#mentality and reflect his declining mental health/care for himself

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You actually were alive?"

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I've said it before, I'll say it again, and I'm sure it won't be the last time. I AM SICK AND BLOODY TIRED OF THESE MFS, HALF OF WHO DONT EVEN CARE ABOUT CURSED CHILD, BITCHING AND MOANING ABOUT AN ANGSTY TEEN DARING TO BE AN ANGSTY TEEN, I WILL FIGHT THE LOT OF YOU

(this is gonna be a bit long and probably incoherent so sit down and fucking listen to me 🔫 stick with me because I'm not just complaining about albus haters)

eVERYBODY wants cOoMmpllEeXx relatable HUMAN characters - and then SHIT themselves when the flaws a CHILD has isn't just 🥺 uwu im socially awkward and traumatised 🥺. that's why scorpius doesn't get this fuckass treatment, because his terrible human flaw is that he's a bit shit at conversation and gets sad about his dead mum (generalised understatement, but this post isnt about him. dont come for me i love him 🫶🏻)

god forbid albus, who feels unloved and unwanted (with valid evidence for a teenager), albus who feels completely out of place and outcast from his entire famously-close-knit family, ablus who is well known by the world by default via Harry and hates the attention and high expectations, albus who then gets targeted and bullied by his peers because he's not as perfect and brilliant as his father, albus who is then isolated from his one friend because Harry is making irrational ptsd fueled decisions, albus who tells Harry completely sincerely that he knows he's unlikeable but he'll try and change himself and be more like his siblings because he genuinely believes that's what Harry and everyone else whos had the misfortune of meeting him wants, albus who spends the entire play trying to prove himself and fix things via idiotic childish decisions BECAUSE HES A WHOLE UNSTABLE CHILD

god forbid that CHILD doesn't react like a patient, supported, well adjusted, level headed adult. god forbid he reacts outwardly. god forbid he reacts at all, my bad. clearly he should just sniffle a bit as if he doesn't feel suffocated and helpless by everything in his life, because obviously hes just a spoiled brat who doesn't know what real suffering is. god forbid he complains or feels anything negatively, or doesn't quite grasp that other people are struggling too because he is too busy trying so hard to deal with himself and his declining mental health the best he can with basically no support or understanding. god forbid he isn't completely perfect.

you all sound like some fucking boomer telling teenagers they don't know what real struggling is, they aren't mentally ill, they dont have any problems because they have a roof over their head, they should all go to war kids are too soft these days 😫😖😱 fUCKING‼️SHUT UP‼️

he does things wrong but he knows he does and he does everything he can to fix it! and he is fourteen!!! do none of you remember what being fourteen is like 😭😭 I swear half of you have got to be basically fourteen yourselves cmon man

cause I'm seeing this fucking pattern a lot recently. not just for albus, not just in this fandom, everywhere. ‼️ no one can fucking handle flawed characters anymore ‼️ the only thing any character is allowed to have wrong with them is trauma apparently, otherwise they have to be perfect, and I'm getting sick of it. characters and stories are meant to reflect real life, they're meant to help shape our world view, why are you expecting everyone to be fucking perfect??? what happened to nuance? what happened to understanding character development? you are all acting like characters and people are so black and white. either they're perfect or they're insufferable and evil. I won't lie, the most common victims i've noticed of this are women. but the flawed women are typically demonised, whereas the men are typically turned into uwu baby boys who actually aren't capable of doing anything wrong and then fanon goes nuts making them into ittle wittle victims. and I'm so fucking sick of all of it, I hate this. (obviously this is not a strict rule. Albus Potter, and also Albus Dumbledore now I mention it, are demonised beyond belief)

BRING BACK FLAWS AND BRING BACK NOT COMPLETELY WRITING OFF A CHARACTER BECAUSE THEY DARE TO BE HUMAN

I AM FED UP, ALBUS POTTER GET BEHIND ME

[loganlostitall]

Better Off Dead

Rating: ehh… I’ll go with 13+

Word count: 2k

Characters: Rick Grimes x Gender neutral reader

Setting: Alexandria, after TOWL ep 1 (SPOILERS!!!)

Content warnings: HUGE SPOILER WARNING FOR THE NEW EPISODE!!!!!!!! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN READING!!! That’s two warnings don’t blame me. Self harm and suicidal ideation, this is an almost entirely mental health related drabble. Heavy talk of cutting and scars. Typical TWD themes.

Summary: FINAL SPOILER WARNING! Rick hasn’t even been back for a full day. He is also not the only one who suffered a psychiatric decline over the years you spent apart. Both you and him are unaware that the other was in a similar spot. Hurt/comfort ensues.

Author’s note: Did NOT expect to be writing a Rick x reader in the middle of the goddamn night but my theory about Rick’s hand got proven right within not even five minutes and I was losing my shit. I started trying to think of plot immediately and once I saw more on mental health I was gone. Me and my love for mentally ill men <3

I wanted to post this the same night as release it fought me hard 😭 never expected to be doing Rick x reader and wanted to be perfect. Once again, the title is linked to the songspo so you can listen along.

Unbeta’d again, hope this is decent for u guys :3

The very moment you woke up, the first thing you became aware of was the fact that you found yourself in bed alone. Not unlike all the other nights. It was routine by now. The occasional, unique circumstance of this particular morning though, was the urge. Unshakable. All encompassing. It crashed through your brain and down into your body, pulsing through your veins, begging to be drawn out and released. Trapped under your skin. Grief.

It was almost completely overwhelming, tears flooding your lower eyelids and venturing down to your lips just as a strangled sob ripped from between them, the sound a little hoarse from your voice being unused during sleep.

You reached out blindly to the nightstand, your fingers grasping for the knife you always kept at your bedside in case of waking up to a walker breach or anything similar. Even through blurred vision, you found the handle, and brought the blade to the criss-crossed skin of your arm.

What a way to start off the morning with a bang.

Inflicting harm over previously healed scars always made you flinch harder. But you didn’t care that it hurt more. If anything, you appreciated it. It was more effective, faster. You never felt the need to leave quite as many.

Hissing through your teeth, you sat the knife down on your knee and brought your pointer and middle fingers to either side of the new wound and spread it open, luring more blood to flow out. It tickled as the thick crimson rolled down your wrist and came to a stop right where the skin curves to the heel of your palm, and you grabbed the handle once more to start the process over again.

Halfway through the next was when the door creaked.

You practically jumped out of your skin, throwing the reddened blade to clatter on the floor and snatching the covers to pull back over yourself, press them to your arm. Your free hand wiped the tears from your face as you sniffled, clearing up your sight well enough to see….

Rick. Blue eyes darkened by confusion and worry.

He stepped in cautiously, taking care to slowly and quietly shut the door behind himself and return his attention back to you. “Hey, what are you doing that for?”

“Wh— what the fuck?”

It left you as no more than a whisper, and you knew that same confusion was reflected on your own face. Rick wasn’t supposed to be here. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

“No, you’re not hallucinating. I’m right here.” Rick had nearly asked if you were okay, but stopped himself short. He’d just walked in on you cutting yourself, there was only one answer that you would, or could, give him.

You were apparently not fully awake yet, or you were still reeling from the self harm, because you’d seemingly asked the question out loud and not in your head.

His manufactured arm piece remained immobile at his side while his real hand patted himself absently in various locations, the pockets of his shirt as well as on each side of his jeans, searching for something although knowing that it wasn’t there. Rather than stand there idiotically, Rick held up a finger to signal ‘one second’ and made his way further into the room, dropping to one knee to pick up the knife you’d flung down carelessly and wiping the blood onto his shirt. And then, while he was down there, he pulled open each drawer of your nightstand until he actually found what he was looking for. Bandages. Or, more specifically, a small med kit with bandages in it. Packed full of random, useful supplies.

He remained kneeling at your bedside and spoke as he opened it. “Already forgot that you have me back?” His smile had an odd edge to it, like he was happy to see you but simultaneously disheartened by the state you were in, and concerned about the fact you’d forgotten. There was so much emotion on his face your eyes filled again.

“Yeah, I guess, I-”

You jumped when Rick pulled the blanket away from your arm and instinctively drew it back toward your chest, shielding the mess of dried blood from his worried gaze, but he simply reached for it again and coaxed it back to himself. Tentatively, not one sign of upset visible on him.

As he assessed the damage, you ashamedly looked elsewhere and returned to what you had previously been saying. “When Siddiq was still around, he diagnosed me with C-PTSD. Honestly, I think we all have something like that by now.” Laughing weakly, you bit the inside of your cheek for a few moments as Rick took care to clean the area with a small, square cloth soaked with witch hazel. It wasn’t the medication that burned, just the contact. You carried on. “He told me one of the side-effects would be my memory. Short-term, long-term, or even both… so, probably that and the fact I dreamed about finding you as a walker and having to put that knife between your eyes.”

A flare of insecurity sparked in your chest when that last statement had Rick’s eyes flitting to yours. Suddenly you found yourself critically self-conscious that he’d decide you were too much work now and leave to find better. Memory problems? Who would bother dealing with that?

“Okay,” he said surely, his voice steady. “That’s okay.” You were overwhelmed with the urge to hug him, but it would have to wait until you had your arm back. After a moment of eye contact for a second time, Rick patted the skin dry with a square of gauze and shook a small bottle of bactine before spraying a thin layer on top of the area.

The tingle of numbness was immediate. You sighed in relief as he rolled a Q-tip covered in Vaseline over each laceration and used that same last piece of gauze to delicately wipe up the excess surrounding them. And then to preserve resources, Rick opted not to open another and instead flipped that pad over to lay the dry side on your wrist; wrapped a length of blue self adherent cohesive bandage around it a few times to keep the wound dressing in place. Brought the heel of your palm to his lips, only to pause when his eyes wandered to find the array of scars littering your inner forearm. There was one in particular that he couldn’t take his attention off of.

Trailing the pad of his thumb down the length of your arm, you glanced down to see what he was looking at.

And felt nauseous.

“This one?” he asked faintly, voice barely discernible. Jagged, raised skin followed your radial artery vertically. Perpetrated on yourself while you’d searched for him.

You shrugged in an attempt to play it off as a lot calmer than you actually were. “Didn’t go deep enough.” Shame, once again, enveloped you. You felt fucking pathetic.

“Me either.”

The words felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped right over your head. Freezing your entire body, soaking your flesh and seeping beneath it to chill your bones. Your eyes found his natural fingers to discover that they were pulling his shirt collar away from his neck to reveal a slash that scabbed very recently going about a fourth of the way across his throat. Your vision swam again.

“You’re here now,” you tried. It was a lousy consolation, but you still weren’t… entirely grounded yet. Pushing yourself up to sit on your knees, Rick muttering ‘careful’ under his breath as you put weight on the hand connected to your injured arm to lean the upper half of your body off the edge of the bed, you nestled your lips just above the new scar and kissed his thrumming pulse. “We’re both here.” The two of you were equally as anxious; the way his heart was racing proved that fact. Perhaps even for the same reasons. Feeling exposed.

It was hardly a long journey from Philadelphia to Virginia. You made it back with Rick before the day was over. Subsequently, he had barely been here for twelve hours. Perhaps you hadn’t spent enough time together yet for the fact that Rick was home to truly register with you.

It seemed he may have had the same idea.

He offered you a tired half-smile and stood, closing up the med kit and returning it to its previous location only to round to the other side of the bed, make quick work of kicking off his boots, and climb in beneath the blanket. Rolling to face him, you sidled up to rest your forehead on his chest immediately, and his genuine arm fell over your side whilst the sculpted metal one lie idle beneath the pillows. The numbing from bactine was still a thing to revel over because it meant you could throw your arm over his bicep and card your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. You did not miss Rick’s short hair. His fingers soothed up and down your back in a comforting manner and you both laid utterly still, breathing the same air, sharing the same body heat.

“I’m grateful I didn’t go deep enough,” he whispered once the silence stretched uncomfortably. “You found me.”

For what was probably not the last time today, your eyes stung again. And yet, you opted to lift the spirits of him and yourself with a joke. It was the first thing that came to mind. “Well, you do seem to fail at slitting throats, Rick.”

You grinned up at him when he scoffed; giggled when he started to chuckle himself. The pair of you sounded as exhausted as you both looked, and when the laughter died out, you absorbed each other again. His presence was so consoling to your brain that had successfully convinced itself he was still gone, that after a length of time you realized you’d fall back asleep soon. And Rick would probably ensure you didn’t wake up alone again.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to do something, though.

Propping yourself up on your right elbow, you blinked sleep out of your heavy eyes while pulling weakly at his new arm attachment; more as a question rather than an unpermitted attempt to uncover it. “Can… can I look?”

Unease cast a shadow over his blue eyes, despite the trust in them, and he nodded. Which you’d only half expected him to do. You’d braced yourself for a no.

