#it also wasn’t ooc with how it went nor is that said often so i think it’s a lot of audience projection

[indeliblemarking]

abuse / trauma obviously isn’t an excuse for behavior and we see that notion applied (rightfully so most of the time) in fandom but i feel like in catra’s case you really can’t remove her suffering when analyzing why her redemption is written the way it is. she’s abused interpersonally and systematically as a child soldier from toddler age and it warps her perception of every relationship in her life to the point where she isolates herself to extreme degrees to the point that she’s consistently on the brink of a mental breakdown. yes she treats people like garbage yes she makes horrible decisions but her case is like…very extreme. and that’s not to necessarily play trauma olympics with characters in other pieces of media but i feel like people kind of downplay how that factors into her reasoning and also sort of forget how young she is throughout her entire story, flashbacks and all. so obviously the show is gonna have the good guys extend sympathy and not have her prove her worth. (which is one of the main ideas that messed her up in the first place) her arc needed more time but I think it’s unnecessary to devalue it just because the characters aren’t mad at her for as long as you want them to be, they offer her love and support as she exists but still don’t excuse or enable poor behavior and don’t allow her to be in their lives and make morally corrupt decisions. anyway ik it’s 2024 but that’s something I’ve thought for a while

[okaylorrainee]

words never said

characters. lo’ak & female omatikaya reader.

genre. romance. angst

synopsis. arranged as a mated pair, lo’ak never focused on becoming a good husband for you and often pushed away your feelings for him. only when you’re dying in his arms did he realize what he was losing, but it was all too late.

contains. aged up characters (adults). ooc most likely. character death. unhappy marriage. the sullys never went to awa’atlu. the clan still lives in hometree.

note. counting this as my 180+ followers special ! hehe. i hope you guys learn something from this :p let me know your thoughts! (but don’t be mean i am weak)

also on ao3!

a shawl made of leaves wrapped around your form as you stood silently in the middle of your kelku, watching your mate frantically search for his battle gear. jake sully had called the warriors again for another raid against the sky people who were planning to take over yet another area in your clan. the raids have been happening quite frequently now, and being the son of the olo’eyktan himself, lo’ak, your mate, was expected to participate in all of them. 

you grew worried every moment he wasn’t here. you prayed to the great mother he’d come back to you in one piece, safe and sound, but you knew it wouldn’t always be possible. every time the war party came back, someone would be gravely injured. most of the time, a couple of them wouldn’t even return - their corpses lying cold on the battlefield.

thankfully, your husband was a great warrior. although he was reckless and often didn’t follow jake’s orders, he was witty enough to survive all the hits and attacks of the humans, and also, your brother-in-law, neteyam, would always be there to keep him in check. not once did lo’ak return with a fatal injury, but still, you couldn’t help but worry.

in front of you, lo’ak grunted, securing his battle band around his waist. he grabbed his hunting knife from the ground and wiped away litters of dust the blade caught from lying on the floor. his brows formed wrinkles on his face as he frowned, and you didn’t really know why he was upset again right now.

“please be careful, ma’yawntutsyip.” you uttered softly, but he didn't reply nor look at you. even if it was usual for him to do this, it still hurt you. you tried not to mull over it too much.

still ignoring you, lo’ak turned his back on you as he moved to exit. he was leaving again to battle without saying anything, while you were here, dying with concern over his safety. it pained you so much how it seemed like he didn’t care about you every second of every day since you were mated. but you still loved him anyway. he was your mate, your husband, your second half.

before he could completely leave you, you took the chance to say, “i love you, lo’ak.” something you never failed to tell him every day, just to remind him that you were here, that he had you to come back home to. “please, will you say it back just this once?” it took every bit of your strength to plead to him, you just wanted to hear him say it.

your words made him stop in his tracks. he turned his head to the side to spare you a glance, and you tried to fight his cold eyes. you saw how he clenched his jaw as if he was going to say something, but he sighed and turned away before he could. saying nothing else, he marched out of your kelku.

you felt your whole body relax as soon as he left, you didn’t even notice how tense you were while he was here. still standing in the same spot, you looked around your kelku. some stuff were disordered from how much lo’ak moved them around while he was searching. when the air entered from the opening of your kelku and touched your skin, the heaviness of your heart became difficult to ignore, and you simply inhaled deeply to try to calm yourself down.

tears started welling in your eyes and your lips quivered. you were upset. so so upset at how cold and lonely you felt in your own home right now, so upset that you have to clean up all of these cluttered things as if you were once again fixing up the mess that was your union with lo’ak. 

you tried to keep your sobs quiet as you knelt to pick up the things your husband didn’t bother to put back properly. it was always like this with him. while he never yelled at you nor physically hurt you, lo’ak also was never affectionate to you. it was like he wasn’t even your mate. it was like he was just living with you in the same home, sleeping in the same mat and hammock. it was like he never acknowledged you as a lover with how cold he was towards your advances.

you envied the other couples who would profess their love, kiss and hug, and reassure each other every time the other went to battle. why couldn’t lo’ak just love you, try to, or even pretend to?

from what you knew, to him, you were just someone his parents tied to him for life in order to keep him ‘in place’, to show the people that he is a desirable son and son-in-law like his older brother, to make the people know lo’ak is capable of finding a mate and providing for her and for a future family. 

and you understood how he felt and why he was like this to you. you convinced yourself really hard to. every night when you lay beside him whilst he slept soundly next to you, you were crying to yourself, trying to understand that he was still just busy proving himself to his father, proving himself to the people that he could catch up to his older brother, proving to everyone that he wasn’t just some rash failure. you understood why he couldn’t focus on you, even if you were his wife.

as a husband, lo’ak never fulfilled his marriage duties. he only mated with you once and never again, and that was during the ceremony in front of eywa. many of your heat cycles have passed but he never touched you no matter what you did. you often wondered if it was because he had his eyes on someone else. but you’ve confirmed long ago that lo’ak never flirted with the other women in the clan. he was simply too busy with the war and with proving himself, but you loved him all the same because you supported your husband, you only hoped he’d love you back one day. 

hours have passed since he left. while he was gone, you decided to stock up on some fruit by yourself. you could’ve joined the other women who were also waiting for their mates, but you wanted to be alone so you could think and calm down. you were solemn the entire time, even as you returned back home with your basket full of his favorite fruit.

at the moment, you were sitting quietly in the middle of your kelku, weaving a new mat for lo’ak so he could rest in a clean one once he got home. but the silence didn’t last long when it was interrupted by the stomping feet and crying of a child running to your home. all at once, you dropped everything and hurried to the child’s side, gently taking her into your arms.

you cupped her face and looked at her with eyes full of worry, “what is the matter, ‘evi? why are you crying?”

the little girl continued to sob in your arms. “my brother, please. the tawtute.” her sentence was incomplete, and she was crying uncontrollably but the words ‘brother’ and ‘tawtute’ were all you needed to hear to understand what was going on - the sky people were near, and her brother was in danger.

your breath hitched but you tried not to panic. what were you going to do now? you were not a warrior. you were just a common clan member whose role is to weave clothing and collect fruit for the people. but you knew how to shoot an arrow as it was required to come-of-age, and you knew it was enough to at least help and stand up for this little child and her brother. she came to you because your kelku was the nearest, and there was no time to look for someone else. as an adult of your clan, it is your duty to protect them.

with a deep breath, you pulled away from her and quickly took the old bow and arrow sitting next to your shared mat with lo’ak. gripping its handle tightly, you said, “take me to him.” 

the little girl wasted no time in dragging you with her deeper into the forest. you weren’t sure where she was leading you. every step you took made you grow more anxious about what you were going to face. 

soon enough, you heard the sound of running water nearby, and you understood that a waterfall was just here somewhere. the little girl suddenly stopped running in front of you, and she tugged your arms, giving you a look to tell you that you were here. 

you heard the voices of male humans chattering in the vicinity, talking about ‘dna’ and ‘new avatar’ in their language. you couldn’t understand what they were saying and only those three words gave you the gist of what they were talking about. even if your husband was quite fluent in the language of those demons, you still didn’t understand. lo’ak never taught you after all. but all that matters right now is getting her brother back, you could worry about the rest later on.

you bent your knees slightly to meet the child’s eyes. placing your palm on her head, you whispered. “go hide. i will take care of everything.”

still with tears in her eyes, she nodded at you before running back to one of the trees behind you.

you took a deep breath before stealthily approaching the voices. your steps were gentle as you crouched, the crunch of the leaves you stepped on was non-existent as you made your way closer. as soon as the soldiers came into view, you took a while to observe the situation. the na’vi boy was tied up, back faced to you, and two humans were in front of him, armed with large guns scouting the area. 

you quietly moved and hid yourself behind the tree that was next to you. with your back pressed on its trunk, you took your arrow and started positioning your bow. you can do this, you can do this. you encouraged yourself in your head. there are only two of them. to you, the humans themselves weren’t scary, they were a lot smaller than you after all. just one harsh slap and you could make them fly away. it was their weapons that concerned you, you didn’t understand how they worked.

you held your breath as you stepped away from the tree, arms raised whilst you aimed at the human. you planned to shoot them consecutively before they could react with their weapons, you knew you could do it. and so, without further hesitation, you released the arrow and allowed it to fly through the air, stabbing the human right on his head.

the man hadn’t even dropped to the ground when you took another arrow and stretched your bow to aim at the other one. again, you shot the man on his head, and you watched as both of their bodies collapsed on the ground with a thud.

you sprinted to the boy’s side, who began crying from relief the moment he saw you. when you knelt in front of him, you immediately started to untie him from the ropes, reassuring him that he was safe now and to not worry. as soon as the boy was free, he tackled you into a grateful hug, sobbing into your arms.

“mawey, mawey.” you patted his back, carefully pulling him away from you. “we need to go. more of them will come. go!”

he was nodding as he stumbled standing up. you gestured for him to run, and he obeyed, darting to the direction of hometree.

you stood up to trail behind him. but before you could even walk another step, a loud mechanical thud was heard from behind you. you grew cold, already aware of what that was. you spun around reluctantly and were met with a soldier in an amp suit aiming his firearm right at you.

what happened next was a blur. you didn’t have the time to grab your bow nor react, because when his weapon erupted a loud bang, it was already over for you.

–

the ikrans shrieked as they landed on the branches of hometree. the war party was surrounded by a crowd of family members, all looking for their warriors in worry and anticipation of their return. lo’ak, who was in between his father and older brother, dismounted his ikran as his eyes searched for a particular na’vi among the people. 

he puffed out a disappointed breath when he couldn’t find who he was looking for. were you mad at him because he didn’t say ‘i love you’ back earlier? this wasn’t new to your relationship, so what was different now? you never missed his arrival. were you finally getting tired of him?

lo’ak’s lips pursed as he followed behind jake through the horde that was their clan members. neteyam who was walking beside lo’ak, felt his younger brother’s sour mood but he decided not to mention it anymore. the entire day and weeks before having been stressful enough. with the raids going on and lo’ak constantly going to him for advice about his marriage, neteyam knew if he dared to bring it up, it would only make his brother appear more upset in front of you once he got home. 

as the three of them made their way through hometree, they came across a young na’vi boy wailing in the corner, circled by a few other adults who were trying to calm him down. jake didn’t hesitate to go near them.

“what’s going on here?” jake asked, his two sons standing with him on both sides.

the boy wiped his tears away, trying to meet the eyes of his olo’eyktan. “s-soldiers ambushed me.” he wanted to explain more, but his voice was shaking, and it was all he could say.

“where?” neteyam leaned forward to join the conversation.

“near the waterfall.” the boy sobbed. “i was able to escape because my sister called for help.”

“help? who helped you?” lo’ak asked.

everyone fell oddly silent from his question that it made jake and neteyam look around in confusion. lo’ak raised an eyebrow, waiting for the boy to answer. “well?” he urged him to reply.

the boy only hid himself in the arms of the na’vi who was comforting him, sobbing louder than earlier. what could he say to the husband of the person who saved him? when it was already clear to him what happened when a bang echoed through the forest?

the people looked at lo’ak with sympathy, and he stared at them one by one, trying to process and understand what their expressions meant. he grew cold every second when none of them uttered anything. what were they doing? why were they looking at him like this? like they were apologizing? 

lo’ak’s expression darkened. your absence, their apologetic looks. it couldn’t be, right?

he released a deep exhale as he straightened his back. lo’ak’s world stopped as realization struck him. suddenly, everything was silent. he couldn’t hear the child’s sobbing, the people talking around him, and neteyam calling his name from literally right beside him. all he could hear was a long high-pitched ring on his ear, and there was a string in front of him ready to snap any second.

his lips were parted as he breathed heavily, trying to calm himself whilst he turned and walked away from them without a word. jake was calling him but he ignored and continued to his ikran. you? you helped that boy? you weren’t a warrior. how could you fight? lo’ak’s jaw clenched as he thought about it.

neteyam hurried to lo’ak’s side, grabbing his arm to catch his brother’s attention. “bro, calm down.” 

lo’ak snapped his head at neteyam, eyes burning in anger. “calm down? how can i? my wife, my mate. she is in danger!” his voice raised, catching the attention of almost everyone around them. lo’ak harshly pulled his arm back from neteyam, and all the man could do was stand there dumbfounded.

jake nodded to neteyam with a knowing look as lo’ak mounted his ikran in front of everyone. the animal shrieked louder than ever, mirroring the burning anger of its rider. and as lo’ak commanded his companion to fly away, jake and neteyam ran to their ikrans and followed suit to fly to you.

lo’ak couldn’t think straight as he flew, and his ikran could feel it. his blood was cold, and he was shaking in worry. he was hoping, praying to the great mother silently in his head that he understood their looks wrong and it wasn’t you who he was going to find there. that you were just asleep in your home, tired from weaving, and that’s why you weren’t there earlier when he arrived. lo’ak was sweating, even as the cold air ran through his skin as he flew - he didn’t know what he would do if it was really you.

for the past few weeks, lo’ak had been visiting his older brother, asking him for advice on how to make things better for your relationship. neteyam was always the better one, and even lo’ak couldn’t disagree with that. lo’ak knew that he struggled with expressing his emotions and with controlling the relationship especially because it started out rough when he initially didn’t want to be with you. he was hoping his brother could help him sort his thoughts out, or at least, help him form better words to explain and plan out the slow change he wanted in your marriage.

lo’ak learned to love you as months with you went by. at first, he thought you were pretending to love him and that you were settling for him because he was used to the others mocking him for not being as great as his older brother. but lo’ak saw how genuine, kind, loving, and caring you were towards him - how could he not fall? 

lo’ak treated you harshly because he felt bad that you were tied to a failure like him. he wanted you to find someone better so you could be happier, because he was still in the process of finding himself. but lo’ak knew that deep down, he couldn’t really let you go. just thinking about you being with someone else irked him so much, he would rather be skinned alive than to live through a day seeing you with another man. and so, lo’ak built up his courage, and tried so hard to prove himself to everyone, so that one day, he could love you, and nobody else would be worthy enough for you than him. after all, you were his mate, his wife, his second half.

lo’ak, neteyam, and jake arrived by the waterfall just in time when a soldier in an amp suit was picking you up with its hands, motioning to walk away from the scene.

lo’ak’s eyes glowered at the sight, blood boiling as he became angrier. your limbs were swaying as the metal suit held you, and lo’ak knew you were unconscious. his ikran glided through the air at immense speed as he yelled from his throat, taking his bow out and aiming the arrow straight at the soldier inside the suit.

the amp suit collapses in an instant when the arrow stabbed through the human’s head. the sudden motion made the suit’s arm throw your body into the air, and you fell harshly on the ground with a cruel sound. 

lo’ak kept his eyes only on you when his ikran eventually landed, jake and neteyam right behind him. lo’ak practically jumped off of his ikran as he rushed to your side. from his rear, jake was in the background ordering neteyam to scout the area and look if other soldiers were around, but lo’ak ignored them and only focused on you.

lo’ak knelt beside you, grabbing your arm as he assessed your body. jake towered behind lo’ak, and he could only watch sadly for his son - he knew that from how you looked right now, you were already dead even before they arrived, but he couldn’t bring himself to point that out to his grieving son.

“no, no, no. please, please.” lo’ak shook his head, refusing to believe the state you were in right now - blood running from your mouth and everywhere else that was shot in your body. this was the first time you could’ve heard the concern in his voice for you, but you couldn’t.

lo’ak began tearing up at the sight of you, and he forced his tears away so he could assess your face better for any sign of life. “you’re not dead, you’re not dead.” he repeated to himself as if he was convincing himself. 

when you didn’t answer a word nor any movement, his grip tightened on your cold hand, and he yelled a cry. it was the first time jake saw his son cry that much. “please come back to me, baby, please!” he pleaded, hands moving to cup your cheeks. but your lifeless eyes only stared back at him. 

i love you, lo’ak. please, will you say it back just this once?

“i see you, i love you! i always have, please!” he wailed the words he never said, the words you have longed to hear. but it was too late, your arms were limp, and you weren’t responding; you couldn’t hear him anymore. your body was turning cold every minute that was passing; you were dead and no matter how much lo’ak pleaded and cried beside you, you weren’t going to come back. he knew this, but he was refusing to accept it.

jake could only watch as lo’ak started to yell out his cries. 

the regret of being too late, the regret of losing his other half forever, the regret of never giving you the love you deserved, the regret of never saying the words you deserved to hear - would eat lo’ak up for the rest of his life, because you died never knowing how much he loved you too.

©️ okaylorrainee 2023. please do not re-upload, translate my content anywhere without permission.

tell the people you love that you love them before it's too late!

[eri-baby]

chongyun crushing on a shy/dense noble fem!reader

a/n: this idea has been on my mind for a long time now, and i'm finally posting it! chongyun is probably very ooc, but listening to his character's voice-over's gave me the idea that he's just an earnest guy and i found that adorable.

i picture that chongyun first saw [ ] at a banquet where all the wealthy and influential were invited. she was quiet, reserved, rarely speaking to anyone. it was hard not to notice her when gossip about her was circulating all around the room. they called her a mist flower because she's "a cold person" and yet they appreciated her beauty. [ ] is expected to become one of the leaders of liyue in the future, maybe even one of the qixing, because of her family's influence and her being a well-educated young woman. chongyun ignored the rumors about her and respected her resolve to make liyue a better place.

from that day onward, chongyun wanted to know more about [ ]. they were similar, after all. chongyun and [ ] were both cold in the eyes of the public. he thought he would be able to get along well with her. he had nothing but respect for her.

whenever he had a comission, he asked clients or locals within the area about the noble [ ]. he discovered that [ ] often travels around liyue to personally watch over the state of each area. if anything were ever amiss, [ ] herself is the one who creates solutions and funds them. she shut down businesses that were swindeling people, found new jobs for the innocent workers involved, and earned back money for the victims. he found more admiration for her.

xingqui turns out to be somewhat childhood friends with [ ]. they spend time together every now and then. xingqui described her as a well-meaning girl who can never get her point across because of how awkward she is. she focuses more on the problem at hand and solving it rather than interacting with others which makes her come across as prickly.

chongyun was excited when he heard that [ ] had spoken about him. she asked xingqui about the young exorcist, and commented that exorcists like chongyun help maintain liyue's glory. it took him two months to stop centering all conversations around [ ]'s passing comment.

he has attempted to speak with her, even frequenting areas she was said to be seen in often, but the most he would get were glimpses of her before she scurried off or was escorted away by one of her chaperones. it disappointed him greatly that he never had the oppertunity to speak to her since he was so invested in her and her work.

i think he would barely realize his own feelings for a total stranger. xingqui and xiangling are sick of hearing about [ ]. they're scared of the day [ ] actually talks to chongyun. she's the only other thing on his mind other than training and exorcism.

he was disappointed and ready to give up on ever talking to [ ] after months of trying, until he was assigned to a comission in her estate. apparently weird things have been happening in her room. items have been misplaced, at night there were whispers coming from the closet, banging noises were coming from the walls. it caused her family great distress.

chongyun was, needless to say, stressed about making an appearance in [ ]'s household. how should he introduce himself? how should he speak to her? will he be able to speak to her? what should he bring? he bothered both xingqui and xiangling as he asked all these questions over and over again. xingqui was so annoyed that he finally relented, telling chongyun that lady [ ] is fond of the glaze lily flower. chongyun was gone before any of them could say another word.

the local florist in liyue harbor had not even a single glaze lily in stock. chongyun had to go all the way to a faraway town where a different florist was. he was lucky it was a colder day. with a boquet of glaze lillies in hand, he was ready to travel back to lady [ ]'s estate. on the way back, he passed by a little girl who was in tears. the little girl had dirt stains on her clothes but no injuries. she begged him to save a girl who had gotten trapped in a cave. the little girl was looking for her doll and she asked the girl, who's physical description matched [ ]'s, to enter the cave with her. the girl relented but inside they were attacked by a ruin hunter. the girl managed to get the young child out of the cave before rubble fell over the other entrance. it had been a long time but the girl still hasn't turned up.

chongyun immediatly dropped the glaze lillies in his hand and rushed to the direction the little girl pointed in. the cave had two openings, one of which had been blocked by rubble. chongyun went through the second one. he found at the other end lady [ ] fighting off a ruin hunter with her bow. chongyun finished it off for her.

he immediatly dropped down beside her and asked her if she was okay politely. she had no idea what to say, in fact she wasn't even expecting any help, and nodded quietly. he noticed that her ankle was swolen so he used his cryo vision to ease her pain. he quickly helped her up, even carrying her despite his fear of triggering his congenital positivity. he was lucky that the weather was cold and so was the cave, and that [ ]'s body temperature was also cold because of her vision.

"I am Chongyun, from an exorcist family. I was heading to your home, Lady [ ], to deal with the evil spirit in your room, until the little girl you had rescued stopped me and asked me to help you."

"I... see. We'll have to double your payment for saving me, Exorcist Chongyun."

"Oh, no! My services are free of charge!"

she became quiet and smiled to herself. he could hear her quiet giggles, making his cheeks heat up slightly. he worried about his congenital positivity.

both of them were somewhat awkward and dense. the truth was that they were both panicking. chongyun had no idea what to say and neither did [ ].

chongyun was the first to speak after a few minutes of awkward silence

"I'm sorry I don't know what to say to you."

"I have no idea what to say as well."

they both laughed together about being dense in social situations. from then on, conversation flowed somehow a little easier because they found that they had something in common. the more they spoke to each other, the more similarities they found.

it turns out that her reputation of being a cold person was a result of her being misunderstood. [ ] doesn't know how to say things other than straightforwardly, and when she panics she has a tendency to freeze up making her tense in conversations.

chongyun as well had a one-track mind. everything he did was to become a better exorcist, which made him terrible at conversations especially outside of the exorcism business.

she spoke about the responsibilities of supporting the nation of liyue and her dream of traveling every inch of their lands and waters because she wanted to be one of the pillars of liyue in the future. it was her dream to become a qixing, like ningguang, to support liyue's growth.

he shared his dream of becoming the greatest exorcist. he wanted to find an evil spirit or demon that wouldn't avoid his congenital positivity, and to be able to control his congenital positivity. his dream was to rid the world of all evil spirits as the greatest exorcist in all of history.

they each shared the hardships of reaching their dreams and their desires to reach their goals. it was everything and more than he imagined talking to her. he had always wanted this oppertunity to speak to someone similar to him.

they reached the outside of the cave only to be met with servants from [ ]'s estate. she was taken away from him and rushed back to her home while he was thanked for saving her. apparently there was no evil spirit in their estate, at least not a real spirit. they were abyss mages planning something terrible again and [ ] was the victim. her family sent servants to pick her up from this town, only for them to hear from the little girl about what had happened. chongyun was greatly compensated for his help. he didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to [ ].

weeks had passed without chongyun seeing nor speaking to [ ]. he sent her a "get well soon" present but received no response. each passing day made him more and more depressed, which xingqui was not used to. xingqui told him that [ ]'s family was probably trying to keep her away from the public and were being overprotective but it didn't make anything better.

aether came in with paimon and a package in hand. he had somewhat a smug smile on his face, having some awareness of chongyun's crush on [ ]. he said that he had been comissioned by lady [ ] to deliver the package to chongyun directly. without allowing aether to finish his sentence, chongyun took the package from the blond's hands and carefully opened it.

inside it he found a letter and a jade insignia. the jade had an intricate glaze lily symbol carved on it with other symbols chongyun could not recognize. he brought out the letter and read it.

Exorcist Chongyun,

I apologize for not sending you a thank you note earlier nor seeing you at all these past few weeks. I haven't found a perfect oppertunity to escape from my family until now. My leg is fully healed, and I can even run. Please be assured that your present and the glaze lillies you had intended to give me have reached me. The little girl I was helping gave them to me and said they were from you. Thank you for such thoughtful presents.

I am aware that you don't accept payments, so instead I have sent you this as a gift. It's an insignia that identifies colleagues of mine and allows them to enter into one of my private and personal cottage. Rest assured, there will be plenty of cold sweets for you waiting there and the cottage itself is kept cold.

Please see me at Guyun Stone Forest. The insignia will lead you to me.

From [ ].

he barely finished that letter and he was already out. as the letter stated, the insignia did lead him to the secret cottage. on one of the mountains, there was a contraption made of stone that he would place the insignia in and then a stairway would appear. it led him up to a snowy floating island with a cozy cottage.

[ ] was sitting on a swing supported by a tree and waved to catch his attention.

"Greetings, Exorcist Chongyun."

"Hey, Lady [ ]."

[rpbetter]

I'm a novella roleplayer who writes long-term threads. Since this is very rare on tumblr, I've noticed that many muns are intimidated or put off by how much I write, how much information there is on my muse, and other things inherent to long-term roleplay. People have even told me outright, "I'm intimidated by you". But I do wonder if there's another component besides, well, just the amount of writing I do. Maybe there's a way to negate some of this by using certain techniques, wording, etc in my rules and overall presentation. Do you have any advice on how to reduce how intimidating I seem, even with the amount of writing I do? Any particular things I should avoid? And at what point should I just not worry about it, because it's out of my control?

Hello, Anon! Thank you very much for this question, I think it's a discussion many could benefit from. That should probably be head's up for everyone that this is going to get long, yes.

People have also told me, outright, that they're "intimidated," and I know that's something my writing partners have been told as well. It's also something that seems to be a common statement toward novella roleplayers in particular, and one's chance of having it said increases with factors such as being a long-term RPer, particularly good vocabulary, visible skill with writing, and indeed, having a muse you've dedicated obvious time to developing - made obvious in not only the amount of information available on your muse but also in your confidence about that muse.

I honestly do not think most people who say this any more realize that it's a little offensive than they know precisely what it is they are trying to tell you. Regardless, it makes it a bit hard to know what you're doing, if it's actually something wrong, is it something you can or should change, or is it just another case of being the minority in the RPC, therefore, having more muns out there that you're not suited to writing with? No one knows, because it's vague!

So, I’m additionally going to beg everyone out there to not say this. Please, if you find yourself categorizing another RPer as “intimidating,” do everyone a favor and consider what is making you feel this way, even if you never tell them this. Eventually, you will tell someone, and if you’ve thought on it already, you’ll be better able to express yourself in a way that is neither offensive nor vague. If you do tell someone they are “intimidating,” expand on it and be specific. Tell them whether it is the length, writing style, the mun OOC, it’ll be very helpful. You needn’t be shitty about it, just honest and polite.

Try: “I’m not confident enough to write with you, I don’t feel like I’m capable of writing that much, or that well, but I would love to keep following so I can read it!”

You’ve not been offensive at all, but have told them what your difficulty is. You’ve also kept this a you problem, not a them problem. When we tell people they are “intimidating,” that is a negative connotation that implies they are doing something wrong. We've made it a Them Problem. Maybe there is something they could work on, but your feelings over perceived limitations aren’t their problem. They can’t change the way you feel about yourself and your writing in contrast to theirs. By saying it this way, it’s still clear that you don’t think this will work out, you’ve told them why, and you’ve done it without projecting responsibility.

Alright, sorry, just in case anyone out there who says this and isn’t immediately turned off by the length of this reads it.

As I said, I've been told this as well, when it seemed like a mun that would be alright with me asking for specifics, I have. Unfortunately, they couldn't describe those specifics in any more detailed terms. I'm not saying this to shame anyone's capacity to describe their impressions or wishes, sometimes even the best writers aren't good at expressing themselves more personally. I'm just saying that a clearer description wasn't possible, and that I am taking this from what has been expressed by these people and others in limited ways, directly stated or vented about vaguely.

The length appears to be the predominating issue.

"It's just a lot," "I feel like I'd miss things in it," "intense," and "I like quicker back and forth" are some of the major points that have been made to or around me. They're the first and primary things that are mentioned, and they all deal with the length (though, the intensity thing also deals with the writing itself).

As you already know, as a novella RPer and how unpopular that is, the length is usually an issue, yes. Let me rephrase that - it is an issue that is a part of the vague descriptor of being "intimidating," I do not feel that lengthy RP itself is a problem! Just the problem that some muns are having with seeing you as a viable, approachable RP partner.

Looking at someone's writing is something I always highly advise doing while looking for new partners, but I believe that our writing as novella RPers can obscure it for some when they're not actively a writing partner yet, thus, not involved in it. I enjoy reading threads I am not a part of, and since everyone I write with is also novella, that means I'm essentially reading short stories every time I do - that's not typical. Most people just see Wall of Text in a novella thread they're not involved in.

It's kind of a seeing the individual trees in a forest situation, and might not have anything to do with the mun's potential interest or viability as a partner. I mean, I doubt you're looking to engage interest of short multi-para or one-line muns, since that isn't your preferred writing type and yours is not theirs. So, you're likely looking at the few and far between other novella and any lengthier multi-para muns. So, it's not going to be an issue of simply being novella, thus immensely overwhelming and not their thing. It's more likely to be that your novella is particularly lengthy, and again, they're not yet involved in it. They’re seeing a task, not the fun engagement of it yet.

I know that I've had several mid to lengthier multi-para muns approach me wanting to write, they're usually interested specifically in beginning to move toward doing novella. They also see the fruits of these great storylines, OOC friendships, and in-thread relationships on the dash, not the building that went into them. The expectation is different from the reality, and once they start receiving my replies, that can quickly turn overwhelming. They've now got something on their hands that has been too lengthy for other, established novella writers, and it's all at the beginning still with the muses.

This is when I tend to get that I'm intimidating from people who have begun to write with me, and I think it is telling of the Wall of Text problem with partners you've not gained yet, too. The problem of how they're viewing the writing is that they do not see things within it that are immediately, and easily, engaging to them specifically.

The people I referenced, they're having the same problem. Our muses do not know each other, there is no established connection of animosity or affection, no "dynamic" to fuel their replies. When looking at a lengthy novella reply and trying to judge interest in writing with the mun, they're naturally not going to see that either, since it doesn't exist yet.

And it might not exist at all.

I want to be clear to everyone that I am not saying one needs to write in a way that is not enjoyable to them, I'm just guessing at problems based on the majority of the RPC's interests and what I have been told over the years, a lot of years. Like, no one come at me about forcing anyone to write anything, or being acephobic or something fucking nuts, thanks!

People are really, really into the romantic ships. I do not care what the RPC says because it knows it's the right thing to say lol if it wasn't true, it wouldn't be a huge, and totally observable as true, problem that characters who are hard to ship with or do not ship are passed over. Regardless of beautiful writing, engaging muses, and incredible worldbuilding, they're passed over because they're not a ship partner in the waiting.

So, it's quite possible that if you do not have threads in which there are observable ships, muns are seeing the Wall of Text because there's nothing that grabs at their particular interests. I don't even just mean smut, either. I've found that far more muns than there used to be are willing to not write that, but they still want the ships.

You might be a RPer who does not do shipping at all, has a difficult to ship with muse, or who simply does not place this as a priority in your own interests. There is nothing wrong with either direction of this preference! It’s alright for people to have preferences, even if they can feel annoying to us because they’re leaving us out, or we genuinely just do not get the thrill. It’s totally okay for people to not be interested in shipping, or not place a particularly high value on it, and more muns than the RPC realizes feel this way. It’s as unpopular, and far more limiting, take on RP as being here openly only for them is. There’s nothing wrong with you as a writer or a person if you don’t write ships and smut, but it is the opposite of many people’s interests here. This would be something you can’t control, yeah. It’s still good to know as a part of the puzzle!

