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lylianrae · 5 months ago

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Fullfilment is all you need + success??

Basically what the title says + pics for proof (since anons had no problem asking for pics shamelessly (shameeee on you🤨) )

What even is fulfillment?

Fulfillment is the "feeling" that your desires are already realised in the 3D. It is also the same feeling we are trying to evoke with the state of wish fulfilled. When you are fulfilled, you feel as though you already have it fully (although you may only have in the 4D) and you're not actually bothered about whether it would manifest or how long it takes. As Neville always stated in his books, "feeling is the secret", its like knowing you already have it so you're secure in your manifestation.

Why is fulfillment the G.O.A.T?

Honestly you can manifest things so easily. Forgot affirming for 16 hours straight, SATs, the void, tapping or whatever the anons are on these days. It can be so much fun and it'll always leave you feeling good because you know you already have it. If you actually explore why you might want a certain desire, you'll realise that it actually stems from a much deeper void (pun intended).

For example, you might want to manifest 100% on your next test - do you want to see the number 100 randomly or do you want to feel proud of yourself? Do you want to have people admiring and respecting you? Do you want your parents to brag about you to their coworkers? Same thing with money, if you just have £25,000 in your bank account, it'll just be a bunch of numbers but actually what you are after is the financial freedom. The numbers would be useless if you can't do what you want with them.

Overall its the reason why we manifest and why these desires become reality. As soon as we make the feeling of having it natural, it manifests.

How do I know if I am fulfilled?

You are secure in your knowing as you know you have it already so there is no wondering where your desire is. You don't really care about time or how long it takes the same way anymore because you understand that you have it now so there is nothing to wait for if you already have what you want. Its more you know you have in the 4D so you don't care about the 3D. You have entered sabbath state and you're just chilling basically (it sounds like 5 different ways to say the same thing? 🤨).

How do I fulfill myself?

All these techniques - SATS, affirming, visualisation is all about helping us fulfill ourselves. Decide that you have this particular desire and know that. Sometimes we crave certain feelings, like sometimes we just want a warm hug or to eat a certain food which we can't in the moment. Literally just close your eyes and imagine having whatever it is as vividly as possible (if you want) and you'll notice the feeling of lack and desire just leaving.

For example, if you want a chocolate bar, you'll decide that you have one now. No matter what the 3D shows you, know that you have a chocolate bar. You can affirm, do SATS and visualise for the chocolate bar but at the end of the day they are techniques used to help you fulfill yourself and ease your craving for the chocolate bar by tell you that you already have it. With that being said, there is no higher power out there that will say that you can't have your desire if you only affirm 49 times out of 50 or only visualise once throughout your day. Thats also why sometimes desires just pop up even if you affirm once.

Success story??

So recently I have been putting my foot down about manifesting so I have been visualising and fulfilling myself whenever I get the chance. If I want to eat something I dont have in my house? Into my imagination I go and I create it. I want to hug someone I can't anymore? Imagination time. I want someone stop asking me questions? Close eyes, fulfill, rinse and repeat.

I've been "meditating" at night (I say meditating but its me just passing out after 3 secs) so sometimes I get weird trippy dreams but sometimes I can't remember them at all and wake up tired af even though I get 9 hours of sleep (sus as hell). Anyways one day (9/07) I dreamt of some dogs (which I completely forgot about) and after a few hours, my mum told me that my brother was collecting coins so he could save up for a puppy (hes 5 lmao) and shes was so impressed. She tried to talk to my dad into it and surprisingly he agreed?? Although I love dogs, I have also asked for a cat since forever (since manifesting my way into that private school) and I basically complained hard to my dad who really wanted a dog but he was kind of leaning towards a cat too that day. He even told me that if any sellers agree, he'll go pick them up right that day (lets be real, no one will with such short notice I think he just set me up to fail 😡). The next day (10/07) my sister approached him about it and apparently he was like no way (🤕) but tbh I didn't really care. Inside I was just like "I'll get whatever I want anyways" because its true but also because I'm kind of too busy for a pet right now. I used to think my life was too toxic for pet and that they would be better off not being mine but recently I just realised that I was just manifesting that toxicity into my life. Why would I, the God of my reality, be deprived of anything I want? Its simply not natural. Anyways -back to the story- he didn't want to get a cat and I was busy that day I sort of just dropped it. The next day (11/07), I was looking through kitten pictures and showing my mum and we were taking about what kind of cat to get, awwing over kittens (the usual yk). My dad walked in and I showed him the pictures and for once in his life, he was like yeah they're cute and then he told me to message the seller and that he will go pick the kitten up that very same day if they responded but only if they responded by 5 pm or else I won't get a cat at all (at the time, it was already after 3:30pm). I messaged a bunch of them and one of them responded super fast and even gave us their number, my dad gave them a call but... they would. not. pick up. I was stressing out so much because time was running but I somehow channeled my inner master manifestor and just calmed myself. Then the next thing I did was close my eyes and imagine myself hugging a tinyy black and white kitten. Then I just let it go, grabbed some ice cream and forced myself to chill. Lmao just kidding, I affirmed in my head like twice but I was interrupted because the seller called back!! Anyways, long story short, we ended up driving 1hr to the sellers place and guess what... I got what I wanted.

Lol hes angry I won't let him sleep

His name is Mion and hes an absolutely babyyy. I will never shut up about how perfect he is - hes so freaking well behaved, has never bit, scratched or pooped on anything (expect litter). Hes so good with loud noises and with being picked up and played with. I've only heard him meow at the fruit flies and he only uses his claws on his toys. The crazy part is I only paid £10 for him. I used to stress that my dad won't actually like him but tell me why he's baby talking him?? It was honestly all so sudden, I didn't even have cat litter or a litter tray for him on the day.

I didn't exactly want a cat that bad but I think because I'm always giving myself whatever I want in my imagination, my subconcious just translated that into "there is nothing that I cannot have". Remember, there is nothing that you cannot have either <3 Bye bye.

Love, Lylian. This post is way too long, I'm so sorry I lost the plot a while ago. Ps: do you have any naming suggestions for him, I feel like Mion is a good name and an awful name at the same time.

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keeksandgigz · 1 year ago

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my guy

eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.

cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni

AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy

The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.

Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.

"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.

You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.

Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.

You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.

One, two, three, four, five, si--

The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.

He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.

He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.

"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.

"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.

"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.

"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.

"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.

"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.

You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.

The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.

“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.

He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.

"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.

"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.

"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.

Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.

"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.

"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.

“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.

“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.

"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.

"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.

"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"

He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.

"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.

"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.

"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.

"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.

"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.

"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"

"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"

"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"

Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.

"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.

"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.

His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.

"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.

His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.

After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.

"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.

His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.

He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.

"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.

"What?" he says weakly.

"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.

His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.

After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.

"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.

"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.

"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.

"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.

“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut

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marzipanandminutiae · 5 months ago

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Dear marzi, for reasons of trying not to give period characters too modern fetishes in my smut, may I have some recs as to where I may find some of that olde fetish content you've previously seen?

On the Wikipedia page for the "corset controversy," unfortunately!

Historians have been taking obvious tightlacing fetish letters seriously for...way too long. And sometimes still are. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Of course, there's no way to 100% tell which letters are fetish fuel and which are real, but generally any that use particularly heightened language or common erotic tropes- or that seem to fly in the face of evidence from extant garments, unedited videos, stock and advertisements from real corset companies, etc. -are to be viewed with suspicion.

(The same is true for letters used now to claim that nipple piercing was a real Victorian trend- for, indeed, the only source is anonymous magazine letters and many of them fall into the same obvious patterns as the tightlacing letters. One DOES describe the alleged process in detail...but it's basically the same as the process for ear-piercing, a service jewelers did commonly offer back then. Just applied to nipples. So whether it's real or not is still uncertain, but it's highly doubtful that large numbers of Victorian women were running around with nipple piercings given that no extant nipple rings have been found, such piercings are never mentioned in letters or diaries or other more concrete sources, etc.)

Besides that, I've seen glimpses of most modern fetishes in various sources:

the Psychopathia Sexualis, a medical manual of "sexual mental illness" (in heavy quotes because things like homosexuality and gender variance are mentioned under that heading), talks about everything from a fetish for tight boots and gloves on women, to bloodplay (initiated by a woman, actually, who wanted to drink her husband's blood), to force-femming, to some very elaborate femdom scenarios that I hope the sex workers in question were paid well for. Of course, since the cases are anonymous, these are also difficult to confirm- but clearly someone had THOUGHT of them, since they're written into the book.

And I've seen at least some of them in other sources, too, including some of the magazines that published the nipple piercing and tightlacing letters. The Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine was notorious for its letters on tightlacing, tight gloves, spanking, etc.

Photographic porn was definitely a thing almost as soon as photography came into being. A lot of it is pretty vanilla, but I could swear I'd seen piss kink photos (with urine painted in after development) before the blog where they were hosted went defunct

James Joyce's letters to his wife get into farting and scat fetish territory. Yes, really.

Speaking of letters, there was one man living here in Boston who, in the late 19th century, wrote letters to his wife describing erotic dreams of her as a giantess who pissed on him and then ate him. I cannot remember his name and it's going to drive me insane all day, but he was the head of Boston's censorship organization, the Watch and Ward society and these letters were first released by his own children for an unauthorized biography written five years after his death. Guess there was little love lost there.

BDSM is old. Like, really old. Old, to quote the sacred texts, as balls. I'm pretty sure there are sexual flagellation texts going back to the Renaissance, but don't quote me on that.

Basically, Rule 34 can be back-applied, too. If it existed, there was a fetish for it, probably. Of course, things that specifically involve modern technology or properties are out, but beyond that...the sky is the limit

#long post #ask #anon #victorian #history #n.s.f.w.#'oh at school we were all laced down to 15“ waists!!!!!' yeah most corset companies' stock only went down to 19”#and that's 19“ CLOSED. most women wore their corsets with a 2” gap in the back or thereabouts #I've read one interview with a corsetier who said 'yeah women sometimes give their corset's closed measurement as their waist size'#'to make it sound smaller'#'but wearing it with a gap is standard'

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penultimate-step · 5 months ago

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Lately, I've been thinking about the effect of real-world time on perception of media. Or, wait, let me start from the beginning.

When I was 11, I read the book Ender's Game for some school assignment or another. I don't remember ever considering Ender a relatable character, but certainly my understanding of the events was shaped by being of an age to see the protagonist not so much as a young child but as someone of my peer group, someone who could have been slotted amongst my classmates without anybody batting an eye.

Over a decade later, I read the sequel, Speaker for the Dead; it takes place many years later, when Ender is in his thirties, and my feelings about the in-universe time skip were undeniably shaped by the real life time gap between my reading of the novels. Reading the first book back then and then the second book now created a feeling where it's almost like, I'm browsing the facebook page of someone I had known in middle school but lost contact with, checking up on how they're doing today. The real-time factor caused me to perceive it less like a timeskip, and more like a reunion - the feelings were closer to "oh wow, that's my boy! I haven't seen him in years! Wonder what he's up to?" Which in turn gave me a better position to appreciate the parts of the narrative about him struggling to find a place in his adulthood than I would have been had I perceived it more strictly as a quick skip from 11 to 20 to 36.

While musing about this, I considered a VN I played a few years back, which took place over three in-game days - except at the end of one in-game day, the game would lock you out from progressing for 24 hours real time. So that as the in-game investigator protagonist was ruminating on the information that had been discovered that day, the player would be forced to do the same. In this example, by forcing the player to experience the same timeframe as the in-game characters, the sense of it being an in-depth and extensive investigation increases, even though without the forced pauses the game would be short enough to blow through in a handful of hours real-time.

Which brings to mind how time effects things in long-running serial works. It's well known that an audience which watches an episode or reads a chapter week by week has a very different experience than one binging through whole seasons or volumes at a time, but I wonder if the real time relative to the in-universe time makes that effect stand out more? Fight scenes, for instance, have been known to take up several chapters in certain manga or webnovels. What does it do to the reader's perception, if from their point a view a fight takes a whole month, while for the characters they read about it's only been a couple hours? Readers might feel that the situation is more stressful, since the pressure of the fight has been ongoing for a long time for them, while in-universe it was a rough afternoon but no more than that. Contrastingly, when a series skips ahead or otherwise has long periods of time for characters that feel short for readers, it can feel like no time has passed and everything is still the same, unless the author really stresses the differences in world-state that occurred offscreen. Because the reader hasn't changed at all.

No conclusion here exactly, I just think it's interesting how often an audience's response to a work, the emotions felt, are more closely tied to their real-life timescale, something almost completely out of the author's control, as opposed to in-universe time, which can be intentionally shifted or played with for the sake of the narrative.

