#nobody EVER remembers the ship is a character

[cutekittenlady]

No see I'll raise you one.

Exactly ONE other member of the crew knows Zoro can't read and it's either Chopper or the goddamn ship.

He’s been getting away with it for years. No one on the crew has caught on yet.

[bet-on-me-13]

Wes ruins everything

Wes had finally done it, he had finally realized why nobody ever belived him about Fenton and Phantom! It made so much sense now, he had been looking for an answer for years, thinking he was going crazy because everybody refused to see the Obvious!

He was Cursed!

He literally had an Ancestoral Curse on his Bloodline that made it so that all those born with the gift of Prophecy would be ignored! A Gift of Prophecy that he apparently had.

It was Cassandra's Curse, the one from Greek Myths. Apparently she was his Great×1000 Grandmother and passed down the Gift (and Curse) of Prophecy to him. And he knew how to break it!

All he needed to do was gather the right resources, chant the correct incantations, make sure not to accidentally summon a Demon in the process, and he could just foist the Curse onto some other poor schmuck. Sure it would suck for them, and he would loose his Gift of Prophecy, but Wes had been ignored for Years at this point, he needed validation!

So he did the Ritual, and he didn't mess it up, and he managed to get rid of the Curse.

Now all he had to do was convince everybody that he was right for the first time in his life! This was going to be great!

...

Cass didn't know what was going on.

A while ago, she had started getting these...gut feelings that she couldn't explain.

She would look over the details of a Case her Family was working on, and see a patern that the others were seemingly ignoring. Like when she realized that The Penguin was about to raid the Docks on the East Side, but the others were convinced it was going to be on the West.

But when she had tried to tell them, they had brushed her off. "We've already concluded that he will begin the Raid on the West side, no need to go to the East."

She had gone anyways, and low and behold she had been right. But nobody even acknowledged that she had been right at all, they had just wondered how they had missed the signs, not even questioning how she had known.

It wasn't limited to Cases either. Even small things, like telling her brother's where the TV remote was were brushed off, and hours later they would still be looking, never even having checked where she told them.

It seemed that no matter what, nobody cared about her point of view anymore. They kept brushing her off, telling her she was wrong, actively ignoring her ideas.

And it was getting worse. They were starting to ignore her more and more, forgetting she was in the room, not calling her down for Dinner, even forgetting to check in on her during Patrol.

She knew that there must be something going on, Magical or otherwise, but when she tried bringing it up with her Dad or JLD, they would also Brush her off.

Her Family was forgetting her. And they didn't even realize it.

...

Danny was not okay at the moment.

When he had gone to school a few weeks ago and noticed everybody staring at him, he didn't give it much thought. Maybe Dash or Paulina had spread another Rumor about him again, not too out of the ordinary.

When his name had been called over the Intercom, he hadn't thought much of that either. His grades were falling even more than usual, so he assumed his Guidance Counselor wanted to have another talk with him.

When he walked into the Principals Office to see both of his Parents and some GIW Agents, that's when he realized something big must have happened.

He didn't have much of a chance to react when the Shields went up, but he did react when the first Ecto-Blast scorched the wall behind him. His Parents began to scream at him as they fired their Blasters, something about replacing somebody? He didn't know, he was pretty preoccupied at the moment.

It took more effort than he cared to admit to escape the Room, but a stray shot to the hidden Shield Projector under the Principals Desk proved to be his saving grace. Unfortunately the moment he escaped the Office, he was met with a veritable Army of GIW Agents, all armed to the Teeth with Weapons he had never even seen before.

He managed to get away for a moment, hiding in the Bathroom as the Agents chasing him passed it by. That's when he met Wes.

He obviously hadn't been expecting him, but the moment he saw him Wes put on a smug look. "Oh hi Fenton, trying to get away from the other students?"

Danny had replied with confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I finally managed to convince everybody about you, now everyone knows that you're Phantom! I'll bet you're hiding from all of the other Students hounding you for questions right?"

"...it was you?"

"Yeah, so? I finally get to be right!"

"...You absolute MORON-"

That was the last Danny got to say to Wes before an Ecto-Blast launched him through a Wall, seeing his face morph into a look of Shock just before the dust cloud covered it up.

Since that day, Danny had been on the Run. Nowhere was safe anymore now that the GIW knew both his Human and Ghost's faces, but he had to keep running. He crossed state Lines already, and was on his way to the next Ecto-Rich City he could sense, somewhere in New Jersey.

He cursed his Fenton Luck every day. Why had everybody believed Wes this time?! Nobody had ever belived him before, nobody even seemed to acknowledge his existence after a while! What had changed?

Danny just wanted to rest already.

...

Cass had taken to Patrolling alone recently. She had taken to doing a lot of things alone, actually.

After the first month, it seemed that nobody could remember that she was in the room with them, even if she was within their eyeline, she just faded into the background. By the 2 Month Mark they had stopped talking to her entirely, although occasionally she would get a Text or two from her dad. By the 3 month Mark she was completely invisible, and By the 5th she had been forced to get used to it.

She didn't know what was going on, was it a Meta Ability? Magic? Alien Tech? She had no idea.

She had begun to cook for herself after the first time Alfred forgot to set her Plate at the Table. The same with Washing her own Clothes, Cleaning her Room, and Paying her Phone Bills. At the very least the Automated Allowance Payments to her Account had kept up, or she wouldn't have been able to go to her favorite Cafe anymore.

It was bittersweet for her. She used to go to that Cafe every week with Alfred, but he didn't even come on his own anymore. Had he only come for her? Did she really mean that much to them? It hurt, she finally had a family that cared for her and suddenly she didn't exist to them.

She sat alone at a Table, ignored by everyone in the Cafe as usual, when a new face walked in. He looked about her age, a little roughed up, walking with a sort of cautious gaint, as if he was scared of something. His Body Language seemed to agree with her assessment, as his body practically screamed "Worry" in its movements.

Cass stopped watching at that point. Just another Gotham Teen, probably worried over something like getting not having enough money or getting mugged on the way home. It was a Common sight in Gotham.

She attention was pricked again for a moment when she heard a voice speak up. "Uh, can I sit here?"

She ignored it, he wasn't talking to her.

"Um, excuse me? Miss? Could I sit here?" He repeated.

She ignored him again, he wasn't talking to her. Nobody talked to her.

"Hello? Do you have Earbuds in?" He said, and he waved his hand in front of her face.

Her face. He waved his hand. In front of Her Face.

He was talking to her.

She looked up at him sharply, seeming to startle him for a moment before he asked, "So, is that a no?"

"You can see me?" She asked.

He looked a bit bewildered, but replied "Uh, yeah? Why would I not? Are you...a Ghost?". That last part sounded a bit suspicious.

"No. Not a Ghost. But nobody sees me. Ever. Nobody remembers me." She replied. She had never spoken this much to anybody outside of her Family, but in the past few weeks she had been starved for interaction.

He seemed slightly interested, and sat down at her table. He looked her in the eyes, and said "Do you...talk about it?"

She smiled. He could see her.

[madaqueue]

WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

[internal-ethics]

Ok im bored and ran out of good content so fuck it lets do this. Decided not to publicize it for so long bc its difficult.

This is my boldest and most prized contribution to this cursed fandom, as well as my dearest tribute to Tobirama, the best political character ive ever read in fiction, and his anija.

warning - this might not be for people with too heavy leaning on anti-konoha, anti-Hashirama sentiments or ships that's not hashimito or tobirama/konoha, or take the timings and numbers of the databook too seriously.

Hashirama is vaguely hinted to canonically have retired as Shodai years earlier, then married Mito, then lived till 10-20 years after VOTE and died in or before the 2nd War.

Tobirama died first in the 1st War. The scene where he sacrificed himself for his squad happened before the VoTE fight, not after. It's his death that signaled the End.

Hashirama losing his power/ability to lead due to possible depression and keeping a low profile (no one could know how and when the Shinobi God died because village situations, and there were sensors and trackers who could find him) is the reason why he didnt know the motive of the Police Force that Tobirama created, and also struggled with Kurama to the point he needed Mito to LEND him power, when earlier he could beat both Kurama and Madara.

