#not really doing anything with that. he has friends who care about him now but kind of had them handed to him via regained memories instead

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

The fight was ugly. The first fight that you and Eddie had turned from a quiet disagreement to a full blown yelling match.

Truthfully you couldn't remember what the fight was actually about. Something silly, something miniscule that turned into a big thing.

A big argument with some horrible things said; you still couldn't get Eddie's words out of your head.

"Why would this mean anything? It's just sex isn't it?" Eddie snapped and your heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Just sex. Right. Of course that's what you two were.

Truthfully you were a mess and you should have just gone straight back home after storming out of the trailer.

Eddie has tried to go after you but you were faster and ran before he could catch up with you.

Instead you bumped into a few of your friends and hitched a ride to some party that one of Jason Carver's friends were throwing. Robin noticed your tear streaked cheeks and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

She was the only one of your friends who knew about Eddie; maybe Steve as well as him and Robin were as thick as thieves. Like platonic soulmates or something.

You and Eddie got together two months ago, passing off the hook ups as just mind-blowing sex and that worked at first. That's until you begun to get to know Eddie better and the two of you spent more time together.

Eddie was easy to fall in love with. His reputation portrayed him as mean and scary, satan obsessed and someone people should stay away from.

He was none of those things, he was kind and fiercely loyal to his friends and uncle, he was passionate and badass and really it was no surprise that you fell in love with him.

At least now you know that he doesn't feel the same way, at least you found out now before it was too late and you were even more in love with him than you are now.

Maybe you could just hang with your friends and forget the words that had broken your heart tonight.

At least you hoped that was possible.

❤️

Fuck, you really should have went home. Your head was pounding, the two beers you had made you even more anxious and upset. To make matters worse Tyler Harvey wouldn't leave you alone, he had zeroed in on you from the second you had walked through the door.

As much as you tried to avoid him, he followed you around and it was beginning to give you the creeps.

He manages to corner you when you're trying to get up to the bathroom with Robin. He stinks of beer, smoke and sweat and it turns your stomach a little bit.

Leather, smoke and the hints of woods and musk were your favourite scents in the world right now and that had to do with the man you were trying not to think about.

You cringe away from Tyler but he's so drunk that he doesn't seem to notice, he moves closer to you and you instinctively step back.

"Can you move please? Robin and I need to go upstairs" you ask him but he doesn't appear to be listening.

"Aww why don't you come upstairs with me? I'll take care of you" Tyler smirks but you don't like the look in his eyes and immediately step away from him. Yeah...no thanks. Robin is at your side at once and glares at Tyler.

"Take the hint asshole. She's not interested" Robin gently guides you away but Tyler grabs your arm at the same time and you stumble, landing hard on the floor. It knocks the wind out of you and your body throbs from the contact with the floor.

Tyler scrapers from the scene without even checking to see if you're alright. Robin is cursing out Tyler and helps you up. You're sore, annoyed and just want to go home.

Steve appears out of nowhere and Robin mentions that she called Steve when you mentioned you were getting a migraine. Relief fills you, at least you could go to Steve's for a little while and try and salvage some of the night with him and Robin.

There's a tiny voice inside of you that is aching for Eddie and it's growing stronger. You dismiss the idea, you're sure that Eddie was glad to be rid of you. That thought caused a new throbbing ache in your chest and you hurried outside with Steve and Robin determined not to think about Eddie and his big brown eyes.

❤️

As soon as you're at Steve's he puts in a movie and you settle up on the couch with Robin while Steve makes snacks. Being here is soothing and you rest your head on Robin's

Steve's landline ringing breaks you out of your sleep, Steve hurries to answer it and your heart skips a beat when you realise it's Eddie.

"Yeah, yeah dude she's with me and Robin. Some shit went down at a party we were at... Oh that asshole friend of Jason was being a prick. Yeah Tyler is it? Woah calm down man, she's fine. She's just tired"

You get up which is a little tricky as the sudden movement makes your migraine feel ten times worse but you really want to speak to Eddie.

