#i want to create for the sheer joy of it like i did when i was a teenager!

[gdn019283]

Kilgharrah is a dragon that lost his entire species, watched his fellow companions get killed by Uther and by his genocidal reign, and got imprisoned and chained in a cave with no food or water for more than 20 years. He had nothing and no one, but lived through it all by sheer force and the will of revenge. He is a sentient being, with emotions, thoughts, a voice and the most powerful magic the world has ever known (even more powerful than Merlin’s, and we saw it).

Yet, I don’t understand why most people in the Merlin fandom find him the culprit of many of the choices on the show and even of the end.

His kind has been wiped off; he had revenge to think about while being imprisoned. He did not point at Arthur specifically or at Uther, just at the injustice of it all.

But still, he listened to Merlin and respected what he had ordered him to do, even after all he had endured.

People often tend to forget that Merlin is, as much as Gaius, a class traitor, and if we can explain why he is, then why can’t we explain Kilgharrah’s behaviour?

Most choices he told Merlin to make were part of his rational mind, one that had seen various parts of the future. He thought of the ones that made most sense to him and even then, Merlin defied him, so how can he be Kilgharrah’s fault that everything went to shit in the end? The dragon was tired, old, lost and maybe hopeless, but he persisted, he tried giving Merlin what he never had, what even Gaius couldn’t give him:

a space to be actually free; the joy of flying; a good friend who understood what being magic was like, because Kilgarrah is as ancient as the earth itself and magic flows through him too.

He helped Merlin so many times, told him about killing Morgana, because he knew that Merlin had already made a mistake. From then on, the future had changed shape and Kilgharrah saw it. He tried to prevent the worst, but it was Merlin who didn’t listen to him, it was him who said he didn’t want to kill a friend, it was Merlin who said that he couldn’t stand his friends’ grief, it was Merlin who commanded rather than asked Kilgharrah to gift him the power to heal Morgana, and it was actually Gaius who had told Merlin he had done the right thing by trying to kill Morgana (and this is only an example. Merlin did not kill other people when Kilgharrah told him to, so Merlin had something called free will. Every choice was made by him, and the Great Dragon has nothing to do with it).

All Merlin’s points were right, yet, for a dragon who didn’t have the tools to prevent Merlin’s mistakes and choices, he tried to warn him the best way he knew how. Most of the times it was with simple actions that went straight to the point.

If someone has to be at fault, then Merlin has to be at fault too.

I like Kilgharrah.

He is a great character, an example of what genocide can do to you, and he is so funny, so complicated and the fact that they were able to give such a good personality to a dragon warms my heart. He is a listener, he tried helping Merlin even when he couldn’t and was so happy when Aithusa was born.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

Merlin was his friend, because they were the same:

Lonely, and just that tad bit hopeful that a greater future was ahead of them.

Merlin did not fail because of Kilgharrah and to the dragon’s opinion, Merlin actually didn’t fail at all.

What I find unjust in the show isn’t really Arthur’s death. It’s the way we come to it and all the wrong things that happen in between, the non logical way Merlin’s magic worked, but what if Arthur had to die in order for Albion to have its Golden Age?

And perhaps, Kilgharrah knew, but didn’t know how to tell Merlin, much like Merlin couldn’t tell Gaius what he had seen in the Crystal Cave, because the future can take so many different shapes, and it was Merlin who ended up creating it, while he had tired to avoid it and change it, at the same time.

Kilgharrah is an amazing character and I love the shit out of him.

[aowyn]

i have never been as good at art as i would like to be. however i have decided to stop being embarrassed about this. the only way to get better at art is to do art! so im going to do my best to 1. draw more and 2. post it on here

[iannmin]

00:00 — s.mg | 송민기

word count: 0.7k pairing: newlywed mingi x pregnant reader

a/n: wrote this fic because it felt like something mingi would actually do :(((( feel free to leave a comment! love you atinys <3

🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍🤎🩶🤍

You’re in the kitchen, preparing for Chuseok. The rich, savoury aroma of doenjang jjigae fills the air, mingling with the subtle scent of sesame oil from the side dishes you’re making. The bubbling broth and rhythmic chop of the knife create a soothing backdrop as you work.

As you reach for another piece of tofu, you feel a sudden yet delicate flutter in your belly—a sensation so gentle it almost feels like a dream. Your hand instinctively moves to your stomach, pressing lightly against the fabric of your cardigan. A soft gasp escapes your lips, a mix of surprise and joy. Just then, Mingi’s hurried footsteps approach, and the sliding door to the kitchen opens with a soft thud. He appears in the doorway, concern etched on his face. His eyes quickly find you, and when he sees your hand on your belly, he rushes over, his movements quick but careful, as if afraid to disturb you. “Jagiya, are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick with worry, brows furrowing.

You smile softly, reaching up to straighten his brows. “I’m fine, the baby just kicked, that’s all.” Relief washes over his features, quickly replaced by awe. “The baby… kicked?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with wonder and disbelief. You nod and guide his hands to rest gently on your belly. His palms are warm and slightly rough from working on his music all day, a comforting contrast to the delicate fluttering within.

Mingi’s hands are tentative at first, his fingers lightly grazing your stomach as if afraid to press too firmly. He bends closer, his breath warm against your skin. Then, with a playful whisper, he murmurs, “Fix on”. Almost immediately, the baby responds with a gentle kick, a soft nudge that makes Mingi’s eyes widen in surprise. His gaze locks on the spot where he felt the movement.

The unexpected response makes you both burst into laughter. You exchange a look of sheer disbelief, the joy and wonder in your eyes mirroring each other’s. “Did you feel that?” you ask, laughing as you try to catch your breath. “I did!” Mingi exclaims, his voice filled with amazement. “I can’t believe it. Our baby actually responded!”

You both laugh, the sound light and full of happiness. The sheer joy of the moment makes it feel like time stands still, the laughter echoing through your small kitchen, mingling with the comforting aroma of the stew. Mingi’s fingers continue to trace the spot where the baby kicked, his touch tender and full of awe. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just below your navel. His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the depth of his emotion through that simple gesture.

But then, his protective instincts kick in. Mingi straightens up, concern replacing the wonder in his eyes. “You’ve been standing too long,” he says firmly, guiding you toward the dining table. “You need to rest. I’ll take care of the stew. Please, just sit down and relax.” 

“Mingoo, it’s just a little kick,” you laugh softly, trying to ease his worry as he helps you sit. “I’m not going to break.” He’s already grabbing a cushion from the couch and carefully placing it behind your back, then lifting your feet to set them on another cushion on the floor. “You need to take it easy,” he insists, his tone softening. “I’ll get you some yulmu-cha. Something warm and good for you and the baby.”

Watching him move about the kitchen with such care, your heart swells with affection. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly as he hands you a steaming cup of tea. Mingi kneels beside you, taking your hand in his. “I just want to make sure you are safe…both of you are safe,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I want to protect you, to take care of our little family… always.” Who knew that such a tough-looking man was actually a softie?

You laugh, light and full of love, and rest your head on his shoulder in a teddy bear hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your small apartment and the love that fills it, you know that everything will be alright—as long as you have each other, you have everything you need.

[house-strong]

— THE WAKE of the dragon ʾ ⋆

summary ; a request by anon.

“Would you please write a Daemon x niece!reader where Alicent attempted to attack her half-daughter like Episode 8 but the reader is pregnant with Daemon's third child?? I NEED protective, murderous Daemon in my life.”

pairing ; daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

notes ; daemon is the man that i need in my life 😭 i cannot get over his short hair look. also, myrax is the name of your dragon. there’s no description for her, so feel free to make up your own! also unrevised,, oops.

funerals were a finicky thing.

when laena velaryon passed from childbirth, or rather the flame of her dragon-mount vhagar, the royal court had assembled on the velaryon’s ancestral seat of driftmark to pay tribute to the beautiful sister of laenor velaryon.

a towering castle surrounded by black water bay, driftmark was surely rivaling the volcanic mountain of dragonstone in terms of beauty. dragons soared across the sky, a plethora of beige, red, silver, and green wings dappled the sky. with a monstrous cry, vhagar was lurking within the mountains somewhere.

the procession was something that bordered mystic. tossing laena’s body that was enclosed in a stone casket carved out of her liking into the sea, never to be seen again. you supposed it was poetic, the velaryons were of the sea after all.

your two children, daenys and baelon, were doing their best to console their cousins, rhaena and baela. you smile fondly at them, the girls holding hands and baelon trying to make them laugh in attempts to raise their spirits. a sharp kick to your belly sends you leaning forward. your arm shoots out to find something to grasp on to and sure enough, you find the arm of your husband, daemon.

“he’s a fighter, isn’t he?” his voice asks, the tone low and cool enough to send a shiver down your spine. you wince and try to muster a smile despite the pain, but you shake your head.

“she is a fighter. i was thinking about the name visenya.”

“he will be named daerion,” the rogue prince counters, a sly smirk rising the corner of his lip. his eyes you curiously, eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes, your nose, and soon, he stops at your lips. he licks his own, before turning away and gazing at your children. you sigh in soft adoration, the action he did was enough to send the babe in your belly and stomach into flips.

it was no secret that daemon wanted another son; after the birth of prince baelon, named after his late nephew and in a sheer decision to repair old amends with his king brother, he was enamored with his child. he was the epitome of what daemon had inspired to be; a faithful and loving brother to his sibling, and a bundle of joy that was the near opposite of what daemon was. to create something so good and so pure was evidence enough that maybe daemon could be salvaged.

he knew that this, this family – his family, was the one thing in the world that he vowed to uphold and protect, no matter the cost. he’d cross oceans, move mountains, and bring the kingdoms to heel with the help of his dragon-mount caraxes if that was what you needed.

“they’re sweet, aren’t they?” you say, following his gaze. he hums in agreement.

the funeral then moves to the inner halls of driftmark, where corlys velaryon and your aunt, rhaenys targaryen, had set a feast in remembrance of their late daughter. the food was delicious, an array of players of roasted pig, cakes, and fish been laid out. no doubt they were delicacies that were once enjoyed by laena velaryon. your seat was at the long table alongside the princess rhaenyra’s family, your fathers family, and your own.

the day had swiftly come to an end and everyone was confined to their chambers, or rather, they were supposed to be. it was no secret that aemond targaryen had disliked the obviousness of being without a dragon-mount. he, however, had the glorious idea of claiming vhagar as his mount. now riderless and unclaimed by someone of valyrian descent, the enormous beast had accepted aemond as hers.

this did nothing but enrage the velaryon twins. push had come to shove, and soon punches were being thrown. it was only through the intervention of the targaryen household guards and kingsguards, were the children separated. your children, unfortunately were caught in the crossfire trying to defend both aemond and rhaena. your poor children had no idea of the growing divide that grew between the children of alicent hightower and rhaenyra targaryen.

a knock had come to your chamber doors, one that interrupted the slow, passionate kisses that were exchanged between the near naked body’s of you and daemon. he pulls away from you and glares daggers toward the door.