Zetsu made up bullshit about Tobirama burying and letting Madara escape with a clone, based that assumption on Tobirama's reputation of creating weird jutsus involving sacrifices, most likely framing him for his surbodinates' doings, because Tobirama totally never knew Tsunade, possibly never even met Mito and dealt with a jinchuuriki, while Hashirama did both, comparing teenage Sakuras power to Tsunade's.

Zetsu also would not have been near there to know what the senju brothers did because they were both sensors that could detect him. Hashirama was the one who buried Madara.

As Onoki said this summit was to end minor conflicts, it happened right after Konoha was founded, not right before the WW. the 2nd kages looked much younger than in the VOTE/WW era. Hashirama likely had other means, more temporary and less effective, to restrain Kurama at this point (his mokuton and necklace) The databook also never said Hashirama died in which war.

Tsunade and Tobirama had no recollection of each other outside Tsunade only calling him distantly 'nidaime' since part 1 and only 'heard' about the ones who killed him.

meanwhile Hashirama was too familiar with tsunade as she with him, and familiar with the village and people, so that he could recall his memories with it despite just having seen it before he died like weve been told.

He talked like he's been through 2 wars with them.

Our second known grandkid of Hashirama was Nawaki, who was 11 years younger than Tsunade. Unless his first son has multiple children in short years which is pure fanfiction, how would he know Tsunade was his 'first' grandkid and how she would turn out 'in the end' if he died when she was this small.

Also the fact that Hashirama didnt wear Konoha headband in the VOTE fight.

But did wear it when he married Mito. Tsunade was not Mito's grand daughter.

As for how he died, its in battle, probably to a nobody mob while protecting his clan or Mitos clan (both conveniently destroyed or disappeared after hes dead). And by the time they killed him and he let them do that, i doubt they even realized or remembered they killed the First Hokage and God of Shinobi. I mean youd think whoever killed him should have been insanely famous, regardless of his power level at the time.

Tobirama said "my role as Second Hokage was to stand between and meditate between brother and Madara while protecting the village" this raised eyebrows because there would have been no one to stand between if he only became Second after Hashirama died and Madara left (forever). Meaning Hashirama was alive when Tobirama became Second, and it had been like that for a long time.

This is what a japanese fan thought of Tobirama's death

Between the two brothers, it makes more sense for the 'normal' one who invented jutsu that defied the law of nature, including

ninja nuclear bombs,

Summoning the dead and giving them infinite chakra

clones only reserved for monster chakra reserves like Naruto with Kurama in him

and a teleportation jutsu that required 5 people in place of an absolute genius like Minato to do- moderately,

rather than a powerful monster with the same annount of chakra as a bijuu AND sage mode that heals himself, to die earlier out of illness.

This is also why Hashirama would ban Tobiramas jutsu and compiled them into HIS scroll seen in the very first chapter - they likely literally shorten ones life. Hashirama wouldnt want random people to drop dead using them...like his brother.

Some more readings on which Japanese samurai characters that have been Kishimoto's references for the founders.

Oda Nobunaga - Hashirama's first concept when he was a scary rugged scarred and big nosed guy, the one who stopped the genenations long wars, unified japan and died right after realizing the dream, but he died partly because of his brutality and crimes in life - he ACTUALLY killed his brother by blood among others of his family who betrayed him. His successor has nickname 'Saru'.

Ashikaga Takauji - Hashirama's later concept, first shogun of his era but softer big brother guy.

Ashikaga Tadayoshi - Takauji's younger brother who stepped up where he couldnt, disagreed with Takauji on politics and died 5 years before his brother did, in defeat but also there are sources that say he suffered some kind of illness before that.

Ko no Moronao - Takauji's close friend who Tadayoshi hated and was later exiled.

More references in Japanese creation mythos involving Izanagi and Izanami, where Izanagi killed his Fire god son Kagutsuchi after Izanamis death, hence his words "my very own child".

[bluestarlett]

My CCCC hot takes

I’m seeing a lot of controversial opinions/callouts/hot takes in fandom and I just wanna give my 2 cents

listen I’m all for crazy cccc fan creations like it’s great but can we as a fandom collectively treat whole at least somewhat normally

and CJ HIMSELF cough cough.

I think it is severely harmful with the way some people treat Whole or CJ as a ‘character’ because he’s not… really as much of a character as HMS. There’s much bigger of a line to be drawn with him than there is with HMS. AND DONT GET ME WRONG! I’m a sucker for Whole content. And I also realize that Whole and Harmonia are kind of separate entities/ideas. I’m not talking about Harmonia here. Go wild with Harmonia. But please be normal with whole and cj

like that’s a real fucking man.

also this one is gonna be a little controversial with some people but. Tw for nsfw mention?

I think CCCC smut in itself is already pretty weird, or torture porn or any of that shit but ESPECIALLY when it directly involves Whole/CJ.

like, CJ himself has specifically asked people that whatever shipping or nsfw content they do with HMS, just keep Whole and himself out of it. And people can’t even do that! SOME PEOPLE (you know who you are. Or maybe you don’t bc I have you blocked) even go out of their way to break EVERY SINGLE BOUNDARY HE HAS SET for ‘fun’ and proceed to claim that it ‘isn’t actually harming anybody because he’s a grown man and it’s a joke’ when it. Very much is harming people. Not to mention he is HARDLY a ‘grown man’. / very directed (I don’t say this to infantilize Chonny whatsoever, but to say that he was literally FRESHLY 21 when CCCC began, and even now he’s not even 20 fucking 4 yet. It’s weird. Especially when people that are OLDER THAN HIM WRITE SMUT OF HIM???? Lowkey nasty if you ask me) and frankly, even if he was older, in no way does that mean that shit like that wouldn’t still harm him. Idgaf if you think he’s annoying, nobody thinks shit like that is funny.

And I know maybe it’s hypocritical of me to say “oh shipping is kind of weird here” as a profound eclipser however I mean the general fanon shipping. Especially on AO3. I think toxic/abusive yaoi is. Lame! Thankfully a lot of the Eclipse content online is actually pretty sweet more often than not, however in earlier fandom days everybody was crazy about them the way Omori fandom was about Sunnflower. Derogatory.

Bloodmoon however.

I’m not naming names but almost ALL of the bloodmoon content (on AO3 at least) is weird torture porn shit and soul is so fucking abusive and weird and??? Can we be normal about Soul and Heart ever. Not even just shipping-wise just as characters. Yall r so weird about these mentally ill men like girl they are based off of a REAL MANS TRAUMA !!!!

So, in much more respectful words,

please remember that Chonny Jash is a real person.

Please remember that HMSW are based off of a real person and his trauma.

thanks xoxo

[chaeyoei]

Hello :3 ,I had an idea while staying up late (it's 3am) and I was remembering school and so on, so I'm curious if you could write about HSR characters in school (as usual I want Blade and Aventurine;) and other characters if they're male or female (Kafka pls..) And how they act with the reader

All in all, have a good day/night (Any time.)

👀 we'll settle some things down then. Gender Neutral. These are personal opinions and my creative juices aren't flowing well.

Blade

Blade borderlines between Class delinquent and Bunker.

Blade was an A grade student but something happened and he lost all motivation and became who is he now.

You can expect school bully traits from him. He and his group are always in detention. It's become a daily basis.

His interaction with you would really just be him not acknowledging you or if you're close to him, he'll share his lunch with you.

Sliver Wolf

Sliver Wolf is the Kid who's going to be developing obbies in Roblox and just be a champion in digital games.

She's going to bunk classes and just grafiti the school wall.

If you ever see the username ChampionSliverWolf_0 in your game, just know that you're losing your one game streak.

She'd call you loser if you're really bad at games (me), and if you make for a good opponents, just expect from her to come up to you and go "Game night at 5 pal" And then leave.

Kafka

Makima Charm with Monkia's manipulation.

You know this woman is going to make you question your sexuality. She just has that charm. The one girl who's locker would be filled with love letters and roses.

If you ask anyone what they think she'd be in the future, 99 out of 100, you're going to hear model.

I think that her and Blade would be friends which nobody expected to happen but she would give her notes to Blade and in return Blade would protect her from the creeps. (No ship.)

Kafka would either be that one girl you can ask on how to charm your crush and she'll give you tips for some credits ofc.