They see a lot of things they do not have any instant feelings about and/or what they perceive as interaction points. As, unfortunately, the predominant mode of writing here is reactive, and in brutal honesty, often self-interested. It's not rewarding to many muns in this RPC to build stories cooperatively together for the sake of those stories and love of the muses, they require putting their muse on display, having impassioned interactions through that muse's reactions.

So, you might be writing the most vivid scenes, the most beautiful character study, and letting your muse be a fleshed out, realistic person, but they're seeing "I can't react to this."

Which is, by the way, bullshit. Not just that it's bullshit as a way to try to write together, it's also bullshit in that you can react to anything. You can react to, literally, nothing. If you're muse has said not a word to mine for an entire reply, not physically interacted with them, they're just sitting there in a chair staring off into space (also not a great way to write, but I'm giving an extreme example) the whole time, I can react to that.

To be fair, my primary muse is really uh, busy, let's say lol it does make him both incredibly easy to interact with and very easy to generate natural reactions from. And that might also be a problem people are having...

Your muse is quiet.

They're the opposite of someone who is physically or verbally “busy.” They think more than they move or speak, they remain at emotional, verbal, and physical distances from others. The quiet, and still, type on the outside.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that, I love reading a muse's internal processes because I'm approaching this as a reader as much as I am a writer. It doesn't need to be something my muse can know or react to for me to enjoy it, I want to enjoy your muse, other people's muses are part of the joy of RP for me. And not just in what I might achieve having mine interact with them. There are muses mine very, very much did not work out with that I have continued to enjoy the stories of for years without writing with them!

But that's me. And I'm weird.

A lot of people are going to look at the sort of writing, particularly when not involved with it yet, and see...Words. Maybe they don't find them boring or any such thing, but they can't so easily envision themselves responding to it with the sort of vigor required to reply with length in kind. It's again the same dual issue going on that might just be making your writing difficult to approach.

It might be legitimately daunting, and might be more so if...

You're well-written.

One would think this would be a boon to written roleplay, but I haven't seen it be that in a long time. On tumblr, that has weirdly come to signify "elitism."

It's not just more legitimately intimidating for some out there because they feel they cannot write as well as you, might appear lacking or boring, end up dropped because of it. No, of course not! It's tumblr, where decent behavior as well as logic comes to die! It's because they've gotten the idea that you might be shitty to them because you posses more experience, skill, or innate talent with writing.

That's not helped when every time someone is told on any basis at all, in any manner at all, or one has any existent expectations for RPing that someone else might take issue with as though they're being forced to comply with them instead of not interacting, people freak out and call it elitism. Since most people who choose to be mutuals only and as such, are going to have to decline sometimes, are also those who are lengthier RPers...we're all categorized as Elitists.

People see what works for us as different kinds of RPers as something that is in opposition to them, and judgement of them. We can’t have scores of active partners when we write ten thousand word or more replies to everyone, it doesn’t work for us, and that doesn’t mean we think you’re an awful RPer for doing this differently than we do. We’re just exercising boundaries that are necessary for the way we enjoy it. Like how much length in return, literacy, and dedication we’re going to give and expect in return. It isn’t passing judgement, but when you want to write with a particular portrayal and they’re limited threads, mutuals only, novella and it shuts you out of the interaction, it’s easy to agree with the posts you’ve seen condemning differences of choice as elitist and hateful.

While you'd hope that people would exercise their own judgement, with the way that the RPC is so often on edge, you can't entirely blame people for being willing to believe they can identity a potential source of unpleasantness to avoid. As wild as it is, that includes people within the novella community. Your OOC is too well-spoken, your writing is too well-written? Might be an elitist. Even while they write much the same way as you do without realizing it!

I think when most people say someone here is "intimidating," it's not exactly what they mean, but for others, it's more literal than it is literary.

If you have any reason to believe this might be part of the issue, while I would never advise anyone to alter their writing to be something they personally feel is lesser than what they're capable of, you might want to consider a greater air of the casual in any OOC posts you make. Try to be as approachable there as you can - so long as that doesn't mean lying about it, of course! If we're genuinely not that gregarious or socially open, we shouldn't act like that's the case. That sets up one party with expectations that are neither true nor going to prove anything but frustrating to the other party.

I've had some success with that! And, even at my most casual, I'm not the most approachable of people lol I come off as rather intense, kind of aggressive, way too salty, curses flow from me like water during a monsoon, interspersed with...well, things like "interspersed." So, if I've seen success with that, it's possible that muns who are more genuinely gregarious, chill, and verbally polite people might see it as well!

It seems to be a case of allowing other muns the opportunity to see that you, yourself, are not frightening. You're just a person like they are, and a person who isn't going to be hateful to them if they are not perfect writers or perfectly on your level of writing. When that is apparent, approaching the writing itself is more openly done - yes, this mun has a grasp on description/dialogue/vocabulary/descriptive scenes that I do not, but they don't aggressively think they're the shit for it, so, it's safe for me to try to interact.

The Wall of Words that was once a poster for how badly they might be treated is now a collection of RP replies.

Write for the partners you want to attract.

Again, I do not want anyone to stop writing in the way they enjoy! However, what we put out is also what we attract to a large degree. It could be that your writing is an attractant for only a very small portion of the RPC, and it already is, by virtue of being both novella and the sort of novella it is.

That's very easy to do anyway, but even more so if we have few partners to write with. What we have on display is minimal, it might not have the range we're actually capable of, and therefore, might not be attracting that range of muns.

This is something I have experienced as well, though it was a little different a situation. Upon first writing RP on tumblr, I couldn't find anyone writing novella. I could barely find anyone doing short multi-para. Just as I'd find it inappropriate for someone approaching me to insist that I do one-line RP because it's what they do, I didn't find it appropriate to force novella on these muns. That's what I agreed to by interacting with them, after all! It isn't what I enjoy doing, however, it's harder for me to write short replies, so, I was consistently on the lookout for novella partners.

Those novella partners couldn't exactly see decades of my lengthy RPs, though, since they didn't take place on tumblr. They could only see the current threads, which were all quite short and rather limited in range of action, tone, muse interaction, and so on. Basically, just about whatever someone was willing to give me, and those things were pretty similar. I couldn't exactly blame potential partners for looking at this "resume" and thinking that I just thought I wanted to write novella, but was capable of neither that nor the sort of stories I wished to create.

Since I couldn't find partners to organically give me these different things, I wrote them sans partners. Much of this was in headcanon form, showing that I had spent quite a long time thinking about my canon character as more than was presented in canon only, as well as showing that I could string more than a paragraph together, but it seems like you've got the muse information down, so this might not be the best direction for you.

That might be the other thing I wrote to this end: one shots.

Especially as I do not do open starters as someone who requires some plotting, these served as a way of allowing various situations to be displayed in which other muns could better see what interacting with my muse was actually like. They could see that this truly is the way I'd prefer to write, this is a better display of my muse under various conditions and emotions, and this is how interacting with my muse as this or that type of person might go.

I don't know if you have a canon, OC, or multiples of both, but it also seemed to be helpful that I took canon events people might be familiar with and wrote snippets of them from my muse's perspective - yes, even if they were already in those events, it shows your unique portrayal. People like that for the same reason they like fanfic, a dozen people can write a canon event and give you a dozen different takes on it. It meant that they'd be more likely to read it at all, too, let's be honest.

If you have an OC, you can flesh out a fandom-specific verse they have by writing such a one shot revolving around a fandom event. I'd say not to directly insert your OC into a major canon event, but if you're going to anyway, be sure you are giving realistic changes that might occur with this character's presence in that event. Not going overboard and making them the thing that saves the day, not just having them there in the midst of some great cataclysm miraculously surviving to bear witness only. It's still my advice to place them within that world and have them aware of an event.

Something like...trying to think of a fandom and event the most people would be familiar with here...your OC is in the MCU or has a verse there, they're employed as a police officer with the NYPD - tell me what they did at work the day of the invasion in New York City in the 2012 Avengers. Did they see superheroes in the distance while they and their fellow officers were engaged in a situation they were in no way equipped to handle? And how did your OC feel about that?

That sort of thing.

If it's a canon, try to think of a situation that isn't represented among your current threads, but that is also going to be of interest potential partners. If you have few threads showing your muse in friendship with another, find something in their canon that does. No threads with much action, go for that. Show an aspect of your muse that was present when they were younger, but that is downplayed in them now. Show some things that will be new information from your unique portrayal, and do all of this while displaying your range as a writer - you can be more serious or more fun, can destroy someone with angst or make them hope a ship works out well.

This way, you're showing people what all they might get, not just what you've been given to work with. That can go a long way toward negating feelings of "intimidation" if all they're seeing is you doing one thing extremely well, so well that they feel they cannot compete with it. So, yeah, write the things you feel you're not good at, too! It puts people at ease to see you're not perfect either.

As regards rules...

Oh, boy...lmao with no intent to inflame anyone's righteousness here, so long as your rules are conveying what you feel they should, they're fine. I'm not going to say that rules cannot be a turn off, that you shouldn't find a voice that is clear, polite, and when it needs to be, firm. It's simply that you do not come off as someone who needs to be told that, Anon. If you're worried about how your rules might sound, they're almost certainly fine.

However, rules are the way they are for a reason - if you feel like you're coming off as too strict, harsh, whatever, there might be a reason why that was your first inclination. If you remake them to be softer, are you going to run into the same problems that caused you to harden them before?

I know, you're trying to attract people and downplay a notion of being "intimidating," but it's important to realize that, short of either finding a way to please everyone who comes across them or telling everyone to do whatever they please, you have no opinions, expectations, or needs, you're going to put people off. I've seen people be incredibly offended by the nicest of rules simply because they were rules. They were still clearly stated boundaries that did not align with what was desired.

For example, if I were to have in my RP rules the following:

My rules are basically just have fun and don't be a dick! This is just a hobby, I'm not paying you.

That's going to turn some people off and anger them because that's, firstly, incredibly vague, secondly, the latter part has become seriously negative.

If I were to have in my RP rules this:

I have a lot of detailed rules because I want to only write with people who will be as dedicated to it as I am, I'd rather we know now than later that we're not a good match before anyone is disappointed or offended!

That's going to turn some people off and anger them because it is contrary to the way they view and partake in the hobby. To these people, it'll come off as ridiculous expectations that are aggressive despite the wording not being so.

The point is, because this is a hobby dependent upon interacting with other people, there is a lot that is out of your control.

I probably should have done a better segue to this, but hey - most of this is out of your control.

By its very nature of individuals interacting, what is "intimidating" means different things to everyone. What I find to be that, isn't going to be what you find to be so. You can't know what someone, let alone everyone who says this, means by it in order to make those changes.

Some of those changes are a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation, like the rules.

Other changes are undesirable. You, obviously, cannot RP without partners, but it's no good making changes that will see the partners you won't work with being added, or that will ruin the things you enjoy about RP. If changing your writing style is going to do that, don't do it. If opening up new types of plots is going to do so, don't do it. Anything that is going to excessively give you stress or personal disappointment isn't a change you should make. That’s the sort of shit that was meant by it being “just a hobby” in the beginning - you’re not obliged to make yourself miserable like you are at a job sometimes, and you aren’t beholden to the standards of a professional author unless you wish to be.

It's wonderful that you're addressing this problem from the perspective of what you can do! The idea of changing much of anything is a negative one to many people. They have to be carefully approached to even consider that as a possibility, and once they do, it's more often than not that the reaction is volatile. We never think we're perfect until someone so much as loosely implies we might need work on something. So, your willingness and interest in what you can do to fix something nebulous is both incredible and a credit to how approachable you probably are in all actuality.

It bodes really well, is what I'm saying lol or...it would, if this were not the environment that it is. One in which people do react with volatility to anything that does not go exactly and immediately the way they desire. Including wanting to interact with a particular muse, then seeing that the mun doesn't write in their preferred style, length, or with their desired topics.

Many times, that's really what is meant by "intimidating." It isn't truly that they're afraid of you or your writing, but rather, that they're not getting exactly what they think they want, in the way they want, on the timeline they want. But they don't want to be offensive, they're walking on eggshells like most everyone is when telling someone, "I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll work out" is tantamount to personally attacking them.

So, giving what they feel is a compliment that still shuts down the possibility of someone trying to push for interaction anyway, that becomes the best approach. They're not giving you specifics because no, they may not even know those specifics, it might just be the feeling your writing gives them, but they're also not giving them when they have them because they don't want to be unfairly taken to task for the crime of being honest with you. After all, when we don't know someone OOC yet, we don't know that they're a reasonable person. Telling someone, "I like what you're doing, I love your muse, but the tone of your writing isn't something I can reply to, it's just too different," might have them defensively putting words in your mouth.

As I said, asking someone for details didn't get me very far. I've had to try to piece together what "intimidating" means to many different people over the years by what they tell me in conversations away from the mun they said was thus more than anything. So, don't expect that you'll get much either, but next time someone tells you this, if they seem like someone who won't take as you pressing for interaction and react badly, ask them to give you specifics. Tell them you'd like to know what makes you intimidating to them so that you can work on it, that it would really help you out to know. Make it about them helping you, not declining you.

Just going off of the only writing I have from you, which is definitely not sufficient (if you'd like, you can always submit a portion of your in character writing or tumblr message me some of it so that I might be able to be more effective) since it's both short and OOC, I'd say people might feel that you're not...relaxed? Not entirely the word I am looking for, I apologize! But something in that vein!

It doesn't come off like you're frighteningly or excessively official to me, but knowing tumblr, I can see it. Because you are quite well-spoken, and even in this casual format, you are displaying good grammar and principle. Fifteen years ago, I might have also felt something like “intimidated" by you!

Like everywhere, tumblr is full of educational snobbery. Which is insane, considering it's also full of crimes against writing that make me want to rip my hair out, but anyway...the mark of being authoritative is to display one's intellect the only way we truly can here - by suddenly out writing everyone. If we're already establishing ourselves as well-spoken muns, we've laid the foundation of being capable of utterly destroying someone publicly by shaming them on a core level.

Tumblr is also full of people who are not at a point of life experience, and the writing experience accrued within it, to use what they've learned in the higher education the majority have or are presently obtaining. It's easy for younger people to feel pre-offended by someone who writes with more skill and confidence than they do. They've bought into the notion of such validations of superiority, but they can't quite lay those down upon themselves yet, or see that they’re capable of this and it doesn’t make them an elitist, so, it’s absurd to assume everyone else is on the same pretext.

Please, everyone here under, like, 25, I'm not shaming you. I've obviously long internalized it as well! When I'm angry, I don't become less articulate, I become more so. That probably says something unpleasant about how well I understand this problem. So, don't be offended. It's a societal problem, we're all impacted by it. It just takes a little bit to realize these things is what I'm saying here. Not that you're dumb and malicious because you're young and learning.

With this in mind, it's very possible that some younger muns, or muns who have otherwise been given cause to feel they are lesser than you because of your proper writing, might be intimidated by it. Part of that is also that proper writing, and verbal speech, can come off as lacking warmth. It can be impersonal, give fewer clues as to someone's tone when that's already lacking in writing that isn't descriptive, as in an RP thread itself.

Again, I always have a bit of an issue recommending someone change something vital about themselves, and one's mode of writing is that. However, you might want to consider giving way to some indicators of not being official in your OOC behavior toward others. It's something that I did, something I will admit I still struggle with as well. I'm not naturally inclined to add things like a :) or a xD because I have some problems conveying those things either correctly or organically in person. If I'm not either, literally, acting or feeling something intensely, I'm the grand master of resting bitch face no matter what I'm feeling.

As a quick on-the-safe-side interruption: people, please, I am aware that some forms of neurodivergence can exhibit in struggles with understanding and conveying tone, as can be the side effect of some medications and physical conditions. It’s possible that you have this difficulty, Anon, it’s possible that some of the people you have approached do. Advising how to work on understanding and conveying tone with these difficulties in mind is a huge post of its own, however. (Though, if people might be interested in it, I can add it to the list, of course.) All we can do is try our best, work on it, and if we know we have this issue, politely warn partners in your rules so they know you’re not coming off less emotive and warm intentionally. You’re not thinking yourself in an ivory tower above them. I so do not want to be bitched at about how advising someone in ways to be more approachable in text is ableist, just don’t. I don’t know you, Anon, so I don’t know what difficulties you may or may not have, if you do have some complication that is impacting this in your own opinion, please, just send another ask and I can work with that information more specifically!

It's also...it grates on my nerves when people text speak, I'm not going to lie. So, forcing myself to do anything too close to it feels like someone has separated the halves of my brain. I do it because it can make people more comfortable, I don't sound like a damn robot like I easily can when trying to explain something with a lot of specifics, for example.

What was easier was letting go of the inhibition of writing conversationally. That is always something that is advised against intensely, it isn't proper writing. Don't write like you speak, and all that. It's often been my inclination to write conversationally, even if I struggled to let the hell go and actually do it, and when I allowed myself to do so, people responded to it much better. It's something I get compliments on as a part of what can make my storytelling immersive, humorous, relatable, and frightening. (Just so that the last bit there isn't confounding - in addition to the professional writing that sometimes pays for my internet, I write horror lol...now y'all know! I deal in "freak shit," I'm sure.)

People responded to me much better. I still get that my writing is intimidating, but it tends to be over length and wording more than being wholly unapproachable. Too like trying to respond to a novel that most people would only listen to if it was about a character they were deeply into and read by an actor they were also deeply into. There seems to be a more natural engagement with the material for more people this way.

I'm only using this as an example of something I found that worked to some degree in making me more approachable, meant to say that there might be something that you would enjoy, unique to yourself, that would make your writing more approachable for more muns. I'm in no way recommending that you, or anyone else, try to go with what I did! That isn't going to work out for everyone, of course. It isn't everyone's solution in those specifics, just the idea that following what people have expressed they especially enjoy about your writing could be a good path.

Other things to consider:

When you have obtained a new partner who says this not in declining further interaction, but within a conversation or one of those interaction memes, especially if you are writing them a starter at this time, experiment with what you can do in your writing that makes it more approachable. I say “experiment” because this is another point of individuality, it's naturally going to vary like everything else.

Like I said above a few times, most people approach RP in terms of reaction. And, again too, that's part of RP. I didn't say it earlier because I felt like that was obvious, but after considering...how tumblr is, I probably should say it. It is necessary to have things to react to in order to build the interaction between muses and their world. I believe in the “yes, and” method and having things to react to. My meaning by saying that people approach RP in terms of reactions was that people excessively do so. Their muses have trouble existing fully in their own right sometimes, they literally require multiple points of possible reaction.

So, give it to them while you’re figuring each other’s writing out.

When you're writing your starter or replies, give them what I call Actionable Points in unexpected places. For example, when your muse is doing as I said earlier, sitting in their chair, having Deep Thoughts they're not expecting any action within, give them something in the environment itself to interact with. Perhaps there is a pet, an insect, temperature change, or sound for their muse to notice.

He was still, as though the animating force of his very soul had flown. So entrapping were his thoughts that the ladybug making its way across the floor, technically before his eyes, escaped notice. No notice, even as it briefly took flight like a tiny, skipping stone across water, headed for where his attention would truly prefer to light as well.

Which would be, of course, the other muse in the room. They can't interact with the things in your muse's mind that you're revealing to the mun, but they can have their attention jump to the insect. They can also react to your muse’s facial expressions, most people make micro-expressions even while in thought, but this isn’t as active or available.

Just small, simple possibilities that make no difference to the immediate happenings in the thread. They can become things of great difference, that's half the fun of it! How something like a bug can alter the course of a thread's trajectory is really cool to see happen.

By doing this, feeding multiple Actionable Points into the reply, you're giving someone who feels intimidated by the thread's length and weight more points to feel active within it. If they can see themselves interactively within the text of the story, it's less intimidating I've found.

Eventually, people relax and start creating these points for themselves. They're now part of this story and its direction, so they organically see things within it. While their muse is in the room with the Chair Muse, they notice a ladybug on the floor themselves because they feel comfortable and confident enough to create that sort of realistic moment.

Most of my experiments of this nature have had that objective - make my writing partner feel more confident about their writing, muse, themselves. It either works out wonderfully, or...you can spoon-feed some people actions, ideas, and confidence forever without them ever taking up the spoon themselves (some people will totally miss the spoon every time, even). At the latter point, if they're still feeling unconfident about writing with you, "intimidated," it's never going to change. It might be better that this be addressed as something that simply isn't going to work out for either of you.

Because it can become tiresome to do this. Tiresome and disheartening, and you never want to set yourself up to feel like you've wasted your effort and energy. That's a great way to experience burnout and frustration.

Another thing to make yourself, and by nature of that, your writing, more approachable and available is to put out a decent variety of memes for people to send you and engaging in tagging games. Not only do these not need to be writing memes like starters, it's better that they are not! If someone is intimidated by you/your writing, they're not going to engage with a meme meant to begin a thread.

Reblog memes that are meant to be answered OOC like headcanon asks, writing asks, and asks about the mun. Do tag games with tests in them, bolding aesthetics or other information, and those that give details about the muse...or even yourself, there are Munday versions as well!

The point of doing this is to show people you want to interact with them, neither you nor your writing is scary and removed from the vox populi of the RPC. You're not someone with so much skill that you're above such common pursuits. You're just another RPer with the same things of interest as they do - enjoying yourself whether it's something silly like a quiz that tells you what coffee your muse would be or an in-depth headcanon. Just another mun who loves their muse and wants interactions with them.

This, too, is something I tried, and it might have been the most successful thing I did. It's even easier to do these days, as more muns don't just tag people outright, but rather, offer that anyone can take it, they just want to be tagged back so they can see the results. You don't have to wait for someone who neither knows you nor knows whether you'd be alright with being tagged to tag you in them anymore!

And as an aside, this is why I encourage that. I've seen some muns out there taking issue with it, thinking it lazy and less interactive for people to be forgoing tagging others in it. Yes, it is unfortunate that you might miss such a game from a mutual or friend, but you do realize you can go to their blog anytime? You can search their tag for these kinds of dash games, or scroll what you missed while you were away, and I recommend doing that anyway with close friends because tumblr's notifs are perpetually screwed.

It's not less inclusive, it's more so. I think it could even go a distance toward lessening the illusion that all friendships in the RPC are "cliques." Instead of the same five muns, none of whom are you, being tagged every time because they occur more quickly to the mun who interacts with them often, there is an open invitation for you to do it. It allows muns to be more visible to those they haven't established friendships with yet and allows others to put themselves out there as approachable and interested.

Alright, back on topic!

Send others these sorts of interactions when you see them. Unless someone has it in the tags or their rules that memes are only for established writing partners, send them an applicable meme.

Applicable, in this case, would be those OOC-answered memes. With most muns, it would be poor form to send in memes that are too personal. Such as sending someone you've never really spoken to, plotted with, etc. a particularly raunchy headcanon ask. I was going to give an example, but for the sake of keeping this SFW lol...we all know the sort of ask I speak of.

With some muns, this isn't an issue. Any excuse to talk about their muse is a good excuse, and they'd not have reblogged the meme if they did not intend for people to send it in. I know that I'm such a mun, and unless someone only ever sends me sexually explicit questions like this, I don't mind at all. It's just an aspect of my muse to detail in a HC.

Just exercise reasonable awareness - "read the room." If a mun seems to answer those questions from anyone, then it is alright to send them in. If they have established openness on these discussions, have nothing in their rules that would imply they'd be perturbed, etc. Conversely, if they've established such opposing behavior that you have to wonder why they posted this meme at all? Don't send anything from that one. They may be trying to establish greater comfort with these topics, but whether they realize it or not yet, they may not be ready for this to sent by anyone who isn't a very established writing partner/friend.

You want to be attracting good attention, demonstrating that you're not someone intimidating, not giving muns any reason to be disturbed by you. Even if they openly asked for it!

This brings us back to: no, really, a lot of things are out of your control.

How people view us isn't as up to us as we'd like, on or offline. Everyone has preconceived notions, biases, and developed preferences. And everyone has had experiences that lead them to react differently to all of these things where they do and do not exist.

Unfortunately, the RPC fosters a serious environment of paranoia, hostility, and the inherent defensiveness of both. Even when that is coming across more peaceably, it can lead to things like...the multiple muns I've known in the last two years alone that seem to almost panic and block potential partners for extremely negligible things they're perceiving as a red flag portending of inevitable bad behavior.

I really do mean irrational actions that are often contrary from one move to another. One potential partner is too exuberant in response to plotting, they are designated a red flag for being too inclined to pester OOC. Another is lacking exuberance and does not easily come up with plots, they are designated as being too passive a partner who will drop. One is too nice, they won't possibly be able to tell that mun of problems in the thread, another is too aggressive, they'll do nothing but stress the mun and fight with their friends. And on and on.

It's not an unreasonable situation, as we all continue to be reminded, the RPC is far more hostile than it should be for what it is. We all (that's not entirely true, but let us pretend it is) want to avoid problems and enjoy the hobby, but in the attempt to avoid those problems, we often see them where they are not.

So, you really cannot control whether someone designates you as being too much this, too little that, an inevitable problem. Your presentation is in the eye of the beholder, just as what "intimidating" is, is in the eye of the intimidated.

You can only try to identify the things that might be putting off the most people you want to write with, work on them when and where they will not ruin your time here, and hope for the best.

It's wonderful that you care, but it's also wonderful that you seem willing to accept that there are things you just have to let go of as already being out of your hands. That's honestly the best way to approach RP, period. The only things you are fully in control of are your own creativity and your behavior. That's it, in the end.

Present yourself with honesty as to who you are as a mun, be as approachable as you truly are, and know what you're looking for in writing partners.

Personally, from what little I have seen of you, Anon, there isn't anything that glaringly needs changing. You're not possessed of a shitty attitude or unrealistic expectations. You seem like a pretty reasonable mun to me who is struggling with something any of us who concentrate on the writing do; being vaguely told we're "intimidating," and seeking other partners who are interested in the same variety of RP we are.

That's my final point to touch on, and the one most likely to piss people off: there are different varieties of RP, and the people telling you this might be in the wrong corner for you.

That doesn't make them bad RPers or anything, variety is good, it's an open hobby! We're not all compatible, though, and so many problems arise from muns not accepting this reality, but rather, taking extreme offense over it.

No one I have ever established the sort of RP I enjoy most with has told me that I am "intimidating."

The people who have said this to me have been those who would not have worked out anyway. That's not said in some bizarre bitterness lol I have the best writing partners, I could not ask for anything more! It's just said in honesty of continuing to see them on my dash and/or interacting with friends. They blog and muse hop often, prefer the genres and fandoms I do not, and so on.

Changing to be less intimidating to those RPers would put me back where I started when joining the RPC here years ago, and while it's great that a lot of people enjoy RP the way they do, I don't. I worked rather hard to get away from it.

So, you do have to consider what you want. Do you want any partners, or do you want the right ones for you?

I'm genuinely glad that people are enjoying themselves, especially when they do not have hateful things to say about those who enjoy RP differently than themselves, but it'd be nice if some of the niches in the RPC were a bit wider! It shouldn't be this difficult to find people in a writing hobby who are invested in the writing, but it is. And it is something you should keep in mind when figuring out this whole "intimidating" thing.

So, my ultimate recommendation would be to assess whether there are things you can be doing to make you, as the mun, more approachable so that your writing is less “intimidating" to people within the RP corner you’re trying to attract, but consider whether the people who have said this to you might just be looking for different things and not as viable as partners as you might have liked. There are definitely more RPers on tumblr who do not enjoy RP in this way than there that do, and while the only thing you have control over is yourself, you don’t have control over how you and what you are putting out there is perceived.

I really do think that most of the “intimidation” problem comes from different varieties of RP and what muns have been led to believe about them. You check off a lot of boxes for the false perception of “elitism,” as a literate, long-term, novella RPer. People are going to see many things that you do in a threatening or off-putting light through no fault of your own because of that. Even other, lengthier writers can fall into that because they feel overwhelmed at the volume of content you have, for example. A thing that should be promising of how well-developed your muse is and how committed you are to your interest in them can come off as overwhelming to people who are less well established or interested in being around for the long game. I certainly don’t think it’s a good idea for you to remove that material or stop writing it! I cannot encourage people enough to do what you have!

Maybe, since you expressed concern of this specifically as well, you could consider how it is presented?

Do you have approachable formatting on those posts? Do they appear to be a lot of very plain text, or do you practice adding some graphics like a header and dividers, formatting that also breaks up the text like segmenting it into clear topics with bold, bigger text, and so on? Is it the opposite and potentially difficult to read, like using font that is smaller than the default small size available, or incredibly busy with colors? It’s a difficult balance, and one that will never be 100% appealing or accessible to 100% of the RPC, to make things visually appealing, easy to read, and informative while being engaging. It could be that you have information people would love to know, but the design of how you’re putting it out there is adding to them feeling overwhelmed.

Maybe, consider how it is placed on your blog, as well? Using specific tags for organization and having a detailed navigation might help. Instead of someone pulling up every one of your many HC posts in the HC tag you have, they could choose specific topics to view at their own pace with a little more control over it. Giving people some control in their experience can go a long way to giving them comfort in it!

So, let’s say you have a headcanon that addresses how your muse portrayal diverges from strict canon, and in that HC, it’s important to address their mental health and how it impacts their relationships with others. That’s a great HC, it’s going to be informative, but it has multiple topics within it. You’d want to tag it with the overall HC tag, a tag for your “player canon” topics, muse metal health discussions, and a general tag for your muse’s relationships/interactions with others.

When you do that, in your navigation, if someone clicked your tag-based link for all information pertaining to the muse’s mental health, they’ll just get that. They’ll see this headcanon post, they’ll see all relevant, tagged posts you’ve made or reblogged, but only that pertain to this topic. They won’t also get twenty extra posts that don’t discuss this, but do discuss your muse’s personal opinion on making bread at home and why sourdough is a labor of love. Unless, of course, your muse is partaking in that labor of love as an exercise that benefits their mental health, of course lmao

Delineating topics for people to engage with at their own pace, need, or interest can prevent them from scrolling through what could be hundreds of HC posts. We all desperately want people to read every one of our posts, especially if our portrayal is different from canon or popular fanon or we have an OC whose entire existence has to be learned this way, but we have to resist the temptation to make people read them all, and all at once. Because that is how it comes across when someone pulls up a ton of HCs - they may be super interested, but it’s a lot that they may put pressure on themselves to learn immediately, back to back to back. It begins to feel like a task quickly. Most people who are genuinely interested in your muse and writing are going to end up reading all of them eventually! If they don’t shut themselves down on doing so prematurely, and this could be a way of helping them avoid doing that.

Hell, if you’re really feeling it, you can even link to closely related posts and your navigation on those HC posts! Just mention at the top of the post that this is related to the one linked here, and to find more informative posts on any topic, please visit the navigation page here. You can even remind at the bottom of the post with just the links.

While like anything, it could make people feel you’re too organized and “serious” about RP, but you probably want other “too serious” RPers to interact with, so it might be a passive way of establishing partners that won’t work out. I think, for the right partners, an organized system they can interact with easily would be appealing, and again, a lot of people in the RPC do have problems that disrupt their ability to engage with a great deal of content at once. This might make them feel less overwhelmed and frustrated by themselves, or negative about themselves that they cannot but aspire to your level of content and organization.

Willing to bet that much of “intimidation” comes from negative feelings about oneself projected outward protectively and unconsciously, honestly. So, when you see ways to combat that, take it on. Make it clear that you’re not expecting anyone to be anything other than themselves, you appreciate your partners’ unique approaches and skills. The more of them you have, the more approachable you are proving yourself, too.

