much of a man child hes being, so he doesnt get the satisfaction of my irritation in person. but i wont forget that he dipped and i didnt get a break after being on my feet for 6 hours straight. fuck you, old man.

[squeezingmybrainfr]

even though i crave for it time to time but deep down i know i can't ever be with someone romantically and whenever someone asks me why i say because i don't want to but it's only the half truth. i don't want to because i have never seen a healthy, working and loving relationship in my life and i know that every relationship has it's struggles and deep pits but the ones i have seen? they are fucking disasters that should never have happened let alone stayed for this long which made it ugly, toxic and abusive to say the least. it's detrimental to the people involved and the people around them and i am not saying love is a lie but love is ruinous in the worst ways. after being surrounded by so many of them my entire life i know one thing for sure, i never want a momentary fleeting feeling that could later hold the power to completely destroy the inner peace i am building for myself.

call me a coward but when you spend your whole life surrounded with toxicity like this and still not know when you will achieve peace, you will want to hold on to that peace the moment you have it and never let go. i just hope that this situation gets over soon because i really don't think i have much patience left in me. :)

[tigre-edi-rawr]

Philosophical Questions

1. What is something you once believed in but no longer do? What changed your mind?

2. Is there anything people must do first in order to be worthy of love and happiness?

3. Should we always choose to be kind? If yes, why? If no, why not, and when is the time that we should not choose to be kind?

4. Do you believe that the end justifies the mean? that if the desired result is so good or important, any method even morally bad may be used to achieve it? Why or why not?

5. When is it wrong to love someone?

1. Can I answer two things? First would be, sex before marriage. The context is as a sexual person I need the sexual chemistry for a relationship, not that it's all about that but due to my past relationship, I believe it's a must and it's not something I should be ashamed of (tho I know I'm a sinner, don't come at me.) Second would be, family is family. BITCH NO. If they are not good for your mental health or well-being in general, cut them the fuck off.

2. Nothing. You can be whatever or whoever you are and if someone will love you, they will see the beauty in you, inside and out.

3. To be kind all the time is not my forte. I'm short-tempered. The best scenario would be, when they're being irrational and dumb making them steal your inner peace, clash back or cut them off. You can always kill them with kindness.

4. No. Where's the victory in that? I won't even celebrate knowing I did dirty just to win. I failed many times, there's no harm in failing again duh.

5. Loving is okay, never will it be wrong. Unless someone is taken and you made the move because you love them, that's disrespectful. Loving means caring and respecting, and you can do that from afar.

[ramim]

So the thing about Nesta is that I don't like her that much, I also don't dislike her! As a character there are things about her that I genuinely admire, and there are things about her that I honestly can't stand!

But!

Her character is valuable to me, because by reading ACOSF and watching Nesta through her journey, I learned a lot of stuff such as:

I shouldn't hate myself for the mistake I made, but I should try to be a better person;

No matter who I am, as long as I'm a good person, I am deserving of love!

I should never push the people I love, aside! Because even if it seems like a good approach in a short run, it will harm me and my loved ones in the long run!

I shouldn't make decisions for others, I should let them decide for themselves!

Through hard work and inner peace I can achieve the greatest things in the world!

But other than these things, Nesta's journey made me see some of the character I used to like, in a whole new light!

I never actually liked or disliked Rhysand so her treatment toward Nesta didn't really changed my opinion about him, he is still an asshole who has some serious hero complex! To the point of hurting others!!!

I used to love Mor! But the way she treated Nesta was simply awful! She like to talk about how Nesta would fit perfectly in Hewn city just because she didn't jump right on cassian's dick and was mean toward others? Like...she is 25! She has been turned and orphaned, she almost witnessed her mate's death! She cut off a person's head! She had a huge amount of power that was pure death! Of course she is a bit... unhinged! I'm not a fan of being terrible to other people because of my own problems but in no way I believe Nesta was an actually bad person for her unhealthy coping mechanisms!