Firefly

That one silent and shy girl that can kick ass and give you nasty looks if you bully her or her friends.

She's a goodey two shoes but she'd break rules for her friends.

I'd like to think she has a condition that limits her to have a few friends.

But I think she and Silver Wolf would get along pretty well. Silver Wolf would host a slumber party and invite Firefly, they play Mario kart and monopoly, munch on Cheetos and fall asleep.

Firefly, if you're a good friend would remain lighthearted and shy infront of you but boy if anyone ever bullies you, she's going to kick some ass.

Aventurine

That one kid who already has a business running. Need a pen? That'd be 10 credits, a new notebook? 25 credits. Gum? 5 credits.

He's really popular too. Heck he's somehow friends with the topper Ratio.

i think he'd be a shameless flirt. He'd have those right lines and rizz you up like it's nobody's business.

Herta

The Academic weapon. Doesn't even attend the class, shows up in the finals and scores the best with full marks and nobody knows who she even is.

honestly, nothing. She's not even attending. You either don't know her or do.

Robin

The popular girl who'd help you do your make up and is just nice. There's a chance that my Seele can crit more than the chance of anyone disliking her on planet Earth.

The most active and the lead of the choir.

She'd help you in everything, whether it'd be studies or getting you into a group.

Drabble and no long paragraph because my creative spirits have betrayed me like Dan Heng IL not coming home after I spent everything on him.

[phoenixkaptain]

Will not ever be getting over Quan Yizhen.

He is the puppy-doggiest boy of all time. He is the sweetest baby in the world. He is the cutest bean ever born.

My favourite scenes are ones where he tries to thank Xie Lian!! Because all Xie Lian did was throw chopsticks to make the curtain fall!! He barely did anything!! Most of the other gods don’t even realize he’s the one who did it!!

But Quan Yizhen not only noticed it was him, he also felt grateful!!! He tried to stuff his donation box with gold bars!!! And, my absolute favourite example, when he woke up to find Xie Lian and Pei Ming in his room (while Pei Ming is trying to catch Shi Qingxuan), Pei Ming asks him to help out and Yizhen just. Throws his bed. At Pei Ming. Because even though he has not a single clue what the fuck is going on, he wants to thank Xie Lian.

I could ramble about my love for Yizhen for all of eternity. I love him so so so so so much.

The scene where Yin Yu “knocks him out” with the shovel, only for Quan Yizhen to wait to be dug out and then reveal that he wasn’t actually knocked unconscious??? (Beautiful, amazing, 10/10, implies that even after everything, Yin Yu still can’t bring himself to hurt Yizhen, and I just abdjdjfbdjdn) Everyone is so completely shocked, because “Qi Ying just tricked us????” Quan Yizhen is so straightfoward and blunt that him pulled a trick like this is something literally nobody saw coming, he’s a strategic genius-

Xie Lian says that Yizhen probably recognized Yin Yu because he remembers his habits, like pacing when he’s uncertain. Which is just- Quan Yizhen hasn’t seen Yin Yu in centuries, but still remembers his ticks…

I love how literally everyone thinks that Yizhen is mad at Yin Yu, but all Quan Yizhen wants is to hug him and get head pats and he doesn’t blame Yin Yu for snapping at him and he still gets angry when people badmouth Yin Yu and and and and-

Yizhen just loves hims Shixiong. He joined the sect because Yin Yu was there. He became a god because Yin Yu suggested he should. He never stops caring for Yin Yu, even when Yin Yu tries to murder him. I love them so much.

But also, I love Quan Yizhen with Xie Lian. Not as a romantic ship, I just like that they’re two peas in a pod. They both see amazing martial ability and automatically praise it. They are the most neurodivergent characters. They both think Yin Yu is pretty cool. They are buddies, and it’s like two puppies play wrestling, I can’t get over it.

[dunmeshistash]

What do you think about Shuro? And more specifically his relationship with Laios, and idk if you talk about ships but what are your thoughts on laishuro

I have this headcannon that Laios has some sort of unrequited crush on Shuro just because it's sorta funny

I ship pretty much everything. Like, as default I think everyone should kiss everyone 👍

If I'm honest I'm not much of a Shuro fan, he's a little boring to me and reactions to the chimera episode made me dislike him a bit lmao.

Ignoring the fandom I like him as a character and I LOVE his fight with Laios. Shuro's relationship to Laios is my favorite part of that character so laishuro pretty much saves him for me.

In universe Shuro is said to be quite the introvert even for people from his country. He's not the standard for someone from the eastern archipelago and it bothered me a bit when people used that to justify how he wasn't honest to Laios. I understand the idea that he comes from somewhere where reading social cues is not only expected but required but he's also someone who avoids confrontation and is quiet/shy in general.

Here's a bit from Maizuru's description from the adventurer's bible

"People tend to describe Shuro as "drab" and "shy" (...)" so specifically HE IS the exact type of person who would cause the biggest misunderstanding with Laios, just compare him to how his retainers or even his father and brothers act.

It took them saying they used ancient magic on Falin/seeing chimera Falin for him to finally snap, everything else he decided to just take it cause he thought it was better to take it than to confront Laios directly.

So besides the cultural differences you have to take into consideration this was pretty much the perfect storm brewing for that confrontation, and it's as much who Shuro is as a person and who Laios is as person that caused it.

I also disagree that the fight was a "they're both in the wrong" situation. Don't get me wrong, Laios was VERY culturally insensitive to Shuro and even more insensitive to his feelings, but there was nothing he could have done differently with the information that was available to him.

Specifically I see this comic being used to justify how Laios was to blame too, making Shuro into the victim

Like that's a major white guy move but he DIDN'T HEAR Shuro's name and Shuro never corrected him. I'd understand it if his reaction was "Your name is too complicated so I'll call you Shuro instead" that would be a major dick move, but Laios did not hear his name because Toshiro mumbled it, and for someone that forgot Kabru's name several times I imagine he made an effort to remember Shuro's.

Laios never met someone from the eastern archipelago before this, nobody ever explained to him he wasn't acting in an appropriate manner and most of all he thought they were friends. He trusted Shuro to set boundaries for him, he always respects boundaries that are set even when he doesn't fully understand them (Recalling the "I forgot about feelings.." when Chilchuck says it feels wrong to eat merman)

Instead of explaining ANYTHING to Laios, Shuro instead held it all in until it exploded all at once, he blamed Laios for not knowing something he couldn't know, and accused him of not being serious about saving his own sister.

Just imagine how this must have felt for Laios, everyone is always underestimating how serious he is, everyone accuses him of being stupid, clueless, and now this guy is telling him he isn't serious about saving the person he loves the most in the world and wants to protect always. To me this wasn't a "they're both in the wrong" situation, Shuro is far more in the wrong than Laios. But that's just how I see it.

That all being said, they understood each other finally and made peace after that fight.

And several times after this we see that Shuro really cares for Laios, and Laios still wants to be his friend. He even offered to save Laios if he fails (and he's sure he's gonna fail). So their relationship is dear to me, especially cause after this they finally have the foundation for a true mutual friendship <3

I think my dislike of Shuro comes from relating to him to be honest, it happens often that I see my own failures on a character and get angry at them for being angry at myself lmao. I also got a little annoyed cause I only saw people defending him, apparently those were made as a response to hate he had gotten? But since I never actually seen the hate it just felt annoying to see Shuro being white knighted.

Anyway I love the two of them together and I'm really happy they finally understood each other better. laishuro might be my favorite Laios ship, one sided crushes are great.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between the Pages

Summary: grappling with his violent past, Ettore is unexpectedly challenged by the silence of his unassuming cellmate | Word Count: 3.4k~ | warnings: mentions of noncon as a crime, violence

A/N: I've been wanting to kind of do a character heavy fic for a while since I read the interview about Ettore coming of age aboard the ship, so enjoy my take on it 😘

The darkness nibbled at the edges of him. From his feet and fingers, to his ankles and wrists, up his arms and legs. 

It curled deep in his gut, sliding around like oil inside, slick with a morbid curiosity that had lingered there for years. It crept up, weaving through his arteries and veins like vines, choking what purity there used to be, an innocent ignorance, and tainting it, into a sort of murky, sunless void.