#speaker for the dead #fiction #step.blogger #step.books #ender's game

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arc-misadventures · 6 days ago

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I know it's a day early but I have to put it out now

Friends AU: After team RWBY throws a big Halloween/Birthday Party that involves all of Atlas and part of Mantle, how does the gang react to finding out Jaune never went to the party because he never got an invite even though Team RWBY all swear they invited him?

One Invitation Short

Ruby: WHOOO!

Ruby: It's my birthday~!

Nora: Let's fucking party!

Yang: Happy birthday sis!

Blake: Halloween birthday party! WHOO!

Ren: Happy birthday, Ruby.

Weiss: Congratulations, Ruby.

Penny: This is my first friends birthday party I've ever attended.

Oscar: Mine too.

Yang: Then we'll have to make sure this is one hell of a party!

Ren: But, not too big of a party. The janitorial staff haven't been looking at us kindly since the soda bottle rocket incident...

Weiss: Hey don't look at me like that. That was totally their fault!

Nora: Hey, it was an accident!

Weiss: You got pink soda all over me!

Ruby: We said we were sorry!

Weiss: My clothes are still in the drycleaners getting all the pink out of my clothes!

Yang: I have some photos of her all drenched in cream soda, wanna see?

Blake: Oh please!

Weiss: Noooo!

Blake: HA! Oh you look like a princess from a kids book in a pink dress!

Yang: Pfft! Oh shit, she does!

Weiss: guys?!

Ruby: Don't worry, Weiss, you'll always be beautiful even in pink!

Weiss: Shut up...

Nora: Don't be a downer guys! Let's eat some cake, and celebrate!

Yang: Yeah! I want some cake!

Oscar: What kind of cake is it?

Ren: Cookies, and cream.

Oscar: I've never had that before.

Weiss: Me either, it sounds nice.

Yang: Alright everyone around the table so we can sing happy birthday, and eat the cake.

Nora: Cake!

Blake: Okay.

Ruby: I'm so excited.

Yang: Okay, birthday girl is in the main seat... Penny... Weiss, Blake... Nora, and Ren... Oscar, and Penny have a seat. And, we're just waiting on you, Ja...?

Yang: ...?

Yang: Wait...? Where's, Jaune?

Weiss: He's here... right?

Nora: Y-You guys invited him... right?

Yang: Well... I was going to tell him, but I got dragged away on a mission, so I asked, Blake to do it.

Blake: I remember, Yang asked me to tell him. And, I was going to tell him! but, then I saw that there was this sushi restaurant... and, I haven't had sushi in so long... A-And, I heard, Mantle sushi is really well know for how good it is... and... s-sushi...

Yang: Uhh, Blake...? Blake? (Snap, Snap, Snap!) Hey, stay with us!

Blake: Sorry! I went to the sushi restaurant, and I sent a message to, Weiss to have her tell him instead.

Weiss: I remember that call; I was going to complain to, Blake about dumping her responsibility on me. But, she sounded like a junkie needing her fix when she was talking about that sushi restaurant.

Yang: That...! That sounds true...

Ruby: Yeah, she enters this weird trance when it comes to sushi...

Nora: It rather scary really...

Weiss: Well I decided to tell, Jaune so, Blake could get her... fix... And, I was about to tell him...! And, then the soda bottle incident happened...?!

Nora: Sorry...

Weiss: And, you all know what happened... So, while I went to get changed, and have a shower. So I asked, Ruby to do instead.

Ruby: And, I did!

Nora: If you did, then why isn't, Jaune here?

Ruby: I don't know?! I went to him during dinner, we chatted about out missions, and then I handed him this handmade invitation letter!

Weiss: A handmade invitation?

Ruby: Yes!

Weiss: That same letter that's in your hands, right now...?

Ruby: Ya, this the same lett...?!

Ruby: Oh...?

Ruby: Oh shoot...

Nora: So... you all weren't able to tell, Jaune about the party because you were distracted by one thing, or another... And, when you finally got to him, you didn't hand him the invitation?!

Ruby: Sorry...

Yang: I got called away...

Blake Sushiiiiiiiii~!

Weiss: I'm not apologizing...

Nora: Ohh... Penny?!

Penny: Yes, Friend Nora?

Nora: D-Did you send, Jaune a message?

Penny: Let me check.

Penny: ...

Penny: I do not have, Jaune Arc in my list of contacts...? Odd... I must preform a self-diagnostic...

Penny: Scanning...

Penny: System corruption located... Fixing.

Penny: Fixed! The contact information of one, Jaune Arc has been found!

Penny: I shall contact him, and hopefully, Friend Jaune will come join us soon!

Nora: Awesome!

Weiss: Oh thank goodness, hopefully, Jaune will join us soon.

Yang: Yes, it wouldn't be a party without my best blond pal!

Ruby: Hopefully he will come here soon, and we can continue the party, and...

Penny: What...?!

Yang: Is... is something wrong, Penny?

Penny: Jaune just replied to my invitation... He said, 'No thank you...'

Nora: What?!

Ruby: Jaune... rejected the invitation... to... to my birthday party...?

Penny: I'm afraid so...

Ruby: But... why...?

Penny: I... I don't know...

Ruby: But...?!

Penny: I'm sorry, Ruby.

Ruby: ...

Ruby: I see...

Ren: We did it again... we failed our friend...

Nora: What are you talking about, Ren...? We're not, Jaune's friend... We never were...

RWBYNPRP: ...

Ruby: ...