I also used to believe Elain to be so sweet and nice! But the she went behind Nesta's back and packed her stuff! Like what the fuck! And the when Nesta wanted to talk to her everyone were like "elain will talk to you when she wants"!! Like yeah sure she is ready as fuck to pack Nesta's stuff but not ready to face her??? And then when it was Nesta who didn't want to talk to her anymore she went talking behind Nesta's back and saying she hasn't gotten any better at all! She actually said that to Rhysand who didn't even need a reason to dislike Nesta! At the same time Nesta was actually doing better and both cassian and Azriel were witness to that! Elain's behaviour toward Nesta in ACOSF angered me to no end! I don't care how mean Nesta was, she still was the only person who refused to leave Elain's side while Elain was sickly and unresponsive! And don't let me start on the slut shaming!

Amren! She simply was a bitch...I'll say no more!

I think by seeing through Nesta's eye, by seeing through her guilt ridden view and self hating thoughts I learned more about the characters that were fine in Feyre's optimistic and hopeful perspective!(feyre likes to see the best in people, she also believes the best in them! To the point of being foolish)

I also have some thoughts on Feyre's behaviour toward Nesta, should i write about that as well?

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

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

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[ruby-whistler]

(Just for time- any name I refer in here is all character unless specified!)

Nah, cause I'm convinced that the vault was 100% a set up and there's so much that is just left unexplained that proves that:

The Elevator

The Polished Blackstone room

The Gold/highly lit stand for the discs

The enderportal

The attachments

The Avenger's Endgame bullshit at the end

Ranboo

(1) - I don't know why, but this was one of the bigger ones to annoy the hell out of me as to why it looked so complicated. Dream- as far as I remember- hasn't had that many creations with such complex machinery/redstone engineering. Even more so to the extent of making an elevator that can function going up and down with a platform big enough to fit multiple people on.

(1) - Not only that, but we never even got to see the inner workings of the redstone itself- it may seem like an unnecessary detail, but as far as I'm aware, not many people are able to make redstone this complex in order to properly function as an elevator (in Minecraft terms). Dream just doesn't seem to fit within that category because- again, as far as I'm aware- the most complicated redstone device he's made has been the doomsday one, and even then, it wasn't even that complicated- nowhere near the level enough to make an entire elevator by himself.

(2) - Maybe it's because of the amount of times I've seen Dream login to the server and how infrequent it had been in the past, but I don't see how Dream could mine up so much Polished Blackstone, especially to use in this specific purpose. Dream doesn't even have many structures to his name, even his own base doesn't even have any materials that could suggest he would need extra Blackstone for. If it had been made out of obsidian, I could believe it considering all that material had been used for walls around L'Manburg. (Plus, it's been confirmed by the CCs that creative mode is barely used as is, so this makes mining this much Blackstone/Polished Backstone make even less sense.)

(2) - I feel like this is strongly indicated with how much Ranboo had been supposedly mining at the time and had a ridiculously low durability on his tool set so often, sure he could be mining for something totally unrelated, but if that were the case- why would he be so "unaware" of why his tools are so low to begin with?

(3) - Now this is where the bullshit meter starts kicking higher. Why would Dream display the real discs so proudly and in such a gaudy manner, especially when it functionally served no purpose? Not even the walls he had around L'Manburg or the obsidian grid were as flashy. Gold floors, bright lights, the portraits of the discs side to side by the very clear escape portal™, hell, they were even positioned to be directly in front of the elevator so that Tommy and Tubbo would first notice them and would try to run for them. AND THERE WERE TWO ENDERCHESTS RIGHT NEXT TO THE PORTALS AND THE DISCS.

(3) - What kind of Saturday cartoon evil villain™ leaves such an obvious flaw, even when taking into account that Dream is supposedly a strategist? What kind of strategic mastermind would leave an interdimentional chest that could potentially have back up gear and various other items to assist his enemies out in the open like that especially next to a portal where they could easily escape? Not even Jack Manifold would make such an oversight like that.

(4) - The placements of the portal and where Dream, Tommy, and Tubbo all stopped off at the end of Dream's grandiose speech were all much to convenient/coincidental. It was like it was choreographed so that when Dream was specifically away for the duo, Punz and whoever else would be able to step in and "separate/rescue" the two from the big bad Dream despite the fact that Dream could've easily killed the two if he really wanted to by being near and crit'ing them out.

(4) - Plus, the portal was already lit. Which leads directly to where they would've been. Again, from a strategic standpoint that makes no god damn sense. Why leave an obvious portal out in the open like this so that your enemies could try and come and find the people you're trying to supposedly kill?