He thought that once, he was capable of feeling anything else. Perhaps once, he was capable of love. Of some kind of affection. Maybe even deserved it.

After all, the ones you loved unconditionally, were supposed to give that same love back.

Right?

The day that darkness reached his heart, sucking the soul out of it like the way tendons and fat stick to meat as it’s torn up into chunks, was the day that Ettore understood this truth. Nobody was entitled to love. Not even him. And those people who were supposed to care, supposed to protect him, had abandoned him. What use was there in hoping for it now? He thought so often to himself. 

His body felt so heavy, felt so fucking heavy. The hatred marinated inside. Festered. What was there to do, but simply let it stay and rot? To allow it to become you.

How foolish of him to think that those who participated in making him, who chose to bring him into existence, would be able to give him the nourishment and support he wanted. That he needed. It was a story so often heard. That caregivers cared not about the people they assisted in bringing into this world. Their own children. At first, he admitted, he brushed it off.

It’s just the way my family is. Every family has different dynamics.

Until he couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever spoken to him. And then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him. And then finally, his face. How he spoke. How he rolled up his cigarettes. He only remembered the smell of him. Fusty and deep. Like how old pubs smell. And the stench of whisky on his breath and yellowed teeth. 

He remembered being on the end of his fist most often. 

And when he was gone, though it was softer, he remembered then the palm of his mother’s. She didn’t have the strength of his father’s, but all the bite.

Trying to stay out of her way proved difficult most days. More often than not, he’d be out, even in the midst of winter as the wind nipped at his bones and the chill sank into his skin, he didn’t want to see the hysterical, screaming mess of a woman that was once his mother to be the first thing he came across when he got home. God forbid she ever spotted him.

He thought she must have thought he looked too similar to his father or something like that. Perhaps it was the eyes, the temperament or the expression. He hoped, somewhere deep, that it was perhaps the crime. Then there may have been some explanation for the way he was.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him, so it was often easiest, to be out of her eyeline altogether. He wasn’t much better at staying out of trouble outside the confines of his home. Out there, in the big, wide world that he was so underprepared for, it was still difficult to be accepted. People had to want to be his friend, after all.

Eventually, he just didn’t even try. Though there was still a desire for acceptance, one he didn’t get by befriending men of a similar age and temperament to him. 

It felt only right, that he used the only things he felt he had, to his advantage. Looks. Talk. Confidence. Three things he was never short on.

And also the three things that fed easily into how he coped and how he eventually morphed into the person he was today. The looks got him into women’s beds, and in between their thighs too. The talk got them to stop fighting, to stay still and let him have his way. The confidence was the one thing in the end that worked to his disadvantage, thinking that the ones who he’d let get away wouldn’t say anything, and the ones he kept quiet by clamping his hands around her tiny, little necks, would inevitably fade away into non-existence. 

He still remembers the way their blood roared against his palms, how their breaths stuttered in his grip, and that addictive wide-eyed look, and the slow, blinking fade of life from their eyes. He thought there was nothing more powerful than holding someone’s very life-blood in his grip, and that was when he knew the rot had taken hold inside him. 

If he could, he would have wiped every judgemental glare off everyone in the courtroom that day. What use was there in pretending to be remorseful, as if he didn’t savour the memory of choking the hell out of those women with his dick so deep inside them still he could feel the way their bodies tried to reject him. Those are the memories he thinks of in those lonely nights in the Box. Those are the cold dark hands that drag him further and further. Until perhaps there is nowhere further to go.

Which is why she confuses him. His cellmate sleeps above him, a woman who he has strangely paid little attention to and can’t for the life of him figure out why. The narrow confines of their shared cell, with its cold, steel surfaces and harsh fluorescent lights, force a proximity that is usually unbearable for him. Yet, with her, there is an unspoken truce that puzzles him further.

There is a suffocating silence in the cell at night. Ettore’s usual trigger lay dormant for a while, an uneasy peace reigning in the small, padded space he shares with her. Unlike the other women aboard the ship, callous, loud and obnoxious, this woman keeps to herself, hovering just beyond the reach of his understanding.

Each day that goes by, he tries to solve the puzzle that she is. Why doesn’t she flinch at his gaze? Why doesn’t she cower? It’s as if she moves through a different realm, her demeanour calm, almost detached, unaffected by the chaos that typically surrounded him and the others alike, or the violence he is known for. 

She is a question without an answer, unsettling him more with each passing day. He sometimes imagines her figure from his bottom bunk, and how she would look while she sleeps, often with her eyes glued to the pages of a book. And he knows from the gentle thud of her tired hand and the half-opened novel on the mattress, that she has likely exhausted herself to sleep from reading and straining in the dark.

So he starts to look for signs, any clue that might explain her indifference, her silence. But she gives nothing away, her routine meticulous and quiet. When she reads, she never looks up. He supposes there is no reason for her to. Does anyone even know her name? Or do they do what he used to do, and just pretend she never existed in the first place? Perhaps that’s where she feels most comfortable.

It gnaws at him more than any confrontation could. His history with women was fraught with aggression, violence and brutality, but it provides no playbook for this experience. There is no anger in her silence, no fear. She merely exists in a state of complete neutrality, leaving him to wonder why she is even in prison in the first place. This indifference to life itself, it seems, is more disarming than any verbal or physical challenge. 

He hopes for a flicker of annoyance when he makes too much noise coming back to their shared cell some nights. But nothing. He hopes for the one day she glances up from her book, eyes clear and calm, as if nothing is wrong. 

She was like a candle unlit. A sheet of snow upon the ground without a fault or a footstep to taint it. Like a notebook you kept but didn't have the heart to write in for the first time, for the fear of ruining the very first page.

So it is that night, he lays with his hands behind his head, ever kept in a state of wide-eyed curiosity, when he hears the familiar thud of her tired hand dropping her novel. She never seems annoyed when she loses her place in her story, she simply gets up in the morning, and places something flat where she thinks she was, and is more than happy to start all over again. 

Despite the silence, his mind races, thoughts swirling and colliding in the shadows. He’s grown accustomed to the rhythms of their cohabitation, the sound of her breathing, the slight shifts of her body in the bunk above him, the soft rustle of pages turning. These sounds punctuate his nights, a constant reminder of her presence.

And yet, tonight, there’s a different kind of awareness, a curiosity that edges toward something he can’t quite name. It’s not desire, not the kind he’s known before, which was always tangled with aggression and control. This is something else, something quieter, more invasive. He wants to see her as she sleeps, to witness her in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, not to disturb or dominate, but to understand.

This thought, this need to see her face relaxed in sleep, strikes him with a pang of guilt. Even in the dim light of self-awareness, he recognises that this impulse feels like a violation, an intrusion into her silent world. He’s used to taking space, not just physically but emotionally, imposing his will on others as a way to affirm his existence. But with her, the dynamics are different. She offers nothing to conquer, only a silence to be filled, and in that silence, his own reflections become too loud, too clear.

Lying there, Ettore wrestles with the pull of his curiosity and the weight of his past. He knows too well the darkness that lives within him, the ease with which he could turn a moment of curiosity into something far more sinister. The battle within him is a quiet one, but intense. The thought of crossing the boundary, even just to see her in her sleep, stirs a deep-seated fear that he might revert to the man he was, the man he still is, underneath the surface of this uneasy peace.

His limbs move as if detached from his will. He places one hand on the cold metal of the ladder, then another, his movements slow, deliberate. Every rung of the ladder creaks softly under his weight, a grim soundtrack to his betrayal of self-promises. His heart pounds in his ears, not with excitement, but with a dread that feels both foreign and familiar.

As he ascends, each step feels heavier, burdened not by physical weight but by the gravity of his intentions. He pauses halfway, his body tensed, his mind screaming for him to retreat. But the pull is too strong, the need to see her, to understand why she affects him so profoundly, why she can exist so close to him yet remain a world apart.

Reaching the top, Ettore pauses, barely breathing. He is close enough now to hear her gentle breaths, the soft exhale of sleep that seems so at odds with the storm raging in his soul. She is a portrait of peace, her eyelids fluttering slightly with dreams he cannot begin to fathom. He yearns to understand her not because she is an enigma, but because in her quiet resilience, he sees a reflection of what he might have been, what he still could be. It's a longing not only to understand but also to be understood, to be seen not as the sum of his past actions but as the person he struggles to become.