Since you are interested in long-term and have so much material on your muse, I have to assume this is a case of having gone on hiatus or had partners who have left. You could be appearing as less approachable because you’ve few interactions, and that’s a problem that will start correcting itself as you have more of them. If that’s the case, it may be adding serious frustration in the slow process of getting your foot back in the door, but I believe you can do it!

I hope people haven’t made you feel too anxious or bad about yourself by telling you you’re “intimidating,” Anon. Try not to internalize it or make into a more serious matter than it is! I really do think it has less to do with the RPer being told that than it does all these other factors, poor ability to express ourselves very much included. You’re interested in what you can do, willing to accept what you can’t do, overall approaching this from a chill and reasonable place, I think you’re going to find the people you need to with this attitude!

Keep at it, keep doing what you love, and my sincerest best of luck to you! Thank you for giving me the excuse to discuss this topic, it’s an important one that I hope made some difference to others out there as well. I apologize that took me a minute to get it out, and that it is still a bit more disjointed than I’d have liked.

[popculturebuffet]

Goof Week: Goof Troop: Forever Goof Review (Everything’s Coming Up Goofy, Good Neighbor Goof, Gotta Be Gettin Goofy) (Commission for WeirdKev27)

Yahhahhooooeeeey all you happy people!  WELCOME TO GOOF WEEK! Now normally when a character who got their start in theatrical shorts has a birthday, I do a marathon of them. I have since last year with Donald and it’s one of my favorite things: it allows me to explore Disney’s rich history of them I was largely unaware of till Disney+, and allows me to revisit the shorts I grew up with in the case of The Looney Tunes or Tom and Jerry while discovering new favorites. SO naturally with Goofy’s birthday in two days I intended to do the same for him, especially since I’d covered Donald and Mickey the same way.

But fate had other ideas. Not thinking about this tradition, Kev, my patreon, friend and the guy who commissions a LOT of reviews from me ($5 an episode if your curious and I WILL make room on the schedule so your commission gets done as soon as possible), suggested reviewing the Goof Troop pilot movie Forever Goofy, later split into the episode Everything’s Coming Up Goofy and Good Neighbor. I loved the idea since I genuinely loved Goof Troop, and decided to do both that week.

It’s then I got a great idea.. why limit myself to JUST doing two things? I hit my 15 dollar patreon stretch goal, so a review of the Goofy Movie was on the Horizon anyway, and for it’s anniversary year Kev has been commissioning House of Mouse Episodes, so it wouldn’t be THAT much of an ask (and it wasn’t) to simply randomly select from a pool of Goofy-Centric episodes instead of all the episodes. 

Thus GOOF WEEK was born, and Kev once again proved vital to all this by suggesting the special Sports Goof from the 80′s. I’d like to give him special thanks as outside of the Shorts Special, which as a patreon he still got to pick one and if you’d like to pick one for Donald’s special, sign on up even one dollar patreons get the honor. , this week is either entirely paid for by him or in the case of A Goofy Movie, is partly thanks to him. I wouldn’t be able to do NEARLY as many reviews nor make money off this without you bud, so thank you. 

So naturally given the idea to do this two parter gave me the idea for this week and that Goofy Movie makes a logical finale for said week, it only made sense to start the week with Goof Troop. Bop-dop-da-da-do-bop, YEAH. 

Goof Troop is the first Disney Afternoon show I ever watched and the only one I watched when I was younger, as Disney Channel used to play it ocasinally when I was younger and Toon Disney would do the same and I even got to Marthoon it when Disney XD did a weekend marathon. Given it starred my faviorite Disney Character, Donald hadn’t worked his way up to tying with him quite yet, I loved what I could grab of it. And as an adult.. it still holds up. It has problems i’ll get into, but it is a real good time so I was exastic to get an excuse to watch some of it and much like with Darkwing wish I had sooner. 

Before I can h-h-h-hit it though, I have to talk about the series history. I ALMOST didn’t find anything: much like the other Disney Afternoon shows there really wasn’t much on the Disney wiki nor wikipedia, google turned up nothing... it wasn’t till I went to the Tv Tropes Trivia Page for the series, where i’d remembered reading about some early versions of the show, that I hit gold: A two part behind the scenes blog post by series co-creator Michael Peraza. You can find part one HERE and part two HERE. It’s a short but fascinating read. 

Speaking of fascenating Peraza himself is someone i’d never heard of till reading this article but damn if he isn’t a legend. Seriously the guy’s career is as an unsung hero, starting work under the Legendary Nine Old Men, and working on some of disney’s greatest films: The Great Mouse Detective, Aladdin, The LIttle Mermaid, and Beauty and the Beast, along with live action cult classics Tron and Return to Oz via concept art. And concept art is where he’d hit his stride: he did conceptual work for all the big Disney Afternoon shows apart from Gargoyles, being one of the key guys in the early days of Disney Television animation. He didn’t stop at just designing things either as he worked as Art Director for Ducktales, The Proud Family and of course given how vital he was to it’s creation, Goof Troop, and to this days gives lectures with his wife to aspiring animators. He even did some guest work for the 2017 Ducktales Episode “Treasure of the Found Lamp!”. So yeah dude’s awesome

So how did he come to be a key part of this show’s creation? Well he’d just finished up some concept work on some other Disney Afternoon shows, and being a company man was glad to report to the Goof Troop..ers to help as the show was having trouble getting off the ground. The reason for this was the creative exec, who Peraza didn’t name out of kindness as the guy wasn’t a BAD person.. just a clueless one, this being his first job in film and tv.  As such rather than work hard to develop around goofy or focus on his strengths the kid threw out one concept after another: The series got it’s name from a pitch that had Goofy as a scoutmaster, something I was glad to finally know. To quote Peraza

“ Although while I was doodling versions of the show that were destined to never see the light of the TV screen,  the pitch date remained etched in stone and kept creeping closer. Various versions would find their way to the surface only to sink again into the wasteland known as the roundfile (trashcan). One moment Goofy was the Captain of the Fire Department, the next day a detective out of the Maltese Falcon mold, or a swash buckling hero fighting The Flying Dutchman. 

The supporting cast he came up with really wasn't very supportive when you consider they sometimes included alien dragon babies with wings along with a large gorilla. Somebody at Walt Disney Television Animation must have really had a thing for giant gorillas around this time as they were plugged into almost every concept we  assembled.”

It was clear that while Goofy COULD fit into just about anything, this exec was just throwing everything at the wall, nothing was sticking, and rather than try to refine his supporting cast, they kept having to throw them out and start over. And dont’ get me wrong, cartoons go through a lot of development and changes as they go.. but it’s usually born from a concept and usually by this point, they at least have what the show will be ABOUT in stone. While i’ve had the same creative changes and what not when coming up with projects that ultimately never saw the light of day, and currentlly some I hope to but might not, I’m not being paid by a studio to do this nor had a hard deadline. I was just spitballing trying to get something anything off the ground before reviewing gave me a steady outlet for my creativity and thus ballanced me to take my time with stuff. Peraza WAS turning out amazing art, like this concept art for the fireman pitch that honeslty makes me want to see it as a series. Who DOSEN’T want to see 9-11 with Goofy as the main character? Throw in Donald and grown up versions of Max, PJ and PIstol (And even not THAT much for the former two, as they did go off to college and all), don’t forget Roxanne this time out and you have a worthy goofy movie sequel. 

So yeah this wasn’t working and the latest pitch was not great: Putting Goofy in ToonTown as a cabbie driving the Cab from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. As Peraza TRIED to point out to the exec, putting Goofy in a naturally goofy setting didn’t really play to the characters strength, his whole shtick being a goofus in a normal world. Enough of an every man to root for but also a slapstick joly weirdo. 

The executive’s INCREDIBLY douchey response, especially since Peraza was a Disney Vetran at this point and had spent quite a lot of time on Ducktales, so he knew what he was talking about was “Do it anyway and leave the “Visionary” part to me”

As you can tell by MR. OOC there, this might be one of the most punchable sentences i’ve ever read. 

So Peraza wasn’t in a great place and was naturally terrified when he got a call from Gary Krisel, president of Disney TVA, asking about the show and to see him about it. 

Turns out though Krisel was a nice guy who already had a great working relatinship with Peraza, and genuinely wanted to know what was going on there and wanted his honest opinion. It’s why i’m not AGAINST executives in animation as sometimes they can come in when somethings clearly not working or allow a smooth transition of power if a propelmatic creator has to be booted off their own show so the show and i’ts crew don’t suffer as a result. It’s just more often than not they cause headaches or cancel shows for entirley stupid or self motivated reasons. But I will give credit where it’s do and point out times where there NOT stupid or homophobic or what have you and this is indeed one of those times. 

Peraza was indeed straight with him: pointing out all the concepts they’d gone through, and like with the other guy honestly gave his opinon the ToonTown Pitch wasn’t working.. and he not only agreed but asked Peraza himself, actually respecting his experince instead of yelling at him that he has a vision that wouldn’t last the end of the day probably. 

Peraza was HOPING this was where this was going and gladly gave him a far less high concept pitch and one truer to the character, quoted in full bellow:

“ My spiel went as follows, "Goofy is a recognized star of Disney animation, so why re-invent the wheel? His son is an average kid dealing with many of the usual issues they face: peer pressure, young love, grades, school bullies, and so on. On top of all that, he has the zaniest, wackiest GOOFIEST dad to live down. No matter how insane the situations get though, they will always love each other. They're a family." Gary asked how I would pitch it and I replied, "It's ONE day in  the life of Goofy and son. From getting up in the morning to fixing breakfast, we see their difference side by side as his son tries to distance himself. No matter what though he knows deep inside that his father will always be there for him, whether he likes it or not."

If your wondering if Peraza noticed that that original pitch line is basically the peremise and emotioinal core of The Goofy Movie down pat.. your extremley correct and he notes that the film was based on said pitch even if he had no involvment with it that I could tell. The series would still use this but the whole embarasment aspect was toned down, and honestly fit a teenager better than an 11 year old.. 

So the exec loved it and Peraza shaped the core of the series: the idea of having Pete as his nemisis, pete having a nuclear family including a gorgeous wife, and the show being more slice of life and what not. He made some great sketches, got roaring approval and then pitched it to rousing success and the rest is history. Goof Troop was a moderate success and The Goofy Movie after it is a classic beloved by all. We have this wonderful man to thank for all that and I also thank him , on the offchance he ever sees this, for bringing Goofy into modern times in a way that did the man-dog justice.  It’s thank to you we got this fun series, two great movies, and a goofy the way he is today: the best of everything about him rolled into one. Thanks man, free review.. not htat you NEED It since you’ve worked on things i’ve covered and what not, but I feel like I should offer.  Outside of Peraza, I found one last bit of making of stuff before I get to the premiere proper. These two early concept shots:

The first has Max who both looks older and has red hair like he did in the shorts. Honestly I see a lot of his Goofy Movie self in thiis design, the only diffrence obviously being the red hair which was wisely changed to make the boy look more like goofy, something kept for the movie. 

The more intresting one is this shot of the Pete’s. Starting with Pete he’s more athletic and has a perfectly tacky outfit. While changing him to be a bit more slovenly honestly fit this version of the character better, I do wish they’d kept hte outfit as the tacky gold and green jacket, the gold chain, the open ollar.. it all fits this version of pete so well, as well as his illusion of being a big shot when he is in fact a medium one. Peg is both slightly younger looking and far more doting and is so different I swear this picture looks like Pete remarried after the divorce and got some lipo. Pistol has about the same design but with a vastly different, more Isabella-ish outfit. Finally we have PJ who looks the same, but has a diffrent outfit and a far more sour demeanor, probably meant to be a bully. My best guess is sthis stuff comes from the pitch, and was likely made to simply get the basic premise across before fine tuning the characters for series

So with all of that out of the way i’m calling eveyrone to join in the fun under the cut and report to the Goof Troop. 

Everything’s Coming Up Goofy:

Our first episode opens in a small but cozy trailer, where Goofy’s cooking up lunch as only goofy could: by making osme meatballs then serving them to his son over a game of table tennis, with Max doing the same. It’s really freaking adorable, and a dynamic i’m not used to since i’m more familiar with Teen Max. Seeing Max genuinely get into his dad’s hyjinks and enjoy them.. it just warms the heart and adds weight to The Goofy Movie by knowing there was a time the two really were thick is thieves before the stygian hole that is high school drained all that out of him. 

So the two are like buddies and pals until the Mailman arrives, not even phased at this point. Turns out it’s a Diploma, and with this Goofy can get a job he’s been up for in Spoonerville and plans to move immediately. Max is devisated he’ll loose his friends and runs away to use a magical mystery box to keep them together only to end up in a land full of frogs with an old man who sounds like his dad minus the drawl and two other tinier frogs and ... I may have the wrong show. In fairness you try dislodging a finale where Keith David runs a 13 year old through with laser sword and then talk to me. 

Goofy is sympathetic though: While he seems a tad oblivous to Max’s worries, it’s very clear he’s jumping on this job and this move so far to give his son a better life. Sure he runs through all the cartoon moving away talking points that don’t work in real life or most other cartoons such as there being a nice lake and that max can make new friends, and Max accepts it weirdly fast because this episode is only 22 minutes and they don’t have time for that subplot... but it’s clear the idea of a better paying job, a secure home not in an alleyway, and some stablility for his son is the real reason Goofy’s doing this, and he probably wants to simply give the boy the childhood he had growing up. 

Meanwhile in Spoonerville, we meet Pete. To my shock this is where Jim Cummings took over the roll he was born for and has played since and with good reasons as Cummings is just amazing with Pete no matter the incarnation and excels here  his penchant for playing jerks, hams and gravely voiced guys all coalesicing. Pete is planning on building what modern toxicly masculine weirdos such as himself would call a Man Cave on his lawn, because Pete is a very SPECIAL kind of douchebag. He also plans to stretch it into the neighboring property, tear down the house there and set it up. 

This is news to his wife Peg, played by fellow voice acting Legend whose stillg ot it, April Winchell in her star making role. Peg is Pete’s strong willed wife who dosen’t put up with her husbands crap.. you know that trope that infected sitcoms for kids and adults of the doofy husband whose either a manchild , a skeevy self serving quipy asshole or some horrible combination of the two. The kind that has still been so prevealant the wife from one of said sitcoms helped produce a show about the wife finally doing the logical thing and plotting to kill the bastard. No really.. that’s an actual thing that’s happening. It’s even got a Little Bit of Alexis as Anne Murphy plays the poor, poor wife. 

And why yes the series is called Kevin Can Fuck Himself. And why yes said former sitcom wife was the same one on a sitcom called Kevin Can Wait who was fired because they wanted to retool the show with the wife from Kevin James other sitcom. That also is very really a thing that happened. Payback is a bitch aint it? Fun too. 

But yeah from minute one Pete is a terrible husband: Peg is a realtor and thus is trying to sell the house because it’s her fucking job instead of letting her husband throw their family deep in debt to very likely illegally demolish a house so he has a giant yard to play in. I mean even if this is all played for jokes i’ts just not funny enough to not make him an utter bastard. The fact his response to her VERY valid criticism and subtextual worry he doesn’t’t take her career seriously is to fake a panic attack, from a very REAL tendency he turns out to have giant breakdowns under stress, to try and guilt her into letting him have his giant public man cave just backs this up.. as does the fact she simply glares at the camera as he’s clearly DONE this before. 

Since I have to put up with this version of him for the rest of this episode, the next, AND a portion of the movie, i’m proudly introducing the Pete Sucks Counter. This will carry over to any other appearances of the guy from here on out. So that’s one for his insane plan, one for disrespecting his wife’s career and one for faking a panic attack to try and win an argument Pete Sucks Counter: 3

So because this episode ran short Peg caves and compromises: He can have the property if it isn’t sold by 9. So Pete does what ANY husband would do: uses his spy camera and booby traps he’s set up in the other house to try and scare away prospective buyers. 

Yeah.. while the show TRIES to have Pete not as his old-timey villian self.. they traded in for him being fucking MODOK. I mean he is a grotesque monstrosity who has a nuclear family and spends all his time in a chair thing and can barely function as a Husband or Father. Though at least I can belivie MODOK LOVES his family which not so much with Pete. 

To prove this Pete tries using a fake spider to scare some buyers then CALLS THEM TELLING THEM PEG IS A CON ARITST. I.e. something that if they mention to her bosses could get her FIRED. He respects his wife’s autonomy, what she wants and what she’s asked him for, which is a fair shot to sell the place before he tries to wreck the place, as well as likely what his neighbors want. I mean I can accept breaks from reality for comedy, snakebird is my boy. 

So I can accept pete has this stuff.. I just can’t find it funny when these shenanignas very transparently show that while he surface level loves his wife he dosen’t respect her or actually listen to her except when she gets angry. He IS the villian so he’s still a slight step among monst sitcom dads but i’ts not great. I can find it funny that his den also functions as a super villian lair though. That shit will never not be great. Also Pete Sucks Counter: 6 For the record: one for the spider itself, one for having traps set up in a property hat both isn’t his and his wife is trying to sell and another for threatening her job and her self esteem as she is baffled at what she possibly did wrong. 

So Goofy and Max get on the road, leaving moving the rest of their stuff to an old coot whose a friend of theres. So it’s goodbye Duckburg, Hello Spoonerville! And yes I headcanon this as Duckburg. Goof Troop is one of two shows that very clearly happened in SOME form, the other being Tailspin, the only difference being the time period (Goof Troop taking place in the 90′s and Tailspin in the 30′s or 40′s) and any adjustments for clashes with the 2017 verse. So going off that, we also know Donald and the boys KNOW goofy and didn’t remotely question his presence, as did the rest of the cast. 

So figuring out the timeline, Goofy likely met Donald in college, even if he never finished college as per an Extremley Goofy Movie, which may not happen the same exact way given Goofy still has his old job and may not loose it in this timeline, though i’d like to think he still meets Sylvia. But point is he drops out, possibly to marry Max’s mom, they end up moving to Duckburg for her work, she sadly dies, and Goofy is left raising Max alone. Donald and Goofy likely bonded as single parents struggling in low paying 9-5 jobs. Goofy left here, likely said goodbye to Donald and the 5 or so year old boys offscreen , and left. As for how anyone else knows him that’s simple: he probably visits whenever he can.  He’s a good friend, genuinely loves Donald like a brother in all continuities, and of course would show up with a progressively more then less grumpy Max every time. As for what I think the rest of the cast would think of him: Scrooge would hate him for his disaster area ways, but at least respect him as a hard worker, he just wouldn’t personally hire him which is.. it’s fair. Beakley would be aggravated by him. Webby would of course like him because she’s essentially him but competent and gay, and Launchpad and him .. god that’d be a joy to see. And drive up Scrooge’s insurance. Della would also like him obviously. I”m really disappointed we didn’t get a season 4 if for nothing else the fact we probably would’ve got another Goofy episode. It also feels weird he’s not in the finale in any way shape or form you know? Why have such a big guest spot for him and then just not bring him or Max back? GIVE ME MORE MAX DISNEY DAMN YOUUUUU So they move right along with Goofy excited to get back to where he once belonged, and to call Pete with the good news on his 90′s cell phone. Pete is utterly TERRIFIED finding out Goofy Comin and tries to send him off course to prevent it. Naturally despite nearly running into a truck, Goofy makes it to Spoonerville by evening anyway and we get a delightful bit that shows off BilL Farmer’s comedy skills as he rapidly lists off all the things in town while driving Max through town. It’s so damn smooth. This also is notable since before this farmer had just played the character in some DTV music videos, which stands for Disney not Denton but god I now want Shock Treatment with the Disney Crew. I mean who wouldn’t want Donald as Brad, Daisy as Janet, and Gladstone as Farley Flavors I ask you. Not sure who every one else would be i’m sorting that out. And if you don’t know what Shock Treatment is, here have this trailer with a nightmarish opening. 

Dammit now I want to watch Shock Treatment again... so I am. Found it in full on YouTube, and I feel no shame in sharing that as it’s not on VOD, nor any streaming service, the DVD, which I own, is out of print, and the Blu Ray is a UK exclusive. This film both needs to be seen more and needs another proper US release damn it!

So naturally Goofy somehow finds Pete’s house.. I dunno maybe Peg’s been sending him letters. Can’t blame her for having a wondering eye long as she dosen’t act on it. She’s married to a walking lump of ego, selfishness and cholesterol and likely only held on as long as she did for the kids. Which for the record Peg as a child of divorce whose parents got divorced rather than keep up a sham marriage or anything.. it’s not worth it. I was MUCH happier that way in the long term. 

Anyways Peg and Goofy happily reunited while they awkardly try to get the kids to meet, with Goofy and PJ not warming up to each other at first, likely because Max just lost all his friends, and PJ clearly had none going into the series from context we’ll get later in the pilot. We also get a hilarious bit where Peg alternates between warmly greeting the goof’s and hilaroiusly shouting at Pistol to not play with worms.. in what honestly sounds like a protype for Miss Finster’s voice. 

Meanwhile the kids try to hide a small crack in Pete’s boat.. which he notices as he’s just about to steamroll the house despite NOT having asked Peg if she sold it yet and just assuming, possibly opening himself and her to a lawsuit

Pete Sucks Counter: 7

Discovering his boat is trashed, he has a comical panic attack, which I can forgive since this was 1992 and they weren’t as well known as a serious problem. Seriously while pete is a bastard man.. the animation on him is GORGEOUS as it is HILARIOUS, while Jim Cummings brings the hell out of it. He’s kept the roll for three decades as of next year for a reason. Goofy ends up accidently destroying his boat in the process of trying to help him as you’d expect. 

So Pete reluctantly lets the goofs sup with them.... and by reluctantly I mean he don’t wanna but Peg’s forcing him, which is pretty much the other half of their relationship in a nutshell: When pete isn’t lying and betraying her, Peg is forcing him to do stuff. As you can probably guess by how harsh i’ve been this aspect has aged INCREDIBLY poorly for me. This is your standard sitcom setup: asshole or dumbass or both dad, put upon wife who has to keep him in line.. but it’s just not how a GOOD marriage works and got so damn draining over time. Again and again we got things saying marriage is awful, comitting sucks unless your young, again and again. It’s why i’m REALLY happy we’ve been getting far better sitcom dad’s and marraiges lately. Bob’s Burgers is naturally the example, with the wife being the less sane one but both having their quriks and neither being so entirely dysfunctional you ever question the marriage. The Louds are another good example: Lynn Sr. And Rita NEVER right with each other that i’ve seen, have a perfectly happy relationship despite 11 kids, and wholly support each other, with Rita happily giving her husband the go ahead to quit his soul draining desk job so he could pursue his deream as a chef, and later letting him take a massive fincial gamble and open up a restraunt, purely because she belivied in him. Finally we have the Williams from Craig of the Creek who are easily one of the best married couples i’ve seen in western animation and one of them’s played by Terry Crews so that shoudln’t be a shock. I could prabobly find more but my points made: this trope REALLY ages the show poorly, more than any of hte 90′s specific tech or swinging theme song I just realized I forgot to talk about. Eh i’ll save it for the next episode. 

I have NEVER liked this trope anyway: only simpsons has really made it work for me and Family Guy did until they just stretched it too far, and with Simpsons at least they freqeuently have episodes pointing out how unehalthy it is. It dosen’t help this trope somehow STILL isn’t dead, as evidenced by the fact Rick and Morty has it in spades and for SOME damn reason got them back together.. I mean they don’t fight anymore but it dose’nt fix the problem. So yeah while I’m not holding against the show TERRRIBLY as this trope wasn’t as widespread at the time, it still dosen’t make it GOOD even at it’s core. 

Things get worse for Pete though as while Goofy praises him (And the Pete Kids rightfly wonder if Goofy is from space given the logic of ANYONE being that fond of pete. ) Pete finds out GOOFY bought the house he was going to demolish and will be staying with them till they move in. I have only one response to his misery....

Max also futzes with the tv which you THINK would lead to Peg finding out her husband is the antagonist of a Blumhouse movie but instead just does nothing. 

So then we have Dinner where we find out SUPRISINGLY, Pete actually has a somewhat valid reason for resenting Goofy: Goofy cost him the big game in high school as Goofy and Peg were on the cheerleading squad together and Goofy accidently kicked pete in the face at a crucial moment, which Pete got the blame for. Granted I did say SOMEWHAT: Goofy is genuinely apologetic and says Pete shouldn’t of been blamed and Pete’s apparently been hiding the truth from his kids this whole time. I do call bullshit on that as while admittedly i don’t get into local football or any sportsball, Pete works at a dealership. At least one asshole would bring it up to either rile him up or out of genuine rage at something that happened at the very least a decade and a half ago. Pete hasn’t let go of this footbullshit DESPITE owning a successful dealership, having two wonderful children, an even more wonderful wife, and a friggin nice boat.  But really.. it speaks to Pete’s character in any version: His ultimate undoing is his greed, his tendency to keep going and never settle. It’s something he oddly shares with Donald but Pete lacks Donald’s’s heart or redeeming moments. Pete just wants and wants and wants no matter who gets hurt because he’s inehently selfish and will simply TAKE It if he can’t get it. But it’s why he’s miserable, and ultimately ends up divorced: He can’t be satisfised so he often looses what he has. 

So with Pete on the rampage Peg sends the boys upstairs. It’s here we get PJ’s first Woobie Moment: He has a room FULL of cool toys, comics and what not but his dad is such a greedy asshole he refuses to let the kid actually use them. He even knows this isn’t normal but is just resigned to it. Rob Paulsen is phenomenal as PJ, being funny and energetic, snarky and off to the side or depressed and fearful all with grace and ease and all making this all feel like the same sweet kid. 

I mention this because Paulsen’s action is so good it highlights an issue with PJ: the writers lean way too hard into how much a hardass Pete is, to the point the series, likely intentionally, HEAVILY implies he physically abuses pete and the stuff on screen isn’t over the top enough, at least for tehse episodes, to get away with how he emotionally abuses him either. He talks down to him, doesn’t let him play toys and as seen by various episode synopsis and the next episode, uses mind games to keep him in line. THIS is why I can’t stand this version of Pete. He’s an abusive monster to this poor boy and I won’t stands for it, nor it being played off as a joke, especially since they try to ping pong between using it for comedy and using it seriously which just.. doesn’t work. 

So Max earns his future best pals’ friendship by trying to help him.. and succeeding by pointing out that while he said not to use the Tank anywhere on the ground.. he didn’t mention the celling or walls and has the tank going up the walls. And clearly by the fact PJ is seen sleeping with it later, despite Petes’ss anger at this, Peg presumably ripped him a new one once she found out about the toys thing. 

So that night Pete can’t sleep with Goofy tromping around the house and tries to whack him with a Golf Club. I’d give him another sucks count.. 

But given my brother lives in the basement and I sometimes accidently wake him by tromping overhead without meaning too, I DO get getting a bit fed up with someone clomping around and waking you up, and it is a slapstick cartoon so trying to physically assault someone is less of a crime here and more a setup for a punchline. 

So get an UTTERLY hilarious scene as teh combination fo tripping on golf balls and Goofy singing his family lullabye, camptown races with lyrics

So Pete proceeds to have another freak out this time RUNNING ALL THE WAY TO DUCKBURG, THROWING THE OLD MAN OUT OF THE CAR AND THEN BRINGING IN THE GOOF’S BEDS AND BOXES BEFORE TOSSING THEM IN THE HOUSE. It is truly an amazing combination of Jim’s utter talent as he babbles hialriously and the animators as they just make it sing. It’s a great climax to part one. So with that the goofs are home and Pete semeingly gets to go to sleep.. until they start working on unpacking. 

Final Thoughts On Good Neighbor Goof:

This is an excellent start to the series. The jokes are really well paced, the characters well introduced and the humor top notch> I had my complaints obviously.. but i’ts more systemic issues with the series, and stuff that honestly it dosen’t hamper my viewing experience for the most part. The PJ stuff does, but it’s not as big a deal this episode as he barely interacts with his Dad, but otherwise it’s stuff that just hasn’t aged well and they can’t be faulted for not seeing a deluge of terrible sitcoms a comin. The cast is top notch: I didn’t get to them in the proper review so Dana HIll deserves praise as Max, giving just the right amount of 90′s TV Kid mixed with real honest emotion and i’ts a tragedy she’s gone. She would’ve been right up there with the rest of this amazing cast in history. Though at least she got a worthy succesor.. but that’s not for now. For now we’re taking an interlude to look at the wonderfully 90′s music video that was aired along with this special:

Gotta Be Gettin Goofy:

This was my raw reaction to this video. Now is it bad? No the song has great flow it somehow manages to scratch Bill Farmer’s goofy vocals with the beat, the rapper makes the cheesy lyrics work, and the chorus of “gotta be getting goofy” backs a great bit. It’s not a bad SONG.. but the video is a hilariously insane mess. We have two of the poor dancers forced to wear just.. HORRIFYING looking Goofy costumes that look like the Dog based sequel to cats that thankfully only exists in my nightmares

I pityt hose poor dancers. Meanwhile the rest of the dancers are wearing Goofy Baseball uniforms and letterman jackets for some reason. is it beause Goofy likes sportsball. I thoguth they just had them lying around but now I see the g’s on the uniform. They CHOOSE to do this. Max also does a shredding guitar solo, not the max up there the animated max. Combine that with LOTS OF random clips from the show and you get this thing.. and i’ts worth a watch> it’s just hilarously what the shit.. not the most hilariously what the shit thing i’ve seen.. not even this week... that would be this thing from the Eurovision Song contest...

Your welcome. So moving on because this is already badly behind. 

Good Neighbor Goof:

So our second episode opens with the Goof’s trying to move in and pete being upset their being loud. Now being upset your neighbors are being loud is one thing: Mine set off fireworks all week around fourth of July. Granted Pete would probably be the one doing such nonsense but still, I get it.. but it’s fair to have a lot of noise when your moving in and in Goofy’s case also trying to patch up a massive hole in the place. 

So he does what any reasonable man would do and activates the earthquake machine he hid in the basement. 

I wasn’t kidding about the MODOK comparisons. Granted the thing uses a belt to somehow do this.. but it’s designed to SIMULATE AN EARTHQUAKE AN DDOES SO WELL. The only reason Goofy’s not dead is that pete uses a low setting that instead ends up unpacking everything. IT’s a neat gag but again... PETE HAS AN EARTHQUAKE MACHINE.

Which Goofy accidently destroys his boat with. Meanwhile the boys try to talk over tin can phones only for Pete to notice and try to stop it because he’s a dick and doesn’t want his son to be happy because he hates Goofy. So Pete’s idea of a punishment is for PJ to wear the family shoes to go crush cans while wearing a helmet and given Pete mutters to himself about this keeping PJ away from Max i’ts likely something that he made up to torture his son soooo..

Pete Sucks Counter: 8 Max being a good pal agrees to help his friend crush the cans down to recycle for money and comes up with a zany scheme to do so

Meanwhile we get a few scenes of Pete trying to eff with Goofy’s day: Peg is making food for Goofy like a good neighbor/someone planning for their eventual divorce, so Pete makes him some too with tons of hot sauce. By the laws of classic cartoons, naturally Goofy loves it and wonders if Pete has hot sauce, while Pete trying it explodes his head Scanner’s style. 

He then tries giving Goofy a chainsaw loaded with some kind of explosive or something... so yes he’s esclated to MURDER over.. Goofy annoying him a bunch as he’s apparently given up on the whole taking over that lot thing. 

Pete Sucks Counter: 9 But it is hilariously petty and naturally backfires again by cartoon law as Pete ends up starting it for Goofy who can’t get it going. 

Meanwhile PJ and Max inact the plan which is to drop a bolder with a rope on the cans, but end up having to ride the cans down when PJ lets it go too early and it ends up sweeping both boys on top of the box. They have fun though, with PJ actually getting to enjoy life for once and loving having a new friend.

So as his lot in life Pete has to ruin it by yelling at PJ for getting diryt, then for hanging out with max as he can SMELL the goof on him.. which means he’s either exaggerating or he knows what goofy smells like. 