(5) - Oh yeah, but the bullshit alarm is blaring. Albeit with a bit of wavering doubt, I thought that the attachments room was the most solid part of the plan, at least, if we're going with the mindset that Dream's ultimate goal was to take control of attachments, force everyone to be friends/unified again, and achieve his ultimate goal of peace and unity on the server. But as I thought more on it, some of the attachments... Don't make sense for Dream to know.

(5) - How did Dream know about someone having an attachment that was bedrock? How did Dream know about Punz's shulker box? (I know Drista gave it to him and cc!Dream was there for that, but canonically it makes no sense.) Why did Dream specifically think that Enderchest was Ranboo's only primary attachment? How did Dream know about Dogchamp despite Purpled and him never properly meeting in canon?

(5) - Sure Dream could've gone snooping around and managed to find out, but some of these attachments he doesn't even properly know of unless he had to walk up to someone and be like: So hey, what are you emotionally attached to that would make you utterly destroyed when it's gone? :D

(6) - How in the ever loving fuck did everyone manage to get there?

(6) - This one is clear that Punz lead the charge on this one, but why did everyone flat out believe him? Beforehand, everyone was deadset on staying back, regardless if it was on Tommy and Tubbo's word. But Punz? Alone? He managed to convince everyone? Even if they had a neutral opinion on Dream, to go with him to the vault to rescue the two? Nobody questioned how he even knew about where the portal to the vault is, or that it even had a portal? Nobody? Not a single soul? Or how nobody even questioned how Punz knew that Dream had taken the two down there and didn't just send them off into their own exile?

(7) - Ranboo rarely ever metas about the lore. Unlike most CCs in the DSMP, cc!Ranboo has a particular way of making sure that chat doesn't spoil him on plot points going on, so I highly doubt he would "accidentally" recite Dream's speech, word for word, bar for bar in a room he hadn't even been in yet. Nor even was there for (it's heavily hinted that Enderwalk was present during the confrontation instead). Plus, although it was confirmed unintentional by the CCs later on, Ranboo and Dream were both staring at each other, and I don't think it was to keep him in place- considering Enderwalk went to go visit Dream as often as he could before his ban and Enderwalk seemed to be on good terms with Dream even before the whole Doomsday Era.

Nah, the whole confrontation makes no sense, even down to the cherrypicking examples of it all. If it somehow gets confirmed that the confrontation wasn't staged and that Dream was somehow this cocky, I won't make a fuss, but I'm not gonna be entirely too thrilled at the idea.

But contrary to popular belief, I don't think Dream did this with only Punz or Enderwalk, I think those three were the main ones to set up this whole thing, but considering the redstone and the attachments that Dream wasn't supposed to know of. I don't know, but something about that screams like there was one other involved, the question is- who would also help Dream like Punz or Enderwalk too?

This one is an old one, but I absolutely agree. The Disc War finale is, with all due respect, either egregious writing with no character continuity in the slightest, or c!Dream faked the whole thing. It's way too suspicious not to be obvious. That's a banger analysis.

[captnjacksparrow]

Hi. Someone told me that Kishi wanted to write a negative character in Naruto's team and that was Sakura. Apparently, some interview of his. It is also pretty clear to me that he doesn't miss ONE chance to diss her character, whether it be in Boruto, Naruto or Shippuden. This made me wonder if Sakura's inner voice, which Kishi gave her saying it would look realistic, was another way of dissing her. Seems to me like this is another attempt of showing how deceptive she actually is. A lot of people think one thing and say another sometimes. But her inner voice Always says the exact opposite thing as her character is. I feel that if she was able to say it as it was, she would have been a better character, more honest if still selfish. Either Kishi doesn't know what realistic women sound like or he just wanted to trash Sakura Right From The Start. What do you think?

I feel that if she was able to say it as it was, she would have been a better character, more honest if still selfish.

Do you really think her inner thoughts would've made her a better character, Anon?

She literally wanted to see Sasuke's Duck when she was 12. Well, in some way, it would've been better for us. Because Sasuke would've rejected her outright in very early stages of the Manga and that would've saved us lots of trouble.