He approaches her bunk with a reverence that surprises him. As he lays down gently beside her, he is acutely aware of the sanctity of the moment, of her trust not to be breached and of his own resolve not to revert to the man he knows he really is deep down. 

But there is a vulnerability that is roused in him when he watches her like this, and he doesn't recognise or like it one bit. It'd be so easy to just wrap his hands around her neck, like he had done before so instinctively, and be rid of her. Maybe then he wouldn't question this side of himself that has bubbled to the surface.

The mere idea of putting his fingers around her throat has adrenaline soaring in his veins.

But Ettore pulls back from the precipice of this dark impulse almost as quickly as it arises. The primal, instinctual urge to eliminate what confuses him, to destroy rather than confront, surges within him, his hands tensing at his sides. Yet, as he watches her, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath, he finds himself caught in a storm of conflicting emotions.

It's horrifying, the ease with which violence still beckons to him. The quiet, once a cloak she wrapped around herself, now envelops him too. The battle is not with her, not even with the world outside, but inside. But this realisation does not bring peace. Far from it.

Feeling as if his heart in his throat, his palm hovers above her body, starting from her legs. He is trembling, leaving an inch of space that feels like a chasm. And yet he can feel the heat of her form, as if radiating from her skin and pulsing into his.

He passes over her hips, his eyes zeroed in on a slither of skin that has become visible beneath her sleeping shirt. It beckons to him like a test of his will. If she were anyone else, one hand would hold her down, while the other would rip her sweatpants off and-

He clenches his fist tight, his eyes mirroring the struggle. Every moment he chooses restraint, he is redefining himself.

And yet as he descends the steps down from her bunk, she hadn't moved an inch and the prospect of her being a deep sleeper makes the intrusive desire to do this again ever more prevalent. It doesn’t reassure him at this point, rather it feeds into the dangerous allure of doing it again, and again, and again.

And each time in the days following, what he does becomes more bold, skirting around the edges of darkness he knows full well lurks beneath. He waits every night for the thud of her book on the bed, for her quiet breathing to let him know that it is safe to venture into what feels like dangerous territory.

Hovered hands become soft brushes against her flesh. Initially, these contacts are mere brushes, fleeting and barely there, against her arms, perhaps unintentionally grazing her leg, or the slope of her shoulder. With each night, his touches grow slightly more deliberate, and when he has straddled that line too closely and she stirs or readjusts, he feels his heart quicken and chest tighten. Sometimes he almost wants her to wake up, just to see what he would instinctively do.

This dangerous game continues, each touch a test of his self-control. His fingers linger a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek one night, the warmth of her breath against his hand, and the next day he struggles to even glance in her direction alongside the torrent of emotions within him. The fear that he is becoming the monster he dreads appears more real than ever. The very act of touching her in her sleep, though innocent, yet an invasion of her privacy and autonomy, is a stark reminder of the control he once wielded without thought.

He understands now that this cannot continue. The path he is on, though it started with a quest for understanding and connection, is veering dangerously close to old patterns that had once felt familiar. And yet with her of which he cannot even envision.

He knows the only way to break this cycle, to truly change, is to confront the situation directly and honestly. No more silent, uninvited intrusions in the dark; he needs to face her in the light, to speak to her and gauge her response, to decide his next steps based on a genuine interaction rather than his own conjectures and impulses.

All the scenarios run rampant in his mind, stealing every quiet moment in his day to day life seemingly without effort. 

He is desperate to hear her voice, just for him, a sound to anchor the whirlwind inside.

If he speaks and she glances up from between her precious pages, with a look of fear, judgement, anger…there just might still be violence screaming in his gut. He imagines, with a chilling clarity, how he might react. To watch those eyes that have never landed upon him, wide-eyed and panicked with fear, her hands that would usually hold those delicate covers as if they were sentient, thrashing and scratching at his skin for escape.

However, if her eyes meet his with calmness, a soft but unyielding clarity, it might signal a different path. Such a look could secure him, pull him back from the brink, offering a glimpse of a different kind of interaction, one rooted in mutual respect rather than fear.

Throughout the day, Ettore wrestles with the decision to approach her at an unusual time, a moment outside their routine interactions, which are typically defined by the unspoken boundaries and silent acknowledgements of shared space. The weight of this choice, loaded with the potential for a shift in their dynamic, presses on him.

Finally, as the day bleeds into evening, he steels himself and walks towards their cell, a path he has traversed countless times yet now feels distinctly different. His footsteps echo slightly in the empty corridor, a hollow sound that seems to beat in rhythm with his anxious heart. He pauses at the doorway, his hand resting against the cold metal frame for a moment. He had never been short on confidence, until right this moment.

She is there, as always, perched on her bed with a book cradled in her lap, her attention fully absorbed by the pages. The familiar sight of her, so engrossed in her literary world, momentarily steadies him. "Hey," he calls out softly, his voice slightly rough around the edges from the turmoil inside him.

At the sound of his voice, she looks up, her expression shifting from concentrated reading to mild surprise. Her eyes meet his, clear and calm, carrying none of the fear or judgement he had feared. "Hey," she responds simply, her voice a quiet echo to his own.

In that brief exchange, just a single word spoken by each, there's a palpable shift. It's not a definitive answer to all his internal questions, but it grants him a moment of reprieve from his fears of eliciting a negative reaction. So he stands there, momentarily rooted to the spot by the simplicity and normalcy of her response. And it is this moment where her eyes are piercing right into him that he is offered his first real glimpse into her as well. Features he had usually seen undisturbed by the quiet of sleep felt familiar and yet uncharted now, such as the flutter of her eyelashes and the decorating of freckles across her cheeks, and the small, curious pupils looking between his eyes as if for an answer.

Realising he's been standing silent for too long, Ettore scrambles mentally for something to say, to break the growing awkwardness that feels almost like a first encounter. His lips part, ready to forge some semblance of normal conversation.

No sooner are his lips parted that he is rendered into silence he once would have expected from her. She dog-eared the page, closed her book off her lap and brushed her hair from her face, and spoke with a soft tone laden with genuine concern. It feels like an invitation, a door opening to endless possibilities where she has seen past the facade of toughness to the raw, uncertain man beneath. She invites him into a space where he can be vulnerable, and yet he is still unsure if he even wants to be there. Can those raging, endless violent impulses ever be quieted by just a couple of words?

“You okay?”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy

@justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3

[darylscigarettesmoke]

people, “fans”, attacking an actor on twitter because his views of a character and wishes for him don’t align with theirs, calling him names, mocking him for his hairstyle, starting tag-wars and begging for a ship to become canon and I’m honestly speechless.

criticizing creative decisions for a character, wonky storylines, questionably written female characters and plotholes is good and fair - but only if it happens on a factual and grounded basis which is absolutely not the case here.

we, as fans, should never feel entitled to how a story’s gonna play out - never, ever, ever. we can voice our sadness, share our stories and opinions, but we are not entitled to see the story play out exactly how we want it to. Never ever ever.

I don’t know if y’all remember the marketing of The Last of Us Part II, the switched out trailer, indicating Joel is alive when in fact he dies about half an hour into the game - now THAT was hard as fuck as well, but nobody screamed or lost their minds about “false marketing.” Because guess what marketing is?

A story is a story, and once you stop enjoying it, it’s absolutely your right to tune out of it and to look for your enjoyment elsewhere and pour your passion into anything else - but it’s never your right to harass people and to ruin the experience for everybody else.

[cozage]

Helloooo! Congratulations on 2k! Every time I see you update my day instantly is made 🥰 I love the way you write and how you portray the characters! For the event prompts (if you’re still accepting!), would it be possible to write how you think Law would propose to his s/o? Thank you for your hard work! 🥰

A/N: Law is my weak point you guys do not understand. Pls enjoy <3 Characters: gn reader x Trafalgar Law Total word count: 660

Proposal

Law would put careful thought into a proposal. He would spend months thinking about any possible situation and how to make it flawless. You are perfect, and you deserve nothing less than a perfect proposal. 

It would get to the point where you might even start to think “is this guy ever going to propose?” because any time you bring up thoughts of marriage or the future, he gets very dodgy. Not because he doesn’t want to marry you, but because he’s afraid you’ve figured out his plans and he’s trying to throw you off his trail. 

