#i mostly just liked one character and learned about the others | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightwingsgypsyrep · 6 hours ago

Text

So I definitely feel like I will be adding to this post quite a bit, and this first addition is coming after @jjohnnyutah’s fantastic reply, which kinda summarised the history a bit more.

As I said earlier, I was really umming and aahing about making this post, because I’m still new to a lot of the comics, so this was really inspired by what I have been able to get my hands on (literally… I started out borrowing my friend’s comics last year) whilst I’m slowly making my way through what’s available online. As it is, you can probably see that I was able to read more of the modern stuff than the older stuff so far. I didn’t really want to make a post until I had read more but hey I’m adhd as hell and intended to just make a small one in reply to the tags and it spiralled from there. I did try to find some info of what I missed online but apparently that left out a lot! So this post is gonna have constant updates of me doing a DC and retconning stuff as I learn more.

So, anyway, jjohnnyutah’s reply addressed a couple of things. Firstly was Mary’s origin as a dental hygienist, rather than being from the circus herself originally. Can’t lie, I actually love this for her. Is it super unusual from a how-gypsies-work perspective? Sure. But like I say, a lot of my cousins are Diddakois, and I kinda love the idea of Mary coming into the fold, when just as often, the gypsy partner ends up leaving it. Of course, there’s nothing to say for sure that Mary did not have Romani ancestry (like I say, in the N52 modern stuff, she was friends with other Romani characters, so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the Romani sphere) - I, myself, am a gypsy with a degree, so it’s not exactly like getting a different job cancels your Gypsy Card. Although I do really love the idea of Mary being a gypsy and working as a dentist for the simple reason that, although attitudes to education have greatly improved in recent years, my family would have lost their shit if I got my degree twenty years ago, as it would have been seen as ruining my prospects. So from a feminist perspective, I really love the idea of Mary having at least some Romani heritage too.

The other is Dick not knowing much about his heritage and wanting to learn more, and let me tell you, I feel that. Even growing up surrounded by it, my dad’s side of the family never told me anything. I didn’t even get confirmation of how many siblings my grandmother had until she died. My mum’s side was much more forthcoming. Like I say, I’ve had a lot less opportunity to read the (let’s face it) better older stuff so seeing what I have of it, it seemed more of a given that Dick knew something. The reason for this presumption was mostly of how much Romani he’s seen to know even early on?? As I’ve said on previous posts, in the modern day, Romani is a lot less complete for actual use, so how much he knows is impressive. But yeah, this has just made me so much more excited to continue reading. But at the same time, fully expect another post from me six months from now when I’m more caught up calling myself an idiot. Ta x

Ok so I’ve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. I’ve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. It’s also gone 3am. So it’s not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a ‘tidy’ version another time.

So! Tackling Dick Grayson’s Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: it’s a long one)

So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply ‘gypsies’ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. I’m not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, I’m working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term ‘gypsy’ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so I’m going to. I personally don’t mind if people use it (so long as they don’t use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so it’s always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when it’s really rare to find characters like that). I’m not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dick’s character. You’re welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)

So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, it’s an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.

This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, don’t take it as gospel - it’s more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they don’t become a non-traveller, because it’s in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didn’t stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.

So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the ‘tell me you don’t know a character without telling me you don’t know a character’, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC aren’t going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a character’s ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasn’t a thing) to have signs on pubs like ‘no blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsies’ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dick’s debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, I’m not well read, but in Grayson’s run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So I’m sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - don’t know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).

So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Haly’s Circus.

So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You can’t be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if you’ve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but weren’t bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because it’s not in your blood - hence why it’s an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).

Now, I make this distinction because Haly’s Circus is really odd in that regard.

Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doe’s Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doe’s sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help ‘mind’ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.

Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfather’s circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasn’t such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).

However, we know that Haly’s circus was not like that. We honestly don’t know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Haly’s. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Haly’s was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you can’t just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say they’re not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Haly’s circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.

Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?

Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, it’s frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being ‘might’ - this is more canon-compliant HC here y’all) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a ‘gypsy’ identity as you must be born a Showman, you can’t just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As I’ve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing ‘gypsy’.

Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dick’s family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, it’s not ruled out, he might have just settled, but let’s go for safety’s sake here and just say he’s not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Grayson’s father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeley’s run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, it’s not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you don’t even think to mention it). Aka. He’s a gypsy. Nuff said.

Then, I suppose, the final thing I’ll address is the ‘whitewashing’ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.

Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dad’s side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my mother’s side of the family as being ‘poxy and pasty’. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just can’t paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mum’s side of the family, but I’ve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, it’s also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).

SOOO… TLDR:

Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.

He canonically self-IDs as a ‘gypsy’ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)

The GRTSB classification system is a mess y’all and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and don’t get into the debates is my professional opinion.

Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You can’t just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Haly’s he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.

Haly’s circus is unusual because it’s mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). It’s unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.

Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isn’t a problem as it’s really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.

As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, it’s not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.

So that’s my rant. It’s like 3.30am so it’s probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since I’m in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (I’ve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dick’s character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dick’s character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!

If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since I’ve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.

116 notes · View notes

1dcommunityficrecs · 23 hours ago

Text

Rec List: Letter Writing Fics!

There's something so romantic about writing letters -- even when they aren't love letters! The idea of taking the time and effort to put pen to paper, to share your thoughts and feelings with someone else, to drop them into a mailbox and wait (im)patiently for their response... poetry. Even with modern emails -- they may not inherently be quite as dreamy, but you can still capture a lot of the same energy and vulnerability and connection.

Here are ten fics focusing on written communication, mostly physical letters but some diaries or online communication as well. We've got a lot of historical stories, a lot of long-distance, and SO much pining. Read, kudos, comment, reblog, follow, subscribe -- and get ready for the next category!

Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by SadaVeniren/@sadaveniren (42495, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Omega Prince Harry writes letters to Prince Ludwig to whom he'd been promised to marry since birth, while he gets to know Louis, a simple worker from the neighbouring kingdom. The same, he's supposed to marry the prince of for a truce

Reccer says: the double/secret identity always gets me. also they building of their relationship while also trying to keep key parts of them hidden

Just Another Card Again by tippitytap/@tippitytap (3775, General, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Dear reader, this is a story of Harry and Louis falling in love through greeting cards and being neighbours. With love, Clifford

Reccer says: So so cute and the links to the cards are such a nice touch.

Dirty Diana by yeah_alright/@uhoh-but-yeah-alright (3042, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Harry writes to his confidante Diana every day for a month about all his Louis fantasies.

Reccer says: Really creative, hot, and so funny! Filled with smutty ideas but the tone is light and fun - such a great combo! The juxtaposition of Harry's dirty thoughts and his sweet way of communicating with Diana made me giggle throughout the fic

adjudication by barchive/@bottomlinsons (75000, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry has fallen for his betrothed through letters she written him over the years, but when he finally arrives to marry her, he learns things aren't what he has believed

Reccer says: It's so well crafted. The plotting and pacing are excellent and the use of miscommunication is really well done. Plus there's some very swoonworthy scenes!

all the sins you didn’t have by Brooklyn_Babylon/@twopoppies (99522, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: A sexual assault, not going all the way

It’s 1880, and premier danseur Harry Styles is running out of time. At twenty-five, he’s fast becoming too old for the lecherous benefactors who frequent The Paris Opera Ballet’s infamous backstage, and the only way to ensure he isn’t left penniless or rotting away in a brothel is to secure a permanent patron. Enter Lord Louis Tomlinson: wealthy, young, handsome. And, unfortunately, a notorious rake.

Reccer says: Everything is amazing -- the theme, the location, the era, the atmosphere. And it’s wonderfully written. I love the gorgeous sensory details, and how the author uses those to cast light on the characters’ hidden emotions.

No One Like You by my own spark/@myownsparknow (19932, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

Reccer says: I love the nerdy art-historical discoveries!

Blue Moon by Aquietlarrie/@aquietlarrie (152907, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

it’s the late 50’s. times are ‘simple’. rock n roll is in full swing. vinyl, music and dancing are the primary ways of entertaining yourself, and in a time where loving someone of the same sex is illegal, two strangers catch each other’s eyes across a dancefloor and do just that. over the span of a year and in between two cities, harry and louis happen to find each other at just the right time.

Reccer says: I thought this was SO well-researched—the 50s vibes are immaculate.

Lonely Cards Club by Hellolovers13/@hellolovers13 (25837, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson ) – fic post

Harry's life in Cardiff is rather uneventful. Until he receives a strange Christmas postcard. It gets even stranger when he finds another one the next day. 💌

Reccer says: This fic is so sweet! Just the perfect bit of gentle cheer, love, and mystery.

miles away from seeing you by LiveLaughLoveLarry/@loveislarryislove (1700, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry is studying abroad in New Zealand, but he keeps in close communication with his long-term boyfriend back in England.

Reccer says: This fic is told entirely through social media posts, texts, emails, etc, which is a super cool medium! It's very sweet feeling their connection from so far apart.

Dearest Gemma (I fell in love) by Thingsicant (1300, General, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry writes his sister letters as he meets, falls in love with, and courts a handsome blacksmith.

Reccer says: Harry's ups and downs of emotion make me laugh, and the surprise Louis has been working on is so sweet.

#rec list #category 25 #letter writing #one direction #harry styles #liam payne #niall horan #louis tomlinson #zayn malik #1dficvillage #1dsource #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #hlficlibrary #hlcreators #ficsfor4am #tracksintheam #trackinghome

39 notes · View notes

sugary-daydreams3 · 2 days ago

Text

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

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

Word count: 6.4k

Series: Lost chapters I wish Gege wrote about

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

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

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

Hall--

October 31st.

October.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why couldn’t I move?

Why wasn’t I awake?

Why wasn’t I present?

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why wasn’t I here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dismissed.” The other elder said.

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

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

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

Yeah, Gojo was those popping rock candies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not sill. Damnit brain, get with the program.

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

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

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

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

Ijichi, don’t piss me off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo please.”

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

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

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

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

“Duh! Look who you’re talking to.”

“Oh...yeah. Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First his sister then--

Gojo.

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

Sukuna.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuta.” Maki said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

Sensei steals a fry from Nobara’s--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo-sensei was a...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, hi guys—hi everyone.”

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

“Gojo sensei was a goofball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

26 notes · View notes

aroaceleovaldez · 2 days ago

Note

You've talked about the pjo fandom's lack of fandom infrastructure a lot, what I want to ask is: why do you think the pjo fandom has so little?

I've seen other much smaller fandoms that have just developed infrastructure as the years go on but pjo feels like it's stayed quite stagnant in that regard. I would've thought that with pjo being so big there'd be a lot more than there is. Did we have a lot then we lost it along the way or did we just not develop it that much?

We definitely used to have way more! In my infrastructure list there's a LOT of old infrastructure blogs from back in the day. There's definitely more than what's on that list, but a lot of those blogs have been deactivated or otherwise lost. I've also talked a bit like [here] about some of the old stuff the fandom used to regularly have, like events that no longer run, common tag games and other community habits, etc. We also used to have more zines and other collaborative projects. These just don't happen nearly as often in our community anymore, because the people running them stopped being able to and nobody was able to pick them up and they were forgotten.

I mostly attribute this change to new fandom attitudes and the loss of community. Back in the day I feel like one of the most influential things to the fandom environment was how a lot of younger fans often looked to big-name-fans for how they should behave and navigate fandom spaces. A lot of people are familiar with the old "big 3" fanartists of the day - Viria, Burdge, and Minuiko - but what a lot of people don't remember is they used to trade art back and forth all the time! And with other artists/fans in the community! They were all just genuinely friends and so much collaboration happened between them! That's how we got a lot of the old big AUs and concepts in the fandom because people loved sharing those and collaborating. And because a lot of young folks often mirror the people they look up to in communities, younger fans were mimicking that behavior and there was a lot of exchange and communication and community happening in the fandom at the time. That behavior was demonstrated, replicated, and encouraged!

