#it just makes this all the better if its their sons achieving their dream

[mag-lore]

There are parallels between the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and the War of the Last Alliance that I can’t stop thinking about.  

The Nirnaeth had The Union of Maedhros, an alliance of elves, men, and dwarves; the same races that were allied in the Last Alliance. Some of the men fighting during the Nirnaeth were the Unfaithful Easterlings, while the Faithful Númenóreans were present during the Last Alliance. Both had elves charging before they were given the command from the king (Gwindor and Oropher). Both battles were a last ditch effort to overthrow the Dark Lord, who had specific gripes with specific leaders on the other side (we don’t seem to talk about the price Morgoth put on Fingon’s head enough). Both had a massive loss of lives, resulting in permanent landforms because of all the bodies (Hill of Tears and the Dead Marshes). And both resulted in the fiery death of the High King of the Noldor, at the hand of the greatest foe on the battlefield (Fingon, bound and hewn by Gothmog, and Gil-galad burned by Sauron’s hand). 

But they won the War of the Last Alliance. They lost so so much, but they won. Yes, Sauron rises to power again, but they establish a peace that lasts a long while. Sauron’s influence and forces are driven from all lands, and it stays like that for a long time. Whereas the Nirnaeth Arnoediad was such a crushing defeat, obviously. So many people were lost, for nothing. Morgoth controlled almost all of Beleriand after the Nirnaeth. The remaining free people were scattered, broken and hopeless. 

I mean, just think, Fingon and Maedhros tried so desperately to create an alliance of all the free peoples in Beleriand to defeat the Dark Lord, and they failed miserably. But their sons/descendants (Gil-galad, Elrond, Elendil) tried to do the exact same thing and they were victorious. They won. They were able to do what their fathers were unable to do thousands of years later.  

[grandcovenant]

carlo's inherent tragedy as a character means that if he hadn't died young he would've gone through something worse. the horrifying realization that he inherited his father's personality <3

[with-my-calamitous-love]

SIX WEEKS (8 YEARS) OF BREATHING CLEAN AIR / I STILL MISS THE SMOKE

touya todoroki x reader

you finally bring yourself to visit your husband in the hospital.

mha official ending spoilers

part 2/3, part 1

inspired by the black dog

what a long 8 years.

touya’s defeat came at no surprise to you. as much as you wanted to root for your husband, to hope he achieves the twisted, revenge-filled dreams he dedicated his like (death) to, you knew his attempts would be futile.

you knew that the moment shouto’s fists connected with your husbands, it’d be over. the flames would subside, and dabi’s fiery reign would come to an end. for just a moment, in the midst of the blue and red flames, you saw a glimpse of two broken brothers. just a glimpse.

what followed wasn’t any less heartbreaking. touya was kept alive in his own, high tech cell. though he had made sure to keep you hidden from the world, you heard from short whispers that there was nothing that could be done about his current state. he could only manage a few words, his vessel slowly slowly dissipating into nothing but ash.

you absolutely could not bring yourself to visit. not in any of those 8 years. maybe its because you knew you could very well be hearing your last words from him soon.

too many memories engulfed in fire. his arsons match and your tear-stained eyes, watching it all helplessly.

so for as long as you could, you stayed in your house, grieving for the living.

until now.

it wasn’t a surprise you were eventually found out. when you opened your door, expecting the mail, you were greeted with a familiar face- not when you were angry about seeing, but not particularly delighted by any means. his dual coloured eyes and scar similar to that of your husbands- not by look but by origin.

you honestly couldn’t remember how he convinced you to leave your home. he may as well have dragged you by your feet, into his car and to the facility they were keeping touya in. this man was technically your brother, too. but seeing him felt like a wound reopened.

touya laid there, his body weak and emaciated, as the machines beeped and whirred around him, monitoring his vital signs and keeping him alive. a futile but admittedly impressive effort by his rich father, wanting to somehow make amends. everyone knew, however, that he was not saving a life- he was prolonging a death. the death of his firstborn son, to be exact.

his mind was hazy, his vision blurry as he struggled to keep his eyes open. the sound of the machines became a constant, familiar background noise, almost like white noise.

as he laid there, fading in and out of consciousness, one thought ran through his mind again and again: you.

while you stood outside the room, touya’s barren body laid in his tomb. his eyelids could hardly closed, so he was more or less forced to take in the grief-stained drywall. he thought about you, every single day. wondered where you were, how you could be doing- he hoped it was better now that he was gone.

your hand was wrapped shakily around the doorknob. just one twist and push. but it felt as though that door was made of iron. why was it suddenly so heavy? why was it being weighed down with the weight of your love and grief all rolled into one?

“…i don’t think i can do this.” you say shakily, a single tear rolling down your eye at the thought of seeing your dying husband after all this time.

a hand is placed on your shoulder. a comforting touch, like one who is learning to navigate through the grief alongside you.

shouto stood silently beside you, his expression stoic as he waited for you to make a decision.

he knew how difficult this must be for you, the years of pain and guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders. if he was grieving a man he hardy knew as his brother and more as a villain, he couldn’t even grasp how his wife must be feeling- someone who had loved him despite it all.

“you can do it.” he says softly, his voice firm but gentle as he tries his best to hold it together. he doesn’t want you to face this alone, though he knows he cant enter that room with you.

“you’ve made a good name for yourself.” you say, acknowledging shouto’s growth. at least one of the two brothers can still live, still be happy. “no one even calls you endeavours son anymore.”

he nods silently, his expression softening slightly at your words.

“i guess so.” he said quietly, a small hint of a smile on his face. he doesn’t dare to jinx his success. “ i’ve… i’ve tried to separate myself from my father’s shadow, to be my own person.”

he says for a paused moment, looking at the small glass panel that gave a window into touya’s room, his hand still resting on your shoulder.

“but t wasn’t easy. it never is.” he says, taking a deep breath before speaking his next piece.

“the doctors think they can buy him a few more months, maybe.” shouto reveals. the extent of your absence towards your dying husband finally begins to sink in. you waited until it was almost too late to see him. its a guilt like no other. what could you possibly say about to him after all this time?

“…i’m going in.” you say, pushing the door open and letting it close behind you with a click that rings through the room.

theres constant whirring and beeping from the technology keeping touya breathing. he lays there, his body held together by planks of metal and wiring. god, as morbid as it may seem, you wondered why they were even trying at this point?

he doesn’t seem to notice you, not till you walk closer to him. its hard to move his head with that brace around his skull, anyway.

his eyes weakly tracked your movements as you weakly made your way over to the bed, pressing your hands against the glass keeping him inside of his pod. he recognizes you, because how could he not? he married you, after all.

“…hey.” you manage, despite the dryness on your tongue.

your heart clenches as you watch him try and respond. his throat was dry and raspy, like his quirk had given him sandpaper for lung. he was forced to swallow several times before he could even mutter a word.

“hey..” he finally croaks out, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and strained.

you take a deep breath, silently cursing yourself for your already shaky words.

“you look like shit.” you have the audacity to chuckle at him, the numb laughter devoid of any empathy. you were grieving, grieving yet angry. as much as you understood and wanted to understand, he still left you.

touya would be nothing if not an asshole.

“thanks, doll.” his voice almost mechanical. “..don’t look too hot yourself.”

there he is. that smartass touya you love. his quick tongue and his smart heard, smarter then he lets on. you love his remarks, his sass, his demeanour. and it seemed that even through all this pain, he still managed to give you some of it.

the tears are already sliding down your cheeks, knowing that this is likely the last time you’ll ever get to feel it.

and for a moment, through your hazy eyes, a silver glimmer catches your eyes.

“…you kept the ring..?” you have to rub your eyes, unsure if its just a grief-stricken illusion.

he scoffs, as if it should be obvious. “yeah�� course i did.”

his time is running out and you both know it. you cringe watching his weaken state, trying to slide the ring off his finger. you quickly hush him, your delicate hands carefully reaching into his pod to help him remove the band. though most of his nerves are killed off, he feels as though he’s truly lost his favourite part of him.

his eyes continue to grow tired, but me fights them valiantly to catch a glimpse of you slipping the ring onto your own hand. he had taken that part of him, and given it to you.

you sob, pressing your forehead against the glass. your hand just barely grazes his, feeling the charred skin you still loved, no matter how dead.

“i love you.” you sob, baring your soul to your husband. his eyes close, feeling the exhaustion sink in- but he can’t give in. not when this is his last chance to see his wife.

despite the pain and the knowledge of his imminent death, he manages to find his voice and responds, his voice hoarse but filled with a raw intensity of emotion. he’s doing everything to stay with you right now, though you know it can’t ever make it up.

“… i love you… too…” he croaks, letting what soul he has left reach itself out to you.

“and i’m so mad at you.” you sob. “not just you… i’m mad at the world.. i’m at the world that let your father get away with abusing you and breaking you down.. i’m mad at the world that didn’t see you were a boy who needed help. i’n mad at the universe for not giving you and i a chance… i’m mad at your god damn fire for taking you away from me.”

your tears slide down the glass, only continuing as you see his eyes close. he’s still breathing, yes, but either he was so exhausted from fighting death, or he couldn’t bare to see you in this much pain. probably both.

“i know… i’m… sorry…” he prays you know how sorry he really is. for doing this to you. for exposing you to the evil of the world when he should have been protecting you.

“..don’t cry..” he rasps, asking more for him than for you. you scoff.

“i’ll cry if i damn want to, touya.” you chuckle. “i lost my husband.”

just for a second, its almost like he smiles.

“you… still… call me.. that?”

without a trace of hesitation, you nod. “of course i do.”

he’s having trouble forming his next words and you can tell. you know you have to do it. you somehow have to say goodbye.

“i love you, touya todoroki. i love you so much.” you declare, showing your soul to him right before he enters the afterlife- maybe so he knows to look for you once your time comes as well.

“…i… love you.. too..” he rasps. he’s trying and you love him for it, despite the sobs that choke out of you seeing his struggle just to speak.

“i’ll never ever, ever forget you. i wouldn’t dream of it.” you whisper.

“you better not…” he rasps out weakly. what a fucking smartass you married.

you cant kiss him. but you do press your forehead and your lips to the glass, and give his hand once last squeeze. you have to rip yourself from the room and out the door, otherwise you might have stayed in there forever.

the door clicks behind you. a breath escapes your lips, knowing that you have truly said your goodbye. you still clutch his silver ring on your finger.

the ring served as a reminder. that no matter what happens now, a part of your soul forever belonged to touya todoroki. that no matter how many of your clothes you burn and how many exorcisms you perform on your house, the love you shared with touya will never leave. no matter how much clean air you breath, a small part of you will always miss the smoke he gave. always.

you vowed to never forget him, anyway.

tags!🪽

@the-dumpster-fire-of-life @greenmanshoe @connorsui

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone.  In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

  “I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

  Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.  

  The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.  

  Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling.  His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

  A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co..  For one, they’d gained quite the reputation.  Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s.   He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

  Well, you get the point.  It hadn’t looked promising.

  Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.   Those days had been filled with anxiety.   Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on.  How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See?  He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name.  It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

  The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight.  And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

  And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

  George was the next oldest.   Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once.  He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident.  In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

  The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself.  With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases.  If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

  But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade.  The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her.  They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down.     She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date.  In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation.  George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling.   Anthony felt like he might be sick.   By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

  A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five.  Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

  In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often.   Then, another article in a larger paper.  Followed by another, then several more.

  Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps.  The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

  By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time.   In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach.  Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

  Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life.  How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field?  Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again?   Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss.  Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay.   Though, had he known–

  A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey.   The old building slumps under the weight of time.  Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons.   Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London.  The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

  “Ah, Mr. Lockwood!  A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.  

  “Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine!  I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently?  I’m here to pick up for her.”  

  After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from.  When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.  

  “It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent.  I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.  

  “Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet.  We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening.  I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.  Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”  

  It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept.  He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.  

  Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed.   Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room.  Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents.  What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs.    Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on.  It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge.  When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house.   Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.  

  When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

  Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone.  Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down.   As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention.  At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds.  It feels like someone’s watching him.   Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing.  Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings.  The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.  

  Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper.  All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

  Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab.  Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud.  He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind.  Just… most of it.  Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.  

  Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic.  If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore.     The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall.  Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good.  He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

  Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window.  There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day.  He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness.  But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

  The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed.  He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed.  With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair.   The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before.  Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.  

  The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful.  While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

  Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house.  Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation?  For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to.     Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time.  There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future.  It’s nearly thirty minutes past six.  She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

  He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.  

  Bloody hell, that is the final straw.  He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour.  If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy.    He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

  The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger.  Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy.  However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn.  Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–  

  An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

  Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

  He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path.  The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene.  If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated.   He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn.  Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage.  The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved.  When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns.  Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

  He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right.  His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open.  He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house.   Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space.  To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls.  Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

  Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter.  Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control.   Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside.  And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance.  He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him.   Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold.  A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath.  In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf.  There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

  It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him.  He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier.  It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

    “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it.  He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.  

  He knew this routine like the back of his hand.  She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

 Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind.  The silence is deafening.  Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder.   He’d been right about the look, at least.  The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day.  But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

  Shit.  He’s really fucked up this time.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.”   Time comes shuddering to a halt.  His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears.  If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury.  The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

  After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him.  He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length.  So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

  That was the plan, at least.  But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances.     He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison.  Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs.  He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

  Then, it stops.  It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.  

  “You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light.   There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own.  It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later.  He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition.   She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up.  When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates.  Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.  

  A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender.  His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand.  She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist.  The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety.   Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him.  As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him.    He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation.  Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view.     A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away.  Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

  “Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.  

  She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze.  After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.  

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

  ‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

  “Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from.  In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

  He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang.  He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger.  The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

  Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling.  As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

  Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time.   He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field.  Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

  Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan.  All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

  The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck.  He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls.   She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy.  As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

  “Follow my lead,” she says.  It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment.  He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him.  So that’s what she’d been up to.

  She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other  room.  In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something.  Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them.  He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

  She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls.  A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth.  She immediately dives for the floor and–

  He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

  The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot.  The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom.     He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

  Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame. 

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬�� 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[gabessquishytum]

Dream doesn't drive -- there was a accident, a drunk Burgess, trapped in glass and twisted mental, the need to be cutout; all when he was a teenager. So Dream doesn't drive.

His new job is thankfully on a major public transportation line in his new city, so he can get to work easily. Dream likes the bus because he can people watch.

Dream first noticed them one unremarkable Spring morning -- just a father and his son walking to daycare. The son was regaling his dad with what must have been a hilarious story, as his dad was laughing with his head thrown back and his kid beaming at him. So it becomes one of Dream's favorite things, watching this little family's walk to school.

Dream thinks that his bus, at a later time, is the one the dad takes to work too, but because of how they time their walk to school, dad doesn't often make it to the bus stop to make the bus Dream usually takes. Once or twice Hob makes Dream's bus, and they smile at each other, but don't talk to each other.

Then one morning Hob makes Dream's bus and there is only one open seat,,,,,,next to Dream. Cue slow conversational hellos and getting off at the same stop.

It takes a while, but on days when Hob misses the earlier bus, Dream gets off and waits for the next bus with him. Or just recently, now it's even better,,,,Dream and Hob are walking Robyn to school together.

Aww, public transport related meet cute/slow burn! I love it!

Dream loves the bus, its his one time of day when he relaxes. Because just by sitting there and going from A to B, he's achieving something. Maybe it's a weird way to think, but whatever. So it's just an added bonus when he sees this beautiful father and his cute little son.

But Dream is, on the whole, a good person. So even after he gets talking to Hob he keeps it very friendly and platonic. Assuming that Hob probably has a partner. Dream’s not a homewrecker and he's happy to be just a passing acquaintance in beautiful, smart, funny Hob’s life.

Then one day Hob gets onto the bus, with Robyn in his arms. The little boy is inconsolable. Dream happily moves his bag so Hob can sit with his sniffling son in his lap. "I didn't have the heart to leave him at preschool. Although I probably should have done." Hob sighs. "He misses his mum, poor little lamb."

Dream thinks he must be mad - he's supposed to be going to work. But for some reason he suggests that they stay on the bus all the way to the big park, and go to feed the ducks. Dream understands that Robyn must be going through big, horrible feelings. But maybe the ducks would help a tiny bit?

And Hob (who is also missing Eleanor dreadfully, while simultaneously becoming enraptured with this beautiful man on the bus) manages to break into a smile. Ducks sound like the perfect thing right now, and he knows that Eleanor would 100% approve... while teasing him for his crush on the guy from the bus!!

[darkdemeter]

I'm sorta new to this blog, but can I request Death with a male reader who knows how to fight? Like martial arts or fencing or something like that? I always wondered how Death would react to something like that. Thank you!

A SPARRING PARTNER

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Death x Male Reader

NOTES ↳ New, sort of new or been around since post one, I welcome you to the blog anyhow! WARNINGS❕ ↳ just general fluffy content — a brief mention of a past relative (mother) — I think that's it

✎ 2.6k

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You often recall the lessons of your past with fondness. It had been your mother’s passion to indulge you in your hobbies, gifting you a membership for your twelfth birthday to pursue the art of fencing. A prestigious hall of astute students and though humble and nervous, you persevered; even surpassing through the ranks. 

But whoever said it was a sport dedicated to elegance never understood the sheer brutality of such calculations beneath the glamorous form each opponent took. 

But Death saw the intermingle of both aspects in the way you portrayed your skill. Yes, New Haven was a luscious and serene sanctuary but safety was not a complete guarantee. Not with all the forces that conspire against them and it was best to be prepared. In your opinion, being able to wield and have a sense of combat was better than none at all. 

And so, when you could find time, you continue to exercise the lengths of your skill in hopes to keep the memory of it alive and to ensure you would not grow sloppy.

And the reaper himself grew to become fascinated in watching your self-appointed training. A strapping young man armed with a regal rapier, your mother had often said. How you miss her dearly. Perhaps it was to also ensure her memory prevailed that you kept at it. You can almost hear the way she clapped and cheered you on during your exams and presentations, making sure every other parent knew you were her son. 

But of course, when the apocalypse happened you all but lost your relic of an epee rapier. A gift for your nineteenth birthday and from that day forward you treasured it. You wish you could somehow find it, reclaim it. But alas, it is a forgotten dream. A hopeless wish you and your poor mother’s memory would never see achieved. 

Taking form as if you stood before your opponent, you calmed yourself once again. The air is a welcomed breeze in comparison to the beating heat of the sun. It takes time to repeat and commit movesets, to focus the harness of its second nature deep into your bones. Something Death can relate to, almost yet guiltily recalling his younger terms when he began to wield his blade. Absalom had taught him all he needed to and more, somehow surpassing the rest of his firstborn ilk and placing only second to Absalom. 

He wonders if you had any predecessors that you were to succeed. Death often watched you at a distance, speaking with you only so little. What information he gained about you was passing conversation with the other humans, his brother Strife who’d been present in his disguise as Jones when you were present at Haven and that of the maker, Ulthane. 

It’s like you kept this distance between yourself and the reaper for some unknown reason. The rare times you both managed to come face to face and talk it had been only a brief conversation before one of you were off on your business. 

So when treated to this seemingly hidden, other side of you, Death in fact took a curious intrigue over it. Silently he’d watch you, your footwork and try to imagine what your foe would be doing, how you would evade the next imaginary attack. Maybe it was his old mind at play but he may have foreseen a few stumbles that could benefit from improvement. 

Indeed as everyone had said about you, you were an able young man with an uncanny prowess in the art of fencing. By no means a Horseman or Maker, but for a human it was impressive; no matter how abashed you became and humbly dismissed the praise of your fellow survivors. 

The glow of his amber eyes shrink and beam, widening. His mind calculates your moves. You lunge forward with a hearted strike, grunting with the motion. You pull back, weight balanced and loosely held. You swing your makeshift blade with another grunted cry, swiping across before taking several steps back, swerving and evading the imagined offense of your attacker. 

Suddenly your attack does something unexpected, it only just catches you unawares. You sharply pivot your body, twirling on your heel and arching your back while simultaneously catching your blade against your target’s, Death can practically hear the ring of metal grinding metal piercing through the veil of the rolling pastures. A song he knows all too well. An orchestra of the fight, a melody to warfare. 

Huffing to yourself you continue on. It was good to always throw an odd attack into the mix to keep your senses sharp. 

Dust prances back and forth on the paled, sunken curve of Death’s shoulder, pecking and fluffing a portion of his hair between his beak. A pushing warble vibrating in his gullet. With a rumbled tsk, Death beats a dismissive hand at Dust.

“Quit it.”

Alerted by a louder, monotone caw, Death shoos Dust from his place with a growl. Now aware that you have stopped and turned to face towards his direction, the pale rider freezes before his hand slowly lowers to his side. 

Now he feels like he’s the abashed one. Caught spying on you. 

He expects you to scowl at him and bluntly ask why he’s watching you, to confront his guilty… ‘hobby’. However, instead you flash him a toothy smile and a nervous laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

“Death,” you greet and let your body relax, “I didn’t notice you there.”

That’s what he was hoping for. To remain unnoticed. A creeping shadow, the revered and masked invisible presence unseen by you. 

Now that’s gone all out the window. You can’t identify the way his eyes dart back and forth in a nervous flutter, the cumbersome burn of amber hiding it well at this distance or the way his heart he thought dead and unbeating lively rapped hard against his chest. When did Death himself get startled like this?

It’s your turn to watch him as he walks down the slight slope of the hillside he took spying refuge upon, the swaying lake of grass hiding the small drag of his footfall on his way down. 

“Y/N. I wasn’t—”

“Spying on me?” You chuckle with a shake of your head, waving it off. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I’m not bothered. Honestly, I‘m surprised you decided to stay around and watch.”

His eyes follow you as you move around him, notably to ruffle through your satchel. Procuring a waterskin, you take a few gulps from it with a relieved sigh, grateful for the cool water to run over your tongue and cool you down from the inside. A refreshing feeling. 

“Why’s that?” he asks above a huff. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning his body somewhat to face you but a part of him keeps himself at a distance and thus, it’s reflected in the defensive manner in which he stands before you. 

With a shrug, you answer, “Because you’re busy doing… well, whatever it is you and your siblings do for us. Things that wouldn’t occupy your attention for so long just to watch me flail around a uh… stick.”

As if to match your disappointed gaze, Death’s eyes lower to the long, sturdy stick you held in hand, allowing the shortened end that acted as your hilt beating dully against your wrist. 

“I see.” His voice is rough as it always is but you want to believe you hear an ounce of remorse in his curt reply. 