Ruby: FUCK!!!

~~~

Winter: Who was that?

Jaune: No one important... Sorry about that interruption, Sir.

Ironwood: That's alright, Mr. Arc. Now then, tell me what is it that you wanted to talk about?

Jaune: Winter made me an offer the other day, and I wanted to know, what would my duties be if I accepted her offer, and became, a Specialist.

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #lie ren #winter schnee #penny polendina #oscar pine #james ironwood #friends au

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xamag-draws · 8 months ago

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BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

#my art #xam rambles #the black brick road of oz #long post #ohsees tag

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wri0thesley · 7 months ago

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my heart a frozen thing (I of III)- capitano x reader

the tsaritsa's handmaidens are enviable indeed; perfect, chaste, and honoured beyond measure. a well-oiled machine. but you do not quite fit in. lucky, then, that the tsaritsa herself has intervened, to find you a position that befits who you once were - to arrange your marriage to one of her most trusted lieutenants.

cw: arranged marriage, mentions of death/freezing to death, corpses, weird religious themes, bullying. reader is referred to as a 'handmaiden', wears a gown, but no pronouns are used. wc: 5.4k. sfw.

a/n: capitano and his little handmaiden are a little thing i've wanted to explore for a while; i don't usually do series, but i have a very clear idea of where this is going and i hope i can get it there! in my head this ought to run to three parts, but here is the first! i had a lot of fun just making up background for this honestly fbgnkjgbfn.

The halls of Zapolyarny Palace have never felt so cold.

They are halls that you have walked a thousand times, at the behest of your Goddess; chambers that you have traversed for as long as you can remember. You learnt yourself here - so much so that the person you once were, the family you once had . . . that has faded to nothing. You have been a ward of the Tsaritsa since you were six years old, and you would not have had it any other way.

After all - are you not one step down from divinity? Do you not follow in her wake, untouchable and lovely? Do you not provide her with anything she could need? You see the Fatui members who walk these halls, the Harbingers - their hands are stained with blood up to the elbows, their figures stooped from war, their faces twisted with their troubles. They have clawed their way up the ranks -

And you? You have done no such thing. Something about you had called out to the Tsaritsa and she had welcomed you to her bosom and you had accepted, allowing yourself to be draped in furs and glittering crystals, to stand proud and haughty, to kneel for her and ensure her skirts are never dirtied, her every whim is met . . .

Until today, you suppose.

Her lips had felt like ice when she had kissed you on your forehead, and you had known then that you would walk from her chambers freezing cold and stripped of everything you held dear. You have always known that your fellow handmaidens did not like you; that they had envied you the Tsaritsa’s favour, that they have whispered that you are unworthy. Such things are easy to ignore when you know that you are cherished, though - and you had ignored them. You had ignored how they had ripped holes in your stockings and sent you on wild goose chases and errands, how they whispered behind your back when you fell into formation looking harried and rushed and imperfect because you had not been able to find your hairbrush in the morning.

But the handmaidens of the Tsaritsa are supposed to be a unit. You are all supposed to see one another as siblings; to think of nothing more than Her, and how you may serve Her. It is this that the Tsaritsa had said to you in your private meeting, as you had shivered and burned with the cold ice of humiliation.

“I love you,” she had said, with her voice as lovely as shattering crystals, as she had pressed that traitorous kiss onto your forehead. “Do not worry, little one. I shall ensure that you will not be thrown to the wolves.”

And then she had told you exactly how she was ensuring that, and you had had no choice but to stand before her, trembling, chin jutting proudly up - and pretend that you agreed with her decision.

There is nobody in the dormitory when you go to pack what little things you have; you are glad of that, at least, so that those who have brought you down to this station in life cannot gloat at you. You do not have many things of your own; of course, the handmaidens are given fine clothes, but they are more uniform than ordinary wardrobe. You pack your hairbrush, a book, a few other creature comforts - but you are supposed to be a homogenous unit, after all, and to make yourself too individual would simply not do.

One of the Tsaritsa’s servants is waiting outside of the door for you when you emerge. You shiver in the cool air, but try to keep a thread of your calm; give her a trembling smile. She looks at you with curiosity in her gaze, but she does not pry; that is not the way of things here. You soon lose track of where she is taking you.

In Zapolyarny Palace, there are paths that you walk every day; to the chapel, to the Tsaritsa’s chambers, to the hallowed halls and meeting rooms and anywhere else a handmaiden may be needed. But you do not wander freely beyond that. You know there are offices and spare bedrooms and studies and libraries galore - it is a most magnificent work of architecture - but you are not at liberty to explore them. So you soon lose your bearing as the servant brings you through hallways you’ve never seen, past doors you never knew existed. You feel your heart begin to beat too fast in your chest, anxiety crawling up your throat.

You do not know what is to happen to you now.

You know in theory what the Tsaritsa expects to happen, and you ought to believe her - find her infallible, as your Goddess and Archon surely is - but you have learnt, today, that nothing is infallible. You do not think any handmaiden in the history of Her Majesty’s service has ever been let go like you - and, too, you know none of them have suffered the humiliation of being--

You can barely even think the words. You think of the first Harbinger again, the one directly beneath the Director; the looming presence, the always-worn mask, the whispers that follow in his wake . . . you cannot imagine yourself on his arm. Cannot imagine yourself in his bed. Cannot imagine yourself standing beside him at an altar, promising him eternity--

“We’re here.” The servant’s voice is timid; even though she must surely know that you are disgraced, there is still - in your bearing and in the fine white furs and silks you wear - the reminder of what you were before disgrace came knocking at your door, and she has been taught that the Tsaritsa’s handmaidens are pure and perfect and precious. How you wish you felt that way.

“Thank you,” you say to her, swallowing to try and clear the dryness in your throat, trying to summon a smile. She bobs an awkward curtsey and inclines her head before she scurries away down the corridor, no doubt to whisper to someone about the scandal that is unfolding within the palace’s halls.

You look at the door to your new life. It is carved with swirling snowflakes; a solid impenetrable wooden shield from the rest of the palace. You do not know if it will stay your door, but you have nowhere else to go now. You cannot go running back to the dormitory of the handmaidens; surely, by now, they will all have been told exactly how you have been disgraced--

Your gloved fingers fasten about the doorknob as you force your traitorous heart to beat evenly. You must take things as they come; there is no point getting too frightened just yet. Some of the Harbingers do indeed keep quarters in the Palace - Pantalone, you know, has a wing set aside for his use. And Pulcinella, too, needing to be near the beating heart of Snezhnaya, has rooms here.

It is in the nature of a handmaiden, you remind yourself, to be calm. To keep their wits about them. It is proper of you to maintain an even voice and a pretty face, to be ready to be called to your service at a moment’s notice; and though you are not, really, a handmaiden any more . . . your entire life has been governed by these rules, and such things do not desert one so easily. So you keep your head held high as you step into the room, your chin jutting out, your eyes wide, your face proud--

And you do not let the tears fall, like your life is collapsing into the sea around you and leaving you adrift with no safe harbour (your beautifully designed ice sculpture of an existence), until the door is closed and nobody but you and the sharp coldness of the mirror mounted on the wall opposite is there to see it.

ii.

You are expecting to be brought before him, as would befit a man of his status - a status that now far outranks your own. You are expecting Fatui grunts or serving maids to come and fetch you from the neatly appointed little room of the Palace, to drag you before the Harbinger you are to become reliant upon, and to have every part of you scrutinised. Perhaps he will find you wanting, you think bitterly; perhaps he does not want to be a part of this mockery any more than you do. Perhaps he will snarl beneath the mask and despite the Tsaritsa’s attempts to save your life, will have you banished to some cold unfeeling corner of the Palace where you will freeze to death and nobody will find your corpse.

(It would hardly be the first time such a thing has occurred in Snezhnaya).

You are not expecting that the first of the Fatui Harbinger, he of the war glories, second only in the chain of command to the Director himself, would lower himself to come to you.

But come to you he does.

The room that you have been given is lovely if impersonal; a bedspread patterned with sprigs of blue flowers, an ornate mirror, a wardrobe and a shelf of knick-knacks. You, as a handmaiden, have never had cause to tend to the guest rooms - that is for those whose service is less important, whose place in the world is less holy - but you do at least know enough to know that is what this is. And you suppose, too, that is what you are now too.

No longer somebody who truly belongs in the Palace; no longer one of a flock of beautiful befurred doves, cooing and twittering over who will be granted the honour of smoothing Her Majesty’s dress, of combing her hair. Simply a guest - a person waiting to see what the next step in their life will be. Perhaps Zapolyarny Palace will be a pitstop; perhaps your new betrothed will have somewhere else to put you like an ornamental doll.

Perhaps he will take you to his camps, his fields of war, install you in his tent until you have forgotten the luxury of silks and glass and the blood he sheds stains your white furs red. Your nails dig crescent moons into your palms at the thought of it; of all of the ways your life could spiral into decay and dirt when it has only ever been pristine and beautiful before.

You are sitting on the bed when the knock comes, when the door is opened before you can even call out. You see the faintest outline of some Fatui soldier, before his bulk is silhouetted in the doorway and your breath is robbed from your chest.

Seeing him pass by you in hallways, or at the table when you have been called to the Tsaritsa’s side, does not do the man justice. He seems to tower over you; his presence in the room makes it seem like a dollhouse more than anything functional. Your eyes flitter, afraid to rest upon him too much lest you see something terrifying staring back at you.

You cannot describe it, but your entire body seems to go into a freeze response; you sit there, exactly like the ornament you are so afraid of becoming, your gloved hands neatly balled into fists upon the luxurious fabric of your handmaiden’s gown, your eyes wide with surprise and fear.

You expect him to stride in; to take what he has been given, self-assured as only a member of Her Majesty’s most esteemed lieutenant can truly be. Thoughts flash through your head; of him throwing you upon the prettily patterned bedsheets and having his way with you, of him grabbing you roughly and letting his hands explore the merchandise he has been granted.

Certainly, the visual of him makes those seem the most likely course of action. The massive stature, the shadows that his shoulders throw across the room. The impassive iron mask; the armour that he dons, whether he is on official business or not. Your shoulders draw up against your ears, preparing for something, though you know not what. You catch a glimpse of eyes, bluer than the hottest fire--

And then Il Capitano sinks to one knee in front of you and reaches for your trembling, gloved hand. Your breath catches in your throat as he draws it closer to himself - but then, he presses his mask against the fabric in an echo of a kiss, and from beneath the helmet he wears comes a voice like an echo in an iron chamber.

“Little handmaiden,” he says - and then, “I regret not coming sooner.”

“I--” Your tongue will not work around the syllables. It trembles in your mouth; only your willpower alone stops your teeth clacking together like some awful grisly musical instrument. “My Lord Harbinger, I . . .”

“Do not worry,” he says, his voice still a strange echo - you cannot imagine getting used to it, cannot imagine it whispering words of love into the shell of your ear. You can imagine it, though, booming across a battlefield, and the thought makes your heart seize in your chest. “I have no intention to hurt you. I am . . . most honoured by the privilege that has been entrusted to me.”

You realise with a start that you are the privilege; that this is punishment for you, but it does not seem so to him. The thought gives you pause.

Even the word . . . ‘privilege’. He does not call you a reward; does not act as though he has been given you as some Archon-won right, to do with as he pleases. For the first time, you let yourself wonder if perhaps your fate is not to be as cruel as you had feared.

“Thank you,” you say to him, your voice a thready little mouse-whisper of noise. Capitano does not move from his place before you, kneeling upon the parquet flooring of the room - his hand does not let go of yours for a moment, as if he cannot quite believe that you are real flesh and blood there before him. You cannot properly see his eyes behind the helmet - only that bluefire suggestion, the glow of something behind the ornate visor - but in your time as a handmaiden of the Tsaritsa, you have grown used to the sensation of being looked at, and that is certainly what he is doing.

“I intend to do this properly.” He tells you, with the door still open, with the Fatui soldiers who had accompanied him still stationed outside of the door listening to every word that he says. “I intend to make you mine in the eyes of the Tsaritsa and everyone else who matters.”

You think once more of the altar; you think of your uniform of pure white furs, traded for something lacier and gauzier, something more of a wedding gown than a ritual dress. You think of being chained to this man for all eternity--

And though he has been kind to you in these few brief moments, though your Archon had said she wished to see no harm come to you . . . once more, you think of Capitano’s reputation. Of the war fields and the bloodshed, of his victories and his spoils, of the way you have heard he throws himself into conflict like it is the only thing that keeps his blood pumping through his veins.

But you cannot say a thing.

“Tomorrow,” he tells you, and he says the word like a sacred thing - a prayer on his breath. “Tomorrow, I will marry you, and I will take you home.”

He does not leave his words in a question; there is no space for you to reply. You swallow your protestations as he stands back up and bows his head like a gentleman, though you know he is stained with blood in a way you had never expected to be yourself.

(You think of his hand on yours; imagine bloody fingerprints where he had clung to you. Marked. Soiled. No longer pristine and pure; no longer one of the Tsaritsa’s favourites. You stand upon the precipice of becoming something else, and it terrifies you).

“Tomorrow,” you echo, but the door has already closed behind him.

iii.

You cannot sleep.

The bed is fine; finer, perhaps, than the one in your dormitory that you have slept on for decades. The blankets and coverlets, with their pretty patterns, are warm (warmer than you are used to; the handmaidens are kept close to Her Majesty, and coldness permeates the air wherever she dwells. You had not realised just how cold you were used to being until you had slipped into this bed in a guest-room of the place you thought of as your home).

But your mind will not quieten.