And young fans mirroring BNFs they look up to is still absolutely a thing! You can see this all the time if you just take a quick glance at fanart - how many character designs are clearly influenced from large artists in the fandom? Insert every Piper with Velinxi heart-shaped cowlicks here. But because there's a lot of ideas now about curating online presences as if it's a business (or literally turning it into a business) or outputting "content" we see a lot less of people - particularly larger fans in the community - vocally interacting with other fans. Everything feels very sanitized and polished and impersonal. There's way less exchange between fans now, or at least way less vocally.

And this is also pushed by general "new/passive fandom" culture as i generally refer to it, where there's so much more emphasis on consumption and "content" versus community (and again, that idea of curating socials like a business/brand). When everything kind of shifted with the like 2016-2018 adult content bans and everybody was moving around between platforms, folks lost a lot of means of learning about fandom history and their communities and how those communities looked. A lot of fans - including now older fans - have never known that fandom is supposed to be a community, and so now we have the older fans in the community with this very content-oriented presentation of fandom that is how fandom is generally advertised in mainstream media, because that's how they learned about it and how new fans are learning about it. They have no easy means to learn fandom history and nobody to mirror appropriate social fandom behavior from (which is also what i attribute to why so many fandoms have become "more toxic" or rude in recent years - especially with quarantine meaning a lot of young folks lost irl means of learning to mirror appropriate social behavior).

In smaller and newer fandoms, communities form easier and if they're the groundwork for the fandom it will persist and self-perpetuate most of the time. In general if a fandom is able to maintain that community aspect, it usually does just fine! (As per usual I point to the furry fandom as a great example of an older fandom with good infrastructure and community.) This is why I like to harp on about building community and reinstating these types of environments and blogs and such, and generally discussing the fandom's history as much as I can and remember it. People can't fix problems they don't understand or things they don't know about, so making that information as accessible as possible and encouraging these things is important.

#pjo #riordanverse #fandom infrastructure #fandom history #artemx746 #ask #long post //#making stuff accessible is also why i've been working on a lot of projects to help with setting up more fandom infrastructure #cause another thing pjo fandom has trouble with is that it's such a large and old fandom that it's very disparate #we have tons of international communities AND communities completely spread across different social media #and very little centralized anything to organize people and help them try to find whatever theyre looking for #basically the way i see it is somebody or a couple of folks just need to decide to put in some elbow grease and get that set up #to make it easier for folks to find things and do what they want/need to do and make onboarding into the fandom easier #and that makes it a whole lot easier for everybody else following afterwards

28 notes · View notes

my-stories-vault · 1 day ago

Text

Chapter 6 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Reader

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 6: Out Of Control.

It was nothing like you'd ever witnessed. People roamed in broad daylight, milling about teeming lands of grass, laughing and chatting. The land hugged a castle in the center and then was surrounded by more trees equidistantly from all sides in a circle.

The castle was nothing like yours. While you had been given a towering apartment building that only looked like a castle, this palace was an actual freaking castle. All that was left to make it royal were actual ponies and rainbows and princesses.

Well, you supposed you were sorta a princess now that this place was also technically yours . . .

'Aren't people scared of being zapped by lightning?' you asked premierly. It was only you, and every one on Dean's team in one of the BMWs while the other Leader was in his Baby with the whole of your team. "Bonding" as Sebastian liked to call it; you just thought that he was having way too much fun with the rearranging of people - it was too much power.

'The place is warded,' Raya said. 'And for what wards can't keep out, magic does. Angels don't see anything but a clearing right here.'

'Magic?' you frowned.

'We have in-palace witches, of course,' Dakota said with a smug grin. He was supposed to be the charming fellow.

From what you'd learned till now from this lot was that no one except Sebastian stayed with Dean majority of the time. There wasn't a "team" per se, just various team-ups based on which hunter was free when; for instance, Raya, Reed, and Dakota hadn't been hunting when they were offered this almost month-long "case".

Another uncomprehending discovery on your part was that taking care of Dean was no one's full-time job here. Not even Sebastian's. Everyone was free to do whatever they pleased so long as they finished their hunting quota and didn't disobey Dean if he ever issued an order. It was mostly democratic here, many suggestions were heard before Dean picked one.

Hell, even Dean had a hunting quota. Apparently, he didn't spend much time in one place. Always moving from one place to another, and he was popular for taking the toughest cases and wars. Even when the pager was quiet, he would venture out for the smaller cases alone and finish off nests in the dead of the night - not returning to his palace for months sometimes.

'That's . . . ?' Wrong. But you couldn't say it.

You were prosecuted for giving away a land that was a liability to humans and Dean was trustworthy after using witches on the land that he lived on? How was that fair?

None of Dean's team were unfaithful, was how.

'Cool, right?' Reed said, stoicly - you didn't know if he was being sarcastic. He was a taciturn, grumpy man who was dating the insolent Raya. They had two children out of wedlock in the Hunter's Programme.

'It is cool,' Sebastian said. 'We believe in believing that even monsters are tired of these never-ending wars like we are. I mean, don't you like imagining a world where there were peace?'

'Peace is a myth,' Raya said. 'Do you really think all our problems will go away without the wars?'

'No, but we would have simpler problems,' countered Sebastian. 'Like, what should I eat today? Or should I ask the girl out? I shouldn't be thinking about my will as soon as my first paycheck comes in.'

'If we don't have wars,' you indulged, 'wouldn't we all be jobless?'

'Maybe,' Sebastian said. 'But we would have lives.'

You couldn't imagine that. Your whole life, you'd worked to be a Leader of the wartime. As a hunter, a world without monsters was purposeless to you. You would have no reason to exist anymore - it will all be empty, a complex nothingness.

Your mother disapproved of these notions as well. She had encouraged Seth to chase a monster that would lessen the problems of humanity, but wouldn't eradicate them. She believed in playing smart. Just like she approved of B/F because B/F had selected a strategic monster.

The couple had awed everyone for their large achievements, and they had saved about a million lives, only not the world.

This was also the reason why Dean peeved her. Because he saved the world by murdering Amara. While those words won't ever see the light of the day, you could clearly see her mouth twitch at the corner upon Dean's name.

It was an expectation you had to make true too; you had five years for it, based on the loose timeline your mother had given you.

'We are here,' Reed said, as the car pulled to a stop in front of the proud castle, amongst the abundantly stretching greenery. The double doors were set apart from the driveways by a graceful staircase.

Raya and Reed were holding hands as they hurried out of the car and sprinted up the staircase as if the car was on fire - you assumed they were just that happy to see their children. The staircase was already occupied with people coming out of cars before and after yours, and some others who were going to and fro between the castle and the grounds. Dakota took his sweet time unloading his bags and then headed for the group of girls chatting across, on the staircase.

Your people were collecting at the tail end of your car, with their bags, huddled, waiting for your instructions. Sebastian was waiting for you to get off so that he could park. Your three cars had followed Dean's Impala to get spots in the garage just around the corner.

'I know what you're thinking,' Sebastian said. He could guess that any person would be nervous or intimidated.

You sighed. 'If they'd given the New Law before we traveled cross-continent, they would have saved our time.'

He snorted. Okay, he didn't know you were thinking that, but then he should've known you'd think little beyond work. 'Right. Well, we can only focus on what time we do have now.'

'True. But they also wasted resources,' you frowned.

Sebastian was about to politely ask you to suck up when it struck him - your definition of resources.

It wasn't money or weapons, all the Leaders were inherently filthy rich. You were talking about people as resources. As he tried, he found the thread of your trauma and pain laid under layers of weathered masks.

'That's always a tragedy,' Sebastian said soberly. He took your shoulder and squeezed making you almost jump out of your seat. You blinked yourself to a glare.

'That's right,' you said, brushing off his hand, not so subtly; Sebastian realized his mistake.

You left Sebastian to mull you over while you retrieved your bags.

You already knew the rooms and the ways to reach them, courtesy of the blueprints Sebastian lent to you. You would make good use of them since there weren't maids to tend to people exactly like they had done at your place.

You set your jaw before you could bring yourself to knock next to the nameplate. Sebastian's cheerful face peeked out and then his half-naked body greeted you as he let the door open. You tried not to gasp at the inappropriateness.

'Come on in,' said the towel-clad man.

You checked the hallway to see if you could drag someone else in. When you found no scapegoat, you opted to leave the door open when you took three measured steps inside.

'What's up?' he asked, in front of the mirror, drying his hair with a smaller towel. The rest of his body was still dewy after his apparent shower.

You averted your eyes to the full-length windows that oversaw the balconies. 'I-I-I didn't see any Offices on the blueprints.'

'Oh,' he threw his hair towel on the bed that was already cluttered with various objects. Your mind was already trying to decide how you would clean the place if the room were yours; the hand towel would go in a hamper for one.

'I'll take you in five,' he said, walking to the bathroom to hopefully dress up. 'Make yourself at home,' he said over his shoulder before shutting the door.

Your gaze swept over the room - it didn't make sense that a Governor would own this. You contemplated taking his words to heart and cleaning the area. Your dignity immediately vetoed the idea. You settled for closing the door and waiting outside.

'Have you ever seen a shirtless man?'

Your wide eyes met his curious ones. 'Excuse me?'

Sebastian shrugged. 'Beside me.'

Could you have him arrested too?

'I will not be answering that,' you huffed.

'You kinda just did,' he said.

'Do you have no manners?' you were exasperated.

His lips curled, 'Table? Sure I do. Social? Iffy.'

You rounded on him, squaring your stance. Your heels allowed you to reach a little above his chin, but he still had to look down at you.

He pressed his lips to not chortle.

'Listen, Mr Slay,' you said with the edge of a threat, 'I don't know how you operate with Mr Winchester, but you will treat me with the utmost respect from here on forth - is that clear?'

Sebastian wanted to add, "Or what?" but he decided that he'd played with you enough that day. If he was going to annoy you, he might as well let you grow a gradual immunity to him. Matter of fact, that was how he got Dean to like him.

'Yes, ma'am.'

It took him another minute before he could get you to the trailhead at the edge of the forest behind the castle.

'You go straight for five minutes and go left for another ten minutes. Yours is the one on the border.'

'You've made Offices in the jungle?' you asked, feeling horrified.

'Sets the tone,' he said casually. 'I'm going to go eat. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.'

You were too prideful to ask for better guidance, so you watched him jog away while you unslung your bow.

You didn't think you were lost, you knew the way back, you just didn't know the road forward. You'd been walking for twenty minutes and to no avail, there wasn't a single house in sight. You didn't reach the first person until ten more minutes of mindless excavating, it was around the time you'd been considering giving up and heading back anyway.

'Hey,' you said, trying not to be too expressive of your relief. 'Hi, I'm with the castle. Could you tell me where the Offices—?'

The woman in front of you curled back her lips in a growl-cum-hiss, her monster teeth descending over her make-believe ones, her eyes synthesizing into snake-like slits that were feral from going hungry for days.

You slid to your knees when she charged and you easily stabbed her with your arrow into her heart, the silver twisting with your wrist. You got out from under her to be jumped on by someone from behind. The forest floor smacked into your cheek and you grunted, but your hand had found your dagger and it was already inserted backward into her body, you twisted it to let the second, partnering Vetala crumble atop you. You crawled out from under her, dusting your dagger off from her caved-in chest cavity.

You sensed the presence before the hand encased your shoulder. You whipped about with your weapon raised, and it clanged against another sliver-iron blade before it could decapitate . . . Dean.

His eyes looked beyond you and on the two dead bodies. He seemed impressed; Vetalas were superior in strength, and agility, and had a great venomous bite - if you didn't act fast, you would never act at all. Besides silver, you learned that ravenous hunger was also a weakness for them, as it was for most monsters in this warring world.

'You're a good fighter,' he said.

'You don't have to sound so surprised,' you gritted, adding more weight to your evenly curved knife to prove your point. It didn't budge Dean's strength but he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

'Duck,' he calmly said. And you released all energy from your feet to fall even before you'd fully processed his words. You heard the shriek above your head as Dean used his silver sword to impale the newcomer. You were more focused on Dean's feet though, there was another set behind him, in an attacking stance, gaining on him.

Your legs swept out Dean's from under him. He lost his balance and fell backward right onto the monster, knocking the male to the ground. You used your momentum to somersault diagonally over Dean's frame, your faces aligning a foot apart for a second before you were straightening and plunging the dagger down so that the rousing Vetala would never wake again.