“i thought we asked to not be disturbed?” he asks, his voice mixed with the edge of anger and annoyance.

“i’m sorry, my prince and princess, but it’s of grave urgency,” the steward responds behind the closed door, “i’m afraid it involves your children.”

the pair of you were quick to redress and make yourselves presentable. with the swing of the door and a bow of respect, you both followed the steward without another word.

that is when you met the other members of your family in the halls of hightide and you arrive before moments before rhaenyra. your children are quick to be by daemon and your side; daenys hugs you and baelon seeks refuge by daemon. a growing, red and purple welt had begun to swell on the full cheekbone of baelon. the fury that begins to grow in daemon is obvious.

you bend at the hip to the farthest your growing stomach will allow, your hands gently cupping daenys’ tear stained cheeks. her cheeks are flushed with pink and hair frays thick with sweat gather at her hairline. you feel your heart break as you feel her small body shudder.

“what happened? tell me the truth.” daemon asks gently as he kneels down to baelon’s level. the growing boy turns his head to glare at where the other children were gathered.

“aemond claimed vhagar as his mount, but baela said vhagar was hers to claim.” gods, the kids and their never ending desire to be a dragonrider. you were thankful your kids had mounts already, as your dragon myrax had laid a clutch of eggs that both hatched. “then jace and luke got involved.. then i tried to help defend aemond. it wasn’t right that they all attacked him.”

atlas, your son wasn’t a bully. a sigh leaves you and you hug your daughter tight.

then, the question comes to what would happen as a result of aemond’s eye. you release the hold from your daughter and approach the rapidly forming circle. you stand by your elder sister rhaenyra, your hand holding hers in support.

everything happens too fast. rhaenyra demands that aemond be questioned about where he learned to call her children bastards, alicent demands and eye for an eye, and soon, a knife is drawn by the queen and she makes a beeline for the crowned heir.

your eyes open wide in surprise, but you move forward quickly despite the pregnancy you bear, “no!”

again, a push comes to shove, and alicent shoves you to the side. you cry out as your body collides with the floor. somewhere along the fall, you hit your head. your children shout your name and rush to your aid, followed by their father. he kneels beside you, moving your hair from your face, eyes assessing the damage.

it’s then he notices the crimson liquid that slowly gathers then falls from your temple. your hand tenderly touches the spot and you grimace with pain.

he rises and moves to pull the queen away from rhaenyra, his eyes cold and his face hardened. the members of the kingsguard are confused as to who to protect; the king whose in the presence of a weapon, the queen who was just shoved by the rogue prince, or the named heir to the iron throne who was bleeding from her forearm. three important figures of the crown were in the crossfire.

criston cole, ever so faithful to his lady, ran to alicent’s side and stuck himself between daemon and his queen. daemon takes this as an invitation to draw his sword and the kingsguard, as well as the targaryen household soldiers, follow suit. your husband raises dark-sister and points it accusingly at alicent and her band of loyalists.

daemon wants a reason to have dark-sister meet criston coke – any reason, small or large, would’ve rid the targaryens of this rat.

“disarm him!”

the command is met with no response. no one knows who to defend, but your heart warms at daemon’s ability to single-handedly not care and care so much at the same time.

“you will not come into this hall and dishonor the very memory of laena velaryon,” he starts, voice low and thick with disdain. his lips curl back into a snarl, “and you will not bring my wife and my children into this feud.”

once his message seeps into the air; he pulls away and sheathes his sword, eyes locked onto the shocked expression that queen alicent wore, “you should remember your place, alicent. royal blood runs through our veins, you should do well to remember that you don’t have the same luxury.”

the comment causes a scoff to draw from alicent’s mouth.

daemon returns to your side and helps you to your feet. a maester comes, along with a rag and some needle in case the wound is needed stitches. he leads you away, arm wrapped around your back and the other supporting your weight as you hobble your way next to him.

“as soon as you are seen to, we and the children are leaving.”

and with a few stitches to close the wound, your face was rid of the blood that came. daemon, daenys, baelon, and yourself, packed your things and sent them home along with your household guards. the four of you, took your dragon-mounts to the sky and flew to dragonstone, where you shared the massive castle with your sister and her family.

despite warning alicent to not involve his family, you taking rhaenyra’s side and baelon’s actions in the squabble between the children had already chosen your fate and tied you to the blacks.

sooner or late, the war between the blacks and the greens would divide the targaryen family.

[sjylouvre]

golden moments (sjy)

the evening sun cast a golden hue across the living room, filtering through the sheer curtains and creating a warm, cozy atmosphere. the world outside was a distant memory, and it was just you, jaeyun, and layla, finally alone in the comforting embrace of your home. you sat together on the plush couch, a soft, oversized blanket draped over your laps. layla, jaeyun’s adorable dog, lay at your feet, her head resting on jaeyun’s leg. the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sounds of birds chirping outside were the only noises that interrupted the peaceful silence. jaeyun would pull you close to him, his arm naturally draping around your shoulders. you leaned into his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. do you want to watch something? jaeyun asked, his voice a soothing murmur. you shook ur head gently. no, i just want to be here with you. a soft smile spread across his face as he tightened his embrace. me too. layla perked up at the sound of your voices, her tail wagging gently. she moved closer, resting her head on your lap, and you reached down to scratch behind her ears. layla’s presence added to the warmth and comfort of the moment, making everything feel even more perfect. jaeyun would trace absent-minded patterns on your arm with his fingers, sending shivers down your spine. you sighed contentedly, feeling completely at ease. he looked down at you, his eyes reflecting the same peace you felt. how did I get so lucky to have you? he would whisper, his breath tickling your ear. you turned slightly to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with affection. i ask myself that every day. he would lean in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. you closed your eyes, savoring the tender moment. the world outside could wait; right now, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's presence.

as the evening turned to night, the living room slowly dimmed, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside. you felt jaeyun shift slightly, reaching for the remote to turn on some soft music. the gentle melodies filled the room, adding to the tranquil atmosphere. you shifted to lie down, resting your head on his lap. he would run his fingers through your hair, each stroke slow and deliberate. layla moved to snuggle closer to your side, her warmth adding to the cozy feeling. you could feel the stress of the day melting away, replaced by a profound sense of contentment. this is perfect, you murmured, looking up at him. jaeyun smiled, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. it really is. you would spend the rest of the evening just like that, basking in the quiet joy of each other's company. there was no need for grand gestures or elaborate plans. being together, wrapped in the simple, beautiful intimacy of shared silence, was more than enough. jaeyun’s hand would gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. i love moments like this, he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. you smiled up at him. me too. it’s like time stands still when we're together, you said murmuring while looking at him. he would lean down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. you felt the warmth of his affection radiate through you, and you kissed him back with equal tenderness. the kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, lost in the magic of your love. just as the kiss intensified, layla, seeking attention, nudged her way between you two, her cold nose pressing against both your faces. you both broke the kiss, laughing softly. layla, you little rascal, jaeyun chuckled, scratching her behind the ears. always wanting to be the center of attention. you giggled, giving layla a playful pat. i guess she doesn't want to be left out. jaeyun smiled, his eyes full of adoration for both you and layla. i can't blame her. she’s part of our little family, after all. you leaned in, giving layla a kiss on her head before turning back to jaeyun. guess we'll have to share our moments with her. wouldn’t have it any other way, he said, pulling you close once more. he would kiss the top of your head, his lips lingering. i hope I can always be that for you. you already are, you replied, snuggling closer to him. layla nuzzled your hand, seeking more affection, and you gladly obliged, petting her soft fur. layla loves these moments too, you said with a smile. jaeyun nodded. she’s part of our little family.

note: hey!! it’s been a while, hope you like it!!

[bylertruther]

people who think will byers hates himself for being gay when will byers is one of the very few characters on the show that has refused to change himself to fit anyone else's idea of what he should be despite the fact that people, including his own father, have been harassing, bullying, and abusing him for it literally his entire fucking life are just...... so weird.

will's entire POINT is that he will survive and brave whatever you throw his way against all odds and come out on the other side of it still clutching on to his sense of self and hope that tomorrow will be a better day. the entire point of his character is that he loves what he loves without apology or shame.

he sings "that weird song he loves" in the middle of hell because it reminds him of his brother and offers him comfort in a place where there is none. he creates art because he loves it and doesn't care if it isn't something boys do, then he gifts it to his friends because he loves them and wants them to know it, too. he loves dnd and writes campaigns and dresses up for them because they bring him joy and he just wants to spend time with his friends even if they think they're "too cool" for it now.

he knows that sometimes it's harder than it should be to be gay in a homophobic society and has been harassed for that literally his entire fucking life it's LITERALLY how they introduce him to us not even twenty minutes into this fucking show and YET !!!!!!! he doesn't back away from that. ever.

he gets picked on for his clothes, but he doesn't change them. he gets called names, but he doesn't make any attempt to conform. his best friend, the boy that he's in love with and his very first friend ever, tells him it isn't his fault that he doesn't like girls and shamefully asks him if he really thought they were going to play games together in his basement for the rest of their lives and never get girlfriends, and what does will do?

he says yeah. i guess i did. i really did.

will faces all of that and goes to a new place where he has the golden opportunity of a clean slate, and what does he do? when assigned to do a presentation on his hero... he picks alan turing of all people. and when his brother later on tells him that he loves him no matter what, essentially giving him the It's Okay To Be Gay I Love You So Much And Always Will talk, still there is no denial on will's part here either.

will has NEVER, EVER denied being gay. he has NEVER tried to change that part of himself. he has ALWAYS stood tall and braved another day even when it was scary and hard. he has ALWAYS remained true to himself even though that has only ever made his life that much harder.

he said that sometimes he feels like a mistake for being so different from other people, but that being loved and accepted makes him feel like he isn't one at all and like he's better for being different and that gives him the courage to fight on.

literally what the fuck are you guys on about when you talk about will being self-hating for being gay. where is the canonical evidence for that? and more than that, why are you so keen on throwing away all of his acts of bravery and the sheer fucking strength of character that he's had since the very beginning? it would've been so much easier for him to conform, to be the "man" that everyone has always pushed him to be, but he doesn't ever do that. he stays true to himself no matter what. so, again, where the hell are these self-hating receipts?!

