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nefastnefertiti · 6 months ago

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WHY CHAPTER 431 OF MY HERO ACADEMIA SCREAMS CENSORSHIP

First let's start by the "afterword", the note Horikoshi left after 430 and before the extras, chapter 431.

Original japanese for those who understand.

The best traslation I found and most people are agreeing with.

Key sentences are:

1.The real final chapter is 429, 430 is more like a curtain call.

2. PS: For chapter 431, I turn off the cameras and free the characters from their dramas.

This note being left after 430 and before the extras is so important. . The clarification of "the real final chapter is 429" and 430 is the curtain call is screaming: the show has ended here. This is further stated by "i turn the cameras off" by the man who use to refer himself as the camera man, I leave you with an example.

(They're talking about Vol 37 cover)

And back to point number 2: "and free the characters from their dramas", which could perfectly be understood as "the characters are no longer tied to their previous plots and drama" no longer connected to the main story.

It may seem like a reach until here, we're just trying to convince ourselves that's not canon, right? They´re delusions, right?

The problem is how far away everything about 431 antagonizes the whole story, the characters doesn't feel like themselves, they even regress back all their development, the drawing style looks totally different and there are many irregularities that call for our attention.

Dabi, 431 and by Horikoshi

Toga and Ochaco in 431:

Toga and Ochaco by Horikoshi:

All Might's signature for Katsuki (Horikoshi would never mess this up):

Kirishima with 6 fingers lol, Horikoshi loves drawing hands, he would never.

Katsuki's odd teeth what the fuck. (His hand looks good to me)

Ochaco and Shoto just look, weird. It's clearly not Horikoshi's art style.

And this awful background (center) was the main giveaway.

Horikoshi's backgrounds are so professional:

At this point I'm getting tired since the difference is astounding, don't believe me, just check the manga.

I don't think Horikoshi would've allowed those mistakes had he have a role in the making, maybe he did, there's no saying about that, but clearly if he did his involvement was very low.

Character's development wise now.

Seriously? "Deku"? And Katsuki complaining for picking him up. He cried his eyes out when Izuku lost his quirk and now he's back at season 1?

Izuku would never in a million years turn down that offer. And if he did, it would never be like this, so devoid of emotion and empathy.

430 showed us an Izuku aiming for his dreams again and at 431 this Izuku ¿? It's okay with being a teacher? Ok. And if that's not the problem, why he outright rejects Katsuki out of nowhere? When their rivalry was one of the main points of the plots for 430 chapters and now just um over? Without justification? Ok.

Ok.

Now specifically about that ship canonization and bkdk.

Horikoshi has been doing this for 10 years. The choices he took the whole manga were incredibly intentional, all those romantic tropes given to bkdk, his interviews, all stand in direct opposition to what happened in this last chapter.

I, myself, don't know much about Jump but what I've heard is they end lot of shonens with the same heterosexual formula. I don't think all of this is a coincidence.

Something really important that needs to be adressed to is what happened back in June (I think), when suddenly MHA announced it was ending in 5 chapters could've something to do with this. The manga was suddenly rushed to its ends with unsatisfying resolutions and as if that was not enough, one month later (at most) the same happened to JJK and all of this came accompanied by a switch of one of the heads of Jump.

About 431 again though.

I was just thinking what would I do if I was pressured to write something that ruins the biggest project of my life and goes against everything I was hoping for? Refuse. Tell them to write it themselves. If I can't do anything to stop it and it'll be there, alright, but I WON'T DO IT.

And I think this could be Horikoshi's case.

I've never seen a shonen manga come so close to implying his male protagonist and his male deuteragonist are in love before. Yes, it was not EXPLICIT but it was so fucking clear if you knew how to read, all the way up to 430. All those cliches tropes he gave them, he knew, we know.

I thought I'll die trying to explaineverything that seems wrong with this with nothing to back me up but the fact that he added that note is clear for me. I'm surprised they allowed him to publish it, I thought we wouldn't even have that.

PS:

It's interesting this being posted the same day 431 comes out. Also "heroaca is pretty dark, huh?"

I'll not go into this anyways because it's kind of a reach but the conclusion is: I think it's a "soft" censorship and Horikoshi did his best to relay his message given what he had.

Thanks for reading!

#bnha #deku #izuku midoriya #mha #mha 430 #bakudeku #katsudeku #bkdk #mha 431 #mha extras #bakugou kastuki #bakugou #kacchan #katsuki #dkbk

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ms-dead-inside · 8 months ago

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Okay, but hear me out:

Murder baby Damian, but for whatever reason, his first attempt at Tim's life is put on pause, so they never have that interaction. Instead, before Damian can come up with a new plan, Tim (who's kinda excited he now isn't the baby of the family) offers to train him in detective work for when Damian finally gets the mantle of 'Robin' as a way to bond with him.

"Why train your enemy, Drake?"

"We're brothers, not enemies. Besides, Robin has always been a mantle to pass down. I'm certainly not going to keep it in my twenties or thirties. And other than Bruce, I'm the best detective in the family."

"Very well, Drake, I shall accept your tutelage for the time being."

Damian accepts, of course. Not only can he study Drake for his weaknesses, he will also improve his own skill set. It's worth the wait for Robin. By the time Damian's done, there will be no doubt that he is the superior bat.

Unfortunately, he actually grows fond of Timothy. While he will inevitably get close with Richard, just like in canon, Timothy is a breath of fresh air for when Richard is being too overbearing, especially when it comes to things like 'socializing,' and 'making friends.'

When his father dies, and Timothy declared him actually lost to time, Richard doesn't believe him, can't believe him, because the hope is too painful. Timothy still gives Damian Robin, because, "I'm barely holding on as Batman as it is. I can't handle Robin being gone for potentially months at a time, halfway around the world."

During his partnership with Richard, truly becoming his brother-son, Richard introduces the ideas of pets to him. Damian loves animals, and having and taking care of a creature that could potentially survive on its own, but will have a much better quality of life under his care, speaks to him. He has Alfred and Titus and about half a dozen other stray animals that usually stay for about a week while he nurses them to health at any given moment, but he feels like he should officially have another pet.

Que the whole thing with his grandfather, and Timothy getting kicked out of the top of a skyscraper. He comes home with proof, and the Justice League brings his father home. And as Dick basically refuses to let anyone leave the mansion for the foreseeable future, Damian realizes several facts:

1.) Timothy is a human, and humans are animals.

2.) While Timothy has somehow survived until now, he wouldn't recognize self-care if it slapped him in the face.

3.) Timothy's quality of life will improve if someone is taking care of him because he cannot be trusted to do it for himself. (Is it a coincidence that he loses organs when he is away from the family? Damian thinks not.)

4.) Damian has gotten good at taking care of animals.

Ergo, Timothy is now Damian's pet. Tim doesn't know what to do and simply humors him. Besides, it's nice when someone actually bothers to give him a plate of foods that he likes when he gets hyper focused on work and forgets to eat. That, and while he is exasperated every time Damian tranqs him, those are still the best sleeps of his life.

Jason finds it hilarious. Damian doesn't understand Richard or his father's reactions.

"Damian, Tim can take care of himself."

"Barely. Father, now that I am in charge of his sleep schedule, there aren't as many dark circles under his eyes. Even Alfred has commented that Timothy consumes less caffeine."

"Damian, he can't be your pet."

"Why not?"

"Tim's your brother; he's family."

"So are you saying that Alfred and Titus aren't family?"

#damian wayne #tim drake #damian and tim #they're brothers your honor #richard grayson #dick grayson #damian wayne is a little shit #batman #batfamily #batfam #robin #red robin #dcu #dc universe #alternate universe #canon divergent au #batman dick grayson #bruce has no idea what's going on

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

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Yandere!Ayato x Reader

The day you met Kamisato Ayato was anything but ordinary. You had stumbled upon his younger sister, Ayaka, in peril, cornered by a group of hostile individuals while wandering through Inazuma. Without a second thought, you intervened, defeating her attackers and ensuring her safety. Ayaka’s gratitude was immediate, but her elder brother’s reaction was far less welcoming.

From the moment Ayato laid eyes on you, suspicion clouded his sharp gaze. He was a man who trusted few, and the idea that a stranger had “conveniently” saved his sister reeked of ulterior motives. Though Ayaka vouched for you, his skepticism remained. To his credit, he didn’t cast you out entirely. Instead, he insisted you stay within the Kamisato Estate under the guise of “monitoring you for further investigation.”

It wasn’t easy. Ayato’s cold demeanor and sharp tongue made it clear that he doubted your intentions. Yet, despite his hostility, you stayed. Ayaka needed time to recover, and you couldn’t abandon her—not after what you’d witnessed. Gradually, your genuine care for Ayaka chipped away at Ayato’s walls. You weren’t the enemy he had convinced himself you were. In fact, you were nothing but kind, patient, and selfless.

When Ayaka fully recovered, you quietly left the Kamisato Estate, believing your part in their lives was over. But the universe had other plans.

Not long after, a larger threat emerged—one that had the Kamisato Clan in its crosshairs. Strange disappearances, sabotage, and threats plagued their estate. It wasn’t a coincidence, and Ayato knew it. What he didn’t expect, however, was your return. This time, you weren’t alone.

You revealed yourself as a detective working alongside Shikanoin Heizou. It had been Heizou who assigned you to investigate the earlier incident with Ayaka, and now he had sent you back to aid Ayato with this new case. Though Ayato was initially taken aback by the revelation of your profession, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at your presence. He trusted no one, yet you had already proven your loyalty once before.

As the case unfolded, you became Ayato’s anchor. Whether it was unraveling cryptic clues, protecting the estate, or simply listening when the burden of leadership weighed heavily on him, you were always there. You were sharp, resourceful, and unyielding in your determination to help. Slowly but surely, Ayato found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain—or resist.

The realization hit him like a storm. He didn’t just appreciate you—he needed you. You were his equal, his match, the one person who could stand by his side through anything. When the case finally came to an end and the culprits were brought to justice, Ayato wasted no time in confronting you.

“I have a proposition.” he said one evening, his calm mask betraying nothing of the emotions swirling beneath. “Stay by my side—not as an associate, but as my partner.”

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of his words. “Wait… are you saying—marriage?”

“Precisely.” His tone was unwavering, as if he were stating an undeniable fact.

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious. “That’s… a bold offer, Lord Kamisato. But I’m afraid I can’t accept something so sudden.”

Ayato’s smile didn’t falter, though there was a glint of something unsettling in his eyes. “I understand your hesitation. But I assure you, my feelings are genuine. You’ll come to see that, in time.”

Little did you know, Ayato wasn’t one to take no for an answer. The more you resisted, the more determined he became.

After finishing a case at Narukami Shrine, you were invited by none other than Yae Miko for a private meeting. Her playful smirk never left her lips as she gestured for you to sit down. “You’ve been busy lately, haven’t you?” she teased, her sharp eyes gleaming with curiosity.

When she offered to tell your fortune, you couldn’t exactly refuse. It was Yae Miko, after all, she was rarely wrong about anything. But when the results came in, her expression turned unusually serious.

“Your love line” she began, her tone far softer than you were used to, “is a complicated one. A dangerous one, in fact. Be careful, dear. The one who holds your heart might not let go so easily.”

Her cryptic warning left you unsettled. You tried to brush it off as another one of her enigmatic tricks, but her words lingered in your mind. Yae Miko wasn’t one to say such things lightly.

Days later, you found yourself visiting the Kamisato Estate. You had heard that Ayato had just returned from a major mission assigned directly by the Shogun, and part of you wanted to check on him. He had been unusually quiet after your last encounter, and though you didn’t want to admit it, you were worried about him.

When you arrived, Ayaka greeted you warmly and led you to the training grounds, where Ayato was recovering from the aftermath of a fierce battle. His usually pristine appearance was slightly marred by cuts and bruises, yet his expression was as calm as ever. However, the moment he saw you, his eyes lit up with something unmistakable—relief.

“I didn’t expect to see you here” he admitted, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

“I heard you just got back from a case.” you replied, crossing your arms. “Figured I’d check in. You look like you could use some help.”