You would see it eventually, so he figured it was best to do it now and get it out of the way rather than prolong it.

Sitting your pillow off to lean it against the headboard, Rick adjusted and repositioned to lay on his back instead, which gave you a better opportunity to look at his hand. It was strapped on in two different places; one at the elbow, and one at the shoulder. The fingers were hyper-realistic, yet closed into a fist with no opening for a weapon to be gripped. It was almost as if he could read your mind, because Rick drew his arm away from you to demonstrate the release of a blade triggered in the wrist.

You lifted a finger to trail it along the sharp edge of the custom weaponized extension and hissed through grit teeth when it left a thin, shallow cut on your fingertip.

“I’m not getting the med kit back out.” He finished saying it with a playfully chastising call of your name.

No need to bother. You sucked the blood from the pad of your finger and threw him a drowsy smirk. “This is hot.”

That definitely caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” Rick shook his head with a dampened smile. “Well, I’m glad you see my suffering as an upgrade.”

The greatest salve for your pain was his lips on yours. Maybe it would do the same for his wounded pride.

Quite the valid reason to try it.

“Shut up.”

Your smile met his, and they stayed there even after you fell asleep again. This time, dreaming of the future.

National suicide and crisis hotline: call or text 988

Help with self harm: text CONNECT to 741741

LGBTQ+ inclusive resource: https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/article/support-for-self-harm-recovery/

Numbers for different parts of the world: https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/

[loominggaia]

niittinaatti Surprising that Oberon cares enough about his kids to care about their gender identity.

-----

Oh, he doesn't care about OJ...he cares about his own image and position of power.

You see, Mogdir's high rulers are elected democratically by the citizens every 3 generations. This means once a ruler is elected, their bloodline will rule in a monarchy for 2 more generations before a new election is held. Anyone who is blood-related to a previous ruler is forbidden to run for election, which prevents the same group of elite assholes from holding power for too long.

However, if a ruler does not have blood-related children (or if their children are unviable to rule for whatever reason, such as poor health), this forces an early election.

Traditionally, Mogdiri heirs take the throne well before their parents' deaths. That's because culturally, Mogdiri people hate being ruled by ancient, decrepit leaders, and will violently overthrow infirmed kings and queens who refuse to retire. So, they willingly pass on the crown when they're old and in decline, and their children are in prime health to take their place. The old ruler then enjoys their golden years in elite luxury while their kid does all the hard work running the kingdom.

Oberon doesn't want to see his son experimenting with "alternative" sexual/gender identities because in his eyes, this means OJ is less likely to have biological children. In that case, Oberon's family's power ends with OJ.

Oberon is such a vain, greedy ignoramus that he can't stand the idea of his bloodline only ruling for 2 generations rather than the ideal 3. In Mogdiri culture, this is considered shameful and a bad omen, it reflects poorly on that royal bloodline in the history books. Fauns can live for quite a long time, and Oberon plans to live long enough to see his grandchild plop their ass on his throne one day, thus keeping himself in the realm of elite noble society for as long as possible.

Oberon has 4 children, but OJ is the only one he has faith in to take his throne (Winnie's rebelliousness threatens him, Trista is a homicidal maniac, and Nate has crippling anxiety) so he's putting all his eggs in OJ's basket while praying, "Please don't be gay, please don't be trans, please don't be weird, please don't be mentally ill, please don't embarrass me, please just be a carbon copy of me in every way and make me look good in the history books..."

Then OJ says, "Hey Dad, what does it mean if I feel like a girl sometimes?"

And Oberon's like:

"BOY I SWEAR TO GAIA--"

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[charbear177]

Narcissistic Behavior 101 - 5 Narcissist Traits To Recognize

Narcissists are…well, they’re narcissistic. With a narcissist, it is about them all the time. Everything revolves around them, at least in their mind.

The term is based on the Greek myth of Narcissus. Narcissus was a very handsome hunter who fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. He sat in that spot, staring at himself until his death. Odd, right? But the point is that someone so in love with themselves will be oblivious to everything else around them.

A narcissistic personality disorder is a mental health condition in which people have an unreasonably high sense of their own importance. They need and seek too much attention and want people to admire them. People with this disorder may lack the ability to understand or care about the feelings of others.

5 Signs of A Narcissist

Inflated Sense of Self

Narcissists think they are the most valuable player, the MVP, of whatever they do. No one else is better. No one else is more deserving. And they are sure to let you know this “fact”. Not only is this mentality not factual or rooted in reality, but things can also get problematic when they are faced with defeat or not the chosen one.

They are sore losers and will tear others down to build themself up. It’s not them, it’s you.

No Respect for Boundaries

It is all about them. They want to see you, they want to talk, then they should be able to do so, regardless of your plans or wishes.

You’re busy at work or in class? Too bad, they need to vent. You’re tired or don’t feel well? Oh well, they are not going to the event alone or canceling.

They don’t respect boundaries. They will trounce all over them and still demand more because they are selfish and greedy.

Needs To Be the Center of Attention

A narcissist expects to be the center of attention all the time. Why? Because they are the best looking and the smartest, most charismatic person they know. How could everyone not be drawn to them and want to hear what they have to say.

They are doing the world a favor by just existing.

Fragile Ego

Talk about big babies who are easily offended. If you decline a date with them or break up with a narcissist you will feel their wrath and be told that you were never worthy.

Their ego cannot take any rejection or feedback that informs them they are not perfect. It is never their fault and they will not hear otherwise, unless it benefits them to use it as a tool for manipulation.

Lack of Empathy

A narcissist lacks empathy. If it does not serve them, they don’t care. Their feelings come first. Their needs come first. And your feelings, thoughts, and needs are not their problem regardless of how many times you may have prioritized them.

Narcissists are known to be brutally “honest” and downright cruel at times and will expect a thank you for just speaking the truth. A truth they would never tolerate directed at them.

After reading this list, you should recognize the traits of a narcissist, and likely a few narcissists in your life. Narcissists are toxic, draining, and suckers of joy. They are people who you may not want in your life.

What are your thoughts on the traits of a narcissist? Any dealings with a narcissist? How did it go? Please share your thoughts and experience!

“Since narcissists deep down feel themselves to be faultless, it is inevitable that when they are in conflict with the world they will invariably perceive the conflict as the world’s fault.” ― M. Scott Peck

[sleepyspoonie]

okay so honestly there's no way to make a successful poto sequel that's not just a monster of the week tv series a la kitchen nightmares where the phantom goes to various failing opera houses and tells them why they suck.

but barring that.

it's the chell and glados problem all over again, right? In original playtests of portal 2, people were upset that glados didn't recognize them because the connection between chell and glados was a driving part of the story.

The same problem exists in phantom. the story isn't the same if it's not christine and erik, because that's the relationship we CARE about. but also. but also the two of them ever speaking again completely undoes the themes of and character growth during the first musical.

christine can never seek out erik, or it erases the decisions and preferences and agency she fought so hard to preserve in the original. erik can never seek out christine because it undermines the choices he made at the end of poto let her go free as a rare expression of selfless love from him.

so it can't be successful if we aren't building on erik and christine's relationship. but it also can't be successful if we do, either. it's a bit of a pickle, amirite?

That's where the corpse crimes come in!

raoul, christine, and gustave (who will never be confirmed to be anyone's son in particular), find themselves visiting a traveling fair to celebrate something like raoul becoming the patron of a new arts program after the opera populaire closed (on account of the murders). christine has retired from performing arts because singing/performing fills her with so much dread and anxiety that she's no longer able to do it without having flashbacks to being kidnapped+everything with erik.

BUT. while they're at the fair, they stumble across a human oddities display not unlike the one the phantom escaped from before he came to reside at the opera populaire, and christine is horrified to discover that erik has not only died, but that his remains are on display in the fair and that people are exploiting his disfigurement even after death.

essentially someone found his body in the catacombs below the opera house when it was being sold/closed down, and his corpse, his story, and many of his belongings were sold and put on display so people can learn the ~*~true story~*~ of the murderous phantom of the opera. it's obviously a gross misrepresentation of the situation riddled with ableism, fear mongering, and various scare tactics meant to excite a crowd.

this brings back a LOT of feelings for christine.

on the one hand, even seeing much of that stuff (possibly including the wedding ring and veil!) is incredibly triggering for her and brings her back to the disoriented and traumatized mental state she spent a lot of the second act of poto in.

otoh, she also feels immensely outraged and grief-stricken at the way erik's body is being exploited and abused in death, as she's always held more compassion than anyone else for the experiences he was put through. she wants to have him laid to rest so no one can abuse him anymore even from beyond the grave.

raoul has never fully softened up to or come to sympathize with the phantom at all, but he loves his wife and has maybe learned how to listen to her after failing to do so at every turn in poto, so though he's resistant, he comes around to agreeing to help her take possession of erik's body so he can be given a proper burial. he has a song here where he himself reflects on his failures during poto and how he's vowed to spend the rest of his life making those failures up to christine and how he's learned to listen to her.

(because jesus christ, nobody in poto except madame giry actually seemed to pay christine's wellbeing and fears any heed.)

so basically christine and raoul spend most of the musical doing that, with christine experiencing and struggling with declining mental and physical health due to the toll the whole affair is taking on her. she becomes in a way haunted by the phantom, and she at times even hallucinates him and speaks with him, both reliving her time with him in the past and communicating with him in the present, vacillating between grief for his situation and anger at what he did to her. she eventually becomes completely incapacitated by these visions and flashbacks, and raoul has to put the quest to lay the phantom to rest on hold so he can tend to his ailing wife.

IN THE MEANTIME little gustave is still running around, and he is also haunted by the phantom, but in a completely different way. he's still a little musical prodigy, and when he sees the phantom display at the fair and overhears various conversations from his parents, he himself develops an obsession with the phantom, whose memory becomes something of a mentor and muse to him. he sneaks down into the underbelly of the closed opera house and learns more about who erik is through his journals and musical scores. he finds erik's last great unfinished piece and becomes entranced by it and starts composing his own opera, about the phantom himself.

(the first notes we hear gustave play when he starts coming up with his musical are from the leitmotif i call 'pity the phantom.' christine's pretty much the only one who uses it in poto and it comes up when she's sympathizing with the phantom's plight in notes ii, why have you brought me here, and right before the climax in down once more)

the creation of this opera becomes something of a throughline of the story, much like orpheus composing epic iii in hadestown. this is also where we find out what happened to the phantom, how he died, and we see his life through a new set of eyes. at times we even see the phantom working on it INSTEAD of gustave, as if gustave is literally being possessed by the phantom, and the musical he writes is centered on the life and death of the phantom from a compassionate third party

it's the opera he writes that eventually helps bring his mother back to herself, and when he performs it for her, she speaks to the phantom and he/his spirit apologizes for what he did. she sings a song that has a lot of the same musical theming as wishing you were somehow here again, though more focused on the 'help me say goodbye' aspect, learning how to let go of how the phantom impacted her, expressing her sadness for how he was treated, and re-committing to her goal of laying him to rest. as that song ends, she forgives the phantom and finally comes back to herself in the present

it's after that when they're finally able to exercise raoul's vicomte powers to claim the phantom's body back and give him the funeral he deserves. christine sings for his funeral (maybe something akin to think of me) and the play ends with them laying flowers on his grave and fading to black

oops I watched phantom of the opera again and I'm back on my bullshit, and by bullshit i mean: aggressively plot doctoring love never dies

[ichigopanhpff]

A Dragon's Grief

Warnings: Major manga spoilers from the current arc.

Genre: Angst, comfort, bit of comedy.

Banner art by me :)

--

Three weeks.

That was the last time (Y/N) and Mitsuya had spoken to each other after he shut himself in.

The funeral was arranged by his caretaker Masamichi from the massage parlor. The former and current workers showed to pay their respects alongside his friends. Ex-Toman members scattered in one by one, in disbelief the all powerful dragon of Toman was dead.

The moment Mitsuya came face to face with the altar with Draken's photo in the black frame, his will to live completely collapsed. The lilac haired young adult knelt at the front of the altar until the end of the ceremony, not moving an inch and crying his heart out. (Y/N) and her friends helped escort him out after, not wanting to leave his side.

His best friend's death took a toll on her boyfriend’s physical and mental health, sending him into a rapid decline. When she stopped by to help take care of him and his sisters one day, she peered into his makeshift atelier; all she saw was his hunched back facing her with a lone light shining down on the worn tatami floor as he drafted up various clothing patterns to lay on the fabric to cut. Darkness enveloped him.

He was surrounded by stacks of empty styrofoam bowls of instant udon and ramen, small garbage bags from convenience store runs, empty tea and water bottles, paper scraps and crumpled up paper alongside his scattered design tools and rolls of fabric. The place looked like a tornado whipped through his once organized space; it smelled like stale greasy food mixed with mild body odor.