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

Hot take: Sisyphys got a sweet deal

We must imagine Sisyphus happy, according to existentialist philosopher Albert Camus. It’s one of his hottest and most widely known takes. The idea that when confronted with the meaninglessness of his existence, condemned for all eternity to push a boulder up a mountain only for it to roll back down, dear old Sisyphus may find contentment. What other choice does he have after all? 

(Showing my age here with the rage face meme and will not apologise #MillenialPride)

The assertion is that we mortals are faced with a similar conundrum. Life is unpredictable, chaotic, and frequently terrifying. With nothing but the infinite void to look forward to, how are we to spend our days? Either we embrace religion and pray for eternal salvation, skip the queue to the void by killing ourselves because it doesn’t make any difference in the end, or laugh at the absurdity of it all and find joy in the simple act of being here. It is up to us to create our own meaning. 

On my good days this notion provides me a lot of comfort, and links in nicely with the zen buddhist idea that this moment is the only thing we truly have. So the take home is to embrace it, and live fully for the moment. It’s all very Dead Poets Society or, if you’re like me and have never seen that film, the B plot in Season 1, Episode 3 of Community.  In the immortal words of Professor Whitman, “Seize the day Jeff, for real. Go running naked in a hailstorm, kiss a girl in the middle of the day, fly a kite but do it for yourself! Or you wot just fail my class, you’ll fail life.” 

On my bad days however, I’m just salty about it. Suddenly the pressure to create my own meaning in the limited time I have becomes crippling to the point of paralysis. Every moment not spent living my best life is a moment wasted. I move steadily towards the grave, the years ahead steadily becoming fewer than those behind. What have I achieved with these dwindling hours, these precious days in which I am burdened to create my own meaning? I’ll tell you what I’ve done; play RuneScape and be depressed.

The problem with transferring this thinking from Sisyphus to a human living under late stage capitalism in the 21st century, is that Sisyphys didn’t have to go to a fucking job everyday. All he had to do was push a boulder! All day! Piece of piss mate. 

What I wouldn’t give to just push a boulder all day. No laundry, no dishes, no reletenlessly targeted advertising and no more fucking work emails or meetings. I bet Sisyphys never once had a melon-related panic attack in the fruit aisle of Aldi. On top of that, pushing a massive boulder to the top of a mountain is an incredible workout. Right now I have to drive nearly 30 minutes to go and sweat in a leisure centre while strangers grunt in my periphery. Give me the boulder any day. I want that head empty, no thoughts, brain scampled egg life baby. Release me from the curse of my own self-awareness. 

Okay, I get it that Albert Camu grew up in poverty, survived tuberculosis, and lived through the Second World War. I readily admit that my “melon crisis” doesn’t stack up in comparison.  All I’m saying is, it’s pretty easy to imagine someone happy when they are free from the mountains of bullshit that besiege us every single day. I am completely overwhelmed by the mere act of existing under capitalism. The sheer number of decisions I have to make every single day just to get from one end to the next breaks my autistic brain. I can’t handle it, didn’t ask for it, and I certainly don’t want it. But surely we could do literally anything else? 

I know it’s sort of laughable to say, “Let’s all go back to a simple, agrarian existence where we live off the land and chill by a waterfall smoking phat blunts.” Like, obviously that sounds a thousand times better than what we’re doing now, but short of a catastrophic societal collapse and then thousands of years of recovery, that’s not going to happen. Did you know it (sort of) takes six months and over $1,500 dollars to make a single chicken sandwich from scratch? Sustaining a single human life requires an incredible amount of work. 

There are so many of us, and we’re so connected and interdependent on each other as a species. No organism on the planet comes close to what we have built for ourselves and it is an amazing feat by every conceivable metric. But what is it all for? Have we ever once as a civilisation stopped and asked ourselves why we’re doing any of this? 

For whatever reason, we are apparently limited in our conception of all that remains possible. A civilisation disjointed and misaligned, adrift on this rock hurtling through space at mind boggling speeds, confronted with the meaninglessness of it all and refusing to collectively acknowledge it for even a moment. 

It’s like we’re still locked in that primordial stage of evolution, where we must accrue resources to survive the harsh winter and outlive our rivals. When we predominantly existed as smaller bands or tribes, that made a lot of sense. But now we are a single connected superorganism, our sense of competition is squarely in opposition to our sense of collaboration. 

We broadly recognise the need to collaborate in tackling existential threats like climate change, yet our primal competitiveness sees us knee jerking our way back towards fascism. It’s like we’ve gone to the doctor about a backache and they prescribed a dozen hungry tigers to be administered immediately. We’re still acting as though there is not enough to go around, when there is in fact plenty; it has just been misallocated. I am left always wondering why? What do we have to gain from eating ourselves alive?

I cannot help but think it comes from a petulant refusal to collectively acknowledge the void. We struggle desperately for meaning, to leave a legacy, but forget that it is impossible. Even those who live on in infamy after their death will one day perish from the collective consciousness. Our sun will die, all heat will fade from the universe until it is nothing but a barren, lifeless waste. No tower you build or lineage you foster will outlast that. Yet we sit watching helplessly as oligarchs and plutocrats rail against their own mortality to catastrophic and destructive consequences for the rest of us. I suppose in the long run, that doesn’t really matter though does it? 

We have made a home for ourselves in the belly of a vast, insatiable beast. A beast so hungry for our blood and labour that it stifles anything that cannot be effectively comodified. How are we to find happiness and peace under such conditions? It is simply not a priority. 

To quote folk punk band AJJ: 

This is no exaggeration, we're living in a death machine

And no, it's not just your imagination

You've been living in a death machine

Some of us are passengers, and some of us are driving

Almost everybody's getting bled to death to keep the motor running

Sisyhus at least is free from its roiling guts, and in that freedom it is not difficult to imagine him happy. For the rest of us, it takes a little more effort and a lot more work. 

[alwritey-aphrodite]

#5 with finnick odair please 🤗

2024 Summer Blurbs

Summer seemed to stretch before you endlessly, nothing but balmy mornings and afternoons spent under the sun. Everything was golden and tinged with sea salt, and you were always sun warmed and happy. You had no responsibilities, able to float from one task to another as you fancied, with Finnick never far from your side.

“Did you want to go with me to the market later?” You ask, slicing up the last of your fruit after your early morning swim, the weather heating up enough that the water is pleasant and balmy even before the sun comes up, and you’ll never turn down an offer to watch the sunrise. There’s a fairly substantial garden you’ve grown that has plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, but you love the variety of the farmer’s market, the different produce and pastries and crafts, and the chance to interact with people when you’re typically rather secluded.

“I wanna go wherever you wanna go,” Finnick replies with a lovesick sort of smile that makes his statement sound like a joke but the both of you know he’s nothing less than sincere. It’s not as if the two of you are codependent, you’re both perfectly capable of spending time alone and you’ll often split apart to do something on your own, but you both really do prefer spending time together and just being near each other. Even if you aren’t talking, just sharing the same space is enough, knowing that he’s within arms reach if you want him.

After your quick breakfast of whatever scraps you had leftover, the two of you step out into the sun to make the quick journey to the farmer’s market. Its hot, approaching temperatures that you would categorize as miserable, but the streets are full and every yard you pass is full of yelping children as they spray their friends with water and run past you, soaking wet and screaming with joy. You’re sweating, but your hand remains firmly in Finnick’s, and he gives you a gentle squeeze every so often, as if you’d forget he’s next to you if he didn’t.

The market is crowded, the press of bodies increasing the heat to practically unbearable, but Finnick buys fresh lemonade from a little stand manned by a girl who couldn’t be older than eight, and you’re thankful for the blessed cool even as the bottle sweats in your hand and water runs down your arm. Despite the sheer amount of people around you, it’s easy to pretend like it’s only you and Finnick, wandering from stall to stall underneath the summer sun.

By the time you complete a full lap of every vendor’s stall, the sun has reached its peak and begun its lazy descent and your arms are starting to ache with the weight of everything you’ve bought. You’re not sure if it was the heat making you delirious or if Finnick’s impossibly kind nature wasn’t starting to rub off on you, but you just couldn’t seem to walk past a stall without at least browsing and having a conversation with the vendor. Both you and Finnick have completely full bags, bursting with fresh fruits and vegetables and pastries and honey, even bracelets made from string that remind you of a sunset.

When you return home, you’re sweating and your arms are tired and all you want to do is take a nap and wait for the Earth to cool off, and you know Finnick will happily lay down and nap with you, and even just that simply knowledge is enough to send your heartbeat through the roof. He smiles at you across the kitchen as you both try and find space for everything you’ve bought, and you realize that you could never want anything more than this beautifully simply life you’ve created with him.

[cool-fancier]

Morning Serenade

Synopsis: You can’t help as you gazed your wife, Akanen, sleep soundly, remembering your college days, creating a pleasant moment in the calm dawn.

Your relationship with Akanen dates back to college, when the bond of friendship grew into something more. You and Akanen were inseparable, sharing dreams, secrets, and laughter that rang through your college's hallways. Life appeared to be simple, and the future appeared bright.

However, as graduation approached, your lives separated in unexpected directions. Circumstances forced you to study in another country, while Akanen left on a journey in another. The separation meant the beginning of a new chapter, putting your relationship to the test.

Akanen bravely revealed her feelings before parting ways, revealing that she liked you. It was a confession that rang out across the years, a whisper of a sentiment that hinted at much greater. Yet, as you embarked on your college journey, you expressed the need to focus on your studies, temporarily diverting the course of your connection.

"I like you," Akanen said, her eyes soft and vulnerable.

"I want to give my studies my full attention," you said, the weight of your decision evident.

Akanen, realising the importance of distance, vowed to wait for you. As a result, you both accepted the challenges that lay ahead with a shared devotion to your separate interests.

As the years unfolded, the distance did little to dampen the warmth of your friendship. You communicated across time zones via emails, phone calls, and occasional visits. Akanen's unwavering support became a regular reminder of the significant bond that stretched across miles

Life took an unexpected turn after successfully negotiating the obstacles of college life. Akanen arrived at your flat door, propelled by a love that had stood the test of time. As Akanen fearlessly asked to court you, the surprise was welcomed with a mix of shock, joy, and a hint of nervousness.

The shift from friendship to courting signified the beginning of a new chapter in your lives. Akanen's presence brought many changes, some expected, others unexpected. The courting was a dance of shared moments, secret looks, and the eventual reveal of a love that had built gradually over time.

The courtship ended with a decision that would influence your futures: marriage. The dedication to one another resulted in a blending of lives, dreams, and aspirations. The journey, marked by shared laughter and a few tears, had brought you to the magnificent present, where you found yourself staring at Akanen in the early morning hours.