You cannot stop thinking of Capitano, and all that his future entails; cannot stop the whisper of his voice, constrained as it is by his helm, when he says the word ‘home’. What is a home for you, now? At this moment in time, ousted from Her Majesty’s Service and not yet yoked to the first-ranked Harbinger, you are a creature that has nowhere to lay down their roots.

If you slipped out of this room, and out into the cold Snezhnayan winter . . . you would be another nameless person, another corpse frozen to a block of ice. You have not been out amongst the general populace in some time - that is not a duty that befits one of the handmaidens - but what memories you do have, before six, remind you that you would hardly be the first. Indeed, finding some poor soul frozen into the next life is an occurrence that happens to all citizens of Snezhnaya, eventually.

A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of your mind; another child, who looks like you but older, concentration writ clear on their face as they try and unbend fingers from a poor man rimmed with frost with lips of pale blue. An older woman, shouting - a sickening snap--

You squeeze your eyes shut and force the memory away. There is nothing, you remind yourself, before the Tsaritsa’s tender care. If there ever was, it has gone the way of snowstorms and blizzards; there is no use remembering. It has been so long that all of the figures in your memories, too, are perhaps no better than markers in the frozen ground.

If you cannot sleep, you tell yourself forcefully, you are not going to allow yourself to be haunted by nightmares of your own making. You will lie here, in this lovely little room. You will let yourself think of the warmth that seeps into your bones; you will let yourself remember it.

One final night; the first night you can truly remember where you are free.

And as for what tomorrow holds - as for the thought of standing beside Capitano, as to the thought of his home - be it tent or wing of rooms or little shack or anything in between - you will not think on them. You will think of how, if you wished, you could toss and turn and no other handmaidens in the dormitory will hiss anger at you beneath their breath. How you could sing in this room, like a pretty bird, and nobody would shout for you to shut up as they throw their pillows at you.How there will be no ringing bell in the morning, no sidelong glances from your fellows who do not think you deserve to play the role you are given.

There is blissful silence; the luxury of having a bedroom to yourself, of being an individual when you have for so long been an entity made up of so many.

You do fall into sleep, eventually.

You dream of being a beautiful white horse, your hooves leaving distinct prints in the snow, blending alone into the barren landscape of your homeland.

When you awake, there is a dress hanging on the wardrobe opposite the bed.

You do not question it; how they found time for your measurements, who made it, whether it is Capitano’s design. Your training does not fail you; things happen, and you must accept them. The easy freedom of last night is gone, and the weight of what you are to become settles like a mantle around your shoulders.

It is still service, you tell yourself, as you bathe in the little basin in the adjoining room. The soaps and potions that are lined neatly up on shelves are scented like something fresh and clean and floral; the kind of flower that makes you think of rolling hills and ticklish breezes. The handmaidens used toiletries scented with spearmint and frostflower, as the Tsaritsa had chosen - you wonder if these bottles here are the choice of your betrothed, or merely coincidence.

You perform your ablutions and ignore the fact that you are preparing yourself for something you do not fully understand. If you stop to think too hard upon what it is you are primping and preening for, you do not know if you will be able to keep the thread of your calm - as it is, your hands are shaking when you step into the gown left for you.

It is undoubtedly a wedding gown.

It is not cut in the Snezhnayan fashion; there is no trimming of pale blue diamonds, of furs or feathers or warmth. This is the gown of a beloved maiden in a tower; something to be worn whilst dreaming of gardens, all pretty eyelet lace and delicate embroidery. Wearing it, after being so used to the garb of one of Her Majesty’s attendants, feels almost like being naked.

There is nothing for your hair; you leave it unbound. There is no other ornamentation; you suppose, when you think about it, your glimpses of Capitano have never suggested him to be a man of excess. If it were one of the others you were to wed - Pantalone, perhaps - you have no doubt you would be draped in jewels.

If it were Pantalone that you were to be wed to, you think, he would not have been satisfied with a mere ceremony, rushed through the next day. You know from gossip he is a man who thinks he deserves better than the world has given him, that he would never take less than excess. A brief gladness that it is not the Regrator that your Archon has given you to flashes across your mind--

And then you remember Capitano, the size of him, the mystery of what lays behind his mask, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

There is a serving maid at the door, holding a bunch of flowers in her hand - they are delicate things, white petalled and lovely, scattered with pink roses. You breathe in the scent to calm yourself and recognise them as the same scent that lingers on your skin and in your hair - and the serving maid gives you a small, nervous smile.

“They’re Cecilias,” she tells you. “from Mondstadt. The Captain asked for them specifically.”

She says his name in the same way so many of the citizens of Zapolyarny Palace do; with respect, and reverence. There is none of the fear that edges those who whisper of other Harbingers in her voice - you have heard horror in the tones of those who speak of Dottore, the Doctor . . . But Capitano seems to command awe and respect. You want it to be comforting - but you cannot help but wonder if it is merely that those who know his true nature are quieted by his sword.

“Thank you,” you say, for you cannot make your voice shape any other words. Your tongue has grown leaden in your mouth, the moisture gone from it completely, and you know the thing that has sapped your ability to speak is fear. She gives you another smile, and looks at you in your gown.

“You’re beautiful,” she says to you, as if to reassure; perhaps misunderstanding your terror of your bridegroom as the normal nerves of someone about to tie their life to someone else’s in matrimony. The whispers of your dismissal have had time to grow their own stories, after all; few things move faster than gossip in a place like this. “Come. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

You’re helpless to do anything but let her lead you. The hem of your gown trails on the floor behind you, but the Palace is spotless; it does not gather dust or dirt. You pass through the halls like a ghost, and you wonder if that is how you look.

As a handmaiden, you had moved with purpose, with the assurance that you were Somebody. As the betrothed of a Harbinger, you move like somebody sentenced to execution, your heart pounding in your throat. The halls seem silent around you. You wonder, if given the chance to do it all again, how you would stop all of this so you would not find yourself in this position, walking to what could very well be your own doom.

“Here,” the serving maid whispers, stopping by a door. You look at it with dumb terror in your heart, but you keep your face an impassive mask as you have been taught to do. You know where you are; you know this chapel to be the Tsaritsa’s most sacred place. You have been given access only a handful of times; the handmaidens who serve your Archon here are far more senior than you. In time, you had hoped you would become one of her most trusted, one who could sit with her in prayer in this private sanctuary--

You suppose that is a dream that will never come to fruition now.

You give her a smile - a trembling thing, but you have been taught how to behave - and as she opens the chapel door for you, you square your soldiers and summon all of the courage you have (what little there is; courage is not a thing that is encouraged amongst the handmaidens, amongst those who must move and act as one), and you place one foot in front of the other as you begin your walk down the aisle.

You tell yourself you will not look at the pews - hewn of glass, the more to resemble the Tsaritsa’s beloved ice - but as you begin a walk that feels as though it lasts forever, you cannot help it. The chapel is still a sanctuary; it is almost empty, in fact, but for a few faces sitting at the very front.

The Tsaritsa herself presides, and you immediately lower your eyes to the ground. You have seen her before, of course - have tended to her when called - but it would not be proper of you to stare. She is still your Archon. Your fingers tremble where they are wrapped around your bouquet.

Capitano stands, as patient and as still as a massive statue, at the altar. He is dressed still in his armour; the only concession he has made to the idea of a wedding is a buttonhole tucked into his chest, of matching roses and Cecilias to your own. You can see that burning bluefire from across the room, and as you walk closer and closer to it you are hit by the urge to laugh at the thought that perhaps you are simply walking into hellfire.

And a few other familiar faces fill the first row; that is Pierro, you know. The Director. He sits ramrod straight, the second-largest man in the room, his cloak serving to highlight the severe lines of his face. There is The Knave, too - in her beautifully-cut suit. There is the smallest smile playing on her lips, as she looks from you to Capitano and back again.

Not all of the Harbingers have come to see this spectacle - you are silently glad of the absence of the Doctor - but there are enough there that you feel sweat prickle down your spine, gathering in the small of your back. You force yourself to swallow and to breathe. This chapel’s aisle has never felt so long before.

But even though it feels as though the aisle will never end, end it does - too soon, too quickly, and you are at the end of your last walk as somebody free and unmarried. You are standing beside Capitano, ready to pledge yourself to him as your Archon has demanded you do.

You wonder if he is smiling beneath the helmet. Your own face, you’re sure, must have the look of a deer staring down a bow and arrow; wide, frightened, terribly aware suddenly of its own mortality. But there is nothing a doe can do when she is a hunter’s quarry, and there is nothing you can do now either.

So you say the words, after they issue forth from the Tsaritsa’s lovely voice and she commands you to repeat them. You listen to Capitano make the same oaths, his voice still a strange echo. You do not hear them, not really - but it does not matter, because they are binding in the eyes of your Archon and it is your Archon who has witnessed them being said.

Your hand is shaking when Capitano takes it to slide the ring upon it. It is plain, too; a silver band, etched all over with some decorative scrollwork and words in a language you do not understand.

You have never seen a marriage. The handmaidens do not do such things - they are chaste, and pure, and when they are done with the service of the Tsaritsa they remain so even when cast back to the powdery snow. But you have read books, and you know that a marriage usually ends with a kiss; a sealing of the pact that two people who love one another have made.

You steel yourself, then, to see below Capitano’s mask. You try not to dwell on possibility; the idea of him being monstrous or disfigured or perhaps even just perfectly ordinary. You try to prepare yourself for the feel of another’s lips upon yours.

But the Tsaritsa never decrees that it is time for Capitano to kiss his spoils.

Indeed, Capitano takes your hand - his own like a massive claw, yours delicate and tender in his grip - and leads you back down the aisle. He does not look at you as he does it; but you have the strangest sensation that he is . . . uncomfortable, with the way that everyone is looking at him. That such pomp and circumstance is perhaps not something he would generally choose.

In fact, when the door closes behind you - when you and he are briefly, briefly, briefly along in the corridor . . . something in him seems to unknot. He lets forth a rattling breath, his shoulders sagging just a touch, that would perhaps be invisible to any other eyes but the eyes of a frightened, lonely little mortwal who has been torn from what they thought was their purpose in life and thrown to the whims of somebody that may yet be a monster.

“Little handmaiden,” he rumbles, from somewhere low in his chest, and you wonder if it is indeed relief that makes his tone seem almost comforting. “The formalities are done with. You are mine, and I am yours.”

He tilts his helmet, and that bluefire burning behind the visor finds your own eyes; almost imperceptibly, perhaps because he sees the terror in your gaze, he seems to soften at the edges.

Hesitantly, he reaches out a gloved hand; just as hesitantly, he cups your face, the metal cool against the softness of your cheeks. He turns your face towards him, with a grip that you expect to be rough and possessive but is as gentle as the first layer of snow upon a shooting leaf.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

Home brings to mind your dormitory; the identical rows of beds, the identically dressed handmaidens, the comfort of routine. Home whispers in the back of your mind of something cooking in the oven, of a rowdy family gathered around a battered old table, of three children older than you and three children younger than you.

You cannot return to either of those places.

So all you can do, then, is smile for the man who could be captor or lover or liberator, but is now, inarguably, your husband.

And let him lead you home.

#genshin impact posting #writing #capitano x reader

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ohcorny · 8 months ago

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so! it's been a year since i put never satisfied on hiatus, and 9 years since i started posting it, and rather than make you read everything if all you want to know is "when's it coming back?" the answer is still: don't know! but the answer has also shifted closer to "it isn't" the longer i've spent on break, and i think it's worth being up front about that.

i talked about it a little here a few weeks ago, but the long and short of it is that between taking on better paying work, writing better stories, and looking back at what i'd already done for never satisfied... i just don't think i want to continue it? the year off has been incredibly good for my mental health, and i can't see myself wanting to go back after the two-three years still ahead of me on my current project. that's not to say i never want to return to the characters or the concept, but if i did, i imagine it would be with something completely new, in a different form. after all, i started this comic when i was 21 years old, a lesbian, and a sophomore in college. i am now just shy of 30, a bi man, and overall a completely different person than i was, back when i was writing without a plan and putting all of my insecurities into the comic--insecurities i don't identify with anymore. lord i'm closer to rothart's age than i am to lucy's. hate that

anyway. you have all been extraordinarily kind for following never satisfied for as long as you have, for supporting it as much as you have, and being as patient as you have. whatever form never satisfied takes in the future (god willing, with a more cohesive story structure and A PLAN FOR THE ENDING, WHICH BY THE WAY I NEVER, EVER HAD) i hope to see you there!

in the meantime, as an update on where i'm at with the thing that made me stop working on NS: i finished it! all the pages for Hunger's Bite (if you remember it with a different title: no you don't) have been turned in and now it's just revisions and covers and then........ waiting a year until it can come out. because that's how it is in traditionally published graphic novels! nothing releases for a full year after you finished it! and you're even getting it earlier than was originally planned, because i'm a creature and finished it like three months ahead of schedule. i've also already started thumbnailing the sequel book which i can't talk about whatsoever and will now be working on that for the next two years and then HOPEFULLY the first book will have done well enough that i can sell a third! so you better buy it when it comes out next february!!!!!!

to ease you all into it, i wanted to do a little crossover to introduce the main characters. we have emery, whose design is fully and unintentionally just Seiji Again down to his color palette (but seiji would bully him if they met. like so hard. he's a wimp). then we have neeta, a girl who dreams of travel and cares deeply about worker's rights, and wick, a vampire agent investigating the mysterious and sinister new owner of the 1910s ocean liner emery and neeta call home. he's also gay. but sorry lucy, you aren't his type. you're not mean enough.