I think Kishi literally fucked her big time intentionally, deliberately, purposefully, consciously and laboriously. Whenever he wants any scape goat to advance the storyline, he used her and threw away like a garbage without any mercy.

Either Kishi doesn't know what realistic women sound like or he just wanted to trash Sakura Right From The Start. What do you think?

Well, none of the women characters are any better in Narutoverse. But atleast, there are some decent characters like Tsunade, Konan who has some ambition and they are very serious about it. Yes, I agree their existence revolve around some men, but when it comes to their ambition, they aim big and was damn serious about it. They don't cry or cower like Sakura. Tsunade adopted Dan’s dream and worked hard to protect the village as the Hokage. Compared to Tsunade, Sakura’s dream is just disgusting.

For Tsunade and Konan, Kishi has written a backstory about how they became what they are, what motivates them and what shaped them.

KONAN

Come on!!! Konan just appears in very few episodes but we know a lot about her. Kishi literally wrote her to fight with the Main Villain of the series on an equal ground and she almost succeeded in killing him. Obito could only save himself because of Izanagi, a jutsu that can give him life by losing his eyesight. Plus, her jutsu is very interesting and delightful.

This shows, Kishi is not really bad at designing woman characters. He really used his brain to think about a story for Konan which made us empathize with her even though she belongs to Akatsuki. Why couldn't he do that for Sakura?? Even Orochimaru has a backstory.

So, to sum up the prospectus of Konan

Backstory: A war orphan happened to meet Yahiko and Nagato and formed her world around them

Ambition: To bring peace to this world by weaponizing Tailed Beast along with Nagato. 

Personality: Generally warm, silently ruthless, a gentle girl. Most importantly, a very good friend, good team player. A girl who place more importance on the goal rather than romance, even though she loved yahiko.

Achievements: The only female Akatsuki member, One-on-One battle with Obito, the Main villain and almost killed him. 

TEMARI

The closest thing to a realistic woman character in Narutoverse is Temari. She is strong and intelligent with a bold attitude. She teases Shikamaru as a Crybaby and never wanted to play romance with him all the times. She wants both of her brothers to pay heed to her advice. She wants recognition among her own brothers. I've personally seen these kind of women in my Workplace and in my extended Family as well. 

Prospectus of Temari:

Backstory : Nothing specific to her. But she has a brother who was made into a Jinchurikki and she doesn't know how to deal with it.

Ambition : Recognition from her Brothers. Most importantly listen to her advice.

Personality : Willful, strong, bold. IDGAF attitude.

Achievements : Lead a part of the unit in 4th Shinobi World War, a Deux ex Machina entry to save Shikamaru in Sasuke retrieval Arc, interesting fight in Chunin Exams with Shikamaru.

So, I think Kishi knows how to write some 90% realistic woman characters. It's just that he didn't want to do that for Sakura.

INO

Lets take Ino, She started out very similar to Sakura, a Sasuke fangirl minus the Horniness. But somehow she seems reasonable most of the times in part 1, say, the time when she volunteered to help Team 7 in the Forest of the death, the time when she told Sakura to cheer up for Naruto in the Chunin Exams and her flashback where she protected Sakura from bullies.

Though not having a big development in first half of Shippuden, she slayed everyone in the War Arc. I mean, Team Ino-Shika-Cho was made to fight an emotional battle with their Edo Tensei’ed Asuma Sensei and a calculative battle with Kinkaku and Ginkaku brothers, who killed Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama.

Did it stop here?

Man, She literally connected everyone through her Mind Transmission Jutsu. Most importantly, she was sought by the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama himself. This is the greatest acknowledgement she could ever receive. What’s more important here is, She lost her Father just some hours ago and she had the mental strength to pull herself back and helped everyone in the war.

If Kishimoto can write something impressive for a side character whose screen time was too less, Why didn’t he write something like this for Sakura, a central character???

Yes, Ino started out as a fangirl with no purpose but she ended up as the best female ninja in Konoha considering her contributions in the war. She is literally handling the Konoha Sensory System today in Boruto Manga along with a flower shop and a decent medical jutsu. Or May I say she is the only female ninja whom Naruto contacts often in the Manga??

So, Ino started as a copy of Sakura and ended up as someone who can step up to the occasion when the mentor figure (her dad) in her life was gone. She started as a very good friend and ended up as that same good friend.