So he forbids PJ to see him insluting max.. while Max is hanging out the window and ends up crying. Oh and Peg never gets involved in any of this across both parts, likely because she dosen’t know.. which makes it even MORE horrifying as it gives off the implication Pete gets away with his abuse of his son because he hides it, like a real world abuser. But even then some things like trying to break up his and Max’s friendship or the toys thing you’d THINK she’d notice. 

So we get more untetionally telling stuff as PJ says he’ll treasure this day and the only time he was happy.

Pete Sucks Count: 14 2 for the last scene, 3 for ALLL this one implies. But Max won’t give up the ghost no he won’t give it up. They haven’t the strength to hold on for long but if they both hold on together they can make each other strong. So he has a plan: have Goofy throw a Luau and invite the petes.

Peg naturally forces him to attend and Pete is a dick about it at first, but eventually enjoys himself when they do a conga line. The pets, Waffles and Chainsaw get into some antics. I do love Waffles because I love a kitty. Chainsaw is okay even though I love me a good doggo. Especially this one.

You are a Good Boy, Good Boy. But eventually while playing a party game about passing coconuts, Pete considers the coconut and considers the trees but dosen’t consider Goofy kicking him in the face AGAIN

So Pete is naturally a dick about this despite it being you know, an accident. But he takes it a step further by insulting Max Pete Sucks Count: 15 So Goofy gets mad. But here’s where a rather sizeable flaw shows up in the episode as Goofy.. acts exactly like Pete does about the insuing feud. He forbids Max to see PJ makes up rules and is generally petty and vindictive. And look Goofy could be in the shorts. He’s endlessly adaptable.. but here nothing about his character has shown he’d sink to this and it feels forced to bring abotu the climax. 

Thankfully said finale salvages thing: That night Max pulls PJ into his room via the cans, and comes up with a plan.. weirdly asking PJ to hit him with a muffin to save their friendship... but it’s not random it turns out. His plan.. is brilliant. While I really don’t like these types of feud between neighbors make our kids suffer by making them not be able to be friends because we’re being petty children plots, this one has a REALLY clever solution to that: Max and PJ FAKE an oversclated fued similar to their parents, starting with insutls and throwing mulch and escalting to taking down each others fences and then throwing food at each other, before injuring their dads with planks and stuff, nothing serious just slapstick stuff, all to get both to settle down and try and get the boys to stop fighting.. it works like a charm, it’s full of great bits like Peg offering the boys pie only for Max to use it as amuination and i’ts just a great way to end one of these episodes. Not that I WANT more of these episodes but if your going to do this stock plot you might as well be creative with it.

So we end on the Petes and Goofs having a BBQ, all friends again, with Pete having his marina and Goofy nearly burning Pete’s house down and us getting a photo to end the episode.

Final Thoughts:

This one was a step down. Pete’s abuse is REALLY highlighted here and the plot is very paint by numbers and forces Goofy to be out of character for the last act for it to work at all. He just strikes me as too genuine and noble to hold onto a grudge this easily. Peg is also reduced from her usual feisty self to being oddly useless, not stepping in at ANY point to stop any of this depsite it being grossly otu of character. There’s a few great gags and a great climax, but the whole product is just okay

Later Today: Goof Week and Goofy’s birthday continue as I complete the trilogy of Shortstaculars with one about my boy! Featuring Goofy’s first apperance, his first short and the first apperance of what would eventually become Max! 

If you liked this review, follow me for more and consider joining my Patreon which you can find RIGHT HERE. Even a buck a month helps me keep doing these and more gets me to my stretch goals, the next one up being the two remaining ducktales mini series, a darkwing duck episode a month and a reivew of the danny phantom film the ultimate enemy. And even a buck a month gets you access to exclusvie reviews, my patreon exclusive discord and to pick a short any time I do one of my shortstaculars. My next one is for Donald’s birthday next montha nd there’s only 6 days left to get on that pay cycle so if that sounds good to you get on in NOW while you still can and i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

[arsnovacadenza]

Ikevam Jean & Napoleon fanfic- quietly invite me to where you are

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Characters: Jean d’Arc, Napoleon Bonaparte, Vincent van Gogh, Yukari (MC)

Pairings: Vincent x MC

Word count: 3881

Warnings: possible OOC due to historical references

shoutout to @weird-profiterole​, @kisara-16​, @hokkaido-the-hellbeast​ @dear-mrs-otome​ , @kasu-gay-ama​

Icy blue and brown eyes peeked innocently into the training room. The rapiers continued to dance as the couple watched the dueling Frenchmen.

To the girl,  Jean and Napoleon’s sessions were always a sight to behold. She could feel the ferocity, the tension as the blades weave through the air and find each other with an echoing clang.

“No matter how many times I see them spar, it’s always so intense. They’re both so masculine.”

The girl admitted she knew little about sword-fighting, but she noticed the beauty with which Napoleon urgently thrust at his opponent.

“…Masculine….” Vincent quietly mumbled.

Jean parried the oncoming blade with ease. If there was even a slight fault in his form, neither couple had noticed it.

The couple continued to stare at the soldiers until a voice called from the kitchen. Immediately, the girl turned at Vincent and pecked his cheek. "I have to go. See you later, Vincent!"

"Oh, right. Have fun at work."

She thanked him and rushed down the hallway. Meanwhile, Vincent's soft gaze was trained on the soldiers' eyes, both burning with rivaling passions.

"Adorable... masculine."

Swords crossed as both combatants' faces were suddenly inches away from each other. Vincent could discern Napoleon's winning smile from where he stood.

With the primal sounds of their duel still ringing in his head, the painter turned and walked away.

.

 "Pay them no heed, Jean,"

Jean immediately backed down in surprise, his cheeks growing hot from the look in Napoleon's eyes.

"And always keep your eyes on me.” Napoleon murmured in a steady voice.

But Jean's breath was ragged, and his eye was unfocused despite staring straight at Napoleon. Even his stance looked unsteady for someone so well-trained. The former army commander let out a sigh.

"Guess you got nothing more in you." Napoleon looked at Jean wryly. "We've had enough anyway. Let's call it a day."

Jean wanted to argue and say he's fine, he's just tired, but Napoleon was already sheathing his sword and making his way to the side. The former emperor sat back against the wall with another sigh. It was at times like this that Jean's reminded of his friend's long, previous life.

 "Come. Sit. You look like you need it." Napoleon called out softly despite his stern gaze.

Jean obeyed. To him, small moments like these were just as cherished as the momentary passion sparked during their routine duels. Besides Mozart's, Napoleon's company was the few threads that kept him hanging to his deplorable days at the mansion.

And it was always his firm and gentle voice that made Jean want to believe that he had been born with no fragility— that he regarded Jean just as everybody else. 

Sometimes Jean felt he was undeserving of that attention, and sometimes he yearned for more. Not that he knew exactly what he sought from the former emperor.

Jean dispelled his thoughts as he sat down by Napoleon's side. He purposefully put some distance between them, but the man, as he won't, nudged closer until their shoulders almost touched.

And then he'd put a hand over Jean's shoulder and speak with his face only several breaths away. Either he was concerned Jean couldn't hear him well enough, or he ignored personal space just because he could.

Napoleon's attempts at fraternizing did come across as overbearing, sometimes. But Jean guessed anyone with his charm could freely worm their way right up to everyone's face if they liked.

“You heard something," Napoleon broke the silence. "You heard something I couldn't."

Despite being worthy opponents to each other, even Jean had to admit that his senses as a lesser vampire surpassed that of Napoleon's. "It's nothing."

Napoleon let out a friendly smile despite his harsh words. "Considering how out of touch you were, I wouldn't say it's nothing."

Jean went rigid at those words but said nothing. 

"And I hate opponents who fight half-assedly." 

It wasn't very Napoleon of him to throw such words without care, especially since it's Jean he's addressing. Even the seemingly unflappable soldier turned at him with an open mouth.

"Got your attention," Napoleon flashed his signature smirk. "Now tell me what bothered you or we can just drop this forever."

Always hitting where it hurt the most. Napoleon always seemed to know which buttons to push if he wanted to peer into whatever thoughts clouded Jean's head at the moment. Not that he did it often.

And Jean always secretly seek company and consolation during times like this. While Mozart had always been his person of choice, getting the time and attention of somebody as....beloved as Napoleon was also gratifying, in its own way.

"Napoleon, do you think I'm masculine?"

The question earned a snrk from the other man. Jean already regretted blurting out the question.

Napoleon tried to stifle down a laugh. "Wh —where's this coming from?"

Jean's eyelashes fluttered as he spoke, "It's Vincent and the girl. They were talking about how masculine we look whenever we're sword fighting."

 “I guess two soldiers engaging in sword-fighting is as masculine as it gets." There's nothing brave nor virtuous about actual killing, though. A voice at the back of Napoleon's head seemed to say. "What of it, then?"

But Jean's deep, amethyst eye was downcast. They both knew where this was going. 

"No matter what people say, they always seem to have a way of making me an epitome of something."

Well, that wasn't what Napoleon was expecting. Jean continued.

"Masculine. Beautiful. People will always look me from afar and immediately put me on a pedestal regardless of what I do." Jean murmured. "I know I should be flattered. That I should take their well-intentioned praises and smile back. But it's the look in their eyes that haunt me.”

Napoleon shifted in his seat. He sensed from Jean's tone that this wasn't something he'd indulge in more than once.

"Mere words shouldn't have this effect on me, Napoleon. But recently, I've begun to feel unease whenever people look at me from a distance and immediately assign me to a place they can't quite reach. Like I'm separate, different." His voice took a breathless turn. "Inhuman."

Napoleon leaned back against the wall in thought.

If this were one of his marshals (which marshal of his would dare falter in his presence?), he'd look at them straight in the eye and tell them to pay those thoughts no mind. Baseless doubts, he thinks, will only drive any soldier away from an assured victory. 

But this was Jean. And although he hated to echo the man's own words, Jean was indeed unlike any soldier or person he had ever met.

In the end, he closed his eyes and urged Jean to go on. "Do continue."

Jean did so without hesitation.

"Sometimes, the look in their eyes when we marched into battle made it seem like I wasn't leading their sons off to die. In the beginning, I was grateful that God gave me the power to move them and get them on their feet. To fight. The people's prayers had been my strength. But then..."

"But?"

"But as time went on, they came knocking on my door, pleading for me to anoint their belongings. Every word, my every gesture... it was no longer the angels that spoke to me they listened," Jean's voice wavered even more. "It's as if I had taken their worship away from God, and unto me."

If there was something about Jean he could never touch upon, it was Jean's complicated relations with God.

Napoleon never aimed to please any God. He chased his dreams with confidence in his stars, crossing lands —and rulers —in his path. If anything, it was His image that helped Napoleon put his plans into motion and swayed the people into placing their faith in his arms.

Just as he had used Jean's image.

At that point, Napoleon realized that despite other residents commenting on his and Jean's closeness, there was nothing both truly shared beyond having the same occupation.

Despite igniting that momentary spark in Jean's spark whenever they dueled, despite his invitation to let Jean taste his and Isaac's cooking and him closing his eyes in satisfaction as he bit into a sandwich—

They were nothing compared to the hurt Jean had been carrying long after his death.

Napoleon, a father to his men and the nation of France, could not understand this peasant teenager who lead the charge ahead of king's seasoned knights. Could not fathom how he braved the winter at La Charité with only the hand of God to drive his heart along.

There were unspoken truths and distant dreams —as well as four hundred years’ worth of history  —separating them both.

Napoleon stared at his hand and closed it around nothing. His resurrection had stripped away all his power and influence into nothing. Even a lifespan of 51 years had become nothing to this era and city that no longer needed him.

But then again, maybe nothing was what he needed to approach the vulnerable man next to him. Throughout his careful interactions with Jean, he had indeed counted on Jean's lack of awareness regarding the true scope of the 'terror' that he inflicted upon Europe.

But a part of Napoleon did wonder how their relationship would change if Jean ever came to know about what the world had written about him. The younger man's illiteracy was both a blessing and a curse.

Napoleon decided to clear his thoughts away and face the matter at hand. Whatever proceeded from then on was tomorrow’s problem.

"Jean," he softly called.

"Jean," Napoleon prepared for the next part. He never thought talking to another man would be this hard. "I don't know what to say since I never know what it's like to be spoken to by angels."

He immediately recognized the letdown in Jean's eye as it shifted to the side. He continued hurriedly.

"But there's nobody else who knows what it's like to undeservingly be called a hero, except me."

Jean turned his face to look at him in the face. It was a small victory to Napoleon, but there was still an uphill climb, nonetheless.

"I said that I didn't die with much regret," Napoleon pressed on with a much higher voice than intended. "And it's true. Everything I did, I'd done for France. If it had been God at your side, I had her. And, despite what other people thought of me, being an emperor wasn’t that depressing.”

He was surprised by his sudden burst of passion in his speech. And so was Jean, judging from his widening eye.

"But," Napoleon's breath hitched. "But as a man, there was nothing more lonely than being alone with my feelings."

"Those feelings accompanied me even as I grew into a self-absorbed, cynical old bastard who’d thrown away every last bit of human decency to wage war against the world," Steely emerald eyes fixed themselves on Jean. "They accompanied me as I walked down the streets alone, as a military student without friends."

"I gave them the confidence of a leader, all the composure expected of an emperor in his divine right. What they didn't see were the emotions closing in on me as I sat alone."

Jean once again closed his eye, seemingly digesting what Napoleon had said.

"What kind of emotions?" Despite Jean's almost accusatory tone, Napoleon's gaze couldn't help but soften. Ah, to be burdened with such tremendous pressure at so young an age.

"Simple emotions, unfortunately." He smiled. "I cried after hearing news of my wife's death. And there wasn't a day I didn't think about my son after they took him away."

Jean watched Napoleon from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, their youthful appearances deceived him into forgetting that Napoleon, Mozart, and even Arthur had wives and children they left behind.

"And, for all my years riding out into battle, the feeling of losing your comrades remain the same," Napoleon continued, turquoise eye interlocking with Jean's. "The previous kings hardly knew of losing comrades who'd been standing behind your back from even before you were emperor."

"How strange" The older man suddenly shut his eyes with ferocity. "How strange that this warmongering monster, this emperor who very nearly thought himself to be beyond God —still has very human emotions that keep him from becoming neither."

Josephine, Lannes, Joseph, even parting from France caused grief more profound than a king losing his crown.

No matter deep the abyss he fell into, it was always France that took him into her forgiving arms, time and time again.

Napoleon had always wondered if the same worked for Jean. Martyr or no, losing your life in battle in devotion to the fatherland was the highest virtue a soldier could ever achieve in their lifetime.

Anger suddenly sparked within Napoleon at the thought of Comte appearing to Jean over the pier, offering him salvation. He respected St. Germain as a man, but it disheartened him as a Frenchman to know that he dared to condemn a celebrated hero into spending his eternity as a monster. But no matter, he can confront the Count in his rooms later. Napoleon would rather speak to him with a clear head, free of misgivings. 

Yet Napoleon couldn't stop himself from imagining the Pureblood emerging suddenly from the crowd around the pyre, extending his hand towards Jean. How did the young warrior see him then, while smoke began spreading throughout his lungs?

Napoleon, in this second life,  had never once let emotions take hold of his heart this strongly. But now, seeing the depth of Jean's anguish, he wondered if he'd drown in it too.

All this time, Napoleon had always used his hand to support Isaac. Now, he's going to use it to reach towards Jean, even if that means following Jean into the most treacherous crevices.

Napoleon was assured that he'd have the strength (and time) to pull Jean back to the shallows. Still, it’s a shot in the dark, ensuring that Jean remained happy for the rest of his life as a vampire. Napoleon would first have to think about guiding Jean out under the clear skies.

Once, the entire nation of France revered him as their sun. To reprise his role would mean chasing the elusive moon.

"Jean," Napoleon softly called, "I was... I had been afraid of turning into a monster. I look at you and sometimes wonder if I can live with the pain.”

The venerated soldier turned to face Napoleon entirely.

Jean, truth be told, had long waited for Napoleon to address his impurity. He had long worn it like an armor after all. Napoleon's lack of inquisition regarding the matter secretly gnawed on him, for lack of a better word. He believed the other French soldier was willingly turning a deaf ear towards him, as other residents did. Mozart, at least, told him point-blank that he didn't need 'to hurt himself further' by saying 'things he didn't truly mean'.

"If that day comes to pass, the day when I finally succumb to this- this monstrosity," Napoleon let himself stumble through his words. " I don't think there's no one better to help me get through the process but you." 

Jean's brow furrowed at Napoleon's firm statement. "Why me?" he demanded. "You know firsthand how well I've been faring through this entire ordeal. If it's guidance that you need, go to that Comte or Leonardo. If you need a poor soul to suffer together with you, there's Isaac, who at least doesn't willingly starve himself. But with me, Napoleon? Why?"

Jean had never strung words so long and full of vitriol before. If it had been any other person, he would've apologized. Not to Napoleon. Not to this man who purposefully sought him out this entire time. If he wanted to see his worst, Jean would show every bit of his hideousness, one by one.

But Napoleon stared back decisively.

"If I had gone to anybody else, where would that leave you then?" Napoleon's hands went to grab both sides of Jean's upper arms. "Go back to that prison of a tower? Will I have to hear from Sebastian that you've stopped consuming rouge completely? Do I have to imagine you passing alone in that lonely room? To look back on today and the days before as something that will never happen again?"

Jean shirked away at the abrupt burst of anger in Napoleon's voice.

"I... I am not that important to you." He directed his eye towards the wall. Frustrated, Napoleon gripped his upper arm tighter.

"Not important." Napoleon whispered harshly, "Once, you had been a shining glimpse of everything I wanted to be. Even as I ended up sabotaging myself with delusions of grandeur, you remained pure. Without you, there'd be no France for me to protect. And what good is a soldier with nothing to protect?" 

Napoleon felt he was back into that mortal body of an emperor as he gritted through the tears.

"I shall never forgive myself if I let such a beloved person die when I could've saved him." His eyes pierced straight through Jean's. "I'm not any less guilty than those people that put you on that pedestal, Jean. But now that I finally see the real you," Napoleon hesitated.

Jean dreaded the words that were about to come.

"That feeling of wanting to get closer to you hasn't diminished in the slightest. If anything, Jean..."

Napoleon sucked in a deep breath. If he fails, if he fails.

If I fail, he will draw away from me, and I'll lose him forever.

If I succeed, we can emerge together victorious. But even this I cannot guarantee.

As if never tiring, emerald eyes locked once more with Jean's, steadfast. All was quiet, both men awaiting the other with bated breath. Even Napoleon's heart, which just now had been erratically beating, had slowed down in time for this gamble.

It's all up to you now, Jean.

Now or never.

"Jean," Napoleon finally breathed out. "I need you."

A lone dark eye blinked, uncomprehending.

"I need you," Napoleon repeated. "Not as a soldier to another, not as a man to a boy. And not as a demi-vampire to a lesser one. I need you as you are if you'll have me."

Great of an actor as he was in his previous life, Napoleon realized there'd been no greater truth in his words. With Isaac, he acted as a loving brother and a steady bulwark. When he was with Sebastian, he reverted to being a father who treated his one of his men with more affection than a master to his servant. Upon facing Leonardo and Comte, he'd effortlessly slide back into the role of a seasoned man, brilliant and amiable. 

But this man.

This man drew him in as a fellow soldier, then as a young lad whom Napoleon felt he needed to care for, and then to a formidable sparring partner. Yet the more Napoleon tried to uncover his layers of secret, he, inevitably, would have to bear his well-kept emotions as well.

As emperor, he had never felt lonely nor regretful. But as strangers to this era, he saw Jean as another stranded, fellow countryman, despite the irony of waking up on their very soil.

The France they found themselves in wasn't the France they knew, but it had been France nonetheless. Can they somehow seek out and explore this strange, paradoxical landscape together?

I need you, Napoleon's eyes wanted to say, I need you, as much as you need me. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Jean audibly sighed. "You'll regret this, sooner or later," he tried to move. "Let go of me."

Napoleon released his grip, and Jean leaned back to sit on the ground properly. On his usually stoic face was an unguarded expression Napoleon rarely saw.

Resignment. And contentment, if Napoleon were to hope.

"So, what about—"

 "You always go on about being stubborn in whatever you do," Jean cut him off, "I never thought you would be this persistent. I can't see how this would benefit you in the end."

Napoleon crossed his legs and hugged them. "I've always wanted to tell you about the France of my time," he smiled warmly, " I'd be eager to hear about yours."

 Not caring whether Jean was convinced, he carried on.

"For the longest time, I've wanted to tell you about the chaotic Paris of my days. Oh, how things were different compared to the beautiful city we have today. I can tell you about the dunes that covered Egypt, a distant land beyond the sea, and its dunes and magnificent statues of kings from a past civilization. And, oh, how I bested England and their treacherous allies at every turn,"

Napoleon didn't lose sight of the interest that flashed briefly through Jean's face. And maybe, he thought somberly, I'll tell you about that winter in Russia. Or the violets I planted on Elba. 

 Just as Napoleon's thoughts were veering towards a darker path, Jean stood up and patted his pants. He offered his hand.

 "Consider it a deal, then." Jean asserted, "I look forward to listening to your stories."

 Napoleon let himself be hoisted on his feet. Confidently, he clasped one of Jean's shoulders, as he usually did to Isaac and some of his marshals. "Much obliged." He smirked. "We start tomorrow."

 Jean regarded his suggestion with a rigid smile. "Tomorrow." He murmured just as stiffly.

 Convinced, Napoleon let go of Jean's shoulder and watched as the man walked away to the halls. But Napoleon refused to let the man go with one final note of goodbye.

 "The turtle-doves and quails, and bonny partridges," he sang softly. "And my pretty stock-dove. Which sings both night and day."

 Jean stopped in his tracks. "Napoleon, what—" 

 "Which sings for all the lassies," Napoleon ignored him and continued. "Who hasn't got a lad,"

 "It scarcely sings for me now, for I've a handsome lad."

 Jean spun around, the pink turning to red and spreading all over his cheeks. Napoleon's calm voice took on a jovial turn 

 "O, in my father's garden, the lilies are in bloom;" Emerald eyes shone merrily as the ditty came to an end "O, in my father's garden, the lilies are in bloom."

 In front of him, there was Jean, completely, absolutely, flustered. "What were you doing?"

Casually, Napoleon sauntered towards the man and rested a hand on his shoulder. Jean had probably been unaware that Napoleon touched him a little too many today.

 “Oh, just a little song from camp I’m going to teach you." He peered closely into Jean's eye. "And if being called beautiful bothers you, maybe you should pay more attention when they call you handsome. Which you are."

With a flourish of his cape, Napoleon left the confounded man on his own. Indeed, there was much to prepare for the days ahead.

 I hope the weather will be lovely. The former emperor mused. Come to think of it, I've never asked Jean out on a ride before. If I guess correctly, he should be enjoying it.

And the flowers at the meadow are in full bloom this time of the year.

[catxmendoza]

a girl named chiqui.

self para. a prison in southern texas, six hours away from olympus.

tw. anxiety, death, grief, imprisonment, prison, mentions of murder, drug use

**ooc. any reference to mexican culture has been thoroughly researched, and the mun has also spoken with latinx, mexican and tejanx individuals to verify that references are handled in a respectful manner. of course, the mun is always open to suggestions, criticisms and directions.**

Her road trip was almost spontaneous.

She hadn’t been able to sleep since the explosion. Most of her nights in the past month had been spent tossing and turning until the sun came up and gave her a reprieve from her own head. Boxing didn’t help, neither did smoking or drinking or running. Her mind raced with thoughts, what ifs and memories she believed she had buried years ago. Every time she closed her eyes though, they struck her like lightening. Her mother’s smile, the smell of her abuela’s quilt draped over their couch, the sound of birds outside their kitchen window, even her father’s voice teaching her his many lessons about life. A waking dream, a nightmare, she wasn’t sure what she was suffering through, but that explosion had rattled her in more ways than one.

The memories became suffocating faster than she thought they would, until every other thought was drowned by her life from before it was ripped apart. Every memory was tied up in a chest-clenching feeling of anger and grief, shaking her to her core. There was no escaping it, no running or smoking or drinking it away until she was left numb. 

Cat hid her dilemma well enough, she thought, but behind closed doors she paced the floor with a joint in her hand just thinking. Her mother’s altar, situated in the far corner of her living room, seemed to mock her. It was ironic, considering she had set up that altar herself, and lit candles donning Jesús Malverde image just that morning. But every time Cat looked at it, she swore she could practically hear her mother’s voice whispering to her/

Go see him.

He would be worried.

He must be worried.

What are you afraid of, mi amor?

Everything. Catalina Mendoza, who marched around Olympus like she had hell on her heels and relished in it, was absolutely terrified. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she could feel it in her bones. Olympus was ripping itself apart and she had a feeling -call it a hunch- that when all was said and done, there wouldn’t be anyone to truly watch her back. No family to fall back on, no friends close enough to understand- mierda, not even her uncle would take her back after the shit she pulled. Knowing him, he’d let her get killed just to be done with it. There was no one... except him.

It was that thought that propelled her to her room, pulling out a duffle bag and some clothes for a couple days away. 

Cat was on the road to Texas the next morning. The first few hours were spent singing as loud as she could with her playlist - “ Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles!” - however the closer she got to her destination, the deeper the pit in her stomach became. She had been there once before, right after the funeral. It had been nothing but vicious words -from her- and silence -mostly him. She had sworn it would be the first and last time, and yet here she was, pulling up to a desolate looking building surrounded by towers and barbed wire lined fences. 

It probably wasn’t smart to walk into a prison, what with her activities in the past year, but she was mostly free of suspicion. If they were going to arrest her, they would have done so back in Louisiana. There was also the possibility that he just didn’t want to see her. She wouldn’t blame him. She sat in her car for a good twenty minutes staring at the entrance marked Visitors, trying to calm her racing heart and the swell of emotions in her chest. There was the strong urge to say fuck it and drive her six hours back to Olympus, Louisiana and forget about this entire thing, but something else, something just as strong, grounded her to the moment. Cat took a deep breath, and gave herself a determined look in the mirror.

“Get your shit together, Mendoza.” 

And she did. She got out of her car and walked into the prison before she could tell herself to turn around again. The sign in process was as brutal as she remembered it- metal detectors, pat downs, the bleak and stark reminder of her current circumstances. 

They herded her and a few others into the visitor’s hall, where plastic round tables sat with with two chairs on either side. Guards were stationed at every exit, and she could see cell bars from her view of the door where they kept the prisoners. She felt strangely exposed sitting there waiting, only idly listening to people reconnecting with their loved ones around her. Cat tried to tell herself that it was only a few minutes, but a part of her was already convinced that he wasn’t going to show up. He had made it clear the last time she visited that it should be her last, that he didn’t want her coming to see him for one reason or another. Those words had cut deep, especially considering she had just buried her mother. The one person she needed most in the entire world simply... gave up on her, and everything else for that matter.

Just when she was ready to get up and leave, the door opened once more and he appeared. It struck her how familiar his face was, yet he had changed. He was a little skinnier, and weathered. There were wrinkles and gray hairs that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him, and a full beard that only served to make him seem older. But he was still her Papá. 

He stopped short when his eyes landed on her, as if he had seen a ghost. There was no expression on his stony face, and she tried her best to keep hers still as well as she observed him. The orange jumpsuit was such a stark difference from the dark green overalls he used to wear whenever he worked on his truck, but then again, he was a different man than the person who came sit before her.

It was silent between them for a moment, with him staring at her and her staring at him It occurred to her that in the many nights that she had sent thinking about this visit and the hours she had driven there, she hadn’t once thought about what she would say when she finally sat in front of him. Hola didn’t seem appropriate, nor did It’s nice to see you, because frankly it wasn’t. There was so much she wanted to say, all flooding to the surface, she couldn’t decide which words mattered more. 

“Se supone que debes estar en mexico. [You’re supposed to be in Mexico.]” He said, quipped and to the point.

Catalina blinked at him for a moment, thrown by the statement. It had been 10 years since she had seen him, ten years without so much as a phone call to see how she was doing. And that was what he decided on? She couldn’t decide if she was angry, shocked, or completely exasperated with how typical it was of the big bad Sicario who plagued their city to demand things of her.

The drug dealer adjusted herself in her seat before she raised a brow at him. “Bueno, no lo estoy. [Well, I’m not.]”

“No jodas. [Don’t fuck around.]” He sounded tired, in no mood for whatever sarcasm would surely pour out of her mouth. She was his kid, no matter how much she liked to deny it every chance she could get. He knew her, even years later. “¿Tu Tío sabe que estás aquí? [Your Uncle know you’re here?]”

She shook her head. “No. We’re not really on speaking terms these days.”

“...Hm.”

He was silent again, looking at her from beneath scruffy brows and crows feet. She could see the remnants of laugh lines poking out from beneath his beard, remnants of a life he lived with her and her mama. She couldn’t imagine that he smiled much these days.

Catalina’s gaze went down to her hands, focusing on her dark nails and the scar that wound down around her wrist. The arm she had broken in the explosion was still a little skinny, but it was slowly returning to normal. She looked at him once more, pursing her lips. “Nosotros tuvimos un desacuerdo. [We had a disagreement.]”

He scoffed softly. “Tu Tío no tiene desacuerdos, los termina. [Your Uncle doesn’t have disagreements, he ends them.]” Carlos Luis leaned forward on her forearms, cocking his brow in a way Catalina did quite often. “¿Qué hiciste? [What did you do?]”

Of course, it was Catalina who did something. God forbid, Sebastian Ramirez ever take responsibility for anything, even when he wasn’t here. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did I do? Mierda, Carlos, diez años. Diez años y todavía estás defendiendo a Sebas como si fuera un santo o un Dios. [Shit, Carlos, ten years. Ten years and you’re still defending Sebas like he’s some kind of saint or God.]”

“Hey,” Carlos warned, low and in his throat. “¿Has venido desde donde sea que estuviste para discutir sobre tu tío? ¿Perder mi tiempo, perder el tuyo? [So you came all this way from wherever you been to argue about your uncle? Waste my time, waste yours?]”

Cat rolled her eyes, anger twisting her stomach in knots. “You know what, I don’t know why I even bothered-”

She stood up, fully prepared to march out of that room and never look back. She was only a few steps away when his voice cut through the air.

“Catalina.”

Her entire body froze as his voice echoed off the walls, drawing looks from people around them. For a moment she felt like a little kid again getting caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. As angry as he sounded, as angry as he was, he could never stay mad at her for long. This? This was different.

“Wait...” He said with a clear struggle and a heavy sigh. She turned back to look at him, taking in his sagging shoulders and the  “Por favor, sit down. [Please, sit down.]”

It took her a moment more to decide whether or not to stay. He gave her another imploring look, one that was mixed with irritation at her defiance.

“Por favor, Catalina.”

Cat sighed and begrudgingly slid back into her seat with knitted brows. They were silent again, stewing in their own anger and frustration like two petulant children. Usually, this was the time when her mother would demand a truce from them both. Stubborn is as stubborn does, she would claim, and damn, was she blessed with a husband and daughter with extremely hard heads.

Her mother would want them to get along. No matter how angry they were, no matter what they said before, she would want them to be okay. Even in their circumstances.

Carlos eyed her a moment, almost as if he were analyzing him. “¿Dónde te has estado guardando? [Where you been keeping yourself?]”

“Louisiana.” She answered, without digging into specifics. “Joined up with some associates there. They treat me good enough.”

He gave her a strange look. “Louisiana? ¿Qué diablos te traería a Louisiana? [What the hell would bring you to Louisiana?]”

She could try to rebuild the bridge she burned with him, at least. She had driven far enough, she might as well have something to show for it. Cat cleared her throat, not lifting her gaze to meet his eye. “I found them.” She confessed, earning a confused look from them. “Those men. Esos monstruos que se llevaron a mi mamá. [Those monsters who took my mother.]”

Carlos frowned deeply at her, the implications of what she was saying dawning on him. His eyes darted to the guard as he leaned forward. “¿Cómo? [How?]”