After putting his sisters to bed in the living area one night, (Y/N) approached her boyfriend cautiously and heard him muttering to himself about keeping his promise to Draken. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, his emaciated body froze.

“I need to keep working…” he mumbled out. “Deadline’s comin’ up.”

“When was the last time you slept, Takashi?” she softly asked with worry, seeing the heavy bags and dark circles under his eyes from his side profile. The clean shaven face she was used to seeing now had stubble; his usual warm, lavender gaze was now hollow and despondent. His hands continued to move and clicked his tongue after messing up a line on his pattern.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted in a burst of anger and roughly pushed (Y/N) away. She fell with a thud, her right arm hitting something hard and metallic. When her voice let out a yelp of pain, he slowly glanced back and saw he accidentally shoved her into one of the bust’s stands.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

(Y-Y/N),” he stuttered with a tired, apologetic gaze and tried to reach out to her. “I-I--”

Why couldn’t those words come out of his mouth?

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped back with a low hiss and held her right shoulder, wincing from the throbbing ache. “There’s a lot I can take, but this…” Her hurt, teary gaze met his sunken ones. “Do you even realize how much those around you are hurting seeing you like this?!”

Standing back up on her own with a quiet grunt, her knees let out a pop, (Y/N) faced her boyfriend and huffed. She had enough.

“Draken was like a brother to you, I get it…” she stated with a shaky voice and sniffled, holding onto her arm still. “But he's my friend too. He wouldn’t wanna see you like this.”

She gave him one last look before closing the door with a muffled thud, leaving Mitsuya to his solitude: it was one reflecting her hurting heart, not being able to do anything for the one she loves.

The long haired man curled into himself and shook as hot tears spilled out of his bloodshot eyes. The pain of loss he’s tried so hard to numb through work came back, making him roughly grasp his shirt as he openly sobbed.

Why did Draken have to die? Why did he have to go back to Mikey?

If he hadn’t involved himself with Brahman, he’d be alive.

Another week passed and (Y/N) stopped coming; he didn’t even realize it until Luna brought Takemichi in a few days ago. After their brief chat of him starting his own gang to take down Kantou Manji, he found himself at a fork in the road.

His friends needed him, but he also had a promise to fulfill.

What should he do?

What would Draken do?

With a day left to spare, he finally finished the main parts to his submission; all that was left were the final detail pieces he could make on the day of the competition. Huffing a sigh of relief, the lanky designer dragged himself into the bathroom to wash up. The person he saw in the mirror was hardly recognizable; his lavender gaze was dead with massive eye bags dropping down his now sallow and sunken cheeks. The stubble on his upper lip and chin formed a patchy beard.

Only now did he realize how far he let himself go and let out a disappointed sigh at himself.

He turned the faucet on and got to cleaning up. Having looked like this must’ve scared his sisters a lot, he thought to himself while patting the shaving cream on. His half alive purple gaze wandered up to his right temple; his hand unconsciously moving up to smooth over the strands that's covered up his dragon tattoo. After freshening up, Mitsuya came out to see his sisters eating breakfast.

“Oh, You’re up, nii-chan,” Luna quietly greeted and finished her bite of food before standing to bring her bowl to the kitchen sink. He looked over to see Mana still eating her portion of breakfast; his baby sister glanced up with a tint of fear in her big eyes and immediately looked back down.

“Do you even realize how much those around you are hurting seeing you like this?!”

His girlfriend’s biting words echoed in his head, feeling the pang of guilt from his actions. He’d been grieving on his own, ignoring everything around him as he spiraled into depression. The tall lilac haired man immediately knelt down and hugged Luna.

“Luna…” his voice shook out. “I’m sorry… Nii-chan’s been treating you so poorly.”

Feeling the small arms of his little sister hug back, tears spilled from his eyes and cried onto her shoulder.

“Mana,” Luna called her baby sister gently. “Come here.”

Hesitantly making her way over, Takashi released his embrace from Luna and pulled the youngest in to apologize.

“Nii-chan was really scary before, huh?” he whispered into his baby sister’s ear and sniffled. “I’m really sorry. I’ll do my best to be better.”

The baby Mitsuya sibling sniffled into her brother’s chest and hugged him tightly.

“You should apologize to (Y/N)-neechan too,” Luna touted and placed her hands on her hips. “She’s been dropping off food for us before going to her part-time job every morning.”

“She came by?” he looked up and asked with a tone of surprise. He caught a glimpse of a lone cloth wrapped bento box on the low table.

Luna nodded to confirm. “She didn’t wanna come in for some reason…” his sister trailed off. “Did you two fight?”

“I… Yeah…” he quietly uttered. Even after what he did to her, she was still looking out for him and his family. “We did.”

With his sisters heading out for school, Takashi unwrapped the cloth to reveal a homemade bento with an assortment of vegetables and a portion of stewed pork; on top of the omurice sat a ketchup written message of an angry face with the words, “(╬ ᗒᗣᗕ) 食えよ!” (Eat, damn it!)

He let out a small snicker with an apologetic gaze.

---

“(Y/N)-chan!” Hakkai called out, making her turn to him. The look on her face could only be described as “what in God’s name are you wearing? Don’t talk to me” when she saw their matching t-shirts with a cat and snowflake logo design on it.

“Here to support Mitsuya-kun too, (Y/N)?” Chifuyu asked.

“Actually, I’m working today,” she corrected and hesitantly looked away. “Takashi and I… got into a fight, so we’re not talking right now.”

“Eh?! What do you mean?!” the lanky blue haired boy exclaimed.

“It’s as I said…” she sighed with a pained look. “Who knows if we’re still together at this point.”

“(Y/N)-san…” Takemichi began. “I’m sure you two’ll make up. Just give him some time,” he advised with a comforting smile. “Mitsuya-kun’s been through a lot, but he’ll bounce back if you’re with him.”

“I guess… But I have a question…” (Y/N) looked reluctant for a beat. Her eyes wandered down to the eyes of the black cat staring back at her. “… What’s with the shirts?”

“It’s our new gang, Thousand Winters!” Chifuyu pridefully boasted with his hands on his hips. “Ya like it? I designed it.”

She paused and reflected on the name.

"You really named it after yourself, dude?" she flat out blurted. "Talk about being conceited."

"You're just jealous you don't look as awesome as we do right now," the blond confidently quipped back with a matching grin.

“… You four look like you got lost on an elementary school field trip to the aquarium and you can't find your teacher,” she unapologetically called out. Takemichi and Hakkai facepalmed and blushed out of embarrassment. Inui let out a snicker and turned away to recompose himself from laughing, even though he was wearing the shirt too.

“Ehhh?! What do you mean! This is peak fashion right here!” the blond shot back.

Before she could argue back how inappropriate that statement is considering where they were, she looked at her watch. “Crap, I gotta get in to set up. See you all later!”

Once the audience and photographers settled into their respective areas, the PA system announced the names of the judges for the panel before loud, booming music played over the speakers. Even though (Y/N) was only an assistant photographer, the only reason she was able to be here was because her mentor didn’t want to come.

Not wanting to throw this opportunity away, she jumped to the occasion to shoot in his stead while building her book. Lucky enough, she managed to snag a good angle in the camera pit to get all the shots. This was the first time she’s done a fashion runway shoot and was taking mental notes to adjust the ISO aperture so she could shoot with a higher shutter speed; this was also the first time she was using a telephoto lens she borrowed from the studio with Sonny.

“Entry number 15, Mitsuya Takashi,” the voice over the PA announced. (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat and felt nervous for him. “And his theme, ‘Twin Dragons.’”

She was at a loss for words and air the moment the two models walked the runway. Tears welled up in her eyes, finding herself unable to tear away from it. The clothing looked like they were floating down the well lit aisle, like deities summoned by a wizard.

From the corner of her eye, she could’ve sworn she saw Draken’s proud, smiling face in the crowd with Emma beside him. When she blinked again, they were gone as stray tears fell down her cheeks.

During his time of grief and insomniac nights, this was the answer he found to heal himself from within. She wiped her eyes and focused on the shots where the two models crossed at the same time, their paths headed in opposite directions. (Y/N) had to make sure his work was properly captured for both their sakes.

Just as the last model walked, the PA announced Mitsuya as the winner of this year’s National Fashion Design Newcomer Award. The cheers and applause suddenly went quiet when he walked down the runway, wearing his Toman uniform with a sash tied to his back; the right side of his hair had been shaved to the skin, revealing his dragon tattoo. The stubble she last saw on him was shaved off and he looked much more well rested.

“First and foremost, thank you very much for the newcomer award,” he addressed. Whispers of his clothing made its rounds in the venue. (Y/N) looked around with a wary glare.

“A bosozoku fashion designer?” she heard one photographer remark with a snort. “No way they’re gonna let him keep it.”

As much as she wanted to slug the guy right in the face, he may have a point. Takashi… what are you getting at here? she thought to herself while listening intently to what he had to say. He then looked down and met Takemichi’s upward gaze, asking if he could tag along with him.

“I am… rejecting this award!” Mitsuya suddenly declared, sending the entire venue into a frenzy.

“HAH?!” she mindlessly blurted out with raised brows and blinked a few times.

He then bowed to apologize to those who helped him and to the judges who selected him. Members of the audience start booing and throwing plastic bottles and event pamphlets at the stage while the arrogant judges yelled at him for having the audacity of treating this award like a joke.

Knowing him, (Y/N) knew he had a logical reason behind doing this and was waiting for his answer.

“No matter how great the award is… If you abandon the friends who made you happiest for it, then it’s just downright shitty!” he stated with a tone of conceit before walking off, holding his head up high.

After the event wrapped up, (Y/N) was sitting outside the venue waiting for Mitsuya. She sent him a text not long after and was still trying to understand what he just did.

“(Y/N).” She heard his voice call, making her immediately stand to face him. He changed back into a black hoodie and sweats. Just as she was about to speak, he held his hand up to stop her.

“Please let me go first,” he requested. “I’m sorry… for hurting you and for putting you through this. I was so lost in my own feelings, I didn’t even notice all the things you did for me…”

She stood quietly, continuing to listen.

“Luna told me you’d been dropping meals off for us. You didn’t have to, but… thank you.” He took a short breath.

“Then why…” she finally spoke. “Why did you reject the award?” (Y/N) looked up at him with a hint of anger. “After all you went through to stand here, why?!”

“It would've made sense to accept it and make a name for myself as a fashion designer, yeah…” he admitted with a thin smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I already fulfilled my promise to Draken the moment they announced my name.”

Mitsuya took a few steps forward and held her hands for the first time in weeks. This was the warmth he yearned and missed during his self-imposed isolation. His right thumb rubbed the gunmetal band on her left ring finger, a reminder of the promise he made her two years ago.

“If hurting you and throwing away all the things you’d done for me and my sisters is the price of that award, then I don’t want or need it. You're more important,” he said with serious tone. “(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I was a dick. I--”

“Can I talk now?” she finally cut in impatiently. Taken back by her sudden response, he composed himself and let her speak.

“Don’t you ever do this again, Mitsuya Takashi,” she stated strongly and squeezed his hands. “I will break up with you.”

“That’s kinda harsh, no?” he meekly replied with nervousness; the look on her face said otherwise. She was serious.

“I don’t ever want you to grieve alone like this,” she continued with a hint of mistiness in her pained gaze. “Don’t shut me out like that again, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he conceded with a gentle smile and drew her into a hug, with her returning the gesture. How could his heart have forgotten (Y/N) was beside him this whole time? How could he forget she went through this too?

If there was one person he needed in his corner, it was her.

“And look how much weight you lost! You look like Slenderman!” she scolded and cupped his waist around her hands after pulling away from the hug. “Uwah! I could practically feel your pelvic bone!” she exclaimed with horror and looked up at her boyfriend. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal?!”

“A few days ago. I ate your angry omurice,” he answered with a light chuckle. “It was tasty.”

“Well, you’re eating a full meal again. Tonight. At my place,” she demanded. “Bring Luna and Mana over too.”

“Does this mean we’ve made up?”

(Y/N) got on her toes and pulled Mitsuya’s head down to kiss him on the lips; he almost forgot how her lips taste after not feeling her for weeks and snaked his arms around her frame to pull her in.

“Now we have,” she quietly answered with a pout and blush on her cheeks after releasing.

[illatreal]

Heartstopper, an essay by me that probably no-one will ever read. (Spoiler alert, obviously, if you haven’t read or watched the series)

(PART 3)

CHARLIE SPRING - Joe Locke (he/him)

I find this one a little harder to write, I think just because Charlie is probably a character I relate more to in terms of his struggles with mental health. Whilst this next part probably isn’t going to be quite as gushy as PART 2, it’s important to note that I think Joe Locke is fantastic as Charlie and gives a really nuanced performance. He plays the sweet, shy, cute aspects of Charlie really well whilst highlighting Charlie’s own insecurities and internal battles. Yet again, the combination of Alice Oseman’s source material mixed with an actor who knows how to portray their character with understanding and compassion is just wonderful.