He smiled faintly, his exhaustion evident. “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

As it turned out, your instincts were correct. What Ayato hadn’t told anyone was that his case wasn’t quite over yet. The Shogun’s orders had uncovered a deeper conspiracy threatening the stability of Inazuma, and Ayato was at the heart of it. Once again, you found yourself by his side, aiding him in unraveling the mystery and standing by him in yet another perilous battle.

The fight was grueling, pushing both of you to your limits. But together, you triumphed. Your unwavering determination and skill had earned you not only Ayato’s deepest admiration but also the respect of the Shogun herself. As a token of her gratitude, the Shogun personally rewarded you for your service.

What you didn’t expect was Ayato’s next move.

Standing before the Shogun in all her commanding presence, Ayato bowed deeply. “Your Excellency, I have one more request, if I may.”

The Shogun raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“I humbly ask for your blessing in marriage,” he said, his voice steady yet filled with conviction. “With them.”

The words hit you like a lightning strike. You stared at Ayato, stunned, as he turned to meet your gaze. His eyes held nothing but sincerity, as if he had planned this moment all along.

The Shogun considered his request for a moment before nodding. “Very well, Lord Kamisato. If they are in agreement, you have my blessing.”

Your head spun. This couldn’t be real. Ayato, always composed and calculating, had just asked for the Shogun’s approval to marry you in front of everyone. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You’re not saying no, are you?” Ayato asked, his voice soft yet laced with an undercurrent of possessiveness. “I meant every word, and I won’t retract my proposal.”

You felt the weight of Yae Miko’s words return. A dangerous love line. Her warning rang in your ears as you looked at Ayato, whose calm mask had slipped just enough for you to see the intensity lurking beneath.

Despite the intensity of Ayato’s feelings, you had come to understand that beneath his possessiveness was a man who valued respect and devotion. While his obsessive nature could be overwhelming, he had never crossed a line, always treating you with the utmost care and reverence. Refusing his proposal seemed pointless—he was a man of his word, and as long as he didn’t tire of you, there was no harm in accepting his love.

And so, the preparations for your wedding began, with the Shogun herself granting her blessing. The ceremony was nothing short of a spectacle—luxurious, elegant, and befitting the head of the Kamisato Clan. Nobles, diplomats, and high-ranking officials filled the grand hall, marveling at the union of Ayato and the detective who had earned their place beside him.

Among the attendees were old friends and colleagues from the detective office, including Shikanoin Heizou. They greeted you warmly, reminiscing about past cases and your shared adventures. It felt like a moment of reprieve amidst the overwhelming grandeur of the event.

But Ayato’s sharp eyes were never far from you. From across the room, he watched as you laughed and chatted with Heizou and your other colleagues. The sight of you smiling so freely with others, particularly Heizou, ignited a storm within him. He didn’t say a word during the festivities, maintaining his usual composed demeanor. Yet, as the night wore on, he indulged in more wine than usual, the jealousy simmering beneath his calm façade.

By the time the wedding concluded and you returned to the privacy of your chambers, Ayato was visibly tipsy, his usually refined movements slightly unsteady. You helped him remove his outer robe, gently guiding him to sit. But as you turned to fetch water to sober him up, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him.

“You seemed awfully happy tonight” he murmured, his tone low but laced with jealousy. “Laughing with them, reminiscing like old lovers… Did you forget whose name you now bear?”

His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him fully. “They’re just friends, Ayato. You know that.”

His lips curled into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I? Because watching you with them made me think otherwise.”

You frowned, recognizing the edge in his voice. “You’re drunk, Ayato. Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

But Ayato wasn’t listening. Before you could pull away, he stood, towering over you as he backed you against the wall. His usual restraint seemed to waver as his arms caged you in.

“I’ve waited too long for this night to let anyone else steal your attention” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “You’re mine to cherish, Y/N. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

That night, Ayato’s jealousy manifested in a way you hadn’t expected. His touches, though fervent, never crossed the boundaries of respect—he was still the man who cherished you, even in his drunken state. But his possessiveness was undeniable as he marked you as his in every way imaginable, whispering promises and warnings against anyone else daring to take your attention from him.

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, you found yourself lying beside Ayato, his arms wrapped around you even in sleep. The night’s events still lingered in your mind—his jealousy, his drunken insistence, and the way he’d poured his emotions into his actions. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny that a part of you understood his feelings, even if they were overwhelming at times.

When he began to stir, his eyes fluttering open, you gently reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. He blinked up at you, his expression soft but guarded, as though unsure of how you felt after the night’s intensity.

“Ayato…” you murmured, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry for not being more mindful last night. I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure or neglected. I’ll do better at respecting your feelings—and our boundaries.”

He stared at you in silence for a moment, his usual composed mask cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of vulnerability. For a moment, you thought he might accept your apology and let the matter rest.

But then his lips curled into a sly, mischievous smile, and he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. “Boundaries?” he repeated, his voice still tinged with a huskiness that made your cheeks warm. “Darling, I don’t recall any boundaries between us. Especially not after last night.”

“Ayato, you were drunk” you countered gently, trying to pull away. “You weren’t yourself—”

“I’m perfectly sober now,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “And I think it’s only fair that you make up for the… distress you caused me. After all, you were quite close with your friends last night.”

You sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to let this go so easily. “I already apologized. And I kissed you just now to show I meant it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing as he tilted his head. “A kiss on the forehead? My, how chaste of you. But don’t you think I deserve a little more than that, my dear spouse?”

Your face grew hotter as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “How about another kiss? Here.” He tapped his lips with a finger, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And perhaps… elsewhere, if you truly want to make it up to me.”

You groaned softly, torn between exasperation and fondness. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me” he quipped, his tone smug as he leaned back against the pillows, waiting expectantly. “So, what will it be? Will you grant your husband his ‘redemption,’ or shall I continue to lament my cruel, neglectful spouse?”

Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in his gaze that reassured you he wasn’t truly upset. Reluctantly, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. When you pulled away, his arms tightened around you again, keeping you close.

“Better” he murmured, his smile softening. “But I think I’ll need more time to forgive you properly. Perhaps… a day in bed together would suffice.”

You sighed, hiding your smile against his chest. Ayato might have been possessive and dramatic at times, but you couldn’t deny that he had a way of making you feel loved—even when he drove you absolutely crazy.

#yandere x reader #yandere #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #yandere kamisato ayato #genshin impact ayato

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meanbossart · 6 months ago

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ASK COMPILATION: BODY HAIR, BHAALIST DU DROW, BLOOD INQUIRIES, THE MAN'S DICK AND HOBBIES.

Answering more asks! As always, I want to apologize for not being able to get to everyone - literally nobody has ever complained about it, but I still feel bad 😅I appreciate everyone's questions and sweet messages all the same, and even if your ask isn't here I hope you can be entertained by the other replies!

Anon I feel terrible about having to say this because I can tell you were hoping for a specific answer here, plus doing your very best to sell your pitch to me -

But DU drow hates body hair.

I'm not making this up in the spot just to be a contrarian, this is one of various unimportant character details that have come up already at some point or another, for whatever reason. It is no coincidence that many of the characters he finds unattractive do have visible body hair, like Gale and Halsin whose hairy toes he dreads the sight of.

I refuse to believe that elves are truly dolphin-smooth as that would be an absolute biological nightmare, so both him and Astarion have a normal amount of peach-fuzz all over. Otherwise, DU drow finds the sight of anything longer/coarser than that unseemly, and the feeling unpleasant; it is simply what he grew up with and hence what he's used to. In this respect, he wants people who take after his own image.

As with most things, he could forgive it if he were in love with someone - assuming you don't mind the occasional joke about it. And unfortunately I think something as significant as Halsin's case would be too off-putting for him to ever give them a chance. A Shadowheart situation, on the other hand, he could grow to like.

I believe there's some sources that imply bhaal-corrupted(?) blood should taste a particular way, leaning towards the unpleasant. People can make up whatever headcanons they want with that information, BUT since I spent over half of this game supplying the guy with the stuff and he seemed all too pleased about it, I choose to assume it's not that bad.

I think there would be something... Lively about it? Fairly normal taste but it leaves a tingle on his tongue, like it squirms on its way out and dies in his mouth moments before it can hit the throat. Very salty, but it could just be his skin.

[FAR, FAR MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Bhaalist DU drow likes both cats and dogs just fine (again, he considers the animal kingdom to be it's own thing and hence removed from his fate to butcher humanity) and you wouldn't be wrong to assume he has a thing for dogs in that AU because of their unconditionally loving and loyal nature, however Bhaalist DU drow is still very much a cat person. He likes their independence, their little attitudes, their self-sufficiency, plus the fact that they keep the rat population in check inside the temple. He finds those qualities admirable, respectable, perhaps he would even find them desirable in a partner if, unlike he cats, he wasn't so opposed to them roaming free.

In-game DU drow succeeded the check required to spot Astarion before he could jump him - so yes, just not the version where they end up rolling awkward around the sand for 2 minutes, LOL.

He's semi aware of it, or at least he becomes aware whenever Astarion's mask slips. When Astarion is putting on a good performance, DU drow wholeheartedly believes it. Also, It's worth noting that Astarion does manage to have fun occasionally, and have periods of... Superficial happiness? They just so happen to be unfulfilling, and don't make up for all the other pitfalls of his situation when they inevitably come crashing back. He's also great at tricking himself into thinking this is a good time.

Bhaalist DU drow makes vague attempts at "making things better" whenever he catches him in a mood, usually through physical affection or lavish gifts. That works well enough the first year I think, before everything kind of loses its luster. After that, DU drow just gets it into his head that Astarion "doesn't understand what he must do to succeed and keep him safe".

This is a VERY interesting observation and... Maybe? Especially early in the relationship, DU drow finds Astarion's quasi-predatorial behavior very attractive, but only AFTER he notices his vampirism. I think this outlook of the character contextualizes Astarion's condition in a way that he can immediately understand and simpathize with, even if DU drow doesn't know much about vampires themselves. Of course, this is specific to Astarion - he does not extend this grace to the rest of his kind.

I'll be thinking about this one!

I don't know the video in question but from your description I think they would both be VERY confused, LOL.

HMM, I think that might actually depend on a lot of things! Assuming the woman (or just the other partner) in the relationship isn't a drow, and exactly what KIND of devotion we're talking about (is the drow pro-active? Protective? Does he put his neck on the line for this relationship with pride? Does he seem strong and capable and like he doesn't rely on his partner?) he might see enough of himself in him that they could actually get along. This is similar to how DU drow immediately took a liking to Aylin even though she's this moon-goddess child and a supposed beacon of justice.

The quickest way to get on DU drow's good side is to be the idealized version of what he believes himself to be. Oh, and not get in his way.

If they're both drow it's kind of hopeless though, yeah LOL.

Planning on it!!

DU drow never slept with Haarlep! He only took his clothes off and then attacked him full in the nude.

...I'm not sure how to justify that in the lore, but it's exactly what I did and it's too funny to take it back, LOL

I think Astarion was just kind of baffled by what transpired until DU drow turned to while hopping around pulling his pants back on and asked if he enjoyed the show, then he remembered he just loves finding any excuse to take his clothes off.

That's a lovely compliment, I definitely go for a very "organic" look so I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you!

Thank you!!! A lot has actually been said about Gortash in my #enver gortash tag, if you'd like to get all the gritty details. Suffice to say that they had a very odd but significant friendship.

DU drow is the kind of person who shoots awake as soon as the sun starts gracing the sky, but he tends to do whatever he has to do and then go back to bed right after, and stay there at least a bit past noon. He did this both in his bhaalist days and in Astarion's company, though the amount of time he spends asleep during the day definitely increases because of the vamp, especially over time!

So, the urethra in a penis is located pretty much on the underside of the shaft, so the wound actually does not reach it! As far as functions go - peeing and ejaculating - it comes out of the tip's opening as normal. When he first caused the wound it probably did puncture the urethra, but that would have closed up over time. What you see is the injury many years after the fact, after all.