'Was that completely necessary?' Dean groused as he sat up.

'No; just as your surprise wasn't,' you said, feeling smug. Your expression fell when you heard more unseen hisses follow.

'How big can a Vetalas nest be?' you asked.

'With our economy and luck?' Dean scoffed; shouting: 'Run!'

He was on your tail, his sword flashing dangerously. You kept an arrow nocked in your bow even if you planned to use your daggers primarily - since if you shot a Vetala, they'd need the weapon twisted into their hearts to fully die anyway.

Dean was shouting instructions from behind you until you reached a rope ladder. You started climbing at a run. Dean forewent the rope and was clawing his way up the bark, somehow faster than you were.

By the time you reached the top, Dean was kneeling with his sword raised, his eyes trained under you. You scrambled to get your legs on the platform that was made over the branch of this tree. Dean's sword swished inches below you and got stuck into the Vetala's heart that had chased you up. Dean let it go with a twist and it fell atop its partner who screamed in grief and horror. You cut down the rope ladder so none of them tried to climb up again.

With delay, you noticed the railing; it was a watchtower that Dean had shooed you onto.

'Help me dismantle this thing,' Dean ordered, already striking blows on the screws that held your platform up with a pocketknife.

'We lost them!' you exclaimed in alarm.

'We compromised our position,' he said, nodding towards the trees beyond the enormous trunk of the one you were on. 'If we leave this place, they'll track us back to our treehouses.'

You couldn't argue with that logic no matter how much you'd've liked to. Even now, the Vetalas were clamoring under your position for a drop of blood and the flesh of your meat.

'I,' you swallowed with difficulty. 'I don't know how to swing away.'

'I know,' Dean said, untying a knot around the trunk. 'I remember.'

It took you a moment to stare at his profile to understand that that was the exact reason he'd left a rope ladder for you to climb up with; no one else from his side knew about your climbing problem yet. You pulled yourself to your feet and started working on the other ropes.

'How long were you watching me walk off the wrong path?' you asked, unable to keep disdain from your voice.

He shot you a "get-real" look. 'I wasn't. I saw you from my window, and then I saw the monster. I brought you here instead of the offices so we wouldn't lead them in.'

'How did you know it was a monster?' you demanded next.

He gave you a wan look. 'No human walks on the ground unless it's enchanted, Y/N.'

He said it so obviously that you felt like facepalming. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.

Monsters are usually kept away from human civilizations unless they've gone feral. Or unless you walked into their territory. You were so used to owning the lands that you didn't realize that all the humans would be on the trees here. If you'd run back, you would've easily exposed all the treehouses to the Vetalas, so Dean had given you a lucky break by saving you.

'Thanks,' you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dean either didn't hear you or he ignored you; either way, you were grateful.

'Do you trust me?' he asked when all the ropes and screws were undone. He held up a hand for you to latch onto, his other hand grasping onto the single last rope that still kept you uplifted on the teetering platform. You had your own hands clutching the bark of the tree as if that would keep you from falling the thirty feet. Heights never made you nauseous until they resembled death.

Between death and Dean, you would gladly choose the latter; 'No. But I don't have a choice.'

His lips curved into an almost snarl, he shook his head. 'You're unbelievable,' he said, guiding your hand around his waist so that you were holding him from behind.

'Thanks,' you said pettily. You didn't see Dean's eyes roll.

'Hold tight,' he said, checking your grip.

You had to stifle your yelp of terror when he let go of the rope and the construction under you unravelled. But you were already flying. Dean's hands changed branches, and your eyes squished shut, holding onto him like a vice. Wind rippled your pony in short bursts and every rise and fall made your stomach swoop with fretful adrenaline.

'Alright, get off,' Dean tapped your hands, panting from exertion. You opened one of your eyes like a cartoon character and glanced around him to check that it was indeed safe to let go. You then pushed away from him like he was made of hot coals.

He turned with a sigh and a hand through his hair. He laid a critical eye on you while he caught his breath. He wouldn't be winded normally, but with the added weight, he'd felt the strain in his arms and the roughness on his palms.

'How do you not know how to climb trees?' he demanded.

You frowned, 'You didn't care before.'

'I didn't know you were a Leader then,' he pointed out.

Your lips curved further down. 'I'm a quick study, Mr—'

'That wasn't my question,' he cut you off, stubbornly waiting for the correct answer.

You exhaled sharply, your eyes veering over his shoulder. '. . . We didn't think it was important.'

'We?'

'My mom,' you sighed. 'In her defense, we didn't think I was going to ever be deployed.'

'You were next in line after Gordon,' he reasonably said. 'You were the most significant candidate. Even Seth knows how to climb trees.'

You crossed your arms. 'That's different. He's a Firstborn.'

'And you were first-in-line. It would be acceptable if you didn't know how to make ground-level construction, or even underground, for that matter. But you were an heir to Europe - you should know about treehouses!'

Ground-level houses were a feature of Asia and underground was a strong suit for America. Treehouses were a proud European quality. So on and so forth. While all the Firstborns were compulsorily made to learn all forms of living, the first-in-lines were given the education of the Continents which they may or may not rule one day.

Your parents just found that a waste of time and energy, especially on you. They were gamblers of sorts, risk-takers for a better word - and they took the risk of never educating you about treehouses, letting your skills instead be used on the battlefield just because there was a large chance you'd never leave America and instead serve as a hopefully valuable hunter to your brother for the rest of your life.

'I'll learn it,' you assured Dean with a taut jaw.

'That's not the point,' he said, exasperated with you. 'You almost got yourself killed.'

You winced at the accusation. 'I understand that I threatened the sanctity of the Offices. I'll refrain from entering until I learn—'

'You're not listening to me,' he said, an octave higher as if you weren't physically hearing. 'You almost died.'

'I know. That's bad rep, I get it.'

'No!' he threw his hands up in frustration. 'It's like talking to a wall,' he turned away, telling no one. Your fuse sparked as it often did around Dean.

'Excuse me?'

He met your steely gaze. 'Is anger the only way I can get you to speak human?'

'If you mean irrationally, then you're on the right path,' you said, your hand on your dagger that you barely resisted the urge to pull on him.

'Do you ever listen to yourself?' he got in your face despite noticing your hand on the offensive.

It was with a magnanimous effort that you kept your mouth shut. You felt like your head would explode with the veins throbbing in it.

He was your superior. No matter how much you hated it, that was the truth now. And you couldn't talk to a superior the way you would talk to everyone else . . .

'Sorry,' you bit, lowering your eyes. It was a blow to your ego.

He took a literal step back in surprise. A wave of disturbance disrupted his fury. It was exactly what you should've said, but it was exactly what you wouldn't.

His brows creased. 'I'll . . . Let me drop you back at the compound.'

'As you wish, Mr Winchester,' you obliged.

He hid it from you, but his face fell. You had been his last interaction that didn't treat him like he was always right; you weren't supposed to treat him so formally, like he was so separate from you, so far removed. He felt like an alien again. His loneliness hit him square in the chest again, like the last person who could've understood him, failed.

It's your fault. Must be; he pushed you too far. He shouldn't expect anyone to get it, anyway.

No one needed you.

You were under the impression that the whole day, you would work with the people and then, at night you could practice on trees.

So far, Dean had left the palace for a high-profile case, in unspoken words, leaving the palace in your hands. But no one seemed to need you.

For example when there was a problem with the supplies; someone called Sebastian, even though you were standing right across the room. A supply run was organized and no one asked you on it.

All the major meetings were happening at the Offices. All of them were impromptu. By the time the news could reach you at the palace, they would already be done with it, and be gone on their separate ways for different cases.

Everyone kept going and coming back like waves of the ocean, chatting among themselves happily. Since your team's rooms were on a shared floor with some of the hunters, they'd been included in the hunts. But there was no place for another Leader.

You considered taking a case of your own, but as luck would have it, Dean banned you from cases without a treehouse skill. Something which you contemplated storming over to him about - but that would only make him angrier with you, you'd decided. He was your superior, and he could do what he wanted with you.

You tried to sway some of the crowd in your favor by going to a weekly bonfire. Not only did people refuse to talk to you properly, but they also talked behind your back, literally, and you heard several of them spreading ill-meaning rumors about you. You didn't bother showing up to make friends or save face again.

As a last resort, you dedicated all your hours at the camp to the safer side of the forest where children aging from five to fifteen would learn the skills to be hunters. Technically, they didn't have a category for you either, or any equipment to teach you. So, you picked a tall tree you liked, requested for nets from Salem, the instructor, and started learning on your own - experience was a better teacher than any human, anyways.

Benny's gifted gloves were stashed in the drawers of your room, so you were operating with the torn and abused training gloves from the basket they had at the entry of this little training center. They were abysmal: they stunk your hands and would occasionally slip on the rope—but you didn't want any reminders from the night Lay died.

You'd refused a harness from a concerned Salem and told her that a net shall suffice you. You would not be treated like a child.

If you wanted to be respected, you needed to earn it.

This was the line you would repeat every time you fell into the net with a force that would punch the air out of your lungs. The net was so hard that it also started leaving a small patchwork of bruises across your skin. It would have been good fodder for children to laugh at, had you gone in front of them - but you weren't leaving the training center without climbing a significant fucking portion of the tree.

'Lady L/N?' Salem called up to you. You were one-fourth of the way up on the tree.

'Yes?' you called back. Your body was hot and burning from the exercise that day. Your head was slightly faint from falling and from being forced to climb in a horizontal manner all day. Your fingers seemed to be developing ulcers. And the worst of all was the sweltering sweat that seemed to ooze from every available pore of your skin.

'We're closing!'

The students were sent home around seven but Salem tended to wait back until eleven. For the first time that evening, you looked up and saw the night sky.

You remembered having lunch at four, with the other children of the centre. You also remember how you took a plate, flustered with all the points and whispers in your direction, and ducked into Salem's cabin to have a quick quiet scarf down before you headed back to your training post - the tallest tree in their program.

You dared to look down now - it made your heart drop to your stomach when you actually saw the height difference. You swallowed, focusing on the mini Salem Rodriguez on the ground.

'Hand me the keys,' you said, like every day. You would be locking up.

She nodded. You tightened the hold of the rope around your right hand and prepared to let go with the other. She stepped back and made a motion to throw the object high into the air (at least seven feet, attributed to how tall the tree was).

A moment later, the keys came sailing across the air and you pushed off the bark on the swinging rope to catch it mid-air. You had to slide down a few paces and swing more to the right before you could reach it with a hand in the air.

You were so happy that you simply caught it that you forgot you were hurtling back towards the tree. Your right side slammed hard into the thick wood, your knuckles scraping harshly against it to make you lose your grip. And you fell.

Face-first, this time. The net hit your left side and you moaned in pain.

Salem wanted to rush forward like she did with all her other students - they would wear a harness and rarely fall on nets which hurt - but she knew how you would scold.

You took a minute before you shakily pulled yourself up, groaning. Some sweat got into your eye so you had to blink harder.

Salem gasped, 'You're bleeding!' She couldn't control her mother-hen instincts now; she walked, gracefully on one of the thin tightropes, balancing herself flawlessly.

You glanced down, but couldn't find a wound - then again, your eyes weren't focused. Your free aching hand reached your forehead brushed away the sweaty hair, but came away with blood. Your temperature was so warm from the exhausting day that you didn't feel a difference between the two.

Oh. A head wound, you frowned.

'I'm fine,' you protested as Salem crouched over you. She examined you despite it.

'It's not deep,' she breathed out. 'But you're bleeding a lot. I think I have a first-aid in the office.'

'Please,' you exclaimed. 'I don't need your help.'

She seemed to disagree. You silenced her by raising your hand.

'Shut the place,' you handed her the key back.

What a wasteful night, you thought. With much more effort and much less elegance, you walked out of the net.

You were brisk as you fled the center and practically ran across the safely marked trail back to the palace. You burst out of the trees and took the backdoor into the palace.

You were anxious to get to your room without any encounters - you didn't need anyone to know that you were injured even without going to any hunts. None of them would get hurt tree-climbing.

In your haste, you crashed into a large wall-like body. You cried out when it affected your right side this time. You stepped away holding your right hip.