Akanen's eyes fluttered open as the sun rose, and a sweet grin touched her lips. She pulled you in closer, the warmth of her touch providing proof to the love that had connected you. "Why are you awake, my love?" she asked her drowsiness in her voice adding to her charm.

The talk flowed easily, full of humour and warmth. The love that had endured years of separation found expression in shared glances, whispered confessions, and the sheer delight of being together.

"I love you," you said, unable to suppress your feelings.

Akanen's laughter turned into a sweet laugh. "I love you, my darling." Please try to sleep more for me now. I know you had a hard, exhausting day at work yesterday because you came late, so you deserve some rest."

But the love that filled the room appeared to outweigh the need for rest. The moments became a celebration—a celebration of the years that had led up to this point, of overcoming hurdles, and of the undying love that had stood the test of time.

"I can't help it," you admitted, gently drawing designs on her arm. "Seeing you asleep like this makes me want to cherish every moment."

Akanen's eyes softened, and her fingers found solace in the strands of your hair. "You're such a morning person."

As you exchanged loving words, the space turned into a sanctuary—a haven where time seemed to stop and the past, present, and future blended into a magnificent tapestry of love. The serenity of the early morning was only equaled by the love that you and Akanen shared.

The topic went off into memories, dreams, and the complexities of daily life. Every word, every glance, and every shared silence became a witness to a love that had matured, deepened, and changed over the course of a lifetime.

The journey that began with a connection formed in the halls of college now found expression in the stillness of early dawn. The laughter, love, and warmth that filled the room promised many more sunrises and shared experiences in the days ahead.

You couldn't help but wonder at the remarkable journey that had brought you to this beautiful morning as you closed your eyes, ready to slip back into a deep slumber. The love you and Akanen had was more than simply a story about two people; it was a symphony that rang out across the years, a tune that promised to last a lifetime.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

I love love love your denial-verse series. I really enjoyed your characterization of Tommy, Buck and Eddie in them.

I’m also so glad about the way you wrote Taylor. People tend to villainize her in fanfics but you wrote her so well. She was my fav LI other than Tommy. She wasn’t a good fit but the show gave her something other than being just a LI.

Speaking of character who are just LIs in the show, I even loved the way you wrote Marisol. The show never really gave her any characterization and you wrote her so well even her not being such a good person was well written. There were so many signs that both Tommy and I missed.

Can’t wait to read whatever you post next.

Oh my gosh, thank you so much 🥺 The Denial-verse series is a labor of love and it's been such a bonus and a joy to know that other people love it too.

Now, this is more like behind-the-scenes, craft stuff, but I will say that I'm not actually a huge fan of Taylor Kelly. But I also believe that part of what you should do in writing is find what inspires you about a character and let that shine and live with that in order to create the well-rounded character you can write with them. And, you know, I like Taylor Kelly much more after writing her than I did before. While she's not a good match for Buck, it is a little disappointing that she doesn't have a once-or-twice-a-season cameo or a seasonal mini-arc with her involved as a frenemy reporter who might shine a good or bad light on the LAFD.

And, people can use death of the author here, but I wrote Marisol here to feel like a friend. Someone likable even if they're not perfect. And there are a lot of people out there who have her same red flags. Many of them can figure themselves out, grow out of those bad thoughts, reframe how they view the world for the better, become those better people; and many of them don't. I feel that what makes Marisol hurt the most is the possibility of goodness in her and her sheer denial of wrongdoing; her inability to look past her perceived reality and grow into someone who can live with what happened without lashing out in harsh and unfair ways because her life isn't what she thought it was. I like Marisol. I don't like Marisol in the show, more because they treated her like a sexy lamp more than anything, but I liked this Marisol. And that's why she hurts so much when she sours - because people you think would be kind to you can be, sometimes, crueler than anyone else.

I'm sorry. I'm talking your ear off here. But I just wanted to say thank you for loving the series. Thank you for reading. The Denial-verse is, for the most part, a character study in loneliness, belonging, what it means to be and feel loved, and what steps it takes to finally believe one can have happiness, and it truly blows me away that people have been enjoying it as much as I've liked writing it.

Also, the fourth story within the Denial-verse,  The Fire is Inside the House, is out now if you'd like to read the first chapter.

Thank you again for this magnificent ask. I hope you have a spectacular morning, day, or afternoon wherever you are!

[tobiasdrake]

Oh that's right they DID do the Phoenix, just. Fucking. Weird. Xavier's here to explain all of the shit.

So Xavier feels Scott exploding into goo mid-kiss and sends Logan and Storm out there. They head out and just walk blindly through pea-soup fog until Logan complains.

At which point Storm just snaps her fingers and defogs the whole place.

Like she was legit just going to let them wander around blindly until one of them fell in the lake. It's a good thing Logan said something! Storm was enjoying fog time and forgot we had a mission here.

This was revenge for ruining the Sentinel class. She wanted Logan to dumbass himself into a swim.

So they wander around looking at the rocks Jean... left charged with self-sustaining telekinesis, I think?

There's just shit floating around even though Jean passed out from the sheer grossness of getting Scott's bits in her mouth.

So we take Jean back to Xavier where he Mr. Expositions what's going on here. First, and most importantly, that she was in fact inside Aang's iceberg.

Okay, I did not remember that but I guess I was reading that weird scene correctly.

Also, Jean is the most powerful mutant ever.

Why is there a Class Five if there's only one mutant in it? How do you even grade the power level or whatever of mutation? Is Beast a Class Four because his mutation is so extensive or Class One because he can't explode a bus station with laser eyes? What's the power level of regeneration? Ooh, or teleporting. What's Nightcrawler's power level?

I know this is a thing from the comics but it's silly there too. :P

But anyways. I get it. Jean has too much telekinesis, so much so that Xavier made up an entire category called Too Much Telekinesis-Havers just to fit her in.

From there, he explains this film's interpretation of the Phoenix Force.

Xavier: Her mutation is seated in the unconscious part of her mind, and therein lay the danger. When she was a girl, I created a series of psychic barriers to isolate her powers from her conscious mind. And, as a result, Jean developed a dual personality. Logan: What? Xavier: The conscious Jean whose powers were always in her control and the dormant side. A personality that, in our sessions, came to call itself the Phoenix. A purely instinctual creature, all desire and joy and rage.

Okay. So. Just a reminder: The Jean we saw at the start of the film had full control over her abilities. Charles decided that Jean has too much telekinesis, which he demonstrated by making up the Too Much Telekinesis folder in his filing cabinet and only putting her file in it.

But this is not what the antagonistic force of the film is.

No. It's not Jean having too much telekinesis that's causing problems.

Charles invaded Jean's brain and unethically suppressed her mutation. Kind of like the cure does! Topical! In doing so, he broke Jean's psyche and created an evil split personality called the Phoenix.

She was fine until Charles went in and tried to fix her for having too much telekinesis and instead cracked her brain in half. We aren't dealing with Jean's mutation gone uncontrollable, we're dealing with something Xavier accidentally put inside of her in a misguided attempt to make her acceptable. He did this to her.

Because she levitated cars and it freaked him out.

And then right after comes this exchange.

Logan: She knew all this? Xavier: It's unclear how much she knew. Far more critical is whether the woman in front of us is the Jean Grey we know or the Phoenix furiously struggling to be free.

So that's pretty much a flat admission that this was done to Jean without her knowledge or consent. Logan asks if Jean was informed and Xavier's like, "Fuck no!" before changing the subject.

Obviously Logan gets pissed right the fuck off.

Holy shit, Logan. Fucking go off, king. I want to have his babies. But. Y'know. In a manly way. <.<

...I think I'm kind of okay with the fact that Jean's going to kill Xavier later in the film. I think maybe that's fine, actually? Like, if anyone's going to die because of the Phoenix rising, it should be him.

Scott did nothing wrong but Xavier did everything wrong. Lesser of two evils. "Look, it was either this or letting her be really good at telekinesis. I MADE MY CHOICE."

God forbid women be good at telekinesis. Fucking get his ass, Phoenix.

[leeminuwu]

MY HAPPY MARRIAGE | Gojo Satoru

—In which the disgraced older daughter of a small clan gets an offer from the strongest sorcerer in the world, an offer she can't refuse, an unusual prospect of marriage.

Author's Note: Hello, this is my first ever fanfiction. I might make some errors but I will do my best to make this reading experience as amazing as possible. This story is very close to my heart and was inspired by a manga of the same name. Please give Chihaya and Gojo lots of love. I will be uploading on Wattpad and ao3 as well !

TW : domestic violence, physical abuse, suicidal ideation, suicide, self harm, 18+ themes | minors dni

pairs : gojo satoru x fem!oc, slight!geto suguru x fem!oc and slight!sukuna x fem!oc

CHAPTER ONE : THE TALENTLESS MAIDEN

WHEN THE NEWS of her mother's demise reached Chihaya Furukawa, she was returning from work, stumbling through the office hours crowds of Chiba station. It was just another Wednesday for her. Yet the news had turned her very mundane day upside down. Her knees wobbled as the weight of her handbag seemed to weigh her down. Strange. She wondered. She never thought, she would be affected by the demise of the woman who claimed to never have loved her.

Yet, she persisted. Returning to her quaint flat, she cleaned her room thrice over the course of four hours, claiming that it would bring her the very peace of mind she needed. However peace had always been unkind and fleeting for the eldest daughter of the Furukawa clan.

It was her brother's hoarse voice that plagued her. She is gone. Mother is dead. That is what Makoto Furukawa had only told. There were no explanations regarding the nature of her death, no illness. The lady of the house was known to be a fierce woman of sheer fortitude. Her bloodline was from the prestriged Machi clan of the Jujutsu World. She seldom suffered from illnesses. Then how?. Then how did mother pass? The rational part of her brain mulled. But for Furukawa, despite her unyielding curiosity, an air of uneasiness seemed to surround her very being. Hence, that evening she spent lying on her bed, looking at th the starless sky through the window beside her bed, hoping to see traces of her mother's pleasent memory. However, there seemed to be none.

Chihaya Furukawa wanted to grieve that day but she didn't know how.

_______

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO

The Furukawa household lived in traditional Japanese houses, while a significant of their wealth, the walls were too thin to contained the cries of a child. Hence, Chihaya had learnt the ways of suppressing her cries in order to spare her tiny hands from becoming the canvas of her father's wrathful showerings. As if she hadn't gone through countless punishments from him already.

Haruto Furukawa hated wailing children more than he hated weaklings. A self made Jujutsu Sorcerer, he had single handedly uplifted his rather downtrodden clan's glory in his generation, especially among the council of elders. For a man like him who had slain countless screeching courses, cries of children seemed like a deterrent to his focus, and his hard earned peace.