So the implications are pretty minor. Aesthetically, his foreskin hangs a bit weirdly when he's soft (like a tiny little penis curtain) and has more give than usual. Functionally, he has spots within the scarred up injury that are either numb or overly sensitive. Also, you can kind of see the dickhead notch through his underwear which is fun.

Otherwise, that is pretty much it! No worries about the nature of the question I've gotten worse, LOL. Thank you for your kind words as well!

I think he used to write in his bhaalist days - very, very occasionally mind you - like if you scoured the temple you would find a dozen or so ripped up pieces of paper with little short poems on them, written in a very sharp and carefree hand. Anywhere from 3 to 10 lines per-poem, usually less than more. The sentences are descriptive of actions, never feelings or thoughts, but they don't ever seem literal.

Back in those days, he also went to the theater every other year.

Post-tadpole, he ends up dabbling in carpentry, leather-work, and enjoys listening for musical numbers taking place in taverns and inns to go to and watch. He eventually starts pulling Astarion into little slow dances when that happens. I think he might end up writing again someday, but not for many, many years.

#ask compilation #ask #bhaalist du drow #du drow and astarion

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honeyflashbang · 10 months ago

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My theory on Sampo's true identity...

(Minor Spoilers for 2.4) (also, I’m no expert in… anything, really, but these are just my ramblings).

So, this has probably been mentioned before, but I have a teeny-tiny theory about Sampo’s true identity, and it relates to Finnish mythology.

So, “Sampo” in and of itself doesn’t have a set meaning, but it has its roots in Finnish mythology, particularly the “Kalevala” which is a 19th-century compilation of epic poetry. In it, a blacksmith god by the name of Seppo Ilmari(nen) forges the mythical device known as “The Sampo”. It’s never quite explained what The Sampo really is; some versions depict it as a mill, others as a cornucopia from which bountiful creations flow from, and some even have it as being a world tree/world pillar, so what The Sampo really is, isn’t entirely known. But, what is known, is that it brought riches and good fortune to its holder (again, the same as the cornucopia from Greek mythology).

But why am I mentioning all of this? Why bring up the Kalevala? It could be that Hoyo just chose the name “Sampo” for some flavour—befitting of a character who magics up relics from seemingly thin air and is trying to create riches—and yeah, it’s a possibility…

Until I saw these two screenshots from the 2.4 story:

You know what this means, right?

Kalevala is a real planet in Hoyo’s Star Rail universe, and I find it awfully coincidental that they would use this name for a planet and not have it related to a certain blue haired conman, especially since The Sampo is such a pivotal element in the plot of the Kalevala—there is no way this is a coincidence (I refuse to believe it).

This leads me to believe that Kalevala is Sampo’s real home world, and is where he originates from.

Now, this is all well and good, knowing where “The Sampo” hails from, but I want to focus on its creator—Seppo Ilmari(nen)—and his parallels to a certain blue haired conman. For one, Ilmari(nen)’s name is quite interesting as the ‘Ilma’ part is Finnish for ‘air’ or ‘weather’, and as we know, Sampo’s element is that of ‘wind’ (And also the fact that Ilmari(nen) is credited as “Godlike smith-hero and creator of the sky”. I could go into a whole spiel about Ilmari(nen) and Qlipoth swinging their giant hammers in tandem together for all eternity (Go Sampard! Geppie is Qlipoth's true heir, you can't convince me otherwise!), but that’s for another conspiracy theory lol).

So, ‘Ilma’ means ‘air’, and Sampo wields ‘wind’.

Cool.

If the parallels ended there, I’d just say I was being crazy… but there’s more.

Sampo’s 4th (and arguably best) eidolon is called “The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate”. Two out of his six eidolons refer to 'love', whilst the other 4 are to do with wealth and riches. The wealth and richest aspect leans towards The Sampo of mythology, whilst the ‘love’ aspect, well…

According to the story, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is the unluckiest bastard alive when it comes to love. Like, seriously. His whole storyline is that he can’t find a woman. For one, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is double crossed by his so called buddy, Väinämöinen, into creating The Sampo for the evil witch Louhi of Pohjola in exchange for her daughter’s hand in marriage (which, Ilmari didn’t even want in the beginning), but when the poor guy actually sees the daughter and falls in love with her (and subsequently creates the Sampo—after failing miserably a number of times, mind you—he creates a crossbow, a boat, a cow(wtf?) and a plough, all which are somehow either evil or flawed), she ups and just leaves him hanging! (in the original runes, however, he is successful in gaining a wife, as his ‘unlucky in love’ spiel was later added by Lönnrot in compiling the Kalevala).

As with any mythology and re-telling of it, there’s so many different versions of the same event. In “The Maiden of the North”, a 1898 opera written by Oskar Merikanto, both Ilmarinen and Väinämöinen compete for the chance to marry Louhi’s daughter, who is then mentioned as being “Ilmari(nen)’s first wife” and who later dies to Kullervo’s curse (apparently she was a bit of a bitch to Kullervo by taunting and tormenting the poor boy—who was a child slave mind you!). Distraught, Ilmari(nen) forges himself a wife of gold and silver, but he finds her to be too cold and callous—he forges her out of love but only finds hate—so he tries to gift her to Väinämöinen (who doesn’t want her either, lol), and suggests he cast her back into the furnace and to “forge from her a thousand trinkets”.

Here’s the accompanying poem:

Never, youths, however wretched,

Nor in future, upgrown heroes,

Whether you have large possessions,

Or are poor in your possessions,

In the course of all your lifetime,

While the golden moon is shining,

May you woo a golden woman,

Or distress yourselves for silver,

For the gleam of gold is freezing,

Only frost is breathed by silver.

It is apparently your standard Aesop’s fable of “money can’t buy happiness”, which is something else I see in our dear old Sampo Koski. During our time in Belobog, we see how different he acts with the Underworld and Overworlders. To the poor, he actually seems approachable (albeit a bit of a nuisance), going so far as to help the Underworlders (an example being the questline “Survival Wisdom” in which he and Peak set up a business together renting out his tools to help the miners make a decent wage to support their families). In contrast, we actively see Sampo being very hostile towards the Overworlders, scamming them and putting the nobles in their place or setting them up to be caught by the Silvermane Guards (an example being during the museum questline where you discover his identity as “Mr Cold Feet”. Sampo clearly states to who he thinks is his mark that ‘we are not friends’ in a very hostile manner, something which we’ve not seen from Sampo before as he is usually quite amicable).

For all Sampo’s showboating and flashing his money around, he helps where it counts. He wants to make money, sure, but not at the detriment of the people who need it the most, only to those with excess.

Anyway, back to him being unlucky in love…

In another rune entitled “Kosinta”, Ilmari(nen) goes on a journey to compete for Hiisi’s daughter, and wins by completing various feats, one of them being “ploughing a field full of snakes”:

And as we know, Sampo is very heavy on the snake motifs (the head of the snake on his shoulders, the spine wrapped around him, the daggers are its fangs…etc.)

So that’s another interesting link between Seppo Ilmari(nen) and Sampo Koski.

So, why have I gone on this long winded tangent about Seppo Ilmari(nen) when I’m supposed to be talking about Sampo Koski?

Well, that’s because I think Sampo Koski’s real name is (or a variant of) Ilmarinen.

In the Hoyo universe, I believe Ilmarinen came from the planet Kalevala and ‘created’ the persona of Sampo Koski, much like how in the Kalevala, Seppo Ilmari(nen) forged The Sampo.

As I’ve listed above, there’s so many links between the two:

“Air” as a name and “Wind” as an element.

Seppo Ilmari(nen) ploughed a field of snakes to win Hiisi’s daughter’s hand in marriage, whilst Sampo Koski relies heavily on snake motifs for his attire.

Sampo’s two eidolon names that relate to love (which are completely different from the other 4 eidolon names), whilst Seppo Ilmari(nen) is known to be unlucky in love.

I’m pretty damn sure Sampo creates his own bombs and tinkers with the old relics to bring them back to life, whereas Seppo Ilmari(nen) is a smith who created the dome of the sky! They’re both artificers!

And now the revelation that a planet by the name of “Kalevala” exists is no mere coincidence.

So, either Sampo is Ilmari(nen) - or! - Sampo is a puppet (like Herta) created by someone called Ilmari(nen).

(I would love if his 5* version is him with this name).

Right, I’m finished rambling. Gonna go huff some copium...

#honkai star rail #sampo koski #hsr #Sampo #fan theory #theorycrafting #huffing the copium #I really need a 5* of this man #There's probably a bunch of stuff I've missed...#I am literally dying for Sampo content #I WANNA GO BACK TO BELOBOG!#Seriously when I saw the name 'Kalevala' show up as a planet name I lost my shit #Kalevala #finnish mythology

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pureanonofficial · 10 days ago

Note

Babes I'm new to chess, why do we hate the Danny strong book?

So this my personal opinion; other people have historically loved the Danny Strong book! Thus far, I have not.

I do want to preface my opinion by saying that thus far, the Strong book has only been seen in workshops. I love Beetlejuice the musical; had I encountered the D.C. workshop first instead of the Broadway remount, I would not have believed it could be good. Long history of musicals absolutely sucking in workshops and then turning out okay on Broadway.

For me, I have hated the Strong book so far because of its its characterization choices, dated political jokes, efforts to make the show a political thriller, and its absolutely abhorrent and offensive depiction of mental illness. For ease, I refer to the 2018 Kennedy Center production as Kencen, and the 2022 concert as Choncert.

For starters, characterization in Chess has always been mutable. There is no such thing as OOC when it comes to Chess, only choices I like less than others. However, I do think the characterization choices in Strong Chess make the show weaker. Freddie ends up coming off as the most sympathetic character, which Should Not Be. Anatoly struggles with depression and paranoia in this book, which could be really interesting, except he's a boring dick. He has no charm; it's just all paranoia and depression. He tells us in the first act that his wife was spying on him, which turns out to be a lie, and he refuses to believe she loved him even as she is begging him because their children might get sent to the gulag. Florence describes him as sweet and kind and thoughtful, and this is not evident in this slightest. Florence is very girlboss emotionally mature which is...very not Florence or especially interesting. She is the caretaker for Freddie, and in Choncert, she does something that immediately tanks all sympathy for her.

She steals Freddie's psychiatric meds, causing him to spiral and lose the match. The show does not dig into this, nor bring it up again. It's just a baffling choice to give your supposed sympathetic female lead.

In addition, Florence/Anatoly falls completely flat in a new, unique way than previous Chesses. In Choncert, there is a whole scene about them having an affair in Rome a couple years before canon (while Anatoly was married and Florence was with Freddie) and they sing YOU AND I LIKE THIRTY MINUTES INTO ACT ONE??? INSANE??? YOU DO NOT DESERVE THAT SONG YET. This further tanks my liking of these characters, as they've both been carrying on behind their partners' backs for years. Here is a video of One Night In Rome.

https://www.tumblr.com/hellyrigs/703512439768121344/the-new-scene-in-chess-dec-12-2022-one-night?source=share

Because of these changes, Freddie comes across as the most sympathetic main character??? Somehow?? He's explicitly struggling with mental illness here, either schizophrenia/bipolar depending on whether it's Kencen/Choncert (we'll get to that.) He's introduced singing A Taste of Pity by himself while struggling from a panic attack, and Florence shows up and tells him "You have to take your pills, Freddie." His paranoia is actually objectively correct here, as the Soviets ARE using underhanded tactics to get him to lose, and Florence IS cheating on him with Anatoly. You should never, ever make Freddie justified and correct in Chess. When you've done that, something has gone wrong. I don't think it's a coincidence that when Kencen sparked a little surge of Chess content, it was disproportionately about Freddie. This was definitely because of Raul Esparza's charisma, but Ramin Karimloo has an even more rabid fanbase, and there was very little Anatoly content. He's also not as horribly misogynistic and abusive here as he is in other Chesses (you can even read it as Florence abusing him, which. What. What is happening.) Yet, despite the fact that he's softened, the other characters are even WORSE to him than usual. Florence is extremely aggressive and non-sympathetic about his mental health issues from the very start of the show (the pill stealing is just the icing on the cake) Florence straight up tells him in act two that "You're incapable of love. You can't even love yourself," which is just. In a Chess where Freddie is properly an asshole, sure, say that! In THIS? It just all hits really bad.