You don’t even realize he’s planned it. Everything kind of falls into place randomly in your eyes. Here’s how the day goes:

You arrive at a spring island. Not just any spring island though, an island full of cherry blossoms in full bloom. These islands are rare to come across, and you beg Law to go explore with you. He “reluctantly” agrees.

The two of you grab a picnic basket and stroll off to find the perfect place, and strangely enough, it doesn’t take long! There’s a beautiful isolated spot next to a stream, with cherry blossoms gently cascading all around you whenever the wind blows. “Law!” you cry. “This is perfect! Can we eat here?!” He only smiles. He knew you would pick this spot. That's why he paid people to stay away from it.

The two of you eat and lay around for a while, and then you explore the small little town. 

It has an old bookshop you could spend hours in, and you do. Law doesn’t rush you as you roam the books, and he doesn’t say no to the ones you want to buy. He needed to expand his library, coincidentally. 

The next place you stop is a tea shop, and the two of you sip tea and chat for at least an hour, trying an arrangement of teas to stock up for the ship. Law watches you with amusement, happy to see you in such a good mood and enjoying the island. He picks all of your favorites, knowing you’ll want to remember the flavors of this day for a long time. He will too. 

It’s almost sunset, so the two of you grab little desserts at a bakery and walk up the hill to watch the sun sink behind the cherry blossoms. “I can’t believe there’s nobody else up here,” you whispered. “It’s the perfect place to see the sun go down.” Law just chuckles, and hands you your cake. 

“Today really has been the perfect day,” you said, looking at him with tears in your eyes. “I know sometimes I demand a lot, and I’m sure you would’ve rather been on the ship today. So thank you for exploring with me.”

“Nonsense.” He wiped your tears away and gave you a few soft kisses across your face. “I love spending time with you. You’re the best part of my day, no matter when or where we are.”

You open the box to find a small cake with the words “Will you marry me?” across it, with a beautiful, one-of-a-kind ring in the middle. You’re about to tell Law you got the wrong dessert, but the glimmer of hope and the hint of nervousness makes you realize with sudden clearness that this was all a part of his plan. Everything today was orchestrated by him. 

Now you’re crying for a whole other reason, and you sob out the words “yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” as you hold his face. He’s laughing at you, relieved you said yes, but holding back tears of his own. Because he finally gets to be with you forever. And he gets to have the best part of his day every day for the rest of his life.

[mylonelydreaming]

I take issue with this idea of Link just "fucking off" and leaving Zelda completely alone before totk. Not even in just a shipping sort of way either, as close friends and him choosing to remain her knight, that makes zero logical sense? It is completely out of character for him?

Link doesn't ever leave Zelda's side. This is canon. "Fucking off" is just not something he does during peace time when he isn't on a heroic quest and being controlled by the player's whims

That's five times it's stated officially somewhere that he is by her side, and that's only the ones I can immediately recall. Botw's full ending and totk's opening together also show us that. We see them together when the story ends and we see them together when it picks back up in the sequel. At no point is it implied they ever parted.

And can we just remember for a second what happens when he's not there, for even a short amount of time, if she is unable to call upon her abilities and therefore defend herself?:

"Fucking off" is a fantastic way to get her killed. The Yiga worship Ganon, there is nobody they want dead more (besides Link), than the last living member of the royal family. They are also not opposed at all to going into villages. They snuck into Kakariko to assassinate Dorian's wife. We just don't see that reflected in gameplay.

Some people will say "it's just his job" to deny they even have a friendship or growth as characters, but want him to... not do the main part of that? "It's just his job" and "he fucked off to the wilderness" are simply not compatible ideas. Either you think Link is just a completely duty-bound mindless command robot or you think he completely doesn't care anymore about that to the point of endangering the person he's supposed to protect. It can't be both at the same time.

Thankfully, it's implied by the wording of master works, the cutscenes and the jpn version that he wants to protect and support her. That this is what he desires, even when the king is dead and he is immediately given the option to not do so anymore. That he is motivated by wanting to see her happy and safe. I'm pretty sure the only way to get him to stop trying to protect her or following her is death, and he has already proven that twice over.

[vladdyissues]

I don't know how you do it, Dude, I'm afraid to say that I'm attracted to pompous pep since I know it's wrong to ship a minor and an adult, People are cruel to death, Nobody knows what I like, I hide among the anonymous messages of the internet, Sometimes I see people like you who have their account free mind, People talk very badly about accounts like you, even putting them in places in the fandom to talk badly about them, Fear runs through me, I want to draw pompous Pep, Maybe I'm not attracted to the sexual, But I really feel like it's wrong and it hurts me

You've been at this for a while, right? Your account is full of pompous Pep (I secretly love your account), How did you manage to have the courage to show yourself?, People look at you badly, say bad things, that you are a sick pedophile and that...How do you achieve this without fear???, are you so brave or god 😭

1️⃣ I'm from old school fandom—pre-Twitter, pre-AO3, pre-Internet-as-we-now-know-it. I've learned to not give a fuck about what stupid, ignorant, uninformed people say on the Internet.

2️⃣ It's not my job to educate or "convert" people who disagree with me. I'm not a missionary. I'm here to have fun, and no one is going to spoil that for me.

3️⃣ I—and you, and anyone else reading this—don't owe anyone on the Internet an explanation, a reason, or any kind of justification for writing stories or drawing pictures of fictional cartoon characters smooching. (It's all so silly, honestly. I have real things to care about, like bills and pets and laundry. I envy people who have nothing to stress about except ink and paint from a 20-year-old Nickelodeon show.)

4️⃣ The media—specifically, the fictional entertainment—we enjoy is not a reflection of our humanity, morality, or an indication of our personal beliefs. If that were true, the police would be arresting authors like Stephen King and George RR Martin for writing about underage sex and incest and gore, as well as anyone who enjoys their works.

You know who does believe that reading something will "pervert" you, or that enjoying "dark things" like murder and violence and age gap ships means you must secretly be committing those things in real life? Fascists. Conservatives. Right-wing nationalist fundamentalist Christian types. People who want to ban queer books from libraries and call anyone who disagrees with them "pedophiles" and "groomers". Remember that the next time you see one of these fandom cops screeching about how so-and-so is a "pedo" because they ship two cartoons. These are people on the wrong side of history. They're anti-intellectual, anti-education, and pro-censorship. Get away from them as fast as you can.

Anon, if it seems like a lot of your friends (or the people you're around) are hating on something you want to enjoy and making you feel unsafe to talk about the things you like, then you need to find better friends. Leave them. Block them. Add their usernames to your content filters so you never have to see their ugly, hateful opinions ever again. You don't need that kind of negativity in your life, especially here on Tumblr, where we're all trying to find things that make us happy and celebrate others' creative works. Life's too short to hang around shitty people 💩

[just4koo]

best friends..? ❀ first kiss

→ character pairing : best friend!Jungkook x fem!reader → drabble summary : in which you two decide to share your first kiss together, because best friends do everything together... right..? → word count : 2.7k → warnings : foul language, slight toxicity/jealousy (maybe), conflicting feelings, unedited → genre(s) : fluff, crack, slight angst → note : i made this a series due to requests :) since the chapters aren't connected you can read this without having read the first installment but it's recommended you read "new perfume" first for background info!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

one thing that nobody knew about you and jungkook was that you shared your first kiss together. why? because it would only worsen the rumors about you two that were already bad enough. everyone always shipped you two, and if this kiss was something that ever got out, things would get much worse.

it seemed simple. you were stupid teenagers, two sixteen year olds. but it also wasn't that simple.