the best place to keep up with me these days is probably here, as this first book gets closer to release, i will probably be posting about it a lot. and i will certainly post about it here when there's an official release date and cover reveal! i hope you'll go read it. i really think if you liked never satisfied and its themes, you'll like hunger's bite!

thank you again for reading!!

#corndraws #hunger's bite #never satisfied

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thats-godscomma · 1 year ago

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Since rewatching Psych, I've been thinking about how weird and arbitrary Shawn's interests are. Sure, late 2000's writing had something to do with it, and maybe a bit of Henry and Gus's influence, but hearing Shawn be so vocal about how he hates certain popular things or (more importantly) refuses to give them a chance BUT at the same time knowing so many pop culture references, it got me thinking.

What if the reason Shawn has so many pop culture references on hand is because of his eidetic memory, and he doesn't actually have as much of an interest in pop culture? Throughout the show, he actively avoids getting roped into big interests and franchises (see: comic books, soap operas, etc.) despite the fact that he genuinely seems excited once he's part of it. In fact, we don't get to see a lot of Shawn's interests at all unless it's based on an idea.

Take being a bounty hunter, for example. According to him, he's obsessed with the idea, but he doesn't make many references to an actual bounty hunter show or franchise. Instead, he just remembers the one bounty hunter he saw as a child and maybe references a movie or two. Because once he remembers something, he's never going to forget it, or at least not for a very long time.

That's why he thinks in references. Everything is a reference if you have a good enough memory. Everything reminds you of something. If Shawn hears someone make a Spock reference, it's in his repertoire forever. But he wouldn't be caught dead watching the shows or movies because that's just too much information. Why on earth would he endure that?

Of course, it also intertwines with his ADHD. He has bouts of energy and trouble focusing. He can't sit still to save his life, and he hyperfixates...or he would if his memory didn't make him averse to it. So if he doesn't want to hyperfixate on an information-based interest, then what does he hyperfixate on? Physical activities. Instead of learning about his favorite daredevil, he tries to be one himself. When he learns about oil rigs, he doesn't get a book from the library. He tries to find oil in his backyard.

This is also where he and Henry differ regarding Shawn's "potential." Henry is correct when he talks about Shawn's "wasted" potential, but he doesn't understand the toil of having this eidetic memory and ADHD. Here's what I think happened: Henry probably noticed Shawn's stellar memory at a young age, realized he has a gift, spoke with his wife about her eidetic memory, learned that you need to challenge your child's eidetic memory at a young age or it'll go away, started the hat game to make it fun and exciting, but then Shawn's ADHD appeared. Suddenly, it made him much harder to raise (because let's be real, Shawn was not an easy child.) Henry didn't know what he was doing anymore, and since it was the 80's, he didn't have the resources to properly understand his kid's behavior, so he tried to find a common interest, and started training Shawn to be a detective "because kids love cop shows." But Shawn struggled to stay attached to one single interest, and when he grew up, he stopped trying to articulate his problems because his mom (the only person who remotely understood his struggles) left, and he blamed his dad for it.

And academics? Those are a joke because what is the point of studying if he already remembers everything? Until, of course, he needs to apply it to a problem-solving test or writing an essay. Suddenly, he's memorizing a math teacher's answer sheet and copying Gus's report.

Yes, Shawn could have been a great cop. He could be an amazing scientist or anything really. He could have been a national spelling bee champion like Gus wanted to be. Even 15 years later, Shawn remembered exactly what word Gus messed up, how to spell the word, and what letter he made Gus slip up, but he didn't want to be on that stage with Gus because that requires so much learning. And so much time. And so much memorizing. And he refuses to sit still for that long when he knows that overloading his head is going to give him migraines.

Also his "I've heard it both ways" probably comes from the fact that people with eidetic memory can still make lots of mistakes if they don't actively commit something to memory. If Shawn only overhears something, he'll still naturally try to fill in the gaps like everyone else, but because he's so confident in his memory, he just believes what he remembers to be true, leading him to repeat incorrect information with confidence. That could also be why some of his references are incorrect due to mixed-up homophones.

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how Shawn is just a walking movie reference because his memory won't let him forget quotes, but then I fell into a rabbit hole of the negative effects of having an eidetic memory as a child, and I am very passionate about how Henry actually tried his best, and people need to stop calling him a horrible parent. Love y'all. Let me know what you think.

#i just care a lot about the real-life consequences of having an eidetic memory combined with ADHD #psych #psych tv #psych usa #shawn spencer #henry spencer #burton guster #eidetic memory #long post

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mad-maximoff · 10 months ago

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We Met Again

Part 2 of When We Met since y’all asked so damn much! I just hope this one doesn't get censored too😅

Summary: You were on a 6-month-long mission with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes only to come back to the compound and face Wanda.

Warnings: G!P reader, angst, making out, unprotected sex, ejaculation , soft sex turned rough, hair-pulling, breaking the bed (literally😂),

Word Count: 3,702

Prt 1 Here

"Welcome back Y/n, how was your little adventure with the boys?" Kate Bishop stood behind the bar making herself a pink alcoholic slush of some sort. You were covered in dirt and soot from head to toe. You just got off a mission with Sam and Bucky. You were in Egypt going about looking for a highly classified terrorist ring. Thankfully you got to them before they started their reign.

"Adventure my ass. I slept on the dirt while the boys slept in cozy beds like princesses. I tell you what I need is a shower and to take a well-deserved dirt nap in a real bed." You threw your weapons on the table halting at a chair and flinging off your boots. "I'll clean this shit up later Kat, I've been waiting for this." You turned to see Kate pouring herself a tall misshapen glass full of pink slush. "Sure thing Y/n, you and I are the only ones here I think. You want the rest?" She licked the side of her glass where she spilt. "Why not, might help me crash harder." You reached around Kate grabbing the whole blender. There was more than a mouthful left. You thought maybe it was strawberry daiquiri, so you thought nothing of it and chugged it. The first sip made you gag.

"Jesus Christ Bishop! Paloma? Really? What are you 40? You've been around Potts too long. Good lord.." You hated tequila, especially grapefruit. You polished it off not backing down leaving it on a table in the middle of the hallway. You knew there were empty beds not touched by any of the other Avengers. Basically new. It was funny really. Everything to you looked new but it was just the same as the last time you were down this hallway. Maybe it looked new because the last time you were here you were drunk with your pants around your ankles. Come to think of it. That table was new. You pivoted around noticing the table on further inspection. You saw a crack along the wall. Oh yeah, you remember. That was the spot. The spot where you and Wanda...

Yeah...Wanda...

You remember where her room was. You remember you crashed there after you both finished your fun in the hall. Curiosity killed the cat. You noticed the door was slightly cracked allowing light to shine through. But it was almost midnight, it wasn't natural light. It was from a light. Is she there? Did she forget to turn off the lights? Maybe. You pondered. Kate did say after all you two were the two here so it was bound she forgot. It's a common mistake.

You tip-toed over to her room letting your fingers creep through the part between the door and the wall slightly allowing the length of your fingers to pry the door a bit more. Your strength got the hold of you as it flung open. Wanda was sitting at the edge of her bed in her room, with her leg raised to lean her elbow on her knee, underneath her chin.

"Kate honey I told you for the third time today. We can drink and watch Sex and The City tomorrow. I don't feel up to it." She huffed watching the news. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes darting back and forth watching the live footage of whatever catastrophe happened. "So you're the one drinking Palomas huh?" You leaned in the door frame crossing your arms. You had to laugh. You never thought she was a cocktail girl. Though..you never thought she was the kind to give blowjobs either but you were surprised by both.

"Oh..it's you...no I don't drink that shit. She found Tony's recipe book for Pepper and his date nights and she's drinking like a fish...When did you come back to the States?" She was genuinely surprised to see me. Her leg fell from where it was prompted. Wanda stood up walking the length of her bedframe around to meet you.

You were shocked also. Maybe she wasn't showing yet? You swore you thought you'd come home and find her pregnant but unless she's super athletic or has it hidden she doesn't look like she's expecting.

"Ah 30 minutes ago. Um..stupid question.." You scratched your head looking down at Wanda then back up at her eyes. She laughed standing in front of you. Her hand reached to your cheek whipping the loose dirt from your undereye.

"Haha no! Unfortunately, I'm not pregnant. I don't know how. I always thought that first tries always work. I even helped you out a bit."

"Unfortunately? You wanted me to get you pregnant? Are you insane? You don't even know me and you want kids from me! I'm too young to have a family! Even with my powers...let alone, what gives you the right to choose for me!" You broke her hand away backing away. You had to leave or else there'll be bigger cracks in the wall.

"Y/n please, I never meant to hurt you. I just got confused that's all. You were so nice to me and after I lost Vis 2 times and lost my boys I just felt you comforted me. That's all." Wanda reached again grasping your bicep. You pulled away again this time hitting the wood casing around the frame with your elbow. The wood casing flew off behind you hitting the hallway floor.

"No! Don’t you dare touch me! All you cared about was yourself! Just because someone showed you comfort doesn't mean you let them cum inside you, Wanda! That's really fucked up! I'm sorry you lost your family but you can't just use me to play house!" You growled noticing your rage was becoming the better of you. Wanda through your eyes was becoming tiny. Her body language was making her small. Curling her fingers into the sleeves of her black cardigan, crossing her arm over to her elbow. She looked down at her bare feet letting out a shakey breath.

"I'm really sorry Y/n...I don't know what I was thinking. I've been so used to having people around me. That it feels weird to be by myself." Wanda's head was bowed letting her newly brown hair almost cover her head. A tiny tear ran down her blushed cheek wiping it away quickly.

All you saw was red. Not by Wanda's magic. But for some reason, you were enraged. How could you be this angry over something you fully did with Wanda 6 months ago? Maybe you do have a tiny bit of an anger problem. Little? In this case, that's an understatement.

You huffed feeling the hot pressure on your chest cool down to your stomach. You think seeing Wanda so visibly upset may have broken your cross attitude.

"Get used to it, Wanda." You had to storm off. If the conversation got any more heated; one of you was going to end up in a wall. And it was most likely going to be you. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe if I get some sleep and a good shower I can speak to her more clearly.

You thought gliding to one of the newly furnished rooms.

Each room had its own bathroom. Tony is a playboy so obviously the bathroom was soundproof. The entire compound was all technology so a press of a button and the bedroom could be soundproof. You didn't need that tonight. You wished there was a switch to soundproof your head.

How could I snap like that? I haven't done that in years! What the hell was I thinking to begin with?! You felt like you could stand under the hot water for hours. It took two layers of body wash just to scrub away the dirt from your body and finally feel human. Maybe you were scrubbing off your anger with it in a sense. You had your little outbursts but this one almost made you black out. Your lofa scraped at your skin furiously, leaving little imprints everywhere. Your back flexed in the mirror examining your clean body. Your hips were women but your shoulders and torso were the shape of a man. You had average-sized breasts. They were nothing special, they were nice to look at but nothing that could turn any heads. Perhaps you could say they were bigger than average but you never noticed.

You got out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around your waistbone, as you inhaled walking to the foot of your bed your v-line showed every breath you took. You thought if someone was to walk in it would be less surprising seeing you topless instead of bottomless.

"Fuck...you got buff little one.." You gasped in fright hearing Wanda's quiet voice coming from the chair hidden next to the wall. Wanda's makeup was smeared all over her under her eyes. She was sniffling back what little tears she produced. She was crying heavily, using the sleeves of her cardigan. "What the fuck do you want now? Can't you see I'm busy? I'm not giving in to your mind games." You turned to face your back to her loosening the towel from your waist to dry your legs. You reached around putting on a pair of boxer briefs. You heard a creek come from the corner of your room knowing Wanda got up. Her bare feet were quiet on the hardwood but not quiet enough for you to hear.

"No mind games Y/n. I-I...wanted to apologize...you were right. I need to start learning how to be on my own. I deserve to be alone. I shouldn't have let you do those things to me." She held back a cry making her eyes gloss over.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that. I was actually going to apologize to you. I don't know what came over me. I lost my temper too quickly. I haven't done that in years. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." Your hands lifted Wanda's chin to look at you, letting all of her hair fall back behind her shoulders. She looked like a baby raccoon. It was cute but you felt awful that she was crying because of you. "I'm so sorry Wanda." Wanda's hands placed around your hips, sliding herself closer to your body. You pulled her in deeper holding her close. Her head rested on your shoulder letting her finish her cries. Your hands caressed her skull, intertwining with her locs.

"It's okay..please, please stop crying. You're making me feel worse." You sat her down on the foot of the bed still massaging Wanda's head. She buried her face in your chest noticing her sobs being muffled into silent sniffles. One of your hands dropped placing it on her chest, directly on top of her heart. Her beats were rapid on the first touch, but once you dragged your fingertips along her skin she settled. Your other hand finally dropped rubbing her spine. She was frail in comparison to your body. Every muscle you flexed made it seem more apparent.

"Thank you," she sniffled, using her sleeve to wipe away her stained makeup. "Thank you very much Y/n. I feel like sometimes I can just go off the handle." Wanda wiped another tear with her sleeve again, the tears glossed in her eyes and made her pupils sparkle as she looked so passionately into your eyes.

"It's fine Wanda. We all go off the handle some days. I did it on you earlier. We just need to relax a little. The both of us."

╳°»｡ ∾･⁙･ ღ ➵ ⁘ ➵ ღ ･⁙･∾ ｡«°╳