When your eyes shifted from the chest your face bumped into, your eyes found the boisterous Sebastian.

'Sorry,' he laughed in amusement, but it died out soon. In the dark, it wasn't apparent, but when his eyes raked over your body, he stiffened.

'I wasn't looking,' you said, your own way of apology. You dropped your hands to the sides to not appear weak.

You made to rush past him when his hand caught yours. You hissed in pain when it tugged on your throbbing left side. He dropped it immediately.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Nothing,' you emphasized. 'If you could please keep this to yourself . . . .'

He raised his hands in surrender.

'Should I send Selina to—?'

'No!' you half-yelled. 'I can take care of myself!' You almost ran after that. Away from these meaningless concerns, away from this annoying and senseless small talk.

The hot water beating your body felt so much better. The whole time, you were fighting tears of frustration. Fighting, and succeeding.

This was just a minor setback, right?

Of course. Even if you had your own palace, you would have to learn treehousing and tree-climbing at some point.

People would need me there, your irritation barked back.

You hadn't done a single productive work in two weeks since you arrived here. Nothing noteworthy except the tree lessons.

You tried to console yourself by considering how well you were doing with the hammocks - the first lesson in treehousing. If you could sleep in a hammock all night without falling - it would be a success.

That happened once a week, at the center. The one time you'd gone, you'd managed your four hours without meeting the net they'd set under the trees. Of course, the real challenge would be to sleep much longer in there, like all the children were supposed to - but you were an adult, sleep was foreign to you anyway.

After that one night, just to make yourself feel a bit better, and to practice, you'd been constructing a hammock in your bedroom every night and sleeping in it in spite of having a perfectly well-constructed, largest-sized bed they could find.

You ruffled for something comfortable in your walk-in closet. You wouldn't admit this to anyone - and no one needed to find it out either - but you liked sleeping in shorts and a loose top.

The only advantage of less workload right now was that you didn't fall asleep atop a pile of books or papers, and certainly not in your work clothes. Now, you actually had time to change and time to choose where you wanted to fall asleep.

You picked the satin shorts and the buttoned shirt that was two sizes too large on you - it was your brother's, and when it got too small on him, you stole it. It was old enough that the print had been stripped after multiple washes. It was the only piece you owned of his; it comforted you on dismaying nights as such.

You also treated your wound and downed a painkiller along with a granola bar from your nightstand to avoid acid reflux from the medicine.

You were trying to decide whether you would read a political book or a monster book in bed when there was a knock on the door.

You froze first, in surprise. Then, you were annoyed.

Sighing, you headed for the door and hid yourself behind it, only letting your face pop out.

It was Sebastian.

'Are you decent?' he asked.

'I'm in my night dress,' you gritted out.

'So decent,' he pushed your door in, forcing you to open it wide.

You huffed, 'How dare—?'

'I see you bandaged it,' he pointed to your head. 'Good.' He suddenly shone his pocket torch in your eyes, 'Doesn't seem like a concussion.'

You batted his hand away, 'Mr Slay—!'

'Did you eat?' he cut you off again. 'You must've taken an Ibuprofen.'

'What does that have to do with your invasion of my privacy?' your voice was razored, and your eyes were daggered.

'I'm hungry,' he said innocently.

It threw off your anger. Just like Dean, Sebastian was another person who dared to play with your anger. At least you could scold Sebastian for it.

'I'm very close to filing a complaint that will blotch your reputation darkly, Mr Slay,' you warned.

He pressed his lips. To you, it seemed in fear. But he was actually suppressing his smirk because he thought it was funny.

'Maybe I phrased it wrong,' he said. 'Would you like to have dinner?'

You blinked in bewilderment.

Of all the things, you did not expect a dinner invitation.

'The kitchens are closed,' you pointed out. 'The cooks have gone to bed.'

The last dinnertime was ten o'clock. It was eleven-thirty now. You usually missed dinners these days because you would stay out till midnight to practice. In the mornings you would be ravenous with your breakfast - going in during the first slot at six while most hunters couldn't be bothered to be drug off their beds until ten.

There, Esmeralda, the Head Chef, and the only person native to this palace you could somewhat tolerate besides Salem, would whip you up something special before you made your way to the center again as the first student around eight - again, most kids wouldn't show up until ten.

'Aw, I think you'll like our new cook,' he said, with a grin that made you suspicious.

You debated the consequences of your actions before your curiosity won you over in Sebastian's favor.

He only gave you enough time to put your fluffy slippers on before he was chatting your ear off all the way down. You barely heard a word because you were fuming at him for not letting you change, and throw some make-up on. He said the food would get cold and that that would hurt the chef's feelings—something you didn't want to risk.

Inside the large, cavernous space of the kitchen, a single station was making the sound of pots and pans. One half of the room was dedicated to five hundred stations for cooks to either help the Head Chef cook food or to help themselves - after all, the palace consisted of about a thousand people.

Not all the stations were always used, with one-third of them leaving for hunts almost daily. But it was very useful in the days of balls and such.

The other half of the room was long tables of the mess which was only full to its capacity in peak hours. Other times, it was groups of people scattered about, laughing and chattering at the only time of the day when none of them had to worry.

Now, the room was empty. Emptier than the mornings. You never came to kitchen except in the slots because you didn't know how to cook - so, you'd never seen it like this before.

There were about five or six groups of people sitting wide apart, having cooked for themselves. Their disheveled appearance indicated that they'd returned from hunts. You envied them for that.

Sebastian led you away from the mess and towards the only working station on the other end. As you drew closer, you wanted to run away that much farther because you recognized the face.

'Hey,' Sebastian greeted. You wanted to clap a hand over his mouth because you still hadn't decided whether you should run or not.

A point that ran moot when the "chef" spared a glance from his skillful work.

Was there something this man couldn't do?

Dean's eyes locked on yours, and he stilled for a second.

'Hey,' he said, suddenly wary. 'What's she doing here?' he didn't look away from you.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. His eyes danced down your figure and you became extremely conscious of your clothing choice.

To make matters worse, 'Cute shorts,' he smirked tiny.

Sebastian chuckled. 'You don't mind feeding another mouth, do you?'

Dean shrugged. 'So long as she tells me what happened there,' he gestured to his own forehead.

Another deep blush took root in your face. You were trying to remember a time more embarrassing than this. Both the boys were looking in your direction for an answer.

'I fell,' you said, your voice so low that the sizzle of the pan ate it.

'What?' Sebastian said.

You frowned scathingly. 'I fell during tree-climbing, okay?' you ground out, bracing yourself for depreciating laughter.

. . . None came.

'Too bad,' Sebastian said, leaning against a counter. 'So, we were on this pagen God case,' he started, and launched into a detailed narration of his recent-most case with Dean, with animated hand gestures and all.

It happened so fast that you needed a second to process it - he switched topics so quickly as if it didn't matter to him. How could this not matter to him - this was fuel against you - this made you non-perfect to be a Leader . . .

Dean only paid one ear to him, adding a comment or two to tell you the real version instead of Sebastain's exaggerated one.

You didn't know what to do with yourself. You weren't comfortable enough to lean against a counter, so you settled for standing stiffly still, with your hands by your side, as if in attention, about to start a march.

Dean added food to three plates when he was done and gave one to Sebastian, allowing him to take a breath. He gave you the other plate and walked away without a word.

'C'mon,' Sebastian enthusiastically said. 'And then,' he resumed, somehow still with some energy, 'Dean, the hero, saved the child by swinging over the inferno and grabbing the child by one hand. He threw the kid in the water and then swung back only to kick the monster in the chest and poof!' he made waves of fire with his free hand to indicate the incineration of the Feral.

'I'm not a hero,' Dean interjected, grabbing the first seat on the first table of the mess he first came across.

You didn't say a word. Once again, you were envious. Hunting sounded like such a blast and a good vent. It made you scowl harder at the food as you took your seat against Dean's.

Sebastian hovered for a second. 'Anyways, bye.'

Panic seized you, and you snapped your head up in alarm. Dean seemed to have the same reaction: 'Where are you going?'

'Oh, I promised I'd drink with the B2,' he winked. 'You know, Boa and Baz,' he explained when he saw the uncomprehending look on your face. 'Thanks for dinner, boss,' he saluted mischievously. And he walked away with his plate.

You never thought you would be upset with Sebastian leaving.

Now you were alone with Dean. He seemed just as upset as you. So he focused on his food, grumbling some curse words for his right-hand man.

You decided that if you shoved food in your mouth, it wouldn't have a place for your foot to go in.

First bite in, and you almost moaned. Your decorum held up, but you were flabbergasted by how delicious the meal proved to be. While you disliked the cook deeply, his culinary skills were extraordinary.

You tore off a few more bites of your scrumptious burger, wishing you could have good meals like this every day.

You loved Esmeralda, but she was an excellent European cook, and Dean's taste seemed to be more American. It reminded you of your homeland . . .

'Is it good?' his voice startled you for no reason. There was a thread of insecurity in his eye as if your response would matter.

You gulped your mouthful and nodded slowly. 'Yours is the second-most tasty burger I've ever had.'

He seemed equally offended, amused, and curious. 'Who's the first?'

You hesitated but he had so kindly cooked for you. Surely, you could repay in answers. Even if they were very personal.

'My father,' you admitted.

He looked surprised.

You offered a friendly smile, 'He cooked once for me. Well, if we're keeping count, he's cooked fourteen times for me.'

Dean tried hard to keep his poker face. If he knew that he could get you talking with food, he'd have done it a long time ago.

You seemed pensive. 'They were my rewards. For doing well in my training.' You mused then, 'Clearly a hard man to please.' You chuckled sadly then. 'I wonder what I did to get this,' you lifted your plate to show him with a self-criticizing smile as if that was supposed to be a joke.

His heart took a hit.

'I can cook for you as many times as you want,' he blurted out before he could think about it.

It confounded you. Your eyebrows raised, 'That's not necessary, Mr Winchester. I'm sure you have better things to do.'

Your walls had gone up again.

He couldn't stop himself, 'Can't you just take it when someone's being nice to you?'

'You don't have to do me a favor,' you repeated, getting more defensive.

He realized that the moment was lost. It made him sad and frustrated. And the most annoying part was that he seemed to care. For an inexplicable reason, he couldn't help but feel like he needed to care about you. And it was very vexing that you wouldn't let him - that you made it so hard for him.

'Fine,' he mumbled hotly.

With the atmosphere ruined, you both ate in silence.

He was getting up after he practically inhaled his food when another group passed by.

'Hey, D-dawg!' one of the men uttered.

'Hey, Sonny,' Dean grinned.

'Some of us are heading to the waterhole to kill some wraiths and have some dives. One day job. You in?'

'Hell yeah,' Dean said. 'Meet me out in twenty.'

They all approved in murmurs and exited lazily, laughing and cheering. Dean also felt excited, his previous tiredness disappearing.

His quota for the week was done, but he wouldn't say no to some extra adrenaline. Plus, it had been ages since he got time to swim at the nearby lake. It would be a good way to wind down after the Leviathan fiasco which was just calming across his continent.

It struck Dean that it would be a simple hunt. Despite his earlier anger, he turned to extend that invitation.

Only to find you had slipped away.

He saw you at one of the sinks, putting your plate in the dishwasher and then scuttling out of the kitchens without another look in his direction.

He sighed. If you wanted to be difficult about this, he couldn't help you. Slightly miffed, he cleared his own utensils and went to grab his hunting duffel.

You didn't see Dean for another month.

Mostly because you changed your schedule a little, allowing you to avoid the castle outside of the five hours where you needed to sleep for four and do the shower stuff for the other one. You were putting in extra hours at the training center because you were pissed about being benched on hunts. You'd even requested Esmerelda to store some food in the fridge for you at night which you could heat up in the mornings before anyone came to the kitchen - running a microwave was as far as your culinary genius went.

You were now proud to say that you could climb the trees - slowly, but without a freaking rope. You could construct a treehouse alone even if it took you a little more time than the natives to make and find the raw materials on your own. You could swing amazingly, lifting your own body weight gracefully; it was the best part so far.

Today was the first day at your Office after Salem had officially cleared you.

You adored your treehouse.