Obviously the shy little looks Charlie gives Nick, how is face lights up when Nick shows him love and kindness, and how excited and surprised Charlie is every time he discovers Nick really does like him and wants to be with are all super sweet and lovely to see but the two main things I want to focus on here are:

The amazingly subtle yet ever present portrayal of mental health issues without super triggering scenes just for shock value; and

How supportive Charlie’s character is of Nick on his journey of self-discovery

So, let’s rip off the band-aid and talk about mental health. This is a subject that so many viewers will be able to relate to and see themselves reflected back in the character of Charlie. We come to understand throughout the season some of the trauma that Charlie has experienced as an out teenager. Joe Locke, in conjunction with some great writing and direction, conveys so well those moments of internal struggle that Charlie has, and how his previous negative experiences shape his approach to his evolving relationship with Nick. We can see clear moments of anxiety and self doubt, and the flashbacks and intrusive, black rimmed negative thoughts give insight into how Charlie’s view of the world is shaped. The subtle scenes where we see Charlie decline food whenever he is anxious or upset hint at a deeper struggle with food which is bound to be explored further if the show gets a second season (in line with the portrayal of his eating disorder in the graphic novel series). The way Charlie’s thoughts spiral and escalate is so relatable to me e.g. when he is apologising to Nick after their first kiss because he thinks Nick will no longer want to be his friend; or when he backtracks and says he’s stupid for suggesting he and Nick go on a date one-on-one. And perhaps most poignantly of all, the scene where Charlie explains to his sister how he feels that somehow his existence just makes life harder for people and how he feels they’d be better off if he just doesn’t exist. Obviously we as readers/viewers know this is not the case for his friends (and I love the scene in the final episode where Nick straight up refutes this and tries to make Charlie understand just how much better his life is with him in it) but who ever said episodes of bad mental health were rational? “I stuffed one thing up” can quickly escalate to “now everyone will hate me” and on to “maybe it would be better if I didn’t exist”. I really look forward to seeing mental health explored further if this show gets another season (as it damn well should in my opinion). As I stated above, this representation of struggling with mental health has been done in a subtle, compassionate and caring way where it is ever present without portraying really triggering scenes and it is so lovely to see mental health acknowledged whilst still creating an overall joyous storyline of love and acceptance.

Following on from this, in spite of, or perhaps because of, all the struggles that Charlie has faced he makes it clear from the first that he supports Nick on his own journey to discovering his sexuality. He never wants to put pressure on Nick and wants to give him the time and space to explore his understanding of himself so that he can come out on his own terms (a luxury we come to understand Charlie himself was not afforded). He provides Nick with guidance and suggestions, making it clear to Nick that being confused is normal and that it takes time to figure things out. And he is so happy and supportive any time Nick makes progress e.g. telling Tara and Darcy that they are dating, and Nick exploring the possibility of him being bisexual. We as the viewer know the mental toll that this is likely taking on Charlie, but he understands what Nick is going through and tries to ensure that Nick is protected from the negativity that he himself faced. Of course, his anxiety sometimes makes him overthink this, but then Nick is always there thinking of Charlie and his well being too. It’s lovely to see Charlie coming to understand what a supportive, open, healthy relationship can look like in comparison to his previous toxic one with Ben (and all the scars that left him with).

[hamletteprinceofdenmark]

Okay, so first off, is Revived a song that accurately reflects c!wilbur and his complicated relationship with morality, accountability, redemption, and forgiveness?

No.

Is it an absolute certified Banger™?

YES

With that out of the way, having listened to it …. a lot … now, I feel like Revived is a song very much written from an outside perspective rather than an internal one.

Derivakat released the chorus teaser within days (possibly hours i can’t quite remember) of Tommy’s initial stream, and the finished song has kept that feeling of fear and terrified speculation of what c!wilbur would do now that he’d come back.

It is not an accurate portrayal of how c!wilbur has since conducted himself in canon lore, but it is an accurate portrayal of how others still perceive him, regardless of that conduct.

Listen to the lyrics.

There are references throughout to pogtopia and c!tommy having to watch c!wilbur’s declining mental state and the corresponding decline in the health of their relationship, “Am I the bad guy? I’ll be the bad guy again”, “You think I cared? It was always a means to an end,” “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m better now that I’m free.”

The acting and emphasis on the “All this is mine, mine, mine! I’m alive!” followed abruptly by “Shut up”, I’m immediately thinking of Tommy’s streams, both the actual revival and when they visited Las Nevadas together for the first time and how scared c!tommy was of c!wilbur. That “Shut up” was so jarring in stream. I still think about it, and I bet c!tommy does too.

And finally, this is the clincher, “I’ll be back for a while, kid, so go ahead and smile”

This is not a reference to c!wilbur, this doesn’t sound like c!wilbur at all, this is about c!dream and c!dream’s influence.

The song may use first person pronouns, but it is absolutely steeped in c!tommy and c!tommy’s fears.

Revived is not about c!wilbur’s reality.

It’s about c!tommy’s nightmares.

[one-joe-spoopy]

Funnily enough I actually only have this one TMA reference and that's only there to explain the concept. The Not!Them is an avatar (?) of the Stranger and it will take the place of the original person, replace them in every sort of memory and way, and only leave one person who remembers the real identity, feeding off of their paranoia and fear for however long it can. The not!them replaces Sasha in s2 and is the cause for exacerbating the decline in the mental health of the archive crew. And don't you worry even a little about not understanding the not!them and anything after s1 because I haven't listened beyond s1 myself, which I consider quite ironic since my blog name is a TMA reference yet all I ever talk about is The Penumbra Podcast, with only the occasional Magnus Archive reblogs or thoughts for flavor. (Well, I think it's kind of funny.)

Peter incorporates his imitation abilities into his aliases, creating unique voices and accents for them with careful tailoring to be just a touch enchanted so that no one digs any deeper. As for Vespa, she doesn't have much use for imitation or mimicry but she does like recreating the sounds of her Otherworld for herself (the raspy croaking of toads, the lazy hiss of heat and insects, soft burbling music of the swamp and its various creatures that reside within it) or to embellish any story she's telling at the moment as a unique touch of whimsy. What she does use her voice for is creating ambiance, but not to improve mood—it's actually a subconscious trick to convince anything within the area that nothing is wrong, all is well as it should be. Sort of the reverse of what horror and thriller movies use to create fear and paranoia.

For a creature to imitate Benzaiten Steel, they would have to be dead or have a portal into his particular Purgatory. Honestly, Ben is safe from a lot of nasty creatures and that's the only reason why Juno can make his brain stay calm. Peter might attempt to recreate Ben's voice once (and only once), because you've given me inspiration, but all it does is actually make Juno angry because that's a very low blow. It does not end well for Peter (read: he has a bruise along his jaw from Juno's fist and half his scalp is on fire, and Juno's arm and hand is clawed up, with deep gouges.)

When Ben looks in a mirror, he doesn't know the young man whose face he sees in the reflection because he has no identity anymore. He only exists because Juno is still there to remember him whole and alive and if Juno ever stops visiting (or if he dies) then Ben will be swallowed by his Purgatory and Juno will well and truly lose what makes him whole and human (assuming he himself is still alive).

Ben was the only one Juno had and they did get along and I think the cruelest thing Sarah did to Juno, despite her own constant warnings that he was all Juno had and Juno needs to protect him and vice versa, was killing his twin. Nothing tops it.

Nureyev is my sweet sacrificial lamb, through and through. Sure he'll hide behind magic and masks and knives but he's still the trusting animal at the end of his tether, gazing up at his butcher with guileless eyes and bleeding out across clean stone. He might deny it and vow to never let anyone get him down on the ground long enough for the knife to be drawn across his throat, but he can't help it, it's in his nature.

Juno uses the past to torture both his present and his future, to constantly keep himself in a state of existential anxiety about how he's going to screw his life up with every second that ticks by. The only times he's ever felt peace (so to speak) is when he's been injured badly enough that he can't get away from whatever nasty he's flung himself at today, when he's completely wasted and can't form a single coherent thought to worry about and it's him all alone in the quiet of his apartment, when he's drunk (but not quite two sheets to the wind) and he's got his head in Rita's lap and the faint light of her screens glow behind his eyelids and he can hear her heart ticking and he's just a sack of meat, bones and warmth, and when he goes to see Benzaiten (less and less every time he goes because he thinks he's losing him all over again, which is something he can't exactly disprove but he has to remember that Ben might as well not even be the same person Juno knew, just what Juno made him) (there are no happy endings, Juno repeats to himself, there are no happy endings for a little monster.)

As I mentioned before in regards to masks, not everyone wears a mask. Vespa, Rita and Jet don't wear their masks (not to say they don't own masks, they just choose not to hide behind them) (big flex btw) because they've got their own disguises (Rita's bubbly personality and smile (that does not show her teeth), Jet's micro-expressions (you learn the ways of the fae well enough if you live long enough around them), Vespa's surliness and "stab first, ask later" policy) (basically it's either aggression, be loveable and hilarious, or literally show no emotion whatsoever. You can mix and match, but those are your three options if you spend time in the Otherworld). Masks will often use one of these three aspects when being made: some masks sport toothy grins and demure little smirks, others are snarling and scowling, and some are either set into a neutral blend of masculine and feminine features or completely blank. Most beginner masks are blank (expression-wise), but the older you get the more the expression gets unique, the more you, so to speak.

Hey! So, uh, I have some more stuff for the fae-hunter jupeter au, if you'd like to hear it? Regarding some more about the background and things and the other characters and also some intrusive thoughts Juno has regarding the cannibalism?

Oh fuck yeah babey lay it on me. This is the best Steel Twin Birthday Present and no other holiday or event going on irl I could've woken up to ever! And also does it mean anything if I say I have more thoughts on my monster hunter au bc I have a lot of new thoughts about it

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Abourt Rei Himura and BNHA Chapter 301

Now that I've read the official release of chapter 301 I can finally try to gather my thoughts. I think this time the particular rendition of dialogues and inflections provided by Caleb Cook is more crisp and clear than usual, especially in throwing "shade" upon Endeavor as a father figure. But let's do things in order...

Title: THE WRONG WAY TO PUT OUT A FIRE - a simple, but stark message that doesn't leave space for ambiguity. There was a fire, an imminent tragedy that could and should have been avoided, but whoever tried to fix it, did it all wrong and now we have to deal with a huge arson.

CARLESS HANDLING OF FIRE, on the other hand, doesn't quite cut it for me, because it seems like everything was caused by a foolish mistake. "I was carless and now I'm in a pinch"- type of situation, while it's perfectly clear that Endeavor and Rei decided purposefully which "strategy" to use with Touya. A BAD one to say it lightly. Rei's contribution and complicity is debatable, of course, and I'll touch on this later.

Let me get this clear though: I'm not trying in any way to critique the hard work of unofficial translators. I can't say anything relevant because I'm not a translator in the first place (I can barely understand English and my native language on a good day) and also because I am so grateful for everything they do in order to give us really good material FREE OF CHARGE basically a second after the release in Japan. I'm just interested about the different shades of subtext we can catch if we read the story through multiple filters. Every translation is unique because it carries the personal spin of the author even if the bias should be inexistent or ideally undetectable...

However, back to the chapter

REI'S CAGE

The first scene opens on a luxurious classic Japanese villa, with Enji, Rei and her parents discussing the motivation behind Enji's proposal. Or at least we initially think that's what's going on... Because in reality Rei's family couldn't care less about the motivation. Everything these people see is a wealthy, famous guy the next number one hero ready to take their daughter in marriage. I guess the Himuras are pretty broke, thight on cash, their old prestige is definitely gone and all they can do to save themselves from shame and poverty is "to sell" their only remaining asset.

During the whole ordeal, Rei is standing still, silent, cold as ice. She knows she doesn't really have a choice. How mortifying and sad is this? An adult, capable woman has no agency whatsoever, she is used again and again and she stoically accepts this treatment from every single dominant figure in her life until she can't be stoic anymore. I really hope Horikoshi's going to give her a much more proactive role in saving her family and it seems the narrative wants us to expect this type of character development.

I'd like to point out 2 panels in particular:

First one

In this scene the Todorokis are back from their trip to the doc, who clearly said they shouldn't try to conceive a child with a perfect quirk mix because it is dangerous (and morally questionable too). Rei understands this fact and tries to dissuade Enji, but he doesn't listen, because he's projecting all his pent-up resentment and frustration onto Touya. He knows how it feels to crush against an unbreakable wall, since he can't surpass All might and his son can't too. He had to learn this truth the hard way, so Touya needs to do the same. Enji is purposefully throwing upon his son years of failures, self consciousness and despair, just because the boy has to get it into his thick skull that he is a dud, just like his father. This is not a hopeless dad making a mistake bona fide, this is a broken man trying to destroy his self reflection by proxy, annihilating everything Touya is, swiping the kid's identity under the rug. He describes his son's dreams and sadness as something birthed from stubbornness. He is auto-convincing himself however (because Endeavor is not stupid). A little bit later he's basically saying: "Touya let's play make believe! We can go on like everything I had engulfed in your psyche never existed, you're a failed attempt so you don't exist. Your needs and wants are silly and useless, nothing worth dealing with now that I can't make you my prodigy. Why don't you go play with the other failures so that I don't have to look at myself while taking actually care of you. I don't want to see you, because it's too painful, because you're a remainder of my own inadequacy."