I also haven't dug into how Svetlana's depiction makes Anatoly even worse. He says she was spying on him, accuses her of brainwashing his children to hate him, yet when we see her, the first thing she talks about is how much of a nightmare life for the past four years has been. Molokov threatens to lock her children in an orphanage and send her to die in a Siberian gulag if she fails to bring Anatoly home. She tries so hard--and all Anatoly does is call her a liar and say she never loved him. It makes him extremely unsympathetic.

I haven't even begun to dig into the dialogue yet. Dialogue in Chess has rarely been its strong point (in all my dealings with Florence, I never once made one good move) but it's rarely been boring. Tim Rice has a very distinctive awkward janky style to his dialogue that is kinda charming, even if it's not good. Richard Nelson, the Broadway libretto writer, is genuinely excellent at expressing character with dialogue. Chess pa Svenska, which had a new Swedish libretto written by Björn Ulvaeus, Lars Rudolfsson, and Jan Mark, has a scene so good it could fully stand alone as a ten minute play. Danny Strong's dialogue however...does not work for me. Here are a couple of actual lines from Strong. These were all painstakingly transcribed by me.

The Arbiter: Welcome to the the first -- and depending on how tonight goes -- last Cold War musical. On this very stage you will encounter chess grandmasters, CIA operatives, Thai prostitutes, and Ronald Reagan. Not necessarily in that order. At times our story may seem ludicrous. Sometimes it is. After all, this is a musical. But I should warn you some of this crazy shit actually happened.

"He was a child chess prodigy by the age of eleven. Which may or may not have lead to clinical narcissism and undiagnosed bipolar disorder."

Freddie: Where have you been? I need you. I love you, and I need you. Florence: Yeah, til you're feeling normal, now take your pills! Freddie: No!

Freddie: By superior training, I'm assuming that you're referring to fact that they're snatched from their families as little kids? Then trained like rats in a cage their entire childhood? The Communist system is as cruel to its chess players as it is to its people. Florence: Come on Freddie, let's go. Freddie: No, I'm fine, I'm fine. With Anatoly Sergievsky, the KGB is going to make him disappear just like Boris Ivanovich. A grandmaster vanishes off the face of the planet, and you don't even care about it because you're too busy bashing me! (Music stops) Freddie: Sporting? Are the Communists sporting? And you call me crazy! Well fuck you! Fuck you all, big and small.

Freddie: I don't blame my father for leaving, but I still hate him for it. Anatoly: He doesn't deserve Florence, she's too good for him. Freddie: I really do love her, I just don't know how to show it. Anatoly: I wish I could feel warmth. I wish I could feel anything at all. Freddie: I'd give it all to just not have my blood race all the time, to not think the walls are being bugged, to not think the KGB is trying to blow up my plane, I can't trust anybody. Anatoly: I've been a prisoner of chess all my life. I never had a childhood. I don't want to go home because I have no home. I have no identity. Freddie: I'm not evil, she [???] I'm not a human being. Anatoly: I can't beat him, he's too good. Freddie: He can't beat me, I'm too good. Molokov: Yes Anatoly, play with his mind. Freddie: Don't fall for his cheap mindgames. Florence: Don't fall for it Freddie, he's desperate Walter: Cue the light buzzing. Freddie: Ignore the light buzzing. Anatoly: I dream of home and freedom. I dream of defecting, but I'm too much of a coward to defect. Freddie: I was the US champion at age eleven. Probably should have locked up my chessboard. I hate chess. I hate life scratching me. I wanna die. Anatoly: I wanna die. I don't know my children nor my wife, I never have, just as my parents knew me. Walter: Louder! Freddie: Buzzing. Florence: Damn it! Molokov: He made a mistake, it's working Anatoly. Walter: Louder!

Florence: I don't know, baby, I have a bad feeling about this interview. You should pull out. Anatoly: If I don't do it, it will look like I'm afraid of him. Florence: He's gonna come after you. He still wants to be in the game, even if he's not playing you, he still wants to play you. Anatoly: We both know why he's here. He wants to get you back. Florence: The last thing in the world I want is Freddie Trumper. You don't have do this interview to prove anything to me. Anatoly: I have to do this interview to prove to the world that I'm not here by a forfeit. Florence: Oh God, it's happening again! Anatoly: What is? Florence, continuing to make Choices: My life is being destroyed by chess, why can't I love a banker or a gardener or anybody else. Anatoly: You're all I want. I promise. Anddddd the championship Florence: Of course.

I just find this dialogue to be very bland, boring, and at times like a bootleg Joss Whedon. It's all kinda like this--too jokey and cynical and not genuine. I find it very jarring. Whatever Chess has been throughout its history, it has always been genuine. I feel like all these lines are written for the most immediate reaction, for the punchline, as opposed to building something true and beautiful.

Let's compare two similar sections of dialogue, one from Danny Strong, one from Richard Nelson.

Walter: It's not what I want, it's what I have to give. A video! I think you'll enjoy. Freddie: Unless it's lesbian porn, I'm not interested. vs Reporter: What a beautiful suite! What do you think of Budapest so far, Mr. Trumper? Freddie: Anyone with legs like that can call me Freddie. (She uncrosses her legs.) That’s a joke, okay? (He gets up.) Jesus Christ, you been here how long? A couple of days! And already you’ve lost your sense of humor. See what Communism does to you?

One of these is a punchline. It's a quick quip that doesn't really tell you anything more about the character. It doesn't come up again. Freddie harassing the reporter tells us a lot about him. He wants her to like him, he wants praise, he wants to be puffed up. He wants her to laugh at his jokes, and he wants to be told he's funny. He wants proof that he can get a woman after Florence walked out on him. Meanwhile, I don't think the lesbian porn moment tells us anything other than that Freddie watches lesbian porn. A lot of the moments in the show are like this. Quips are not inherently bad--but the whole show is mostly made out of quips.

I also really really really hate how this show handles politics and political humor. The 2022 Choncert leaned really hard on (now dated) political humor mostly from The Arbiter, including jokes about Freddie's last name. It had a big imbalance of jokes over drama, and they again, never felt genuine.

This show is also just extremely extremely MURICA in how it handles the Soviet Union, far more than the actual original American production literally written during the Cold War. The Soviet Union in this production is a CARTOON--Anatoly is frequently threatened or worried about being killed if he loses at chess. The Russian chess champion before him, Boris Ivanovich, is heavily implied to have been killed for losing to Trumper. Strong. Buddy. You can look up what happened to the famous 1980s Russian chess players. Most of them are still alive in Russia! Even the ones who defected didn't get disappeared! They didn't get sent to the Chess Player Vat!

The stakes also just become RIDICULOUS in this version. We begin with chess players getting murdered for being bad at chess, and we end with RUSSIA MOBILIZING THEIR MILITARY BECAUSE ANATOLY WINS THE CHAMPIONSHIP. In this universe, the outcomes of SALT II and the 1983 nuclear weapon crisis are explicitly impacted by fucking chess!! SALT II falls apart because Anatoly defects!!! It's so stupid!!!! It ends up making it so that the Soviet Union is willing to nuke the world because they lost at chess. A large part of the second act involves the US doing training exercises that the USSR see as a threat, so they demand Anatoly lose at chess, or else they mobilize. It is so stupid!!!! Just such bad history!!!

The timeline and characters of the show are also negatively impacted by the increased focus on politics! We now have a four year time gap over intermission, from 1979 to 1983, and it sure doesn't feel like it with the characters. It's jarring because with the emotional state of the characters, it feels like it's been a couple months, not four years. And a couple months can work in Chess! But not if it's really four years, and we haven't put in the work to understand how the characters would necessarily change because of it. Molokov is now really high up in the KGB, and he's just a cartoon. Walter comes across as a better person because he is the one in the Waltokov relationship going "holy shit let's not blow up the world because of chess." The dynamic of the KGB and CIA being equally bad is utterly lost. Politics take focus over people in this Chess, and not for the better in the slightest.

Especially because Florence gets her dad back??? It's so so so jarring because it's a really out of place happy ending, and her father was not a focus for this Florence. Long Beach Chess made Florence getting her dad back work, but that was with very specific choices. This Chess has not made those choices. We also just do not have any emotional attachment to her father, so this big happy ending just falls utterly flat.

Now we get to the part of the show that makes me actually angry. The depiction of mental illness with Freddie Trumper. Everything else, I do not like, but it just makes me roll my eyes. The mental illness stuff makes me blindingly angry. By giving Freddie a diagnosed, specific illness, now it comes across like his asshole behavior is exclusively because of that illness, that Florence is right to leave her mentally ill partner who can barely function without her. He loses the first match because of sensory issues (he can't focus with the lights buzzing.) His medication is treated as a magic trick that automatically fixes him (he takes his pills and instantly calms down.)

And again!!! Florence steals his pills!!! She takes his vital medication from him!!! Here is a video of that.

https://www.tumblr.com/hellyrigs/703555453692624896/another-bad-moment-from-chess-dec-12-2022-no?source=share

Also the two productions thus far have alternatively described him as bipolar or schizophrenic, and they write him the exact same with both, so they're just flat up conflating two different mental illnesses without any care.

Danny Strong won an Emmy for Dopesick; listening to his Chess, it's hard to believe he knows how drugs work.

There are a few things I like in Strong Chess. Opening with US vs USSR is a striking choice, certainly better than starting with Story of Chess. Freddie hitting Florence with "Do you wanna fuck him?" right before Budapest is Rising is effective. Florence risking getting deported if she doesn't keep Freddie in line has the potential to be compelling.

However, I just hate it. I don't like it. I wish it wasn't the book for the revival. Again, they could fix it, it could be better. But here are my reservations as of now. I also worry that this will become the New Fandom Chess, or that this version could replace previous productions in licensing. I doubt those things would happen, but I still fear them.

But fundamentally, we'll just have to see what happens!

#Chess #Chess the musical #Chess musical #long post #asks

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seecarrun · 1 month ago

Text

Ash groaned and wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of dirt across his forehead.

“Why doesn’t she have to help?” he grumbled, jerking his head in the direction of patio where Misty sat comfortably along with Pikachu in a lawn chair sipping on a tall glass of lemonade.

“Because she is a guest,” his mom answered matter-of-factly, handing him a trowel to help him continue weeding the garden.

Misty beamed down at him, her eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses as she took a loud sip through her straw.

Ash scoffed. “She’s not a guest, she’s Misty.”

“Excuse me?” Misty gasped back, sitting up straight. “Of course I’m a guest! Do I live here?”

“Pretty much,” Ash mumbled under his breath, wincing when his mom tossed a rooted dandelion at him with a scold to be nice.

He wasn’t wrong though, was the thing. For as much as Misty was always bitching about her job, in the week and a half that Ash had been home to visit, Misty had been there for almost all of it, and decidedly not at the gym. He’d tried to bring it up a few times, even just to check and see how much longer she was able to stick around, but she and his mom seemed to be working together to dodge the question, and Ash was officially left stumped.

Not that he minded having Misty around; she was one of his favorite people, but even he had to admit it was weird to see her for so long without a sister calling every few hours asking when she’d be home.

Something was rotten in the town of Pallet, and Ash was going to get to the bottom of it.

Thankfully, even though he knew his mom and Misty were in cahoots with each other and wouldn’t be spilling any beans anytime soon, Ash did have one advantage they hadn’t considered.

Pallet was as small a town as they came, and in small towns, information had a way of traveling fast. He just needed someone with an equally small enough moral compass that would be willing to let him in on the local gossip...

“Hey, Gary! You busy?”

“What does it look like?” Gary grumbled, obviously annoyed and refusing to even look his direction from where he was trying to wrap a bandage around one of Ash’s extremely uncooperative tauros’s legs.