“So why exactly were you watching me?” You raise a brow, skeptical of the rider’s motivations but not in a hostile way. You’re rather flattered he stuck around. 

“Well, you’re an interesting character I wish to observe. You seem to know how to handle yourself.”

Dare the brooding reaper admit it, you’re impressive in what you do. It’s what kept his interest. How you would always twiddle the stick you use now in your grasp as you went about your business, twirling it in elaborate yet half-minded action, involuntarily demonstrating your skill. 

“You’re rather good, If I do say.”

The sun suddenly sinks a pit of heat deep into your skin and your eyes bow, shrinking away from his gaze. “Thanks. I think I’ve lost the proper motivation though, ever since I lost my epee rapier.”

Daring to meet Death’s eyes again, you breathe deeply through your nose. You see the question in his eyes before he can even allow his voice to speak. 

“My mom’s present to me some time ago. I lost it when the whole world ended and such. It’s gone now for sure, sadly. And with it, the only thing I had left of my mom.”

You always try to not let your mourning betray you and show on your face, but some days it feels harder to hide. And Death himself can peer into the depth of your soul’s grief, acquainted well with the hollowing feeling of loss. 

“You held the weapon in high regard?” His question doesn’t pose any real alert. In true reality, all you think is that he’s curious to know why you’re sad over a piece of your past. Even he’s not above of harbouring certain aspects, keeping to hold them instead of letting them go.

Eventually he did but it was a great sacrifice to prove War’s innocence. Yet for the longest time, he didn’t have it in himself to let go. 

You nod with a small hum as you roll your shoulders back. “Yeah. It was something very special to me. Made me feel close to my mom.”

Blinking, you now realise that this is the longest held conversation you’ve had with Death and with a shy grin, you pack away your stick and waterskin. “I should probably head back and help around the camp.”

With your bag in hand you offer a kind wave to the reaper and bow of your head. “See you around, yeah?”

“Hm.” He merely nods in return and then watches as you walk off. Dust lands atop his shoulder again, a curious and low caw in his throat as though to ask Death what he’s thinking with that curious tilt of his head. The one that drapes the blackened tendrils of his hair over his shoulder and collarbone. 

Of course it had to be on Earth. Where else would it be? Wait, where else would you have been if it wasn’t here?

Baffling questions. Irrelevant. If humans were useful for anything, it was gossip. Yes, he could have asked you for more details — hell, he could have just offered to recover your rapier — but you’ve proven to be the sort to either get things yourself or to leave it be. 

The powerful slug of a bullet penetrating a meaty carcass echoes through the remains of the city where Death currently scouted through, Strife taking a lesser Nephilim’s path in being careless of the enemies that still roam. 

So long as he got to kill something, he was happy. 

Still, Death would very much rather—

POW!

“Would you cease your aimless antics and help me for once!” He made it sound more of an order than a poseable question able to be answered at the gunslinger’s whim, to which the dated folds of his scarf rumple with a shrugged motion. 

Firing at another bat flying overhead, Death sighs aloud with a sunken fall of his chest. He continues to sift through the abandoned remains of humanity until finally, his search is over. 

He does well to hide the giddiness that his more private quest his complete, but it’s all in the eyes as Strife has come to learn. 

Whistling over the older brother’s shoulder, Strife chuckles to himself. “Is that for that human you were talking to the other day?”

Death doesn’t answer him. Simply he lets out a grumble and storms away from his brother, summoning Despair with a beckoning whistle and will to manifest the mount of decay. Strife too summons Mayhem to his side, easily pulling himself into the saddle to pursue after Death. 

Death feels his body tense under the laugh that chases him through the wind that whips through his hair. “It totally is!”

There you are again, practicing in the small dirt field some distance away from the camp. Despair slows down considerably until his reins are tugged back and his hoof counts at the ground, his body strained with a shifting tremble. 

It’s endearing to watch you despite what he now understands are the lacking foundations. With your precious rapier restored, he wonders to himself. Dismounting his steed, he then wanders down the small hill towards you, aware but not cautious of you hitting him. It was a stick after all, what damage could it possibly do to—

THWACK!

He seethes with a hiss, eyes thinned into a scornful glare at the dull sting against his masked cheek.

You gasp and let the stick drop to the ground with your eyes as wide as the bulbous, full moon he’s seen a plethora of times. “Death I— I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Death, I could have poked your eye out!” All pain that resided with the incident is forgotten when he chuckles deeply, his chest bouncing when you fret over him, remorseful and frightful that you assaulted him; even by accident. 

“As I said before: you’re good.”

Unsure whether the compliment is still suited after beating Death with your stick, you grimace still, cringing as the event played over and over in your head like a broken record.

“Still… I’m sorry.”

Death brings something between you, wrapped in a sheet of leather and bound in a securing thread of rope. In awe of its mystery, you wait with bated breath as he unravels it before your very eyes. 

“You…”

“I found it.”

“I… I thought it was lost all this time.” You move hesitantly to take the rapier from him, scared that he’ll seize you and steal your soul right there and then. Nestled in your grasp is the familiar tingle in your fingers, your eyes taking in the details you thought only were to remain as distant memories, but here it is, in your hands once again and with it the memories you held dearly to your heart. Delivered unto you by Death no less, funnily enough, giving life again to your passion. 

With a bright and genuine smile, you don’t let fear consume you as you look up at him. “Thank you, Death. This… means everything to me.”

There’s a silence between you for a moment. You see the minute flutter of his eyes flicker away, at least you believe so, before he nods with a hum. “You’re welcome.”

Deeply does breath pass through your nose, inhaling and exhaling. With the rapier balanced in your palms, you can hear the affectionate octave of your mother’s voice applauding you, telling you how proud she is of you and how far you’ve come. That she misses and loves you, watching over you from wherever she is now. 

With a cock of his head, Death begins to wander not away from you but instead takes his place on the opposite side of the dirt field. With the power of his will, he manifests Harvester to take the form of that of a rapier itself, its form not one he’s familiar with but it is a warrior’s trade to become accustomed to new instruments of combat. 

And perhaps learn a new, graceful technique that he can show off to his siblings. “You now have your weapon again. Now, how about a sparring partner?”

He enjoys the wide grin that spreads over your lips then and eagerly nod, taking your stance and aiming your rapier at him pointedly. “I’d like that.”

At closer distance, Death has a chance to admire how you fight. No longer will you or he have to imagine your opponent, but instead a friendly sparring partner. 

[re-re-redline]

—Hypothetical Dialogue: Mehmed II—

No spoilers for… anything really.

Foreword: Well, I can safely say that this definitely wasn’t in my to-do list. I was having a lot of trouble outlining his RHC and I decided on a whim to try my hand at this for a change of pace which leads us to here!

I have written his ascension lines, his bond lines, his conversation lines along with a few character interaction lines, the birthday line annnnnnd…his Bond 10 line. You know…the Arcade exclusive bond level 10 line. Onore Arcaido This is much shorter than most of the things I’ve written, which is kinda watering my wheels but voicelines aren’t supposed to be beefy, so that is a plus I suppose.

That in mind, I do hope you enjoy this unforeseen post.

Summoning:

“Hahaha! Do I really need an introduction? You already—eh? It’s customary? Ah, fine. Servant class: Archer! I am sultan Mehmed II, but you may know me best as the Father of Conquest or as The Conquerer. I have answered your summons, and from this day forward I shall aid you in achieving your dreams.”

1st Ascension:

“Whew… While I do enjoy clothing from the modern era, I do feel as though this is a better fit for me as a whole. After all, that outfit doesn’t exactly scream ‘sultan’ does it? But you should know that this attire is not for combat. That will be for later. So don’t hold back on those materials, Master!”

2nd Ascension:

“Eh? If not for battle then what is this—pah! Administrative affairs, of course. What? Did you think that all I did was fighting? Ugh, I suppose I should have seen that coming with my title… I did not only wage war in my day, Master, I spent a great deal of time reforming and strengthening the system. Laws, government, education—all of those strides were made under my rule and the results were a much more manageable empire for my son and his sons after. So don’t forget that I was not only an excellent military strategist, but an exemplary ruler as well!”

3rd Ascension:

“Ah… That day… Hehehe… Hm? Oh, my bad. I forgot you were standing there, Master. It’s just that this armor invokes a rather strong sense of nostalgia that nearly swallowed me whole! …Ahem, this is what I wore when I conquered Kostantiniyye, and I remember that day as though it were only a mere hour in the past. It was the best day of my life, and the beginning of my path to greatness.”

Final Ascension:

“…But on that day, something ended. I do not regret putting it to rest, but at the time I had thought that I could keep it alive if I gave it everything I had. It didn’t work, obviously, and to many across the world I was spitting on its grave by giving myself that title and acting that way. In truth, I was showing my reverence and my love in one of the only ways I knew how at the time. Of course, none of her former states acknowledged my new title or my efforts and their resentment of me and my empire grew tenfold. But that didn’t matter, none of that mattered. Because I had her, sweet Kostantiniyye… My childhood dream.”

Bond 1:

“When I had heard that the world had ended and that the one who was calling me was to be the one to save it, I had expected you to be…much more serious. This is a situation far more grave than anything I had ever been through, yet here you stand before me with that jovial mien about you. Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of you, Master.”

Bond 2:

“The more I look at you, the more intriguing you are. That plain appearance belies something far more than the sum of its parts and I have full intentions to figure out just what that is. So don’t you dare go calling me some kind of creep for observing you, okay? If we are to work closely together like this, then I should have a firm grip on who you are as a person. And I implore you to apply the same amount of scrutiny to me as well. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

Bond 3:

“Hm? I act strangely too? Ah…well. I’m not exactly running my empire right now, so I find that there isn’t a need to behave so stiffly. Plus this place is chock full of people with my level of fame and prestige who behave much worse than I do. …It’s not a bad thing? Hah, you and I are in the minority on that front. My father… Ugh, you know what? Forget him. That man is not here and even if he were, I answer to you now. That’s what matters.”

Bond 4:

“Jovial mien…what a joke. You’re exhausted beyond belief, you’re sore down to the marrow in your bones, you might just be at your wit’s end and yet here you stand before me with a determination to stand solely on your own two legs. It’s ridiculous. …Don’t give me that look. Who better to recognize the signs better than me? I am The Father of Conquest, I know everything there is to know. But I digress. As tribute to the Ottoman Empire, I order you to go to bed! I will take care of any administrative affairs that are on or will come to your desk. Yes, I’m serious. Now go.”

Bond 5:

“…So you have seen me in my entirety too, have you not? …It’s alright. I’m not angry about it. In fact, I think it’s a good thing that you know now. Such close relations between two people should seldom hold secrets, after all. Which is why… I think I’ll be forward in saying that I will not leave you be. No matter what happens, who you become or what the world makes of you, know that I will stand at your side proudly. …Why? Is it not obvious? You, Master, are but a reflection of myself and I can’t help but feel as though I must take responsibility for that. This obligation thrust upon you has been your life for so long and, well, chances are that you will die doing this. Just as I did in my time. You will look back and wonder if you have wasted your life, wonder what could have been if you were a normal person. But that is if you die here. Which I will not allow. You will see your journey end and you will enjoy the fruits of your labor in peace. That… That is a promise. One I will uphold even if it should kill me in the process.”