Note: If you want to read an incredibly well done analysis about Endeavor's motives and psyche, you can get it on @thyandrawrites , she's dwelt on everything extensively and way better than me.

I really want to talk about Rei though. In the panel I showed above, her expression is a bit tricky to analyse. At first she is very vocal about her position. She doesn't want to put Touya through useless suffering, especially since they have a scientific reason not to. They have no guarantee of success with other children, besides, they could possibly have to deal with other health related issues. However, all it takes to convince her in the end is Enji's half assed attempt at the "It's for Touya's sake" shtick. Is it really? Why doesn't she question her husband anymore?

Well... I think before Natsuo, she was probably hoping Touya would let go "naturally", with time and growth, maybe by taking interest in his other siblings. Rei said she wanted to have more children because in her mind they would have supported and loved each other. Maybe she was naive enough to think that a big family full of kids few years apart from each other was all Touya needed to distract himself from his purposes... BUT and here is the point I want to get across: She was deluding herself too, much like Enji. The ugly truth, in my opinion, is that Rei is a person prone to protect herself by going with everything other people want, especially if said people are capable of hurting her. Yes, she was hurt time and time again, but what would have happened if she really tried to stop Enji?

What I am trying to say is that Rei is the kind of person who endures to survive. She holds a "captive" mentality in which, by indulging her captor's desires, she can continue living with less possibile damage. If I stay still and silent, if I don't make a scene, I can go on, I can hold onto the few things I have that actually make me happy.

Let's think about it... Enji was so obsessed with his psychotic, power-hungry quest that he would have probably disown Rei. She would have been thrown away for a more compliant woman with an ice quirk, or something similar, this resulting in her probably losing everything, the respect and love of her family (the Himuras) and also her own children. Because we know Endeavor can definitely hold a grudge and is vendicative.

So, clarifying, Rei doesn't put up a fight because she is scared for herself in a way... She is scared to be hurt in the worst possible way (by losing her little bit of serenity), so her strategy is to endure and to keep up a facade of control and purpose.

Rei, ironically just like Touya and other characters in mha, doesn't really get what unconditional love is. Her family loves her until she can be useful to the Himura name and status, her husband loves her for her quirk. Her children, however, love her for who she is and she wants to stay with them... Only to be forced to leave them later anyway.

The few times Rei actually smiles are when she is with her babies. She is a deeply loving mother in her core, but her declining mental health makes her a very lacking caregiver.

This panel, in my opinion, shows the point of no return for Rei. She can't keep the glacial facade forever...

After Natsuo's turn to be deemed a failure, Endeavor is crazier than ever, because All Might is as popular and loved as ever and he hasn't make any progress into his eugenetic games. The last two images of Rei are very telling. She is exhausted, but she knows what her husband wants from her this time too. She looks like a lifeless doll and honestly I can easily see Shouto's conception as... Non consensual and I will stop here.

Then Shouto is born, the last, perfect specimen... And Rei isn't doing much for Touya, we can see she's apparently blind towards her eldest son's distress already after Natsuo's birth... But why?

Because she is actively avoiding to face the Touya's problems too.

If Touya is still suffering, is still feeling stressed and worthless, then everything Rei has endured, everything she pretended not to feel for the sake of her family has been completely useless. What Rei cannot look at is her own parental failure, is the concrete proof that while protecting herself and her peace she did not protect her children too, because the two interests were never really aligned, even if she really believed so. She never had a functional family to preserve in the first place and everything she accepted to do was all for the sake of a false sense of belonging.

However is too easy to say she should've rebelled against Enji and dumped his sorry ass. Abuse traps you and your abuser too in a cage tricky to escape.

What I imagine will happen next chapter is one of two things:

Enji stops Touya by using brute force, probably also saying something really scarring to reinforce the notion that Shouto is the only child he cares about.

Rei stops Touya by using her quirk. This act could be considered by Touya another confirmation that even his mother actually does something by her own accord only when Shouto's safety is at risk

Necessary conclusions

I don't blame Rei for her actions too much. She is a victim turned abuser by circumstances, but more importantly she's actually taken mesures to prevent herself from hurting her children again. She's trying to heal for her family's sake, really this time. Ten years spent dealing with guilt and having actual therapy seem a good plan to me. And now she's the one ready to snap Enji back to reality.

Enji, on the other hand, is trying too. It's too little too late, but if he stops avoiding reality and hardly works on understanding his family's point of view I don't think he is completely unredeemable. I don't see him surviving his last confrontation with Touya, thought... But I could be totally wrong.

Obviously everything I've said it's my personal analysis on Rei's character, as I interpret her actions and words, so feel free to contradict me and/or to add anything you might see fit.

[entishramblings]

Hush Now [Aragorn X Reader]

A.N: So I cut the request a little short as it was pretty long but I think I still fullfilled what was asked for the most part. Additionally, read the warnings before reading. Also, if you ever need help or are in a rough spot, please reach out.

Request: Anon — Would you be comfortable writing a comfort fic with Aragorn and reader? (obviously don’t write this if you’re not in the mental capacity to do so!!! Your health and happiness come first and foremost.) Reader is, in general, recovering from anorexia, alcoholism, suicidal ideation, self-injury, and PTSD. Maybe she’s in the thick of all this and Aragorn starts picking up on the fact she’s not eating, she’s cutting, and that she’s planning to kill herself? Idk. I’m just in a rough spot and could use some comfort fic if you’ve got the time/energy/etc.

Pairing: Aragon X Reader

Summary: Reader is struggling a lot and Aragorn notices.

Word Count: 990

Warnings: suicidal ideation, self-harm, eating disorder, ptsd, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3

.....read the warnings before reading.....

Being a ranger of middle earth meant that you had clearly seen some shit. There is no other word for it—just: shit. And, quite frankly, (Y/N) would be lying if she said that it didn’t affect her. Every time she closed her eyes, the horrified chill of what she had witnessed and been through engulfed her—taking over her life one aspect at a time. It consumed her every being—every second, every minute, every hour. Every face she couldn’t save, every soul she couldn’t rescue, every being she could not forget—it haunted her.

If they didn’t get to live, why should should she?

Why should she survive when they didn’t?

It plagued her.

That is why she joined the quest to destroy the ring. Not for the honor or fame; no, not for those frivolous glories—for death. A mission that was most likely going to result in every members’ demise would be an easy way to go, would it not? Not one would question her or label her a coward. It was just....simple.

Well, so she thought.

Being surrounded by nine men, four of which who were very observing, made her addictions....difficult.

(Y/N) would decline some meals and dump others when she thought no one was looking. She would take large swigs of alcohol from her flask when she thought they were otherwise occupied. She would sneak away from the group and draw her blade across her skin when she thought no one was near. (Y/N) let herself dive into the addicting clouded release of it all...and she didn’t care.

Of course, her self-destructive behavior did not escape everyone’s attention. A pair of grey eyes lingered on her often—studying, analyzing, and examining.

Aragorn knew the signs all to well. The shifting looks, the grimly set jaw, and the lifeless eyes—all too familiar. The dunedain had come across many soldiers who could not escape the dark corners of their minds. Therefore, when dusk had settled into the sky and the female Ranger had taken off and had not returned for some time, Aragorn followed.

He held a makeshift torch in his hand as he made his way through the trees and brush. Winding and twisting he went, until the sight of a figure slumped against the trunk of a tree caught his gaze.

“(Y/N)?” He questioned softly.

No answer.

Aragorn frowned as he took another step towards her, lifting the torch.

As the light stretched forward, his lips parted and brows furrowed, for what was revealed to him made the thudding in his chest stop.

(Y/N)’s fingers played with a blade—a bloody blade. She let the metal dance upon her and reflect where the harsh crimson had come from. Long lacerations clung to her wrists and warm liquid ran down her arm. Red tears they were—angry and full of rage and sadness. This stream was mirrored on her face too, but with salty clear water instead.

The sight caused a shock to run through Aragorn’s form, halting any response that could have come from him. Yet that frozen state soon faded and he rushed towards her immediately. He dropped the torch beside himself as he knelt next to her, grasping her arms. He spoke quickly as he ripped fabric from his tunic and began to bind the wounds, “(Y/N), why did you not tell me it was this bad?”

The young woman rolled her eyes and yanked her wrists from him. “It’s nothing, Strider.”

The man shook his head and reached for her arms once again, “This is not nothing, (Y/N).” He paused, “I have smelled the alcohol upon your breath. I have heard the soft whimpers when you sleep. I have seen the refusal of food from your lips.”

The female Ranger closed her eyes and turned her head away from the man’s words.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. “Look at me.”

When she made no move to do so, Aragorn reached forward and grasped her face gently in his hand. He turned her gaze towards him and locked his stormy eyes upon hers.

“I know what it is like to be haunted by those memories. But this—this is not a solution. Why didn’t you tell me it was this painful?”

She stood and began to pace, contemplating a way to respond to his question. When words could be formed upon her lips, she spoke frantically, “Because—because I couldn’t. Okay I just.....”

(Y/N) let her sentence drift into the cold air as she shook her head and blinked back more tears.

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment as realization struck him, “Because you came on this quest to die.”

The woman turned away from him, clearly trying to hide her expression for she did not wish for him to see her so; but the uncrowned king did not need his eyes to hear her suck in a shaky breath, telling him that he had been right.

Aragorn placed a hand upon her shoulder and gently twisted her body so she was facing him once again. He gazed at her with soft eyes and she seemed to let her strong façade crumple.

A cracked voice came from her lips, “I see them all—the ones I couldn’t save. This...this is the only way to numb it—to ward them from my mind. I...I...just....”

Aragorn forcefully pulled her quivering form against his own and enthralled her cold heart with his warm embrace. Her fingers desperately clutched onto his sleeves as she buried her head into his chest. Loud sobs escaped her throat and she could not hold back the pain any longer. Yet the male Ranger did not mind; he let her absorb the comfort she craved.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before speaking in a quiet whisper, “Hush now. I’ve got you.”

[plush-rabbit]

Not You

Summary: You have a lot of self-doubt but Shigaraki won’t allow for that to happen.

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: I love all of you so much, thanks for sticking with me and my writing

You sit at your desk, back arched and head in your hands, a headache forming against the side of your head, piercing and sharp, feeling as if something is quite literally crushing at your skull and you want to cry. Tears burn in your eyes, scorching and heavy, leaving trails of flames as they slidedown the curve of your face. Your bottom lip trembles, a patch bright against the rest, tender when your tongue brushes over it, the slight taste of copper faint as you peek your tongue back inside, fingers curling inwards, dragging dull nails against your forehead.

The door is silent as it opens, light from the hallway flooding into the room until it closes and fades with a single click. You can feel his stare, and you take a shuddering breath, heavy as it enters, and light as it exits, red rimmed eyes that are hidden under the heels of your hands, trying to wipe inconspicuously at the fallen tears. The steps are silent as they walk towards you, the bottom of the heel clicking is the only indicator that he is walking towards you.

“What happened?” He asks in a low voice, his presence beside you, a faint touch against the back of your neck, calloused fingertips tracing against your spine and lifting away as they reach the collar of your shirt.

You shake your head, a low whimper escaping past your lips and you can taste salt against your tongue. 

“Did someone bother you?” His tone changes, low and dangerous, to one of care, soft and nurturing as if he were talking to a child. “You can tell me, you know that.” His hand rests against your back, patting it softly, letting it rest at the top of your spine and falling down in a slow caress. He falters against your collar, fingertips reaching an inch past and feeling the warmth of your skin, burning and shaky.

“It’s fine,” your voice cracks and you can hear him sigh. Shame burns against your skin, a sticky, odd feeling tracing down your face as tears spill, and you can see yourself by memory, the way your lips tremble and face seems to lose color but also darken, red-rimmed eyes and a the break in your voice and if you were to look at him, you’d latch onto him.

“If you aren’t going to tell me, I’ll ask around.” His hand leaves your back, resting against it as long as he can until it slips away, leaving a chill to run down your spine. It leaves you cold- colder than the feelings and thoughts that circled and stormed in your mind and you don’t want to be alone. He’s leaving and there’s too many thoughts and you’re rising from your chair, reaching towards him as if he were your lifeline.