“Recibí una propina, seguí y terminé un estado. [I got a tip, followed up and wound up a state over.]” Cat told him in a low voice. “Sebas didn’t agree.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I don’t blame him.” Carlos clicked thoughtfully. “Si desentierras a los muertos, seguramente atraerás buitres. [You dig up the dead, and you're bound to draw vultures.]”

“Yeah, he said that same stupid shit. Did Abuelo tell you that?”

Instead of getting angry at her crassness, he actually chuckled. Instead of a smile though, his lips twisted into an almost snarl, as if the actual pained him. “Tu abuelo era un borracho y una amenaza. Nunca dijo nada significativo en su vida. [Your grandfather was a drunk and a menace. He never said anything meaningful in his life.]

“Like father, like son.”

Again, Carlos didn’t become enraged at the blatant disrespect. He just sat there, taking it in. Cat almost felt bad about the jabs, but a part of her liked how it felt to take out her frustration on him. The part of her that implicated him in her mother’s death and still, to this day, laid blame at his feet. It was his enemies, after all, who had come to kill him in the night and instead found she and her mother. Any memory she had of that night was nonexistent, she only knew what she was told. But it was enough to stir a fire of anger in her. 

“...No estoy de acuerdo con tu tío. [I don’t agree with your uncle.]” Carlos confessed with a weary look. “If I was free, if I had the chance...” He didn’t need to say it. If he was free, those men would have been dead years ago. If he had been free, they wouldn’t have even been memories, because that was how good he was at what he did. His skill, however, led him to where he was now. Widowed. Imprisoned for life. What he would have done was inconsequential. Carlos shook his head. “Tu madre querría que te impida hacer lo que creo que vas a hacer... [Your mother would want me to stop you from doing what I think you're gonna do...]

Cat scoffed. “I don’t want you to-”

“Déjame terminar... [Let me finish...]” Carlos said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. God, he really did look so much older than he did. Gaunt, like a shell or a ghost of the man he was. “Conozco esa rabia que supura en ti. Eso es lo único que obtuviste de mí. Tu cabello, tu cara bonita, tu cerebro, lo obtuviste de tu madre. Pero esa rabia, ese soy yo. [I know that anger that festers in you. That's the one thing you got from me. Your hair, your pretty face, your brain, you got that from your mother. But that rage, that's me.]”

Catalina stared at him with knitted brows, taking in his words. It occurred to her that she didn’t have anyone else to talk about her mother with. He was the only only other person who remembered their life when it was happy and good. He was the only other person who understood how frustrated and pissed off she was at everything and everyone for what life had stripped from her. He knew, and perhaps that was why she felt the urge to visit in the first place. To not feel alone in the feelings she was stewing in.

Carlos breathed deep through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Vas a hacer lo que tienes que hacer, y no te voy a decir que te detengas o bajes la velocidad porque eso sería jodidamente estúpido.” [You're gonna do what you have to do, and I'm not going to tell you to stop or slow down because that would be fucking stupid.]” He shook his head. “But I am gonna tell you to watch your back, and when you’re finished, corre como que te sigue el diablo. [run like the devil’s behind you.]

Run. For as long as Catalina had an itch for revenge, she had always known it would end in a few ways. Death, imprisonment, maybe worse. But running? An escape plan had never been in her purview. She was perfectly content believing that the path she walked had an early and abrupt end. 

Or maybe she was simply lying to herself.

Her father didn’t run. He had stayed when the police showed, too engrossed in grief to know better. His was a cautionary tale of many different kinds, love and life being at the top of that list. If anything, she would want to do everything he didn’t. Yet, they still walked a similar path.

“¿Qué pasa si ya no quiero correr? [What if I don't want to run anymore?]” Catalina sighed, starting to sound as exhausted as she felt.

Carlos chuckled bitterly. “What, you think you got a choice? Ay Chiqui, you’re supposed to be smarter than me.”

She smiled. “I am smarter than you.” She murmured, sniffing lightly. 

Chiqui, the nickname she held when she was tiny and braver than she should be. 

She was sure visiting hours were ending soon, and they would have to part. However she thought this would end, she didn’t expect... well, an uneasy truce. It was probably in the name of people they no longer were, but in the end, she doubted that really mattered. “There are things happening in the place I’m staying in. Shit is stirring and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything before then, but when I do...”

“Quiero saber. [I want to know.]” He said with a twinge of a plea in his tone. 

Cat nodded. “Okay.” It was less than perfect and not at all a promise, but more like an invitation. An open door into the family they had once been. The afternoons spent boxing in their back yard and shooting bottles in the woods. The speeches about being strong and proud in the face of adversity, and the way he used to sing to her mama. It was slowly edging through the anger and resentment she had built around his name and image in her mind. The blame she placed upon him . 

And even those images fluttered through her mind and steadied her heart, it didn’t ebb away the anger. If anything, it deepened it to her soul. It was not one parent she was robbed of, after all, but two.

The guards soon announced that they should all say their goodbyes. It didn’t seem like enough time, but she supposed that was point. Catalina stared at Carlos, unsure of what to say or do. He stood and she followed, her fingers brushing against the plastic table between them. 

“Take care of yourself.” He said. 

She nodded. “You too.”

Another moment passed by with the two of them simply standing there. And then Carlos was around the table, his arms around her in a tight hug. It brought her back to when she was a kid, and those same arms lifted her high in the sky and helped her fend off imaginary monsters. Her father, her Papá, the only thing she had left on this planet. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back before the guards could warn them.  

“Ve por ellas, chiqui. [Go get them, chiqui.]

With that, he disappeared out the door he came, leaving her behind at the table. She blinked as the sting of tears swept down her cheeks, the weight that had been on her chest for weeks still prevalent, but less so. She even felt like taking a good nap. But above all, she felt a renewed spirit well in her, hungry and angry.  

She had work to do.

[unkemptcastiel]

SPN Finale

I try to limit w/ank on this blog so in the midst of reblogging posts that share my discontentment for the series ending, I don't want to end this show on sole negativity, because it means so much to me. So I'm gonna sum up my feelings on the ending, good and bad. Then I’m going to try to focus on having fun, reblogging memes and reliving good memories with the show and the fandom. 

Good:

As far as the show has communicated, everyone is happy. Dean, Sam, Bobby, Rufus, John & Mary, Cas, all apparently happy. Yay!

I like that heaven's walls were taken down. That's something that never felt right to me and seemed indicative of heaven's problems in general- like the fact that everything was so harshly ordered to the point of isolating humans in farces of happiness-bubbles of recreated memories, that all just felt a bit fake and like a symptom of the larger problem of how angels viewed and treated humans. So I'm happy they changed that! :)

I like Betty as new Death.

OH I also liked the brief re-intro of the two archangels. It may have been a little wasted, (but this is the positivity section!) but it was a dynamic I wanted to see for ages. Also lucifer calling michael a cuck: Amazing.

I'm glad Jack didn't die. He's my son and I love him.

Also the thing with the dog & chuck.. pure comedy gold. Amazing.

Confusing:

I'm a little confused what happens to the dimensional "repeat" characters, like.. are there two bobby's chilling next door to each other in heaven, of bobby and apocalypse-world bobby? It's not a huge issue it just wasn't really addressed.

I'm also wondering if angels are basically extinct now? Like Cas is apparently ok but last we heard there were like 7 whole angels left. How's that goin. Hello?

I'm assuming hell is operating per usual? It's been a while since we've seen Rowena but I think she's still running things. A little unsure of where the balance lies between heaven and hell just due to how decimated the angels are.

I'm assuming Jody, and Alex, and Claire and all them are good? Would've liked a check-in of some sort on the recurring characters tbh. There was a lot of me and my friend asking "... So what happened to them?" about side characters who we never really got any goodbye for.

Also same with Amara being kinda written off.

Speaking of, was the woman Sam ended up with Eileen?? It was unclear to me. If not, I wish they would've mentioned her; she's a character I care about a lot.

Bad (Let’s say “Critique”):

The shows writing has dipped each season imo, and this season often felt particularly hollow. I'm not quite sure how to better communicate it beyond... The way it was shot, the dialogue, every behind-the-scenes choice just felt... Off. It was very off-putting, all season for me.

The "Destiel" thing: I’m sorry, it still felt queerbaiting. I'm queer myself but I've never personally really shipped destiel, nor any ship amongst the main trio. So, while not being very invested in a romantic form of Dean+Cas's relationship, I still felt that the confession was used more as a last-minute ploy to attract queer fans who may have since left the show, or in some attempt to make everyone happy, make it ambiguous so both queer and het fans wouldn't feel like their understanding of dean & cas was infringed on. I understand that, from a show-ending perspective, especially from a show that owes so much to its fans, that they'd want to please everybody. Unfortunately, queer representation is still lacking enough that anything outside of clear, unambiguous GAY that no one could argue is anything else, is still sort of regressive and potentially harmful to the LGBTQ+ community. So it ended up feeling like a throw-away, last-minute-gays but still semi-hetero cop-out situation, sadly. (I also think the release of the script was very deliberate in stressing that Dean cannot reciprocate whatever feelings Cas has. It communicated to me "MAYBE a non-human character could be ambiguously-maybe-queer but one of the two leads? Absolutely not.")

On that note --perhaps as a result of the confession scene-- the boys' relationship with Cas felt really weird in the end. For someone they've known and fought with for 12 years, the idea that they wouldn't even look for a way to save him ... It felt OOC, painting Dean and Sam as kind of heartless. I also feel that having Cas saved off-screen and never reappearing on-screen was generally.. a little disrespectful to Misha. His performance of Castiel literally changed the show for the rest of its run (if you're unaware, he was supposed to have a few episodes in s4 and that's it. His performance floored fans so much that he was signed on as a recurring character and eventual series main). So treating him as an afterthought felt callous, both in-show-universe and out here in the real world, show business-wise.

I don't care that Dean was killed by "a nail." I don't care lol. As long as the character didn't die of dysentery or something it doesn't read as stupid or humiliating, imo. I saw it and was like "ye shit happens." And Sam left to live a normal life- Good! My boy’s happy. 

My primary issue with how Dean & Sam's lives and deaths went was this:

They make the entire show seem pointless.

To explain: the way that Sam and Dean's lives were going before the events of the pilot were: Dean is hunting primarily on his own, Sam is lined up to live a normal and happy life and eventually start a family of his own. It is discussed many times early-seasons that Dean expects to die early, due to the dangers of hunting, even though it is revealed that he also deeply wants a safe and happy life, he feels it is unattainable. Sam loves his family, but just wants out, and is getting to have that. 

Usually in fiction, if an arc is set up then change is to occur to resolve the arc in a new and hopefully better place than it was originally. 15x20 however, looked at s1 Dean and Sam and said "Yep you guessed it exactly right." In-universe, their lives were on these paths once Sam left and went to college, which was a pre-pilot event. The "inciting incident" of the show, which acts as the pilot and which causes the rest of the show to happen in the first place, is Sam leaving his path for normality and returning to hunting. By ending this show with Dean dying on a hunt like he always expected, and Sam leaving to live a normal life with a family like he always originally planned: this arc is negated. We’re basically put right back in a pre-pilot spn world.

This ending was all already lined up to happen pre-pilot. This was ALREADY going to be their lives before the show ever started in 2005-- as a result, the show's events were just a bunch of messiness and conflict in the middle; but spn still ended for the boys the way it would have if basically all the events of the show 2005-2020 just never happened.

So it makes the show seem superfluous, and to me as a viewer it felt insulting because it felt like we ended right where we started, or we went backwards, and it implied that it was a waste of time to even watch the show if it was always going to end the same no matter what events transpired in between. THAT'S what upset me by this ending.

tl;dr: The show's writing felt rushed, confused, and emotionally hollow. As such, we didn't get to see much on the many side characters we care about, which was disappointing. The disappearance of Cas made him seem insignificant and the way each brother's life went was exactly as they were going before the events of the pilot, thus their lives were filled with extra needless pain and turmoil before ending the way they always expected, making the entirety of the show's events and its existence seem useless. Because I loved these characters and invested near a decade into them, this feels insulting to me on the characters' behalf, and on my own behalf as a viewer. That's my issue with the 15x20 ending.

However, I still take more positivity out of this show as a whole than negativity. I’m grateful it even existed in the first place, and that is what I want to try to focus on. 15x20 is one episode. Are there more episodes I dislike? Sure. But they are still a minority in a show that will hold my love for.. the forseeable future. So to every fan, those who disliked the ending and those who loved it, you’re valid, I’m glad I got to know some of you, & 

[dyaz-stories]

Safe and Sound

Just finished binging Netflix’s Castlevania, and boy, did I enjoy it! I definitely ship the hell out of Trevor/Sypha (Trepha’s apparently the ship name) so I wrote a little piece about them. I also really, really love Hector and Alucard and they really broke my heart in season 3... Poor babies. Anyways, this is set between seasons 2 and 3, it’s some Trepha angst/fluff, and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

The Speaker sighed loudly, and Trevor grinned slightly at her very, very obvious disapproval. She was bandaging his arm — though really, he didn’t need it, would’ve healed just fine on its own, he only ever had one or two cuts that got extremely badly infected and sure he nearly died then but there was no way that would happen again — and this was already her third sigh, but he was still not humoring her. If she wanted to say something, she would.

“You get hurt too much and too easily,” Sypha finally said, her ‘r’ rolling on her tongue with that accent he had grown to love, as she pushed the needle under his skin perhaps a little too energetically.

“You’re telling me,” he replied with a mere grimace. “That’s where it would be nice to be traveling with a half-vampire, huh? Too bad you chose me instead and now you’re stuck with m— Ow!”

Sypha smacked his arm and this time he hadn’t had the chance to brace himself for it, nor to hide the pain.

“Stop saying that,” she said, frowning as she focused on his arm again, and her fresh hands moving over his skin were gentle and soothing despite her apparent anger. “I do not regret choosing you, and Alucard wanted to stay at his father’s castle.”

“So if he hadn’t, you’d have asked him, right?”

To be honest, Trevor wasn’t quite sure why he was pressing the issue. What did he want? For her to tell him that yes, he was her second choice, that she would never have picked him if she had had literally anyone else to ask, that he was a pain in the ass and that it was the worse mistake she had ever done? Talk about self-destruction…

“I don’t know, Trevor,” she replied honestly, and damn, he liked the way she said his name, liked the way it sounded in her mouth, and he wondered what if would sound like in other circumstances but— Nah. Not with Sypha. She was way too good for him, and there was no chance she didn’t know that. “Perhaps I would have asked him to join us.”

“Now that would have been a nightmare.”

He didn’t know how to feel about the rest. It had been so easy for that ‘us’ to make its way past her lips…

“I know. You two would have been unbearable. You’re worse than children when you’re together.” There was a moment of silence. “But also, I felt it would have been cruel to offer. I don’t think he would have changed his mind. Traveling with him was never really an option.” A shrug. “So I didn’t consider it much. Why are you always thinking about the things that are not, Trevor?”

“It’s not the things that aren’t,” he mumbled, caught off-guard, as he often was with her. “It’s the things that could be.”

“So the things that aren’t, for now.”

“Hey, aren’t you Speakers also focused on things that aren’t right now?” he protested, getting a bit defensive. “Things that were, things that will be, that sort of things.”

“That’s different. That’s history. We don’t speculate.”

“Doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

“We don’t worry. We think. We take action. We go where we need to go. What you’re doing— It’s not helping you.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. The self-destruction, physical and mental, the worry, the anxiety that he tried to numb with alcohol, none of that made things better.

But she did.

“You get hurt too easily,” she said again. “You need to be more careful.”

“No can do. If I’m more careful, the creatures don’t get killed. They kill and hurt other people.” Like you. He had never quite forgiven himself for the scar Dracula had left on her.

“So it doesn’t matter if they hurt you?”

He missed the anger that danced in her voice, the way she spoke through gritted teeth.

“Not really.”

Suddenly her hands weren’t cold anymore, they were burning, which at least had the advantage of cauterizing the wound.

“Dammit, what the fuck—?”

Sypha stood up, removing her hand, and threw down her thread and needle.

“I’m done. If you get hurt doing careless things again, don’t count on me to help you with it.”

The door slammed behind her, and Trevor winced. What had he done now? He sat on the bed a little while, ran his fingers through his hair, then finally went “Ah, fuck” and walked out, following after her. She hadn’t gone very far, it turned out. She was just leaning against the guardrail, looking out at the city.

“You’re going to get cold,” he sighed.

“Well it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

He rose an eyebrow. She probably wouldn’t like it much more if he told her that it didn’t matter if it was him, but it would if it was her. There was no way he made the world a better place. He had given up on that idea a long time ago. But Sypha? Her simple presence had to be an improvement for the world.

He took a few steps and placed himself behind her, engulfing her under his cloak. He found himself naturally wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on top of her head. She was so tiny. He liked the way she fit in his arms and against him, liked the feeling of her hair tickling his neck, liked the way she smelled of cinnamon and pine tree.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything, you know.”

I would never.

Her shoulders shook, and at first he thought she was shrugging, but then he heard her sniff, and he froze in horror.

“Are you crying?”

He’d made her cry.

Well, shit.

“Hey, no— Don’t— It’s really not worth it— Ow, for fuck’s sake!”

Sypha had turned around and given him a strong kick in the shin. When he leaned forward in pain, she grabbed his head, bringing it to rest onto her shoulder, and he tensed. Being this close to her… It wasn’t right. Not for him. He considered himself lucky enough to be able to be by her side but he— Well, he did want that, he just didn’t think she should. Couldn’t be good for her, to encumber herself with him.

“I don’t like to hear you say things like that,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to die.”

Her fingers were caressing the nape of his neck very softly, which was sending all sorts of feelings down his spine, and damn, he wanted to— He cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened up, refusing to look at her.

“Oh, so you get to hurt me? Just not the others?”

She nodded, apparently satisfied with this conclusion.

“Exactly!”

He finally risked a glance at her, and it broke his heart to see that, despite the smile the last part of their conversation had brought to her face, her eyes were still fixed onto him, sad, worried.

He… wasn’t used to having someone worry for him. Hadn’t had anyone do that in a long time. Hadn’t had anyone he wanted to come back, hadn’t had anyone who would want him to come back safe and uninjured.

Maybe he could be a little more careful.

“Fine. I’ll try.”

Sypha reached out and took one of his hand in hers. Again, he marveled at how small she was, and at how despite that, she had managed to change his entire world.

“You better,” she threatened, and he had no doubt that she could kick his ass if she want to. “Otherwise I’ll—”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. It was something he had seen his father do for his mother, his brothers for women they were courting. It was a gesture he had always found ridiculous and, quite frankly, a noble’s whim. And yet, it was the first thing that came to mind. It felt appropriate right now.

When he looked back at her, Sypha found herself suddenly frozen in place by the look in his eyes, her heart pounding so loud in her chest she thought it might explode. He looked at her like he wanted her. She could read the sheer desire that almost turned to desperation, she could read how hard he fought that desire, could tell that every fiber of his body were screaming for her. She could also read all his affection, perhaps even his love for her. How tender his feelings were, and how it was those feelings exactly that kept him from acting on his desire.

How terrified he was of losing her, particularly through his own fault.

Her lips parted. She knew she had to say something. She wanted to say something.

There was a crash in the street, and Trevor rolled his eyes.

“Welp. Looks like we have a job to do.”

Just as gently, he took her hand down, leaving it limp alongside her body. Somehow, he couldn’t read her as easily as she could. Somehow, he had no idea of the emotions that were coursing threw her body.

“You coming or what?”

Her cheeks were burning, and Sypha shook her head, trying to collect herself. Alucard was right. Trevor was distracting her, but that only meant that she had to wait for a moment when they could afford to be distracted.

She watched his back as she started to run after him. He looked over his shoulder to check on her, and she smiled.

“You better not get hurt this time, Belmont!”

“Hey, you should be telling that to them, not me!”

Then, a moment of silence.

“But I’ll try.”

Because she had asked him to. Because she was worth it. Because now, there was someone who wanted him not to get hurt. Because now, there was someone he wanted to be able to come back to. To spend more time with. To care for. To love, perhaps.

Because now, there was someone who made staying alive worth it.

Hope you liked it! I did regret not seeing more of the relationship building between the two, the fact that it happened off-screen was... frustrating to me. It’s my first time writing for them and the fandom, so I hope I did alright, feel free to let me know if you have thoughts about them being OOC or something!

[the-colony-roleplay]

No one had explicitly said so out loud before it happened, but there was something odd and stirring in the air the morning of that elusive arrival. And though it was quite possible no one said anything of it because a heavy, unspoken tension wasn’t a particularly unusual thing at this small Colony on the lonely Belvedere Island, but there would be a few after the fact who, if you asked, would swear that they felt no one spoke of it because there was some sort of spectral force that kept them from doing so. It was a chilling sense of dread that kept their mouths sealed tight, and breakfast was eerily quiet that morning. It was almost as if the Colony knew—as a collective, as a whole, though not in so many words, and certainly not on any individual basis—that something was coming.

And when it did, everyone knew that too. Even before those great, creaking wooden doors swung open, they knew, and heads began to turn or lift, as if hearing something troublesome that they couldn’t quite place. What was that? their eyes would say. Did you hear that? wary glances between friends would plea. 

She swept into the entrance hall with so much power in her stride that it was almost as though she was both stomping and floating. Her tall leather boots clacked menacingly on the stone floor, and her footsteps somehow seemed to shake the place down, even though watching her walk was like watching a panther stalk its prey. She was agile, surefooted, ferociously silent. And yet there was a loudness about her, one that shocked everything around her into an uneasy stillness. 

Laughter died and conversations ceased; citizens watched in a trembling and bewildered awe as she marched across the grounds and into the Colony with a handful of men at her wing—a foreboding emblem on their chests, which no one at Colony 22 would yet recognize, but would later come to know as the new official sigil of the NWRF. But they didn’t have to recognize the symbol, or the faces of these individuals, to know who they were and what they stood for. A bit like that unexplained celestial something in the air this morning, everyone already knew, without a doubt in their minds: these figures were from the New Wave Head Quarters—or were at least representing them. 

The woman, her brow severe, the set of her jaw intimidating, headed directly up the stairs and towards the Chancellor’s office. Never had she set foot in Colony 22 before (as far as anyone that day was aware) but it was as though she knew exactly where she was going. She never spoke a word, and neither did anyone dare utter one as she passed. She found Quinn in his office and the door slammed shut behind her, one representative following her inside, the others waiting at the door. The silence that followed was deafening. 

Rumours would start to circulate through the Colony like creeping ivy with every minute she spent behind that door, and by the time she left, as swiftly and ominously as she arrived, those rumours would begin to spread like wildfire. Somehow, it gradually became public knowledge that Reformists from HQ had been here, though no one knew who, or why—but the woman had had an aura of importance and power about her that could not be ignored. Just the breeze of her strut across your path sent shivers down your spine, chills to your very bones—like someone walked across your grave, if you were superstitious like that. 

But what no one would know was the details of what went on in that office—how this woman (who’d introduced herself only as ‘Imara,’) got right up in Quinn Dervilia’s face and told him that if he ever so much as whispered a word of the truth about the parasite to anyone else, she would personally see to it that he would face the consequences—and she could not guarantee that his wife would be exempt from those consequences. How, when Quinn had asked who she was to be making such a threat and if she had the authority to speak for HQ, she’d replied only with a contentious, ‘as far as you’re concerned, I am HQ.’ The average folk would also not know that Imara had, as she explained, made the trip over because word had gotten to her while she was at a Colony in France, that 22′s Chancellor was deliberating breaking the news to the public. Evidently, somewhere in Colony 22′s infrastructure, there was a leak. 

No one would know these things save, of course, for the Chancellor himself, Clove Modius, who was in the the room at the time as the Chancellor’s right hand, and a certain patrolling NWRF guard named Charlie Essex, who’d overheard, not all of it—not by a long shot—but likely more than he was meant to. Of course, he’d only been following orders—keep this hallway clear, the reps had told him. No one comes this way. And he’d done just that, ensuring that no one would overhear anything if voices were ever to raise—so it was hardly his fault, of course, that when her threats did rise, that he was around to catch some pretty alarming things. 

Later, when the Reps left, the Chancellor would notify all NWRF members (and lab assistants or researchers already unfortunately involved) that they would, under no circumstances, be telling the public about the truth of the NWRF’s ‘experiment’. He would do this via PDD and Echo alert, as it was not open to discussion, or contestation. He would not say why, but he would not need to; that much was obvious. Someone had come. Someone had made it quite clear that their hands were well and truly tied. 

The Chancellor did not know who had reported him to HQ, but he did not dare ask, and if Imara had known, she’d had no interest in sharing. Quinn also did not know for sure if the leak had been intentional or accidental, but either way, he was furious. Furious—but powerless. So he did not interrogate or attempt to flush out the nark, because it seemed futile at this point, and doing so would only implicate him further. Instead, he would abide by the NWRF’s demands and say no more of it. There was too much at stake, now, and his own life was but one of those things. 

That isn’t to say, however, that he would be able to resist wondering: who had this person been who’d betrayed him? Had it been an act of spite or sheer stupidity? Should he take it as a threat or simply a wake up call? And finally, did these questions even matter? Would having any of these answers make any difference at all? 

A/N: Hey Fam!!!

So welcome to the next Fever State related plot drop!! As always, if you have any questions at all, or even ideas/plots you want to throw at us/run by us, do not hesitate to ask! But for now, here are a few of the standard things to keep in mind: 

The ‘truth about the parasite’ remains something that ABSOLUTELY CAN NOT under any circumstances be released to any none NWRF individuals at this time (with the exception of people like Mei Zhu, who already knows because she was involved in the initial discovery). That reveal is... on the horizon, haha. 

This incident, however, does address the plotting and fallout from the discovery of the truth among the NWRF at Colony 22, and the discussion that had gone on between Quinn and some of the NWRF Reps concerning what to do with the information. Obviously, while Quinn was fretting about how to handle this bombshell, someone made up his mind for him be it intentionally or not.

In terms of plotting/gossip on the dash: 

ANYONE (Elite, NWRF, Civilians etc) can know about the arrival of the HQ Reps, and gossip can reach anyone at any time concerning who exactly they were, and what business they had with Quinn, but it will get around quickly that they went straight to Quinn’s office. Other rumours will be vague and there are bound to be a few variations of the story, as there will be a lot of speculation about the true purpose of the visit. Who exactly was that woman? Was Quinn in trouble? If so, why? The NWRF around the Colony seem tense: Why? Is it over something that already happened or is it perhaps something that’s about to happen? Is this mysterious arrival a bad omen? The sign of the start of something, or rather the end? It will likely be difficult to tell where facts end and pure speculation begins.

ALL NWRF can know that Quinn has announced his final decision about not telling the public the truth, as he has said as much in a PDD/Echo alert sent to them all. He won’t have directly mentioned the arrival of the HQ Reps nor Imara, but it’ll be obvious the timing isn’t a coincidence. They are also free to speculate amongst themselves. 

ONLY CLOVE & CHARLIE will have been around to hear exactly what was said in the office (Clove in a more direct way, but Charlie will have heard enough to piece it together more or less) but in this case, we actually encourage the spread of this information but among other NWRF only. Having some of these details get out (among the NWRF) will hopefully give you guys lots of threading/plotting opportunity and drama to sink your teeth into. So, if you have an NWRF character that you are interested in having find out some of these details, you can either plot/headcanon with someone(s) how the word got to them, or you can thread it out directly on the dash! The world is (sort of) your oyster! Just remember to:

check in with this post for verse-details,

ask questions anywhere you need clarity,

connect with your fellow rpers involved in the plot,

make sure not to reveal the parasite scandal to any Non-NWRF aligned folk,

and remember you have the NWRF OOC at your disposal for convenient NWRF brainstorming!

CONCERNING ‘IMARA’: It’s evident she’s an important figure with the NWRF, but we currently do not know what her story is, or her specific title. To many NWRF Reps around the world, the ‘founders’ and personnel at HQ are sort of a ‘board of shadowy figures’ in many cases, because Reps don’t often have the opportunity to meet the highest on the food chain, so to speak. It’s safe to assume HQ is intentionally cagey about a lot of these details; it’s also safe to assume that at least one of the motives for this is precautionary. But Clove and Quinn had not even met or explicitly heard of Imara before her sudden arrival at Colony 22 (at least not by name), so whoever she is, she is either new to her position of power or... something has rattled her cage badly enough to make her come torpedo-ing out to the front lines.  Whatever the case, no one will know the details of what she represents, (other than a vague and cryptic ‘HQ’,) and only Clove, Quinn and Charlie will have heard her name initially. However: rumours about her will likely get around overtime through these three individuals (and whoever they happen to tell) and her name CAN in fact get leaked to the general public here and there. The only thing that can’t, is her reason for being there that morning, and anything concerning the parasite scandal. But in terms of details about Imara herself, so little is known about her in general at this point that everything will be speculation at best, even among the NWRF.

The only other thing to note is that this happens near the end of the fourth week of February: so towards the later part of the week following the Games. This means that we are not yet jumping the whole timeline forward, but you can assume we will be sometime after the initial buzz of this plot drop quiets down. 

Alright, that’s all we got for now gang! Hit us up with any questions on the main if you have them! 

Love you all and have a blast!!

xxMods

[jackkodiac]

Oh boy this is fun. Extremely long post ahead. Beware of ooc drama.

@holydestruction

"If someone has an issue with another mun, please do not send yourself ‘‘anons’‘ or have your friends send ‘‘anons’‘ as an excuse to try and attack/punish other muns."

Neither I myself, nor any of my friends know who sent the ask. I avoided answering it for 3 days because Ollie and I had not finished discussing the final outcome. I went into Ollie’s DM’s SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE of this ask to try to finally clear the air and have some kind of answer. The ask made me uncomfortable, and the 2 previous ones had as well. It had been sitting unanswered for 3 days before everything blew up. 

"Once someone has blocked me I keep it at that and respect their wishes, and i normally don’t give a fuck about the petty vagueposts on here--in fact, check my rules for how i generally approach situation."

Please show me where I apparently vagueposted about anyone??? I didn’t even tell my closest friends about the problem until today (5/2/2020) when I was informed of this callout post, let alone make vague public complaints about you OR Ollie. I blocked you knowing you would likely block me soon anyway. 

"However, if someone is coming up to me saying that people are posting things like this, and bringing private matters public while spreading misinformation then I’m going to respond."

No I’m pretty sure I didn’t air any dirty laundry, unlike you? I spoke the truth; in the end I did not get a choice. I got an ultimatum. And I dropped the subject after that ask. Good to know you have someone stalking my blog for you though.

You posted a screenshot of my ask response; a request to have the subject dropped bc I was hurt by a situation I couldn’t do anything about. How horrible of me.

"Hi yeah since you blocked me and Ollie is rarely on Tumblr any more cause of this exact shit right here, and you’re trying to vilify the mun OVER FUCKING WORD BARBIES, I’m stepping in to tell you top stop playing the fucking victim when I have chat logs of you trying to hold Ollie emotionally hostage."

Like I said, I blocked you knowing you would block me eventually anyway. I blocked him too, because I figured the same thing. He specifically stated to me in his last Discord message, and I quote: “After this conversation, I really do think it’s best that we don’t talk again.” So I blocked you both to deter the possibility of accidentally engaging with either of you again. As. Requested.

Also, it hurt knowing you have full reign to npc his character when I was denied even the possibility of npcing a *background relationship*. So yes. I blocked you. I could not forsee us ever interacting in a positive manner, so I cut my losses.

I am not sure how you think I’m “playing the victim” as if I wasn’t also hurt by his words and actions? There were no winners in this argument and you blaming all of it on ME is the actual vilifying.

Also good to know that wanting to talk about something instead of being told I have to end it on the spot with no explanation is “holding someone emotionally hostage.” I guess I will just have to avoid discussions with people ever again bc talking ooc is evil now!

"Ollie tried multiple times to contact you over this issue because they wanted to stay in contact."

This is actually true! Ollie contacted me to talk about general things as well as the topic of our characters a few times over the last month. I did the same thing just as often. He would contact me to say hi and ask how I was doing, we would small talk. I would contact him to show him pictures of my cat bc he liked them! We would small talk. Occasionally we actually would start to discuss things. Then we would either get busy, go to sleep, or have to go to work, and the discussion would end. Other times we had to stop because one or both of us was too stressed out over various factors and the topic was strenuous.