Steve passes the phone over to you and you smile a tiny bit as Eddie is still ranting about what he wants to do to Tyler.

"Eddie, I'm okay" you murmur and he stops his rant and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Sweetheart. Fuck, I've been so worried princess. I went to your house, then Family Video. I even dropped around Wheeler's house which was a shock for Mama Wheeler to see if you were there. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I was a butthead"

The ache in your chest subsides a little bit and you relax. "I'm sorry too. I'm really sorry" tears spill down your cheeks and it's cathartic to finally let them out.

"I'm going to come and pick you up Kay? I'm not going to relax until I see that you're okay. I'll see you in about ten minutes okay?"

The tension you're feeling begins to disappear and you wait for Eddie to arrive, thanking Robin and Steve for being so amazing tonight.

True to his word Eddie arrives as quickly as he says he would and gives Steve and Robin a quick nod in greeting, he immediately pulls you close to him.

His lips press against hair and he briefly talks to Steve before guiding you out the door and into his van.

You're so exhausted from the nights escapades that you're asleep instantly.

❤️

When you wake up you're in Eddie's bed, Eddie is laying beside you and reading Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers. When he realises you're awake he presses his lips to your forehead and he tucks the covers around you, cuddles up at your side and holds you close.

"I'm sorry I was such a dickhead. You have no idea how much you mean to me, you mean everything to me and I was so scared to tell you. So I lashed out and said stupid shit. Things I didn't mean"

There's something unspoken hanging in the air, a familiar tension that's been playing the two of you for a little while now.

"I thought that you were sick of me and that's why you said those things" you confess and play with a start thread on his plaid shirt.

Eddie's jaw drops and he's silent for a moment, "Princess how could you even think that? You're...shit, I've never felt this way about anyone and it's terrifying trying to think of the right words, wondering if you feel the same way" he pauses as he lets the words sink in.

He's blushing, restless and anxious as his eyes meet yours; You sit up and cup Eddie's cheek with your hand.

"How do you feel about me Eddie?" It feels pretty certain now but you'd like to make sure. You'd like to hear him say it.

"I'm in love with you princess. How can you not see that? I guess I was just scared to tell you because I'm not exactly the perfect guy am I?" He scoffs as he says this and you scowl at the way his eyes turn sad.

"I don't care about that Eddie. Who wants perfect? I don't. I think you're amazing and handsome, you're sweet and kind, a gentleman. You make my heart skip a beat when you look at me and I feel at ease and content when I'm with you" his fingers entwined with yours and he sighs.

"You know so many people think I'm a freak, normally I don't give a fuck but I do care what others think about you" you soften and press gentle kisses over his cheek, the action causes him to smile shyly and his tense body relaxes.

"Eddie I don't give a shit what anyone says or thinks. Are you going to give us up just because of some idiots who don't matter? The only people that matter in this relationship are you and me. I love you Eddie, I'm so in love with you"

He looks up at you stunned and then he kisses you fiercely, "No I'm not giving us up. I love you sweetheart so much. You're my girl and I'm not letting you go because of some dumb assholes opinion"

The two of you spend the rest of the night making up and when you're tucked up in Eddie's arms as he falls asleep, you're left with the gentle feeling of this being where you're meant to be.

This trailer, Eddie's room, his arms around you as his soft snores fill the air. The sound of the wind blowing against the windows as you're lulled to sleep.

This felt like home.

💕

I get to love you

It's the best thing that I'll ever do

I get to love you

It's a promise I'm making to you

Whatever may come, your heart I will choose

Forever I'm yours, forever I do

I get to love you, I get to love you.