Ash, choosing to ignore the situation, glided over to the pair and smiled brightly as Gary, rumpled and frazzled and fighting for his life, managed to tie off the bandage and let the tauros run back off to join the herd, it stopping for a moment to nuzzle Ash affectionately, of course, on its way over.

Gary huffed out a breath and turned to Ash, crossing his arms. “Okay, what?”

“Do you know why Misty is at my house?”

Gary furrowed his eyebrows. “Do you… not know why Misty is at your house?”

Ash frowned, his cheeks pinking slightly in embarrassment at being called out. “No. Well, I mean…Okay, she says she’s there to visit with me, but she doesn’t normally stay this long, you know? And especially not without her sisters bugging her to go back.”

Gary’s expression remained carefully neutral. “And what makes you think I would know anything? Ask your mom, if you’re so curious.”

“I tried!” Ash exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “She won’t tell me anything either! And come on, Gary, do you actually expect me to believe you and Professor Oak don’t know every single thing that’s going on in this town at any given time? Doubtful.”

Something like a self-satisfied grin flashed across Gary’s face for only a moment, but thankfully Ash had known Gary long enough to spot it. Jackpot.

“Well, if you have to know,” he started, then gestured to Ash to come closer, like he was sharing some top secret information he had been sworn not to share. “Gramps heard from Mrs. Nesbit at the general store that she overheard your mom and Misty talking about some guy in Cerulean that was really giving her a hard time and not leaving her alone, like to a concerning degree. Her sisters are watching over the place while she’s hiding out. Apparently your visit was a convenient coincidence.” He leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised they didn’t tell you.”

Ash was surprised too, to be honest, but he was having a hard time devoting a suitable amount energy into that thought while simultaneously trying not to boil over with anger.

Some guy in Cerulean was giving Misty a hard time? Harassing her? To the point where she had to leave? Misty, the toughest, most stubborn girl he had ever known? He balled his hands into fists.

“Ash?” Gary asked, sounding legitimately concerned. “You good?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed curtly. “Hey, I hate to run, but I have some stuff I need to take care of, so I’m gonna take off. Thanks for letting me know.”

“What? Hey!”

Gary probably said something else, but Ash’s hand was already on Pidgeot’s pokeball, calling it out to join him.

“Hey buddy,” he said, stroking its back feathers. “I need a ride to Cerulean City.”

#pokeshipping #car’s fanfiction #ash ketchum #pokemon misty #delia ketchum #gary oak #satokasu #ash x misty

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familiarscars · 10 days ago

Text

drive you insane | noah sebastian | 13

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. noah sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships.

You couldn’t say you had ever witnessed Noah’s fury — he seemed detached from that kind of emotion.

The handcuffs, once merely symbolic, began to truly bother him now that there was a tangible reason for irritation to surface. It was as if they were restraining him from giving in to the more dangerous impulses silently dancing through his mind.

With short steps, he moved away and sat on the edge of the desk, his shoulders slumping as if burdened by an invisible weight. His gaze, heavy and full of quiet sorrow, remained locked on yours as he twisted his left wrist until a dry, painful crack echoed through the room.

“Noah…” you reacted, voice firm, rising to your feet on instinct — but he raised his hand, ordering you to stay where you were.

Without a sound, he slid his now-loose wrist from the twisted joint and slipped free from the handcuff, liberating himself in what could only be described as a ritualistic gesture. A method of punishment. A self-inflicted sentence.

In Noah’s mind, his departure from Grimshade was a kind of failure — and he had chosen to carry that weight. And for a Blackridge, guilt always meant pain.

With slow, deliberate movements, he began to approach you again, reducing the distance between you like a silent predator circling its prey. There was no rage in his gesture — only a smothered, heavy pressure. Something on the verge of overflowing.

“Listen, I need you to pay attention to what I’m about to say…” you murmured with firmness, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the tension locked in his jaw.

His heart was pounding hard. But it wasn’t fear — it was a kind of raw urgency. A restrained frenzy in the space between your eyes. He pulsed like a bomb about to detonate, and still, he wouldn’t look away.

At what point, exactly, had you crossed that thin line between patient and therapist? Because now, in his eyes, you looked like the antagonist of this story.

Noah’s brown eyes burned like live embers, and the veins in his neck throbbed in a fast rhythm, in sync with the fury kept at bay.

He grabbed you with a single hand, his fingers closing around your throat — not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you still, forcing you to meet his eyes on the same level as he pinned you against the wall.

Startled, you widened your eyes, not daring to move. His free hand gently twirled a lock of your hair around his finger and brought it to his face. He inhaled the scent caught in your curls and closed his eyes briefly, only to open them again to your frightened expression.

“Now it’s your turn to listen, doctor. Isn’t that what you wanted from the start? Well, now I speak, and you listen — in silence.” The whispered words against your ear were like thin blades.

“Above all else, we’re still in session.” You answered with a firm, controlled voice. “I took your case because I believed you needed someone. And I still believe that.”

“But I never asked for help…” His voice sounded almost like a lament — sweet, unhinged. Noah’s body leaned in closer, and you felt the rigid pressure through the denim of his jeans. “I refused every form of treatment until I met you. I know it wasn’t a coincidence. I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I wanted you the second I saw you.”

He brushed his lips near your ear and whispered, hoarse:

“Isn’t it fascinating? I’ve never felt anything. Not pain. Not guilt. But because of you… I did. For the first time. I never saw anyone beyond my reflection — until you showed up.”

You swallowed hard.

His eyes burned with a sick kind of melancholy, but there was something hypnotic in that tortured glow.

“That night, doctor… I didn’t sleep. You took my sleep away. And to keep myself from losing it completely, I traced two options to make you mine.”

Noah completely ignored the panic in your eyes — or maybe he was feeding on it. Fear and desire blurred together, and you could no longer distinguish one from the other.

Slowly, he ran his tongue along the side of your face, stopping at your jawline, where he bit down — a sharp nip that sent your entire body trembling.

“The first option was staying close to you… receiving your care. It seemed less cruel than the second.” He smiled, and his fingers slid along the side of your body until they reached the hem of your shirt. Then, they slipped under the fabric and grabbed your breast, pinching the nipple firmly. A moan escaped your throat as the shock of his touch rippled through you.

The hard bulge against his jeans threatened to tear the seam. You gasped, and without realizing it, you moved against him.

No. You couldn't do this. Not again.

You were about to break the ethical boundary once again, compromising not only your career, but the little sanity you still had left. The worst part was that you knew — you knew — that this would only further fuel the distorted view he had of your relationship.

But who said you still cared about lucidity?

“And the second option?” you whispered, almost breathless. He invited you from the corner, and now there was no space between you.

The hand holding your neck loosened, and the question slid to your chin, forcing it down — forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You would be mine, no matter what. Even if I had to turn you into my cellmate, Doctor.” His voice was a whisper filled with madness. “I would melt your mind into a useless mass, just to keep you here. My prisoner. Forever.”

“It doesn’t sound so nice when said out loud…” you murmured, with bitter irony.

“But it’s not supposed to sound nice. It’s supposed to sound true.” He leaned his face closer. “If it takes killing you to chain your soul to mine, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

His fingers brushed your face with a tenderness that contradicted the cruel content of his words. The pressure between your legs intensified, and you felt it — you were so wet that the fabric was already changing color in that region.

“I’m not that cruel… I gave you the first option, remember?” he whispered close to your ear.

It was at that moment that everything inside you collapsed. You saw nothing else—just vibrant red—before you threw yourself at him and crashed your lips into his with a primal, desperate, wild force.

It was fury. It was desire. It was pure insanity in the form of a kiss. The kiss was an outburst—teeth, lips, ragged breathing. There was no gentleness whatsoever. It was raw. It was feverish. It was the collapse of any remaining barriers.

Noah pushed you against the wall with his entire body, as if he wanted to melt you into the concrete. The hand that had previously held your chin now wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his throbbing erection, still trapped beneath his jeans. He panted between kisses, and you felt his hot breath mix with yours, as the world around you crumbled—or perhaps it had never existed beyond the insane bubble that enveloped the two of you.

“You like it…” he whispered through his teeth, nuzzling your neck before biting your shoulder. “You like the idea of being corrupted… by me.”

You moaned—not in pain, but in silent surrender. His hands furiously climbed up your shirt, pulling it down until your skin was exposed. He wasted no time, lowering his head and sucking your nipple between his lips, his eyes still fixed on yours, as if daring you to say you didn't want that.

But you didn't.

Noah pulled away just enough to turn you onto your back and press your body against the cold wall. The contrast between the icy temperature and the sting of his touch made you gasp loudly, your hands reaching for support on any part of the wall as he hurriedly unzipped your pants.

“You shouldn’t want this,” he murmured hoarsely, pulling your hips back. “You should run from me, doctor… but look what you’re doing.”

You felt everything—his presence behind you, his invasive touch, his animalistic breathing. When his fingers entered you for the first time, you bit your lip so hard it almost bled. He moved with measured violence, punishing and caring in equal intensity, as if he had to prove, with every movement, that there was no salvation for either of you.

Noah pressed his lips to your ear and said, in a low, numb voice:

“No matter how many times you try to leave, I’ll be here. Inside you. Inside your head. Inside everything you try to forget.”

And when he finally buried his cock inside you, with a hoarse groan that seemed to come from his soul, you didn’t feel afraid. You felt belonging.

Sick, wrong, reprehensible. But belonging.

You were his. And, in some perverse way, he was yours too.

The impact of their bodies colliding filled the room in an obscene rhythm. The wall creaked slightly with the uneven rhythm of his thrusts. The air was heavy—a hot vapor of sin, sweat, and muffled moans against the palm of your hand, which was now covering your mouth to keep from screaming.

You couldn’t let them hear.

But did you care?

Noah was holding your hips so tightly that he would leave marks. You knew it. And somehow, you wanted it. You wanted to carry his imprint, as if your skin had finally found its purpose under the wrong fingers.

“Do you feel this?” he whispered hoarsely, his teeth digging into your shoulder. “This is what keeps me sane. You are what keeps me sane.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The voice simply wouldn’t come.

Only the sound of your body being taken, stretched to the limit, flooded by a fever you couldn’t name.

When he reached his peak, thrusting himself all the way in, groaning against the back of your neck, it was like a silent scream—not of pleasure, but of despair. As if he had destroyed you and, at the same time, found shelter in your wreckage.

You both stayed there for a while, panting, glued together, with your hearts beating out of rhythm, as if you had crossed a threshold from which there would be no return.

You felt his body begin to relax. The heat still seeped between your legs, and his palm now came up to caress your exposed back, almost like a silent apology. But there was no guilt there. There was possession.

There was you—completely surrendered.

He slowly pulled away, straightening his own clothes and watching you try to do the same, without much success. You were shaking, your knees weak, your mind still spinning between what was right and what never mattered.

Noah leaned in front of you and when he lifted his brown eyes, there was a mad gleam in them—but also a plea, a dark oath.

“Now you understand, Doctor… the difference between prison and home,” he whispered, running his fingers along your thigh where the skin trembled. “You are not trapped here. You were chosen. I am not your patient. I am your cross.”

Your chest tightened at that sentence. There was something in it that rang true—twisted, painful, but undeniable. You were doomed. And maybe you always were.

Noah slowly approached you again, pressing his lips to your skin as if he were sealing an invisible pact.

“You’ll leave me, but you’ll come back. And when you do, Doctor… it won’t be you anymore.”

You didn’t answer. There was no answer possible. Every word you tried to form died inside your dry throat. Your skin still burned, scarred, and your mind throbbed—as if everything inside you was on fire.

Noah stood there, eyes fixed on yours as if he was still waiting for something. Maybe a nod. A silent promise. A complete surrender.

But what was left to give?

You turned slowly, your legs shaking, and walked to the sink in the small room. You turned on the faucet with a shaky gesture and let the cold water run between your fingers, as if that could erase the last few minutes. The blood had already started circulating again, your pulse was still beating, but something inside you had changed.

If you left now, maybe you could still plead temporary insanity. A fit. A moment of breaking. But part of you—a growing, dark, cruel part—didn’t want to leave.