It had two windows for cross-breeze, and a desk with a chair that had excellent lumbar support. You had your own coffee maker. And even a little material to make your own hammock if you decide to sleep over. There was a short balcony with a railing that faced other treehouses in the area; you could see the Offices slowly filling with people who yelled platitudes to each other.

As the first one there, from four in the morning, you saw it all unfold in front of you, observing more than interacting. You also kept your door open as a sign of welcome . . . even though no one took you up on that.

Until noon, that is.

A lean, muscular figure trotted in.

'Hey! You're working!' Sebastian said as if cheering.

You shot him a dirty look.

'Hi, Lady Y/N,' Selina said, pleasantly, and much more formally. She subtly nudged Sebastian to behave.

As if Sebastian would ever change.

'Ms Doll,' you acknowledged, 'Mr Slay.'

'How have you been?' Selina asked softly.

'Good,' you smiled, meaning it for the first time. 'Did you climb up?'

She seemed to blush at that. 'Mr Slay was kind enough to offer a ride.'

'Ah,' you nodded. Selina or Sal or Lay hadn't needed to learn the tree-related stuff, and Boa and Baz knew how - they'd taken classes with Seth before joining your team. Most warriors knew how, yet as there had been a large possibility (according to your mother), that you would only be a wife to someone and not a Leader yourself, she had told you to learn it (when) if it was required.

You had stopped telling her that even if you were never a Leader, your chances of becoming a wife were slim to none. You had seen enough marriages to know how that shit ended.

'How can I help you two?'

'Well, I've been looking for you,' Sebastian said. 'Do you know we're hosting a fundraiser?'

That sent a jolt through you.

'Excuse me?'

'Tomorrow night, actually,' Selina gently said. 'You've been so busy at the center that we weren't sure you knew.'

So that was why you shouldn't avoid the people you don't like; it comes to bite you back in the ass.

'Well,' you paused, trying to swallow that pill. 'Thank you,' you said, mannered even if you felt like a deer caught in the flashlight of the hunter who would murder it.

'I don't think you feel good anymore,' Sebastian said. Selina nudged him again.

It nettled you enough to compose yourself. 'I will be there.'

'With whom?' he asked back.

Selina hurried to add, 'The theme is a masquerade. Everyone's with a date.'

'A theme?' You'd never had a theme before!

'Hunters like fun,' Sebastian shrugged. 'It was my idea,' he added, probably just to annoy you.

You scowled furiously at him.

Dressing was not the problem. The date thing was.

As if grasping for straws, 'What about Boa and Baz?' They were celibates. They'd sworn off dating and marriage and in general everything like that because of their magnanimous commitment to their Continents. It ran in their family.

'They're coming together,' Selina said. 'You can go with anyone platonic as well.'

'Would you like to go with me?' you asked, earnestly and relieved.

She turned tomato red. 'I, um, I—'

'She's going with me,' Sebastian said to her. 'As a date,' he had no qualms about declaring it.

Of freaking course.

It was all you could do to not let your face fall.

'I see.'

'I'm sorry,' she comforted.

'Please don't be,' you quickly stopped her. 'I'm happy for you,' you meant that, with like five percent of your heart. The other ninety-five was judging her choice.

She seemed to know your heart, but she gave you a tentative smile.

'Anyways,' Sebastian said. 'Dean hopes you'll show.'

You couldn't figure out if he was lying or not.

'We'll leave you to your first day. We hope it's good,' Selina said. You were grateful for her.

They turned to leave, Sebastian guiding your Chief Medic off to the grounds.

You sullenly twirled your dagger in your hands. You didn't want a date, but you didn't want to be the only person who showed up without one either.

Then again, you loathed the whole notion and concept of needing another person to do anything.

Oh, how Sebastian found new ways to torment you.

That same evening, you noticed the lights flicker on in the treehouse right in front of you. The closest one to you, and the farthest from everyone else's. In fact, even yours was a bit ways away from the others'.

People walked from one treehouse to another on ropes. There was a single rope to walk on, and two to hold at the midwaist level while you did. Only a few treehouses had planks to cross with. Most people swung away if they could. All child's play for natives here, of course.

You didn't know who the treehouse belonged to until a tall man walked out to light his lamp; you hadn't even known he'd been in there the whole day in the first place—he must be stealthy despite his large frame. You gazed at him, slightly distracted, impressed by his broad shoulders and bowlegs that went on for days, a lean waist, and a muscular build.

It wasn't until the soft glow of the fire that lit up his face that you realized you knew the man.

As if sensing your eyes, he looked up to catch your stare.

You couldn't look away fast enough. You pretended to get busy with the files on your table - you'd been given a stack from the treasury to distribute income amongst the hunters. You were on the eightieth file. The ones done neatly stacked by your feet. You would ask Boa to pick them up the next day.

When you sneaked a glance up, he had disappeared inside. You let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding.

Don't be a coward, your mind yelled at you. You had to talk to Dean anyway to tell him you were ready for hunts.

Grabbing a fortifying breath, you marched across the tightrope - or well, you trembled on your feet like a toddler walking for the first time, with a death grip on the side ropes. You were very happy when you reached the solid ground of his balcony.

You knocked on his door rhythmically.

When it swung in, he paused, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

'Y/N,' he said, a shiver ran down your spine, seemingly affected by his deep baritone.

Maybe there's a nip in the air, you attributed it to the climate.

Anyhow, it should be annoying that he would call you by your name. Formalities are necessary in colleagues.

As if demonstrating, 'Mr Winchester. Hello.'

'Hi?' he asked, more than said.

'I would like to discuss my joining on the hunts.'

'With me?' he quirked a brow, stepping in.

'Yes,' you told his turned back. You wished he would talk face-to-face. 'Who else?'

Sebastian, Dean thought.

'Right,' he didn't put up a fight though. 'How good do you fight?' he asked, retaking a seat in his chair.

'Well,' you said. 'My record is a nest.'

Dean opened his mouth but changed his words last minute. 'Are you gonna come in?'

You were reluctant. 'You didn't invite me in,' but at least you stepped inside.

Dean sighed. This woman.

'I don't care, okay? You can walk in any time you want.'

'If that's what you want,' you folded your hands in front of you.

He hated that posture of yours. He moved on.

'How big a nest are we talking?' he asked.

'Thirty in vampires, or seven Wendigos,' you smirked. 'Give or take.'

Dean liked those numbers. 'A night?' he confirmed.

You shrugged, but he could feel the smugness radiating off of you. 'Solo,' you added.

He nodded, sold. 'Alright. You can start when we have a hunt for you in the foreseeable future,' he told you. 'Or you can join a group that's going.'

'Oh,' you said, shoulders drooping. 'I thought, uh, I could start after the fundraiser?'

'Look, you and I - we only get cases no one else can take. If it gets too much for me, I'll let you have one, okay?' Dean said. 'For now, I'm good, so maybe you can entertain the idea of joining others.'

That diminished your hopes further. Dean took extra cases with people because he finished his own with bonus time; he was that good.

As for the other people: after that bonfire, you knew you weren't welcome.

He was essentially saying that you would never be hunting.

Figures, your heart panged; they never have needed you - only because you can climb now, doesn't mean that they'll start needing you. They must have far better people who can replace you here.

'Thanks,' you said with a tightness.

You looked beautiful.

A crimson satin gown that hugged your figure exactly, it had a sweetheart neckline so it perched at the end of your shoulder blades delicately. It touched your skin till your knees, curving to your body curves and slanting smoothly towards the floor. After your knees, it flared out backward like a train and grazed the ground from there. It was frilled, giving the gown a passionate look. It had white gloves that came up to your elbows.

Your hair was done up in curls, a few left out, purposely messy, that framed your face like curtains. And the make-up made you look like a doll.

These people didn't fail to make you feel like one too—like you were breakable and replaceable.

Patriarchy, one; you, zero. These were the same Governors who had wanted your advice back at your castle - in your jurisdiction.

With Dean's strong presence, many conversations had turned to compliment you and never returned to what actually mattered.

What was even more degrading was that they started to woo you. It was different to bring it up during the Debutant Ball; it's a devious occasion where everyone can unofficially court you. But this is a fundraiser, and you are not up for fucking auction - if only someone could tell these horny, lonely bastards.

You flounced out to the balcony with your third drink in your hand. May Lay forgive you from the Heavens above - but you were getting slammed if this is how everyone was going to treat you for the rest of your Leadership.

Your hopes to be alone and have a pity party were squashed when you saw Dean on the balcony, doing what you were going to.

Before you could turn around and hide in another corner, he noticed you.

'Y/N, hey.'

You silently cursed the Universe.

Your smile was strained as you walked towards him.

'Mr Winchester,' you said.

'Having fun?' he asked, dully.

You were about to lie through your teeth when you noticed that his attention was already elsewhere. He was looking at the moon, eyes lost, and expression contorted with . . . grief.

'. . . Are you?'

He snorted, sipping from his flute. 'Yeah. I'm the life of the freaking party.'

He was; everyone wanted two cents of his time. You wished you could be in his lieu. What was his problem? He had everything.

'What's wrong?' you pried.

He took a deep breath. 'I can't stand it.'

'What?'

'The fanfare,' he frowned. 'Doesn't feel like much time has gone by since Jess—' he couldn't finish the thought, so he finished his drink.

Okay . . . you were wrong - he didn't have everything. You had to remind yourself that people cared about more than their work.

You had just the one response but saying "sorry" had gotten you nowhere last time.

'Handling grief is the only thing that practice can't perfect,' you said.

He gave you a strange look for that.

'You sound experienced.'

'Aren't we all?' you gave him the ghost of a smile.

'You're doing a really bad job of comforting me,' he claimed. 'If that's at all what you're doing.'

'It gets easier, if not perfect,' you shrugged.

'So give it time?' he scoffed. 'That's your big brilliant advice?'

'No,' you said. 'Forgive yourself, it'll get easier.'

'What does that mean?' he stood straighter.

'Everyone doesn't move on for a different reason,' you said. 'You have survivor's guilt.'

'You don't know anything about me,' his jaw clenched.

'You're a survivor,' you informed him, 'like me.'

A buzzer cut his answer short. He fished out a pager, already distracted from you.

'I need to go,' he murmured seriously.

He rushed away before you could ask him if you could help.

You hadn't even finished your drink when you sensed a presence behind your back.

'Everything okay?' you asked, turning, expecting Dean.

But it was the French Governor: Neel Simone. He was a hateful fellow who had taken an apparent fascination with making your life hell.

'Lovely night, yes, Lady?' he said or sneered.

'I've had my fill,' you said, gesturing to the gorgeous scenery from the balcony. 'I'll let you have yours.'

He blocked your side-step. You shot him a glance of caution.

'Cut the shy girl crap,' he definitely sneered this time.

Your brows shot up.

'This is all your fault,' he accused. He stumbled a few steps towards you which was when the stench hit you, making you cringe immediately.

'You're drunk.'

'Well, I was supposed to be the Leader,' he snarled. 'But then you come along! Older by a fucking month!' he spat at your feet.

A piece of information floated to you.

'You're a Secondborn.' One of his ancestors was once a Leader, you recalled. His older sister had passed away when she was young.

Complicated and stupid rules dictated that only a Firstborn man could replace your Leadership. You were a Temp only till that time when a Firstborn man turned mature. Even a Firstborn woman won't take your place because what was the point of replacing a woman with another when they could wait out for a man on the horizon?

Unless of course, any woman, Firstborn, or Secondborn, or just off the street - whoever she was, if she married a Firstborn man already in the ruling, then no one could replace her.

A Secondborn won't ever replace you now because it was too overwhelming to shift between Leaders, man or a woman. The only way another Secondborn would replace you was if you were fired, or if you died.

You grew wary as you got the feeling as to why Mr Simone was here.

'They send a wussy like you from America - this was my only chance!' he yelled drunkenly, advancing on you.

Your weapons are in your purse, sitting next to your date's, Esmeralda's, purse, along with the damn masquerade masks. (Yes, you asked your sweet, sassy, widowed cook to go with you platonically.)

He had over three inches on you. With your heels, you covered that difference and then some. His inhibitions were lowered which would make throwing him off the balcony easy if you placed a kick right.