"jungkook, come on!" you impatiently whisper-shouted, grabbing the hand of your best friend to forcefully pull him out of your bedroom. your victim was still half asleep, subject to you shaking him awake just moments earlier.

jungkook was a bit (very) grumbly since you had woken him up from his slumber. who wouldn't be angry when they got woken up during the middle of the night, especially since he had just been so comfy using you as his pillow? but of course he had no choice, there was no way he could just roll back over and go to sleep when he saw the excited look on your face.

one of your favorite things during the winter was snow. it was so beautiful and you could just sit for hours watching it. lucky for you, in the apartment building the two of you lived in, there was an accessible roof. ever since you had discovered it one day when the two of you were playing in the stairwell it sort of became your spot. the two of you would sneak up there countless times without the knowledge of your parents.

tonight there had been a forecast on the weather channel that it was supposed to snow tonight. the first snow of the winter. even though the weather lady didn't specify what time it would start, you had already planned to stay up for it. you had witnessed the first snow of every year since you were 10 and that wasn't a streak you wanted to break.

jungkook had offered to stay up with you but as expected he'd succumbed to sleep 5 minutes into the movie you two chose. the way he was cuddling you made it very tempting to just doze off with him, but you didn't. you needed to stay up. so after hours of finding stupid movies to watch on your TV, it finally started snowing just a quarter past 04:00.

you had immediately shook jungkook in a not-so-gentle way, almost shoving him off of you so you could rush to put your sweatpants and winter jacket on. after taking a few moments to remember where the fuck he was, jungkook was following in your steps. he was pretty sure he put his sweatpants on backwards, but he had no time to worry about it when you started tugging him down the hallway.

"slow down, ______. you're going to wake your parents before we can make it out of the apartment." jungkook spoke in a quiet tone, getting a proper grasp of your hand so he could tug you backwards and slow you down a bit. you flashed him what seemed like an annoyed glance in the almost pitch black room but ended up slowing down.

once you got to the front door he went ahead and slipped into his boots, reaching for yours before you had a chance to do it yourself. he helped you into the shoes and tied them for you to make sure you didn't leave them untied in your haste and trip over your own feet. the whole time he was doing this you watched him, fighting the adoring smile that was trying to surface on your lips.

he made sure you were properly bundled up, putting earmuffs and gloves on your hands since he knew you'd want to stay outside for a while to watch the snow fall. you were someone who always forgot to take care of yourself, so jungkook was the one who did it for you. ever since he had gotten out of his aggressive adolescence phase around the age 14, he seemed to fall into a sort of caretaker role. it wasn't his fault that you were so clumsy all the time, or you would forget meals since you were too busy watching your stupid adorable cat compilation videos.

after the two of you had on all of your winter attire, he finally opened up the door as quietly as possible so you two could sneak out. the moment he shut the front door to your apartment, you were already grabbing his hand and running again, this time straight towards the stairwell. he let out a slight yelp of surprise when he felt his arm being tugged roughly. you always got so eager when you were excited about things.

"hurry up, we need to get outside before it stops!" you exclaimed as you launched up the stairs, taking it two at a time. just as he expected, that energy didn't last very long. your apartment level was pretty low compared to how many floors the apartment building had, and climbing 9 flights of stairs was extremely exhausting. by the time you were at the top you were leaning on top of jungkook and heaving breaths.

"what happened to hurrying up, huh?" jungkook questioned with a twinge of playfulness in your tone, smirking when he saw the way you glared at him. your cheeks were flushed and hair awry, lips pulled into a small frown. he knew what would cheer you up so he placed his hand on your back, opening the door that led to the rooftop. you two were instantly greeted by the falling snow. it was a pretty heavy snowstorm, already a few inches on the floor.

just as expected, you immediately brightened up once you saw the view outside. no matter how many times you'd seen it snow, it never got any less beautiful. you walked out onto the rooftop and looked up at the sky, admiring the sight of the snow falling. this was one of your favorite parts of living in the north, you were able to watch the snow practically every week.

the two of you walked to the little spot you both had constructed years ago, a makeshift canopy tent with a disney princess comforter on the floor that you two had stolen from your room and then spent an hour trying to convince your parents that the dog ate it. (they didn't believe that, obviously) it was definitely not a very pretty sight, but it worked for the two of you, nobody else ever visited the roof. the owners of the building probably had no idea that the door was actually unlocked.

the two of you sat down under the canopy to be able to see the snow without it falling on the both of you. as the two of you situated next to each other, you ended up with your head rested against his shoulder while he held his arm around you, his gloved hand rubbing your bicep. it felt so peaceful in this moment that he felt like he could fall asleep sitting upright, so he decided to just start talking.

the two of you never ran out of things to talk about. even though you had practically talked about everything since the two of you grew up together, you still could just converse for hours. because you two never seemed to get tired of each other. if anything, being together was energizing. you could never get tired of his melodic voice and laugh just like he would never be annoyed by the cute rants you always went on.

"i don't know, i just feel like if my girlfriend had a guy who was a best friend i would get jealous." jungkook said with a small shrug. your random conversations always got the two of you to some strange places, and tonight it had seemed the conversation had deviated to relationships. you were never really sure how your conversations evolved into the ones they did, but it was just where boredom got you.

"do you know how hypocritical you sound? you're saying that when you have a best friend who's the opposite gender." you replied with an incredulous look. jungkook just shrugged at that, although he didn't seem to take back what he said.

"i guess so. that's probably the reason i haven't had a relationship yet." he spoke quietly and you had to pretend that you didn't feel your heart break a little when you immediately registered the slight sadness in his voice.

it was hard to be a teenager and have every single girl curve you just because he had a girl best friend. he hadn't had a single romantic interaction because practically everyone in town knew about your friendship and always assumed it was something more than that. the only time he had even held hands with a girl was in the second grade. other than that, every other girl just avoided interacting with him.

he knew it was the same with you too, knew that you hadn't been asked out to a school dance or had one of those cringe middle school relationships that all of your other girl friends liked to joke around about. while every single one of your friends had a guy to gossip about, you always just sat there and listened. there were a few instances where your friends told you that a certain guy said you were cute but he wasn't going to ask you out because they didn't want to get their ass beaten by jungkook.

you honestly didn't blame them too much, since jungkook was pretty intimidating. despite that though, he wouldn't beat someone up just for asking you out. no, he would only beat them up if they ever dared to treat you wrong. maybe that was why any other boy was too intimidating to approach you. because nobody would ever be able to treat you up to jungkook's standard aside from himself. he hadn't trusted anyone else with you.

that didn't change the fact that you both felt bad for each other though. you were both missing out on a fundamental part of life. having your first significant other, first love, first kiss. the two of you were yet to experience any of that, and part of you wondered if you would ever possibly find someone who could accept the friendship you shared with jungkook. based on your luck for the past 16 years, you would guess that the answer was a no.

"i mean, i haven't either. not even my first kiss." you shrugged a bit. jungkook already knew this of course, since he would've been the first person you'd tell if it happened. he knew you were just saying this to make him feel better and he appreciated it. the two of you may never get to experience some of these things but at least you had each other's friendship.

"it sucks that we're both missing out on these things that practically everyone else has experienced. waiting for the right person is taking too long." you added on after a few moments. jungkook couldn't deny the way a small amount of jealousy flared up in his body at the thought of you finding someone to share your first kiss with. someone that wasn't him. and it seemed like he was too impulsive to keep that thought to himself.

"what better person to share your first kiss with than your best friend?" jungkook almost blurted out the sentence before he lost the sudden confidence. he had not only broken the silence between you two, but he felt as if he also broke the comfortable atmosphere. without looking down at you he could feel the way your body tensed through your thick layers of clothing.

"i mean- i'm just saying because like... we can't even find people who are comfortable with our friendship and nobody really wants to-" his jumbled up sentence was abruptly interrupted when he felt one of your mittens touch his cheek. it was if his whole body recoiled and his eyes darted down towards your face. your face was scarily calm and you were just staring at him. he was completely ready to play off what he said as a joke when you nodded.