You and Wanda laid down together in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence however, it felt somehow to you a healing silence. You two didn’t need to talk, that’s what got you two into shit before. Just cuddling together. Wanda laid her head on your bare chest. You threw on a random stupid movie on TV, it was one of those goofy movies that two dudes probably smoked a joint and started filming. You didn’t like it; Wanda found it comical. She’d laugh at the slightest action or joke. 15 minutes later however she was silent. You peered down checking up on her. Her eyes fluttered, she was falling asleep. You twitched which made her jump.

“Jesus…what’s happened?” She whispered. I knew she fell asleep for a moment. You could hear it in her tone. Groggy and low.

“Nothing sorry. My leg just spasmed. It’s okay, you can go back to sleep.” Your hand ran down Wanda's thigh. Her skin was soft just like you remembered.

“Shut up, I wasn't sleeping.” She giggled rolling her head the other way.

“Oh I'm sorry, I just saw the stucco on the ceiling coming apart so I thought you were snoring.” You joked.

“Fuck off!” She laughed sitting up on your lap. “I do not snore!” Her hands grasped a fist full of your bare breasts in either hand. It felt good to be handled again. As soon as her hands touched you that way, you instantly felt you were getting hard. It wasn't an embarrassment any longer. You had another one-night encounter after Wanda that made feel 10x better about your appearance.

“No, that's just loudly humming in your sleep isn't it?” Your hands tightened around her hips slowly moving them back and forth. Wanda sucked air through her teeth letting a little gasp. "Ohh-stop!" She laughed biting her lower lip. "You want something else don't you detka?" Her dress grazed the front of your boxers, just to tease you.

"Perhaps. This time, it's on my terms. This time." Your hands pushed down on Wanda's thighs rubbing your forming bludge on the fabric of her panties. Her brows raised, turning her cheeks into a rose colour. "Really? Would you still want to? Even after everything I did?..."

“Of course.” You freed your hands from her thighs, swishing a strand of her hair away from her face looking into her emerald eyes. She giggled again looking down at your chest. “You’re tits are huge Y/n.” Wanda’s hands clutched my full chest. "I don't think I saw them last time." She squeezed each handful. You whinced with her nails digging into your skin.

"Ha! Well, I hope you remember something else's size." You joked lightly tugging at your boxers. “Hmm..I think I definitely need a refresher.” Wanda tugged the hem of her dress; pulling it over her head as her arms whisked it to the floor. Wanda’s hands jerked at the elastic band around your hips. Your fairly large erection greeted both of you with a fair shock as it bounced its way to freedom. “Oh yes, I remember now.” Her tongue folded against the tops of her teeth. Your hands held a firm grip on either side of Wanda’s panties ripping them off. “Seems you don’t need this huh?” She giggled letting out a small whimper. “Fuck-…can we stop all this talking Y/n? I really need you.” Your fingers trailed along her mound going further in her slit. Her inner core was silk. Your finger slipped inside effortlessly. Her little sounds became more low. “Oh…g-god.” Her head dropped down making her lips lay on mine. "Stop fucking teasing me..." She groaned as her teeth bit the bottom of my lip. "Okay, you asked for it." You flipped Wanda onto her back. The bed's feet raised as the bed made a thump. "Did you want condoms?"

"N-no. No, Wanda, I can pull out." You bent down locking your lips with hers again. "Haha..sure, sure you can Y/n." Wanda's eyes glowed red again briefly. "Fuck no more games. Just let me fuck you by myself." Your fingers slid between Wanda's folds before slipping your cock inside. She gasped curling her fingers into the sheets. Your hands planted on the mattress on either side of Wanda's head. She uncurled her fingers from the bedsheets, moving them around your wrists. Her breaths were choppy trying to get ahold. You thought she looked so beautiful underneath you, the way her skin naturally glowed, her pearly white smile chewing her bottom lip, the way she looked at you. Not in a loving way just yet, in an adoring way? A needing way.

"Go on. Keep making those pretty sounds for me, sweetheart." Your hips dove in feeling her walls coating you effortlessly. Wanda’s whines grew deafening, her eyes did not stop turning shades of red.

“Oh shit…y/n…uh-…” Wanda's head rolled back on the mattress. Dropping her jaw open. You began to thrust with a heavy pace. Becoming quick with every moan that escaped Wanda’s lips. The bed frame formed a squeaking noise with each pump into the brunette. Wanda’s leg had a hard time trying to stay afloat around your hips, slipping every movement you two shared. You stopped pulling out briefly.

“What-..Y/n? Why did stop?! Continuă…” Wanda cried out allowing her hands to fall scratching your biceps. “I will, don't worry. Go flip on your stomach, on your knees and bend over.” Wanda sighed a sly smile flipping onto her knees, arching her back letting her chest lay on the mattress. She glanced over her shoulder with her hair covering her face. Your hand traced her temple softly, leading your fingers into the brunette's long strands. Grasping a fistful of Wanda’s hair. You peered down watching your cock twitch in anticipation with Wanda’s ass sway in the same feeling of suspense. Your other hand grasped Wanda’s thigh sliding your shaft back into her slick folds.

“Oh…fuck-” Wanda sucked air through her teeth tilting her head down with your hand still tight on her hair. You did begin to thrust slowly as you once did, you began to ram yourself deeply inside the witch as though you were pushing through air. Wanda's hand gave out mid-pump landing on her chest. Her hands gripped the bedsheets as she tried to move her head to a more comfortable spot. "Fuck...you have such a nice ass." You twisted Wanda's hair around your knuckles applying a forceful tug. Her head raised leaving a spot of drool on the sheets. "Uh-huh!" Wanda's head cocked further to watch you. Your hand jerked the fistful of Wanda's hair pulling her hair as hard as you could muster without ripping all of her hair out entirely. Her body lifted off the mattress onto her knees. Her back pressed on your chest laying her head on your shoulder. "Oh god!...Shit!" Your wrist could not take it anymore, you let go of Wanda's hair allowing it to fall behind your shoulder. Your hand relaxed on Wanda's thigh attaching every finger around the softest part of her leg. Wanda's arm flung around your throat holding herself up. "Shit...I'm going to cum..." Wanda's moans were silent as she took a small breath. "Huh? Good baby...me too." You sighed out feeling yourself climbing higher and higher up to your point of no return. "Do it Y/n." Wanda used her knees bouncing her body against you.

"Do what Wand?" You groaned in her ear smelling her sweet perfume sweat off onto you. "Cum in me...please..." Her cheek heated on yours as you felt her jaw lock open not letting another sound out. "Y-you sure? I don't know." You did not want to take that chance again, you had some rendezvous with a certain green bulky woman in Egypt, knowing you mastered your craft of pulling out. If you did not get her pregnant 6 months ago, hell, you couldn't do it again right?

"F-fine...you want me to cum inside you huh?" You huffed tightening your grip on Wanda's thighs, the wooden bedframe continued to rattle. The frame began to bell out with your knees ready to cave. "Yes! Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Cum inside me Y/n! Fill me!" Wanda's voice shrieked out letting go of a low-toned moan. "Oh god! I'm cumming!" Wanda grasped firmly on your neck vibrating her entire body. Her eyes glow red tracing red mists around both of your bodies. "Fuck!" The pressure within you exploded, you could not think if it was you that came or if Wanda had some help to speed it up. You felt your cock throb spewing out your cum in the witch. She tried her best to make her body stay still, her thighs would not stop fidgeting. You bucked your knees forward to have Wanda fall on her stomach as you fell with her. The bedframe finally gave way as the mattress hit the floor. You both hit a thump, Wanda chuckled under your body softly as she took a quick breath. "Well, shit. How do you expect to explain this to Tony?"

"We'll blame Kate," You sighed wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. "She got too drunk and we found her jumping on the bed. Agreed?"

"Agreed detka. Let's get out of here. We can go to my room." You arose to see the bedposts still standing but the wood beams holding the bed just fell. "Well, this was a great welcome back." You stretched out your arms above your head hearing the cracks of your shoulder blades. "I'd say so." You stood up from the mattress whisking your boxers off the floor.

"Y/n? You don't need those." Wanda sat up on her knees running her hands through her hair. You bent over as you picked Wanda up by her thighs and wrapped them around your waist. "Haha! I sure do. I don't want to scare Kate if we run into her." You took hefty strides over to the bedroom door, making your way down the hall to Wanda's room. Wanda draped her hands around your neck giving a sly little smile as she looked over her shoulder. Her wrist flicked a red mist, you witnessed the red mist run down the staircase doing nothing after it left the stairs. "There. She won't bug us. I put her to sleep for the night. Now, we can have more fun."

"Good. Let's hope I don't break your bed this time."

"Well, don't promise that. I'd love you to ruin me." Her finger traced along your jaw down your throat. "Ask, and you shall receive."

#wandamaximoff #scarlet witch #lgbt #lesbian #fanfiction #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #g!p #g!p reader #marvel fanfic #Marvel #fanfic #wlw fanfic #wlw

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thepersonperson · 2 months ago

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Gege is doing to his characters what they did to jfk there's so much character assassination happening djsjdsnsdjn

This ask was sent to me shortly after I complained about JJK 269 leaks. (Aka before JJK 270's release so be nice to them.) And while I still agree that chapter contained character assassinations, JJK 270 has given me a good reason for them.

Since my other post related to this topic was trimmed down by Tumblr’s 30 image limit, I’m going to use this ask as an excuse to this burning question...

Why does everyone feel so out of character in JJK 268–270?

Notes before we start.

1) Read the light novels. They are the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but I will be citing the official translation from my own copies.

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility.

4) Written as of JJK 270.

5) Read the light novels.

(Another extremely 'hear me out' discussion under the cut. Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Preface

This post is banking on the framework I set up in the previous related post so please read/skim over it. (If you don't? Just hear me out!)

Short Summary of the Previous Related Post:

Yuji is projecting a massive delusion onto Megumi that gives him a happy ending. JJK 268–270 is a mesh of Yuji and Megumi’s memories and dreams that serve to rationalize all that’s happened to them in a way that allows them to forgive themselves. Sukuna’s vessel memories are probably mixed in too.

Because of this I’m assuming the following:

>The battle recollection in JJK 269 is Yuji constructing explanations from his, Megumi, and Sukuna’s memories during their battle. Neither of these 3 ever knew the plan in full. This can explain why so much of the battle recollection is wrong.

>The characters we see outside of Yuji and Megumi are constructs based on their memories of these people. They’re more like representations than the actual characters.

I don’t know if it means they’re dead or not, but that doesn’t matter. I want to explore the way the characters feel off can be explained by them being memory constructs.

In the previous post, I used "Without love it cannot be seen." from Umineko to give my best faith reading of these past 3 chapters I've hated so much. This time the tool I'll be using is:

"Flipping over the chessboard."

This refers to how one should try to see things from a different perspective.

Memory in JJK

A neat touch that has always been around in JJK is characters remembering others as they last saw them. When Gojo recalls his best students, Hakari has a very different hair style from when we meet him. His recollection of Yuta's is accurate though. When Panda recalls Yuta, the hairstyle differs from what Gojo recalls. And when he recalls Kiara, he mistakenly refers to her as a guy.

This all can be explained by considering when Gojo and Panda last saw these characters. Gojo last saw Yuta in Kenya with Miguel where he changed his hairstyle. Panda hasn't seen Yuta since he's left the country. Neither Gojo or Panda have seen Hakari and Kiara for a very long time.

Their memories reflect how they last knew them. Kiara is a whole girl now and Hakari is blond. But if Panda and Gojo never saw them again? Those memories would be true to them, even if it’s no longer accurate.

And sometimes the memories aren’t accurate. See this side by side recollection of Gojo meeting Megumi from both of their perspectives.

I believe Gojo’s memory of this event is the accurate one because he’s 19 when it happens, not under distress when he recalls it, and has the Six Eyes which act like a supercomputer. Megumi’s memory is iffy because he’s 6 when it happens, has a head injury that knocks him out when he recalls this, and doesn’t have perception enhancing abilities. And though Megumi can’t recall the memory in its truest form, what he does remember still tells us a lot about his feelings towards the event and his relationship with Gojo.

The emotions child Megumi felt at the time distort what Gojo was actually like back then. Instead of a benefactor, he’s a suspicious weirdo with a funny face. The heart behind Gojo crouching down to his level, being way too honest with him, trying to give him options, patting him on the head—it’s all missing.

With all this in mind, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume Megumi and Yuji’s impressions of other characters via memory would influence how they appear in these delusions too. Yuji’s impressions probably take the most precedence since I think his will is shaping the delusions the most.

Recalling Incomplete Information

Yuji is very good at understanding people. He can intuit their feelings and sync up with them easily. (I go over this in greater detail in this post.) But that doesn’t mean he fully understands their hearts. He gets close enough to their core to bond with them, but the little details aren’t quite right.

If all the characters (save Megumi) we’ve been seeing in JJK 268–270 are constructs based on Yuji’s perception of them, I think this can explain everything off about them.

What made me consider this possibility was JJK 270. There’s this pattern I keep seeing... Characters’ motivations being misunderstood and being resolved by scenarios that aren’t quite right. Every time I try to explain what exactly is wrong with them, assuming their inconsistencies align with Yuji’s perception of them solves the problem.

Amai Rin

Rin is introduced as a coward. He’s unable to fight and goes along with the whims of those stronger than him to avoid getting hurt. This is why he keeps his head low as his friend is being harassed by bullies during his Jr. High days. Still, he tries to help. Just not at a risk to himself.

When Yuji saves his friend and beats all the bullies up, he turns to Rin and assumes he was part of the bully group. This simply isn’t true. He was a bystander. That’s why it’s weird for him to apologize like he was the one who beat the guy up.

Yuji’s false impression of Rin, one where he’s a bully that feels guilt over his actions, explains this. Rin’s actual guilt comes from him being a bystander—someone who doesn’t take action for others when something is wrong. He dealt with that in the Culling Games by helping Yuji and risking his life to save Angel. And he really stepped out of his comfort zone to join the medical team for the Sukuna battle. He might be the reason Yuta survived. (Yuji doesn’t know about that though.)

And what’s this? Here Yuji outright admits he doesn’t fully understand what kind of person Rin is. All he knows is that he did some good things and is trying to become a better person. So now we’ve got this other Rin that’s apologizing for something he didn’t do for the redemption he’s already earned.

(And that’s the pattern! Rin’s motivation is misunderstood by Yuji so he’s doing something that seems out of character to us readers, but is perfectly in character for Yuji’s perception of him. When I apply it to everyone else. Everything makes sense.)

Takaba Fumihiko

What Yuji knows about Takaba is pre-Kenjaku development. Yuji knows the Takaba that speaks over others, rejects their criticisms, and insists he’s funny. That’s kind of what he’s doing to Totally Not Kenjaku. In reality, Kenjaku caused Takaba to reflect on his approach to comedy and they are nearly in perfect sync by the end of it. Kenjaku satisfied Takaba.