You stared at your own reflection in the glass of the medicine cabinet. The smeared makeup. The swollen mouth. The look in your eyes? Empty. Empty and dangerous.

Like his.

“Do you hate me now?” Noah asked behind you, his voice low, scratchy like a secret.

You slowly turned on your heel and leaned against the sink, crossing your arms, trying to protect yourself from him. From you. From what you were becoming together.

“I should have.”

He took a step closer. Then another.

“But you don’t hate me.”

His silence was confirmation.

He stopped in front of you, didn’t touch you—not yet—but his heat was suffocating, the scent of his skin still lingering on you. He watched you as if reading an ancient text in a forgotten language.

“You know they’ll try to take you away from me. They’ll claim abuse. They’ll say you’ve gone crazy.”

“Maybe they’re right,” you murmured.

Noah smiled.

Slow. Dirty. Painful.

“Let them say it. Let them think I broke you. Because maybe I did… but if I broke you, it was only so I could put the pieces back together. One by one. Any way I want.”

You felt your breath hitch.

He lifted his hand, running his fingers over your collarbone, over the purple mark that was beginning to form on your skin. It wasn’t violent.

There was nothing cruel about that touch—it was reverence.

Twisted adoration.

“Are you going to leave me now, Doctor?”

The question hung in the air.

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

Or worse: because you already knew.

And yet you couldn’t walk out the door.

The orange light of the late afternoon passed through the dirty hallway windows. You walked with firm steps, as if it were possible to drive the chaos away just by striking your heels against the floor. The lab coat was open, the clipboard pressed tightly against your chest — almost like a shield.

This time, you weren’t going to back down from what needed to be done. You were leaving. You were walking away from this place. You knocked on the door with restrained force.

“Come in,” Steven replied.

He was leaning back in the armchair, glasses on, fingers intertwined. The usual expression — indifferent, as if he’d been expecting you for days.

“I want to officially file my resignation. I’m no longer in any condition to stay in this place.”

He didn’t react immediately. Didn’t even seem surprised. He just let out a short sigh, like someone watching a child throw a tantrum. Then he leaned forward and pulled a folder from the drawer.

“Before we take any action,” he said, sliding the folder across the desk, “there’s something you need to see.”

You hesitated but stepped closer. The cover sheet was creased from being handled so often. When you opened it, you recognized the name immediately: Tom Hallow.

Below, photos. One of them, from the containment room, with blood spatter. Two others came from surveillance cameras: you walking down the halls… barefoot, with a vacant stare. Your hands were stained.

“These images were captured the same night Tom was found dead.”

“I didn’t…” you tried to step back, but he turned another page.

Elias Faulkner. His file. Cause of death: multiple fractures. The caption in the lower corner of the image: fall from the tower terrace. But then Steven revealed the transcript of the final report, signed by the forensic examiner: Fractures inconsistent with accidental fall. Indicative of a push.

“That was… murder.” Your voice came out like a sick whisper.

Steven nodded, with the coldness of an executioner.

“And everything points to you. Elias was killed hours after you were seen on the third-floor corridors — again, in a dissociative state.”

“No, no, no. That’s not possible, Steven. That’s not… me!”

He raised his hands, cutting you off.

“You really think you can help that boy when you can’t even hold onto your own sanity? You think no one noticed the blackouts, the lapses? The penny dropped a long time ago, doctor.”

He leaned in.

“You’re not a functional psychiatrist. You’re a patient who hasn’t realized she’s already crossed the mirror.”

For a moment, the silence was absolute. Not even birds. Not even the asylum’s usual noises — just the sound of the paper being pulled forward again.

“The board wants to reopen both cases. And until then, you’re not going anywhere.”

Your fingertips began to tremble.

You tried to stay in control. But everything hurt. Everything spun. Your head screamed. And deep down, something inside you started to laugh.

You stood there, eyes locked on the images, as if trying to deny them by simply blinking.

It didn’t work.

The paper was still there. So was the blood on your hands. The cameras didn’t lie.

But you didn’t remember a thing.

The images slid through your mind as if they belonged to someone else — as if you were watching, from the outside, the body you always believed you controlled.

Something was wrong.

Something had always been wrong.

But you’d been too good at pretending it wasn’t.

Until now.

“This is a trap.” Your voice came out raw, bitter. “Some kind of manipulation, a distortion. You want to make me look like… like them.”

Steven didn’t respond right away. He just watched you. As if studying a cornered animal.

“Who else knew?” you asked, your gaze already more hollow. “Who else is in on this idiocy? Rune? Did you know he got angry when I found out he was a Blackridge?”

He intertwined his fingers over the table, expression unreadable.

“Ever since you started treating your patients differently. You really think no one noticed how involved you got with Noah? This was never real therapy. It was an experiment — one that collapsed the moment you let him into your mind the same way he gets into everyone else’s, doctor. That’s what psychopaths do. They seduce, build trust exactly where they plan to destroy it later. And you’ve been at the center of his world since the moment you stepped into this building.”

Your throat went dry. Something rose in your stomach. Nausea, a primal panic.

“You’re telling me that…”

“I’m telling you that you chose to become part of this. That your lucidity has never been so threatened. And that if you take one more step out of line, you won’t be seen as a collapsing therapist… but as a criminal in the middle of a psychotic break.”

He stood up, and his height seemed to swallow the room.

“So, doctor? Do you want to file your resignation… or your admission?”

You didn’t answer. Because you couldn’t.

Your breathing grew heavy, your eyes searched the room for any point of support. Everything was shaking.

At last, you turned on your heel and stumbled out.

But nothing stayed behind.

The chaos came with you.

You moved through the corridors like someone trying to run inside a nightmare. Your feet felt like they were sinking with each step. The air in your lungs wouldn’t renew. The lights flickered. The sound of your own footsteps echoed strangely, as if they weren’t yours. As if you were walking with borrowed legs.

Once inside your room, you locked the door behind you with trembling hands.

Silence dropped like a bomb.

You faced the mirror.

And then it began.

First came the sound: the ticking of the wall clock grew louder, each second a detonation.

Then, the reflection. You blinked… but the mirror didn’t. The woman on the other side kept staring at you. Steady. Guilty.

“Murderer.”

The word came as a whisper behind you.

You turned fast. Nothing.

But now there was blood on the mirror. Your fingers, once again, were stained. Your white blouse, marked. You staggered back, but didn’t fall. Because your body didn’t respond.

“You don’t remember… because it was never you.”

The voice was yours. But spoken through someone else’s mouth.

You curled into the corner, pressing your hands over your ears.

“Tom Hallow. Elias Faulkner. Rachel.”

Names hammered your mind like scalpels on metal. The camera footage looped endlessly. You sleepwalking. You with scissors. You dragging something. A body? A dirty sheet? You didn’t know anymore. Everything blurred together.

“I would never… do this…” you whispered, childlike, broken. But doubt was a drop falling into a cracked basin. Everything had been draining away for a long time.

You stepped closer to the mirror again. Pressed your cold forehead against the glass.

“Who are you…?” you whispered.

And the image answered with a smile.

But you didn’t smile.

The woman on the other side was bolder. Darker. With that cruel look you recognized from Noah. Or was it from you?

You struck the glass hard, trying to shatter it.

But it held.

The truth was inside.

And you, on the outside.

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess ; @youcanreadmy-mind ; @tikosblogg ; @gothic-pumpkin ; @badomensls ; @themorticians-world ; @99png ;

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ghostedgwen · 9 days ago

Text

like sinking ships | r.lupin [part two]

note : I am trying out a new writing style through this series and hoping to improve more, if you couldn't tell. So this is a bit of an experimental fic as well as a test of whether I am still able to write out coherent series and not just non-committal one-shots

warnings/tags : hints of angst from remus' self-deprecation, mildly depressing themes, self hate(?), mentions of suggestive content, reader hates being a mermaid, mentions of injuries and disabilities, WEREWOLVES IN THIS FIC LOOK LIKE WOLVES, I repeat, THEY LOOK LIKE WOLVES because hp-canon werewolves are ugly as fuck I refuse to believe Remus looks like that

Remus Lupin was always quietly observing people through the covers of his books. So when he noticed your monthly disappearances matched his, he only had one conclusion— that was you were a werewolf like him.

A story in which the marauders beg you to help them tame the wolf with your charming powers; two children of the moon that couldn’t be more different from each other in a tangled mess of transformations, betrayal and heartbreak.

. . . with your hair falling into place like dominoes.

Remus completely forgot about catching you sneaking into the Great Lake right before curfew, he got too wrapped up in the transformation that it was off his mind until the next full moon. The next full moon, when he caught you sneaking out again.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you, Moons?” James asked, always the one to first notice whenever there’s even a slight shift of anyone’s mood. Remus could swear that James has a radar for people’s emotions.

Remus shook his head to say no. “I’ll be fine, been at this for a decade,” he had meant it as a joke, but the grimace on James’s face was the opposite reaction he anticipated. “Promise.”

James looked reluctant still, “It’s getting worse.”

That wasn’t a question. It made Remus pause, instinctively gripping the edge of his sheet, he was fixing his bed when James decided to open the can of flobberworms.

“What do you mean?” Remus almost cringed. He could have been more convincing.

James as if to show that it was the worse acting bit ever, made a face at him. “I’m not blind, you know,” he then cleared his throat, shifting the weight to his other foot as he hesitated saying the next words : “You know, we can still do the Animagus plan and be with you on the - “

“No,” Remus shook his head again, a firmness to his voice. “No, you’re not. We’re not sure if it will work, and it’s too risky.”

It was then that Peter entered the dorm room, his tie askew and a smile wide on his face. He looked between Remus and James, pausing in his track. He sent a silent question towards James who ignored him to talk to Remus again.

“Since when was risk a problem for the Marauders?”

Remus could groan at his stubbornness. “This is different, and you know that,” Remus has finished fixing his bed by then, he adjusts his robe around him. “I’m off, before I turn into a monster and maul you lot to death.”

The graphic imagery made the two boys cringe, like Remus intended. He left it at that, going around Peter to exit the dorm, map in hand.

He was just about to finish his patrol when he saw your name making its way out of the castle again. He found it curious, how you also happened to be sneaking out during a full moon for the second time - but it could have just been a coincidence.

He watched your name and then put the map away, tucking it into his robe and turning to go meet Madam Pomfrey near their designated meetup tree. Too much on his plate to dwell into your late night escapes into the lake.

His friends are noticing how much worse his injuries are, he can’t hide from them. They figured out his secret in second year and they’re hellbent on helping him, when there is no helping his affliction.

This isn’t a simple disease they can cure. Not even a potion to help the transformation has been invented, because who in their right mind would bother making one?

Bother extending help to creatures regarded as lesser than wizards?

No one.

He’s not holding out hope for a cure, or even something to lessen the pain. Or even something to make sure he’s lucid enough during transformation.

It’s only a matter of time until the wolf eats him and devours him whole. There would no longer be Remus and it will just be the creature slaving to the moon. He tried shoving the fears down, but the howls were louder and his claws were more real than ever.

Every full moon has been worse than the last, he is bleeding more, and the transformation hurts and hurts. He can’t even remember where he began and where the wolf ended, it’s all just one big tangled mess now.

He wonders how long he’s going to be living this way. Surely there is more to life than just pain and fear and doubt and losing your mind? Surely.

Remus heaves a sigh as he walked past the whispering portraits. Just another full moon, nothing he hasn’t done before.

“You have got to let us help,” Sirius sounded desperate. He ran a panicked hand through his hair as he lets out a shaky breath. “You are fucking crippled now, Remus.”

Remus looks away. If he keeps seeing the look on their faces, he’d end up bawling his eyes out. It was really bad last night, he injured his back really bad and Madam Pomfrey was barely able to put him back together.

He can’t fully feel his right leg anymore, he was told he’d need a cane for the rest of his life. The wolf is truly beginning to eat away at him and he can’t even do anything to fight back, because that would just be a fight he can’t win.