Bond 5 (Post Event Clear):

“So this is the agony of losing an empire… I regret nothing. What I did was not only righteous, but it was the fulfillment of my destiny. It just so happened that Kōnstantînos was on the receiving end of such things. This isn’t to say that I hold no sympathy. As a fellow human under the same sun, I… No. I’ll save it for when him and I finally have an honest conversation. …Master, keep an eye on Kōnstantînos. Closure is not equivalent to healing, it is the beginning. With this having happened, he will need all of the time and support he can get. The road will be long and while Kōnstantînos has it in him to move forward, he needs someone who will keep him on the right track. There will come a time when he will not be able to discern which way is forward or backward, that is when you show him the way. Such is your duty as his master, and more importantly, his friend.”

Conversation 1:

“Your to-do list, bring it here. Eh? You don’t have one? You just remember… No. Absolutely not. Sit down and list off everything you have to do today, tomorrow and every day after. Organization is of utmost importance and I will not have my master be a scatterbrained fool who completes their obligations whenever they feel like it!”

Conversation 2:

“My relationship with you? Oh-hoh, no need to be so coy! You can simply confess your feelings for me without the pretense, I will allow… That’s not what you meant? Ah. Ahhh… The Master-Servant relationship… Well. I am one of the greatest men to have existed and you are the Last Master of Humanity, so we are close to being equals but not quite there. My experience and wisdom place me slightly above you. So I expect you to treat me as a mentor of sorts.”

Conversation 3:

“You really do ask whatever comes to mind, don’t you? Hmph, if this were back in my day I’d have you severely punished for having the audacity to ask such a personal question. Which is why you should be thankful that I am willing to give you the key to answering it instead. Master, if you truly wish to know what I think of you… Then look at me. Very, very hard and for a long, long time. Once that is done, ruminate on what you have seen. This is observation, the essence of finding the truth.”

Conversation 4 (If you have Kōnstantînos XI):

“Is that…? It really is. Emperor Kōnstantînos XI, it’s a pleasure to be—wah! Hey, hey, hey! Put the sword away! I’m not here for…eh? I’m a bad influence on Master? Whaaaaaat? If anyone’s a bad influence on Master, it’s that godawful vampire!

Conversation 5 (If you have Kōnstantînos XI and Bond Level 5):

“…Has he left? Good. *Sigh* I know that I’m practically responsible for his death, but you’d think that dying would put these sorts of things to rest. It’s a shame that he’s like this, though, I’d have liked to speak about what I had done with Kostantiniyye after his passing and I would have liked to hear…how it was to live in there from his perspective. What I knew and had seen was a half-dead city, but to him… I’m sure he saw something beautiful. Maybe someday we can have that honest conversation about the city we loved.”

Conversation 6 (If you have Vlad III or Vlad EXTRA):

“That thing… There’s TWO of him?! No, no. Speak no more. I don’t want to know, nor do I want anything to do with him. *Shudder* Just thinking of him brings the scent of blood and ash to my nose.”

Conversation 7 (If you have Elisabeth Báthory):

“Master. On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst, how dangerous are a woman’s heels? …You’re not sure? Well, I can safely say that it is a 10. I had tried to strike up a friendly conversation with miss Báthory, only to narrowly avoid a fate worse than death. Judging by her comments, I believe that the devil she calls her ‘uncle’ informed her about me beforehand. Honestly, I haven’t a clue why she reveres him so much.”

Conversation 8 (If you have Astraea):

“Hello again—ow—Master. Oh, this? Ah, I got this from the Lady Justice herself. In my efforts to get administration to create and enforce rules for once, my shenanigans have unfortunately attracted the ire of none other than Astraea. To receive a suplex from a goddess may seem like an honor to some, but my neck and shoulders feel so stiff now. Ugh…I feel 20 years older.”

Conversation 9 (If you have Janta, Jack the Ripper, Paul Bunyan (Berserker), or Nursery Rhyme):

“Master… I know this may sound rich coming from me, but don’t you think it’s morally reprehensible to be sending Janissaries this young into the battlefield? …Eh? They aren’t Janissaries? And you can’t stop them from heading into the battlefield even if you tried? Well…hmph. This is a dilemma. If they haven’t caused you problems yet, then I suppose it should be fine. Just…keep an eye on them. I personally didn’t have this issue, but my successors found them to be more trouble than they’re worth.”

Likes:

“What I like? To answer that would take at least 3 hours, but I’ll water it down for you. I like my empire, cannons, rules and order, history and literature, the fine arts, the internet… There’s a lot to like in the world. But above all, I love Kostantiniyye. Er…you know her best as Constantinople. She is my crowning achievement and the apple of my eye. Strange to say about a city, I am aware…but were you to go there yourself, you’d realize that she is more than that. Much, much more.”

Dislikes:

“A good question…What DO I dislike? …Mmh… I probably should hold my tongue here. My next words could very well start a holy war! And that should be saved for when this is all over. Hehe…I’m looking forward to finally putting—ah, I almost said it. Again, that’s for later.”

About The Holy Grail:

“So this is the Holy Grail I’ve heard so much of… It definitely lives up to my expectations now that I have seen it in person. But the power within… No, I should not wish upon the grail. All of my achievements were by my hand and with God’s blessing. To wish upon the grail would devalue everything I had worked for and call my strength into question. I would only accept such a thing if there were no other options. So, do hold off on that.”

During an Event:

“Hahaha! Do you FEEL that, Master?! Hehehe! This is clearly what the beginning of a campaign feels like! Fortune favors the bold and the swift, Master, now follow me! After we get done sacking and rebuilding their city, I’ll teach you how to negotiate tributes and how to deal with those who don’t pay. These lessons are best taken hands on, so I expect you to be paying full attention!”

Birthday:

“Hehe… I know that look and I know what day it is. It is your birthday and I, in fact, have already prepared a gift for you. …Behold! A working replica of THE cannon I used to breach the Theodosian Walls! Splendid, is it not? Haha! I knew you’d like it. See, Master? THIS is where your tribute goes. Directly into things like this! Yes… Happy birthday, Master. May your dreams come true in the coming year.”

Bond 10:

“Hm? Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment there. In any case, you’ve come at the right time. Here, sit beside me. Yes, there. No, it’s not too close. This small, tiny gap between us represents more than physical space. Meaning… Hehe. You already know, don’t you? I need not waste my breath then. …Remember when I had told you that I would stand beside you always? I had also, in a roundabout way, presented the question I had been asking myself ever since you summoned me. Did I waste my life putting my everything into my empire? And the answer is no. Not just because of the great things I did, but also because of what it lead to after my death. That being my time with you. Yes… I can’t remember the last time I had so much free time and so much leeway. Which is why I would like to say, from the deepest depths of my heart… Thank you, Master. For giving me everything I had missed when I was alive and so much more, thank you.”

Endnote: And that’s that! I’m pretty happy with how I’ve written his dialogue and what that says and implies about him as a whole. A somewhat nice balance between levity and seriousness with a side of nagging mentor figure. His darker side comes out a little bit in his 3rd ascension line and would come out in his battle lines with how much he’d be laughing and saying some very disturbing shit on top of it.

Oh, and that “Post Event Clear” thing is just a hypothetical for a Constantine-centric event I want to write (since Lasagna doesn’t feel like it) that I’ll put to words sometime soon. Hehe… It’s similar to an idea I proposed in a reblog a while ago but ultimately it’ll be the Micheal show. So do look forward to that.

From the beginning, I was planning on Mehmed’s desire to know everything and how destructive that can be to be his main issue, but as my internal hamster wheel got rolling, I realized that it’d be a little bit cooler to put that to the side a bit—since he mostly has a handle on himself anyways—in favor of Mehmed looking back on his life and wondering if it was a fulfilling one beyond his achievements. Here in Chaldea, he can pretty much do whatever he wants. He’s not the sultan anymore nor is he cooped up in his room studying to be the sultan someday, he’s just here and having all this freedom kinda fucks with him a bit since he’s so used to being caged. And to top it all off, he has a master who he sees himself in which messes with him even more. He eventually reaches the answer when he hits bond 10 and he sincerely expresses his gratitude for the assistance in him reaching that answer. Buuut until then he’ll be ruminating on that as well as if his life would have been more fulfilling if he was a normal person born to a normal family.

In other more Redline news, I watched Haibane Renmei recently and hoo boy was that shit so good! It gave me some inspiration for a few things as well as made me cry several times, so you know it’s good. Honestly, I want to draw Constantine as a Haibane because that’d fit him so well. Both the sub and dub are on youtube, so if you’re interested then look there!

But that’s just me. I hope you all enjoyed and have a nice night, everyone.

—Redline, over and out!

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

hello, suds :D

i come with six ships for the shipping bingo card (pick and choose which ones you want to do): c!dreamnoblade, c!dreamza, c!awesamdrunz, c!aswesamdream, c!awesampunz, c!drunz (for the first two you can also use the bingo card from here (https://www.tumblr.com/sunshine-in-a-bottle/764332055865835520)

I am frothing at the mouth. God you are being so nice to me right now and letting me be insane. I appreciate you so much.

DNB^. I did both because of course I did. I love your template I Needed To Use It.

DNB obviously got a lot more for the second bingo than the first because they are objectively the healthiest possible pairing you can get here. Look at them. Theyre perfect for each other. Theyre narrative foils, theyre parallels going in opposite directions but forever side by side in their path. It would have to be a very specific universe for them to even BEGIN to be able to make each other worse.

I know because of the way things worked it couldn't be called something canon, but in a world where the DSMP was made in a different medium, DNB would have been an excellent endgame for both of their characters. It maximizes their healing. They both get to be understood at a fundamental level, and seek comfort that they just wouldn't be able to get from other people.

Techno gets to take care of someone who really needs that care, someone who laughs at his jokes and finds him funny, someone who is rewarding to try and make laugh, because god knows Dream tries so hard to be insurmountable. Dream gets that personal attention he so desperately needs without being enabled or placated, or shut down for expressing clear boundaries. Literally my only gripe with the pairing is that its so healthy that I can't go batshit insane about problematic behavior like I like to do.

But honestly the yearning can be so intense that it makes up for anything else. My god can these two yearn, quietly but intently.

Dreamza^. By god this is the greatest crack rarepair to have ever existed in the history of ever.

Its so incredibly unlikely to happen just because of how canon went, but they have so much hidden potential as both a character study and for Shenanigans. They're both admins. They meet for the first time because Philza broke into Dream's server. Philza's son has made Dream's life miserable. Dream is like a younger version of Philza in all the confidence and control and burgeoning power that leaves Philza with both a sense of deja vu but also makes him feel like he's back in the old days, when things were a little less complicated. Dream is reckless and has no self preservation, but even if he has the skill to back it up, Philza still can't help but want to watch his back. Dream's trust is fragile and intense and hard-earned, and doesn't it feel good to earn it? To see this silly young man who endures the world feel safe to reach out a hand to Philza and let Philza take it?

Also the AU concept of Dream being an insane coder with no training VS Philza who actually knows what he's doing and is fascinated and horrified by how Dream runs the server is funny, okay?

Also Kristen can watch them fuck, no notes.

^Awesamdrunz. Listen. Listen. I experience mental illness. I'm going directly to super hell. There's so many things wrong with them, and with anyone else this would go terribly but somehow they make it work. This is somehow the healthiest relationship they could achieve. They can make each other so much worse in some ways (excusing each others crimes) but they could also make each other so much better in others (Dream heals, Sam is redeemed, Punz feels less alone.) I read 100 fics about them and they were all my own. I too want to be an evil necromancer who is consistently loafed on and gets self care.