I Get To Love You- Ruelle

[creatingblackcharacters]

on the topic of fandom racism.. wanted to ask an outside opinion on this.

so without much detail bc i don't wanna get this person harassed or something, i'm in a fandom where most of the characters are japanese and look pretty similar, so the diversity is Not Great. recently i saw an artist, who is white, draw a character with slightly darker skin than the rest of the cast as Black, where he was ambiguously brown before. my problem with this as an outsider is that i think that plays into a ton more stereotypes than if he was just tan or something. this character is regarded to be misogynistic, overly sexual, and especially to his #fffff white japanese (girl) friend.

i, as a white person, would like to approach this artist and ask if that's really the message they wanna send, but god forbid i do not want to sound like those people that believe in "black-washing" or just hate to see more diversity in an anime lineup. would it be white knighting to point this out, or approach that, hey, maybe your only person of color in this cast shouldn't be the one that acts Like That...

Hm. I see what you're saying. I'd suggest a few things, which is really my go-to for everyone white fighting fandom racism:

1) first, look out for the voices of Black fans in that space and see what they're saying. If they are perturbed by what they see, then I would amplify their voices and support them first. Let them know they're not crazy. They're the ones experiencing the harm, let their voices be the ones prioritized. If no one Black has said anything, that could be a sign that this entire fandom isn't safe for that kind of feedback (which... Often.)

2) look at that person's page to see how they treat this character. Do they actually offer them depth? Are they a fan? Have they shared anyone's good perspective of him? Do they actually care about him, and think his being Black serves a better narrative? Or is it really just this character is a douchebag and now he's "Black" because they wanted some diversity points without thinking about it. Hell, does the original media do right by this ambiguously brown character lol? Because that can often be the larger issue too.

3) does this person positively interact with Black people at all? Like people, opinions, topics, politics, anything at all? Or is this their Token Black Blorbo Barbie™? Because that's a red red flag lmao.

4) if you still feel strongly about it, send them a DM. I'd say make sure to be genuinely polite, not because you should be respected more because of it, but so that it's on record that you wanted to give them the space to amend ("Hello, I mean no harm, but I was worried that this may-") You're white too, so it'll be safer. DMs are really a kindness, a last chance for grace; sometimes people are just like "fuck it, that's a racist and imma treat them like it". And I don't begrudge them that, this shit is exhausting and enraging.

5) accept that you may very well approach with the best intentions, and this artist may very well act a complete asshole* about it. They may make excuses, the classic "I would never be racist", they may accuse you of all those things that you just said, try to cast you as the problem, and their friends may very well make you out to be the racist for pointing out the racism. Welcome to fighting antiblackness and racism in fandom 👍🏾 it's a minefield out here.

*keep in mind, even if they "respond sweetly", the whole "thanks 💕" schtick is still them being an asshole. Racism in sweet words is still racism.

6) if they do respond like an asshole, it is not a reflection of you, but of them. 👍🏾 They are now purposely choosing racism. Block them and move accordingly.

[ninyard]

Thoughts on Kevin ending up nonverbal after Baltimore and everyone’s reaction

God. I love this.

Neil comes back, everyone - even Andrew, especially Andrew - is focusing on him, and listening to him talk, and Kevin kind of... sinks off into the background.

He doesn't mind it, really. Yeah, it's weird that Andrew has hardly looked at him, it's weird that Neil hasn't said much to him at all yet, but it's okay. He sits back, and listens. But the more time that passes, the more this feeling creeps its way up into his chest, around his heart, around his throat.

What will the Moriyama's do now that the Butcher is dead? Has Neil implicated them in it all, did he rat them out to the FBI? If the Moriyama's name finds itself involved in the investigation, how long is it until Day is mentioned? How long is it until someone starts questioning the hand, and the nest, and how long is it until all of these loose ends and messy leads find their way right up to Riko's feet?

There's a hundred questions in his head, but all he can do is sit and stare at a drink in his hand as the stories about Nathaniel Wesninski find their way around the room. Usually at this point Andrew would turn to him, and look between his eyes, and send him some sort of comfort, but he was too involved to care. But that's okay.

Kevin isn't sure he would be of much comfort right now, anyway - he thinks of his hands around his throat, he thinks about how scared he was to lose Neil, how quickly he turned on Kevin to keep Neil safe. Kevin doesn't blame him. But he doesn't forget about it. He knows what it means.