[[Fun Fact: Naruto never shared a single panel with Sakura yet, in the Boruto Manga.]]

Prospectus of Ino :

Backstory : Nothing specific to mention.

Ambition : Nothing specific.

Personality : Standing up for someone she has no business with, Excellent Team Player, A genuine and amazing friend for Shikamaru and Choji, even towards Sakura. Sensible.

Achievements : Fought Edo version Asuma, defeated Kinkaku Ginkaku brothers, stood up for Team 7 in chunin exams arc, connected every shinobi using her Jutsu in the World War, handling Konoha Sensory System, going on for village Missions sometimes, Sought by Hashirama in 4th Shinobi World War.

SAKURA

I can’t write about her here, because I am covering her in a separate post. 

In Short, Sakura started as a bitch towards Naruto and desired Sasuke’s duck. She ended up as an absolute bitch towards Naruto and got Sasuke’s Duck by using Naruto.

What’s Sakura doing today as compared to all the women above?

Going horny over Sasuke even at age 32, a medical ninja in name but only whenever Sasuke or Sarada gets injured, a non existent in the Boruto Manga.

Prospectus of Sakura

Backstory : Nothing. Got Bullied for having large Forehead.

Ambition: Sasuke-Kun’s Duck

Personality: Annoying, Useless, Terrible friend, terrible mother, Fan Girlish wife, Horrible Team Player, never stood up for anyone, created rivalry with her friend for a boy, ditched Naruto after getting Sasuke, a useless housewife, crying like a fucking shit despite not having faced any difficulties.

Achievements: Fought Sasori along with Granny Chiyo, praised by Hashirama but only to fall flat in less than a minute by wetting over Sasuke-Kun.

[[Am sorry, Being a medical ninja, healing nameless fodders or Naruto cannot be considered as achievements... Because that’s her fucking job and Naruto can heal on his own. Unless, Sakura did something like Tsunade, like getting stabs relentlessly, standing up, fighting without giving up, saving the entire village... Sakura summoning Katsuyu in the shinobi world war means jackshit]]

At the end of the day, Konan’s prospectus seems better and I can hire her as a Ninja to do anything. Ino is even more better with amazing jutsus and good mental integrity.

For a central character, Sakura’s prospectus seems to be the absolutely worst. There’s nothing good about her. Never did anything helpful for Sasuke, Naruto, Kakashi, Tsunade or the Village.  A series which placed it absolute priority on Friendships and Bonds, Sakura has never been a decent friend for anyone, which almost feels like she was going against the theme of the series.

“In the Ninja World, those who don’t follow the rules are known as Scum. But then, those who don’t take care of their comrades are worst than scum”

Sakura is worse than scum.

Damn!!!! Say whatever you want about Madara and Obito, they are the best example for ‘How to be a loyal friend and a lover? (Whatever seems to fit)’. 

However childish it may be, Obito started the war over Rin and his Team including Kakashi and Minato. Obito gave his Sharingan to Kakashi and never took it back even though he had the chance. Moreover, He gave his life for Kakashi even as a 12 year old. What’s not to admire?

Someone told me that Kishi wanted to write a negative character in Naruto's team and that was Sakura.

I don’t know if this is true, Anon. But I will believe this at any day. She was the only person who was never loyal to anyone, even to herself compared to all the characters in the series.

There is no way someone can screw up a central character like this citing excuses like ‘I don’t know how to write women character’. I mean, I haven’t seen any author did this much damage to the main character that travels along the Titular character for years, but learnt nothing. Naruto was crying like a child when Gaara was dead. He did it before everyone including Sakura. How come she watched everything and still couldn’t change her attitude? 

Kishi used his brain to write a character transformation for Ino in the War Arc. Like, Ino lost her father but without giving into despair, she pulled herself up and connected all the shinobis to perform Doton Weaving Sign to rise Earth walls. 

Kishi again used his brain to make Hashirama calls out Ino for help and connect all shinobis and their heart. She helped everyone to see Naruto’s heart.

But the same Kishi wrote Sakura to punch Juubi Clones and then immediately he made her to wet over Sasuke.

The same Kishi wrote Sakura to get stabbed by Madara and again made her to wet over Sasuke’s attention.