Remus decided to look into the window right beside his bed and watched the way the light hit the glass. Something so simple, he chose to ground himself in the slight glint on the corner where a piece of the glass was somewhat cracked and he traced it with his eyes.

How peculiar that it hasn’t been fixed. With magic, it would be easy. But he guesses some things have much more character when broken - is that what he is then? Just a character rich in lore, and scars, like he’s not even real. If he looks at it that way, maybe his pain can be fiction too.

The three boys are feeling what can only be described as defeat. They’ve been doing their best to help in their own way, all these years. James does his best to keep people from looking in too closely, Peter always smuggling sweets into the hospital wing and Sirius never failing to make light of it all.

They were always making the best out of the full moons but it gets harder with every new scar, every new injury. But this was the final crack in their overflowing dam. The scratches were barely manageable, watching him be put back together after every full moon -

But now he won’t even be able to walk without a cane.

“This is not fair.” James spoke up. Remus still refused to look, he knows the expression on James would break his already tired heart. He can’t allow himself to burn that image into his head.

“Could be worse,” Remus forced out a bitter grin. “I could be dead.”

Peter is quiet like always. He never knew what to say during times like these, he did not trust his words to come through, so he always sat quietly and watched as the other two boys worked. He doubts he can even say something if he forced the words out of his mouth.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius said in exasperation. “Fucking shit - fuck, fuck this.”

Peter extended a hand to place on Sirius’s shaking frame. The touch was effective, Sirius stopped shaking, and he leaned some of his weight into Peter, the shorter boy only swallowed the forming lump in his throat.

“You can’t keep going like this,” James spoke again. It made Remus finally turn back to him, he didn’t want to be mean but he gets uncomfortable with his emotions that they kind of blow up in his face sometimes.

“And how have I been going?” Remus asked, voice edged and ready to cut like a knife.

James allowed a beat to pass before he answered, voice the softest it could possibly get, “Alone.”

Remus’s jaw went slack at that. Then he closed it, turning away again. He couldn’t meet his eyes, of even look at him for too long. It hurt to see how much he was hurting them. His friends loved him so much, he doubts he deserves it.

“This is how I’m supposed to be,” Remus tried to shrug, but his body was too beaten to obey, so he stayed lying down limply. “How it is supposed to be.”

“Please, just let us go through with it,” James asked, practically begging.

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll find another way,” Sirius answered instead. “We will. We’re Gryffindors for a reason.”

“It’s a really difficult spell, what if it goes wrong?” Remus challenged.

“What if it goes right?” Sirius barked back, raising a brow.

Remus knew there was no way he was winning this time. So with a resigned sigh, he looked at them and gave the faintest nod, it was the only thing that made them crack a smile at him again. And there he fully saw them.

The sullen look on each of their faces. He felt it stab him over and over, and somehow it hurt much more than the giant cut on his back did. Because what is a monster who is loved? Pitiful, that is.

You frowned, completely ignoring your toast as you watched Remus enter the Great Hall with a cane. That’s new, you told yourself. His friends appeared normal. They walked in with him, talking and laughing like Remus didn’t look like a man coming home from a war.

You trail your eyes all over him, he looks like absolute hell. His face had somehow sunken into his cheeks, his hand holding his cane was bandaged, and you can only watch in wonder as he settled on the Gryffindor table.

“Helga, still with us, ____?”

You turn your head to Willow, who was making a face at you. She rolled her eyes and gestured to the Gryffindor table’s general direction.

“Eyeing Lupin again?”

You make a face back at her. “I am not eyeing him, just curious.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve been curious since first year.”

You chose to change the topic, your eyes landing on your housemate who was showing off their quidditch gear so loudly. “Think we’re winning against the lions?”

She could tell you were dodging out of the jab and not taking her bait, she decided to humor you anyway. “Nope, those Gryffindorks are ruthless,” she shrugged and took a bite of her toast. “Potter, Black and McKinnon are a fucking force.”

You laugh at that and turned away, your eyes stealing more glances at Remus across the hall. He looks like he’s in pain with every bite and chew, he was barely hiding it, and his friends were barely successful at pretending not to notice.

Eating your toast again, you wonder how much damage he has to take before he realizes what his wolf was telling him. You could help, but it has never been your thing to meddle in other people’s business.

You were gonna wait, wait until you can’t ignore it any more.

People like that won’t just accept help, specially not from someone like you. So you shove your guilt down, swallowing it like your toast, pretending it wasn’t getting to you. Pretending you didn’t feel him every full moon.

The first time was weird, the second time was coincidence - the third, is a case. Remus frowned, tracing your name as it headed out of the castle again for the third time, right during a full moon as well.

He would have attempted to follow you, but he felt his skin crawling that he had to run straight into the Shack, not bothering to wait for the matron. He went straight there, and right on cue felt the pain rattle his body.

It was too early, the moon had just appeared, and he was transforming already - he was losing his grip on Remus, and it was more of the wolf every passing day now. Those fears faded into nothing as he is tucked away, the wolf was taking its turn - he has to sit it out now.

Only, when he came back - he was safe. He was surprised to feel that he felt less pain this time, he pushed himself up and almost screamed at the sight of a black dog, a stag and a rat? Looking right at him.

He blinked in bewilderment, until he realized it slowly. His eyes were on the black dog, it barked happily at him, letting its tongue hang out with a grin. “Sirius?” the dog barked again in glee.

Remus laughed. He couldn’t help it, his friends actually did it! They were fucking illegal Animagi, and they did it for him - he was fine because he had them, he had no new wounds, and it was all because he had company.

How simple the solution was.

He turned to the stag and spoke through his hysterical fit of laughter, “James, you have antlers!” he kept laughing as he dropped back down to the dusty floor of the shack, allowing the exhaust to overtake his body.

“And Peter is a fucking rat!”

It was too funny. He passed out laughing.

He didn’t tell his friends about you. Instead, he chose to gamble. Something he didn’t do. Other than the usual shenanigans with his friends, he never took risks. But he had to know, you snuck out every full moon like him.

The fourth full moon was tonight, and like expected - you were making your way out of the castle again. He moved fast, as fast as he could be anyway, with a cane in hand. Using the shortcuts and secret passages, he managed to cut you off.

Just as you rounded the corner, he appeared into view. You almost jumped, seeing him appear so suddenly in the dim castle hall.

“Merlin, Lupin, you scared me!”

You had a hand to your chest, and you were calming your heart when you realized just what is happening. You frowned at him, standing defensively, you grip your wand as the moon was right behind him like a dramatic backdrop.

“What is it?”

“It’s late, why are you out of bed?” He asked, raising a brow at you.

You huffed at that. “None of your business.”

“Actually, I’m a Prefect so it is my business,” he corrected you with a roll of his eyes. You felt your eye twitch at that, he’s being difficult - and he’s uncharacteristically rude. You figured it was the full moon working him.

“Right, and I heard you’re not even supposed to be patrolling here.”

He looks surprised, “How do you know that?”

You smile sweetly at him. “I have my ways. How did you find me?”

Remus appeared to be hesitating, like he was battling in his head, and you were running out of time. You tapped your foot impatiently, feeling the itch run all over you as the full moon drew closer and closer.

“Get it over with, I have places to be,” you let out an irritated sigh.

“Places to be so late in the night?”

“Can’t a girl go get a shag once in a while? Merlin,” you almost laughed at yourself. It was the worst possible excuse ever.

Remus laughed in your stead, though it was cut short with him frowning at you. “You could lie better than that, ____.”

You click your tongue in annoyance. “We should both go.”

You could almost feel it, right under your skin, and you could tell he was feeling it too. The sweat running down the side of his face was reflecting the light of the moon behind him. You eye it with a shaky exhale of your breath.

“Now.”

You didn’t even think as you pushed past him and ran like your life depended on it. Whether or not he ended up following you was neglected in your panicked state. You allowed your legs to take you to the lake and as you closed in, you were shedding off your robe. You threw it on the ground and jumped right in the lake.

As you did, you felt the cold water hit you. You went in with your legs tingling from the run, and soon the feeling went away as the scales replaced your skin. You dove lower as you felt the transformation take over, and look down to see your arms were littered by scales as well.

You blinked in the water to adjust in the darkness of the lake and found you were slowly beginning to see. With the water surrounding you, you felt at home again - only, this isn’t really home. It’s just the closest body of water that you could freely swim in.

You looked up to see the moon from where you were underwater. The moon shimmered above like a ghost caught in glass - distorted, blurred, and wavering with each gentle ripple. From beneath the water’s surface, it no longer looked sharp or certain.

Instead, it danced and fractured, pale light bending and scattering through the liquid veil. You swam up, feeling the water brush on your tail as you went for the surface, and there you came up to look at the moon.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, bright and silver, and she felt it before you saw it (as you always did), like a thread tightening in your chest, like the deep tremble of the tide beginning to turn. It called to her, as it does every full moon, ancient and merciless, dragging the sea and your soul alike toward transformation.

Even now, half-submerged beneath the surface, you could feel its pull in your blood, in the ache of your bones reshaping, skin prickling into scales, lungs surrendering to gills. The full moon did not ask, it summoned. It was never kind enough to ask, being kind was not in its nature.

As the moon pulled the tides, so did it tug at you. Beckoning you home to the waters you longed to escape from. You were born an anomaly, merpeople did not look and live like you. You could barely remember how you lived, staying in a drawn bath every full moon and waiting for it to pass.

You wanted to be a normal girl, one who did not grow a tail and gills and scales every full moon because the moon is calling on you to live out your true form. In reality, you can transform every time you are submerged in water, but you never do it willingly.

You only ever live out the other part of you when the moon demands of it.

Above, the moon wavered in the water’s skin - too bright, too perfect, like a god’s eye watching. Every mermaid was born beneath it, claimed by it, cursed by it. The same power that pulled the oceans in trembling waves claimed their bodies too, reshaping them with every lunar rise.

You stared up at it, your hair drifting around you like seaweed in the current, and hated how beautiful it was. Hated how much it owned you. And still, you can never fight back the pull. You were lost in the moon, cursing it quite loudly in your head when you heard a low growling nearby.

You turn to find a wolf staring right at you. You gasped, almost losing your balance in the water and dipping down but you composed yourself quick enough to stay afloat. Narrowing your eyes, you scanned the wolf.

It was very obvious it was a werewolf with how much bigger it was to normal wolves and that fact it's right here under the moonlight. It slowly approached you with a limp on its right leg. You gasped again, quietly this time. “Remus?” you called out. The wolf tilted its head to the side, as if asking you what you meant.

“You - “ you blinked in surprise and almost laughed. “You followed me.”

Against his better judgement he ended up chasing after you, he had to know if there was someone else like him. It would make him feel less alone, and more understood if there was someone close enough who could relate to his pain.

Only, he couldn’t be more wrong.

You swam closer to him, reaching the edge where the ground met the dark water and the wolf dipped its head to level gazes with you.

You took him in, the fur that covered him in varying shades of black and brown along with the scars that were visible on him. Then those eyes, those bright golden eyes that bore itself into yours with the moon’s reflection in them.

He was - “Beautiful.” which is odd. You would have never thought to describe a werewolf that way, never - they were terrifying, even on paper. But seeing him this close, his golden eyes looking at you like you held the answer to questions he didn’t know he had, you could only describe him that way.

Despite yourself, you slowly reached up. Scaly hands went from the water slowly reached up, and inched closer to the wolf that stayed still and watching. He turned only slightly to watch your hands, he seems calm enough.

And then, your hand is on his fur. Stroking slowly, dampening where your wet hand met his fur and you couldn’t help the giggles from escaping you. You had never once imagined you’d meet his wolf.

You knew of it, you practically heard its howls and calls whenever you would also sneak out but not once could you have imagined getting this close. He was not scary at all, far from it - it almost reminded you of a dog you had once met in Diagon Alley during a supply run.

It was gentle, and kind and it sat patiently waiting to be loved.