But then, like an arrow it struck you, Not my jurisdiction.

'Walk away while you can, Mr Simone,' you requested, as sternly as you could. He may not be able to kill you, but people will believe him over you, no questions asked.

'You're threatening me!?' he grabbed you by the shoulders. His bad breath hit you full force and you tried to step back, but he had an ironclad hold on you. You were extremely uncomfortable with proximity to this man.

'A weakling like you - how dare you - how dare they!?'

You were surprised his cries weren't drawing out any people; the ballroom was adjacent to this balcony. Then again, the music and chatter were booming from the inside, and the translucent glass was vibrating in celebration the last you'd seen it.

'I'll show them I'm worthy,' he bared his teeth. 'I'll show them I belong instead of you! You can't even lift a fucking finger against me!'

To your shock, he didn't attack you the "traditional" way. You realized with a shudder of horror that he was talking about assaulting you as another way to prove his manliness. His lips zoomed towards yours like a smelly insect you'd never want in your mouth.

You did what any woman would to a freaking rodent - you smacked him - across his cheek, making his skin ripple there.

His hands on you loosened.

'You bitch!' came his cry; to you, it sounded afar. Your ears were buzzing with anger - all you felt was disgust.

You didn't let him come any closer after that. Your kick landed on his family jewels, and he let loose a shuddering screech, falling to his knees.

You grabbed him by his hair and dragged the man forward to the edge, raising him to his knees by his joke-worthy strands, twisting them painfully.

'This is why I'm the boss, bitch!'

'I'll have your job!' he gritted out.

You were afraid of that. You smashed his head on the cement railing, breaking his nose. You gritted your teeth when his blood stained your glove.

'Say that again,' you dared him. 'In fact, go ahead. Tell them you got beaten up by a girl,' you teased. 'The one you're supposedly good enough to replace.'

His bloodshot eyes watched you with hatred.

'Here's what you're going to do,' you said. 'You're going to go in and pretend this never happened. Make a weakling's excuse for your nose.'

'I'll file a complaint,' he said with a watery smile, trying to assert his dominance even when he was on his bony knees.

You snorted in amusement - men never learn, do they?

'Go ahead,' you encouraged again. 'Then, I'll have no qualms about killing you like your most tormenting nightmare. And I won't make it easy either - I'll haunt you to the ends of the earth until you are begging me to take your pathetic excuse of a life!'

His eyes widened in realization.

'You attack me, I attack you,' you explained to his alcohol-addled brain. 'Even-Steven. You have my job . . . Well, nothing's stopping me then, is it?'

Suddenly, he started laughing.

It made you nervous.

You heard a sound when you realized that the music had halted. There were whispers behind you.

A terrifying prickle on the back of your neck gave you a clue.

Your hand released his head. As if in slow motion, you whirled about.

Officials were staring in your direction with disapproval, all their lips set in frowns. Dean, in lead of them, had donned his mask back on, but he had a grim look in his eyes, his jaw clenched in an anger you'd never seen on him before. He must realize what a huge mistake he'd made vouching for you to Mr Singer and Mr Turner now - and he must loathe you for breaking his unsaid trust.

Your previous threat was null and void to Simone because you'd just been found on the scene of crime literally red-handed. Now, whatever way the man twisted the story, they would believe him - because what proof did you have?

Your stomach seemed to fall out of your body, in fact, it felt like you were free-falling yourself. Tears started to corral in your e/cs.

You were doomed.

Your hands came to hold you up, crossing in front of your chest. This time, you wouldn't stop yourself from crying, even if you would go do it alone.

Because you'd just cost yourself your career.

If only you'd run instead of . . . .

'Excuse me,' your voice wobbled.

For the first time in years, you were crying openly—without covering your face. Tears were streaming down steadily, and you could only pay so much attention to know where you were going. You were also vaguely aware of people parting to make way. You heard your name being called, but it chased you away faster.

You thought of going to your room, but your heart had other ideas. Your legs carried you away towards the forest.

To the training centre: The Treexcel School.

You saw the lights on at Salem's treehouse, so you ducked out of that path. Heading, instead, for your tree. You didn't know what you would do there - it wasn't like this contraption of a dress would allow you to climb anything.

But you found yourself curling up at the base of the tall grace of nature. Sitting on the ground felt nice - natural. None of that swaying in the air, holding on for your dear life.

You missed underground activities.

After tonight, I might get deported. There, problem solved.

Your parents won't even accept you back in America after the stunt you pulled and Europe won't want to see your face now . . .

It was as if a dam snapped in you. The weeks of suppressed toils and troubles came a-knocking, knocking your heart down. Loss and grief ravaged you - all that journey, all that wasted time and hopes, all those lives . . . And it's all on you.

Despite having lost people along the way, you couldn't help but fear your mother's looming disappointment the most still. It was as if someone was squeezing your breath out as if your lungs were articles of washed laundry someone was twisting.

You hid your cries in your knees when your legs came up to your chest - helping you keep yourself together because it felt like you were falling apart.

And you let it happen because it may be the last time you're allowed to feel it.

A/N: What an ass, that French dude 😑. Btw, how do you think Dean will react 👀?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

28 notes · View notes

shayberri789 · 2 days ago

Text

Mmm this will be a long list, prepare yourself

titles in blue are the ones that are like. Equal to AFTG in terms of obsession for me. The others are either ones I find myself returning to, are comfort novels, or were once obsessions for me that I still think fondly of and are worth recommending.

This is so long I spent 2 hours writing this. Mostly scifi/fantasy bc those are my favourite genres.

Beginning with the Series:

In no particular order....

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen Genre: YA Fantasy, slice of romance

Summary: Vanja is the god daughter of Fortune and Death, and one of the most imfamous thief in Boern. Except one day she steals the wrong thing and pisses off ANOTHER little god who curses her for her greed to turn into pearls and rubies. Now she has to fix things with her ex-best friend, avoid a junior detective, maybe save a kingdom, and not die.

Why I am recommending it: Vanja is a gremlin. This has slowburn enemies to friends to lovers. Both of the main characters are demisexual :D and its important to their arc. There's sapphic background romance. A feral shapeshifter with a queer understanding and preference for gender, saying Fuck You to your abusers, and lots of found family. The narration caught me by the throat from the first page - its interesting, and its funny, and the world building is interesting. The story is great. a REALLY good retelling of the Goose Girl fairy tale. This is a series, with the third book releasing soon if it hasn't been already, though I have only read the first book so far (waiting to get my hands on the other ones)

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree Genre: Cozy fantasy YA Summary: It's about a retired half-orc adventurer who sets up shop in a new city in order to open teh first ever coffee shop in the country, and the trials it takes to set that up and run. Why I am recommending it: Firstly, Travis is my favourite VA and a good author on top of that. It's SUCH a cozy story, with a sapphic slowburn and found family. It's fun, the worldbuilding is awesome, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. This is a duology, with Bookshops and Bonedust as a prequel that I recommend reading second. It's sapphic and delightful.

Tortall Chronicles by tamora pierce (in chronological order) Genre/summary: Fantasy children's series. if you want harry potter written by an actual feminist minus the bigotry of JKR, try this. Also better written, and enjoyable regardless of age. Do remember most of these were written in the 80s.

Beka Cooper/Provosts Dogs: beka is a member of the Provost's Dogs, the early established police force in Corus City in the kingdom of tortall. She works in the slums of the city, the Lower City, where she was born and raised, and which she loves with all her heart. In teh first book, told through her journal entries, we follow her during the first year of her internship as she learns the ropes and tries to solve a mystery string of robberies, murders and disappearances. Even tho its cops (acab and all that), this handles well the compromises between morality and doing what's right and the law, with a heavy emphasis of 'fuck teh law if it's hurting the people'. Beka is shy, determined, kind, and gifted. It's just a REALLY good story, with a Fun cast, magic, and a sarcastic magical cat

Song of the Lioness (couple hundred years after beka) Alanna wants to be the first lady knight in centuries. Her brother, Thom, wants to be a great sorcerer. unfortunately for them, Alanna is the one being sent to the City of the Gods for finishing school, and Thom to Corus to become a knight. Except Alanna and Thom switch places. Thom goes to the CotG to study magic, and Alanna disguises herself as the boy, Alan, to train to be a knight. The first book follows her years as a page as she keeps up the ruse, trains hard, deals with bullies, and tries to stop a plot to kill one of her best friends, the crown prince Johnathon. Book 2 is her as John's squire, working by his side during war and again, trying not to get caught and also not let John die. Third book is her first years as a knight where she comes to terms with her role as a Paladin of the mother goddess, and she has to train a group of Gifted children to become a shaman after she accidentally kills the tribes last shaman. Its fine tho, because he was a PoS and corrupt. Book4, she heads off on a quest to find a magical gem, prevent a civil war, and fix things between herself and her friends. Note: Weird age gaps/underage, but it's treated with respect and she doesn't do anything w the age gap until she's an adult.

Tempest and Slaughter Concurrent with Alanna I think, only one book out atm Follows Arram Draper, a gifted young mage in at the Carthaki university (in the kingdom across the tea from Tortall). Follows him growing up to be an exceptionally talented mage, surgeon and healer, with an interest in wild magic.

Immortals Quartet (couple decades after Alanna) Not a fan of this one because there's a whole 15-30 year age gap that really only shows up in the last half of the series but wtf. Otherwise, very good! About a girl with a special magical connection to animals. Immortals, ancient immortal beings and monsters who'd been sealed away a millennia ago, are returning to the realm of tortall and Carthak is threatening war, and everything is in chaos. Daine works with famous mage Numair, legendary hero Alanna, and more to unlock the secrets of the Immortals return and end the war

protector of the small (couple years after immortals) Favourite series. Follows kel, the first girl to try to become a knight since King Johnathon made it legal. Except the old training master is a sexist bastard and won't let her in without a trial period. But kel is determined, kind and will not be turned away by her prejudiced classmates, nobles or teachers. This follows her as she trains to become a knight, proving herself and making unshakable friendships and becoming a respected leader and protector of all those the powerful would step on. She's an underdog advocate. Gods I love her

Also by Pierce, but set in a different world, we have the Emelan Chronicles, which is 3 series following the same 4 young mages as they grow up:

circle of magic series follows a group of four, orphaned children with unusual magic. They're taken to the Circle Temple, a temple of priests and mages as they learn to harness their unusual magic and recover from their respective traumas. They become family and survive multiple disasters and threats to their homes. SO good!!

The circle opens set a couple years after CoM, the children have grown up and spread across the world to continue their apprentice-hoods. Along the way, they pick up apprentices of their own and get a first hand understanding of what a headache they were for their mentors

The will of the empress The children reunite as adults, having grown apart. Haven't read this one yet but I trust it to be good. Pierce is a fantastic author

Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan Genre: Speculative/biological historical fantasy (Basically victorian england but with dragons) Summary: I made a separate tumblr post about this, I recommend it here! (PLEASE at least check this out, I need more people to read cradle). It's delightful.

Cradle by Will Wight Genre: YA-adult epic/progression fantasy.