I didn't mark "I wish more people would ship them" because honestly I'm pretty content with the amount of people who do ship them already. This ship is one part porn, one part crack, one part angst, and three parts kidnapping, I'm not expecting everyone in the fandom to turn around and go THERE IT IS. THE SHIP OF ALL TIME when its such a specific flavor of insanity and doesn't have a ton of canon merit. I like being able to bother my friends about it, and everyone who wants to sit with me on tumblr and ao3 and rotate it with me is nice and good. This feels comfortable.

^Awesamdream. I had to take a break from writing this and came back wondering "why didn't I put that they were perfect for each other." maybe it was for Torture in Prison reasons??? Maybe I was thinking about how they aren't a ship that is perfect in a healthy sort of way, theyre both so mentally ill about each other from prison after all, and Sam's control issues don't naturally blend with Dream's control issues.

But I kind of don't mind that they aren't perfect for each other? I don't think they need to fit like a glove, weaving in and out of each other and completely complimenting the other. Their hands don't fit perfectly- if its post prison, especially, since Dream's lacking a couple fingers- and Dream steps on Sam's feet when they dance. But it feels good to write them a little messy, a little fucked up, but still able to Be Good to each other, Sam towards Dream especially. Not healthy, but happy.

(admittedly, I had to write them like that myself for the most part when I first joined the fandom. Most of what Awesamdream was at the time was torture porn and angst, because YKnow, Prison, but I really wanted to explore them Being Happy and wasn't sure where to start. I'm really grateful for the dreblr discord server for giving me a place to write a lot of my early fics for them.)

^SamPunz. Do you understand how delightful these two are? Do you understand The Vibes that they give when they're together. Listen I'm rapidly running out of braincells but I love to imagine just. In the CKAU the way that Punz fundamentally changes Sam for the better by forcibly instilling boundaries that Dream can't instill on his own.

The way that Punz is so misanthropic, so distrusting of people and so angry at the world and at Sam for what he did. Punz isn't sure they want to believe Sam's capable of change, because in their mind it would be so much easier to kill him and be done with it.

But Dream wants and hopes that Sam can be better if they just try, so Punz is forced to Not Kill As A First Solution. Punz is forced to deal with the an absolute travesty of a creeper. Punz goes from "humanity can't be saved lets kill the server and everything on it and becomes gods" to "actually people might be able to change and become better. I don't like having feelings about this. I don't like having to reckon with my own humanity. Goddamn it Sam."

Listen I'm just rotating Punz pushing Sam against the wall, holding the Communication Knife to his throat, and threatening him. Sam is trying very hard not to find this extremely attractive. He is failing.

I need them to fuck.

[kafkaoftherubble]

再谈JJK 236五条悟的心理刻画// I want to talk about Gojo's psychology in chapter 236 again 

I'm quite happy to say that my thoughts on CH236 have evolved—even if I still greatly dislike many of its executions, pacing, logic, and other storytelling issues. Previously, one of the things that really pissed me off is the character derailment Gojo Satoru suffered in CH236.

I'd mentioned before that the idea of the afterlife dream sequence is massively appealing to me. It's just that there are so many little things in it that sounded wrong enough that in the end, I wondered if I was looking at Mahito's Idle Transfiguration at work. As one person familiar with the JP side of Twitter reportedly saw (take it with a reasonable grain of salt for there is no link to the tweet, but no big deal):  "Gojo sensei didn't just die, it feels like his soul was killed as well."

However, unlike many detractors, my gripes were not centered on "Gojo dickriding Sukuna jobber mindset." I actually think the self-deprecation was perfectly valid for the human Satoru (my previous rant had more details on this). I thought it was humanizing to see him freely admitting his vulnerabilities. 

I was more offended at his downplaying his achievements as though he never had a chance. I thought someone who was as enlightened as he is in judging a person's strengths and weaknesses should be better at assessing his own feats instead of sounding like my pathetic ass whenever I talk about myself. I know I have a rather abysmal self-esteem issue, but nothing in the story indicated Satoru as possessing that trait. That loss of measured self-assessment was one of the things that made me reel. But after reading some comments on this Reddit post, I've come to realize I forgot a very important piece of context:

This is Satoru after he lost.  

Being the strongest was, by all the web of causes around him (his birth, the way people regard him, the things people keep pointing out about him, the system's assessment of him, etc.), a huge part of Satoru's sense of self. It did not necessarily matter if he himself truly believed "being the strongest" was all there was to him. See, even in the real world, there is no "true self" (yes, "there is no self" is one of my most steadfast scientific +/philosophical stances). There is, however, a social self; a person's sense of self is porous and dependent on the environment and society (which can break up into communities) they exist in, and it reflects back to the person who comes to accept it as their own personal narrative. Being the strongest was part of Satoru's fable; the world around him even decided that it was his raison d'être.  

So when he lost, it dealt a really hard blow to his understanding of who he believed he was. It didn't matter if he was enlightened in his judgment of people. One of the statements everyone, including himself, had taken as a fact had just been completely disproven. Why wouldn't he then express doubt on the rest of the "I am the strongest" narrative? Why wouldn't he start to become skeptical of his strengths and feats, to the point of seeing the opponent who bested him as more powerful than Sukuna really was?  

It's just another glimpse into his humanity. Who among us feels not a shred of self-doubt when we fail at what we believed we were good at?  

In this light, it became easier for me to reappraise his expression of doubt.

--------

There was a part when he made it sound as though he was trying to reach out to Sukuna and shit "all along", seemingly at the expense of his students, colleagues and adopted son. Make no mistake, the omission of his students and the goals Satoru made as himself (instead of as "the strongest") in this afterlife dream thingy is still bad.

Reaching out to Sukuna, though? I don't think it's necessarily OOC.  

See, Satoru shared many traits and inspirations from Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha. In line with those references, it's my interpretation that Satoru does not actually exhibit egoism—I know, it runs counter to the dominant understanding of Gojo's psychology in the JJK community—but self-less-ness. 

Not selflessness as in "altruism", but anattā--one of the Buddha's realizations upon his awakening (and again, a concept I strongly support. My best friend can tell you how much I talk about this. Hell, my blog description says as much). The way I see it, Satoru's confidence in himself is no different from his confidence in other people—it's all rooted in what he perceives this given "person" is capable of. To him, "Satoru" is simply another person who happens to be really good at a lot of things and so deserves to be praised and uplifted as anyone else who's good at what they do; the fact that this person happens to be himself is irrelevant*.  

*Note: I once had a YouTube comment discussion with someone, who was surprisingly knowledgeable on Buddhist philosophy, regarding the blurry line between selfishness and selflessness in Gojo. It was great; we discussed anattā and śūnyatā and ended at the Mādhyamaka (Mahayana) school. There, I expounded on why I interpret Satoru as "self-less" instead of "enlightened selfishness" in greater detail. I intend to transcribe it and preserve it here someday. Not now, though!  

When I put that understanding into CH236's context, it no longer shocks me to see Gojo wanting to reach out to Sukuna. For a self-less being, there are no distinctions between them ("them-self") and other beings ("other selves"). They are all psychocausal processes in the form of persons. Sukuna is, therefore, "another person" in Satoru's eyes.

Sukuna is a person who's the strongest in his time and was worshipped and feared—not seen as human but as a calamity embodied in a living creature. Note that Satoru's empathy for Sukuna didn't make him condone Sukuna's way of living as "the strongest" (i.e. hedonistic egoist) even in his bare-my-soul afterlife sequence; he merely expressed an understanding of Sukuna's psychology. That understanding led to Satoru expressing compassion to a person who was burdened by being too strong at the top—it was even doubly easy for him to empathize because of Satoru's own lived experience. You can see why Satoru then tried to alleviate Sukuna's suffering in a way he believed could work: giving his all, through humor, etc. These are likely what Satoru wanted someone else to do for him.  

You can trace this same attitude in the way he mentored his students. He didn't hold back much (ask Yuta and Hakari again how it feels to be punched by their sensei). He regaled his students (and sometimes colleagues) with excessive humor. He was unabashedly "giving his all"—his childishness and "annoying narcissistic ass" and insanity—to those he especially believed to be liable for being lonely, whether it's because of strength or perceived danger (Yuta, Yuji), circumstances (Yuji, Megumi), life experience (Maki, Nobara), mindset (Nanami, Hakari), etc. It could be gleaned even as far back as his interaction with Riko Amanai when he started to see her less as a job and more as "a person", and so recognized the sort of isolation and alienation Riko was starting to feel as a Star Plasma Vessel. He did the same thing with her—trying to alleviate her suffering through what he believed was best. And yes, he gave his all even back then (no sleep for 3 days, guys.)

---------

Gah the translator for this chapter is fucking amazing! I'm jealous! Also, "I love everyone" is poignant, I think, as it paralleled what was in his head during his awakening ("I don't hate anyone.") 

The choice Gege made in depicting the "flower" as lotuses has become subject to various theories. After all, it symbolizes rebirth in some cultures and interpretations. I think it's a valid point for his comeback theories (though I dare not allow myself to hope), but those aside, I actually simply thought of it as yet another allusion to Satoru's connection to Sakyamuni.

Pink lotuses symbolize Buddhahood—a bloomed one is a Buddha; a bud is a Buddha in the making. In Mahayana Buddhism, everyone supposedly has a Buddha nature and is therefore capable of liberation the way Sakyamuni did. They simply need the knowledge (dhamma)... and The Noble's Eightfold Paths/The Noble Eightfold Path taught by a teacher, of course. Gotta subscribe to the course, aye? 

This translation actually made me realize that yes, Satoru did mention his students... in a very annoyingly subtle way. 

I don't think these lotuses refer to himself. I think they refer to his students. 

Hear me out. His goal has always been to raise a generation that could all be strong, so that no one has to be lonely again... including Gojo Satoru (a.k.a. himself), because this would be a world that no longer needs him. To match it with the Buddhist allegory: Satoru, "the Buddha", is trying to raise all of these lotus flowers ("buddhas-in-making") to bloom.  

He can make his students bloom (his goal of raising them). He can admire his students (he's proud of them). But he cannot tell his students to "understand him."

Ultimately, he seems to think his students—or anyone, really—don't actually understand how lonely it is to be up here. He doesn't resent it ("I don't feel lonely now"), but it's still an experience that predisposed him to find some resonance in Sukuna. I find it plausible that perhaps, in Satoru's mind, Sukuna is no different from his students in some regards. It certainly fits the trait of a Buddha/Boddhisattva—to be capable of compassion even to creatures and beings most of us wouldn't be.  

(Or maybe this feeling comes even more easily considering the fact that Sukuna is wearing Megumi's face.) 

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

Now, I know this is already a long read, but my evolved thoughts are not done yet! This is concerning what I previously saw as the biggest character assassination: Nanami and Haibara's comment on Satoru's character. They basically painted him as a dude who really just did it for his pleasure and no loftier goals. The fact that Satoru didn't even deny it was just crap.

But someone pointed out that the face he made was a frown—Satoru was actually upset that this was what Nanami believed.

Now, I've always been crap at discerning emotions, which extend to expressions. I've interpreted his expression as Satoru feeling embarrassed for being called out or accused. But honestly, it also makes sense to think that this is Satoru frowning at the fact that he's still being misunderstood even after death. He likely didn't bother to correct Nanami because he rather asked Nanami how he felt when he died.  

And that, I think, actually dives into heavy meta.  