"Every time, you brushed them off begging Ollie not to have them break up because, as you stated, that was the only thing you had to look forward to that made you happy."

I did not brush him off EVERY time. Sometimes we started to get somewhere. He asked to stop talking just as often, if not more times, than I did. And while I did say the ship was ONE of the only things I was looking forward to, I did not say it was THE only one. The epidemic has been stressful on everyone, and with both of us being “essential workers” the external stress is even harder. I enjoyed having something to talk about when I got off of a hard day at the warehouse. I wasn’t ready to let go of that when HE even offered to have them work it out in the first place. 

"You then ghosted them for days that rolled into weeks, and Ollie would have to contact you AGAIN."

Correction: I left Ollie ALONE for days at a time, after he would request it. He would leave my messages unanswered just as often? But I didn’t complain about it, because that is something he has always done. We don’t always have time to stop and talk. He would get stressed out and I would drop the subject AT HIS REQUEST until he brought it back up. I think that is actually considered respecting someone’s space.

"Do you know what that is, acyl? That’s putting the responsibility of YOUR HAPPINESS onto OLLIE over a FUCKING ROLEPLAY SHIP, ACYL."

And yet, his choice to make both of us retcon/cut down months of character development between both our muses ISN’T putting the responsibility of HIS happiness on ME? Ok. If you say so.

"Ollie explained to you now stressful and anxiety inducing roleplaying had become, and how miserable they were roleplaying this character for reasons that I’m not getting into and don’t matter right now. The point is, ollie explained how they felt."

And just as many times, I expressed that he did not have to continue writing. He said he was leaving tumblr and going to restrict rp to Discord. I said Ok I can work with that. He said he wanted to drop the character. I said Ok I can work with that; I have had many partners drop muses or leave the rpc before, and this issue has NEVER arose in all 5 years I have been writing this blog. The characters have either been killed off by the original mun or allowed to be npc’d in a background relationship. (Ie, implied that they occasionally hang out or talk. No large modding of anyone else’s characters.) Not once has someone started a huge ordeal over this.

"You then got MAD AT OLLIE, and LASHED OUT because Ollie deleted their blog, and told them that OLLIE SHOULD HAVE CONSULTED YOU FIRST???? AS IF YOURE ENTITLED TO THEIR BLOG??"

I was never once mad at Ollie. I was shocked and hurt by the last message Vwig had dm’d to Crow on tumblr before Ollie deleted the blog. I was concerned for Ollie over what had caused this sudden change. I had just gotten off an 8 hour shift at work and seen the aftermath, and I went into Ollie’s DM’s on Discord asking what was wrong. The previous night, when the characters had been fighting, I asked Ollie multiple times ooc if he was ok. I asked if he was bothered and he told me no multiple times. He said it was all ic and he was perfectly fine. I dropped it and the next I heard from him was THAT. I asked what was wrong, what had happened. I was concerned for my friend who just previously said he was ok. He said he didn’t want to rp vwig anymore and we started to talk about what to do since he was leaving the community. Not once did I say he had to ask my permission to delete his blog. I asked why he didn’t talk to me first about what had upset him, but I did not tell him he had to have my permission.

"YOU DO NOT OWN ANY RIGHTS OR GET TO HAVE ANY SAY IN WHAT OLLIE DOES WITH THEIR PROPERTY, NOR DICTATE WHAT OLLIE DOES WITH A HOBBY MEANT TO MAKE THEM HAPPY AND RELAXED. YOU DO NOT HAVE THAT CONTROL OVER OLLIE."

At no point did I ever express that I did. I expressed concern over his change in demeanor. 

"You DO NOT get to do nothing but guilt trip Ollie to try and make them do what YOU WANT. You DO NOT then get to try and use anger to INTIMIDATE Ollie into doing what YOU WANT. You DO NOT get to ghost Ollie after they try to reach out, and pin the blame on them. You DO NOT get to try and vilify ollie because YOU DIDNT GET YOUR WAY."

Good to know that expressing my own discomfort, and concern is suddenly all of these things. Good to know that trying to find out why we can’t work things out all of a sudden is manipulative.

Good to know that internalizing my pain over this fight and going out of my way to avoid talking about it to literally anyone in order to avoid vilifying him in any way is me trying to make him look bad.

"Ollie stated why they were uncomfortable with you NPCing their relationship, and it is your responsibility to RESPECT it. Even if you disagree, it is THEIR CHOICE."

Just as well, I stated why I was uncomfortable with retconning months of writing and development. But apparently it is not his responsibility to respect that and try to come to a compromise. I am the one supposed to only respect him and not expect him to respect me back.

TLDR; You claim I am out here slandering and defaming someone I have never once mentioned in public about a private issue. Yet you name drop and vilify me in a callout post, yourself. You are being a hypocrite, and I would appreciate it if you did not mention me again. Have a nice day.

[grandmalavi]

Moondance, a Marquillo/Serquel fanfiction. My first time writting about these two, so I hope it it isn't too cringy nor extremely OOC. Enjoy! :)

“MOONDANCE”

Raquel found Sergio outside, seating by the beach, bare chested and barefoot underneath the moonlight. Staring at the crashing of the waves, it seemed as if the ocean held all answers to the overthinking going on inside that brilliant mind of his.

He'd sneaked out little after dinner, when she'd been too enthralled in a conversation with Ailyn, the kind Filipina woman he'd hired to help with them with house chores, to properly notice his escape. Once she'd noticed his absence, though, Raquel immediately knew where he'd go— in this pacific island of theirs, there weren't many places to run off to, after all.

She'd left her mother to continue chatting with Ailyn from where she knit by the kitchen table, calm and chatty as the woman rarely was these days. They discovered the sound of one of Sergio's old classic records would have a surprisingly soothing effect over Marivi, and it now played softly at the background as Raquel left the room, travelling upstairs to found Paula already tucked in bed. The little girl flipped curiously through the pages of one of the books Sergio had purchased for her birthday, a month ago, and once her mother sat by her side, Paula filled her ears with excited babble over Harry Potter's newest adventures until finally being convinced into turning the lights off and going to sleep. Smiling at her small form underneath the sheets, Raquel had left a crack of her daughter's door open, so that she'd have that little bit of light coming inside the room the way experience taught her it'd make her feel safer, although the talk around bedtime these days was that nine was too grown up to be afraid of silly monsters anymore.

Then, and only then, Raquel went out in search of the complex, annoyingly withdrawn man she turned out to love— supposing she'd given him the time alone he seemed to need to think, by then.

Their living room double doors opened to a breathtaking view of the ocean, and in specially hot days they'd taken a habit off setting in the comfortable net outside and watching as Paula ran around in the sand with her new Palawan friends. She and Sergio would talk about nothing and everything, swinging pleasantly in the arms of one another while exchanging the silliest smiles, between caresses and kisses that'd leave them both needing and turned on, although much too comfortable with just snuggling innocently in the breeze to move inside and do something about it, at the same time. Their touching would be torturing, but of the best, slow-burning and arousing sort of kind— leaving both flustered and breathless afterwards, often clinging onto one another like high schoolers until the time they'd be alone again would come.

This night, Raquel stood by the doorway while bracing herself against the chilling ocean breeze coming in, her eyes wandering briefly until she found Sergio's familiar form, his slean shoulders bared outside in the cold, although he remained unflinching in face of the waves constantly licking his legs. Feeling a wave of sadness wash over her at how lonely he seemed, she sighed, and without further hesitation started making her way toward him.

Her feet dug into the cool sand, goosebumps lifting all over her arms once she reached the spot where he sat, pushing her wavering hair out of her eyes to stare down at him. Cross-legged, Sergio had his elbows over his knees, not only his jeans soaked by the come and go of the ocean but all the rest of himself, as well. With water drops still glimmering in his skin and his hair damp, glued to his neck, it was clear he went for a night time swim in the freezing cold waters ahead— and, judging by his t-shirt thrown soaked in the sand by his side, not so long ago.

He was clearly freezing, the muscles of his back coiled and tensed, making something ferocious inside Raquel rise, wanting nothing but to wrap herself around him and handle him all the warmth she had. Even so, she held back, finding a fragility in his posture that told her he might recoil, in case she'd do so. And even though her approach hadn't been silent, at all, Sergio didn't seem to notice her presence there until she came to sit by his side, crossed legs underneath her summer dress to mimic his own, her knee coming to brush slightly at his.

At her touch, Sergio straightened suddenly as if struck by electricity, his eyes raising to her face as hers lowered, to find the whiskey glass half filled with wine he cradled between his hands.

He'd rarely drink, unless if to make her company, and something about the fact he found more comfort at the bottom of a glass tonight made her feel all sorts of angry and sad. But looking inside his eyes, stripped off his glasses for the obvious risk of losing them underwater, Raquel found how unsurprisingly sober he was, for despite knowing how this meticulous man she came to know could oddly turn unpredictable sometimes, she also knew he'd never be reckless to the point of entering the ocean drunk off his ass.

No, this… this sounded more like something she'd do, being definitely the impulsive one out of both. The thought made Raquel smile at him, soft and a little bittersweet, wishing deep down she'd muster just enough reasoning to help him cope with whatever bothered him today, exactly the way she knew he'd do for her anytime her feelings made her go a little nuts.

“I really made you a rebel with this swimming in your clothes thing, huh?” she murmurs, tilting her head to the ocean with her smile widening, teasingly “I mean, it's a little late to be freezing my butt out there, but you could've called me to join, no? I can be a little rebel too…”

“Just a little, yes, Inspectora?” Sergio's eyes crinkled as he smiled, shortly and awkwardly, his head ducking at his lap to avoid eye contact “I, well, I wasn't exactly planning on doing it, until… until I-I sort of… Was already there, water on my waist.” he gestured nervously, his hand making as if to push the glasses that weren't there back to the top of his nose “I, you see, I-I had a couple more of these before,” he lifts his glass, swirling the wine “and then I suppose the alcohol must've made me think I wanted to get rid of something very badly, for I threw it at the waves. But as soon as I saw it floating away I regretted it, and let's just say I had to dive in and fish it back on myself…” he shook his head, shyly, looking at her through his lashes with a shrug and a self-deprecating smirk “Not my finest moment, so I'm glad you weren't here to see me destroying the beauty of fully-clothed swimming so pathetically, indeed.”

Raquel's smile faded as he spoke. Frowning, not liking the look in his eyes, she forgot the space she intended on giving him and reached to grab hold of one of his hands in hers, bringing it to her lap. Immediately she realized her instinct to be right, for Sergio's cold fingers squeezed hers quite frantically, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, sort of leaning forward towards her, his eyes sparkling in the reflection the moon provided on the waves.

Oh, my love.

“Sergio, did you get rid of Andrés' watch?”

His features twitched, a grimace of shame, and he nodded “Tried.” his voice was a whisper, that he drowned inside his glass in a nervous gulp of wine. Then, he shook his head, wiping clumsily a drop of water that slid from somewhere around the bridge of his nose, then down his cheek “I-I, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking, Raquel. What damn good would've come out of getting rid of the only thing my brother has left me…” he sighed, tremulously, scoffing at himself “My father's watch, Raquel. This old contraption he had restored for me because I'd refuse putting it aside in twenty years, all of it so that I'd have it in time before the heist… so that I'd have 'a second to remind our reasons' on me, he said.” Sergio's whole face scrunched, as if some sort of physical pain cut him from the inside “Same damn thing Dad told me the day he left to die, leaving me this watch so I'd have a piece of him, and since then it's become… It's become this piece of Andrés and that bastard smile of his as well, Raquel, and now it won't probably even work anymore…” he closes his eyes shut, trembling “I-I'm such an idiot-”

“Hey.” Raquel scooted closer to him, passing her arms through his, her chin propped on his shoulder as she tilted her head backwards to meet his eyes “Only I can call my boyfriend that, you hear me?” sighing, she asked softly “Where is it?”

“Over my shirt.” Sergio nodded towards it, and Raquel turned to reach for it. Turning the simple, delicate watch she'd only seen him take off to sleep over in her hands, Raquel saw how he'd attempt to dried it, although droplets of water had inevitably leaked inside it as she tapped its glass, its hands remaining frozen, still marking the same time from about an hour ago. The engraved quote “a second to remind your reasons” shone as she ran her thumb softly over the back of it.

“We'll ask Aylin if she knows any watchmaker in the village to take a look at it later.” she tells him, turning his hand over to set the watch firmly around his wrist, back where it belonged, planting a soft kiss to his palm before resting their joined hands back over her thigh again “But even if it can't be fixed, it doesn't matter.” she entwined their fingers, squeezed his hand “I'm sure your brother wouldn't care, for he gave it to you so that you'd keep on you as a reminder of himself and your father, not as just one more gift. What matters, carinõ, is that it's become important enough for you to make you dive into the ocean at night just to retrieve it back.”

Leaning her cheek to his arm while watching him mull over her words, she felt how cold and damp his skin felt, how he'd punished himself by seating there and letting shivers consume his exposed chest until now.

“Berlim was…” Sergio shook his head, his voice cracking “Sometimes reminding him is… difficult, complicated. I kept… looking at it, today, over and over, and, I-I don't know, Raquel…” he gulped, turning the watch anxiously around his wrist “ It was hard not to replay his death over and over, I suppose, just at the sight of this. It felt simply so… revolting, unfair. Then next thing I new, I'd already launched it at the waves. And at first… at first it made me feel so damn relieved you wouldn't believe it, Raquel. So, so much.” his tone was raspy, strangled, and he squeezed her hand so firmly it hurt “Until I realised, realised… I couldn't. Shouldn't. Immediately, it was as if this stone-shaped weight settled inside me, heavying me all over, a hundred pounds over my shoulders. It made me regret, then go after after it like the moron I am, so fucking ashamed and hoping I could somehow grasp his memory back-”

“Shhhh.” Her heart ached as she attempted a smile at him, rubbing his arm up and down in attempts of lending him a little of her warmth, at least. Feeling her own eyes filling at the sight of Sergio's shining ones, Raquel cradled his face in her hands, blinking her own tears away “You don't have to feel ashamed, you hear me? It's okay for you not to want to suffer nor carry willingly reminders of your losses around, Sergio. Means you're human. Means it's normal for you to want to run away from bad, painful memories, sometimes. It's perfectly okay…”

Sergio rested his forehead to hers, eyes closed, pulling Raquel to his chest as a tremulous gasp escaped his lips. She tried to keep her eyes open and watching him, but it was proven impossible as Sergio nuzzled his nose to hers, lips brushing softly against her cheek before he buried his face into the space between her neck and shoulder, releasing what it seemed to be a lifetime held breath, warm and heartfelt, against her skin.

Her eyes drifting closed, Raquel hugged him back and let him drown his sorrow inside her arms.

Very soon this morning, soon as the sun peeked at the horizon, she'd woken up suddenly and for no apparent reason to find herself alone in their bed. Missing the usual feel of Sergio's arms wrapped around herself, she'd sat and turned around to see where he'd went, finding his familiar form observing the sunrise by himself at the beach outside. Knowing the occurrence of his nightmares and troubled sleep the past few days very well by then, for she was the one to comfort him and witness him toss and turn, calling out his brother's name in the night, Raquel assumed he needed to clear his head off but didn't want to wake her up.

Nevertheless, she went after him. And wrapped her arms around him from behind as soon as she was close enough, hands sliding to his chest as she glued herself against his back, being able to feel the deep intake of air he took as soon he felt her touch. She'd earned herself a weak smile, Sergio's larger hands finding and grasping hers thankfully as she hugged him tighter, wishing to able to send all his troubles away with something as simple as her presence, alone. Together they stood, until sun rays colored the sand by their bare feet, orange glowing and outlining their joined bodies in soft warmth.

And then Raquel pulled him back towards the house, Sergio following willingly, wrapping himself all around her in return. Soon they no longer walked, but stumbled upon their unmade bed, falling over the mattress together amidst Sergio's pouring ticklish kisses all over her neck and shoulders and Raquel's breathless, relieved laughing out loud.

Their lovemaking was rushed and intense, a frantic ripping of clothes and ablazing hands exploring exposed skin, until Sergio's hips furiously met hers, coaxing shared gasps of relief out of both. Raquel's pent up desire for his touch made her dig scratches with her nails into his back, such was her pleasure, coaxing him into moving, harder, faster, deepest as possible within every thrust inside her until they both reached a sudden, toe-curling climax almost at the same time. Collapsing above her, Sergio's arms enclosured Raquel in a warm cage in which she immediately melted, his lips pressed against the pulsing hollow of her throat as they both struggled to catch their breath. She smiled in contentment, although briefly, once she noticed how tense and still he rested inside her embrace, silent even as she drew lazy shapes over his back with her fingertips, trying to get some actual words out of his mouth to express what had tormented him so much during the night.

Then, finally, as she felt moisture where his cheek had come to rest right above her heart, Sergio breathed his confession in a harsh whisper “He'd been forty-six today.”

And without further words needed, with her heart sinking, Raquel understood. It torn her how little there was she could actually do for him, but to hug him and feel his pain and let him hold onto her, caressing his hair as his silent tears slid between her breasts.

She'd never got to meet Andrés, besides for that brief and mostly unpleasant encounter with him as Berlim back at the heist, but that morning she and Sergio both fell asleep feeling deeply for his loss at heart.

When she'd woken up again, was to the strong smell of Sergio's cologne filling her senses, once during their sleep he apparently had turned on his side and crushed her to himself at some point, entangling his limbs around her in a death grip. Raquel's face glued to his neck, for she honestly felt hotter within the second against his warm body, but soon she found out she didn't bother much, when it was clear by his slow heartbeats Sergio felt deeply comforted and at peace in their sweaty embrace. She was, in fact, just starting to doze off again, lulled by the sound of his regular breathing, when he released her a bit, clearly awake, to cradle her face in his hands and place a lingering kiss on her lips.

“Good morning.” he'd said, smiling, and with that Raquel thought— wanted to believe— his troubled thoughts had ceased tormenting him, at least for today.

And true to his best abilities of putting up a facade, Sergio managed to convince her pretty well with another kiss and the promise of having breakfast ready for her downstairs, before he'd retrieve his glasses by the nightstand and left her hugging a pillow in lieu of his body, to disappear inside their bathroom displaying a relaxed smile on his face. Through the rest of the day, he never mentioned his brother nor the sorrow he'd expressed freely in her arms that morning again.

Raquel never approached the subject either, knowing that Sergio was bound to shyness and embarrassment if pushed into expressing himself prematurely, especially when the control freak inside him reacted so poorly upon having his emotions on check. And so she went along with his good humor and set about watching him closely, instead.

She laughed along Aylin and her mother's silly conversation topics at the breakfast table while accepting the coffee mug he handled her with a quick peck on the lips, watching him with the same moved gratitude of every day as he walked around her chair to deliver Paula's plate first, a smile opening on his face as the little girl approved soundly of her chocolate chips and bunny-shaped pancakes made out of scratch. Raquel even sneaked by the old piano Sergio had pushed against a corner in their living room, later, leaning onto the instrument in silent awe to observe him coaxing her daughter's enthusiasm into actually sitting and learning a few clumsy notes under his patient guidance. Unsurprisingly, she'd almost embarrassed herself by actually tearing up once Paula eagerly started playing the song they've been practicing for about two months now, Sergio's encouraging murmurs making her little girl smile proudly, seemingly suddenly so attentively and mature Raquel wanted nothing but to hug her tightly and never let her grow up.

But, above all, Raquel felt as if she could actually weep if any of them lifted their eyes from the keys long enough to acknowledge her presence there. Because family was the only word she could think of to describe Sergio's hand on Paula's shoulder and the little girl's clear admirance upon him every time he'd smile approvingly when she'd hit the right notes— the two halves of her heart, merging together into actually loving and caring for each other right there before her eyes.

Not for the first time since she'd brought her family to live in Palawan, Raquel felt deeply thankful for Sergio's willingness into making them a part of his life as well. He was such a different man here amongst them, and little by little she saw how he'd started to reveal new sides of his personality just by interacting with them. He no longer was the Professor nor Salva to her, but Sergio instead, a junction of both personalities into this man worth so much more Raquel could see both her daughter and mother starting to discover— and falling in love— for his true self as well.

Right now, being hugged and hugging him equally fiercely back, Raquel wished their newfound love could be enough balsam to relieve the lost of his loved ones somehow. Almost as if sensing her worry, she felt Sergio's chest expand against hers as he sighed very deeply, cupping the back of her head with both hands before finally releasing her, pulling back. She found pain still there in his face, but his eyes were clear once again, albeit intense, his attention solely focused on her in a way that made Raquel's stomach flutter in unexpected butterflies.

“We should get back inside.” he whispered, his features softer, tender, his hands moving to rub her upper arms “You're starting to freeze.”

"You are the only one freezing here, Professor.” deciding they've loathed over sadness enough for today already, Raquel opened a mischievous smirk at him. Smitten, she stole his glass of wine for herself and tossed her head back, emptying it in two gulps. Licking her lips, she left it behind on the sand, very much enjoying the way Sergio's pupils dilated as he watched her, amused.

“I've learned a long time ago that the best way to warm up is being creative.” she said, then leaned in for a kiss Sergio returned so hungrily she moaned against his mouth, coaxing a frustrated groan out of him as soon as she pulled back, smiling, and giggling got to her feet “You can get your old man's ass back inside later, 'cause right now you owe me a dance, Marquina.” she offered him her hands “Moondance is still my top ten Van Morrison favorite, so if you could, you know, get yourself moving while the moon is still out, that'd be great.”

“They'll have to get this engraved on my tombstone.” Sergio shook his head, smiling “Dead by Raquel Murillo's hands. Poor man couldn't say no, they'll say.”

And he grabbed her hands, stood up, resting his own hands around her waist to nuzzle her neck, feeling finally brought out of his own head there against her, happy and alive.

“Funny. Last night it seemed I was handling you just fine, no?” Raquel whispered by his ear, putting her arms around his neck.

Sergio laughed into her hair “Oh, you've got low tactics, Inspectora. Very low.”

“Anything's fair in love and negotiation, Professor. I didn't invent that.”

“Wrong quote. Great point, though.” he whispered, then nibbled her ear, chuckling when she gasped and pushed her hips automatically against his.

“W-Why aren't we moving?” Raquel stuttered, actually a bit flushed “Dancing and standing aren't the same thing, you know.”

“Oh, I do.” Sergio took one of her hands in his, pulled her closer and pushed back to beam a smug smirk at her “I told you before I never enjoyed dancing, but I did grow up with Andrés by my side, you know. He'd coax me into waltzing him more times than I'd like to admit, and I'll let you know I happened to get very good at it, Murillo.”

He winked at her and started swaying on his feet, gently guiding her along. Unable to stop herself, Raquel smiled wide, gasping and laughing in delight as Sergio unexpectedly spun her around, bringing her breathlessly back to his chest with a laugh of his own.

“You're not so bad, I admit it.” she breathed against his ear, heartbeats happily pounding, her chin over his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. Closing her eyes, she wished they could spend the whole night like this, blissful and lost in their own world.

“Well, I was taught well.” Sergio spun them in lazy circles, putting her messy hair behind her ear “My brother would come back from the dead just to wack me on the head if I'd embarrass myself in front of a pretty girl like you, Inspectora.”

“Pretty girl, huh?”

“Yes, very pretty. Hot, too. Naughty. And oh, so horny sometimes…”

She slapped him playfully on the chest.

“That's a good comment to reflect about on the couch, you know.”

“You think? 'Cause I think some punishing sex would teach me a better lesson-”

She silenced him with a kiss, one that escalated very quickly, up until they stopped swaying to devour each other's mouths, breathing loudly and eating one another's moans, the freezing ocean breeze ignored around them once hands caressed and burned every bit of exposed skin there was to be touched. Sergio was almost lifting off her feet when Raquel pulled back, breathlessly, resisting the need to wrap her legs around his waist.

“Let's get back inside.”

“But I thought you wanted a dance first.” Sergio murmured, showering her jaw line in languid kisses “I was starting to feel rather fond of this new dancing style, to be honest…”

“Sergio.” Raquel protested, faintly and barely audible as her eyes tended to roll every time his mouth touched her skin “Carinõ, I'd love to, but if we keep dancing with your hands wandering in this pace, soon enough both Ailyn and my mother will be able to spot my bare ass from all the way inside the house.” she wrinkled her nose, reminding a few near-misses in her teenage days “And trust me, she wouldn't let us hear the end of it anytime soon…”

“Alright, alright. Back inside.” Sergio sighed, releasing her to gather his shirt from where he'd left it in the sand and hurry back to her side so fast Raquel giggled, before he grabbed her hand and pulled them to the house “Let's go. Don't stop or make eye contact, or else they'll make questions!”

His seriousness made her laugh harder as they entered the house, Sergio pulling her behind himself like a man on a mission. They crossed the living room and went for the stairs like teenagers on a secret relationship, sneaking into the bedroom instead of out of it, while hoping the women inside the kitchen wouldn't catch them on sight. Her mother's sharp instincts, however, were not to be underestimated, and soon they heard her shout:

“Don't forget to dry yourselves, otherwise you'll catch a cold!”

Laughing at Sergio's deer on the highlights looks, Raquel called back “Don't worry, Mamá!”

As she heard Marivi's and Aylin's amused laughter downstairs, Raquel guided a flustered Sergio towards their room, thinking a cold wouldn't be a price so high to pay for all she could've expected from a dance under the moonlight with the man she loved, and more.

[raisinghellonstarbug]

So starks-heart (Stephanie) asked and she shall receive...

(Two) word prompt:

Reunion Comfort

Author’s note: Oh wow, so it has been a LOOONGG time since I posted any written content let alone Sastiel content and it feels good to be here again, writing a prompt fluff piece.

I don’t know about anybody else, but Sastiel makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, so although it’s been a while, please bare with me because this is all going to be improvised and not exactly heavily edited. I guess that’s the point though lol XD

What’s great about these two words is that I’m pretty sure they were provided to me conveniently, given that there was a new SPN episode which aired last night (middle of the night my time). I haven’t seen the latest episode yet and I deliberately made sure I didn’t so that this story was not affected nor was going to influence any of my writing choices. This is different and won’t be like what happened. I know that there wasn’t much Sastiel moments as some of us had hoped, so I figured this could be a nice alternative. I hope it’s not too OOC in but I did my best in making it a realistic moment between the softest ship.

I know it’s a bit long, but I ended up just going with what felt natural with this short fic, so please let me know what you think!

-

Fanfic title: It’s Good to Be Here Again, With You

Fandom: Supernatural (duh)

Characters: Sam Winchester, Castiel, Eileen Leahy, Dean Winchester (mentioned)

Ship: Sam x Castiel (Sastiel, Samstiel, Sassy whatever you wanna call them)

Rating: T

Word count: 2241

Tags: Sastiel, Samstiel, Sam x Castiel, Sassy, Sastiel fanfiction, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Eileen Leahy, Dean Winchester, Supernatural, SPN fanfiction, The Softest Ship, OTP: Nothing is worth losing you, Sastiel prompt, Sastiel fluff.

The atmosphere in the bunker had been strange. Dean was going through this funk, a funk that Sam figured Dean had to go through. He thought it best to not interfere. If Sam interfered, he would only cause a stupid, pointless argument between them that wasn’t necessary or worth having during the especially difficult, underlining predicament they were currently faced with.

Chuck was in charge again, persisting with his manipulation and deliberately finding ways to toy with the boys as much as he possibly could or wanted to. Sam was conflicted, trying to hold the fort for himself and Dean, hoping that if he’s patient, Dean will be back to his normal, goofy, happy-go-lucky self. He had to give it time, but he also was struggling to understand one thing in this whole situation.

Why had Dean let Castiel go?

It was frustrating Sam to his very core that Dean was choosing to bottle in everything he was feeling again, but Sam didn’t have the energy to bother trying to talk to Dean about it, especially as he knew that his brother probably wouldn’t give him a proper answer to what happened and why Castiel left so abruptly. However, it did upset Sam that Cas didn’t even say goodbye.

It had been 2 weeks since he left, and Sam was hoping that Cas would come to his senses and return. Sam knew that Dean was partly to blame, but he imagined that Cas probably needed some time away to think and to give Dean some space too.

Sam had sent Cas numerous texts asking if he was OK, tried to ring him a couple of times but would frantically hang up like a teenager trying to call their crush would, and of course he even prayed to him. But he had no answer thus far.

“Goddamn it Cas, when are you going to come back? Don’t you realise how much I need you here right now?”, Sam fleetingly thought to himself, but also hoping that maybe Cas could hear it.

Sam sighed, sitting by himself in the kitchen area, sipping on an herbal tea, his eggs and avocado barely touched. He was trying to live like any other normal day, but he didn’t feel like eating knowing that Dean was in such a rut and Cas wasn’t around.

He had to concentrate on the positive though, the positive being that Eileen was alive and well, staying with him and Dean, looking after them whilst trying to provide some comfort to Sam’s disorderly emotions.

In that moment, Eileen walked in, temporarily distracting Sam from his wavering thoughts. She was only half awake, but she looked peaceful from her slumber. Sam smiled, getting up from his seat to greet her and offers her a hot drink.

She nodded and Sam went to the stove and grabbed the kettle, switched on the tap from the sink and filled the kettle with fresh water. As he put the kettle back on the stove, he lit the stove and grabbed a cup from the cupboard.

He turned back round to face Eileen, softly asking “Did you sleep well?”

Eileen smiled and responded, “Yes. It’s still a bit strange to be awake from sleeping though…”

“Mmmm, I get it. I know what that’s like.”

There was an awkward pause. Sam and Eileen stood there wondering what to say or do next.

Eileen then asked, “So… are we staying here today, or have you found a new case?”

Sam pondered, twitching slightly and clearing his throat. He looked down at the floor, scratching his head.

“Well, I was scrolling through articles on my laptop… but er, nothing at the moment I guess…”

Eileen nodded meekly, feeling Sam’s discomfort.

She then gently asked, “Can I be forward with you, Sam?”

Sam shrugged and nodded, willing to hear what Eileen had to say.

“How are you holding up in all of this?”

Sam thought for a moment on how to answer such a simple question. He didn’t really know how he was holding up. It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure, but he wasn’t going to suddenly break down and focus too much on the negative. He had to keep going, that’s all he knew.

“Um, OK, I guess? I’m just trying to get through all of this.”

Eileen wondered if anything she said at this point could be helpful.

“I can understand that. I mean, I was dead last week. I have you to be gracious I’m here, that I’m alive. I cannot be thankful enough, really.”

Sam smiled, pleased that at least he could concentrate on that, how he too was grateful that she was alive.

“You’re welcome. I mean, it was nothing…”

“Nothing? Are you kidding? You brought me back to life!”

Sam chuckled, appreciating her gratitude. He wasn’t often very good at accepting that he did actually do right by people, often only recognising the mistakes and the bad actions he had previously made.

His mind went wondering back to what Dean was doing and whether he really was OK. Before Dean left to work on a solo case of his own, he insisted to Sam that he needed some space and he was going to meet with an old friend of his that could do with some help. Sam offered to go with him, but Dean didn’t want him to. Sam had to leave it alone, regardless of whether he agreed with it or not.

He couldn’t help but think that if Cas was here, the situation might have been easier to handle. Everything was always easier when Cas was around. He missed Cas being there to comfort him when he often awoke from his nightmares.

His nightmares had become frequent, which made things even more difficult. He still couldn’t quite understand what these dreams meant, but he realised that they must mean something. That was one of the main reasons why he needed Cas especially at this point, feeling like he was the only person he could talk to about his gunshot scar that had lingered on his shoulder ever since he shot Chuck. Sam feared that his dreams must have had something to do with his blackened scar, due to the fact that his dreams started occurring more so ever since that day occurred.

He was getting more and more desperate to see Cas, to tell him the whole truth.

“Do you miss your angel friend?” Eileen suddenly asked.