“Tomura, wait,” you gasp, pulling his hand close to you, fingers interlaced and the other gripping onto his wrist, rising from the chair that you sit on, eyes still glassy. You sniffle and look away, still clutching onto the scarred hand. “It’s- It’s not someone. My mental health has just taken a decline and it’s fine I just,” your voice cracks and yet you continue to speak, hoping that he’ll read the sign for help and just wrap his arms around you, “I’m not my biggest fan right now,” you murmur, dropping his hand. Your hands stay still in the air for a moment, still warm and in the shape of his before the fall onto your lap.

“Are-”

“No one said anything,” you whisper, interrupting him with an answer that you already know he’s seeking for, “I just haven’t been feeling too great lately and everything is piling up and,” your voice raises in pitch, breaking and trembling, “I haven’t been at my best and-” you wrap your arms around yourself, looking away from him, taking a step back. Forcing yourself to speak made matters much worse, your voice trembling and catching, tears forming once again despite the harsh attempt to wipe them away, spilling over and forcing you to lower your face. He doesn’t speak and you continue, hands pulling nervously at the ends of your hair. “I just- there’s so much that I can’t do and I know that I don’t need to have everything figured out but-” a smile traces on your lips but it doesn’t reach your eyes- “it would be nice to have something- to have a plan, you know.” You laugh softly, humorless and broken and it turns to a sob where your shoulders slump and then head dips, shattered breaths huffing through your parted lips. 

Tomura watches you cry with a stone face, the only indication that he's still present is the hardening of his eyes. He’s seen awful things, committed atrocities and murdered on accident and on command and yet, seeing you cry is the thing that makes his gut twists and bile rise. You shake and cry and it’s broken, cutting him like glass, sharp and pointed, thrown at him without care. You cry , hiccuping and covering your mouth with your hands, trying to find control.

“I hate everything,” he says in a quiet voice, his hands brushing over your arms in a ghostly touch that makes your skin bump, “but not you-” the tip of his nose presses against your hairline, chapped lips pressing against your temple in a soft kiss, his grip tightening for a second- “I could never hate you.” He pulls away and his apple bobs when he sees your eyes shine with unshed tears, an uncomfortable tightening in his stomach as your hands hold onto his sleeves. “I-” it comes out in a gasp and he closes his mouth, eyes fluttering to how your lip trembles- “I care-” the word comes out forced and he hates it- “about you so much. And I’m not used to you know-” he jerks his head, lips pulling into a thin line- “all the emotions that come with this but I don’t- I don’t want to hear you say all that negative shit about yourself. It’s not true. You- fuck,” he curses under his breath, his hands sliding upwards to grip at your shoulders and he pulls you close, hiding your face into his shoulder, his hand curving around the back of your head while the other rubs soft circles against you. Your cries turn to hiccups, soft and squeaking out with every other breath. “You gave me a chance. You did that when no one else would have. I can count on one hand the number of people who cared about me. And you’re always going to be the first one. You might not agree with everything that I do but you still stick by me and I-” his voice breaks and he pulls you closer, your head burying against his shoulder. Your hiccups turn to whimpers, high pitched whines that are short and cling onto him. “I appreciate you so much for that. I-” he takes a deep breath and presses a chaste kiss against your neck- “I care for you.” He pulls away and he refuses to meet your eyes, darting to the right, a twitch of his lips as he can feel your stare on him. He can’t handle such an admission of feelings to your listening ears- at least not yet. He wants to sing his praise, to let his words be poetic but the most he can offer is a shortstop before they actually reach and he hopes that you understand it, that you know what the words are supposed to imply.

Your vision is blurry, tears pooling in your eyes and making them shine under the old bulb that flickers. “You do?” You ask, your heart beating erratically, hands tightening around his sleeves, feeling his hand slip to the back of your neck. “Really?”

He clears his throat and looks at you for a brief second, nodding his head, whispering out the confirmation. He looks away, turning his head and you can feel the grip on you tighten, nails scratching lightly at your skin through your hair.

“I do too,” you murmur, nodding your head and stepping close to him, wrapping your arms around him, the side of your face pressed against his chest. “I love and appreciate you too,” you murmur close to his heart, tightening your grip on him for a moment.

It’s silent and he’s unaware of how to move the conversation. He doesn’t want it to end on such a heavy note, one with an admission of his true feelings, words clear and intentions unable to be misread, nothing left to decipher like the times before and words unclear, hoping that the act of touch gave you more than answer. There are still certain words that get lodged in his throat, stuck and taking up all the space, whispered when you’re asleep, said to a dark reflection of himself, staring back, eyes hooded and stinging with lack of sleep. 

He wants to repeat the words to you, to hold you close and whisper them against your lips, to fill your body with the same feelings that he holds for you. It’s all too much, a rush of heat and adrenaline that courses through his veins and makes his heart beat against his chest in painful thumps. He wants to cling to you and make you feel better, he wants to make all the bad words and thoughts go away, expel them and make promises that he cannot keep- he’ll tell you whatever you want as long as you stay with him, as long as you still let him hold your hand and brush your lips against his knuckles, wiping away all that ache that lingers.

Tomura holds you close, hands that tighten and head buried into the crook of your neck, feeling as you tremble under him, clinging with your hands that pull against his shirt, the fabric wrinkling under your hands. He doesn’t want to pull away. He wants to stay by your side and hold you close, to protect you from the world itself and he doesn’t know how to do that. 

His lips brush against your ear, hand fluttering to your hips and a fraction of a step taken to push himself closer to you. “Do you want to play a game with me?” He asks gently.

You snort and shake your head, your hands slipping from between his shoulder blades and into the middle of his back. “What game?” You raise your brows at him, a smile forming on your lips.

“Whatever game you want,” he replies, licking his lips. “I’ll let you choose this time.” He presses a soft kiss below your ear, breath warm against you.

Your hair tickles against his neck, head curving and he can feel your smile against his neck, lips curved and the playful tone returning to your voice. “Can I be player one?” 

He rolls his eyes, pulling away, head tilted with an easy smile across his face. “Only because you’re cute,” he says delicately, pressing his lips against your temple. 

He watches as you slide into bed, device in hand, patting the spaces next to you as the familiar clicking of the starting sound sounds and he can only follow in your steps. You cling to him like a child in the night, hands that search for his, that rest above his stomach and pull on his shirt, pressing your face close to his ribs, above his chest, feeling desperately for the heartbeat. You’re clingy, always reaching for him before you fall asleep, giving him a final kiss no matter how tired you are- sometimes it’s a kiss that lingers, soft and like fire against his lips, other times it’s nothing more than a brush of your warm lips against his collarbones, leaving him gasping for breath and touching at the spot long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

He’s no better. Once you’ve fallen asleep, his hands are over your body, pulling you into a hug that is greedy and selfish, held tightly in his arms with his face buried in the crook of your neck and he’s grateful that you’re a heavy sleeper, able to keep you in his arms for as long as he can. His hands will wander, feeling every soft bump of your body, curving over your stomach and against your hips, fingers tracing along your facial features, dipping into your cupid’s bow and against your hairline where it’s a ghost of a touch, leaving you furrowing your brows and tiling your head towards him. He’ll whisper his love and praise into your deaf ears, kiss at your hands the way you kiss at his and he’ll hold you close until he falls asleep.

[maplecornia]

chapter 12

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.04K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: i've been doing this all day, omg and i'm hardly near to catching up ;-;

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne | @rae-bear | @mangminnie

You move too fast.

Taehyung practically races down the halls of BigHit as he tries to catch up with you, flash drive clenched tightly in his hand, heart beating fast in his chest. He’s scared, he’s nervous. The only thing keeping him going is the adrenaline that still manages to course through his veins.

For some reason, the sight of you at that moment, the chance encounter, is too good to be true. It's something that he can't ignore. He’s seen you three times already, too many for it to be a coincidence.

What was the saying again?

Three coincidences are proof that your encounter was fate.

Taehyung never believed in fate before.

He never thought that his life was set and made in the stars. He never imagined that there was someone out there especially made for him.

As he turns the corner, he catches sight of you at the end of the hall. As soon as he sees you, he stops in his tracks, frozen.

His heart jumps as your eyes open and flickers over to him, but they don't see Taehyung standing there. It's as though you look right through him. As though you're so involved with the world you've created in your mind that you don't even register you've just glanced his way. As you turn your eyes from him and retreat down the corner, he starts, his heart pummeling with panic as you disappear from his sight.

“Wait!” He calls after you, but if he expects you to hear him, he's out of luck. He could have run after you, he could have called out once more. But the thought of talking to you, seeing you, for the first time since that moment on the bridge, causes him to fall short. His feet root firmly to the floor, refusing to take him forward. He almost wants to turn back. He’s not sure if he’s ready to see you again, this time without the mask.

Will you see him as he is like you did the first time you met?

Or will you only see the star?

Trying to put the thought out of his mind, he shakes his head, cursing himself softly under his breath. He turns the corner and watches as you enter an elevator, the doors closing tightly behind you just as he reaches them.

He runs straight into the metal door, the elevator dinging cheerfully at the encounter. Glaring up at the large slabs of metal, he grits his teeth.

It's almost as though the elevator is laughing at him too.

Angry, he punches them with both fists, cursing out of frustration.

The sound of the bang causes you to look up from inside the elevator, surprised, but it's already retreating down to the lobby floor.

Taehyung steps back, looking up at the arrows atop the elevator door. When he sees the down arrow lit up, he bounces a bit before turning around swiftly and dashing to the stairs, almost running into a couple on the way. Calling an apology behind him, he pummels down the stairs, his legs moving faster than he thought possible. Surprisingly he doesn't fall, even though he runs into the wall at each turn.

Once he reaches the lobby floor, he kindly pushes through a group of girls before scanning the room, freezing in place out of shock.

It's unbelievably crowded with tourists, staff, and trainees.

Out of panic, his eyes flash to the large clock behind the receptionist's desk.

4:00 pm.

He curses softly under his breath before turning back to the crowd. This is rush hour for BigHit. There's hardly any chance of him reaching you in this throng of people, he knows that. But he can't give up.

Taking a deep breath, he frantically tries to push through the mass crowd of people, his eyes never straying from the cute little ribbon you have placed in your hair. The ribbon which tells him it's you.

As tourists are being led through the building and catch sight of him, it's all the tour guides can do to remind them to leave the idols to their job. It doesn't stop some fans in the waiting room, to stand up and try to receive an autograph or photo with him.

Taehyung politely declines each inquiry, pushing past each fan.

He’s been warned before to avoid the lobby during this time, but he has to reach you. He has to talk to you, he can't let you leave.

Not after everything.

Thankfully, he emerges from the building a considerable few minutes after you do, and as he stumbles out, he scans the busy street for you.

As he glances to his left, he can't see any sign of you, passerby's brushing past him almost as though he weren't even there. Each time it happens, he tries to stand out of their way, mumbling apologies, which they just wave away.

Most people in the city don't care who he is, they see idols every day. Seeing him, especially at his company building, is nothing new to them.

Tourists are different.

Glancing behind him, he can still see the multiple ARMYs behind the window, gushing over him. Some press themselves against the window as though that would help them get closer to him. As he glances their way, some scream, others faint, even more, burst into tears.

Turning away, he can't help himself from sighing.

Sometimes he wonders if they love him, or the mask.

He scans the right side of the street and starts a bit as he sees you, waiting a bit ways down amongst a crowd. You're waiting for the light to change so that you can cross the street. He smiles to himself at the sight of you and jogs a bit down the street after you.

This time, he almost reaches you too.

The light changes, just as he nears the crowd, and you move with it, crossing the crosswalk. He curses, quickening his pace until he falls in step with the crowd, almost merging with it as he tries to catch up to you. He angles himself past a couple here. Sidesteps an elderly woman and her granddaughter there.

Despite his efforts, he isn't able to get remotely near to you.

He has lost you.

He was following the wrong girl with the same ribbon in her hair, and as she turns to greet a friend beside her, he realizes that her face doesn't belong to you.

He comes to an abrupt stop, much to the disgruntlement of the people behind him who deliberately sidestep around him. Panicking almost, he frantically scans the dozens of people wandering the streets of Seoul, peering at each person's face, just trying to find yours.

You're nowhere to be found.

You've slipped out of his hands once more.

Hopelessness gripping his heart like a parasite, he bows his head, continuing down the street.

Past multiple people.

Past the crowd, the noise.

As he passes a cafe, he catches sight of his reflection in the window. Silently, he stares at his reflection.

His eyes.

His nose.

His jaw.

Things people all over the world have memorized, able to recognize without so much of a second glance.

Almost resigned, he pulls a hat out of the backpack on his shoulder, positioning it securely on his head. It's a simple black baseball cap, one that covers his facial features enough for him to pass as a normal person in the crowd.

He doesn't care where he’s going.