Yuji didn’t see that battle and he hasn’t spoken to Takaba since. So he’s constructed a happy ending where Takaba has found his partner and is working towards the show of his dreams that already happened.

I also want to note that Takaba is 100% ok with sex jokes. Kenjaku makes one and he doesn’t object to it. This is just another little detail that makes everything so slightly off.

Higuruma Hiromi

Yuji knows that Higurama wants to go back to his roots. He knows that he feels guilt over killing people.

What he doesn’t know is that Higurama’s roots are him being a defense lawyer that cherishes the flaws of humanity. He doesn't want to ever look away from the impurities that even Yuji has. That’s why I think Yuji resolves his problems with him becoming a sorcerer who saves lives.

Yuji seems to think that Higuruma is like him. He’ll make up for the lives he’s taken via sorcery by saving more. That’s something he could assume from their convo, but that’s not actually what Higuruma wants. He wants to fundamentally change Japan’s legal system for the better in his own way.

Kurusu Hana

She’s the most in character of the bunch. In fact, there’s nothing out of character about her interaction with Megumi. What she represents is Yuji misunderstanding Megumi’s desires.

Yuji understands that Megumi’s type is someone with an unwavering humanity (literally the definition of Yuji’s name) via access to his memories. But for some reason (he’s kind of dumb academically), he thinks this means Hana is perfect for him.

I think this is because Hana meets Yuji’s definition of a good person. She’s just like Megumi. She saves others for a selfish purpose. And that means…Hana does not meet Megumi’s definition of a good person. Not once has he considered her saving others as selfless. (...But Yuji has.)

And that’s just facts. Hana is kind of unhinged. She’s extremely possessive of Megumi and saves others solely to win him over. Yuji saves others because it’s the right thing to do.

Megumi’s preferences are Yuji, not Hana. Which has led to the most awkward confession and rejection scene. That might have clued Yuji in to construct an alternative. In the memory Yuji is probably recalling, Todo does clock Megumi as someone into dudes. …The very next scene is Yuji hitting on a dude in front of his gf in a way that causes him to blush. (Yuji has not once complimented someone’s body up to this point if I recall correctly. And he’s been around some beefy dudes.)

(Yeah Nobara me too. Second most leftfield possible bisexual confirmation I’ve read in a manga. The first will always be from Baki the Grappler.)

Is this Yuji letting Megumi know it’s ok to come onto him? Is he not initiating because Hana’s forwardness freaked Megumi out? It’s possible.

What this suggests is that Yuji is kind of fine tuning this whole delusion to make Megumi as content as possible. It’s telling that the moment Megumi starts getting super uncomfortable the scene jumps to something else.

It happens at the beginning of the chapter too. Gojo is mentioned by Shoko in a way that causes Megumi to pause. And Bam! Change scene.

Anyways, I hope this demonstrates that Yuji working with the limited information from memories is most likely the reason for everything being so funky. It’s character assassination by accident.

Why make these happy endings when this is all for Megumi?

Two reasons as to why I think Yuji is trying to give everyone a plausible happy ending.

1) He genuinely wants them to live good lives.

2) It has to be believable for Megumi to accept them as real and forgive himself.

This line may have been about Yuji, but Megumi’s not any different. He blames himself in the exact same way Yuji blames himself.

I also think there's something to be said about Yuji crafting a dream that resembles the perfect cookie cutter Shonen ending. The guy gets with girl he has no chemistry with. All these complicated plot lines are wrapped up with a neat little bow. Everyone lives and goes on like nothing traumatic happened.

Yuji is a big fan of Shonen. Straight up his final move against Sukuna is a Hunter X Hunter reference. That's not just Gege doing a reference as a fan, Yuji himself is a fan of that manga.

I think Yuji is trying to make this fiction a reality because it's the only way he knows how to cope with his trauma.

JJK 269’s Character “Assassinations”

I promise I still hate this chapter. But I won’t deny how fun it is to pretend these are all delusions Yuji created for Megumi’s sake. I went over Kusakabe to cut him some slack in the previous post, so let’s do everyone else.

(The chapter’s formatting as one long unending nightmare makes it hard to separate this stuff out by the character. I’m just going to do groups this time.)

The 2nd Years

The most common complaint from readers outside of Kusakabe telling Yuji he should’ve died is Maki being really fudging mean to Yuta. Maki is mean, but she’s not that mean. You could assume this is her showing Yuta she cares and that her anger scales with worry but… Here’s a side by side comparison of her getting angry over Yuta risking his life in Vol 0 vs JJK 269.

Pretty big difference I think. Here is a Maki with a Yuta she thinks is about to die vs a Maki with a Yuta who is 100% ok. And the only reason she even gets mad in Vol 0 is because she had no idea Yuta did something that risky. Maki already knew Yuta was going to body hop if all else failed, so her reaction here is disproportionate, especially since he survived.

Speaking of survival, the first thing Maki, Panda, and Inumaki do when Yuta survives in Vol 0 is ask if he’s ok and thank him for saving them. This doesn’t happen in JJK 269. They're all very protective of Yuta after the events of Vol 0. We see them defend him from Gojo for being a little mean about his training. They’re all against the plan because of how much they value him. The 3 of them not checking in on Yuta immediately after the fact is wildly OOC.

The explanation I have? This version of Maki is based on Yuji and Megumi’s memories of her. (And let’s remember that Megumi claims he can’t openly respect her and the other 2nd years outside of Yuta.) When Megumi and Nobara mourn Yuji’s “death”, Maki does this to them.

Maki also intimidated Yuji pretty bad when they first met. Her, Panda, and Inumaki went along with bullying Yuji after he came back to life. It makes sense that Yuji would up Maki’s meanness. He’s not been around her long enough to know she’s not like this when it comes to people she cares about.

I do think it is weird Maki is pre-awakening levels of mean. This could also be Yuji trying to return to the time before everything went to absolute hell. Or...because she’s Yuji’s construct, this could be him expressing his anger at Yuta for defiling Gojo’s body in a very roundabout way. From both Yuji and Megumi’s perspective, Yuta didn’t discuss this beforehand and used it as a last second plan. And that’s kind of how the conversation goes. Everyone talks about Yuta’s Yujo plan like he didn’t clear it with them first.

It’s also telling that they harp on Yuta over Miguel and Larue. Miguel said no help unless Sukuna’s domain was down. Everyone except Yuji knew that. There was never a scenario where they’d help from the start. But to Yuji who only heard they might show up? It’s a missed opportunity.

Say if you were, trying to find a reason for such a horrific defiling of a loved one’s body. Wouldn’t you try to reconstruct the crime by considering the motives and methods? That would help give you some closure, right?

I think that’s what Yuji is doing for himself and Megumi. Yuji is trying to figure out why things went the way they did through a blend of what Sukuna intuited and what makes the most sense to someone who never had full knowledge of the plan.

And if you think about it, this is still a happy ending for them. They’re all absolved of their guilt surrounding the outcome of the battle. Even if they screwed up, they’re all still alive and able to move forward in a better world. They did the best they could, so it’s time to move on from what happened to Gojo. Thinking about that too much would break someone.

Mei Mei and Ui Ui

Mei Mei is out of character in a way that’s unique compared to everyone else. She’s still herself, but with less��yikes. It’s odd since Yuji has seen how awful Mei Mei can be and is deeply uncomfortable with how she treats Ui Ui. He’s not missing information about her motives so why have we gone from this to this?

I propose this is an extension of Yuji’s denialism. (We’ve seen how avoidant he is with Gojo’s death.) Mei Mei is grooming Ui Ui and has made it clear this is all for money. Ui Ui is being abused, but he’s so attached to his abuser that separation would break him. How do you make a happy ending out of that?

Well, you can soften those edges. Spin a tale where Mei Mei is an over-doting sister who would kill for her cute little brother. She doesn’t touch him inappropriately, she just plays with him. She loves money as much as him! No abuse here! She’s not someone who would kill a child for cash.

And in a weird way this whole Simple Domain debacle mirrors Gojo killing the higher ups. If Maki is Yuji's rage towards the Yujo plan, then this could be him trying to process his mentor slaughtering a bunch of old people in mass for his sake.

It probably helps that Yuji wasn’t there to see Mei Mei tell Ui Ui to die for her. There’s no way he knows she was paid to help kill him either.

Mei Mei doesn’t care about the well-being of other people. She’s just a hardcore capitalist who loves money and will do anything for it. But this version of her can be less terrible to Ui Ui while still getting her cash and that’s sort of ok I guess? Yuji has moved on from this and so will I.

The Megumi & Nobara Problem

The 1st years going on like nothing happened after Sukuna has made readers feel betrayed. It flies in the face of everything that’s been established for them when it comes to mourning.

As stated in CFYOW, JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 5: At the End of a Sidewalk, this is how the trio deals with grief.

Despite knowing Yuji for only 2 weeks his death screws with Megumi and Nobara pretty badly. In the manga, it looks like Nobara is more upset because she’s visibly in pain, but I think the light novels show they’re equally shaken.

This is why the non-reaction to Gojo’s death makes no sense. Megumi has known Gojo for a decade. He’s 6 when he first meets him and 16 when he dies because Sukuna used his Cursed Technique (CT). Nobara knew Yuji for 2 weeks, and didn’t see him for another 3 months. In all that time, Gojo was her teacher. She knew him longer than Yuji. When she “dies” Gojo is on the same tier as Yuji and Megumi to her.

So why is it that in JJK 268, Nobara thinks of Gojo as a creep? Why did she toss his letter despite him being one of the people she thought of in death?

Well… When Yuji came back from the dead via Gojo’s prank he heard Nobara say this.

Nobara is prone to saying out of pocket nonsense to people. If she thinks it, she says it. Yuji also doesn’t understand Nobara’s thought processes (Just like Amai Rin he admits it too!). Nobara tries to hide her feelings to appear tougher than she is sometimes. So I think Yuji has done to Nobara what he has done to Maki—upped the meanness and neglected the heart.

And though Nobara being a construct can explain her behavior, this still leaves us with Megumi who is definitely not one. Why is he acting like Gojo meant nothing to him?

Megumi in particular is super fragile when it comes to his feelings. This is how stressed he gets when he learns exactly why Tsumiki is in a coma.

She’s not even dead and he’s halfway to a mental breakdown. The idea that he can just look at her grave once after having a hand in her murder and move on this quickly makes no sense. Inadvertently killing his defacto guardian he’s been raised by for 10 years should be upsetting him to a similar degree. (Maki said Gojo treated him like a precious treasure!)

When Megumi is on the verge of death he thinks of Tsumiki, Yuji, and or Gojo. It’s always at least 1 of those 3. There’s no way Gojo dying and having his corpse reanimated for reasons Megumi might feel responsible for isn’t screwing him up.

Unless…Yuji is suppressing his memory on purpose. He can’t even cope with what happened to Gojo, how is Megumi supposed to? How can either of them forgive themselves for that if they acknowledge it in full?

When Sukuna tries to tell Megumi to give up, he looks miserable. Every time Sukuna has verbally kicked Yuji while he’s down, he’s done it with a big old smile and laugh. He doesn’t hold back and goes for the throat.

Sukuna is being very nice to Megumi here when he doesn’t mention Gojo at all. The only death he blames on Megumi is Tsumiki. Everyone else? Nothing. That’s weird given that Sukuna will pass the blame of his kills onto Yuji to torment him.

Is this Sukuna a construct or is he playing nice because he respects Megumi? Who knows. Whatever happened here seems to point to Gojo’s memory being suppressed for Megumi’s sake.

And why might Megumi accept this suppression? Why does he seem to be going along with Yuji’s delusions? The Unlimited Void brain fog. Megumi brings attention to it after he wakes up.

If Sukuna can’t think straight after Gojo brain damage, neither is Megumi. Still Yuji has to be careful. If Megumi thinks too much, the illusion will be broken.

What does this mean for them?

Well, the character assassination isn’t real (probably) which is a good thing! Other than that? Not a clue. We’ve got a real catbox situation here. I can’t tell who is dead anymore.

Sukuna projects delusions when someone he’s connected with is dying. Yuji projects delusions someone connects with him while he’s severely injured/concussed. Both of them are kind towards the people they’re interacting with in this space between dreams and reality. They try to give people endings that leave them satisfied.

JJK 270 ends with the hunt for a curse user who can distort perceptions of reality. This curse user is initially mistaken as a cursed spirit. That sounds like Sukuna I think.

I’m pretty confident this happy ending illusion will be shattered, that's for sure.

My Final Answer

I'm betting it all on this being a delusion. This is a kind of prediction that will either age well, very badly, or interestingly. I don't know what's in store for the final chapter...but I do have some ideas I'd like to speculate with.

"Without love it cannot be seen."

This time I'm going to use this phrase very literally. I'm going to make one final gamble on the assumption that love is the answer. So let's go back to Love itself—one of those reoccurring themes in JJK.

Love is a curse in JJK. It has the power to distort reality and transform loved ones horribly. Desperation to save a loved one from death over and over has resulted in extremely traumatic things. Yuta turned his childhood crush into monster that caused havoc for years. You can blame everything that has happened in JJK on Gojo being unable to get over the loss of his loved one, Geto.

Hana could've vanquished Sukuna on the spot, but she didn't because she loves Megumi. It's something a lot of people blame her for. If she had just killed him there, the Sukuna battle wouldn't have happened. But that's not really the truth. The only reason Sukuna even got his powerful is because Megumi refused to let Yuji die.

Megumi and Yuji going back and forth trying to save each other have been acts of love driving the plot of JJK since the beginning of this manga. If Megumi actually died on Yuji? Who knows what would happen.

...

A lot of readers have been on a very funny copium because of these last 3 chapters. Some of them joke that they are just one massive Takaba-induced hallucination. This theory has some merit to it! After all, his CT does two things:

1) It distorts reality.

2) By sheer force of will it bends people's souls to his whims.

One of the biggest complaints about the past 3 chapters has been the Merger plot ending abruptly. As of JJK 270 Tengen and Sukuna's remains have been mixed into the barrier around Japan and everything is just fine according to Gakuganji.

People wanted to see what the Merger would do, just like Kenjaku. In universe, Tengen made a prediction. They guessed that the impurity from humans would dominate and consume everything. The impurity that Higuruma wants to protect. The impurity that Higuruma sees in Yuji.

Would Sukuna activate the merger and kill Megumi to spite Yuji? Absolutely.

Would Yuji do or become anything to save Megumi's life? Absolutely.

Do whatever you want with this information.

#cactus yaps #This is pure Beatoposting but I think I made my case pretty well. Anyways. GO READ UMINEKO NOW!!!#Do you ever think about how [redacted] becomes a Sorcerer in Umineko? Wait a second.#Also read the light novels. They're very good.#My bets are placed and I'm going to lose.#This has been my Umineko Kaisen.#itafushi #itadori yuji #fushiguro megumi #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 270 #jjk 269 #jjk meta