You blink at Remus who did not blink once while watching you. And you wonder if this wolf is the same, is it also just waiting for love?

taglist : @eeviee4 @wen-oo @booklover2503 @izzyluvsmms @jaylupinblack (send an ask or reply to be added to the taglist!)

part three | masterlist

#remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #marauders remus lupin #remus marauders #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders #marauders #marauders era

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sannylity · 2 years ago

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Listen. We need to put emphasis and appreciate Charlie’s characterization of his QSMP character because holy shit, on top of being silly, today has provided so much depth to Q!Charlie as a whole.

It’s heart wrenching outside humor when you think about it.

“Your marriage is not strengthened by good nights, or good sex, it is tested by people like me, who come to cause problems.”

This dialogue to Roier puts Mariana’s cheating allegations into perspective. Whether it’s canon that he did or didn’t, it tells us how much Charlie has forgiven and given him a chance.

People like me, is such a heavy emphasis on his self-awareness that he is toxic and problematic and insanity. Subtle self-deprecating at its finest, just to emotionally scar us further.

Charlie always being a willing participant to cause problems on purpose is an effect of not having anything to lose anymore. Juanaflippa is gone, and he hasn’t seen Mariana in a while. He has been severely lonely and isolated since his exile, and he is numb to it that he “doesn’t feel anything”, according to what he told Foolish.

“Necesito amor.” [I need love.]

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need or want love. He desperately does, by all means necessary, even if it’s by being a willing participant to cause problems to others. He’ll take what he can get because he hasn’t moved on and won’t let go of his daughter being gone.

He did once believe that Mariana could fix him, I think he said this to Jaiden after the trial was over and done with. He believed this because Mariana is someone who can ground him and keep him from doing something incredibly stupid.

They ground each other. It’s evident during the funeral, with Mariana offering that they kill themselves and Charlie saying no, and then vice versa. It’s not a coincidence that he is more “tamed” when Mariana’s with him.

Things that happen when Charlie is by himself: makes a deal with Satan to get his daughter a gun, attempting to slaughter all the eggs, refuses to resurface back up in the mines during exile, suggesting the gegg idea to Quackity and executing it, and now this.

Without Mariana, Charlie is out there by himself, not knowing how to deal and handle his grief, his loneliness and isolation, his desperation for love.

—

And to think none of this would’ve happened if Cellbit just kept his fucking mouth shut and didn’t remind him of their kiss LMAOOO

We can all say Charlie is being a menace, but y’all gotta be reminded that the man is a D&D player. He sprinkles such hard hitting dialogues in between the laughs.

Charlie is killing me with the potential angst he just brought to the table. I am going insane NSJDJSJDJS

#slimeriana #slimecicle #el mariana #qsmp #qsmp mariana #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp shipping

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iliveformanyfictionalcharacters · 6 months ago

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The One Who Believes Chapter 3

Bernard (The Santa Clause) x Reader

Summary: [Reader] stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago - around the same time she stopped believing in Santa. What happens when she's finally given a reason to believe in both.

When I awoke the next morning, Mrs. Dorothy’s words still rang in my ears. But after a few minutes of lying in bed, I realized I had too much to do to just stay there and wonder what she meant. Still, her words—His favorite color is burgundy—kept echoing in my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it lingered like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. Ever since I’d gotten home from the bookstore, I couldn’t shake the odd sense that something was happening—something I didn’t fully understand. But I had no time to dwell on that right now. I dragged myself out of bed with a grunt and got ready for the day. I brushed my teeth, showered, and got dressed. As I finished getting ready, I grabbed my To-Do List and skimmed over it to make sure everything was written down.

Pick up groceries Pick up dry cleaning Bring new books to store Visit antique store

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled over me since Mrs. Dorothy's cryptic comment. Today was busy enough to distract me, I hoped. The list in front of me was fairly straightforward. I grabbed my coat, my purse, and headed out the door, feeling the cold air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. My first stop was the grocery store, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far. I made my way through the aisles, mentally ticking off items as I placed them in my cart: eggs, milk, some fresh vegetables, and, of course, ingredients for holiday cookies. I lingered in the baking aisle, debating between chocolate chips and peppermint extract, when a flash of burgundy caught my eye. It was a deep red ribbon, sitting right there on the shelf, nestled among a row of other holiday decorations. I paused, staring at it for a moment, feeling an odd pull toward it. I shook my head. It's just a color, I told myself. I’m being ridiculous. I grabbed the ribbon and tossed it into the cart, then continued with my shopping, but Mrs. Dorothy's words returned to haunt me. His favorite color is burgundy. After checking out, I made my way to the dry cleaner’s. I was surprised when I walked in to find the place nearly empty. The owner, an older gentleman named Mr. Thompson, smiled warmly as I handed him my bag of clothes. “Got some special occasion plans, eh?” he asked, noticing my Christmas sweater. I chuckled. “Nothing too special. Just getting ready for the holidays.” I glanced around the store, and once again, something caught my attention. In the corner of the room, there was an antique-looking chair with a burgundy cushion. It was simple, yet elegant, with fine detailing on the wood. I had never noticed it before, and I certainly hadn’t expected to see anything so striking in a dry cleaner’s. “That's a new addition, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to push down the strange feeling in my chest. Mr. Thompson nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, it just came in. I thought it’d make the place feel a little more festive.” I smiled, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was trying to tell me something. Burgundy. Again. It was starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like a sign. After picking up my dry cleaning, I decided to follow through with my list and head to the bookstore. As I stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and fresh coffee wrapped around me like a warm hug. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, sorting through a pile of new stock. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, [Reader], just in time! Mrs. Dorothy said you were coming by with some new books today.” I placed the stack of books down on the counter, then glanced around. The bookstore was cozy, with its little nooks and crannies. But something felt different today—like I was on the cusp of something, as if I were standing just outside of a door that was about to open. “I brought the latest Christmas novels. The holiday rush should keep us busy this week,” I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. As I turned to arrange the books on a nearby shelf, I froze. On the table next to the window, there was an old, leather-bound book—its cover a deep, rich burgundy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached for it, brushing my fingers across the smooth surface, and I immediately felt a strange warmth spread through me. My heart skipped a beat.

"What's this?" I muttered to myself, as I opened the book. The pages inside were filled with handwritten notes and sketches, like some kind of journal or diary. The title was in faded gold lettering, but I couldn't make it out. Just then, I heard Mrs. Dorothy’s voice, soft but clear, in the back of my mind: His favorite color is burgundy. A shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly closed the book. What was going on? “Is something wrong, dear?” Mr. Lou asked, noticing the way I hesitated with the book in my hand. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just… thought I recognized something,” I said, placing the book back down gently. I felt unsettled, but I brushed it off, deciding to focus on the rest of the day. I finished stocking the books and made my way out of the store, my mind still whirling with the strange events of the day. Next, I went to the antique store—my final stop. The little shop was filled with dusty treasures, and the faint scent of lavender and old wood lingered in the air. I roamed through the aisles, eyeing vintage trinkets and furniture. And then, tucked away in the back corner of the store, I saw it. I wandered deeper into the antique store, my senses overwhelmed by the scent of aged wood and lavender that seemed to seep from the very walls. The soft creak of the floorboards under my feet only added to the atmosphere of timelessness. My mind was still spinning from the strange series of events, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the little treasures scattered throughout the shop. The rows of shelves were filled with vintage trinkets, old paintings, and delicate china. I paused at a display of antique clocks, their tick-tocking filling the air with a steady rhythm, before my gaze shifted to something more familiar. At the far end of the store, tucked away on a high shelf, I spotted a small glass ornament. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. There, in the dim light, hanging delicately on a gold string, was a small ornament. It was made of glass, shaped like a delicate ball, and it was painted in a deep, velvety burgundy. A faint swirl of gold and silver leaf traced over its surface, giving it an ethereal glow.

I slowly walked over, my fingers trembling as I reached up to gently pull the ornament from its place on the shelf. It felt almost warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for me to find it. Holding it in my hands, I marveled at the intricate details of the glasswork. The gold and silver swirls seemed to shimmer in the low light, and I felt an overwhelming sense of recognition, like this ornament had been a part of my life for far longer than I could remember. "Ah, you've found it," came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned to find the shopkeeper standing just a few feet away, her silver hair glinting in the soft light. "How did you…?" I began, but she simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with an almost knowing glint. "That ornament has been here for a long time. But I knew it would find its way to the right person eventually." Her voice was soft but laden with meaning. "Some things are meant to be passed on. Some things are meant to be found." I stood there, clutching the ornament, unsure of what to say. Mrs. Dorothy's words echoed in my mind, and a strange feeling of destiny began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The shopkeeper continued, her voice gentle. "There’s more to that ornament than just its color. It’s part of a set. A set that’s been separated for many years." I blinked, confused. "A set? What do you mean?" "The set has a story," the shopkeeper said, her voice now carrying a hint of mystery. "But it’s not just about the ornaments. It's about something more. Someone who has been waiting for you." I felt the ground shift beneath me, as if the room itself was tilting toward an unknown truth. I looked down at the two ornaments in my hands, now reunited. Burgundy. The color. The message. It was no longer just a coincidence. This was a sign—a puzzle, finally coming together. "Do you know who this is for?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. "You will know when the time is right. Just hold onto the ornaments. When the moment comes, you’ll understand." I felt the weight of her words, as if they were a key to something much larger, something I had yet to discover. But one thing was certain: these ornaments, and the color burgundy, were no longer just a simple detail—they were the beginning of something much bigger.

I carefully placed the second ornament in my bag and paid the shopkeeper, my hands still shaking with the overwhelming sense that I was on the brink of uncovering something important.

As I walked out of the store, the cold winter air hit me, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer just going through the motions of a normal day. The universe was speaking to me, and it was up to me to listen. As I stepped outside the antique shop, the cold air felt sharper than before, biting at my cheeks and nose. My mind raced, the strange pull of destiny still lingering in the back of my thoughts. What was all of this leading to? I glanced down into my bag and something caught my eye. A small book. I took it out. It was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I must have accidentally taken it with me instead of leaving it at the bookstore. I sighed. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. My next stop was the bookstore, and then I could finally head home for a much-needed rest. When I arrived, the soft jingle of the doorbell echoed in the quiet space as I entered. The bookstore smelled like coffee and old pages, a familiar comfort. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, his face lighting up when he saw me. "Ah, [Reader], what are you doing back already? How's your day been?" "It's been… interesting." I set the book down next to the others. My eyes caught the little journal from earlier again. “That book,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s been waiting for the right person. Sometimes, the right books find you when you need them most.” “You know, that's not the first time I've heard that today.” “I’ve never seen it before,” I said, looking up at Mr. Lou. “Is it new stock?” He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “No, it’s been here for a while. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” I hesitated, still feeling the pull of the book. "It… feels familiar somehow." Mr. Lou’s smile grew a little wider. “Books often have a way of doing that, don’t they?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I could feel my curiosity growing. “I—” Before I could finish, Mr. Lou leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know, there’s a man who might be able to help you understand all this. He’s been around for a long time, helping people just like you.” “Who?” I asked, almost breathlessly. Mr. Lou's eyes flickered toward the window, where a figure in a long coat was walking past. The man’s face was obscured by the dark evening light, but there was something unmistakably familiar about his presence. “His name is Scott Calvin,” Mr. Lou said, his tone serious. “He’s someone who can help you make sense of the things you’re starting to notice. I’d suggest you seek him out. He’s accessible in town right now, visiting family. You know the Millers?” I did; I used to babysit Charlie. I blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Scott Calvin?” The name echoed in my mind, but I had no idea how they could help me. Mr. Lou nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Trust me. If you’re meant to meet him, you will. And when you do, you’ll understand everything. The color, the ornaments, the book… they’re all connected.” I didn’t know what to say. I stared at Mr. Lou for a moment, then at the book in my hands. Something inside me told me that this wasn’t just some bizarre coincidence. With a shaky breath, I nodded and left the bookstore. The chill of the night air hit me once more, but this time, I didn’t feel as lost. I felt… guided. It was as if something—someone—was leading me toward a deeper understanding.

#x reader #fem reader #the santa clause #bernard the elf #bernard the elf x reader #multiple chapters #series #the santa clause 2 #x fem reader

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