A sizeable number of those who decry Satoru as OOC in his death were upset that the man didn't show his signature self-assuredness, arrogance, and "winner mindset" (this is the gripe I personally disliked the most because it's close to turning Satoru into this Alpha Male egoist role model), and is all-around "acting like a jobber." It's as if they like Satoru because he's the strongest—not because he's Gojo Satoru.  

Some, meanwhile, were seething to see him praising Sukuna and trying to reach out to him, calling it OOC glazing, meatriding, etc.  

Even those who like him for his character and traits, such as myself, ended up upset at what we believed Satoru was not showing.  

Satoru is showing a side of his humanity and it was confusing to a lot of us in big and small ways, for different reasons. A good chunk of it is still, I maintain, the problem with Gege's execution. 

But in a meta-sense... 

It kinda shows that we don't understand him completely either.  

We're kinda being Nanami here. We think we get Gojo Satoru, but then sometimes, we don't... at least not until we try to understand him on his own terms. 

What's Gojo famous for?

For being the strongest, most handsome motherfucker who's cool and cocky as fuck with cool-ass OP powers and all that meme-worthy stuff.

He's famous for being Gege's "most hated character," for the jokes about him having zero personality, etc.

Famous for being MAPPA's golden child with glossy ass lips and eyes that burden their animating budget.

He's sexy and hot; fuck did you see what he did to Jogo in Shibuya? He's feral and insane; fuck did you see what he did to Hanami? Or that time he turned Toji into a donut? He's bombastic and larger than life.

He sometimes feels unreal, like an alien. Some people hate him, and some people adore him to bits.  

But it takes some digging and analysis for us to realize that Gege lied about him having no personality. Because Satoru is one of the most fleshed-out characters he's ever created. He had more human sides to him that surprised even us—we didn't know he was capable of self-deprecation. We didn't know he was so compassionate he tried to reach out to the villain as if he was Naruto fucking Uzumaki. We suspected other things, like his loneliness at the top, but most of us believed Satoru was more gleeful and smug about being at the top than being angsty about it.  

Maybe this was what Gege was trying to do. Or...maybe he didn't intentionally try to do this, and simply fumbled and messed up his way to genius meta-hood (honestly who knows by this point).

Either way, CH236 could be read as an experiment on how right Satoru was about him never being understood. There are just that many larger-than-life projections/assumptions imposed on him—with "he's the strongest" as the most dominant narrative. He was a "living creature" experiencing alienation and dehumanization, even when surrounded and loved by his admirers and supporters, despite sharing everyone's common thread of the human condition.

All he could do when we argued about how weird he was because he didn't fit what we believed... was to frown and move on.

---------

Extra thought:

I know it's a conspiracy theory by this point that Gege did Satoru dirty because Gojo is his least favorite character, but I really think Gege is joking. If CH236 sucks in its execution of Gojo's afterlife sequence, it's because Gege hasn't been doing emotional beats and characterization well for a long time by now. Not because he hates Gojo.

Think about it—Gege hasn't cared to pause the battle for some deep-cut emotional shit since the Culling Game arc, and yet CH236 is where the battle takes the backstage (so backstage it's a fucking OFFSCREEN DEATH. COME ON, GREG!). Every panel in that chapter was drawn with details and care, and he took a step back from the fighting just to give Gojo even more characterization and flesh.  

Guys, I really think Gege loves Gojo.

Him bashing Gojo is him teasing Gojo the way Gojo teases other people like Utahime and Nanami and Megumi. He doesn't really know how to show his love for Gojo in the manga because his executions do miss, but I think he crafted Gojo lovingly. He fucking loves him. I think I'm actually willing to bet on this.

----

The evolution of my CH236-centric ramble goes from here, to here, to this. I also wanna shout out to the answer in that Reddit post that helped me understand the emotional beat of CH236 better (which allowed me to realize something else). I don't have a Reddit account though. I ghost-read!

Thank you for reading my ramble.

[signed-sapphire]

@spectator-zee Cielo is going to be the main reason Asha’s character arc happens. But Asha will also be the reason Cielo’s arc happens

While Asha is shown the good in people and how they don’t actually all suck and aren’t all stupid, Cielo is shown how sometimes, life isn’t that great. People betray your trust. Bad things happen. Loved ones get hurt.

Sometimes, you can’t just greet the world with open arms. Because then you get pancakes

Anyways 😇

Cielo is sort of like Giselle in that way, witnessing real life. And, like Ariel, actually in-person

His relationship with Evangeline is sort of like a mother/son dynamic, with Eva raising them most of their life. Stars nowadays think they’re better than humans, these weak little ants who need their help to do everything. Humans believed this too, overly relying on Stars and making them all-powerful.

Eva was one of the only Stars to still believe in helping humans achieve their wish. As a result, she’s looked down on by other Stars, and less people believe in her so she’s less powerful.

Cielo was a dwarf star, barely noticeable, very weak. Evangeline sort of took him under her wing (quite literally) and raised them with the belief that a true Wishing Star is born to help others achieve their dreams.

So Cielo is sort of shunned too. He spends most of his free time observing humans and watching them. This one kingdom catches his attention a lot. A kingdom of wishes (ayyyy) where a barrier keeps its people from wishing on stars.

But one day, an explosion happens and a vortex sucks Cielo inside said kingdom. He’s pulled towards something, someone, then crashes into a house in his little star form, not ready to be pulled to Earth yet.

A short young man chases him away, and traps him inside a little house while he yells for his friends.

That’s around where we meet Cielo in the story.

[9800sblog]

Could you do a reading on ateez thoughts on the brazilian show that they just made or what they think about the contry please?

It may seem like a little dumb question but i genuinely got curious about it

Thank you in advance love😀

ateez tarot reading

the member's thoughts on brasil and it's concert

ALL ALLEGED

somebody else asked for each member, so I'll combine both readings here hehe

general (all members, kq and staff)

they definitely feel that they were robbed a little, of opportunities, jongho wasn't there, the venue was not as big as promised, they didn't have time, fans were rude, bla bla bla. it was very reassuring tho, their first stadium, on the other side of the country, they felt energized, strong at work. but they had 0 time to enjoy, brasil is such a beautiful country, a tourist's wonderland, and they couldn't, it's a shame. I heard mingi bought a keychain.

seonghwa:

seonghwa was impacted frrr, he felt that he was dreaming, he really did wish to come here since childhood but he couldn't enjoy much, which made him upset. the concert, to him, was a dream come true, he's giving me sparkly feelings, he was really in love with the vibe and stuff, dude loves performing and the whole routine around it. he thought the rain was beautiful for the concert, but he wished to have met brasil in its tropical weather (cmon he's a tourist, why would kq do that with him 😭) he thought the place was dangerous, the 4 of pentacles comes up, holding his bag very tightly; the concert was also, the stage was a bit slippery and the boys saw many fans leaving the venue sick. he thought it was a beautiful beautiful place, he's so easily impressed, he loved it there because it was interesting to see completely different cultures, ways of living, literally night and day; the crowd and the staff are very different feom what deals with in korea, not that one is better than the other, it was just nice to see those contrasts. he also thought it was crowded, both the concert and the city, they couldn't go anywhere because fans followed them, they had to eat in super unknown places to not be seen. "I loved the meat, very salty, crispy, juicy" he wants to return as a tourist.

hongjoong

bro was so tired, he couldn't think straight, everywhere, all the time they needed him to talk and represent and work. working. all. the. time. my dude is 🤪 his mind is like shutting off, trying to stay awake, telling me his experience he was saying a bunch of nothings that he rehearsed and said millions of times before. "the entire time I was thinking 'I want my beeed I wanna go hoooome'". he is so tired, poor thing, I don't think he even knew where he was, what he was doing. he said it was beautiful, but he got near a head rest, he slept. he was not thinking straight, but my spirit guide said that he's sleeping HARD now kmkkkkkk somehow, tho, it was refreshing to him, like restoring his strength or passion or something, the feeling of achieving something new, seeing different people, different places. he just felt bigger, stablished, "I fucking did it". that's what he said. (before they came to latam, they were in LA and Japan again, and as much as they like it, it renewed his spirit to go and see what he hasn't, it didn't feel as limiting)

yunho

hes very angry, he did not enjoy, I won't go further because it's ugly. it's his own issues with the company. he said everyone's a son of a bitch, I'm laughing my ass off. he did say and show that he drank alcohol there "so icy", he's very very funny, wish yall seen it, dude's cool. he said he wanted to walk around the stadium and he couldn't, they said it was dangerous, he said he'll burn the stadium now because why not "just make it safer????" he said delicious beer and coffee, allegedly he brought home a few bags of brazilian coffee. he hates everyone and every company ever, yall please have patience with him, he's going through puberty.

yeosang

DUDE IS SO PROPER, HE IS SO CUTE.

he kept repeating he was so tired and he already forgot what happened in the concert. he loved the food, allegedly, farofa and guaraná were included and he wants more for his whole life, best part of the trip, he'll never forget. so cold, allegedly he forgot it's winter in the south and didn't pack accordingly.

san

san was feeling himself, he felt hot and sexy and desired (my whole body is cringing). the country looks nice to live in, he liked when it was calm, he liked the melancholy of the weather, it inspired him. coffee again, a hot topic, pão de queijo, allegedly, he liked the cheese itself, he said cheese puffs, I think he means bolinhas de queijo, but I am not sure cause I wasn't there. he liked his room, he liked the view of the stadium, the fan lights were beautiful. he wished fans would've been less physical, in every way, he had his space invaded and he thought fans only cared about their looks and bodies, which made him disappointed. san said he has lost his faith in humanity a long time ago and brasil solidified that. he knows he doesn't have a fair opinion tho, because his stay was so quick and packed, he wants to give it a second chance when he can just be san, hiding in his thoughts and melancholy.

mingi

mingi had the best time in brasil, mingi loved samba, mingi tried paçoca and coxinha, salgado de presunto e queijo. mingi didn't like the infamous brazilian soda, "too sweet", he said, underwhelming. such a mess, crowded, unorganized, mingi was stressed!! he was tired as fuck, people in that town are rude, fans give him no space, he was so annoyed, but he loved it there. there's this bit of plinc, like a little yellow light in his heart, he had such a bad experience but he feels so sweet, and calm, satisfied. mingi is an angel on earth, he said he had a spiritual experience there, he felt at home, which is very very interesting. he wants to know the country more personally, less expensive and rushed, more familiar. he felt at peace, although all he had were bad experiences everywhere, so tired all the time, he wants to return, it's very interesting. he loved the rain, he likes that weather, oh mingi said before that he loved the shower in his hotel because it felt like a sauna, and the fans are cool too, just too annoying, in his ears, screaming and demanding more of him, he's like "I'm just a dude! I can't" very softly, my god this man is an angel. mingi fell in love there, he really did, I think he found his second home. he feels so calm, so peaceful, at rest, familiar, so comfortable and truly happy. I have never read ateez like this before, it's insane.

wooyoung

"just another day, just another country, I just wanna go home". he seems to have dissociated a lot, he's tired, I won't bother him.

[midnightmah07]

a moment here in ur inbox to talk about why i love vil so much, and how people misinterpret him (no need to read it all its just a long ass ramble, sorry 😭):

First of all, just because he is the fairest of them all and likes to take care of his appearance, does not mean he be bitchy with those of a different style from his. Take Epel for example, Vil is not trying to change him 💀💀 He is trying to teach Epel to not fall into the “masculine man are the toughest ones”, he wants to show his son Epel that you can be a pretty masculine boy and not act as toxic masculine man.