He sleeps that night without saying anything, he's not even sure anybody noticed him leaving early the next morning. He goes for a run as the sun comes up, and the dorm room is still empty when he returns. He makes a coffee. He sits by the broken window. He thinks of all the things he could say to Neil, the things he wants to say to Neil, but nothing feels right. Everything is half formed, and worthless, and when he imagines the words leaving his mouth, they lose their meaning. They lose their purpose.

Andrew texts him sometime before 10, later than Kevin expected him to text, but earlier than he expected him to be awake. It's not much, but something that doesn't require much effort to answer - you good? Kevin doesn't respond. Instead he takes a shower, pulling on the most comfortable and loose fitting clothes he can find afterwards, and he finds himself under the covers of his bed before he could find the energy to convince himself to be productive. He pulls the sheets tight around his head, hugging himself to keep the fabric from loosening.

He thought Neil was dead. He knew Neil should be dead. But he wasn't. And somehow, for some reason, it felt like he was next.

It felt like Neil had dodged certain death time and time and time again, and Kevin had just gotten off lucky. How could he explain that? How could he explain to anyone that he was glad Neil had survived, but he didn't understand it at all? How could he explain to anyone that he was afraid he was next - perhaps if he'd spent more time listening to what Neil was saying the night beforehand, he'd know more about what he'd told the FBI. Instead he'd spent most of that time exhausted and anxious.

He tried to tell himself it was jealousy, for a while, to shame himself into stopping this selfish feeling, but that wasn't true. Jealous that the attention wasn't on him, jealous that everyone cared so much about Neil. He wasn't jealous of anything Neil had been through. For a minute he wondered if it was the attention, but Kevin had never cared much for the attention of his teammates. He'd lost most of their desire to be his friend quite quickly into his arrival to South Carolina, and Andrew was the only one who seemed in anyway interested in dealing with his bullshit. Even then Kevin knew it was a chore, an obligation. Was Andrew his friend? Was he his friend anymore?

Do I keep going? Do I keep thinking about Kevin going into this hole of not knowing what to say, not knowing who cares, not knowing what matters? There probably isn't much of a reaction at all - the only reason people notice being that it's been suspiciously long since Kevin has bitched to them. Neil notices as quick as Andrew does, but he has so much recovery to do, so much mental energy to recoup.

I just picture the trip to the cabins, and Kevin still hasn't said much at all, but nobody really notices. Andrew can't be bothered trying to pull it out of him, so he just accepts that Kevin's gone quiet, and he doesn't say anything about it. It's not that he doesn't care, he just doesn't see a point of trying, because when Kevin goes quiet, he has to come out of it himself. So Andrew knows there's nothing he can do. Neil notices it too, but Andrew just tells him that he's fine.

Then them telling him about Kengo? About Jean? Him finding out where Renee has gone?

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 35

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 32, part 33, part 34

“So, how’s living in the mansion?” Eddie asks. Stabbing at the Jello cup with a fork instead of trying to eat it.

“Don’t think it’s officially a mansion. It’s just a big house.”

Eddie looks at him skeptical. “Same thing.”

In all fairness, it hasn’t been all that bad. It’s been an adjustment, sure. Any move would do that. Especially one where he barely knew the roommate. But he’s been sleeping better than he has for weeks. Been taking better care of himself. Can do laundry without carting himself to the laundromat and shelling out a handful of quarters. There’s a kitchen where he can start cooking in again. A real couch to sit on and a table to eat at. He forgot how much he missed stuff like that.

“It’s fine,” he says. Really downplaying it.

Eddie nods, seeing through all of Wayne’s bullshit. His stubborn air to automatically dislike anything that he didn’t do or buy himself.

“And living with Steve?” Eddie asks with hesitation.  

Steve keeps to himself well. Gets up for work and leaves peacefully. Never making a big fuss, or really alerting Wayne that he’s there too much. He’s quiet. A little too quiet sometimes.

Sometimes Wayne will wake up and there’s coffee waiting for him in the kitchen. One time he walked in after a shift and Steve left him some food in the fridge. And there’s always a note on the kitchen island letting Wayne know where he is. So, there’s nothing to worry about.