Sam was surprised by this and stiffened up in his shoulders.

Sam nervously chuckled, “Is it really that obvious?”

He couldn’t help but blush that Eileen brought him up. He wasn’t going to talk about Castiel unless it was necessary. I mean he figured that she wasn’t going to mention him at all, which is why it came to him as such a surprise that she did.

“I liked Cas. He seems like a good egg.”

Sam grinned, “He really is… and he probably would be able to get us out of this mess if he were here.”

“He’ll come around. They always do…” Eileen winked at Sam and Sam went bright red again. Did Eileen know?

“I’ve had my fair share of exes, and it seems like you two just need to work it out.”

Sam could no longer look Eileen in the eye, his voice going quiet.

“I don’t know what it is about Cas, but lately… I, I don’t know. It feels like there’s something between us, but I can’t figure out what…”

Eileen then gasps suddenly, putting her hands to her cheeks as a jerk reaction. She was blushing hard, almost stifling a snicker back.

Sam then frowned at Eileen, confused.

It then hit him. He heard that noise, that flutter that he had heard so many times before. He begun to feel a sudden familiar presence behind him.

He slowly turned around and there he was. Just the being he was begging to see.

“Sam…”

Castiel’s voice was like music to Sam’s ears. The way he said his name always sent chills down his spine.

It was him. He really was here.

Sam was in shock for a moment, but then he suddenly found himself smiling wider than he had done in weeks and his face glowed up completely.

No questions asked, no words spoken, he grabbed Cas tightly into a big hug. The hug was desperate, needy. All of Sam’s emotions were put into this much needed clasp between them. It had only been two weeks, but to Sam it felt like years. Without a goodbye it was difficult for Sam to accept that he had been gone. He held him for as long as he deemed appropriate, but secretly not wanting to ever let him go. He was the only person that was still in his life, his close friend, perhaps who was now more than a friend, who truly made him feel safe aside from his brother. But even then, he didn’t always feel safe with Dean like he did with Cas.

Cas was slightly startled by Sam’s touch at first, but like every embrace he ever received from Sam, he seemed to warm to it pretty quickly. He reciprocated and held so tightly, also not wanting this feeling to leave him, but had to let go eventually as there was still a lady present in the room. Eileen cleared her throat to get their attention.

Sam let go of the embrace, but as Sam turned around, Cas still held on to Sam’s shoulders, rubbing it softly and putting their full attention to Eileen who was still standing their casually, but with a huge smirk across her face. Sam bit his lip, knowing full well what she probably was thinking. She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

“So, Cas… nice to see you again.”

Cas smiled politely and nodded, “Hi Eileen, nice to see you too. I’m glad you’re back, you know from…”

“The dead? Yeah, it’s all fine.”

Cas awkwardly stumbled, restless and unsure whether his people skills were being used correctly. Sam looked at Cas and nervously chuckled and patted Cas on the back, ensuring that he didn’t feel too embarrassed and that Eileen was totally understanding.

“I have to admit, you two… I totally see it.”

Cas then frowned, perplexed by what Eileen meant by those words. He looked at Sam, turning his head sideways.

“Sam… what did Eileen mean by that?”

Eileen snorted, rolling her eyes. She turned on her heel to leave, but before so, she said one last cheeky comment that she couldn’t resist.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…” Eileen winked and left Cas and Sam to fend for themselves.

Sam was going to interject, but she had already gone.

“Damn it, Eileen. NOW you’ve left me in an awkward position…”

Sam fumbled with his jeans and looked down at the floor, trying to not stare into those mesmerising blue eyes that always got him hooked. He didn’t know what to say. Cas looked like he was urgent to say something, but Sam had some idea of what that might be.

“Sam” “Cas” - they said their names in unison.

They both chuckled and Sam offered to go first.

“Look Cas, I… I don’t know if you heard any of what I had said to Eileen or through prayer or-or-“

Cas put his hand on Sam’s right shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Before I sort this gunshot wound out on your shoulder, I need to say something…”

Cas had a soft, a smitten smile across his face and it was Sam’s turn to be confused.

“Oh Sam… I can’t ignore how we’ve meant to each other in recent years. I’m sorry you got in the middle of Dean and me. It seems you often end up being so… and I would rather that didn’t happen anymore, because how I feel about you is different to how I feel about Dean…”

Sam’s eyes widened; his brows furrowed. “What the hell did Cas mean by that?”

“…Different?” was all Sam could manage to bring himself to say.

“Well, I watch you sleep Sam. You know that. We’ve shared a bed. I know that’s intimate; I have learnt how humans work. I don’t share that intimacy with Dean.”

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. How was he supposed to handle this?

“I… I think what is happening between us is not something I’ve shared with anyone before. I’m not sure how to handle it sometimes, but I’m doing my best for your sake.”

Sam really had no idea what to say to any of this, he felt like he should have had plenty to say. But all he felt was gobsmacked that all of these gentle, kind and endearing words that were coming out of Cas’ mouth were making Sam want to jump for endless joy. He wanted to sing, he wanted to scream with eternal happiness. Thankfully, he managed to smile, a bright shining smile.

“Oh Cas… you’re beautiful…”

Sam pulled Cas into another snug embrace, Sam’s hands restless, ingulfing in the feel of Cas around him. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and he could hear Cas hum, his eyes also shut tight.

Sam momentarily without giving it a moment’s thought, kissed Cas’ forehead and then brought Cas’ head to his chest, cradling him softly.

They stayed like that for a while.

It was the best reunion that Sam had ever experienced.

[thefreelanceangel]

Friggin' making me open two tabs at the same time so I can read and copy paste. And ones that haven't been asked yet. Unngngggg. Decode this; 🚫🗣😥👙

🚫Are there blogs you just won’t follow or characters you won’t interact with?

Yup. Granted, if it’s a public event, I’ll just try to avoid engaging with them. If it’s a small-scale event, I’ll stay polite and IC, but I won’t pursue anything beyond that. I don’t cut many people out of my interactions, but the ones I do are for specific reasons and I will not back down on it.

🗣 Have you ever used a partner as a therapist or has someone used you as a therapist?

*insert raucous laughter here*

I’ve talked to friends (separate from RP partners because our interactions went far beyond just RP) about problems and had them talk to me in return. However, I’ve also been a pseudo-therapist for a lot of people and quite often, they just ping me out of the blue, asking if they can ask me a question. 

And I don’t mind. Better they come to someone who is a) aware of their own limitations and won’t go beyond that, creating false security and b) has no personal stake in whatever they’re upset about and is able to consider their problem and offer potential solutions rather than internalize it or run to the person they’re upset about and blather it all.

😥 Have you ever been afraid of telling someone ‘no’ because of what they might do to you?

No. Mainly because there’s not a whole lot someone online can do to me. No single person controls “all the RP” in any community, and believing that is erroneous. If someone--a guild/FC leader, a “community leader”--decides they don’t like me, well, okay then?

It’s not like they can come into my house and tear my books up. My friends are people I trust to make their own decisions and not be swayed by what someone “POPular” says. Anyone who chooses to believe what’s said behind my back without either asking me about the situation or trying to get to know me personally is obviously not someone I’m missing out on interacting with.

👙 What is your take on sexy characters?

*sigh*

It’s a two-edged sword, that. Because no, I don’t think that a) characters who flaunt their sexuality/sexual behavior/sex appeal are all inherently chasing ERP or shallow and b) I don’t ascribe OOC behavior to IC behavior. 

However, I’ve also seen “sexy” characters used as a way of “collecting” people who are usually discarded once the player finds a new toy. And so I reserve judgement until I know what the character is like and see how the player behaves overall. 

I’ve absolutely no problem with people posting nude screenshots--I like the artistic ones myself, and sometimes characters get nekkid, just like people do. Nor do I fuss about the occasional sex gif or NSFW post talking about a character’s sexual activity.

If that’s all I see? Just a continual stream of half-naked women, sex gifs, steamy screenshots and constant talk about how much sex a character is getting? I’ll just go in the opposite direction. I’ve accidentally blocked RP blogs, thinking they were porn bots, for that reason.

And once I realized the mistake, I didn’t unblock them because I honestly wasn’t missing anything. 

[sevi007]

Gifted to @rex101111 and @fuckoland, for always listening to my ideas and giving me that last little push of confidence I so often need when writing. Thank you both so much. =D

Spoilers for DMC 5

Summary: Finding a way back to himself, back to his brother, and out of Hell - Vergil learns that those had been the easier parts of his new journey. Because redemption is not simply offered on a silver plate, and bonds take time to forge. But Nero might just be worth all of that.

Warnings: Uh, swearing, cause it’s Nero, and probbaly a bit OOC-ness on Vergil’s side (first time writing him, and he’s a difficult fella, I tell you)

Word Count: 7227

                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Fortuna.

Of all the places he had been to in his life, this city was not one he had expected to return to one day, with his business here finished and other goals to be chased.

Ah, but you didn’t think you would return to anything, a tiny voice in his mind mocked, sounding suspiciously like the croak of a bird. Didn’t think you would come back from this last fight, did’cha, boy?

Vergil scowled into the sky before him, banning the voice – memory, ghost, whatever it was – back into his subconsciousness. No more of this. I woke up from you.

Part of him expected a reply still. Waited for the flutter of wings, the pressure of claws on his shoulder, mocking and taunting in his ear. It didn’t come. Of course it didn’t, he told himself sternly, that part of him was gone, chased away like dark dreams in the morning sun.

 The only noise left behind was the avid chatter and laughter drifting up from the garden stretched down below. People talking over each other, laughing together. The sound of cutlery being set on tables, glasses clinking and chairs and tables being pushed together to make room for everyone, interspersed with easy chats.

Below him, life continued on, as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t all been in danger of being wiped of this earth mere months ago.

Easy companionship. High spirits. Celebrating their return from Hell, had been said, but he had the hunch that these people did not really need a reason to sit together and celebrate, if they felt like it.

 Nero had seemed at ease in the middle of things. Not as open and enthusiastic about it as the girl (Kyrie, Vergil recalled, the name not easily forgotten due to her very resolute reception of him upon his return). But still, the young man had easily greeted the various people who had showed up, accepting hugs and pats readily, striking up conversations freely.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. The boy considered these people friends, most of them family, even.

Vergil, on the other hand, must have counted for neither of those options.

 He had left (not fled, never fled, he told himself) the scene at the earliest chance, when not too many people had been looking. Had chosen the highest point of the house’s roof as his refuge, to watch attentively and think.

Bright blue eyes had followed him, he knew, had all but burned into his back, but he had ignored it. If his brother wanted something from him, he would find him. Not even the deepest depths of hell or the highest point of a cursed tree had stopped his brother before. A roof would be a joke in comparison.

 A deep voice started a sing-song right behind him, words full of mockery and taunt, “Vergil, Vergil, sitting on a roof, K-I-S-S-I-…”

Speak of the devil.

“If you keep that up,” Vergil warned without even turning around. “I will stab you. Again.”

“Aaaah,” Dante nodded wisely while he dropped beside his brother, legs dangling dangerously over the edge for the blink of an eye until he shifted and settled. Sprawled out leisurely, he flapped a hand at the other. “Still pissed cuz I one-upped you, I see.”

“Your counting is getting worse. I am currently leading.”

“Pfffft, sure, bro, sure.”

 A fall from the roof, Vergil reflected, would sadly not do his twin any harm, even if he put all his strength into giving him a much needed push.

“Did you want something, Dante?”

Dante hummed non-committally, lounging so close to the edge it was a miracle gravity didn’t take hold of him yet. He didn’t start talking – which, probably, was the most ironic thing the more talkative of the two could have done.

Finally, Vergil’s finger already twitching as he went over the idea with the push again, Dante spoke up. “You know, I would have figured you would at least try before running again.”

Pretense would not work, not on him, but Vergil tried, anyway, eyes closing as he summoned whatever calmness he still had left. “No one is running from anything, dear brother.”

“Dear brother. You only call me that when you’re seriously out of it. And you don’t even mean it.”

“I do wonder why that is.”

“So, you’re running,” Dante ignored the comment which dripped with sarcasm, going in for the kill instead, “Because how I see it is - you’re up here, and the kid is down there, so do tell me how you guys are gonna talk this out?”

 Of course. Vergil closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly, the prospect of a trusty nightmare at his side was more enticing than having his twin here instead. Then again, there was not much difference between the two. “What should we talk out, in your opinion?”

“Hm, let me think about that…,” Dante drawled. “Right. Perhaps that he’s your son? Happy Father’s Day, by the way. I think you missed a few of those in the last years.”

“You are simply stating a fact. There is nothing to discuss about it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Vergil, I thought we talked about this - at least give the kid a chance to get to know you, you stubborn asshole.”

Avoiding the other’s gaze when he could all but taste the disappointment in his words was no longer possible, and Vergil glanced over, feeling horribly tired. “I am not who he remembers.”

“Well, yeah,” Dante stared back at him, slightly askance, fully exasperated. “Not much he could remember, with you being phenomenally absent for… eh. All his life?”

The urge to snap And whose fault is that? was there, clawing at his insides like a living beast. Vergil swallowed it down, forced himself to think No.

 He had been the one too blind, not Dante. He had been the one to jump head first, without thinking of what exactly he was possibly leaving behind.

It had taken him breaking apart to put together what mistakes he had made. He would not forget again.

 One breath, two, three, and the urge subsided. He was getting better at ignoring that old, bitter part of himself which tried to convince him everything was his twin’s fault. A reflex honed over years, and not easily unlearned now. He fought to banish it, dispatching it every day a bit more, with each interaction with his… his family.

Family.

That particular word would take some time to get used to.

 Dante was still watching him, expectant and accusing at the same time, he knew, yet Vergil didn’t meet his gaze. There was nothing he could say in his defense, and the only explanation for his statement was one Dante wouldn’t understand.

He didn’t even understand it fully, himself. He only knew that there was… something. Something which was his, but not quite. Memories in his mind, fuzzy things, like a nice dream he once had and now couldn’t recall clearly. A part of him that remembered a helping hand, a shoulder offered to lean on, a now-familiar becoming voice reminding him to rest, to take it easy. Remembered the relief that came with it, with having someone to count on, to trust.

There was a man who remembered Nero as something more than a stranger.

 (- “V you gotta rest” - )

 (- “I guess I owe you one.” -)

 (- the tool, the last hope, the boy, Nero, Nero-)

 (Why had his first thought upon reassembling the halves of his very being been to thank this boy, someone who had been a stranger to him then? It had been there, the words right on the tip of his tongue, stronger than the old urge to win and proof himself right. His heart had beat and beat and beat, each thrum a whisper of You remember him, you do, you do…)

 But he wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t remember. Not really. Not himself.

Tche, and not gonna do anything about that, are ya?

This time, his hand nearly twitched upwards to shove someone off his shoulder – before he noticed there was nothing to shove at. No feathers nor claws, no sharp beak pecking him for trying.

Deliberately, he lowered his hand again, balling it into a fist to keep it where it was.

 If Dante had noted his sudden movement, he did not to comment on it. Instead the younger rolled around with a grunt, away from the edge, and stood in a way that somehow managed to be casual yet graceful. Stretching with a loud yawn, Dante squinted into the setting sun for a moment – only to turn and kick his brother in the lower back. Hard. “That’s for being an obstinate asshole.”

Vergil grunted, glared, but didn’t so much as budge or fight back. “Obstinate. I’m surprised you even know what that means.”

The grin Dante sent him back was more teeth than anything else, eyes a hard glint to them. “Good thing the kid is better in this whole family department than we both are, jackass. He isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.”

 It took Vergil a second to make the connection, and once he did, he nearly cursed out loud, out of character as it was. Head swiveling around, he did indeed catch sight of the young man standing at a distance, balanced on top of the roof as if gravity didn’t concern him, hands shoved into his pockets and watching the twins with a slight frown.

Nero noticed his gaze and lifted a hand in greeting after an awkward, fidgety pause. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders tense and clearly uncomfortable – but also like someone on a mission, not ready to back down a single step, jaw set and head held high.  

 Vergil hadn’t felt him coming, much less heard, too caught up in the presence of his twin… which probably had been the plan all along.

Much to his displeasure, Dante proved to be immune to his death glare, shrugging at him. “Told you. Not off the hook.”

“You just can’t mind your own business, can you.”

“You knew that already,” and then, all casualness was gone. Dante moved with the speed of a striking demon, too fast for the human eye, and all of sudden he was there, right in Vergil’s space, hand on his twin’s shoulder like a vice, forehead to forehead, blue boring into blue. “Listen up here, Vergil – no idea what’s going on in that head of yours, but Nero is not me. He is not you. I learned that the hard way, and you will have to learn that, too. So whatever got you all stuck up about this; get over it, and quick. You’re not gonna get an endless amount of chances, capisce? You already got a lot more than others did. ”

Instinctively and beyond his control, Vergil tried to avoid the gaze burning into his, only to find that it was impossible, partly because of the hand on his shoulder like a steel shackle, partly because of the sheer intensity in those eyes. Trapped and backed into a corner, he ground out between clenched teeth, “I know that.”

“Oh, good.”

In the blink of an eye, Dante had backed off again, rocking back with the biggest grin on his face, hands put on his hip as if nothing had happened just now. A quick glance over to Nero – the younger still kept a respectful distance, staring off into the distance now as if this did not concern him – and Dante got serious again, voice low, “Like I said – he’s better at this than we are. He’s better than you. Better than me. So get a move on and try, you deadbeat of a father.”

Then, softer, but no less stern. “He deserves it. Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

 With one last salute, mocking through and through, Dante turned and wandered off, leaving Vergil behind to comprehend everything that had been flung at him. Dimly, the older of the two noted how Dante stopped when he reached Nero, clapping the younger on the shoulder with a bright grin. A quick conversation, an eyeroll from Nero followed by an elbow into the elder’s rips, answered with a loud, bellowing laugh from the man. Then they separated again, pushing past each other gently.

Dante jumped off the roof without looking back once.

 Vergil turned to look out over the city again (not much had changed, he noted, even if his memory of it was blurred and apparently the place had seen some rebuilding after demon attacks).

He made a point out of not looking, not checking what Nero would do. Cursing to himself for getting tricked into this so easily.

Quiet footsteps resounded, firm, not hesitating. They stopped next to him, before Nero lowered himself to sit beside him, feet dangling over the edge.

 They sat in silence for a while, Nero’s gaze wandering down to the group in the garden, then over the city that had been his home all his life.

Then, finally, the younger spoke up, “You didn’t come over to greet us.”

Teeth grinding together for a second (not even straight to the point), Vergil tightened his shoulders, pulling himself up straight. “There were enough others to do so.”

“Right. Sure. So, what now? You avoiding your own party?”  

“This party has nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah?” Now there was sharpness to Nero’s voice, even though he had tried to sound casual before. “The whole thing is about celebrating you guys getting back out of Hell alive. Would think that does concern you.”

Something cracked inside of Vergil – too many people trying to talk to him when all he wanted was silence to sort his thoughts, too many suspicious looks, too many voices in his mind not his own, too many decisions to make – and he snapped, ice lacing his words, “And me being alive is something to celebrate for you, yes?”  

“After I busted my ass off to keep you dumbasses alive?” Nero’s voice had risen for a second, before he seemed to remember that there where people down there who could hear him. Obviously restraining himself through sheer willpower alone, he finished in a hiss, “Yes, dammit, it is.”

 It should have made him angry, this child speaking in such a manner to him. The flaming gaze and bared teeth and balled fists should have put him on defense.

Surely, Vergil reflected, angry and confused at himself, surely this simple, angrily thrown out statement shouldn’t have made him feel relieved.

 (You remember him, you do, you do…)

 He closed his eyes against the heady, unfamiliar rush of emotions, willing them back, back into a heart that beat stronger and steadier than it had in years, demanding to be heard in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

Better get this over with, before he did something stupid, Vergil thought – and took the leap. “If you have something to say, then speak.”

 “I still think you’re a damn asshole.”

 The words were quick, blurted out in such a rush as if they had wanted to come out of their own volition. For a second, Nero himself looked as if he was surprised by his outburst, before he frowned, turning away. He talked to the skyline instead, probably unaware of the way Vergil stared at the back of his head as he went. “I mean… fuck. Fuck, you cut my damn arm off! And you tried to kill Dante, who… who tries to kill their own brother?! That’s not even all you did – fuck, you, just – fuck you, okay?! Fuck you, for all the shit you tried to pull. But, Dante, me… You did that to your own family, you dick, you don’t just… you don’t just do that. Okay? It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. You’re fucked up.”

Silence settled between them, charged and heated, only interrupted by Nero’s heavy breathing, as if the young man had just fought a tough battle and was out of breath for it.

 Then, just when Vergil had half a mind to up and leave (clearly, the boy had said what he had to say know, right, this was it, this was over) Nero breathed in deeply, a hitching sound, before letting it out again in a hiss. When he spoke, his shoulders had lost some of their tension, and he seemed to ponder something. “But… like a friend of mine said not too long ago… without you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re my family. And I know there’s more to you than all that.”

 Too late, much too late, did Vergil realize that Nero’s gaze had dropped to something in the younger’s hand, gripped tightly but carefully.

All his anger evaporated as he caught sight of it - the old, slightly battered book gleamed golden in the light of the setting sun. A soft spot left wide open for all to see.

No.

Left in good, caring hands.

 (- “Hold onto that until then” -)

 As if sensing the elder’s gaze, Nero snapped up and around – eyes so bright they were nearly luminous, brows furrowed, the book raised like a weapon. A proof. Voice like steel, he repeated, “I know there is more to you.”

They stared at each other, blue into blue, nothing between them apart from a book and a decision. Nero looked like he dared him to disagree, to deny what he had just said.

Vergil found that he couldn’t do so.

 And finally, when the denial didn’t come, Nero seemed to come to a decision. Nodding to himself, he all but jabbed a finger of his free hand against Vergil’s chest, not heading the fact that the older didn’t budge and merely lifted a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“So this is how this show is going to go from now on – you fucked up big time. And I saved your ass more than once. You owe me,” there was a hint of knowing and smugness in Nero’s expression, and Vergil had a sense of déjà-vu, since that looked all too familiar, “You said so yourself. In fact, I would say you owe me several times over, asshole. That’s one ripped off arm, at least two times I saved your sorry ass, and I’m pretty sure there’s more. Would say that means you have some redeeming to do.

And you will,” now, Nero’s voice was sharp and unforgiving, eyes blazing as he jabbed again, not minding the twitch in Vergil’s face. “Because, again – you owe me.”

 For a moment, Vergil was struck speechless. There would have been a time, once, when this young one talking to him in such a way would have made him furious, would have had anger roar inside of him like wildfire.

It didn’t come, this time. Because the boy was right. He did owe him, had said so himself. If he broke his word now, Vergil knew with certainty, then he would never get another shot at… this. At getting to know Nero, the person he had caught glimpses off and had been proud of.

And that person - his son - wouldn’t let him off the hook, not that easily.

 Vergil felt a smirk stretch over his face, respect and amusement flickering inside him. “Did you already plan on how this… redemption is supposed to go, as well?”

Narrowing his eyes, Nero mulled the answer over, the gaze sweeping over his opposite calculating. Finally, he snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms, chin raised. “You’re going to help with the rebuilding of Red Grave City, for starters. I don’t care how – if you send money for repairs over or fucking lay bricks yourself to rebuild, your decision. That destruction was your fault, and you will make up for that.”

His breath was momentarily knocked out of Vergil at the prospect of having to see that city again – roots of his he had believed to be unrooted now – before he nodded jerkily, teeth clenched.

Satisfaction gleamed in Nero’s eyes. He seemed to grow surer about this the longer the other didn’t disagree. “Next of – fucking stop trying to kill Dante.”

“That,” Vergil pointed out, almost mildly, “we have already stopped.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, don’t start it again. It’s bullshit, and I would just have to beat you guys up again,” Nero waved it off, clearly disinterested in hearing any more about it. Missing the way Vergil’s lips twitched into a grin for the blink of an eye. “And – turn it down with the asshole attitude. Not saying you gotta become a damn saint here, but nobody here is trying to slit your throat in your sleep, so stop acting like it.”

There was probably no point in telling the younger that he wasn’t all that sure if nobody ever at least felt the urge to do just that to him, so Vergil simply nodded mutely in response to that before, “Anything else?”

 “A lot, probably,” Nero answered without missing a beat. “We will see about that when we get there.”

Vergil huffed, amused despite himself.

Nero looked him up and down again, considering. Then his posture relaxed slightly, forearms resting easily on his knees, shoulders slumping. “You’re actually not complaining about it.”

“Would it change anything?” A frown pulling at his expression, Vergil rolled his eyes. The quiet awe in Nero’s voice about that fact did not feel good at all. Had he not thought that Vergil would at least try?

“Nah. Just thought you would try to bargain at least.”

“I do not bargain about things,” Vergil frowned at the thought – well, perhaps there had been times where he should have done so. “I face what comes my way.”

“Head first through walls, huh?”

“I’ve been told I can be stubborn before, if you meant to imply that.”

At that, Nero laughed, quiet and deep. It was a surprisingly joyful sound nonetheless, and touched something in Vergil that he had thought long gone.  

 When Nero looked back up, past him and upwards, he was fully relaxed, eyes crinkling in silent amusement. “Hey, I just thought about something else you could do.”

Barely holding back a groan – did the younger have a list of deeds for him? – Vergil tilted his head in the other’s direction, signaling he was listening.

Nero kept his gaze on the sky above them, biting down on a smirk while he scratched his nose, pretending to think. “You know, I could use some help doing the dishes later.”

Vergil could feel his eyebrow twitching up in obvious surprise before he could stop it – the lapse in his expression clearly noted, since Nero’s smirk widened. At least his voice was still under his control, flat and cool as he more stated than asked, “The dishes.”

“You heard me.”

“You are not serious.”

“This is how I sound when I’m serious. You better get used to it real quick.” Nero must have noticed the disbelief on Vergil’s face, for he smirked, shoulders moving in what could have been a tiny shrug or suppressed laughter. “You did see how many people we invited, right? And Dante eats for three. There’s going to be a lot of dishes, and I’m not gonna do it alone.”

 Vergil could only stare at this curious young man (son, family, his), who surely must be mocking him right now.

Who could have, should have put him down, should have torn into him, should have- he should have hated him.

The younger could have asked anything of him, in his debt as he was.

And he asked him to do inane chores.

 “He’s better than you. Better than me.”

 Was that… was that an offering? A chance?  

His mind drew blank as to what he should do with this information, this turn of events.

 “Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

 The rest of him, however, seemed to know, deep down. There was a mixture of warmth and something else, bright and strong, spreading through him, curling gently in his chest as if to stay there permanently.

Vergil didn’t feel like analyzing it. Not right now, at least.

 He closed his eyes, tilted his face towards the setting sun. For the first time since taking this place high above the buzzing, lively group down in the garden, he felt the warmth on his face, the breeze caressing through his hair. Free enough of the thoughts repeating over and over in his head that he could pay attentions to the world around him again.

“Very well, then,” he conceded at last.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t see it, but the smirk in Nero’s voice palpable. “Alright, sweet. Counting on you.”

 This time, the silence that settled between them held no anger, only a sense of calm.

Only to be interrupted from an outside source a minute later.

 “GUYS!”

 They both looked down to see Nico waving up at them with one arm, her free hand cupped before her mouth as a makeshift megaphone.

“What?!” Nero bellowed back.

“GET DOWN HERE, FOOD IS GONNA BE READY SOON!”

“If it’s not ready yet, there’s no need to yell at us already!”

“MOVE YOUR ASS, YOU HANDSOME DEVIL!”

 “I told you not to call me that,… oh fuck’s sake,” Nero sighed, even though it didn’t sound sincere, and rock back and forth to push himself to his feet in one fluid motion. Clapping some dust off, he hesitated, gaze flickering down to where Vergil was still sitting. “You, ah. You coming?”

Gesturing vaguely, Vergil shook his head. “In a minute.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m not bringing you any food up here.”

It was a good thing Nero had already turned away, else he might have caught the little upwards twitch of Vergil’s lips in response.

 Vergil, however, saw full well how Nero gingerly, almost tenderly, held the book full of poems against his chest as he made to leave, thumb caressing over the thin spine mindlessly.

It was a kind of care Vergil remembered clearly, from days long gone – days spent in libraries and bookshops, surrounded and soothed by bound pages and written words. And the books he had been most careful with had been those… Those he knew and loved.

“You read it.”

The question – statement – seemed to throw Nero for a second. He turned, gaze following that of the older back to the book, and realization dawned. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips (tugged at Vergil’s loud, demanding heart) as he ducked his head a little.

Scratching his cheek, Nero shook his head, “Didn’t finish. Missing a few poems yet.”

He must have misread something in Vergil’s expression, since he coughed lightly, scratching again, not meeting the other’s eyes. “I might have read a few of them multiple times. That takes time, okay.”

A quick glance over at the older, then Nero frowned, seeming to realize something. “What, you want it back? I mean, it’s yours, so…”

“Keep it.”

 Nero halted in his movement, the hand offering the book halfway extended, eyebrows arched. Staring.

Vergil wasn’t much better off, surprised that he heard himself speak so quickly, so thoughtlessly. He clucked his tongue – at himself or Nero, he wasn’t sure – and gestured at the book between them. “Missing a few, you said. You should not leave things unfinished. It does not… seem to be your style.”

A beat, two… then something flickered over Nero’s face, the shift too quick for Vergil to analyze. Eyes narrowing then widening, before a slow, warm smile stretched over the young man’s face, growing into a crooked grin.

 (It was the first time he had the younger see truly smile in his vicinity, part of Vergil noted.)

 “Yeah, well,” Nero said, slowly, smile still there and softening his expression into something warm and open. He pulled the book back, safely tucking it into his jacket again. “Guess I inherited a stubborn streak from someone. Don’t do well with giving up halfway through.”

Processing that for a second, Vergil huffed, shaking his head as he turned away from the younger. “I see.”

Retreating steps could be heard, and Nero called over his shoulder. “Don’t let the food get cold.”

 Vergil waited until he sensed that he had been left alone on the roof, before allowing himself to breathe out, deep and slow.

His heart beat steady and strong.

No urge to blame, to fight, to leave. No drive to chase after faraway goals.

Only quiet and peace.

                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Maybe his disappearance hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he had thought, since there where very obvious reactions once Vergil tried to slip back into the middle of things without being seen. People fell silent in the middle of their sentence, heads turned and gazes followed him about.

 Opting to ignore them, he straightened and made his way past them, keeping his attention on getting something to eat. Behind him, the conversations picked up again, yet he could feel the prickle of being watched every now and then, the hairs at his neck rising under the scrutiny, skin feeling itchy and tight due to it.

He didn’t let it show, didn’t let it deter him. Used the satisfied little curl of Nero’s lips once the younger spotted him in the crowd as his guide instead.

At least to the young man, he was welcome here. That would have to be enough for now.

 He walked along the table that obviously served as the buffet, almost buckling under its load of an assortment of different food. Passing the stack of pizza cartons, smirk twitching around his lips at the sight, he halted, considered his options, and settled on some pasta, filling one of the plates at hand to the brim much like he had seen the other guests do.

For a moment, he almost forgot about the people around him, until a soft voice addressed him. “Vergil?”

 A gentle hand on his elbow, the touch soft and light, stopped him in his tracks, more efficiently than any foe could ever had. He dropped his gaze to the fingers resting on him – asking for attention, not demanding, not restricting – and followed the length of the slender arm, up to Kyrie’s face.

She was smiling, eyes soft and warm with… amusement, of all the things. “I just wanted to tell you - don’t mind what Nero said.”

Alerted, Vergil narrowed his eyes at her, pondering what she could have heard of their conversation. It had not been all that personal, yet still it was… more than he felt comfortable with, to share with a stranger.

Kyrie blinked, before she laughed, raising a hand to her mouth to smother it. “Oh, no, I wasn’t listening in! I meant about the help with the dishes. Nero told me about it. You don’t have to do that of course - you’re our guest, after all.”