Pluss, he tries to help others achieve his goals just like he did 🥲🥲 Even if when growing up was to be said mistreated

Secondly, talking about him and Epel, his relationship in general with what it was shown with others First years are so fartherly :,(( like??? is so adorable… Addition: He would DEF be a great father, I hate those people who say he wouldn’t. Vil’s father was an actor/model and from what I remember Vil only says nice things about him. Vil sure has a short schedule, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try at maximum to squeeze his s/o and kid into participating of his life.

Third, I feel like we can understand that Neige tries to be friends with Vil, but he doesn’t actually seem to understand Vil (not Neige’s fault rlly, but needed to comment that) but generally I don’t blame Vil for not wanting to be friends with Neige, like, they ARE rivals on their jobs

ALSO, like Vil NEVER gave up on his dreams, even after so many side/villains roles

AND I WILL FOREVER ALWAYS LOVE VIL BREAKING GENDER ROLES NORMS, and people who say he is transgender really skipped through the story ://

In general he is the fairest of them all, not just by appearance but because he does have a good personality but a sweet heart (specially after chapter 5 and chapter 6)

Resume: I love Vil Schoenheit <33

YEAHHH honestly I feel that when people say Vil is mean they only read book 5 and read it very poorly, bc Vil is a very strict person to his dorm members and the people at SDC, but that's just because he wants them to be the best version of themselves and not give up! He's actually extremely kind and so nice to people around him, even the prefect, and all of that makes him suchhh a contrast to Leona — I will literally never not shut up about Savanaclaw sorry.

While both Leona and Vil didn't get what they want and don't seem to ever be able to get there (well, more on Leona's case bc he literally was born second while Vil can still do his best to achieve his goal) instead of sitting around and giving up Vil seems to aspire to get better and better and to not fall behind! It really shows how him and Jack also get along so well bc both of them are extremely determined and goal oriented! — also this is once again not to say that Leona is lazy in any way, we went over that my guy has problems lmao

I might not hold Vil as one of my favorites but I do admire him a lot and low-key think it would be an honor to have him as a housewarden pls Pomefiore accept me

[roydeezed]

Okay so a kinda OP 1089 live post as I watch. This is from the perspective of a manga reader so anime only's if you come across this I might hint or talk about something that couod ruin the experience, so beware!

-First of all omfg that opening. So amazing. I remember seeing a tweet from one of the animation staff lamenting that they felt their work was gonna be invalidated. If anything, I hope they see the love people pour into it on a weekly basis and how we enjoy the journey alongside them. Like i think the remakes gonna be amazing for new viewers but the weekly release really gives us the leisure of adventure. It lets us bask instead of throwing us into a plot heavy rush.

-And nothing proves that better than the extended look at the strawhats as they discuss luffys dreams. Their expressions and thoughts. Just those extra seconds of living with the characters was so fun. Also it makes me so curious about Luffys dream once again. Ok so like he has to be the king of the pirates to achieve it right? So the free-est person on the sea? What could be beyond that? Free-est person in the universe? Are we getting space hopping Luffy?

-And then the gorosei talking about it being Sabos destiny that he is there. Hmmm. Ive been thinking about destiny recently and its really interesting how that comment lines up with my thoughts.

-and lulusia! The king is literally Vlad the impaler. And the mother flame impales the land. Makes me wonder if Mihawks from there. Also, what a horrific sequence.

-can't forget to mention that Sabo's transponder has a scar! Idk if this is a popular theory or idea but seeing him in colour really makes me want him to awaken blues flames, something that burns hotter thans ace.

-omg the eyecatchers(is that what they're called?the things in the middle of the episode. Where they cut for ads. Its been so long since ive watched anime properly, im sorry 😭) Are so adorable!

-the banter between zoro and Sanji! The crew working the ship! Love!

-but like also this reminds me why I love Sanji and Zoro as the wings. Sanji is the tactics and Zoro is the reason. Both things luffy lacks. And even extending to the rest of the east blue crew, Nami appeals to a heart and will, remember the Cracker fight. And her whole existence in supporting her village was about her strength of will. And Ussop represents both caution and bravery. Just as much a willingness to stick back and observe as with Sugar as dive in like GOD Ussop. They're facets that Luffy's never had.

-ahh my son Chopper is so cute! And robin 😍. And Luffys red nose and cheeks! Sorry for being a canadian but ah I miss winter! Right now where I live this time of year should be blizzards and flurries but the streets barely have snow on them and I yearn! I yearn! At least my beloved Straw Hats can experience it for me!

-afro power makes a return! Also so interesting that Bonney looks like she emerges from the sun. Chopperemon will save all! And Luffy is so adorable sitting on Sunny's head🥰

-Did i cry at the ending? Uhh yeah. I'm a human being. But like for reals, from calling back to the first ending to the flashbacks to the recruiting!!!

Okay, I'll end it here! Bye!

[gen4grl]

Wheeze, here we are at long last before I have to go into College/Life lockdown again. You won't believe how much can happen in a month and the huge projects that lie ahead, but anyways! - It's cool how you have a PHD in Silver Handling. The closest acronym I could get for that was calling it a Psy.D (precarious Silver yeeting doctorate LOL) anyways you're so right, good analytic potential AND its interesting that it's him being Giovanni's son that you point out. I like that bit too, and I'd love to hear what about it makes it so dope to you :D - Twitter is the trenches </3 glad you like it here more :3 tumblr is THE place for neurodivergent folks like us and HARD AGREE on reading game dialogue. its my favorite lore hunting technique. I cannot fight Gyms until every inch of that city has been explored. - Literally bouncing up at down at the mental imagery of Leaf sitting at a blocky computer with Bill. I can just vaguellyyyy reach out to that era through memory, of idk, images, did I ever see them in person? in dreams? all I know is that even in the early 20s the age of dial-up phones wasn't instantly forgotten. maybe at someone's house. but there is SO much 90s to project there and it can be so enjoyable. nostalgia + growing up + that one era that is more romanticized in retro aesthetic and the social culture bc that's how the neighbors eldest daughters grew up and how do we, in modern times, achieve that? - if it's controversial, nobody's yapping about it when it comes to other characters lol. Leaf is pretty consistent if you keep an open mind so taking from other media 100% makes sense. I do it too :P oooh Silver and Leaf meeting on 5 island I love that!! aw man, with the Rocket base and that Scientist I'm just full of giggling here. Pff, Archer is going to get his butt kicked by the boss's son's friend HA tfw the same kids you see running around take down TR - oh I like how you bring the environment and economy into it, solid reasoning for moving + Pallet connects to the ocean that leads to Cinnabar, no? but yeah :D great customer base, little homey place but close to Viridian and the Indigo Plateau as well, plenty of people stopping by! omg Leaf coming from the hair sprouts 😭 oh that's clever I like it! - really enamored with the Bill + Leaf aspects of your story, it's just really speaking to some deep corner of my soul's memory. im so stoked somebody else likes this haha my Leaf is a bit more politically motivated (at least in one universe lol, bc it's the anime which is an utter disaster and she wants to be Champion to clean house and heal the economy) but also someone oughta do something bc Lance is working like 5 different jobs 😭 also, I can imagine with most of your HCs centered around character relationships they might feel like a hard sell compared to cold facts and I 100% feel you. so much of my fic is just character dynamics nobody else would get it LOL. but I'm honored you have so much you'd want to yap about it. fully encourage and love yapisodes - I looked at your Silver post and you said it's only if you're playing as Red but good news, Scientist Gideon STILL asks that if you play as Leaf. He says "Giovanni's kid" not his son :D - at the time you asked that, I was writing 6.1k of a chapter for another fandom, but lately I've had Leaf on the brain again and rlly want to get a solid outline for that series going. <-- the kind of yapping better suited for DMs lol. yess, love seeing how the Pokemon world is connected in media. utterly obsessed with Gen/Evo Specials, you can imagine the cheering when Silver's episode dropped 7 years ago he's so <3 <3 <3 if you like Silver + Leaf sibs then you feel like someone I can smuggle into Dad Lance city that doesn't leave her out, but hey. oldest daughter problems maybe if we incorporate the tendency to focus on Kris/Lyra/Ethan and thanks to Masters, LILLIE?!?!? <-- understand Johto kids but LILLIE???? and every time I see Lance with Red/Blue I'm like "aight, so I gotta fill this vacancy myself"

helllloooo first of all i want to say sorry for taking so long to get to this😭 my last couple months have been a mess and i’ve been dealing with annoying health issues (in every way). i apologise if this reply isn’t as long or thorough as usual🤧

i think what i like about the silver giovanni connection so much is how well it connects johto + kanto story wise. johto to me is still a very undeveloped and lowkey forgotten region unfortunately but silvers character is easily the shining part of the region. i also think it’s cool how he’s also connected to red (or leaf) due to the whole reason giovanni abandoning him being because of red/leaf’s defeat of team rocket, ultimately crushing his ego lol - just one big butterfly effect that i thoroughly enjoy :p and as stated in my post, i like despite how hard he tried not to be, silver was quite similar to his dad until the events of the the johto story. seeing his growth makes me so happy 🤧🤧🤧✨

lmao talking of reading game dialogue … the offical pokemon twitter account made this post for fathers day (i think…? my fathers day isn’t till september 🤷🏻‍♀️)

and the amount of people in the comments literally suprised gave me a stroke like??? lacey being clays daughter is explicitly stated LOL pokemon fans never cease to amaze me 😭😭😭

you’ve really got me thinking about kantrio in the 90s now LOL. i can see them all tryna message eachother on some aol type site and someone’s dial up cutting totally ruining their convos - most likely blue cause daisy wants to talk on the phone to bill or something … hmmm… ideas are brewing!!!! actually to sound old my family had dial up till 2009… insane😭😭 i used to get so mad at my mumma using the phone cause i just wanted to play club penguin LOL - oh and thx u for the compliment on the leaf + bill dynamic <3 bill is one of those random ass side characters that still is so iconic … i have so many hc’s for him too LOL no character can escape my headcanons

oh and i am the minister at the dad lance church!!! i’ve always seen him as not just a mentor to silver but the other johto kids and definitely the kanto trio before they grew up - that saying i still think as adults they turn to him alot since … half of them don’t have dads (both in canon and my hc LOL). i think as adults, the kantrio definitely have a more friend based relationship with him but as kids he definitely helped them through the spotlight that was put on them at such a young age.

ehghhh i very much apologise for this reply, my brain feels very disconnected from my body today and i feel like this hot mess of a reply shows LOL. again, i really apologise for the late reply. i wish you the best of luck with ur studies and writing ✨✨✨🩷🩷🩷

[easypeasylindyvesey]

APRIL 2027- PART 18

The room falls silent, with the exception of muttered chatter. I stare up at the clock on the wall. It’s close to 11, so there’s a few minutes before the service starts. I want to walk out. I want to run. I want to flee this place and these people and this situation. I want to escape myself from all of it. However, I can’t.

My throat goes dry, which is the indicator of me beginning to cry, but as I attempt to swallow, I let out a little involuntary shriek instead, feeling hundreds of beady eyes staring at me with judgment. Shit. Sorry.

“You all right?” Jimmy whispers.

I nod. “Never better.”

Yeah, like that’s the actual truth.