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leconcombrerit · 1 month ago

Text

This thing had been rotting in my files for a year (minus three weeks but that's basically a year). It was a redraw of one of my first ever pieces for this fandom, and I still find it quite okay if a little stiff in places, so I thought I might as well share it since I don't draw that much anymore.

And then I had second thoughts, which obviously led to me posting it anyway, as you can see, but I realized I've almost made it a point not to draw anything related to Sasi anymore. As in at all. I can't, and I don't want to, and even sharing old art feels a bit 'meh'. It's too directly linked to my long going art block.

What I mean by that is that if I took all the followers I have out there and asked them what they know me or initially followed me for, you might have a fair amount of Lis 2 and the occasional Desert Bluffs afficionados, but you'd get an overwhelming majority of Sanders Sides. Sanders Sides fashion posts even. I was by no means famous for it or anything, but at my small artist scale, it was the biggest success I had.

And it makes it much harder to go back to it at all now. One, because I don't give a damn about the show anymore. Two, because I haven't been properly obsessing over anything in a while (there was a series early this year but given the actual emotional distress I get thinking about it I'm ruling it out). I haven't had real engagement from my own brain, nor real engagement from a broad audience -which makes sense, I'm not posting for anything that will reach a broad audience. But it takes its toll regardless.

Even when I finally finished writing a long fic, I couldn't help but feel 'all this for what ? Ten people or so and two hundreds have dropped it ?'. Which is a bad way to think about stuff you write for your own enjoyment but, you know, the brain gets happy with external validation even if you pretend really hard you don't care.

And so it feels tempting to go back to the golden goose just the time to get the creative juice pumping back, and I try, and I always end up frustrated and angry and feeling even less like making art that before. I'm not having fun with Sasi. Like an old friend you have nothing to say to and yet you have so much to say otherwise, so you get a bit frustrated, you know ? Not sure I'm making much sense, but that's how it feels. I want to have something like that again, but it won't be with Sanders Sides, and I somehow just want if off my radar.

It was left hanging, then lost its spark, and then I stopped caring altogether and I most likely won't even watch the finale when it does come out. I'm over it. I wish I wasn't though, because it does feel like the artistic spark won't come back all on its own this time, and the buzzing community made it so much easier to bounce back and do shit when your brain got wired all wrong.

It sounds like I'm just bawling after love and likes and stuff, and I guess that's part of it, in a way ? Like I'm in no place to do things for myself, and seeing the one thing I used to use to get back in the flow giving me a bored sense of dread doesn't feel too great.

Yet this drawing is still good ! I find it good ! I don't remember everything, but I can tell from the looks of it that I spent a while on it ! It's nice ! I should celebrate that. So I'm sharing it. I think it will be the last piece of Sasi I ever share, though. I'm not watching the finale when it comes out. I don't care about it. I'll just keep doodling my OCs and characters from cool books every once in a while. I'll write little things.

I just really, really need to stop trying to go back to it when it's clearly not working and not even for good reasons. It was a fun ride though ! So yeah. Basically. A whole ass rant for a one year old piece of art. I'm in my bi-annual depresso mood, nothing too surprising there.

#I don't know how to put it into smart words really #it's just. yeah it's like that.#there's a lack of sharing for me I guess #bouncing off people's ideas and all #I consume quite a bit still #but it's not the same #Sasi was my golden age in that matter and it's been years #end result I lowkey hate it now #sanders sides #you can reblog it btw the rant isn't the most personal thing #it's more of a thing about sharing and art and community and engagement I guess

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hwaslayer · 4 months ago

Text

wildfire (cs) | intro.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 2.0k

—warnings: nothing much; cussing, very general description of research topics/neuroscience experiments including mentions of mice research (no details)!, mentions of infidelity (not oc or san)

—a/n: ty for being patient with me <33 here's the lil intro to professor choi 🤪 i think i'll keep the same update schedule i've had (every other weekend) but ofc will let everyone know if i cant update for whatever reason!! enjoyyyy this rideeee 🖤

Clunk.

San throws his glasses onto his desk before leaning back in his chair, hands coming up behind his head for a stretch. He had been working on his progress report for one of his grants since this morning, and he was starting to feel the migraine come on.

"Fuck." He mutters, pinching at the bridge of his nose before he gets up to grab another cup of coffee from his Nespresso machine— popping in a pod with a level 9 intensity into the slot and pressing start. It's around dinner time, but quite frankly, San isn't too hungry. He'll eat something small. He's just tired, especially because of this progress report. But, it's due next week and he needs to finalize his class schedule for the upcoming quarter at the same time. He won't have as much time to get through the technicalities if he waits any longer.

He's pretty immune to the different intensities of coffee at this point; having eaten it for breakfast, lunch and dinner during his postdoc years. It won't do much for long, but it'll at least keep him going for the next couple of hours before he calls it a day and lays in bed.

When his coffee is done, he pours some creamer into his mug and gives it a good stir before settling back into his office. His house is too big for one person, but he enjoys the stillness. The quiet. He used to hate it. He used to hate when every corner reminded him of his ex-wife. Now, he's gotten used to it. He's learned how to live alone, how to enjoy his peace. He lets out a small sigh, taking a sip of his hot coffee as he resumes to look at the computer screen to his side. Suddenly, his phone goes off and he's quick to shift his attention to it because it's slightly odd for this time of day. People don't normally call him unless he's settled on a phone call meeting ahead of time, and he doesn't remember booking any calls tonight.

"Hey." San picks up when he realizes it's Jongho. Okay, so he maybe he lied. He does take a few calls from close friends, most who are also professors at the same university. "What's up?"

"How's your T15 report going?"

"Long. It's terrible."

"Well." Jongho laughs. "Perks of being you, I guess." San rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, thanks. Very enlightening."

"Anyways, I wanted to call really quickly. I figured you hadn't seen it yet, but wanted to put it on your radar. I looped you into an email for a possible collaboration. We're trying to meet this week if you're free. Might be good to see what it's worth, could get us more funding. Open more collaboration opportunities in the future." San presses the phone against his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he navigates to his inbox on his computer. He has a bunch of unread emails that he'll eventually respond to, paying a tad more attention to the pressing ones when he has a moment. He's not gonna lie, he does ignore a few if it's not of interest to him, or something he doesn't feel like he can contribute much to. He'll typically respond with a 'so sorry, no can do' if people get pushy and constantly follow up, but for the most part, he does his best to keep up and respond where it's warranted.

San sees the email Jongho is speaking of, but right underneath it, he sees another email from a student inquiring about rotating in his lab for the upcoming quarter. He's always interested when students reach out to rotate in his lab, but he can't accommodate all, especially when he doesn't feel like his research aligns with their goals. He usually takes 1 per quarter if it fits, otherwise, he doesn't have any at all.

Out of curiosity, he clicks on the email since it has been awhile since anyone rotated in his lab.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Dear Professor Choi, I hope this email finds you well. My name is Y/N, and I'm currently a bioengineering grad student who is interested in rotating in your lab for the upcoming quarter. I have been thinking about diving deeper into computational analysis, mice behavior, 2-photon excitation and opto-stim work. I've spoken to your postdocs, Sunwoo and Belle, about their current projects and potentially collaborating since they seem to be touching up on all these aspects. I was hoping we can find a time to meet and chat a bit to see if it would be a good fit. The deadline to submit my rotation selections is coming up, so I'd like to make sure we meet beforehand. Let me know, happy to work with your schedule! Best, Y/N Y/L/N

The thing about San is that he's pretty good at picking up on a student's vibe through their emails. It's the tone, the professionalism, the way they write and carry themselves. He can tell when some people are a little more egotistical and ignorant, and he doesn't want people like that in his rather small, but mighty lab. His current grad students and postdocs all get along well, and they're bright people who are very passionate about their work and studies. He doesn't need people thinking they're above the others. In addition to that, he can also tell when students are just trying to get their name on a published paper doing work in his lab, or when they're just trying to wing their way through grad school. It's a shame, but he definitely has come across a few students in his inbox. They do exist.

You, though? He's intrigued. You seem bright. Genuinely passionate about the specific areas you're interested in diving into. Poised. He appreciates that. He quickly scans over your CV and the little blurb at the bottom that highlights the work you've done in your undergrad years and internships. Your work history. He sees that you've already dipped your toes in a few of the different areas you've mentioned. Worked with a few professors he knows. You've volunteered at a couple of places.

An all-rounder.

"Did you see it?" He almost forgets he's on the phone with Jongho.

"Mm, yeah. I'll respond in a bit, I think I can meet on Thursday. Sorry, I just got a little distracted. Saw another email about a potential rotation student."

"Gonna take one on this quarter?"

"Maybe. If it fits. She seems to be interested in a lot of the work we do. She knows Sunwoo and Belle."

"Oh, nice. That'll be cool."

"What about you? Taking on a rotation student?" Jongho is an assistant professor in the electrical engineering department, and he is often bombarded with inquiries himself. He usually always has a rotation student, and they almost always choose his lab to work in after their rotation program is up. San doesn't blame them— Jongho is brilliant, and his work creates a lot of different pathways for students to navigate and try. San's can be a hit or miss; it's quite niched, and students often find that it genuinely is tough to play around in his field.

"Yeah. Think so."

"Alright. Thanks for giving me a heads up. I'll check my calendar and respond in a bit for sure." San eyes the email. "It does sound like a good collaboration."

"Figured you'd say that. Thanks, my guy! Take it easy and good luck on your progress report."

"Appreciate it." San gives off a toothless smile even though Jongho can't see him. He slides his phone off to the side and checks his calendar, upholding his promise to Jongho about responding to the email ASAP. He keeps his email short, letting the group know he can make the meeting at the desired time on Thursday to talk about the potential collaboration across labs.

Then, he pulls up your email and checks his calendar once more.

From: [email protected] To: y/[email protected] Hi Y/N, Thanks for your email - for sure! I think there's a lot of possibilities we could visit, especially with Belle and/or Sunwoo's projects. Can you pop into my office on Tuesday morning? 10am good? We can chat then. — San

"Oh shit." You slow your chewing when you see the email notification pop up on your screen during dinner.

"What?" Felix asks, turning his attention towards you and causing Jiung and Eunchae to do the same.

"Professor Choi answered my email."

"That was quick." Jiung takes forkful of food into his mouth.

"Professor Choi as in San or Jongho? Cause they're both hotties." Eunchae swoons and twirls her hair, making Felix scrunch his nose.

"San."

"I'd kill to be a rotation student in their labs." Eunchae giggles. "What'd he say?"

"To meet him at his office on Tuesday to chat more."

"Well, that's good! Which other labs were you looking at?"

"I'm not sure. Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho. Kim Namjoon—"

"Isn't Professor Choi's ex-wife with Professor Jeong now?" Jiung looks up with a squint.

"Yeah, apparently when it all went down, it was a mess." Felix chimes in, and you continue to type away at your phone. "Imagine your wife having an affair with your bestfriend."

"Harsh." Jiung does a head tilt.

"I guess they don't interact much anymore, do they? Seems to be water under the bridge."

"I don't think so, but Professor Lee works in the Chemical Engineering department so they might have to from time to time if students in her lab wanna be co-advised or collaborate with him. Professor Jeong, though."

"Awkward. At least they can keep it civil." Felix shrugs at Eunchae's response.

"They lowkey have no choice." Felix looks up in thought before shrugging. "Still sucks to know your bestfriend was involved."

"Seriously." You add.

"Either way, those are good labs to possibly rotate in. It'd be cool if you could get into Namjoon's lab. Heard he's cool as fuck even though he's the department chair." Felix tosses his napkin into his empty paper bowl.

"Yeah, same. I'll keep you guys updated." You send off your response to Professor Choi with a small sigh. "There. Hopefully my rotation will be settled for the quarter."

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Hi Professor Choi, Yes, I can meet you at 10am on Tuesday. Thank you, and see you then! Best, Y/N

"Maybe you'll get more out of the rotation, especially with Professor Choi." Eunchae nudges your side and you let out a small yelp before you playfully pinch her bicep.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jiung snorts.

"I'm just saying, he's successful. A hottie. Young. Single—"

"Here she goes." Felix lets out a breath.

"Bro. Calm down." Jiung laughs. "He's still a professor."

"What if you two get close during rotation and he falls in love with you?" She looks at you ever so seriously.

"Relax." Felix laughs. "What kinda movie did we fall into?"

"Eunchae, please." You poke her cheek. "You know we rarely ever see the professors in lab. We get like.. five minute meetings with them and that's about as much of a personal interaction we'll get. They're busy people. Sorry to burst your bubble, bae." She shrugs.

"It was fun to think about." She giggles. "But no, that'll be a good experience for you if you get to join his lab for rotation. The others are great, too. Is he your first choice for a dissertation advisor, though?"

"As of now, yeah. But, we'll see how it all goes."

"Keep us updated." Jiung sips some water. "I think I need to reach out to one more professor for this quarter. Needa figure out my shit before classes start."

"Same."

Meanwhile, San sees the notification from your email pop up in the corner of his screen and he immediately presses on it. He smiles a bit when he realizes how easy scheduling that meeting was— most of the time, people say they'll work with his schedule but end up pushing back. He slots you into his calendar before he can forget and switches his attention back to the progress report he's close to finishing up.

San thinks it'll be nice to host a rotation student again, as the experience has always been useful, eventful, productive. He thinks it'll be like any other time; the experience being useful, eventful. Productive. He trusts in his group, the students, to come up with great ideas and be able to execute from start to finish.

So, he doesn't think much of it. He thinks he can hand you off and trust you with Belle and Sunwoo.

Little does he know that's where he gets it all wrong.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @lynnsqueendom

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