I think this was planned and very deliberate. It was very evident from the way how he treated other women characters as mentioned above.

I think Kishi just wanted to trash Sakura Right From The Start and never planned to redeem her. And there is not one quality that I can admire about her or relate with her. Standing next to Naruto and Sasuke who promised to change the Shinobi world, she never did anything in the end other than shamelessly blushing at Sasuke to get into his pants during his Journey.

[bamf-jaskier]

Who the Fuck is Eskel?

If you have ever gone on The Witcher tag on Tumblr, I’m sure you’ve seen dozens of blogs dedicated to this guy named Eskel and for people who have just seen the show you might be wondering - who the fuck is this guy? 

Hi, I’m Aaliyah, and this is Part 5 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subjects from The Witcher Books. 

Post under the cut

Let’s jump in by talking about what books Eskel is in. He’s only mentioned in one line in The Last Wish, The Tower of Swallows and The Time of Contempt. He has a flashback scene in Lady of the Lake and the only book where he plays a heavy role in is Blood of Elves. 

For all you Eskel Stans out there, this is good news, because it looks like S2 of the show is going to be taking some cues from Blood of Elves and we do know Eskel is going to be appearing so these scenes might be showing up in some form or another in the show. 

We first meet Eskel in Blood of Elves when Geralt is first bringing Ciri to the keep:

“Who comes?” Ciri heard a menacing, metallic voice which sounded like a dog’s bark. “Geralt?”

“Yes, Eskel. It’s me.”

“Come in.”

The witcher dismounted, took Ciri from the saddle, stood her on the ground and pressed a bundle into her little hands which she grabbed tightly, only regretting that it was too small for her to hide behind completely.

“Wait here with Eskel,” he said. “I’ll take Roach to the stables.”

“Come into the light, laddie,” growled the man called Eskel. “Don’t lurk in the dark.”

Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn’t human. Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” repeated Eskel.

She didn’t move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach’s horseshoes grow fainter. Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped. “Don’t loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.”

Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back her hood.

“A plague on it,” he muttered. “A girl. That’s all we need.”

She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.

“Since you’re here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he said. “What do they call you?”

“Ciri,” Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around. Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other’s arms and wound their shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.

“Wolf, you’re alive.”

“I am.”

“All right.” Eskel took a torch from its bracket. “Come on. I’m closing the inner gates to stop the heat escaping.”

Couple things here. First, for all the game fans out there, Eskel’s scar in the books is VERY different. It’s not the lightening-like claw marks that go over his eye but instead it goes from the corner of his mouth to his ear. This is interesting because it really parallels in my mind Ciri’s scar she gets later on that extends from under her eye to her ear. 

Also, the little reunion between Geralt and Eskel, so sweet. The line about Eskel in Last Wish establishes that they were close friends so here is the snippet just to give more backstory to the two of them: 

“Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in Kaer Morhen, the Witchers’ Settlement, he and a friend, Eskel, had captured a huge forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug with a thread. They were in fits of laughter watching the antics of the tied bumblebee, until Vesemir, their tutor, caught them at it and tanned their hides with a leather strap.”

Childhood friends and brothers is just so damn great. Actually, speaking of brothers, it is stated in Blood of Elves that Geralt and Eskel actually look very similar and are often mistaken for brothers such as in this scene from Triss’s POV. 

Eskel stood next to Geralt, resembling the Wolf like a brother apart from the colour of his hair and the long scar which disfigured his cheek. And the youngest of the Kaer Morhen witchers, Lambert, was there with his usual ugly, mocking expression. Vesemir was not there.

“Welcome and come in,” said Eskel. “It is as cold and blustery as if someone has hung themselves. Ciri, where are you off to? The invitation does not apply to you. The sun is still high, even if it is obscured. You can still train.”

“Hey.” The Enchantress tossed her hair. “Politeness comes cheap in Witchers’ Keep now, I see. Ciri was the first to greet me, and brought me to the castle. She ought to keep me company—”

This really interests me because Ciri is very young child when she meets Eskel and she is very terrified of him and intimidated. Which makes sense, she is very traumatized. But, when Triss meets Eskel she only makes a short note of his scar and focuses more on his resemblance to Geralt and commenting on the lack of politeness. It just goes to show how different characters perceive people differently. A child’s perspective of a warrior is not going to be the same as a Mage’s. 