The side door on the left opens, and in enters who I presume the funeral officiant. He’s got a medium stature with brown hair and glasses. He makes his way to the podium, located next to the flowers. He adjusts the microphone to tilt it upwards toward his mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to thank you for joining us on this day of remembrance. Today, we honor the short, yet successful life of Ryan Lindgren. Ryan was a friend, a teammate, a bother, a son, a cousin, a girlfriend…”

I take hold of Jimmy’s wrist again and dig my nails into his cufflink. I don’t think it can get through to his skin, so I hope I’m not hurting him. Then again, we’re already hurt. He doesn’t flinch or subtly react. He remains still, focused on the officiant’s introduction.

“...and we are gathered together to send him off to Heaven, to grant him a peaceful, yet eternal life, where he is free from future hurt and distress. We thank you for your presence in the event of today’s proceedings. For anyone who is planning to share about the impact Ryan had, we will let people share row by row. We ask for brief speeches, as our end goal is to have everyone share if they’d like. We will begin with Bob and Jennifer Lindgren, Ryan’s parents.”

I feel as if I’ve punctured one of Jimmy’s veins as I watch the couple approach the podium. I free myself from his hold and move my hand back onto my dress, but I don’t get that chance as Jimmy reaches across my leg and grabs hold of my hand, slightly interlocking his fingers and giving a light yet gentle squeeze. He remains gripping onto it as I start to zone out.

“...always determined to reach his goals, his dreams, one of which he got to fulfill by playing in the National Hockey League. He rarely, if never complained about the scheduling or how the game went or if he didn’t get a point. He was always having fun. That fun was shared by his teammates, who always had nothing but wonderful things to say about him, and that makes us feel like we raised a wonderful son, and even more wonderful of a human. Ryan would truly be honored if he saw this entire room being full of people that love him, and we can’t thank each and every one of you enough for coming out this morning. If I could give you one piece of truth that I’m sure Ryan would abide by, it is to not give up under any circumstances. You are meant to have that dream and to live this life with people you care about. We can be at ease knowing he was able to achieve his. Thank you.”

Damn it, I didn’t even catch the first half of that. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to focus for 10,000 more of these. I just might eat myself alive before it gets to be my turn.

My awareness comes back into the room, listening to Andrew and Charlie’s speeches, along with one from a cousin of Ryan. We moved to the right side of the room where we heard from, Lavi, Jacob, Chris, and Adam. All of them had really great things to say, but it was difficult at times to get some words out. My body tenses with the anticipation that I’m next to speak, and I’m not even remotely prepared.

“Miss?” I hear a male voice standing outside the row. I think it’s the funeral director. “Would you like to speak?”

My eyes start to burn and a tight feeling in my chest makes its presence known. Am I having a heart attack or something?

“Y-yeah, sure,” I reply, releasing my grip on Jimmy’s hand and walking in front of him to make my way toward the front of the room. I feel like everyone’s staring at me. They’re judging me. They’re wondering why I’m even speaking. They’re wondering what I’m going to say. They’re wondering how long I’m going to take. They’re wondering if I’m going to stutter over my words, lose my train of thought, skip over sentences and not finish them, look down at my hands, start rambling, maybe cry unpromptedly.

I lift my feet onto the step located behind the podium so I can get a good view of the room. I move the microphone down to where my mouth is, tapping on the cord. I don’t even know where to look.

“Uh, hi,” I start, my voice making a meek appearance. “I’m Abby, and I was, uh, I was Ryan’s teammate and his girlfriend.”

I look around the room to see if I’ve even remotely grabbed anyone’s attention. Turns out I have. They’re all staring me down. God, I wish I could read their minds right now.

“I forgot my speech, so I’m just gonna make this as short and sweet as I can,” I continue. “Um, I know how important Ryan was to all of you, and to myself as well. He was, uh, he was strong-headed and, uh, very goal-driven. You would, uh, you’d always see him giving 110% effort on the ice, whether it be at practice or a game. He was never the guy to slack off. He always wanted to be his personal best, and I know that he was able to accomplish that. But as a person, I, uh, he was certainly a hidden gem, I swear, one of God’s biggest blessings, not just to my life, but to everyone’s in here. He would always be there for you, always showing his supportive side. There’d be days where he would have more faith in you than you did yourself. He truly was one of my biggest advocates, one of my primary cheerleaders in this uncertain world we live in. From the perspective of being his girlfriend, he, uh, he couldn’t have been any better. He was calm, attentive, gave me space, and he always, and I mean it, always made an effort to make me happy before him, and given where we are now, I just, I wish-” 

The crack of my voice instills in my throat and echoes over the microphone, following the bridge of my eyes lighting up with tears already to escape. I look around the room and flick my eyes up to the ceiling and then back to surface level, where I look at the team, and then meet Jimmy’s sad brown eyes. You’re okay, he mouths.

I take a shaky breath and wipe my eyes, giving myself another chance to compose myself. “I just wish there would be times where he put himself first, but he was the type of person that never expected anything in return. He would always do something, God-willingly make a sacrifice in order to see someone else happy, and that was one of his qualities that was most noticeable when I first met him. It never went away. His generosity, his compassion, his love, his attention, everything about Ryan is truly irreplaceable, including the love that I held for him, both platonically and romantically, and I feel as if I will live with the regret of not telling him that I loved him, but I’m sure he knew, and he sure was worthy of hearing it. And, uh, I hope he’s able to rest knowing that he was solely the definition of it. Thank you.”

I step back to the ground and speedwalk back to my row. Jimmy gets up and lets me in to sit. I scoot over to make room for him to sit back down, but instead, I see him making his way to the podium. What the hell is he doing? He’s actually going to speak?

He adjusts the microphone before opening his mouth. “Hi, I’m Jimmy,” he begins. His voice echoes throughout the room and I shiver in my seat. “First off, I want to thank Abby for that speech. You, uh, you did a really great job.”

My heart speeds up, this time a tear breaking out of my eye and down my face.

“I was also one of Ryan’s teammates and friends, and I’ll just say that he was the ideal person that you would want to surround yourself with. He had such a great effect on the people that were around, he had a voice in the locker room that truly emphasized commitment and dedication to this sport. He’d always look out for you, both on and off the ice, putting himself in harm’s way if he got the chance to defend you. Um, like Abby said, he always pushed himself to be better, and though at times, it did result in injuries, some of which were less severe than others, but he always came back as if he never left. He was the type of person whose absence could be noticed, whether on the ice or just out and about, and you’d always be waiting for him to come back and continue working on his play. If he could win MVP every year, I think we’d all be able to unanimously agree on that decision without any hesitation. That shows how positive of an impact we had, and I don’t think we’ll ever find another person like Ryan in this lifetime. He meant so much to us, and we will thank him for it by keeping his legacy alive, on and off the ice. Thank you.”

Did he come up with that on the fly? If he did, that’s impressive.

He walks back and sits down next to me, letting out a quiet puff of air. His face is slightly tinged red, his hand running through his hair. He lets out another breath to steady himself.

“That was good,” I whisper to him.

“Yours was better.”

“Call it even?”

“Yeah.”

I tap my hands on my dress, looking uneasily around the room. The officiant returns to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, let us honor the life of Ryan through song, one of his favorites. You may choose to sing along, if you know the words, to “Follow Me” by Uncle Kracker.”

I fucking forgot about that song. It was considered his go-to for karaoke.

As the music starts, my heart speeds up in beat, moving my hand to find Jimmy’s. I feel his warm fingers clench my own, soothingly rubbing his thumb on the top of my hand. “You’re okay,” he repeats. 

I feel my mouth open, as if I’m panting like a dog. It feels like panicking. Am I? Is this all a simulation? Am I dreaming? Is this the moment where I wake up?

“Abb,” he whispers into my ear. “Look at me.”

I feel my ears bleed listening to Uncle Kracker’s voice as I tune it out and look at him.

“Take a breath,” he instructs. “In, and out. In, and out.”

I follow his directions, somewhat returning to a normal feeling, but not really.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he responds. “Good. Just like that.”

I do a few more breaths before loosening my grip on his hand, but not letting go. I just want to give us a little room to breathe.

Follow me, everything is alright

I’ll be the one to tuck you in at night

And if you want to leave, I can guarantee

You won’t find nobody else like me

That verse alone brims my eyes with tears again, but I manage to stop them by zoning out on his portrait. He’s staring right at me. He’s probably wondering why I’m crying. Why are you sad? Don’t be sad. I’m okay. I’m at peace. I’m free. You’ll be alright without me. Go. I’ll see you soon enough.

[peppermintquartz]

Today while I was in the middle of wrapping books in clear plastic (I'm a school librarian), I thought, I'm a failure.

What achievements have I to show for forty years on this planet? I have friends and a family that I love and love me. I have three fairly well-behaved cats. I have an apartment with my partner.

But I'm nothing much more than a dreamer, hoping to make it big as a writer. Yet all I have written is a novel and several assessment books (basically, students will use the exercises and drills within to assess themselves, or more likely, home tutors will use the books to give students more homework) and a lot of fanfic.

Nothing that shouts "AK is a runaway success!!"

And I was thinking, how good and easy life would be if I could be satisfied with a life without an imagination. I would keep doing the full-time job I previously had, and by now I'd probably be middle management if I'd stayed the course. I would be tired but I wouldn't have anything else to do but my work anyway. No dreams of anything other than taking holidays during the school holidays.

Just a simple life, doing simple tasks, going through a routine week in week out.

An imagination is a burden in a world that doesn't value it. I mean, look around. What future does a storyteller have? I have nothing to look forward to. Better to go back to my old job and just. Give up on creating.

Just be a dutiful contributor to the machine.

Just.

Exist.

And then I put on my music. Songs of mourning the past came up first. Songs of missing someone.

I imagined I was saying goodbye to the Me that wants to be a professional writer. The Me who has always known that she is meant to tell stories. I imagined letting that version of Me go, away towards a distant horizon.

Goodbye. It was nice knowing you and loving you for a while.

When I was wallowing in the worst of my feels, Beyond came up in my playlist. I sang along, because of course you sing along to Beyond when they come up on your playlist, and one of the lines in the chorus suddenly hit me like a sack of hammers.

"Turning back on your dreams/is something anyone can do"

I cracked. I broke. I shattered.

Who was I trying to fool?

There is no way. There is no way I can let go of the Me that creates entire worlds out of nothing but thought. I can as soon remove my own brain in its entirety. I can as soon distill my soul into a beaker and weigh it.

I am fortunate. I know my purpose. I'm here to share stories, in whatever way and form I can. And even if my purpose won't give me fame or fortune, I am not searching for a reason to live; I have one.

I have the second part of Rilt's story to tell. Liria's schemes have yet to unfold fully. Dessa has yet to find her power. Galena hasn't got married.

Saki will have to start the hunt for her twin's daughter. Ma'irei needs to meet the love of his life. Arrow has yet to repay his life debt. The Marat have yet to make their presence known.

Leng Xiang has not avenged her son. Du Kuang has not found forgiveness. Situ Mengjian needs to see the truth about the man he loves.

Li Xiuying has yet to come up with her harebrained scheme to swap places with her best friend at a crucial juncture. The Changs need to reconcile. Su Yuming and Qiu Yannan have a standing appointment. Mei and Song have to find their new loves.

Who else but me knows about the soul-deep bond between Zerrul and Deel? The fate of Evvas Alwyth? Why Kirzan is determined to plow ahead with his stupid plan? Why is Dagger loyal? Why does Wolvam choose to take on such a burden?

I hold all these worlds and all these people within me. I have a duty.