Summary: I give a better rec in the post I linked above. Self described by the author as a 'novelisation of a westernised anime/manga' shounen (I think?), but it does not suffer what someone once called "Dragonball Z syndrome", aka its really well balanced and has a solid foundation, and no undermining of its own plot/progression/character powerups/achievements

The Raven Cycle by maggie stiefvater Genre: YA Urban fantasy Summary: If you're in the AFTG fandom, likely you have heard of this as being a "trilogy" series with AFTG and SoC. And there's a reason for that. If you haven't already read it, I cannot recommend it enough. It's my favourite series ever and VERY much character driven, and the plot is beautiful and nonlinear. I cannot give a concise summary. Needless to say this has found family, devoution and all the different kinds of love up the Wazzoo. on the surface, its about a group of kids in rural west virginia trying to find magic, leylines and a dead welsh kind said to be sleeping somewhere on them, who promises a wish if you wake him up. Each person has a different reason to embark on this quest, and each have different, deeply personal journeys and character development. Below the surface, it's about growing up, and healing, and it's about life and death and wonder and magic and whimsy. The narration is SO witty and SO funny and i have read this series LITERALLY over 20 times and I still find new things. I've never seen an official summary for this series that actually gives a good idea of the vibe. Trust me on this you HAVE to read it

(this one is more like 6 recommendations in one lol. I'll be shocked if you haven't heard of at least one of these)

Cosmere by Brandon Sanderson Genre: Adult Fantasy Summary: I'll give individual ones for each book/series. I am obsessed with all of these (but stormlight especially)

Elantris: Standalone Princess Sarene arrives in a new kingdom for her wedding to the Crown Prince Raoden, only to discover her fiance has died, and per a legal loophole in the contract, she is now married to him and the kingdom. Sarene is thrust into a political war zone as she buts head with the warrior ambassador of the religious empire Fjorden who has been tasked with converting the kingdom to shu-something I forget the name, ready for the kingdom to be annexed by the empire. Sarene refuses to let the kingdom fall, for her homeland would be left alone and without allies otherwise

Meanwhile, her fiancé isn't actually dead. He woke up cursed one day to essentially be a zombie with chronic pain and was tossed into a cursed city (Elantris) with other cursed elantrians. now, he's made it his (new) life's purpose to improve the quality of life for the other elantrians, and build a community where they can all be happy again. He has no idea his wife is in town, nor what she's up to

Mistborn: 2 trilogies, one set in regular fantasy era, the other 300 years later in a mmm i wanna say early 1900s euro style fantasy world. Both epic fantasy. First trilogy follows Kelsier - thief extraordinaire, rebellion leader, charismatic asshole and a Mistborn (mistings are ppl who can ingest particular kinds of metals and gain a magical ability from them. Mistborns can eat all 8 and have all 8 abilities. they're rare) - and vin, street urchin, fellow mistborn, and their crew of thieves and rebels as they plot to overthrow God. They don't really consider the consequences

Warbreaker: Another standalone Siri is the youngest, most unimportant princess in her kingdom. She was MEANT to live a pleasant, unimportant life. Except, one day, she's shipped off to the neighboring kingdom Halladren to marry the god-emperor, per the treaty, in place of her older sister Vivenna. Now, she's thrust into a world of colour, politics and gods, and she has to scramble to find a way to stop a war that would threaten to destroy all she loves

Meanwhile, her sister Vivenna, who had grown up resigned to marry the 'evil' zombie emperor, is furious her younger sister was thrown into it instead. She's much prefer NEITHER had to, but if one must it should be the princess raised to do it. So she goes to the kingdom to save her sister. There, she works with a pair of mercenaries to incite a rebellion and other-throw the court of gods. She also has a LOT of growing up to do, and a lot of prejudice to unlearn.

Branderson also has this up free on his website!

The stormlight archive The first era (5 books) has been completed, with the next era expected to start in 2030ish. MONSTER books. I'm talking 300-500k words/1000+ page for each book, plus two novellas. literally the best series I've ever read it's everything you want. It's slow to start but it pays itself off. I cannot describe it you just have to trust me on this one and take a chance. Also there's relationships that could be read as QPRs. I usually recommend it after Warbreaker and/or mistborn, when you'll have faith in branderson as an author, and not just on the word of some random internet stranger.

Tress of the emerald sea standalone if you liked princess diaries, you'll like this. It's about a respectable girl, Tress, who sets out on an adventure to rescue her damsel of a best friend/boy friend from an evil witch. Along the way she befriends eccentric pirates, a magic rat, BECOMES a pirate, and sails on seas of deadly spores that can kill a man with the slightest contact of water. It's also got one really weird guy who's cursed. VERY whimsical and fun fairytale vibe story, with a hilarious narrator to boot. You don't need to read the rest of the cosmere first to understand or enjoy this story, either! But its stuffed with easter-eggs and references, so if you do read it first, I recommend reading it again later after the rest.

Yumi and the nightmare painter Standalone, epic fantasy mixed with urban fantasy Yumi is a Yoki-hijo, a priestess of the spirits. She has a sacred duty as the bridge between humanity and the spirits of the world. Painter is a Nightmare painter. His job is to paint the form of shadowy creatures known as Nightmares to banish them, and keep his city safe. He's also a depressed emo teenager who reminds me of my little brother.

One day, inexplicably, the pair wake up in each other's places, with the other a spectating ghost. They have to carry out each other's lives, and figure out why they've been swapped. And meeting each other is probably the best thing to ever happen to them

has Your Name/Final Fantasy vibes. Also has a fun narrator, and the same cosmere hints as above, but even more accessible to new readers!

The Sunlit Man Standalone (technically) and a lot more scifi/dystopian than the other novels, though I'd call it Science Fantasy (like a mix between skyward (see below) and tlt). Follows Nomad, who lives up to his name by Skipping from planet to planet in the cosmere as he attempts to flee the Night Brigade, a mercenary group determined to torture and kill him for something he once held. He lands on the tiny planet Canicle, with a sun so hot it literally scorches the earth to lava when it hits. The people and flora here survive by constantly running from the sun, existing in perpetual twilight and nightl. The cinderking rules by power and violence, and a small Beacon of rebellion hides in the darkness of a constant storm. Nomad has a history of resisting oppression and helping those who've been put down, but it's been many years since he was that man, he has depression, and worst of all he's cursed and cannot commit an act of violence against another living being. This makes it very difficult to fight the many people trying to kill him.

This is tonally different to many of the other cosmere novels, but is equally epic. I highly recommend reading it between Rhythm of War and Wind and Truth, because Nomad is from roshar and this is the best way imo to get the full impact of Nomad's story, since it has a parallel relationship to the stormlight archive.

Why: Branderson is the best author I've ever read. All the series above are SO unique with AMAZING worldbuilding, plot, characters, themes, ugh EVERYTHING is so good. And they're also connected. 10/10 recommend, but I understand that it is a HUGE investment. Give it a chance, no one has ever regretted it.

Continuing on from branderson, we have the Cytoverse, which is made of the Skyward series and Skyward Flight Novellas.

Skyward Genre: Science fiction, YA with a dash of fantastical elements Summary: The first book follows the strange and silly/dramatic daughter of Chaser, the imfamous coward, who fled the final battle of Alta. Humanity is trapped on a strange, armored planet, constantly underseige by an alien enemy known only as "the krell". For generations, they had to live in small nomadic bands and clans in deep underground caverns, but with the establishment and success of the Defiant Defense Force, humanity has been able to settle down into ancient cities and caverns and put their resources and skill into fighting back the krell, in humanity's last stand for survival.

Spensa faces endless criticism, condesention and assholery from her fellow humans, but she is firm in her insistance that the histories were wrong - he was not a coward, he was teh greatest DDF pilot ever and she will prove them all wrong when she becomes the greatest pilot herself… if people would just give her a chance.

And then she finds the strange, incredible, talking ship. Pity its broken.

Why: It feels like a mix between how to train your dragon, Ender's Game, and those old 'shoot the alien' video/arcade games. The cast are so delightful, the worldbuilding excellent, and the story fun.

Skyward Flight Novellas by Janci Patterson and Brandon Sanderson Genre: Same as above Summary: Written by Patterson, with oversight by branderson, and set during books 2 and 3 of the main skyward series, each novella follows a different important character from the Skyward Flight, giving us insight on what was happening on the human side of teh war while Spensa is out on her adventures in the later series. It's greatly enjoyable, and Janci is better at writing romance imo.

If you enjoyed tlt, you'll enjoy Stormlight and Skyward.

The Locked Tomb Genre: Adult sci-fi fantasy. Has some horror elements technically, along with mystery Summary: each book is tonally, and narratively, quite different, so I will recommend you the first book trusting it will hook you in well enough to finish. The first book follows the PoV of Gideon Nav, an orphan serf of the 9th House of the Undying Emperor, Necrolord supreme's empire. The 9th house is basically a death cult, with all of the skeletons, decaying dark fabric, catholic goth aesthetic you'd expect. Except gideon fucking hates it there and has been trying to get out for YEARS. She's a simple girl who likes swords, girls (titties), jokes, and sunglasses. Her arch nemesis is Harrowhark Nonagesimus, the 17 year old reverent daughter and scion of the 9th house. She is a 5'0 wet rat of a girl and gideon daydreams about drop kidding her off the 9th house planet. They have been in a trauma bonded rivalry since they were children, as the only remaining living children in the 9th house. After another failed escape attempt, Harrow promises Gideon that she will free her from service, with full recommendations to the 2nd house (where Gideon wants to go), if Gideon will pretend to be her cavalier on a voyage to the first house, the once home of the god emperor himself, to answer a call for talented necromancers (and their cavaliers) to undergo training and research to become his right hands: immortal and powerful Lyctors. It starts out great! We're immediately reminded that the 9th house are death cult weirdos, the girls are terribly out of their depths, and Gideon gets adopted by no less than 4 extroverts and both girls get their first friend that wasn't each other in YEARS. Then the first body appears, and its not one anyone intended to be there.

Why: I honestly think it should be included with the soc/aftg/trc trio. Tone and content-wise its like an expert blend of all of them. It's batshit insane, you WILL be screaming "WHAT" for most of the series and the second book is confusing until you finish it/reread it, because it actively gaslights you. But its really fucking good. The storycrafting is DEEPLY intentional and well done, like some of the best writing I've ever read. The writing/narration is SO funny and amusing, there are jokes, memes, pop-culture references stuffed EVERYWHERE and only half of them make you want to scream into a pillow. The foreshadowing is brilliant, the worldbuilding SO interesting, and it does throw you in the deep end with a lot of characters (dw: there's a list at the beginning so you won't get lost!) but they're all SO different and interesting. One of my friends is literally writing his undergrad english lit thesis studying this series. Its like aftg in the sense that reading it will grip you by your brain and never let go. The fandom is fantastic. Highly recommend.

Further notes: I have a personal theory that if you enjoyed aftg/trc/soc/stormlight archive,you'll enjoy tlt. Also, its also about all the different kinds of love. More specifically, its about the horrors of love, what it does to you, how it changes you, and what you'll do and change for it.

Continuing on with scifi!

Murderbot Diaries by martha wells Genre: science fiction, YA, cyber/hopepunk and dystopian (post-late-late-late stage capitalism in space!) Summary: in a complete spin around from the previous series, this is a 12 book long series of novellas following murderbot. Murderbot is a secunit - a machine/human hybrid created to serve as a security guards. Secunits have no agency due to a gov module in their brains that punish them for disobeying company or SecSys orders.

Thing is, murderbot hacked its GovMod 4 years ago. It's rogue, and no one even knows. This is because it found access to the entertainment feed and has been enjoying media in all its free-time since it freed itself, and it REALLY wishes it's human clients - who are actually NICE this time wtf. Stop treating me like a person - would stop making stupid decisions for FIVE MINUTES so it can rewatch episode 259 of the Rise and Fall of Sanctuary moon instead of saving their dumbasses.

The rest of the series follows Murderbot going Rogue and going on a journey of self discovery, with themes of humanity, found family, QPRs, fuck capitalism, fuck Aliens, etc.

Why: It's touching, it's fun, its interesting,its HILARIOUS. Mbot is a yell; A 6A a threat (AAAAAA): an Agender, Aromantic, Asexual Amnesiac Autistic with Anxiety (and depression). Featuring fun world building, SO much queer, qprs, rep and respect towards disabilities and identities, and UGH ITS SO GOOD. Also there are QPRS, and great importance placed on platonic bonds over romance

Now I will recommend some Drew Hayes novels. Highly recommend starting with SP, despite its faults

Super Powereds by Drew Hayes Genre: Superhero science fiction Summary: This is the final rec in the post I linked above (link has more info!). It's about a group of college kids who are enrolled in a secret university program to train heroes. But the main trio had a greater secret even than that: they were once Powereds, people with incredible power and no ability to control it at all, and underwent a shady procedure which miraculously bestowed upon them the ability to control their powers, turning them into Supers, like the rest of their classmates.