“Also fine,” Wayne responds.

Eddie almost sighs a breath of relief. Like he was hoping Wayne would like Steve. Would get along with him without a fuss. Like he hasn’t been more than cordial with Steve ever since Eddie woke up. They’ve already gotten along better that Wayne would have guessed.

But there was another layer to this. Wayne can approve of Steve as a friend, he certainly seems capable of doing that. The more that Eddie is secretly wanting though, that he’s not so sure.

Steve’s a fine kid. Just one with a reputation. Heartbreaker of Hawkins High. The one that every girl wanted to be with. Who got with everyone he could. It could be an exaggeration. It could be a bunch of bullshit rumors. Wayne wouldn’t, or really want, to know. Steve’s personal life is his personal life. He’s not inclined to share it.

But if that personal life comes back around and hurts his boy. Well, Steve should know what would happen about that.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eddie suddenly averts his eyes. Finally eating the now massacred Jello.

“Because I know you, and I’ve seen this look before. Didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Because he does. But it wouldn’t hurt for him to be wrong sometimes.

“No, you don’t.” Eddie slams the Jello down on his tray as hard as he can. Just letting gravity assist him in making a point. He looks at Wayne with that anger in his eyes that Wayne would really like to avoid.

They don’t need the first disagreement they have since Eddie’s accident to be in a hospital.

“Alright then,” Wayne backs down. “How’s the physical therapy going?”

That starts a new rampage. But one with frustration not directed at Wayne. The doctor taking the fall of what Wayne started. Eddie getting frustrated at the way his limbs keep failing to do the things he once was able to. The way they stiffen up when he strains them too much. Or how the pain can just start shooting through and never stop. Not just for hours, maybe a day or two. Where the pain meds can’t seem to dull them enough where Eddie can stop thinking about it.

It's hard to watch. Has been and will continue to be. There probably won’t be a day where Eddie will be the way he used to. Constantly in some sort of pain. Reminded of the moment his life changed forever.

The visiting hours end, and Wayne has to leave. It never gets easier, leaving. Just marks another tally of the endless line of days Eddie’s been in the hospital. It seems endless, anyway. Even with the talks of being discharged, it still feels like there’s no hope.

He tries to find it. Tries to keep the candle lit for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t always work. But he’s trying.

No matter how many times Wayne opens the front door of the Harrington house, it still doesn’t feel real. He’s been staying there for a week now, and each time the key slides into the lock, it feels like a dream. Or a really cruel prank.

But it’s real. All of this is.

“If you get more flour in my hair, I swear to God,” Steve’s voice echoes down the hall.

“Well than stop making it so easy for me,” Robin’s voice, if Wayne’s remembering correctly, follows.

He unties his boots and places them on the floor mat by the front door. Being very careful to follow the one major rule that Steve had when it came to the house. It was easy enough to follow. He wanders down the hall and into the kitchen. Walking into a mess. Different measuring cups and spoons scattered around the island, small piles of flour and other dry ingredients surrounding it. A pile of dishes in the sink. The slight smell of something that was burnt.

Honestly, he likes it better this way. Reminds him of home.

“Hi, Mr. Munson,” Robin chirps. Eating chocolate chips right out of the bag.

“Oh hey,” Steve looks up from bowl he was mixing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Wayne nods hello. “What are you making?”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Steve explains, looking toward Robin. “Because someone wanted cookies but didn’t want to do it herself.”

“We didn’t have any chocolate chips in the house,” Robin shrugs. Pouring another handful of chips into her mouth.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Didn’t believe it the first time and I don’t believe it now.”

He turns around to grab the baking sheets, leaving an opportunity for Robin to steal the spatula out of the bowl. Helping herself to raw cookie dough. Steve sighs when he turns around.

“Shouldn’t you also be scared of salmonella, Miss ‘Rabies is like my number one biggest fear?’” he snarks, searching in the drawer for an ice cream scoop.