Hence, when a ten year old Furukawa sat with cane marks littered all across her petite arms. Her mother wordlessly, applied ointments on them.

In her eyes, there was no love or hate.

Patching up her wounded child, was just another segment of her duty that she would fulfill as the lady of the house.

"If only you weren't so talentless, father would be much kinder to you" Young Makoto, who was two years her junior quipped from her another corner of the room. "He only disciplines you because you can't even perform a basic curse technique even at this age" He snickered, giggling in his joy of being the prodigy of the family. A true Furukawa. Who would carry the fire manipulation technique of the family foreword.

Tears had formed in the young girl's eyes, as the pain of her wounded hands seemed to seep through the barrage she had created in her mind for all the terrible memories.

A tear drop rolled down her cheek and fell on her arm.

"Crying won't make you useful, Chihaya. Only those who are dutiful or strong get their respects" Her said in a voice loud enough only for the young girl to hear, tighning the bandage on her wrist. "You are weak, hence, you must be dutiful. It is the only way you will ever be respected by others. Jujutsu is not the only way to carry on your family's legacy. Being a proper lady and a good wife in the future is a great duty to shoulder for us women as well"

Chihaya could merely stare at her mother with glassy eyes, her lips parted in disbelief. She cry, scream, throw her arms and legs around—just to let her mother know about the pain she'd been harbouring since the past couple of years.

When Lady Furukawa spoke, the dying sunlight of the waning dusk seemed to illuminate her face through the window. In that light she looked like a divine being of great knowledge of the world. In that light Chihaya could see the tirednes that had dawned on her eyes. In that light, the eldest Furukawa daughter realised—that even if she cried her lungs out, her mother wouldn't care.

____________

PRESENT DAY

Despite the baleful and uncharacteristic news of death she'd received the previous day, Chihaya had arrived to work the next morning. Wearing her usual smile for her co-workers and her students. As a kindergarten teacher, she felt a sense of duty to not let the children experience residues of the mishaps in her life. However that task seemed to become excruciatingly difficult for the young woman as her head throbbed due to lack of sleep.

"It is quite odd isn't it" Aoi commented, as the duo continued with the final touch ups of the playroom before the kids arrived. Aoi Higuchi had been a faithful ally to Chihaya during her short career at the kindergarten. Perhaps the only friend she had left now.

"What is it Higuchi San?" Chihaya asked, turning to see that her co-worker looking wistfully at the open windows.

"I don't know if it's the weather or not, but usually at this time, we have more birds around don't we?" It was an odd observation, but a poignant one. The kindergarten was located in the suburbs and around a plethora of trees. It was not uncommon to have birds chirp away through the morning. Yet that day, there was hardly a sound.

It was an uncharacteristically peaceful morning.

"Perhaps it is the terrible weather" Chihaya chuckled, "I read somewhere that climate change has had quite an impact on the local birds of Japan, let alone the migratory ones" she thought out loud, with a finger on her chin.

Aoi sighed, "Yeah, you're perhaps right" the brunette haired coworker shrieked as she looked at the large clock ticking to 10am, "Oh boy, I am late again—i gotta get the kids from the assembly hall. Can you finish up stacking these colouring books for me?"

"I got this" Chihaya reassured with a smile, "you can go get the kids"

"You're the best Chihaya Chan!"

The young woman giggled at her friend's compliment as she moved to pick up the colouring books left scattered around the room from the previous day's activities. She hummed a tune of the song she'd heard at the subway so often, a song she forgot to seek out the name of. Perhaps once I go home, I'll Google the lyrics I remember? She wondered, trying to push away the gloomy thoughts from her mind. I should probably ask Aoi San for her Spotify playlist, I think I'll surely find it there. She does hav—

BA DUM!

BA DUM!

Her head throbbed, as her knees felt heavy. Chihaya could feel a certain nausea bubbling up her chest as dizziness took over.

What the —

Images passed by her vision of a time unknown. It was as if a book of memories had been reopened. She could see her dainty classroom full of children, bustling with joy and clamour of young child. She observed, through her mind's eye a scene, as one of the young children named Akito dropped his water bottle as her drank from it, soaking the floor. She watched as the water water spread throughout the back of the class, whilst she and Higuchi were looking away in the scene playing out. She watched as the water reached the feet of an overzealous child and as he fell after slipping on the growing puddle. Cries erupted as the child cried whilst rolling on the floor, catching both the teacher's attention.

And then the scene ended.

It was like a premonition. A waking dream. A phenomenon she had never encountered. Perhaps it's the caffeine. She thought to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. For a second, Chihaya felt like she was on some terrible LSD trip. The girl then concluded that tiredness seemed to have gotten the best of her, and that she would take a leave for the rest of the week in order to return home and pay her final respects to her dearly departed mother. I need that closure to be same again.

Chihaya looked at the colouring books that she had stacked up, lying scattered on the floor yet again. Her knees had given away and she'd ended up sitting down with folded legs, as her arm supported her tired form. Her breathing was heavy, and sweat dripped from her brow.

There goes my makeup.

Looking at the clock that stood at only 10:04am, Chihaya wondered if it was only her who felt like her daydreaming had taken forever to end. While in reality it had hardly been four minutes since Aoi had left to fetch the children. Four minutes. Shit. They'll be here any minute.

The woman picked up each book gingerly, placing them one on top of the other roll number wise, as she continued to final preparations for her classes to begin.

Just when she slid the last box onto the playroom shelves, she heard the door slide open, and a cacophony of voices followed suit. Young children with blue hats and yellow bags huddled into the classroom with big smiles on the face, while some had glassy eyes due to crying before coming to school. Chihaya smiled, as she stood up to take her position by the front of the class, her hands clasped to her lap, a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning everyone!" She beamed, while the kids to their seats on the little desks.

"Good morning miss Furukawa!"

"Good morning!"

"Good morning sensei!"

Greetings poured in as the class filled up to it's full capacity. Chihaya's heart often swelled with pride as she would see the children under her care develope a comely nature with good manners. She felt like her duty to the next generation was fulfilled in a way. Despite it's hardships, she loved being a teacher. It was all she ever wanted to be, and even though she dream was realised later in her life, she was glad that she could live with certain contentment atleast.

"Please settle down" she chided the kids who were still jumping on their chairs around at the back of the class, as Higuchi caught then by their uniforms and tried to call them down.

"Woah there Akira, you will hurt yourself if you keep jumping around like that" Higuchi told the young boy, keeping a close eye on him as he took is seat with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "sorry sensei" he giggled. He was totally going to jump on his chair again.

"Let's finish the colouring we started yesterday okay?" Chihaya clapped to draw in their attention, "and today, we will learn how to draw and colour the rainbow!"

"I love rainbows sensei!"

"Mee too"

"So do I"

"No; they are my favourite"

The woman chuckled as she tuck the stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "Well I love rainbows too Mirai Chan" she went around the desk of the girl who had exclaimed first in delight, "Rainbows appear once the skies clear after rain"

"Mom says, rainbows signify hope and new beginnings" young Mirai added on enthusiastically, "Is that true sensei?"

The woman could only smile.

Hope.

Chihaya Furukawa could scoff mentally. She would give anything to be hopeful again. Hope to her were the dying embers of joy in her mothers eyes. Her hopes seemed to have died in her youth, and her mother's death seemed to make her new beginnings in Chiba seem like an uncertain path.

"Your mother is absolutely correct" Chihaya forced a smile, breaking away from her thoughts. The children shouldn't sense my grief. It would not be fair to them. Turning her back. Her pretended to write on the whiteboard. Her free arm balled into a fist by her side as she gritted her teeth and took a deep breath and faced the children, "Now, let us begin the class"

__________

Half of the day had gone by and at 12:00pm, during the lunch break the children played around in the classroom as Chihaya decided to spend her free time keeping her eye on the boys of the class, wary of her daydream. No child is getting injured on my watch.

"You aren't gonna eat?" Higuchi propped herself beside the younger woman, with her arm resting on her face.

"I'll eat later" Chihaya reassured with a small smile. Turning back to monitor the children.

"If you don't mind me saying Chihaya chan, something about you doesn't feel quite right" The Furukawa girl was startled by the sudden comment about her disposition from her friend. Higuchi had been perceptive certainly, however Chihaya was also a very suppressive person. It was difficult to read her poker face, let alone know what was going on in her mind. Or so she believed.

Her lips parted in surprise. Clearing her throat she looked away from the older woman, "You are a worry wart Higuchi San, I am completely fine"

"You always lie when you don't meet my eyes"

Chihaya turned to look the woman deep in her embony eyes, "I am fine. Trust me"

Silence. Aoi Higuchi was no fool Chihaya envisioned her to be.

"You know you could talk to me anytime right?" She mumbled, sensing the younger woman's discomfort as she hummed in response. "I hope your ex finance is not troubling you again"

Chihaya could choke at the unwarranted comment, as she coughed her water out of her wind pipe. "You still are the same, senpai. Your lack of tact is impeccable" she laughed nervously, wiping the water that had dropped on her trousers.

"If Naoya San was troubling me, I would have left Chiba long back" Chihaya chuckled half heartedly.

Higuchi stood up swiftly, and grabbed hold of chihaya's hands, earning a yelp from the younger girl, "If that bastard happens to pop in here, you have nothing to fear, my brother knows the local delinquents quite well! He will handle that man well"

Chihaya couldn't control her laugh. Oh senpai, delinquents would be target practice for that bastard.

"I am serious, Chihaya Chan! You don't worry"

"I could never, I know for a fact that I am in perfectly good hands" the woman smiled.

Chihaya saw the half empty water bottle on her table, as her head throbbed in realisation. Her daydream. She'd forgotten to keep an eye on the children, getting up from her seat, she scanned the entire room, to check if anyone was injured. To her cruel surprise Akito had dropped his water bottle by the door and was struggling to clean up his wet pants.

Chihaya rushed to help the younger boy. Her almost super human speed surprised Higuchi.

"Hey, hey, hey little guy. Are you okay?" She asked, soothing his back as he looked like he was about to cry. Before she could listen to his replies, she saw her daydream mimic itself in real life as Akira jumped around the water puddle on the verge of danger.

Hence, Chihaya ran again to the other child and swifty scooped him up in her arms before he could slip on the puddle.

"Akira, how many times I've told you not to jump around the class?" The woman scolded the young boy, as she placed him on the dry floor.

Tears formed in his eyes as he huffed with a pout.

"I was playin" he sniffled.

"I know but you have to be careful—"

BA DUM!

Her head throbbed yet again, as a stabbing pain pierced through her forehead to the back of head, compelling her to hold her head in pain.

"Sensei? Are you okay?" The child asked, fearful of her changed expression.