Why: this is a lot more grounded than other stories in the genre, I think. It's like bnha if it was good/Horikoshi had coherent worldbuilding and characterisation. It is one of hayes' earlier works, so writing quality wise its not up to the same standards as most of what I've recommended so far, with some… weird terminology around gender (it was originally written in the late oughts/published early 2010s, so uh. to be expected) but is very respectful of gays imo? I can think of one instance that could be classified as homophobia. Its interesting. That said, the plot is really fun and the action and interactions engaging and often funny. Its kinda chunky (a little longer than tlt or mistborn, but not as big as stormlight), but you'll greatly enjoy it. It also as a spinoff novel called corpies which follows one of the more infamous characters from the main series, who got caught up in a scandal when his family-man heroic image was destroyed after he got caught fucking a guy. He's long since accepted himself and developed a strong confidence with his gay identity, but now he needs to restore the public's faith and trust in him after a decade long hiatus from heroism. He accidentally becomes a dad to four heroic rescue young adults, even while his own kids want nothing to do with him for basically abandoning them.

Some other series by Hayes I read which were written later and therefore a massive leap in quality:

Spells, Swords and Stealth Genre: TTRPG/DND esque fantasy Summary: For the people who sit down together with character sheets, minifigs and dice, SSS is just a tabletop RPG game. Its fun, but has no consequence on real life, and it ends when the session does.

For the NPCS, the background characters who live in the world, this is very much real life. it's well known that adventurers play by different rules, because the world interacts differently with them and they have a strange interaction with the world and people around them. But when a band of adventurers fail their CON-save and die in a tavern, the poor NPC's they croaked in front of know that the murderhobo king will have the heads of everyone in the village if these adventurers don't answer his summons. So, they don the adventurers gear and weapons, and prepare to answer those summons themselves and save their village, even though they have no idea what they're doing and its very important no one learns they're not real adventurers.

it's all fun and games until the world starts treating them like real adventurers, and they find a magical artifact that makes things very fucking weird for the poor SSS party's players as they try to follow a similar module.

Why: This is a fun novel which plays well with typical tropes and stereotypes in TTRPGs and flips them on their head. Surprisingly sincere, a refreshing and fun take on these kinds of stories. Its got a cool dual narrative between the NPCS, for whom this is real life, and actual players for whom this is just a game. it pokes fun at the pet peeves in TTRPG (incl: bad players) and is touching and fun. it's got found family, answering the call, and stepping up to responsibility. All the character arcs as well are beautiful.

Villain's Code Genre: Superhero Fiction Summary: Tori Rivas is a villain and a crook. Sure, she can turn into living fire, but she's really dangerous because she's damn clever and innovative. But when a job to break into a billionaire's secret vault goes awry and she's caught, she's suddenly thrown into the pond where big fishes swim, and learning she's just a rookie. if Tori is to survive, she must learn teh ways of the Villain's Guild, how to be a real villain and not just a criminal, and how to abide by the Code and make heroes dance to her tune. By day, she lives with her boring 'uncle' and works a corporate deskjob, trying to build the most boring uninteresting life to anyone who may look two seconds her way. by night, she's the apprentice to one of the most imfamous and deadly villains who ever lived, and undergoes trials with her fellow apprentices to prove they have what it takes. They either come out the other end heroes, cunning and skilled, or they come out in a casket. There's no in between.

And behind the scenes, greater evil stirs to shake up the relationship between heroism and villainy forever.

Why: NOT set in the SP world, this takes on the dynamic and place of heroism in a very different way. It also makes the relationship between heroism and villainy symbiotic and sustainable in its worldbuilding, and makes it easy to root for both sides. Tori is delightful, aroace coded, and resourceful. She's also willful, antagonistic, and hurting deep inside. the cast is delightful, as always. Hayes does a much better job of playing with tropes and characterisations here than he did in SP. There's little I can say that won't have me sounding like a broken record, but this is a very well crafted and fun story, that puts a lot of thought into the worldbuilding and people it would take for sueprhero fiction to actually like. Work. Its great

Renegades by Marissa Meyer Genre: Superhero fiction, YA Summary: Nova Artino is a villain, niece of the supervillain Ace Anarchy, who imfamously brought about the age of anarchy that destroyed society as we once knew it and freed progedies from the discrimination, censure and oppression they had faced from 'normal' people for centuries; but more importantly, he was Nova's hero. He saved her when the Renegade vigilante-heroes didnt. He gave her a home and a new family when the Renegades let thugs kill her parents and her sister. But he died, when the renegades killed him and destroyed the freedom he once sought.

Now, years later, the remaining anarchists/villains live in hiding and squalor underground, while the Renegades have 'restored' society to a new pristine age. A superhero police force known maintains order and justice in Gatlan city, headed by a counsel of the original vigilante-heros/Renegades, and Nova is going to bring them down from the inside.

Why: Same author as the Lunar Chronicles, it's YA but from what I remember, surprisingly well written! I remember enjoying this a lot. I mostly bring it up because it's similar to VC in that the main character is a villain. The romance is really sweet, with a lot of rep, iirc. I haven't been obsessed with it for a while now, but there were a good few years where it (and TLC) were all I could think about.

Now for the standalones:

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir Genre: Science Fiction Summery: Ryland Grace is your average guy; a middle school science teacher who says shit like "holy moly" and "crap" unironically, is a dork, and a nerd. He's not especially talented in any area outside of science, and he is certainly not qualified to be an astronaut on a last-ditch mission to save humanity from an apocalypse.

But that's what he's doing, because he's one of the few people who can. There's an alien algae eating the sun and its heat, and if he does not find a way to stop it and get that info back to earth soon, then the world is doomed to an enduring ice age that will kill like. Everyone.

And he's the only one who survived the trip, and he does not remember who he is, or why he's there (at first). He's far, far away from home, his mission seems impossible, and there may be more alien life out there.

his mission is impossible, suicidal, and now he has to do it alone.

or does he/it is?

Why: okay despite the summary this story is INCREDIBLY light hearted and has platonic soulmates (my beloved). I would fucking die for Ryland and his deuteragonist. One of my friends (a bio major) recently read it and had a blast. the science holds, but it's super accessible to my dumb ass who barely passed physics and always hated biology. Both of us keep quoting most of the book to each other. its do fun and delightful.

Martian by Andy Weir Genre: science fiction Summary, straight from goodreads: Six days ago, astronaut Mark Watney became one of the first people to walk on Mars.

Now, he’s sure he’ll be the first person to die there.

After a dust storm nearly kills him and forces his crew to evacuate while thinking him dead, Mark finds himself stranded and completely alone with no way to even signal Earth that he’s alive—and even if he could get word out, his supplies would be gone long before a rescue could arrive.

Chances are, though, he won’t have time to starve to death. The damaged machinery, unforgiving environment, or plain-old “human error” are much more likely to kill him first.

But Mark isn’t ready to give up yet. Drawing on his ingenuity, his engineering skills — and a relentless, dogged refusal to quit — he steadfastly confronts one seemingly insurmountable obstacle after the next. Will his resourcefulness be enough to overcome the impossible odds against him?

Why: Like the last Weir Novel above, this is just so much fun. rather than golden retriever energy, Mark has a sense of fatalistic humor that is so in line with our generations humor. He's brilliant and funny, and also a fucking dumbass. Again, the science is really accessible (featuring quotes such as: "Problem is (follow me closely here, the science is pretty complicated), if I cut a hole in the Hab, the air won't stay inside anymore."). Mark is a relatable mood from page one until the very freaking last.

Technically you started it by Lana Wood Johnson Genre: idk, contemporary fiction? Queer YA Summary: Classic mistaken identity story. It's told through the text history between Haley Hancock and Martin Nathaniel Munroe II, except inexplicably there are two martins who share the same damn name (down to the "II") and are cousins, and Haley thinks she's talking to the one she doesn't hate. What starts as a question about a class project rapidly evolves into a dear friendship between the two teenagers, but by the time Martin realizes Haley thinks he's his cousin, it's too late to back out of the rouse now. Haley is the first person to really see Martin for who he is, to understand and offer him kindness for all the 'uncool' parts of himself, and Martin is the first person to really listen to Haley, the first friend who actually puts their money where their mouth is when they say they care about her. But their friendship remains a secret and online, because Haley is too awkward to be friends in real life and Martin doesn't want to ruin what they have, because Drama and rumors swirl around their social circle, and an online friendship feels more real and is just easier. until they can't keep it online anymore.

Why: I've read this so many times I know it almost by heart. It's not high fiction, its a true YA in its simplicity, but its comforting and easy to read. I love Haley and martin's relationship, he's so sweet and she's relatable and neither of them are annoying (to read). Haley is demisexual, and Martin is bi, and their slowburn romance is wonderful.

The Floating Islands by Rachel Neumeier Genre: Fantasy Summery: It's about Trei, a newly orphaned boy from the mainland empire. When his family dies in a tragic disaster, he must search out his distant relatives in more distant lands: The Floating Islands, kept a loft by dragon-magic, and defended by the kajurai - islanders who've taken dragon magic into themselves and soar the skies with wings. Trei is instantly sky-mad, and desperate to be kajurai himself. His fellow acolytes are rightfully weary of him, as the Empire creeps ever closer to their island and the threat of invasion is imminent, but trei is determined to prove himself to the Kajurai.

His cousin, Araene, is the only person who understands his passion. She too is denied her dream because of who she is, but she is determined to seek it out no matter the cost. But when tragedy strikes and she's left adrift in the world, she don's boys clothes and a boy's idenity and throws herself into a world of magic more immediate than that of the dragons, and makes a discovery which may save the islands after all.

The cousins' lives are more intertwined than they know, and the fate of the islands rests upon their shoulders

Why: This is a novel I read several times several years ago, and one which I hold a permanent fondness for. I really enjoyed the magic system and found the worldbuilding interesting. Plus, I am a sucker for people who can fly/have wings and dragon. Sue me.

Hunted by Megan Spooner Genre: Fantasy YA Summary: fairytale retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Not half bad honestly. Yeva's the daughter of a hunter; the only one who hears the call for the world in her veins. When her father goes mad and rushes to the forest to hunt a beast, and goes missing, Yeva ignores her sisters protests and sets out to find him, and finds the Beast instead. Kept captive by the beast in an enchanted forest, she's determined to kill him for revenge.

Except, there seems to be something more going on, beneath the surface.

Why: Most of the YA recs I'm giving do not fall into the typical booktop trappings. They're all well written and not just a tropes with no substance or depth, nor are they vehicles for smut. Hunted is the most 'typically' YA of my recs, but its surprisingly good. It's a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, and well done too. It's actually compelling, and I didn't get annoyed with it at all! Always worth a shot imo. Not an obsession, but I do return to it for a bit of light reading

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik Genre: Historical Fantasy, Fairytale fantasy Summary: it's about three young women who spend most of the book either trying to escape marriage, or kill their husbands, and you root for them all the way.

to copy the Goodreads summary: Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father’s inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty—until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold.

When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk—grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh—Miryem’s fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. Set an impossible challenge by the nameless king, Miryem unwittingly spins a web that draws in a peasant girl, Wanda, and the unhappy daughter of a local lord who plots to wed his child to the dashing young tsar.

But Tsar Mirnatius is not what he seems. And the secret he hides threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike. Torn between deadly choices, Miryem and her two unlikely allies embark on a desperate quest that will take them to the limits of sacrifice, power, and love.

Why: I actually really enjoyed this one, more than I enjoyed Novik's other novel uprooted. It is technically YA, but doesn't feel like it. It has an enthralling narration style, and I love the different storylines and characters. There was not a single POV I dreaded reading. All the characters are treated with respect by the narrative/author, in regards to their education, religion, ethnicity and place in society. It's great

Okay I have been here for ages and my hands are cold. Hope one of these are of interest to you! They're more generic/taken from another rec post I made for someone else, because I don't know what about AFTG caught your interest.

Also, as an honourable mention: The Heaven's Vault game by Inkle on steam is great. It's a story-focused game, and you explore a (beautiful) nebula and visit once-inhabited moons/astroids to collect artifacts and piece together the story of the ancient past. The puzzle system is based around translating the Ancient language, and its so fun. I'm a linguistics major so this has me in a death grip. I also bought the books (same title, subtitled The Loop and the Vault by Jon Ingold) which is a novellisation of the game, and really good! I recommend it :)

please tell me about yalls hyperfixations aside from aftg pls ramble to me i need more media to obsess over and something new to get into i'm so bored and will check anything out

68 notes · View notes