Doesn't even notice as the city streets around him transform into more suburban-like ones, canopies of trees appearing above his head. Or when the crowds morph into small patches of people. Nor the teenagers who pass by him, having escaped from the confines of school and laughing as they roam down the sidewalk.

One of them bumps into Taehyung in his absentmindedness, pushing him to the left side of the sidewalk and causing Tae to drop the flash drive still secured tightly in his fist. The young man apologizes, bowing respectfully before his friends call him over and he darts away.

Taehyung watches him with a blank expression.

He remembers when he was the same as that young boy. Carefree and hopeful, ready to take on the world no matter what. Filled with a dream, a goal, something he would have given everything to achieve.

Now he’s living his dream, fighting every day to accomplish a new goal, to conquer a new barrier, to defeat a different obstacle.

When do the trials end?

When will he be satisfied?

When will he reach the light at the end of the tunnel?

Turning away, he leans down to pick up the flash drive, turning it over in his hands as he plops down on a bus bench not too far away.

It's not because he's waiting to ride it somewhere, but rather because he's tired of wandering around the city he’s been in since his trainee days. Right now, he doesn’t even know where he wants to go.

Where else can he go that he hasn't already seen?

He stares at the flash drive in his hands, the mere presence reminding him of your voice, the enchanting way you caught his attention.

Perhaps that is what made you so special to him.

That when you opened your mouth to sing, everything inside of you seemed to flow out and fill your voice to the brim with powerful emotion. With that simple gesture you were able to make him feel things he had kept inside, trying to hide from everyone else.

At that moment, your walls came down and everything spilled out, leaving you bare.

He saw you, and only you.

And it was beautiful.

Sighing almost in frustration, he tilts his head back, not even noticing the woman who sits next to him.

You stare to your left as the strange man beside you sighs, a bit confused at the action. You almost want to ask if he’s okay, but you decide against it. Every person has their bad days, you know you sure have.

You turn back to your phone, anxiously waiting for the bus to pull up. You are trying to get to a park, one that holds the same type of flowers you saw outside the window at BigHit. Well, according to Google. It's essential to you that you find another replica so that you can finish your drawing, and you weren't keen on waiting in that crowded lobby back at the company building.

However hard as you may try though, you can't seem to look away from the man sitting next to you.

Even though his hand covers his face, you can tell that he's handsome. With his sharp jawline, defined throat, and lean but muscular frame, any girl would be fawning over him without even looking at his facial features. The way he holds himself, even the delicate hands that rest over his eyes against his soft cheeks, exuberates beauty and perfection. It would be hard for anyone to force themselves to look away.

When he moves however, you panic, immediately snatch your eyes away from him, turning back to your phone. You continue to watch him from the corner of your eye, hoping that it isn't as noticeable as it seems.

Inwardly, you thank God for your excellent peripheral vision.

Tired of feeling sorry for himself, Taehyung stands. As he does, his phone clatters to the bench, but he doesn't notice. Instead, he continues to move away, back the way he came. He would have made it quite far without even noticing, but you hear the phone fall.

Your attention snaps to it as the man begins to walk away. Panic rising in your throat, you quickly stuff your phone in your satchel, removing one earbud out of your ear. You snatch his phone off of the bench and jog up to him.

As you tap him on the shoulder, he turns around, slightly annoyed. However, when his eyes rest on you, they immediately widen.

You’re saying something, staring at the phone which you hold in your hand, but he doesn't register it.

He’s too shocked.

For a moment he doesn't even know where you came from. How did you show up right here? But as he glances toward the bench, he realizes.

You were next to him all along.

His eyes flash back to you, but as yours raise to his, a glare from the sun against the bus pulling to a stop blinds your vision for a moment. You turn to the bus, shielding your eyes half in confusion. They widen when you realize that this is your ride. The doors to the bus open, and wait for any passengers to board.

Quickly, you turn to Taehyung. You take his hand in your own, and place his phone in it, securely wrapping his hands around it.

“As I said, you dropped this. You should take better care of your phone.” You hurriedly say, before glancing towards the bus. Thankfully, it has not pulled out of the bus stop, waiting for some students to board.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” You say, bowing slightly before running over to the open doors of the bus. Taehyung watches you walk away, but it takes you boarding the bus to wake him up from his stupor.

You were right there.

You were talking to him, only a few feet away from him.

You took his hand.

And what did he do?

He just stood there.

“Kim Taehyung, you idiot!” he hisses, as he rushes to the bus, climbing up the stairs just moments before the doors start to close. He pays his fee, nodding to the driver before turning to the rest of the bus. As he takes it in, he groans inwardly.

Why must everything be crowded today?

You are wondering the same thing as you sit on a bench close to the window. You hold your satchel tightly in your hands, not trusting anyone with the precious contents you hold inside. You were unlucky enough to find an empty spot in the back where many people begin to fill in, pressing you closer and closer against the window. Sighing slightly from the slight case of claustrophobia, you lean your head against the cool glass.

Taehyung scans the bus for you, before securing his hand on a safety bar amongst many others who weren't able to secure a seat. Even as the bus lurches forward, he searches for you, longing to find your face and that adorable little ribbon that rests in your hair. It's no use, however, as you are completely hidden from his view.

Rolling your eyes at a creepy man leering beside you, you carefully secure your other earbud in your eardrum, closing your eyes slightly as the music plays, inserting itself into your mind. You lose yourself in it, find your lips moving along to the words. Find yourself slightly humming along to it, a sound that is lost within the crowd, but can't be any clearer to you.

Across the way, Taehyung has done the same and pulls up his music. He smiles slightly as he listens to it, recognizing the song that comes up on his shuffle as the one you sang. To him, your voice was better than the original, and he tries to tell himself that this viewpoint isn't biased.

Who knows, maybe it isn't.

As the bus pulls to a stop once more, you immediately stand, recognizing the trees outside as the same trees in the pictures you found on Google Maps. After successfully stepping past the perverted man and his friends, you make your way through the crowd, murmuring apologies as you brush past some people, bumping into others.

Catching sight of the exit, just a few inches away from you, you dash for it, but some lady decides at that moment that she should get off too. As she stands abruptly, she bumps into you.

You let out a small, meek shriek as you collide, your already testy balance having been thrown off by your slight relief.

The next few moments happen fast, almost too fast for you to comprehend.

You stumble at the sudden impact. If you had more room, perhaps you wouldn't have had as much trouble, you probably could have caught yourself. As it so happens, you trip over more than just your feet.

Some guy decided it would be a smart idea to set his briefcase down on the floor.

So, as you spin-off from the lady bumping into you, your foot hooks on the briefcase, and you fall. With no knowledge of whether or not you’ll be caught.

You notice, in the back of your slightly panicked mind, that the lady looks at you, almost indignantly. She moves on without so much as a sorry, which immediately puts her on your list.

Well excuse me for being in YOUR way you little--

But that's not important.

What's important is that you don't fall, at least not into the welcoming hug the floor has provided you. Instead, careful, strong arms catch you from behind. You weren't expecting to have anyone catch you, so when they lift you to your feet, righting you and almost fixing your balance, you find your heart beating rapidly.

You hold your arms in front of your chest as though in a defensive gesture. As you straighten yourself up, your hands press against his chest, steadying you and your shaky legs. You hardly notice that as soon as they do, his heart begins to pound rhythmically beneath your touch. You don't notice the way his breath shortens or the way his pulse begins to speed up.

As you raise your eyes to his face, your mouth already forming a fumbled apology, you find your words all fall short.

You know those eyes.

Eyes that are etched into the background of your memory.

Eyes that stare at you every time you open your phone.

Eyes that you have devotedly drawn. The careful curved line before you brought it down, connecting the top eyelid to the bottom. A beautiful hazelnut brown, one that is almost amber, an eye color that you have grown to love, grown to recognize.

Ever since you were a young girl, buying his albums.

Ever since you first heard his voice, first saw his face.

They stare deep into your own, as though they are searching through you. Trying to find some hidden message, some hidden meaning which you don't know.

“Kim Taehyung.” You whisper, almost breathlessly.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: someone give me a cookie

chapter 13 here

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[cartoonrival]

Oh wow you’re so right about how ponk is starting to gain stability in their life right at the time that foolish, who gave her the space to heal, is losing grip on what gave him stability. I don’t know if I’m ready for what being bad looks like on foolish. It’s already clear he understands things differently because of his immortality, I’m not ready to see how bad his version of bad looks like 😬 I hope ponk stays safe in all of this, they don’t deserve to be hurt by someone they love and trust again.

YEAH... i think the isolated "safe haven" of ponk's valley also reflects back on the original purpose of the summer home and the purpose it served for both of them, so the parallels get even stronger when you consider that ponk has really put himself in a position to juxtapose foolish. foolish's decline in las nevadas is certainly going to look similar to ponk under the egg, arguably worse since foolish is vastly more centrally involved with las nevadas, generally aware of plans, and choosing violence of his own accord (he's obviously being manipulated, but ponk was literally possessed and not in control of their actions).

if the tidbits we've heard about foolish's old "heist gone wrong" are anything to go by then "his version of bad" is going to be... very bad. foolish very clearly cares about ponk, so assuming quackity is going to try to recruit her (based on her being brought up in today's stream), it could honestly go in a lot of directions? most ideal for ponk's mental health would be quackity doesn't ask him or niki at all (since niki is very close to him), because their isolation would probably keep them farther from serious conflict (much like foolish and the summer home). i don't honestly think quackity would bring foolish along for the recruitment to see his skeevy tactics being used against someone else, and i don’t think foolish would be much help with that type of manipulation anyways. if ponk declines his offer, then she might make herself a target for las nevadas and still have to undergo whatever quackity’s recruitment attempt brings down upon her. if she accepts, than foolish won’t have to betray her, but las nevadas isn’t exactly an environment for healing either. i’m just really holding out hope that however this progresses, it won’t have to result in a fallout for lapis duo lmao

[alch3mic]

in between. (drabble series)

chapter four (stitches.)

captain!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, ideas of loss, depression, and self esteem.

* finally at the fourth chapter with our dear fellswap sans, captain! he also has no official fic yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr if you’d like to know more about him! thank you and i hope you enjoy!

A project. 

That's all this was meant to be.

Something to keep him preoccupied in his free time, now that he seemed to have more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

Somewhere to put his focus, instead of thinking about things.

Instead of stressing about things.

Instead of.. worrying about.. 'things'.

Like this.. 'thing'.. attached to him.

...

"ya can't just keep pacin' around bro."

Sure he could. 

He could pace around as much as he wanted. It was his boat dammit, and he'd walk around it as he pleased, from the bow to the stern, topside and back.  

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

No. 

How could he? There was work to be done.

All his life he had filled himself with his work. It was all he knew.

Work.

Work.

Work 

Work.

Work 

From his time as a child, working to take care of his younger brother to ensure he was brought up properly to his time in the royal guard working hard every day to support them and make sure they both survived that horrid Underground. Even on the surface he worked and worked and worked, to regain his position as a monster worthy of fear and respect after the humans had stripped them of everything and leaving them to rot like strays on the street.

Every minute of every day he worked.

Most days he even dreamed of it.

Which is exactly why it was so difficult to sit still, even at your request.

"You really should just take it easy, Sans. Didn't Undyne say to not stress yourself out?"

She did, but it didn't matter. 

He was in a constant state of being stressed. 

Stressed was how he operated. 

Stressed was all he knew. 

His body could never give him the pleasure of just 'taking it easy', constantly buzzing, constantly wanting to be in motion. At times he envied his brother for being able to let things go and just kick back, but... that was exactly why he worked so hard wasn't it? 

So that his brother could relax without a worry in that thick skull of his..? 

Of course.. he knew Papyrus went through his own troubles.. it's just...

Gah.

This free time was now filling his head with unnecessary thoughts, even as he tried his best to busy himself by patrolling his own boat.

..Which was only adding to his stress...

"Lets try a hobby. What do you normally do for fun?"

Think of you. 

Well.. 

He didn't have to now that you were here with him.

He could just spend time with you instead of daydreaming about it.

And he did.

You humored him by relaxing together topside with him and Papyrus, enjoying the salty breezes of the ocean and the warm summer rays. The two of you would chat in his bed for hours, laughing and telling stories of the past as you laid close. You'd help him, by offering an arm when he wore himself out or when he needed help doing something that required two hands. Everything from opening jars to preparing dinner or even tying his shoes.

It was..

Ah, dammit it was so humiliating.

..And also made him strangely happy?

He was.. happily humiliated? 

..Humbled?

..Stars.

He never had anyone taken care of him before, so his pride was taking a major blow every time you offered to help. A part of him was glad you'd always ask first so he'd at least get to attempt at doing it by himself but.. it was also humiliating to give in. He was too stubborn for his own good, never having anyone extend a hand for him neither below ground or on the Surface.

Still you never seemed bothered. 

You never batted an eye when he'd turn to you. Sometimes all it took was a look from him and you just knew, without having any words be spoke. Having that kind of connection was.. 