"Fine" Chihaya gritted her teeth, slowly removing herself from the the young boy, her instincts compelling her to run away from the room full of children. Yet the girl could barely move.

Soon the noise of the classroom was overpowered by the voices that rang in her ear.

Voices rang through her head, as memories flowed like an endless river infront of her eyes,"You'll never be a daughter to me" her father's eyes darkened as he raised his cane for another on of his punishments.

"Just marry her off to the highest bidding clan" she'd overhead her brother speaking with his father after her graduation.

"You're so talentless that you'd be better off dead" she remembered how the children of the high born Jujutsu families laughed at her inability to see curses at a young age.

"You're as pitiful as a dove with a broken wing. I don't know if I pity you or care for you" she remembered her first love, a man who had turned to darkness, his long dark hair wavering in the wind as his eyes dimmed of kindness.

What is happening to me? She could only think as memories flooded her being. A nauseating panic rising in her throat, as she felt that she was trapped inside a box being forced to relive every time she'd experienced pain.

The pain coupled with the haunting memories made the woman clasp her ears in a feeble attempt to salvage her sanity. The images of her dreary life flashed one after the other. Until at the end she saw her mother's comely face, and a scream erupted from her mouth coupled with uncontrollable tears. "Go to Chiba, and stay as far from this world as you can, hear me girl? I will arrange a job for you next semester in Hokkaido. To then, don't come back to Tokyo" Those were the last words she'd heard from her mother before she left home at the beginning of the semester.

Warmth engulfed her body, as Chihaya lost the track of time and space. The throbbing pain seemed to be getting worse along with the nausea and the dizziness and before she knew, the sights of her past darkened into her vision, as the unbearable pain sent her body into a shock.

And soon, Chihaya passed out.

________________

THREE DAYS LATER

Chihaya Furukawa hardly ever had a dreamless sleep. Her dreams would be ridden with imageries of the past and her greatest desires. However the girl often wised to have a dreamless sleep. Hence, when she woke up after her "episode" she was shocked and frankly terrified to find herself on a hospital bed with minimal clothes on.

Her vision was still not clear after the whole episode, as she rubbed them vigorously to focus on her surroundings. It couldn't be. Not after all these years. Is it a dream? It has to be a dream right? A myriad of thoughts ran through her mind as she realised her position. She was in a deep soup. Panic began to rise up her throat, as the uncanny familiarity of the pristine white hospital room reminded her of the last place she'd want to be—

Tokyo Metropolitan Cursed Technique college. Her old highschool.

In her feeble attempt, Chihaya endeavoured to run away. Carefully examining the room she found her clothes neatly folded on one of the empty couches, she slowly removed herself from the bedside, clutching onto the blanket to save the residues of her modesty as she tiptoed to her clothes and belongings.

I can't be here.

The young woman did not know what had transpired or how she'd managed to end up in Tokyo of all places. But in her gut she knew that it was her High school that she'd ended up at. There was no way she could forget the place. She remembered it at the back of her hand. However, a tinge of worry regarding her students and Higuchi remained. What happened? How did I end up here?

"Going somewhere?" A rather masculine voice broke her trance, as she froze on her path. Fuck. She should have known. They would have left some rando to look after her.

Chihaya let out a nervous chuckle, slowly turning to meet the man "I was just getting my clo—AH"

The girl shrieked as a tuft of white hair overwhelmed her sight. Her lips parted in sheer surprise, as horror dawned on her expression.

"Gojo Satoru"

"Hello, Chiyo chan" he said with the same old shit eating grin on his face, "Long time no see"

"What are you doing here?" She asked firmly, rather too firmly, almost as if she was reprimanding him for existing.

"Is that how you'd treat your knight in shining armour?" He faked a pout, and a hurt hand to his heart. "After all that I went through for you!"

Obnoxious as ever. Had Chihaya not been in such a sensitive situation, she would definitely roll her eyes.

However at the same time the girl hoped it was a bad dream, a terrible nightmare she would soon wake from. Yet alas, those prayers were futile as Gojo Satoru was standing in flesh infront of her eyes, and she could feel his gaze burrowing into her despite the bandages over his eyes. She knew that fate would bring her at crossroads with those she abandoned all those years ago. However she'd hoped it would be limited to her old close friends Shoko and Utahime. They would have been much easier to deal with albeit she did owe a lot of explanation to everyone. But not in a thousand years did she expect Gojo to be the first one to confront her after eleven years since she last saw him. Let alone when she was practically naked. She tightened the grip around her blanket, her cheeks growing flushed in embarassment.

When the young woman stood transfixed in sheer shock Gojo could only laugh at her state, running his hands through his hair. He walked towards the girl peering down at her, his face much closer to her's.

Chihaya wanted to combust as she felt his breath fanning her cheek, which had warmed into a deep scarlet hue.While her brain unable to process what in the hell was going on.

"Cat caught your tongue, Chiyo chan?" Gojo smiled, as she felt him studying her face intently, "Its a shame, I have to wait till our wedding to see you this flustered" He let out a hearty chuckle.

Wait a minute.

OUR wedding?

Gojo and Me?

Me and THE Gojo Satoru?

Chihaya swore her brain had short circuited with that information. However her lips moved almost instinctively to that information.

"No way in hell am I marrying you" Chihaya spat with the meager courage she had left in her, talking a step away from the much larger man.

Gojo let out a dry laugh. He was amused.

"We'll see about that"

In a matter of seconds, Gojo's finger was positioned on her forehead as she watched him murmur a technique and before she could even realise, Chihaya had dropped unconscious in his arms.

Part 2

Thank you for reading this story, do reblog to support me! I am still learning to use Tumblr so apologies in advance for any mistakes I make! I am open to being guided through comments and dms! Thanks ☺️

[mothduchess]

Molting (A Kitsune HRT side story)

Sometimes, I dream myself as a vixen. A party with friends in a beautiful quiet glade, with fur soft and magnificent. One could almost smell the roses, hear the wind laugh in joy. A sunlit grotto paradise where hope lived and danced. All that fur, that sparkling euphoria amongst friends, it could send me into a giggling fit! But day will always give to night, for time will reveal new splendors and questions. Night is not fearful, for the moon is bright and gentle. The games may be done and the food might be shelved, but in the darkness dwells things you cannot imagine. They won't hurt you. No matter how afraid, or how confused, the things that go bump in the night never intend to bump you over. Such thoughts filled our head as we stared at our hands which began to crumble as cracking sand would; fragments of flesh fell and shattered onto the floor one after the other. We felt scared, seeing our body which we thought we finally had begun to understand, crack away after we found a scrap that poked out. The frayed threads of our form had revealed themselves to go deep however, and tugging at them had revealed our mistake. "Can't it stop? I keep learning, I keep stumbling, but things never stop," we pleaded. Our arms wrapped around our frame. The mirrors in the house were covered and the lights were off - all was silent and all was still. Which is why we felt a dread when we received an answer.

Wordless. Sightless. The crumbling of our flesh filled our ears but we felt something else. Deep within the body where hearts and bones and viscera go there was but a deep pitch blackness, yet it was not empty. In that moment, I felt my face twist in confusion, wanting everything to stop. Not out of fear of what was within, but fear of the lack of knowledge. What little was left of my hands went to my face as I shrank into the corner, curled into a ball. From that blackness though, scratching could be heard. Was this really the first time? We thought back, sitting there while the creature within quietly created new cracks in the flesh. Something tickled our skin beneath with some fragments even clinging to the force and being pulled down with it. A pain curled into being behind our eyes and within our teeth, that try as we might we couldn't put it into words. Long sender and clawed digits began to poke through and tore away the body chunk by chunk, faster than it previously collapsed. Thoughts of not being alone... chtter Of thinking about ourself as a swarm within a coat or blanket... k-tk k-tk A thousand little things, quiet and numerous... CRACK Loud and obvious, like a pair of wings. The new appendages dripped some unknown fluid onto the tile floor, extending from a now hollow back that roared in its chasmous scale. Giant, gorgeous, colorful wings. At first we were worried - had we been wrong about being a kitsune. Did we lie, did we deceive? This was different, this wasn't what we thought! But when we twitched those wings, a cathartic fluttering took our heart by storm. It felt just as true as those delighted giggles in the grotto. Just as warm as the fur I felt in that dream. Had we still a mouth, we would have smiled nervously at the unexpected pleasure of our wings as they slowly flexed and extended. My gaze flicked to my hands now revealing themselves to be the very same insectile appendages we had used to reveal ourself. When I pulled ourself up with the counter, hairy fuzzy legs clicked underneath, extending our height to threaten the ceiling. The moonlit sky took a glimpse through the curtains, causing our fur to shimmer in the dark with a beautiful gossamer glow. The wings extended, taking in the curious light and merging it with our own curiosity. "What are we?" we wondered in awe. We looked to the mirror. Clumps of human skin were still caked to the skin, the chipping having slowed to a crawl. What stared back from the glassy plane were two massive compound eyes surround by a sheer collar of fur and twitching antennae, the head cocking in utter fascination. A cautious, delighted trill escaped our throat as one hand traced our new visage, until we saw the human skin that remained. It was uncomfortable at first. The fear remained. The confusion. There was even more? Would we like what we saw, would others fear us, or send doubt and suspicion? But another glance in the mirror, bereft of vanity we assure, eased our doubts and quieted the anxiety. We felt beautiful, wonderful and most of it relieved - this form and truth had in fact been there the whole time. It was a part of us. The bathroom window gasped and sharply inhaled the crisp night air. Summer was slowly beginning to end. The mysteries of autumn were on the horizon. But staring deeply at the pale moon light, we couldn't help feel a delight at the fact there was still so much to discover of ourselves. We felt delight that when we finally felt safe enough to fly into the dark, we would not be alone.

--------------------------------------------------------------- So. Funny how life works. Not *only* is this moth week, which... *checks the current title and icon of this blog* Yeah that tracks... it ALSO is the week we (with the help of our friends) FOUND OUT WE'RE A WE. Or, probably? We read things that make sense, something called a median system. We've had these kind of thoughts a while now but we're still new to this whole thing. Of realizing that how we think isn't typical for most. IMPORTANT TO NOTE: we often express ourselves with horror and dramatic visuals - we hope no one got the thought we were trying to treat being a system as something terrible or scary. We wanted to illustrate that terror you feel when you realize you don't know everything about yourself anymore. So.... we're a we! Also I as well. It's odd to us that our writing still feels comfortable with purely I, but with this piece we felt it necessary to comb things in. Given that we also love being a moth monster, we felt it best to combine both our other lovely creature with this quiet and beautiful horror of self discovery that is life. (But seriously *holy cow* 2024 ain't letting up)

[ashtxeman]

WHY I LIKE GLASS JOE A LOT

I promised a lot of information about why I like Glass Joe so I wrote this in an hour with no plan, no proof reading, completely improvised. If I planned this it would probably be WAY longer lol but I'll spare you all the pain of that. SO. ENJOY MY REASONING.