"okay." you mumbled softly, and he swore that his heart had never started pounding so fast. due to his inexperience in romance, he had never really felt butterflies in his stomach... until now. he wanted to just take a handful of snow and shove it into his face to see if he was dreaming or actually experiencing this right now. but everything felt too real right now. he seemed to be noticing every miniscule detail right now.

the way your breath puffed softly into the air with every exhale, the soft blush that tinged your cheeks since you had just agreed to giving you first kiss to your best friend. the way that you eyes twinkled with the slight light from the city lights that were surrounding the both of you, and the snow that was still sprinkled lightly in your hair. but the most important detail that stood out to him was the way you were leaning closer to him. how those pretty lips looked like the softest thing. he found himself wondering how they tasted, and he'd be damned if he didn't find out.

and when your lips touched, all regrets simultaneously faded away.

all those years of feeling left out in life, the nights wishing that you would have someone to hold, someone to feel romance with. none of that mattered when you kissed each other. all of that was swept away, just like the breath from his lungs. he never knew that a moment like this would suddenly feel so intense, but he felt like right now he was being drowned and given life and nothing else mattered except for this kiss.

you weren't faring any better as well. the kiss was sweet. so much sweeter than you imagined. more so than the cookies you would bake together on a cold day, or the honey you would mix into your tea whenever you were sick. it's softer than the snow that surrounds the two of you in the current moment, impossibly softer than jungkook's voice whenever he's humming a tune to help you fall asleep at night.

the kiss tasted like the first shining rays of dawn, a start of something beautiful. it was a canvas upon which the sunrise of love would be painted. each touch was a brushstroke, creating a masterpiece of shared feelings written in the language of intertwined souls, feelings that had yet to be experienced until now. things that had been secretly brewing under the surface and shocked the both of you.

neither one in particular pulled away first, everything was too blurry to even remember it properly. both of you bombarded and overwhelmed with this emotions. the soft lights of the city around you which once illuminated your anticipation now exposed traces of vulnerability in both of your eyes - you couldn't help but wonder if jungkook had felt the same or if the symphony in your hearts was rather a solo performance on your side.

you had both unintentionally traveled into uncharted areas. words of everyone echoed through your mind right now, the countless times that you had been told that there was something more than just innocent friendship. jungkook could see the hesitation in your eyes, the instinct to retreat back into the safety of friendship the two of you had known for all these years. the promise to remain best friends for forever.

even the never-sleeping city of seoul and the intense snowstorm around you seemed to halt its movement, as if it was just waiting for something to be said. for a decision to be made, or for one of you to move back in again. waiting and waiting, and yet nothing ever came.

finally, a small, fragile smile spread onto jungkook's lips; an attempt to disregard the sudden tension in the moment surrounding you. it seemed to break you out of the trance you had been in, the world around you once resuming as you returned the smile back to him. as you gazed away from him and back towards the snow, the canvas filled with the starting of a masterpiece had been halted - waiting to be continued once again in the future.

your small canopy on the roof of your apartment was now a witness to what could've been, what might be. a shelf holding stories filled with chapters waiting to be filled and shared. but for now, it remained stagnant. this moment was held as nothing but that: a moment.

at least you could now join in the first kiss conversation with all of your friends.

end. ♥

[angy-grrr]

btw, im not waiting a whole week just to see izu///ocha confession, and tbh I dont think hori would spend that energy in it -he didnt before after all. I just think a platonic interpretation opens up the possibilities for closing more arcs -for example, the whole control your heart, the future of heroes and villains, etc.

Doing a confession would actually be too abrupt in my opinion, considering she is here crying over Himiko, this isnt about him and loving him.

EDIT:

btw this doesnt mean im dropping bnha. Im just saying I dont think it makes sense to wait two weeks for a confession of a ship that has not that much development in the first place -and this isnt about time spent with them. Its about emotional investment. Ochako and Himiko dont have the spotlight that much when thinking about all the manga chapters and arcs, however it got a loyal fanbase because the times they are together they are impactful. We didnt even know she was this invested in Toga in those ways, like the lovely smile and liking it ever since she saw it for the first time, until she said it. After only two chapters, they felt like a very beautiful and tragic ship because they care for the other in ways incomparable with others, and their dynamic feels extremely romantic. In another hand, izu//ocha doesnt have that feeling at all even if they have more panels together -there were many ways to connect them in a relevant way, but their moments arent as emotionally charged.

When Ochako jumped to defend Izuku for example; it could have been like that but instead we have her thinking about who saves heroes when focusing on him -this isnt emotional for them together-, and when she talks about smiles, her mind jumps to Himiko crying -this is personal and emotional at the same time. If we had her thinking "who will save villains" for Himiko, it would come out as way less romantic for canon; and if we had her thinking randomly about Izuku like she did at the beginning, with drawings of her face with an embarrassing expression or starting accepting it, it would be more romantic*

Its not that they have nothing in common, or dont care about each other in a meaningful way, its just that Hori decided to focus on other relationships instead of them together. The togachako confrontation in comparison shows us how he can focus on mainly the pair without forgetting about other important characters or feelings -she thought about him, and confessed she fell in love with him, yet it hit me way harder when she remembered her sad smile.

They just are... casual? It doesnt get me invested in them because none of their moments are intimate, I think (I mean Himiko and Ochako feel way closer than Izuku and Ochako even when they share goals and have cute moments, maybe bc some of the themes that hori seemed to introduce in the beginning for them got dropped after Katsuki was chosen to remain as a supportive pillar for Izuku. I hope the phrasing comes out as I intended!)

*I guess the closer to this would be her wishing him to give his best when she was at the helicopter, but personally I dont count it as random because everyone was feeling the same -and Iida is the link to this, narratively speaking. It wasn't her in the helicopter in a different scene with nobody else discussing these topics, neither it was Izuku thinking of this aspect of her on his own. So it doesnt come off as impactful.

[acourtofthought]

My husband finally put into words for me something that has been the main problem with this whole Anti Gwynriel because of Gwyn's past narrative.

According to Anti's, it's not ok to ship Gwyn with Az because she's not healed enough and hasn't shown that she's ready for a relationship.

According to Anti's, fanart of Gwynriel in provocative positions are not appropriate because it's disrespectful to Gwyn due to her SA, that she needs to first give verbal consent before we're allowed to imagine what a HEA for Gwynriel might look like.

And at first, it almost feels like a gotcha for them because you question whether you're disrespecting real survivors by saying, "she doesn't need to give consent for us to ship them since it's a book." This statement is true, I don't think readers should be forced to abide by real world morals when it comes to possible paths a characters arc might take, however it makes you pause for a moment to question whether what you're saying is disrespectful to those who have been victims.

But he actually flipped that entire thing on it's head when he said, "if the issue is about consent, then why is only being applied to a SA victim? Shouldn't consent be applied to everyone?"

It was kind of a lightbulb moment for me because those Anti's never vocalize how it's wrong for people to ship Eris & Az, Mor & Emerie, Vassa & Lucien (SA victim), Lucien, Jurian & Vassa, the LoA & Helion (because at this point they are not a consenting pair), Nesta & Eris. There are a bunch of non canon, non consent ships in this series and nobody has an issue with those. Nobody takes up the crusade arguing that it's wrong for people in the fandom to imagine those pairings together or drawing fanart of them in NSFW positions. Most of the time they're celebrated but has Emerie consented to having a sexual relationship with Mor? All she did was call her beautiful and Feyre had done the same in ACOMAF. Why do they never call out fanart of that pairing? Or Neris after Nesta harshly rejected him? Where Eris is currently suffering torture at the hands of Beron and we've got no clue as to his sexual preference. Also, Elain only consented to a fully clothed kiss in the bonus (remember, she grew up with human morals which she still holds fast too, she didn't jump right into bed with Graysen), we have no evidence she wanted more yet there's plenty of NSFW E/riel artwork out there and I'm betting some existed before SF, before she even consented to a kiss.

The only time I've ever heard anyone argue for consent or argue against NSFW art is in relation to Az and Gwyn and the message they're sending is that only female characters who have been SA need to give consent before fans should be shipping them.

That's when the shipping agenda makes itself known because if no other non-canon / non-consenting pairing disturbs them to the point they need to create post after post surrounding how wrong people are for shipping them, then it's clear to see that it's only Gwyn being shipped with Az that they take issue with and when only E/riels make these arguments, it seems highly suspect.

Gwyn's SA is irrelevant in terms of consent because EVERYONE should have consent before engaging in physical acts with others no matter their past. However, Gwyn's SA should not be the weight dragging her character down, the scarlet letter on her chest that means the fandom isn't allowed to give her the same treatment that all other characters receive. Where we're free to imagine and create fanart / fanfiction / headcanons (even the NSFW variety) for any pairing that we desire, regardless of their past or preference, even those who have never expressed romantic interest towards one another, except for Gwyn.

Consent in the actual book will be important but consent having already been given in our imaginations so we can imagine possibilities beyond what is currently written is the right of any reader.