“You didn’t even know.” She nodded in what was now a calm, concerned and gentle reproach. “You’re pathetic guardians. She’s ashamed to tell you because she was taught not to mention such complaints to men. And she’s ashamed of the weakness, the pain and the fact that she is less fit. Has any one of you thought about that? Taken any interest in it? Or tried to guess what might be the matter with her? Maybe her very first bleed happened here, in Kaer Morhen? And she cried to herself at night, unable to find any sympathy, consolation or even understanding from anyone? Has any one of you given it any thought whatsoever?”

“Stop it, Triss,” moaned Geralt quietly. “That’s enough. You’ve achieved what you wanted. And maybe even more.”

“The devil take it,” cursed Coën. “We’ve turned out to be right idiots, there’s no two ways about it, eh, Vesemir, and you—”

“Silence,” growled the old witcher. “Not a word.”

It was Eskel’s behaviour which was most unlikely; he got up, approached the enchantress, bent down low, took her hand and kissed it respectfully. She swiftly withdrew her hand. Not so as to demonstrate her anger and annoyance but to break the pleasant, piercing vibration triggered by the witcher’s touch. Eskel emanated powerfully. More powerfully than Geralt.

“Triss,” he said, rubbing the hideous scar on his cheek with embarrassment, “help us. We ask you. Help us, Triss.”

Now, if you can’t tell, Triss’ favorite is Eskel. This scene is also implies that Eskel is more magically powerful than Geralt which Is very interesting. But Triss is an Eskel stan, in fact a couple lines later Triss thinks to herself: 

Vesemir hawked again. But Eskel, dear Eskel, kept his head and once more behaved as was fitting.

“Of course,” he said casually, smiling. “We understand and clearly we will postpone your exercises until your indisposition has passed. We will also cut the theory short and, if you feel unwell, we will put it aside for the time being, too. If you need any medication or—”

Eskel definitely has the older sibling energy where he ends up in charge sometimes and knows how to keep a cool head. He’s also the most aware of societal norms of behavior which is why Triss likes his so much. She really respects people who know how to move in society. 

There’s also this scene in Blood of Elves where Eskel is drinking and offers Triss some:

“White Seagull.”

“What?”

“A mild remedy,” Eskel smiled, “for pleasant dreams.”

“Damn it! A witcher hallucinogenic? That’s why your eyes shine like that in the evenings!”

“White Seagull is very gentle. It’s Black Seagull that is hallucinogenic.”

“If there’s magic in this liquid I’m not allowed to take it!”

“Exclusively natural ingredients,” Geralt reassured her but he looked, she noticed, disconcerted. He was clearly afraid she would question them about the elixir’s ingredients. “And diluted with a great deal of water. We would not offer you anything that could harm you.”

I think it’s very funny how secret The Witcher keeps all their potions and elixirs. Whether it’s mushrooms or potions, they gotta keep those secret drugs locked down tight. Also the fact that Eskel is the fantasy equivalent of high every night? Love that for him.  

Eskel really is the peace-maker of the group. He’s not a push-over by any means but he is definitely more willing to play along that any of the others. When Triss is talking at night, Eskel is really the only one listening and engaging, even if it’s very half-hearted. 

In the evenings, consistently and determinedly, Triss guided the long conversations held in the dark hall, lit only by the bursts of flames in the great hearth, towards politics. The witchers’ reactions were always the same. Geralt, a hand on his forehead, did not say a word. 

Vesemir nodded, from time to time throwing in comments which amounted to little more than that “in his day” everything had been better, more logical, more honest and healthier. 

Eskel pretended to be polite, and neither smiled nor made eye contact, and even managed, very occasionally, to be interested in some issue or question of little importance. Coën yawned openly and looked at the ceiling, and Lambert did nothing to hide his disdain.

And he is really the only sort-of listener to Triss’ stories and retellings of events: 

This time it was Triss who began to yawn and stare at the ceiling. This time she was the one who remained silent – until Eskel turned to her with a question. A question which she had anticipated.

“And what is it really like in the south, on the Yaruga? Is it worth going there? We wouldn’t like to find ourselves in the middle of any trouble.”