 She didn’t mention any of the other demands Nero had made, even though Vergil was suddenly very sure that she knew about those, too. Even to him, it had been clear how close those two were, how much his son counted on the strong partner by his side, and vice versa.

Yet it was not her place to discuss those with him, and she knew that as well. He felt a sudden respect for this young woman well up in him, impressed by her loyalty to Nero.

 Shoulders relaxing minutely, Vergil was about to answer, when it abruptly occurred to him that she had read his thoughts easily that, simply from his expressions. How curious and… confusing. Carefully schooling his face back into a neutral expression, voice quiet, he murmured lowly, “It is of… it is no trouble.”

Of no matter, seemed wrong, he reflected, for it felt like it did, simple a task as it was.

Kyrie examined his expression, pursing her lips – only to start smiling again after a moment. “Alright, if you say so…”

“Hm.”

“… then, thank you in advance.”

The hand on his arm squeezed lightly before she pulled away, turning to survey the buffet. Taking up a plate and selecting a menu for herself, she smiled one last time at him, looking him straight in the eye, clearly happy when he inclined his head ever so slightly at her. And then she was gone again, easily weaving through people who made way for her.

Vergil watched her reach Nero at the other side of the garden. Watched still as Kyrie rose to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek, causing a bright smile to stretch over his face while he leaned down to murmur something into her ear, causing loud, happy laughter to echo over the little crowd. Was still watching as Kyrie picked something of her plate to offer it for Nero to eat…

 Something old and long forgotten steered in Vergil’s memory –peaceful days, when father had come back home, carrying with him presents and tales. Mother’s eyes that had shone bright with laughter as her husband lifted her and twirled her around. Evenings spent curled together, four bodies all but wrapped around each other while father’s deep voice told them stories of places far away, and mother’s laughing protests when the stories got too adventurous and bloody rang out, even though the twins had fake-pouted for more.

This… this little scene he was witnessing here was a private scene, achingly familiar and yet something he was a stranger to. Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Vergil resolutely turned his back on the pair and walked away, aiming for the table that had been set up in a corner of the garden.

 Much to his displeasure – at least he told himself so – Dante had already found his way to the table as well. Feet kicked up onto a corner of the wooden surface, arms crossed behind his head and rocking dangerously on the back legs of the chair, his twin grinned up way too smugly at him as he approached. “What did I catch back there? You, doing chores?”

Not dignifying with an answer what the other obviously knew already, Vergil picked a seat nearly at the opposite end of the table, getting comfortable.

“Kid must really have kicked your ass if you agreed to that.”

“He had good arguments to base his demands on. In fact, this part was the easiest one,” Vergil relented, ducking his head to hide his own smirk as Dante laughed at that. “He will make me work for it.”

“As he should. Good kid.”

Nothing in Dante’s voice gave the feeling as if he was joking with that comment, only fondness and respect audible when one listened close enough – knew him well enough.

And Vergil found himself agreeing with it. There would be a lot to do and atone for, yet… the reward might just be worth it. He considered the situation he found himself in in silence for a while, and came to a conclusion. “… I will. Work for it, that is.”

Will work to make it right, was left unsaid.

“Yeah?” Dante tilted his head to look at his twin, blinking in surprise, then grinned brightly and turned away again. “Good for him. For you both.”

“Hm-hm.”

 “Would you look at these guys,” an amused voice cut between them, both twins turning as Trish approached, carrying a glass and nothing else with her. “They started without us.”

“Rude,” announced Lady, skipping past the blonde woman and around the table to look for a seat herself. “Must run in the family.”

“Okay, you take that back,” Nero shot back, snorting to himself as he observed the table. Behind him, the rest of the guests followed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Fine, leaving you out of this one.”

“Thank you so much.”

 “Okay, just to make this clear,” Dante announced, letting his chair fall back into a horizontal position  and leaning over the table to accept the plate Kyrie handed him with a cheeky wink and mischievous grin. “I want a new, clean plate for every pizza I eat. No cartons. We got to give Mister Dishwasher here something to do.”

Vergil looked up from his plate just enough to send another inefficient glare in his twin’s direction. He received a toothy grin for his troubles. Figures.

“Dante, don’t be a di-…,” Nero stopped himself, eyes flickering to Kyrie who hid a smile behind her hand, before he turned back to scowl at Dante, “Don’t. Just, don’t.”

“Aw com’ on, kid…”

“No.”

“It’s just fun! Good ol’ fun between…”

“I’m going to punch you again, old man.”

Dante closed his mouth abruptly with a quiet click of teeth, leaning back with his plate and one hand raised in surrender.

 The gesture of submission drew a bout of laughter from the people around them. Trish was grinning so brightly it must have hurt, and Lady was hooting with mirth. Even Kyrie was shaking with barely withheld laughter.

Morrison wiped away at tear before clapping Nero on the back, who looked up a bit perplexed, but ultimately grinned back. “Kid, I’ve never seen someone shut this guy down like that. Respect!”

“Hey, his bitch slaps hurt!” Dante protested. “Nearly killed me with that one!”

“Oh god,” Lady sniffled, still giggling. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Nero, next time, give us a call beforehand,” Trish added, hand on Nero’s elbow as she leaned over to him. “We have to see that.”

“Sure, deal.”

“Probably went like…,” Nico imitated being slapped in the face and falling over with dramatic flailing, earning another round of laughter. She resurfaced with one hand propped on the table, laughing so hard she was nearly crying. “S-Sorry, sorry, that was just too good to pass up.”

“Okay, okay, we get it, punching me in the face is funny ….”

“It is,” Nero interrupted, eyes dancing with laughter. “It really is.”

Glowering at the younger, Dante stuffed a slice of pizza whole into his mouth, chewing near defiantly on it. The muttered “Punk.” was almost lost in cheese and tomato sauce.

 “Alright, boys, no more fighting,” Kyrie announced, hands on her hips, fondness in her voice and smile on her lips. “We will enjoy our dinner together in peace.”

“Hear, hear!”

“That peace is gonna last two minutes, max.”

“The lady of the house has spoken, everybody shove some food into your mouth and shut up.”

“I can do that.”

“We know you can.”

“Was that a jab at my healthy appetite?”

“Nothing healthy about that, old friend.”

 The chatter started up again easily, quips and jabs flying left and right, gentle shoves and punches being dished out while everyone laughed and talked over each other, all the while taking seats and getting comfortable. In all the ruckus, it seemed to be forgotten that one of them was more stranger than friend, the good mood and company easing any suspicion for the time being.

Vergil found himself sandwiched between Dante’s old partner Morrison, who nodded at him before turning around to strike up a conversation with Trish, and Nico, who was so caught up in explaining a new gun to Lady she didn’t even seem to notice who sat on her other side, exactly. Dante was talking with his mouth full, getting whacked over the head by Trish for it and laughing, the sound muffled, looking unapologetic to boot. A few of the children living with Nero and Kyrie were still running around the table, laughing loudly, rushing from one of the adults to the other to ask for stories about their demon hunting adventures.

 It was an absolute mess, and noisier than Hell itself, but the urge to stand up and leave for peace and quiet never came, much to Vergil’s surprise. Deciding that was just as well, he tasted a bit of the food before him.

He actually had to pause and savor the bite for a second, flavors bursting on his tongue. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten anything this savory.

 “Hey, can anyone pass the pepper?” Nero’s voice rose above the ruckus, but he was still mostly unheard, everyone too caught up in something else.

It wasn’t even a conscious move, but Vergil had already reached out and handed the item across the table to his opposite before it really registered with him, making him pause in the middle of it.

Nero looked just as perplexed as he felt for the blink of an eye. Then surprise made way for a crooked grin as he accepted the shaker “Thanks… father.”

Vergil didn’t find any words to offer, mouth suddenly dry as his gaze met Nero’s, the same blue eyes as his own looking back at him without any sort of resentment – simply warmth.

 There would be a lot to do and atone for, and yet… yet…

The reward would be so, so worth it.  

 “So,” Nico piped up, startling both men out of their silence and then drawing the attention of everyone towards her. “Are we supposed to do a toast at this kind of thing? Like, hey real neat that you didn’t die or somethin’?”

“You have a way with words,” Nero grumbled, leaning back. There was still a smile stuck in a corner of his mouth, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Ah, you’re one to talk, smartass.”

“I think a toast is a great idea,” Kyrie interrupted the argument before it could even start. Raising her glass, she offered, “To Dante and Vergil?”

“Aw, don’t make me blush, kiddo,” Dante gave back, fluttering his eyelashes that made Trish snort loudly next to him. “How about – good to be back?”

“Still alive and kicking!” Lady offered, raising her own glass.

“To new beginnings?”

“To being too though to die!”

“To good food.”

 “To family.”

 Heads turned, surprised gazes straying to Nero, who held his glass high above his head, looking somewhere between amused and embarrassed.

“That’s a great idea,” Kyrie agreed, sending a soft smile his way that made Nero’s shoulder relax visibly.

 “Yes.”

Vergil didn’t blink as all those gazes now snapped towards him, openly staring at him as if nobody could believe that this single word had just come out of his mouth. He ignored them, focused fully on Nero opposite of him as he reached over and lifted his own glass to tip it towards the younger in silent acknowledgement.

The smile on Nero’s face widened, bright and sincere, and all the perplexed staring in the world could stop Vergil from feeling his heart grew lighter than it had been since he was a child.

 It was Dante who spoke next, breaking the silence and bafflement by declaring, swinging his own glass up. “Best idea I’ve heard in a long while. To family!”

That seemed to break the spell over the group, and everyone laughed, cheered, agreed with bright smiles on their faces as they reached for their own glasses. Somewhere next to Vergil, Nico announced “You guys are gonna make me cry” and Nero laughed loudly at that, head thrown back, and even Vergil smiled, unseen in all the commotion.

 “To family!”

“Yeah!”

“CHEERS!”

 Their combined voices, united in one bright, happy shout, could be heard over half the city.

[midoriyashotos]

Useless

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku No Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Kirishima Eijiro/Midoriya Izuku

Characters: Kirishima Eijiro, Midoriya Izuku; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: For the longest time, Eijiro hated his quirk. He believed he was boring, dull... useless. Now he strives to change that mindset, inspired not only by his childhood heroes but also by the boy with the brightest smile he’s ever seen.

Yet it shocks him when he sees his classmate having a break down in the middle of the night.

AO3 link

A/N: This is my first ever BNHA fic, so like... I have no fricking idea what I just wrote. I did take a few more looks before posting it, but I still apologize for any writing mistakes and if the characters are OOC. I hope you enjoy this!

For a long time, Eijiro had hated his quirk. From the moment he had injured himself, when he was no more than a three-year-old boy, to entering U.A., he had thought very little of himself. Weren’t it for Crimson Riot, one of the greatest heroes he’d known when he’d been younger, he was sure he wouldn’t be where he was then.

At certain moments, the word “useless” would be yelled inside of him. Yet his battles to reach his place in the world, like a tough man, managed to knock it down and motivate him, inspire him. He would become a hero, and he would become a man.

Even if the scar on his right eye reminded him of the uselessness.

His classmates were fun people to have around – he even had to say this about Bakugo, despite having not seen him like a good fellow at first. Eijiro admired his determination, his strength. He could say this about everyone in Class 1-A.

Yet another one of his classmates had drawn people’s attention. It turned out to be the boy with a horribly self-destructive and powerful quirk, but… he also had the brightest smile Eijiro had ever seen. His hair was messy and green, with round eyes matching it, and freckles painted his cheeks.

Midoriya Izuku was his name, and it was one that he wouldn’t forget.

Midoriya was manly in his own way. Not like Bakugo, but he was, above all, intellectual. Through his nonstop mumbling (that scared the hell out of everyone) he could deconstruct a stressful situation and come up with a logical plan. He would go out of his way to save someone in need, even if he was no longer able to stand up.

Midoriya was not like the others. Nobody was equal, Eijiro reminded; but he was nothing like he had expected. And Eijiro admired that.

He knew he had a long way to go. Everyone did, too, but Eijiro could feel he must work much, much harder.

He didn’t have this much of a great relationship with his own quirk. Failing the practical exams had proved this. Academic knowledge was important, but not as much as the other.

Willingly, he fought harder. He would fall, but he would always get back up, like Crimson Riot did. Like… Midoriya did. His classmate inspired everyone, from what he could tell. Eijiro was honored to have met him as well.

Whenever he felt down, he would remember Crimson Riot, his fights… and, adding to that, he would remember Midoriya’s smile, his supportive words, his optimism.

For a moment, Eijiro would forget the word “useless” even existed.

Things were over, for everyone’s relief; before more internships began posterior to the Provisional Hero License Exam. Eijiro couldn’t be more satisfied as he stared at his license. “Red Riot”, he would read with tears in his eyes.

It had not been an easy path. Bakugo had been kidnapped, distressing Eijiro and everyone else, but to the point of him – along with Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu – rescuing his friend in secret, and almost getting in trouble. It had been worth it, of course; but then he had witnessed the fall of the Symbol of Peace, All Might, who could only show his true, skeletal form to the public now. Besides, the students had to move out of their homes to the dorms for their own sake, while having had to prepare themselves to acquire their provisional licenses.

Almost everyone in Class 1-A had gotten theirs, except Todoroki and Bakugo. The two were busier with the extra subjects and classes so they could apply for the exam again. Eijiro hadn’t seen them as often then. Apart from that, things were, from the looks of it, beginning to go back to normal. The red-haired boy was glad (and hopeful) that nothing else would be happening as fast. He would rather study like a regular High School student for the meantime. It was what everyone needed, before it was time for their internships.

It was night time and all these thoughts happened to keep him awake. Eijiro changed positions a lot, but it didn’t help much. He wasn’t much of staying up until that late, unless his friends came up with game nights or video marathons.

He couldn’t help… not believing he really was there. There, at U.A., with his own provisional license, not long after putting in his mind that he was never getting anywhere with a quirk like his.

Maybe it was too much, unnecessary to think about, but it wasn’t like he could stop.

Sighing, he faced the ceiling. No matter how much he tried, his eyes wouldn’t shut, and he wouldn’t fall asleep any sooner. Maybe he could drink or eat something to silence his thoughts, somehow. It wasn’t a bad idea.

Eijiro left his room and walked all the way to the elevator. The dim lighting from the outside was enough to guide him through the hall. He hoped he didn’t make too much noise since it was pretty late in the night. Soon enough he was in the common room, turning on the lights so he could get something. The night sky was starry, yet it was colder that day. He had his favorite hoodie then, of a darker red tone, much like many of his clothes.

In the kitchen he found coffee, tea… even milk. Before he could choose, though, he felt a frigid air entering the common room, causing him to shiver. He noticed that the front door was… was slightly open. Suspicious, he thought of a few possibilities: either someone had forgotten to close the door for whatever reason or they had gone outside. Or someone, like… a villain could have just gone inside.

The last option made him uneasy, but he tried to dismiss it. The entire point of going to the dorms was to avoid villain attacks. Yet after the incident at the USJ – which raised theories about a traitor inside the school – , he wasn’t so doubtful anymore; no matter how unlikely it was.

Eijiro, cautiously, went all the way to the door and opened it more. The first thing he was met with was the cold wind hitting his face. The second one was… was a short figure sitting by the stairs. Trembling.

… crying.

The mess of curls were what… gave Midoriya away.

Alarmed, he didn’t think twice before getting to his classmate; the weather was freezing that night and Midoriya had nothing to keep himself warm. He only wore one of those many baggy t-shirts he owned and dark shorts, no socks on his feet. And, of course, he was out there crying in the middle of the dawn.

“Dude- Midoriya,” Eijiro called him but not too loud as not to scare him. It didn’t help much, though, since the freckled boy jumped and let out a shaky gasp.

“K-Kirishima-kun? W-Why are you-?” Midoriya could barely finish the question without shaking and crying.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Eijiro took his hand to help him. “You’re freezing!”

Midoriya didn’t protest as he allowed him to finish the rescue. They were inside afterwards, but his friend wouldn’t stop shivering nor sobbing. Eijiro sort of wished Todoroki was up to help with his body temperature, but he was pretty sure nobody but the two of them was awake at that time.

Yet the red-eyed teenager, while he looked over Midoriya, remembered his hoodie and soon started to take it off.

“Here,” Eijiro said once he had it in his hand.

“W-Wait, a-aren’t you cold?”

“You need it way more than I do,” He put it on Midoriya before he could protest. Eijiro knew he would, the stubborn boy that he was.

The green-haired teen had tear marks on his face and he was pale. His eyes were red from all the crying. Weren’t it for the fact that Midoriya had been outside having a crying attack he wouldn’t have thought much of it; it was far from a secret that Midoriya was a crier. Something was definitely wrong that time.

Before he could get to the details, he needed to warm him, though. Taking him inside and the hoodie appeared to help, as he stopped shivering so much, and he was starting to calm down, but there was more he had to do.

“How about I get you some tea, huh?” Eijiro suggested. “How does that sound?”

Midoriya’s cheeks were beginning to show a shy red tone, which was a good sign. In the very back of his mind Eijiro thought he looked… adorable wearing his hoodie; it was bigger on him.

… no, he had to focus!

The freckled boy nodded in silence. Eijiro nodded as well, clearing his throat.

“Alright, j-just… take a seat and I’ll be right back, alright?” He said, wondering why he was stuttering suddenly. “It’ll be quick.”

“O-Okay, yeah,” Midoriya gulped, sitting on the big, green couch. As he shrank his body, he looked even cuter, if that was possible.

Tea was the priority, Eijiro reminded himself, tea, tea, tea.

“Which kind you like?” He asked, before heading back to the kitchen.

“A-Anything is good.”

“Alright, then,” Eijiro quickly went there and prepared everything as he knew.

It didn’t take long for him to return with two cups; yet he stopped in the way once he caught sight of Midoriya hugging himself and looking sorrowful. New tears were forming on his green eyes. Taking a deep breath, Eijiro headed forward and sat beside him.

“Careful,” He handed him one of the cups. “I hope it’s good enough, I don’t make tea that often…”

Midoriya took a sip after blowing it. He gave him a weak smile.

“It’s great,” He said. “T-Thanks.”

Eijiro could only smile back, except it didn’t last long since worry took the best of him. Midoriya looked so fragile…

“Dude, what were you doing out there? Did something happen?” Eijiro went straight to the point.

He noticed his friend stiffening his back. “No, no, i-it was… nothing.”

Midoriya refused to face him and only drank the tea in silence. The red-haired boy sighed. He scooted over to approach him. Midoriya immediately looked up, rather surprised.

“Listen, you… don’t need to tell me,” Eijiro assured. “But bottling up your feelings like that won’t do you much better.”

It led Midoriya to sigh as well, but he took time to reply, “It’s… c-complicated.”

“I’m all ears, if you want to.”

His friend dried the remaining tears that threatened to fall. It appeared that more would show up, though, so he gave up.

“I-I guess it’s… s-so much has happened and-,” Midoriya tried to explain. “A l-lot of stuff started getting the best of me, but I- I tried to avoid thinking about it because- because I have to catch up with everyone else, so I kept trying to work harder and harder, a-and-“

His words were more rushed and Eijiro tried to put a hand on his back. Yet Midoriya continued and started tearing up again.

“W-When I finally got to sleep, I… I had a nightmare – a really… b-bad one. I couldn’t save anyone, everyone was- gone because of me,” He sobbed. “I…”

He was then unable to say anything else, as he broke down in tears. Midoriya almost dropped his cup, weren’t it for Eijiro's fast reflexes. He placed both cups on the table in front of them.

“I-I’m sorry,” The other hiccupped, one of his hands covering his eyes. “It’s just… so much…”

Eijiro didn’t hesitate to hug him. “It’s okay, let it out.”

Midoriya grasped his shirt and buried his face on it, letting out painful sobs. The other hated to hear those sounds but he knew it was necessary, for as they had been stuck inside Midoriya for who knew how long. It sure had been hard to cope with everything that had happened to Class 1-A as a whole.

“Let it out,” Eijiro repeated, sensing some hesitance.

The sobs were progressively worse. They remained there while Eijiro looked around to see if anyone else was awake. That was not the case, but he knew that Midoriya would hate it if others found him like that.

As he witnessed his friend’s distress, he couldn’t help… feeling guilty. From what Midoriya had told him, he must have not had a good rest in a while. Eijiro somehow felt stupid for having not noticed before. He was broken like this in silence and could have gotten hurt if Eijiro hadn’t gone outside to check and nobody would have known. The thought made the red-eyed boy tighten his grip around Midoriya.

It took long for his green-haired friend to quiet down. He ceased his sobs at some point and he eventually stopped shaking. Eijiro could tell he was warmer, too. Midoriya soon pulled him away but not letting go, either. He looked like he was afraid of doing it. His eyes were much redder.

“I’m sorry,” He repeated. Eijiro sighed again.

“No need to apologize, dude. You’ve been through a lot.”

“B-But everyone else has, too! And t-they’re all moving on while I’m just- here, crying a-and being…”

“Everyone deals with that differently,” Eijiro said. “There’s no… right or wrong way of doing it.”

Midoriya was quiet after that, sniffing. Looking away, he reminded of the tea he had left and began drinking it again. Eijiro remembered to get his cup, too.

“But… w-what about you, Kirishima-kun?” The green-eyed teenager questioned. “Why are you up so late?”

Eijiro shrugged. “S… Sort of the same reasons as you, I guess. Been thinking a lot…”

Midoriya nodded, taking another sip. Fortunately, the tea wasn’t too cold, so they could both enjoy it in silence. His friend finished it before he did; Eijiro had somehow known that Midoriya enjoyed tea a lot; he could remember Uraraka mentioning it once, when some people had gone to a grocery store to buy some things to have in the dorm kitchen.

They were quiet for what it felt like forever. Eijiro understood if his friend had nothing else to add.

The two were sitting much closer than before. Eijiro could even bury his face on the other’s hair at that rate. Why was he acting so weird?

“Like… I’m so happy that I got my license and all,” Midoriya broke the silence. “B-But I… somehow, I don’t f-feel like I’m… I-I’m enough.”

The redhead felt like he was caught, once he realized that Midoriya spoke to him again. Luckily, the greenette hadn’t noticed, since he gazed at… somewhere else.

“And I feel stupid, y’know? B-Because I’ve… accomplished and… learnt so much,” He continued. “And yet, when I t-think too much about it, I… I just feel bad.”

Eijiro was silent as he listened. Midoriya didn’t look like crying anymore. It was like… he had emptied himself. He didn’t know if that was a good sign.

However, he froze when he felt the other boy leaning his head against his chest again. Midoriya let out a deep, long sigh.

“H… H-Have you ever felt this way?” He wondered. “Like you’re never enough? Like… despite everything, you’re just… useless?”

Useless.

That same damn word that would creep in Eijiro’s thoughts… they were haunting Midoriya, too?

Maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. He had seen Midoriya think of himself as useless after Bakugo had been kidnapped by the League of Villains. But, from the sound of his friend’s words… it seemed as though it had been haunting him for much longer. The weight of “useless” in his voice only raised his suspicions.

He had seen Midoriya break before. But he hadn’t imagined it was… deeper than that. Eijiro could see it in his eyes. The tears were gone. There was nothing else left, other than disappointment at himself.

And… it hurt. It hurt so much to see the most radiant kid he’d met like this. How long had he been feeling that way? How had nobody seen this coming to Midoriya so strongly? How had he not seen this?

Eijiro shook his head. No, he couldn’t blame himself – he shouldn’t. He wasn’t useless, he wasn’t. And neither was Midoriya.

Swallowing tears of his own, he gave the broken boy a sad smile and nodded.

“I get how you feel,” Eijiro said. “And I know how much it sucks. But, Midoriya, you can never be useless.”

Midoriya raised his head more. Their faces were closer.

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve inspired everyone in this class?” Eijiro asked. “How much you’ve inspired me? You’re the smartest, bravest and manliest person this school knows. You’re just amazing.”

The surprise in the other’s eyes struck him. How come Midoriya wasn’t aware of the great person he was?

“But I get it, it’s… it’s not dumb of you to feel this way. Still, you should… try to tell yourself you’re enough, that you can do it,” Eijiro continued. “It’s probably going to be hard, but the more you think of it, it’s… it’s going to change.”

While saying those words, part of him couldn’t help feeling he was telling himself this, too. How ironic it was, to give advice to someone else who felt useless when he wasn’t even resolved with that issue just yet. Regardless, Eijiro did feel better about himself. Maybe not the way he wanted, but he had changed. He was… proud of getting where he was now, and he could admit this with a smile on his face. The questionings would come every now and then, asking if he even deserved it; right now, he could tell them right to their stupid faces that he did, he deserved to be there, and he would accomplish a lot more.

He hoped that Midoriya could feel the same way, too. Not right away, but one day, with his uplifting grin, he could tell himself he was enough – waymore than enough, he corrected.

“Do that every time you feel like that, okay?” Eijiro smiled. “But if you ever feel this overwhelmed again, you can always come to me. And I don’t even care if it’s in the middle of the night, you can wake me up and I won’t ever complain.”

Midoriya let out a small laugh. “T-Thanks, Kirishima-kun…”

“Anytime.”

While knowing he was feeling better, neither of them let each other go. Eijiro tried not to think too much about the fact that Midoriya was lying on him like this, holding him close… and he was warm, and his green hair touched the other’s squared chin.

Eijiro couldn’t refrain himself from ruffling those curls, though, but that didn’t seem to bother Midoriya. In fact, the boy… relaxed on him. He was heavier, then. It took a couple of minutes for him to yawn.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” The redhead smirked.

“Wha…? Okay…” Midoriya’s voice became sleepy.

He looked a lot better then, weren’t it for the tear marks. But at least his friend didn’t look so broken anymore. Eijiro was happy he had done something for him.

“Don’t… forget the cups,” Midoriya reminded.

“Oh! Right, I’ll leave them on the sink. Be right back!”

After leaving them at the kitchen, Eijiro made sure to help Midoriya stand up, putting one of his arms around him. Luckily the latter’s dorm was on the second floor, so it would be quick.

When they arrived there, Midoriya looked more… awake.

“Thanks,” He said.

“No problem, man. I think I’ll head back to my room, too,” Eijiro felt his eyelids getting a little… heavier. The tea was probably taking effect on him. He turned around and said, “G’night.”

“Night…”

A small part of him felt something was off about Midoriya’s voice, but he went for the elevator anyway. Yet, he quickly heard his friend protesting.

“W-Wait, Kirishima-kun!” He said, not too loud, though.

Eijiro rushed back to him again.

“What is it?” He asked.

Midoriya gulped and played with his own hands. Although it was dark, he could tell that his freckled cheeks were redder.

“I just- um, I don’t want to- I-“ He stumbled around in his words. It was… cute, seeing him flustered like that.

Before Eijiro could say something, Midoriya shut his eyes and braced himself.

“I don’t want to be alone, s-so… c-couldyoustaywithme?”

His words were too fast, but he was able to catch them. Eijiro was pretty sure his own cheeks heated up hearing that.

“Y… You mean… in your room?” He wanted to clear that up.

Midoriya hid his face in shame and began to walk away. “I-I know it’s dumb, n-nevermind that. Y-You should go back, I’ll just-!”

“No, no, it’s fine… I’ll stay.”

The green-eyed boy looked up in shock. Eijiro gulped.

“Uhh, really? You’re… o-okay with that?”

“As long as you are, I don’t… see a problem,” Eijiro laughed nervously.

Midoriya smiled and chuckled, while not looking at him directly in any way. Clearing his throat, he opened the door and made a gesture for him to come in. Eijiro snorted and went inside. Only an All Might-shaped lamp was turned on. Well, that was new. It was All Might all over his dormitory it was just entertaining.

“A-Are you really sure you’re okay? Y-You don’t have to do this,” Midoriya noticed he was gazing at the posters on the walls. “I k-know I’m being dumb, I-!”

“Midoriya,” The redhead held his scarred hand. “It’s okay.”

He had no idea how Midoriya’s face had turned a full tomato – or strawberry, thanks to his freckles that stood out in the redness.

“O-Okay. Yeah, okay. Sorry,” Midoriya said.

“It’s fine,” Eijiro reassured.

The two stopped in their tracks when they faced the bed. He had only then realized that they were going to sleep together. He could even sense Midoriya’s nervousness radiating from him.

“You first,” Eijiro said.

“A-Alright, then,” Midoriya lied down on the corner of the bed, getting the blanket so he could cover the other. The red-eyed boy was next.

They were too close like that. It was weird, but… not bad. He could see even more freckles on the other’s cheeks.

“Are you okay like this?” Midoriya asked. “I-It��s not cramped, right? I could sleep on the floor-!”

“Dude, chill. And I’m not making you nap on the floor. It’s your room.”

“I-I’m sorry… I just never… had anyone sleeping with me since I was young.”

“Me neither,” Eijiro chuckled sadly. “But believe me, it’s okay.”

Midoriya would have protested more but he shut his mouth. He let out a deep breath and finally relaxed on his bed. He looked at the redhead with his alluring green eyes… that were no longer empty like how he had seen earlier in the common room. It was a delight to see that.

His friend’s bed was comfortable, even though it wasn’t big enough for two people. Not that the dorms had been designed that way, though. He didn’t mind it. Midoriya’s room was warm and welcoming, maybe with the All Mights that smiled at them both; it was funny and somehow disturbing to imagine they were observing the boys so close like that. But Eijiro knew that All Might wanted nothing more than to protect others. He was Midoriya’s idol, after all. Eijiro might as well put one thing of Crimson Riot in his own room, he supposed.

He had then realized that Midoriya fell asleep once he shifted himself back to him. He slept so peacefully… Eijiro could only smile. He wished he could hug him close again.

Yet he faced the ceiling, at peace, too. He could tell himself that he wasn’t useless. They weren’t useless. They were enough, and they had always been. They were going to become great heroes.

And… if Midoriya wanted, they could be a great duo.

The next day was a Saturday so nobody was forced to wake up too early. Izuku opened his eyes and, for the first time in a while, he felt rested. He was okay.

But he felt another presence. He felt his head touching a soft, yet built surface, and calm breaths hitting his curly hair. He remembered that Kirishima was right beside him – and they- they had… cuddled?!

“Gah!” Izuku squeaked, jumping. “So c-close!”

It immediately alarmed his snoring classmate.

“Wha- what is it?” Kirishima asked, having been… drooling. Blinking his eyes, he appeared to remember he was in his room, too. “Oh. Hey, Midoriya. You okay?”

“Yeah! Y-Yeah…” Izuku tried not to sound too nervous; thankfully, Kirishima didn’t seem to notice.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, sure. And you?”

Kirishima nodded with a satisfied, relaxed smile on his face. He stretched his arms and let out a yawn. Izuku couldn’t help… staring, but quickly looked away.

“T… Thanks, Kirishima-kun,” Izuku said. “F-For staying with me.”

“Sure thing, man.”

Izuku’s smile widened. There were… a few seconds of silence between them. As if there was something hanging in the air, something they wanted to say to one another, but that wouldn’t come out.

“We should get ready for the day,” Izuku reminded. “At least I still want to train and all…”

“No, yeah, same. C’mon.”

As soon as they arrived at the common room, Kaminari, Sero and Ashido gasped and pointed at Izuku – who, having not even realized, had worn Kirishima’s favorite hoodie the entire night. Todoroki, Tokoyami and Jiro watched it with knowing smirks, while Katsuki rolled his eyes as if Izuku and Kirishima were dumb. Iida told everyone that there was nothing wrong with friends doing such things for one another, but nobody took him seriously. The green-eyed boy denied anything that implied whatever they assumed, unable to contain himself from blushing furiously. It wasn’t like that, he told himself, it wasn’t, and he knew it. Kirishima facepalmed and groaned, but he couldn’t hide his flustered smile from his friends. Ashido giggled and yelled that they were adorable.

Midoriya was so embarrassed he didn't realize that Eijiro looked at him – in the way that, if there was anyone adorable in that room, it had to be the former, who hadn’t even taken off the latter's hoodie.

Come to think of it… Eijiro did notice how good Midoriya looked in red.