Glass Joe. Glass Joseph. Fragile Joey. It’s a name that’s been uttered for centuries in many different forms, given many different explanations. Critics, theorists, philosophers alike have carved away at their lives trying to solve the answer to the universe's greatest question. And that is:

Glass Joe, good why?

I can answer that, absolutely.

HEY I LOVE GLASS JOE A LOT IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT ALREADY JUST GOTTA ESTABLISH THAT HAHAHA OKAY LETS GO. SHOUTOUT TO THE FUCKING RTGAME PUNCHOUT VIDEO YOU DID THIS TO ME.

POINT 1: HE IS HANDSOME.

I swear to God this man was hand-crafted by the hands of an incomprehensible deity because HOW is he this flawless. He’s 5’10, great height honestly I’m 5’3 I don’t want to be dating a skyscraper you know. He’s a skinny bastard but that’s okay, more on that later. His hair, oh my goodness gracious, lord above, help me Jesus. HIS HAIR. IS SO GOOD. If you put that skateboard ramp ass hairstyle on literally any other character they would look like a dumbass, but here, on this man alone, it’s the most delicately poised series of ginger strands I ever did see.

His hair looks SO soft. It’s unbelievable. It’s such a lovely shade of auburn with hints of burgundy. It must smell like cinnamon. He must take great care of it. A real Head and Shoulders, coconut oil, double wash kinda guy. A real bougie kinda guy. Yeah he’s not great physically in SPORT terms but in PUBLIC terms he’s absolutely stunning and stronger than anybody else. I wanna run my fingers through his silky locks so bad it’s insane and to understand this desire I’ll have to be strapped down and operated on. DONATE MY BRAIN TO SCIENCE GO AHEAD. THEY NEED IT. 

Not to mention it is SO fun to draw. SO SO SO FUN. Maybe I’m just lucky it’s such a wacky and dynamic hairstyle it transfers quite well into my artstyle, but it’s so fun. It’s easy, it’s fast, it creates an absolutely iconic silhouette, I love colouring it because it’s so damn pretty and ginger/red is such a broad colour scheme that can be put into a gradient so well (i love doing gradients with hair cause i hate when its just a block of colour). Nobody could understand the sheer joy i get putting that dumbass ahoge between the bridge of his fringe and the rest of his hair. That little ‘ right at the top ITS SO FUN. i love him his hair is great.

His face. Carved like the works of the finest artest. He’s a canvas of quality that can rival Van Gogh, for god sake. He’s got the jawline of a man on a lifelong mewing streak, STOP IT HE’S SO GORGEOUS I CANT EVENNNN. He is seriously so good looking. His eyes, the little pink-tinted eyebags that show he doesn’t need sleep because he’s so hardcore on caffeine, his gorgeous big ol nose i wanna kiss so bad, his super dynamic chin i wanna kiss so bad, his face i wanna kiss so bad. I wanna kiss him so bad. He is genuinely such a beautiful man its stunning, im literally a lesbian but if they somehow brought glass joe into the real world looking exactly how he does in those GOD DAMN CUTSCENES OOOOO i’d be bisexual so fast it’s crazy. He’s just that great. He’s got that power. I love his nervous little grin and the little creases on his face, cause he’s OLD AND SENILE. He’s 38 for god sake he shouldn’t look this good and sure, you can see his age slipping in a little with the eyebags and the wrinkles but that only ADDS to how stupidly divine he is in appearance. Stop that handsome man officer!! He’s breaking the laws of BEAUTY. GIVE IT TO MEEEEE. MEEEE.

His fashion sense although odd (ive never actually seen anyone wearing red trousers) just works. It wouldnt work on anyone else but it works on HIM. this is a theme. THINGS DONT WORK ON OTHER PEOPLE BUT THEY WORK ON JOE HE’S SO COOL LIKE THAT. his turtleneck kills me its so good it highlights what little figure he has and it contrasts his red hair so well cause its a really deep blue. SIGH. i wish. I have a turtleneck thats exactly the same but let me tell you i dont even breath the same air of fashion that he breathes. He’s so far ahead of the game he’s on an entirely different runway. He is not gonna sashay away anytime soon. On a constant shante. Unstoppable.

POINT 2: HE EMBODIES HIS CULTURE WELL.

Cats out of the bag, joe is a french stereotype. But. and dont quote me here. I find it very admirable HOW he is a french stereotype. Because he kind of.. Isn’t? He uses the characteristics of that stereotype sure, but he doesn’t engage with them the same way an actual french stereotype would. He likes coffee, he likes bread, he loves France like its his child, sure. But he doesnt have a twirly moustache, he doesnt wear a beret, he doesnt galavant around in black and white mime clothing. Even if that would be funny yknow it just wouldnt be as good. 

His admiration of coffee and bread is so relatable cause hell, I LIKE BREAD AND CAFES AND STUFF! He needs that coffee to keep him going you dont understand. If he misses a dose of caffeine he’ll deflate like the pyramids did in despicable me 1. He’ll be a puddle on the floor, he’ll quite literally cease to exist. Coffee is his golden idol, his hand of midas, his treasure. He has great willpower (more on that later) but coffee is that secret weapon he uses to push him just a little bit further. Plus he just thinks it tastes good and is happy to express that, you cant blame the guy for that. A good drink is a good drink. Even though i dont like coffee he’s so happy with it i respect it. He makes things i dont like respectable. Thats whats so real to me. What a goat. As for bread, bread is just great. Baguettes are yum. All the french bread i know about is usually close to white bread and autism behold thats like the only bread i can bear to eat so its alright with me man. You can go to joes house and he will have one of those fancy bread cupboards. He’ll pull out baguettes like he’s at a renaissance fair and they have a sword shortage. He’s on the case. You will NOT leave his house on an empty stomach. Like a very caring grandma, he will get you fed with the most immaculate 5 star meal you ever did eat. French food is great and theres no doubt about that, thats why he loves FOOD. I TRUST HIM. HE KNOWS WHATS GOOD. if mr glass joe turned around to me and said ‘broken glass is good food’ you bet your ass id be smashing windows and munch munch crunching all day long. 

Maybe his admiration of his country is a little over the top to some. You know the french landmarks in the back of his cutscenes, the ‘vive le france’ and singing the national anthem. But no. i dont think its excessive, i think its passionate. This is undeniably a man that is SO passionate about his culture and the lifestyle he’s grown up around, he’s not afraid to express it to other people until they cant stand it anymore. He’ll take as many hits as he needs to in the name of france. He is an embodiment of everything endearing about being foreign, honestly. An extreme love for the things his country has: food, landmarks, fashion, language, culture. EVERYTHING IS ON HIS LIST. NOTHING IS LEFT OUT. HE LOVES FRANCE AND I LOVE HIM. YES SIR!! VIVE LE FRANCE!! YES!!! 

Also he single-handedly convinced me to start learning french. I seriously didnt care about it before but after i started to like him more and really get into punchout i downloaded duolingo and i still have a streak going AND im actually convinced to try hard in my french lessons and exams because yknow.. I want this fictional french guy to be proud of me. :] 

POINT 3: HE IS DETERMINED.

OHHHHHH BOY. okay right im gonna get inspirational here. Play some dramatic orchestral music or something. 

The thing about Glass Joe is that he never. Gives up. Never. There is nothing in the world you could do to this man that could possibly stop him from boxing. They call Kaiser a fighting machine but boy have they not seen Joe. once that man stepped into the ring for the first time, he’d found a second home, and i think thats evident. 100 times this man has fallen down, brushed it off and gotten right back up. He’s had hardships, ups, downs, tumbles, falls. But everytime, no matter what, he’s back on his feet and ready to try again. And there is something so admirable and inspirational about that kind of approach being written into a CHARACTER THAT IS MEANT TO BE A FRENCH STEREOTYPE. ‘GHHHH FRENCH PEOPLE ALWAYS SURRENDER ACSHUALLY’ SHUT UP!! NOT THIS ONE!! I like to think Joe’s motto is ‘never surrender’. Yes he’s a little self aware how ironic it is thats hes french and doing all this but shhh. He knows whats hes doing and he’s happy to do it. Because like ive said again and again, theres nothing that can stop him. 100 kos, 200 kos, 300, 400… you keep cranking that number up and he’ll keep cranking the punches. Keep those lights up, keep those gloves on, you knock Joe down and eventually, no matter how long it takes, he’s back for more.

Now dont misinterpret that, he’s not a masochist like aran ryan, no sir-ee. He doesnt enjoy losing, nobody does. But the thing is he pushes past that disappointment and those hardships because he knows that eventually, if he keeps on going, things are going to change. He knows that if he lays down the gloves and walks away, there’s no possibility of succeeding. You could drop Joe off on the other side of the world and just like that immortal snail, he’s gonna find a way back. Even if it takes forever. Cause he is weak but determined, he isn’t threatening but relentless, he is stoppable but unstoppable. Glass joe has the strongest will out of any character i know. Cause if any of my other favourites went through 100 whopping losses like he did, they’d retire on a tropical island and never interact with the world again. But not joe. Never joe. My king.

POINT 4: HE IS ENDEARING.

THIS GUY IS SO DAMN CHARMING IT MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE INTO CONFETTI AND GLITTER AGHHHHH.

Come on. How can you look at his smile, his lovely little, subtle smile with those shy old eyes, and not immediately fall in love with him. He’s got some many little subtle things. Like the way his pupils dart around or his little sway back and forth when he’s knocked out or the way he bounds back and forth on his legs like an old-timey guy about to have a squabble. The way his mouth goes :0 so very subtly when he’s breathing. The way he always looks either shocked beyond repair, completely zooted or very confused. It’s all so perfect. IT’S ALL THESE THINGS THEY MAKE HIM BRILLIANT.

Im seriously looking for scraps here but i love finding meaning in otherwise meaningless things. I love analysing every detail until there is literally nothing else i could possibly say about it. He is perfect for this.