“What do you mean by trouble?”

“Well, you know…” he stammered, “you keep telling us about the possibility of a new war… About constant fighting on the borders, about rebellions in the lands invaded by Nilfgaard. You said they’re saying the Nilfgaardians might cross the Yaruga again—”

“So what?” said Lambert. “They’ve been hitting, killing and striking against each other constantly for hundreds of years. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ve already decided – I’m going to the far South, to Sodden, Mahakam and Angren. It’s well known that monsters abound wherever armies have passed. The most money is always made in places like that.”

“True,” Coën acknowledged. “The neighbourhood grows deserted, only women who can’t fend for themselves remain in the villages… scores of children with no home or care, roaming around… Easy prey attracts monsters.”

“And the lord barons and village elders,” added Eskel, “have their heads full of the war and don’t have the time to defend their subjects. They have to hire us. It’s true. But from what Triss has been telling us all these evenings, it seems the conflict with Nilfgaard is more serious than that, not just some local little war. Is that right, Triss?”

Once more, Eskel is the peace-maker of the conversation and he brings it back around to what Triss originally said and also points to her expertise. Basically, Eskel is not really a fan of verbal conflict. 

This is actually the last line we see Eskel in a scene outside of the flashback in Lady of the Lake. After this, Triss, Geralt and Ciri head off. It is important to note that near the end of Blood of Elves Ciri says this about Yennefer:

The lady magician knew a surprising amount about a witcher’s sword and “dance.” She knew a great deal about the secrets of Kaer Morhen; there was no doubt she had visited the Keep. She knew Vesemir and Eskel. Although not Lambert and Coën.

Yennefer used to visit Kaer Morhen. Ciri guessed why – when they spoke of the Keep – the eyes of the enchantress grew warm, lost their angry gleam and their cold, indifferent, wise depth. If the words had befitted Yennefer’s person, Ciri would have called her dreamy, lost in memories.

So clearly Yennefer is also friendly with Eskel and knows him. I love the idea that Yennefer regularly visited Kaer Morhen before Ciri came into Geralt’s care and I would literally cry if they did a flashback sequence in S2 of Yennefer visiting Geralt in Kaer Morhen. 

The flashback sequence in Lady of the Lake with Eskel goes like this: 

The fire in the huge fireplace went out. A gust of wind from the mountains whistled through the crevices of the walls and screamed through the improperly closed shutters of Kaer Morhen, Home of the Witchers.

“Damn it!” Eskel said, standing up and going to the cupboard. “Seagull or vodka?”

“Vodka,” Geralt and Coen said with one voice.

“Sure,” interjected Vesemir, hidden in the shadows, “Yes, of course! Drown your stupidity in vodka. Damn fools!”

“It was an accident…” muttered Lambert. “She had already mastered the comb…”

“Shut your big mouth, you idiot! I don’t want to hear any more! I warned you, if something happened to that little girl…”

“Enough,” Coen interrupted him, softly. “She sleeps peacefully. Deep and healthy. She will wake up a bit sore, but that’s it. About the trance, and what happened, she will not even remember it.”

“As long as you remember,” said Vesemir, panting angrily. “Cabbage heads! Pour for me too, Eskel.”

They were silent for a long time, listening intently to the howling gale.

“We will need to call someone,” Eskel finally said. “We will need to bring a sorcerer here. What is happening to the girl, it is not normal.”

Eskel is one of The Witcher who really pushes to call Triss in order to help with Ciri’s trances. Also, once again this guy is hitting the drinks. 

So yeah! That’s Eskel in the books. Based on how in the non-canon wedding short Asaps wrote where he ended up having Triss and Eskel get together, I think his hints of them having a connection in the books is very intentional and if The Witcher wasn’t such a god damn tragedy and Triss wasn’t mooning over Geralt, I’m willing to bet they would have gotten together at some point. 

Eskel is the peace-maker of the family and is the best at recognizing the norms of “polite society” (or at least noble society) and while Ciri might have been scared of his appearance, it isn’t enough to phase Triss who is considered rather vain. In fact, she seems to respect Eskel the most out of the Witchers. Just imagine a dark-haired, scarred Geralt and BOOM, you got yourself an Eskel.