Incredible. 

It had been something the both of you had obviously over the years, but only now it was showing itself in the mundane parts of your lives now that you were with him. Normally it had been when you locked eyes in a fight in the streets of Ebott, and he could see the whole encounter play out in his mind. How you'd swing, how he'd shoot. How you both would nearly hit each other both on purpose and on accident. 

Like a dance with death only the two of you could perform. 

And how beautifully you danced for him..

Now.. having that connection manifest positively, in quiet agreements and silent conversations that took only seconds to have, really drove home the fact that times have changed.

That he was no longer the skeleton he was before.

He had you now, which was different. 

You were his. 

And he was yours. 

Though.. in truth you always had a part of soul with you even if you never realized it.

And he always had Papyrus by his side. 

That could never change.

But now.. he also had..

That.

The 'thing'.

An arm. 

That.. didn't belong to him.

It was attached, sure, but..

It was foreign. 

Heavy. 

A burden. 

It was consequences of his actions taken form of something that use to be, but no longer was. Like a cruel symbol of mockery, forever attached to his own broken body. There was nothing but the tickling of a sensation of pain, like a phantom dancing across his bones, from a limb that was no longer there. The magic in his scapula hummed louder than the rest of his body, always catching his attention as it had been enhanced to support the weight of his new arm. It was irritating and constant, like a buzz he couldn't be rid of no matter how loud his thoughts were or tried to be.

Always there.

Always ringing in his skull.

It was driving him crazy, adding to the mounting stress.

"FOR FUN? EASY. TRAP MAKING. ANALYTICS. READING THE STOCKS AND NEWS."

"Well that's depressing."

"STAYING INFORMED IS IMPORTANT, DARLING."

"And so is your mental health, Sans. Ignoring this won't make it go away you know."

The metallic hand closed on a reflex when he felt your gaze upon it. 

He didn't like it, despite how incredible Undyne's work was. She had studied him for weeks while he recovered in her intensive care, all so she could make an exact replica of his now missing arm. It looked just like the real thing only casted in asatollite, a type of metal found in the Underground that could conduct magic. No wires. No heavy plating. Just an arm, moved by his own magic.

An impressive feat really, but he felt no pride in this.

..Only shame.

As someone who had lived their life known for cutting it close time and time again, this was now all the proof someone needed that they could actually lay their hands on him. There was a chance that someone could hit and do some serious damage. 

For some, that would be enough to push their determination over the edge. 

The proof that he couldn't dodge forever.

And here it was, glinting under the soft afternoon sunlight that filtered into his quarters.

This... was his decline wasn't it?

..He could feel it in his bones.

Here marked the end of his reign of terror as Captain, the scarred skeleton who ruled the docks of Ebott City with an iron fist. Now that once unrelenting grip which strangled the life of rats out of the marine failed to even grasp a pen properly.

It stung in such a strange way that he almost didn't know how to describe it.

It was a unsightly fall from grace, paired with happiness and misery.

He was muddled with complicated feelings that really didn't have proper words, and so instead of spending his days thinking about it while lying in bed, he paced around his ship. 

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to learn?"

He only learned what was necessary. 

Languages to properly communicate with associates, skills like learning to shoot with a gun so that he could avoid having his magic traced back to him, and cooking so he could make sustainable meals when he and Papyrus had nothing..

They weren't things he did for fun, they were necessary.

What else could he learn that was necessary?

"HOW ABOUT TEACHING ME TO CUT A BULLET LIKE YOU DID BACK IN THE 'SISCO EXCHANGE."

"I'm not teaching you that."

"AND WHY'S THAT?"

"I don't need to make you any more dangerous than you already are you bonehead. I meant something fun! Like.. maybe a sport?"

"I THROW DARTS. I ALSO SHOOT."

"I.. Okay I guess that counts," you said, glancing to the wall of his quarters where the board was set up.

It's true it was a dart board hanging on the wall, but it was littered with photos of thugs and politicians, a dart neatly nailed through their head. It honestly looked like more of an omen of things to come rather than a hobby.

"Anything else?"

...

"I PLAYED THE VIOLIN FOR A SHORT WHILE."

"You did?"

"YES. BACK IN THE UNDERGROUND. I FOUND ONE IN THE DUMP AND TAUGHT MYSELF TO PLAY WHEN I DISCOVERED PAPYRUS LIKED THE WAY IT SOUNDED. IT WOULD HELP PUT HIM TO SLEEP ON SOME OF THE ROUGHER NIGHTS."

"Aww. Maybe you could think about picking it back up. I'd love to hear you play!"

He would, eventually. 

For right now.. the task seemed so daunting now that he had.. 

...That.

"..But maybe not yet."

Another silent conversation, passed by only the glint in his eyesocket. Once again he was glad he didn't have to openly admit he might struggle with learning something like that again but.. a small pass of shame also washed over him. He'd love to play for you, to maybe even create his own music to reflect the feelings you gave him in his soul, but to move this metallic.. 'thing'.. to play would be..

He'd become frustrated, just like with everything else.

"AND WHAT DO YOU DO TO RELAX MY DEAR?"

"Me? I usually sew or knit."

Right. Costumes. That’s why you asked to have your own space in that free room on the ship. You had mentioned it once before, how you use to do costuming back in the day for plays and helped your father who worked as a tailor until...

Hm.

"YOU SELL YOUR PIECES DON'T YOU?"

"Just to a few people. I make dresses for Mr. Rose's granddaughter and Rumpelstiltskin still orders some pieces for his wife. I also send some more elaborate stuff the Prince's way every once in awhile and I even still get requests from Mama Bear even after they disappeared off into the forest. I think they might finally have a Baby Bear on the way because they asked about knitting a little blanket a few days ago."

...

He.. tried to not humor the thought of just sailing away from this city with you, like that lucky bastard did with his spouse when he took off into the woods. Of course he couldn't, he knew Papyrus would stay here with Happy and he'd never want to be far from his brother. 

Still...

It was a tempting idea.

"I could always teach you. It's a pretty good skill to just learn how to hand stitch to mend clothing and it really isn't too complicated."

He relented ...of course. 

Because he always did to you, with that smile on your face and the hum in your tone. 

.....

Learning from you had been everything he hoped for, with you sitting close to him as you taught him how to thread a needle. You were patient with him as he struggled, his hand shaking as he did his best to will his magic to move. You were gentle as you taught him to stitch carefully and slowly, following along side as you guided him every step of the way.

...He'll never forget the way you laughed at his first pass though. 

He had been so damn.. angry! 

Really, you had the nerve to laugh even when he did his best! 

You were the worst, which is why exactly he had to pin you down and tickle you until you couldn't breathe. At least he could use that wretched metal arm to press your hands above your head as you desperately tried to wrestle out of his hold until you were flushed and gasping for breath.

His next attempt was alone late at night, when even the stars on the deck above couldn't quell his thoughts. They ran wild in his head, stampeding and thrashing about.

At his failures. 

At his mistakes.

At the humming in his shoulder and the arm that ached despite not being there. So he tried to not think about it as he quietly threaded the needle under the dim yellow lights in his quarters. The quiet creak and groan of the boat was his only accompaniment along your soft breathing from the bed as you peacefully slumbered away.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

He timed his stitches with your breaths, pushing the needle through the felt and then back again as he sewed the two pieces of scrap fabric together. It was strange how difficult this was, willing his fingers to move while simply pushing and pulling a needle. His jaw would tense as his hand shook at times and failed to grasp the needle, and then he'd hear you let out a sigh and he'd relax again.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Until the stitch was done.

Until he hushed the wild thoughts in his head and put his stress to bed.

Until he could no longer deny himself your company and he'd fall back to your side, finally delving into the depths of sleep.

He spent many days and nights like this, a fire ignited in his soul to hear your praise the first time.

"Seems like your stitched are getting tighter. Nice work there, Cap."

That was all he needed.

Your words. Your smile. The exigent that reflected in your beautiful eyes. You were proud of him, and it made him work all the harder as he sat with you in the room you had taken for your sewing. This place had been your sanctuary, something he once avoided entering to at least give you a little room for yourself on the ship, but now he found reassurance in it as well.

The whir of your sewing machine had become a comfort, able to drown out the buzz in his head as he worked beside you. Soft colorful fabrics lined the shelves in the wall and a half finished dress would decorate a mannequin or two. The both of you would drink coffee and chit chat as he tried to get lost in the motions of hand stitching pieces of scrap fabric together. 

He didn't want to constantly strain himself to move his arm.

He wanted it to be natural.

He wanted to use his hand without a second thought.

He wanted it to be like..

How it use to be.

But it could.. never really be like it use to be. 

And he struggled and struggled and struggled.

In the weeks that had dragged by, both you and Papyrus had picked up small gigs to help patch the hole his injury was leaving. 

Sans was... or had been.. the bread maker. 

He always prided himself on providing by running the docks, able to keep his rather lavish lifestyle alive by delivering cargo from overseas to sellers like the Fell brothers and the other croons of this city, but the two of you had insisted on him resting, so his businesses and trades had all but halted.

You were still far off from ever putting a dent in his savings, but the two of you worked regardless to ease his stress. 

..Because somehow, even having the back up funds prepared for events like this, didn't stop Sans from stressing.

The only part that annoyed him about it was that you had less time to teach him. You focused more on your commissions, so Sans would leave you in peace to your quiet room and stitch in his quarters.

He hadn't really decided what he wanted to work towards from stitching. It had simply become a tool to help train his fingers, so now that he could sew what was he suppose to do with the skill?

...

....

.....

It was a quiet afternoon in his quarters, the low hum of a forgotten radio on his desk as a deep voice rattled off the daily news mixed with a garble of static. Being so far out into the marine meant the reception wasn't good, but he could pick up key terms as the voice drawled on. Another murder on the west side, some more fights in the south and some re-election news. Not like it mattered who was in charge these days. The faces changed but at the end of the day these suits always lined their pockets with bloodied dollar bills. This city was rotted to it's core, just like it's people, and it'd stay that way until it was burned to the ground.

Sans' eyelights drifted down to the book in front of him.

'Stuffed Plushies For Beginners!'

The title almost felt condescending, just like the colorful pictures and simple wording that decorated each page. He still couldn't help but twist his frown deeper at the fact that you bought him a children's book of all things, paired with that sharp little grin of yours and that infectious laugher. It had been too much.. Which is why he snatched the damn thing out of your hands when you gave it to him. 

"To help decide what you want to do with your new skill! Maybe you can finally make something instead of just stitching scraps together you dork."

He would never turn down a challenge, especially from you, and he was eager to have your approval again.

"AND WHAT EXATLY SHOULD I SEW?"

"Just pick something you're interested in and sew it. They have a lot of animals in there! You do at least like one kind of animal, don't you?"

Dogs, because they were loyal.

Cats, because they could fend for themselves.

Birds, because of their freedom.

But making something based of them didn't quite appeal to Sans.

'Basic Plushie Pattern.'

...

"hey bro, i wanted to ask- oh my stars."

"AH-!" Sans inhaled, squeezing the doll in his grasp and nearly tearing at it with his claws. "YOU-! WOULD YOU KNOCK!?"

"you actually made a plushie of them. wow," his brother hummed, "and here i thought your obsession couldn't get any wo-"

WHOOMPH.

The pillow made direct contact with Papyrus' face, earning a laugh from the taller skeleton. Sans barked out a few more insults as his brother continued to giggle, admiring what he had finished so far. 

It.. looked like crap.

Some of the stitches were lopsided and others weren't uniform, but he wanted to see this through before his frustrations got the better of him. So with some encouragement from Papyrus he kept at it, finishing the body and then attaching the head.

"Pahahaha! Captain!"

"WHAT!?"

"You! Ehehe! You-! Of.. of me!"

"LOOK, JUST TELL ME IT'S TERRIBLE SO I CAN BE RID OF THE ACURSED THING ALRIGHT?"

"No! No. Absolutely not! I'm keeping this forever and you can never take it away from me!"

He gritted his teeth and attempted to wrestle the doll from your grasp but to no avail. You hugged it close and refused to relent, calling it precious and a testament to his efforts.

All of his hard work.. 

To a doll..

That looked like you.

"Are you going to make one of you?" you asked, letting out a few breaths as he finally gave up trying to grab the doll from your grasp.

"AND WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"

"Well I don't want them to be lonely."

...

How could he... ever argue with that.

So begrudgingly he sewed again, this time now more aware than ever of that 'thing' as it worked meticulously to create a replicate of itself. The doll's left arm, sewn together with a deep gray metallic fabric, now shared the same shame he did.

...

Strangely enough, it suited him.

...

"They look cute together."

"ONE ON THE RIGHT HAS SEEN BETTER DAYS."

"I still think he's pretty cute. He's trying his best, after all."

Well.. he certainly couldn't argue with that either.