His fucking VOICE. OHHH MY GOD. it was so damn funny the very first time i heard his voice, because honestly it feels deliberate how they put his humble cutscenes before his first bit of dialogue so you expect this soft-spoken kinda light-voiced french guy only to be greeted with CHRISTIAN BERNARD’S DEEP ASS VOICE. OHHH KILL ME HE SOUNDS SO HANDSOME I WANNA SINK INTO THE FLOOR AND CRY WITH JOY. i wouldnt even mind if he was a soft-spoken light-voiced french guy but they really had to amp it up a little and give this lowly frenchman the most eloquent unnecessarily deep and silky voice ever. HE DIDNT NEED THAT. BUT THANK YOU FOR GIVING HIM THAT NINTENDO CAUSE ITS ONE OF HIS GREATEST QUALITIES. Plus french is just a really fun language to listen to. I could honestly sit listening to joe’s voicelines on repeat for hours on end and be fine with it. They’re so good. He’s so beautiful sounding. Its absolutely hilarious considering his voice in comparison to appearance. COME ON!!! AAHAHHGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHAGHGHS I LOVE CHRISTIAN BERNARDS VOICE I WISH I COULD HEAR HIM SPEAK IN ENGLISH. I NEED MORE OF HIS VOICE. AGGGGGHHHHH. 

POINT 5: WHATEVER ELSE

I erm i erm i just wanna say i love joe so much. The way he’s constructed, appearance, personality, physicality, dialogue, culture inspiration, story. EVERYTHING about him is just so cool and fun to think about and in my head it all weaves perfectly together to create the best character in all of fiction. It has now been over 2 unapologetic years of me yapping on about this guy. Whether it be his canon self and the things he does or the fanon version of him thats ive sourced from other peoples awesome HC’s or forged from my own lore. Any excuse i get, i talk about joe. Because it is so utterly fun. Yeah, he’s not the only boxer i love!!! Not at all!! I have several other favourites persay, but on the punch-out tier list joe is so good he has his own category thats about 4 ranks higher than what S rank is. And that is deserved. 

He loves his culture, he never gives up, he’s arguably a weakling and an absolute screwup but he never lets that get in his way because of her persistent he is, he’s gorgeous, he’s cool, he’d be a great friend, dad, boyfriend, husband, EVERYTHING. He’s got a weird hairstyle and weird fashion sense but somehow he looks great with it. He beat NICK BRUISER CANONICALLY?!?! He’s french, he’s ginger, which in a joking sense makes him the worst but against all odds he is the best. The french are lucky to be represented by him because he’s so utterly and unapologetically awesome and cool and fun and nice and inspiring and all that jazz. There is not a single thing that could stray me away from the path of Joe. my lore for him is SO deep. My admiration for him is INFINITE. Ive read through his wiki a pagillion times. Ive beaten him over 80 times in-game simple because i like seeing him so much and.

Well. i have entire shrine dedicated to him. let me know if you wanna see that....

[mrdarcyifhewere21stcentury]

Show Me the Stars... Mr Sandman✨️

Rain lightly tapped on the window as it fell, dark clouds casting a dark atmosphere in the Dreaming. "Impressive... but can you make it rain sideways?" she said, turning to look at Dream as he stands by the wall.

Despite his cold exterior, he was inwardly smiling at this almost child-like question from her. Without a word, he did just as she asked. With a flick of his wrist, the rain suddenly turned to the side. "Satisfied?" He chuckled as he watched her look around in awe.

"Not completely..." Y/N said, looking at him. He really was handsome, she can't help but wonder what his lips would feel like against her own. Would they be soft? Taste sweet? She didn't expect to fall in love with as quickly as she did. She only met him a few months ago by sheer accident. Right time, right place. She had been friends with Johanna Constantine for most of her life and flatmates for the last four years. Y/N had gone to get pizza for the both of them when Dream had found Johanna through her dreams, and she quite literally almost walked into him when she came through the office door. She immediately felt something... a pull of some sort... but had brushed it off. He had felt the same but refused to even acknowledge it.

The walk to Rachel's, however, made him think that maybe she was more interesting than he originally thought. That's how these regular dream meetings began. He found himself drawn to her in ways he could not explain. Over the last few months, he realised that he was falling for her. She was beautiful, intelligent, strong, and not afraid to challenge him. Not only that, but her love for everyone around her shone through her actions. Y/N loved going that extra mile for others. Seeing someone smile made her smile. And Dream loved that.

"Tell me, what would make it completely satisfying for you...?" Dream breathed, slowly walking over to Y/N.

"Well.." Y/N hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"Yes?" He whispered. He was now in front of her, face inches from hers. Dream wanted nothing more than to take her face in his hands and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. But he wouldn't, not unless she made it clear that she too wanted that.

"Kiss me." Her voice low, eyes darting between his eyes and lips.

"Very well." And with that, his lips met hers. The second their lips connected he swore he could hear fates yell in joy in the distance. He mouth moved slowly against hers. Hands coming to her waist as he brought her impossiblely close. Y/N gave a content sigh, kissing him felt like a dream.

The kiss deepened as his hands carefully roamed lower...and lower. Y/N moaned as he bit her lower lip, begging for entrance to which she allowed. How could she not? She had dreamt of this for so long. "I love you Dream." She muttered against his lips, hands tangling in his messy locks, gently tugging at the strands which made Dream shudder and groan.

He pulled away by only a fraction, choosing to rest his forward against hers.

"I love you, Y/N. I have done for some time. Forgive me for taking so long to tell you. I could not be sure you felt the same, until now." His voice held so much love, his eyes full of adorable as his words reached her ears.

She couldn't help but kiss him again, this time more feverish and rough. Wanting to feel every part of him. Y/N grabbed his hand as she began walking back towards the house behind her. The house Dream had created for her in the Dreaming a few months ago. "Show me the stars, babe." She whispered against his lips. His fingers tightening around her hips.

Stumbling into the bedroom he had so meticulously crafted he immediately took control. He wanted her, she wanted him. Who was he to deny her?

"Gladly. I will fulfill every dream and fantasy you have and have had." Voice low and husky as he pushed her onto the bed. He gave her the hottest kiss she could ever have. His tongue exploring every inch of her mouth.

That night, he showed her the stars.

[moranice-solvej]

Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

Thank you for the tag, @rifle-yes <3

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Got introduced to fanfic through an old forum dedicated to a TV-show I was low-key obsessed with as a teen all the way back in 2008. Around the same time I started to get an urge to express myself in writing as I was an avid reader and always had a vivid imagination, so the sheer fact that people just wrote stories to celebrate their favorite stories captivated me.

Since then, there were many attemps to write fanfic and original works alike, very few completed, and only my obsession with Rogue One that started after watching the movie and reading the novelization had put me on the path of publishing my writing and finally being able to complete writing projects.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

Started in a TV-fandom a long time ago, but never had anything I wanted to publish, so mentally I don't even count it. None of those scraps of written down ideas remain; I deleted them and never once looked back. That leaves Rogue One and technically Star Wars as my sole writing fandom. I dearly love many other shows and movies and games, but none of them make me want to write in their universes.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Technically 16 years. Yes, comprehending this number makes me terrified.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I used to read tons of fic before I came back to writing in earnest. Now most of my free time goes into writing.

In addition to that I have ran into a loathesome problem of not being able to find stories that I'd love to read. The ceiling has gotten too high. Now that I can finally shape the kinds of stories I want to read to life, I crave more stories with such premises, themes, writing styles, and character archetypes, and these days I struggle to find them in fanfic and in original books for that matter. My gremlin brain simply cannot connect to the vast majority of tropes that dominate modern-day fandom and culture. :(

Thus, I'm firmly in the mode of be-the-change-you-want-to-be-in-the-world and producing stories for myself to satisfy that need. Even if it routinely takes me over a year, usually two to finish a single story with a monster wordcount and create something I can one day re-read with glee.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I am now able to move an idea from a general concept and a set of pivotal scenes to a fully-fleshed out story and actually finish it. This used to be my achilles heel for ages and it feels mightily gratifying to finally get rid of it.

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Origins of blood transfusions in human history. Plus a large variety of niche questions of when thing a or thing b was first invented. Most of the times the setting of my current writing project allows me to disregard our reality and wing it for the sake of the vibes or plot, but I still like to research what we as a species develop and when to try and create a somewhat believable ancient fictional world without modern technology.

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

I have a soft spot for readers who pick on teeny-tiny details of my writing and show their appreciation for it. I end up with monstrous word counts because I'm an extremely context- and detail-oriented writer, and knowing that my passion for it is noticed and enjoyed brings me joy in return.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

My current project centers around a warrior woman in her mid- to late forties who makes peace with her trauma of motherhood and loss, finds new friends and love and new home, defies her nation's traditions and becomes the force of change for her people that will bring them out of stubborn isolation and little by little shatter their callousness and mold it into empathy.

I am well aware that the sole audience of this story is myself and my best friend whom I'm lucky to have along for the ride, but it has took over my heart and it will not let go until I finally bring this epic saga to a close.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

I am simply incapable of writing a traditional short story. Every one-shot I ever made was a stepping stone in a larger verse, and even so the smallest one is over 8k words. Anytime I try to write something small, I either need to put it down because it gets out of hand, or I need to finish it and by that time it grows into a monster.

My last attempt to write a short story within a story has spawned an epic saga that currently sits at roughly 380.000k words and will likely end up over 500.000k words when I'm finally done with it.

10. What is the easiest type?

Monster-sized epics. I think my creative brain cannot function in any other way but go-big-or-go-home.

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I've used MS Word for writing ever since I got my first laptop and keep at it. Started using Scrivener lately for establishing character sheets and writing down my notes.

For years now I write almost exclusively over the weekends, with occassional editing in the evenings after work. Between working, needing to keep my apartment clean and myself fed, and dedicating time to mastering my fourth language, I have no brain for creativity after I'm done with all these chores and I use whatever remains of my evening to read, or watch shows with my best friend, or do some gaming.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

In the story I am currently writing, one of the secondary main characters is an ex-slave and a rape survivor. There is no shortage of hurt/comfort stories about a female character's experience with such kind of abuse, and in all my years of reading fic and books I often find that trauma stemming from it is either glossed over or healed through the power of true love. Even when a story follows a road to healing, it often ends in sunshine and rainbows after the all the travails. Well, for a long, long time now my gremlin brain wanted to explore what such trauma can do to a stoic male warrior, as well as to study how sometimes there is no easy healing from such ordeals, how deep these souls scars lie, and how they will keep poisoning the relationship he will pursue down the line and present major obstacles to both non-sexual and sexual intimacy with the woman he falls in love with. I'm a sucker for happy endings and I will not turn away from it, but this is going to be a scarred happy ending because those ghosts are never going to stay completely quiet in his soul.

I am daunted by the prospect of writing this spin-off like I've never been before, scared of not doing it justice, but something in me has latched onto this idea and really, really wants to at least try it.

13. What made you choose your username?

I needed something unique as a username and I have a habit of making up new names out of thin air for my writing. I liked this one and it had stuck. :)

If any writers who follow me would like to join in, you are welcome.