“Rabies and salmonella are two very different things.” Robin continues to eat the batter off of the spoon. “How’s Eddie?” she asks, directed toward Wayne.

“Better,” he says with more confidence than he feels. Not being able to ignore the way Steve perks up when Eddie’s name is mentioned.

“That’s good,” Steve says. The gentle click of the ice cream scoop filling the break of silence.

Wayne nods. Feeling the need to cross his arms. “Yeah. The doctor says if he keeps his progress steady over the next week, he should be able to come home.”

Steve and Robin look at him with mirrored hope.

“That-that’s really good,” Steve smiles. “It’ll be nice seeing him outside of the hospital.”

“And hiding,” Robin adds. Throwing the spatula in the sink.

Wayne nods. Still feeling out the awkwardness of these interactions. “I’m going to turn in, just wanted to say hello.”

“Let us know if we’re being too loud. I can always kick her out.”

“Hey.” Robin slaps Steve’s arm.

“Night,” Wayne leaves the room. Swallowing a laugh.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Diabetic Steve who is at a Dairy Queen with Robin after he went with her to an all girl punk band that’s she’s been wanting to see for years. Steve had been feeling weird all day but he didn’t want to bail at the last second because he knew that Robin would just cancel everything to take care of Steve.

(Steve would do the same for her).

Steve plops down into a booth while Robin goes to order them food. He pulls out his pod and winces when he sees his glucose level.

64 and going down. Not a good sign.

Just to be sure he pricks his finger and holy shit, he’s actually at 43. It’s at that moment, when Steve is wiping his finger with the alcohol wipe, that his phone decides to loudly beep to alert him that, “hey you’re crashing pretty hard and fast— take care of it soon!!”

Steve is rifling through his bag while Robin is already trying to rush their orders.

“Shit,” Steve mumbles to himself. “I’m out of fucking juice.”

His hands start to shake and Robin begins to freak out. Steve is always so in control of his diabetes, she’s never seen him like this. So, Robin does what any other person would do and grabs the largest blizzard she has ever seen on the online orders tray and runs over to her best friend.

“Here! Have this, I’m going to try to get you some apple juice!”

Steve just nods his head and slowly spoons some of it into his mouth.

“This tastes like shit, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, dingus. Now shut up and eat.”

The worker behind the counter comes over and starts talking to Robin after she sits in front of Steve. Steve can’t really make anything out right now since he’s trying to focus on making his hands work. But, he thinks he hears the mention of calling 911 and an ambulance.

Time passes a little slower after that. Steve somehow manages to get down enough of the ice cream that he is slowly rising again.

57 after he pricked. Thank god.

It’s at that moment that Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, walks in. He went to his best friend’s, Chrissy’s, show and needed a pick-me-up after helping her lug all of her equipment back into their vehicle.

He goes over to the online orders tray and it’s empty. He doesn’t really mind waiting. He walks over to the counter and sees that the worker is extremely frantic as she sorts some shit out.

“Hey,” he starts, his fingers tapping the fake granite counter top. “Just checking, I’m here to pick up an order for Edmundo and it’s not on the tray. Do you know when it will be ready?” He flashes an awkward smile and the worker just points to the table behind him.

“We’re working on it. Your nightmare of a blizzard was needed for something else. Give us five minutes.”

Eddie nods and slowly turned around, where he sees the most gorgeous man eating his blizzard. Reluctantly, he might add. The man has on a light pink t-shirt and brown corduroy pants, thick lensed glasses sliding down his nose. The woman across from him was clad in funky colors and had a dirty blonde bob. She was talking extremely fast and gesturing with her hands a bunch.

Chrissy would love her.

He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder.

“How’s my blizzard?”

He slowly looks up and Eddie is met with honey brown eyes and beauty marks for days. A straight nose and an angular jawline. Jesus Christ.

The woman looks like she’s about to say something, but the guy beats her to it. “It tastes like if a unicorn threw up in my mouth, but it prevented me from passing out. So… thanks.” He smiles. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie needs to become Steve’s husband immediately.

“And I’m in love.” He pauses and then sees the look of glee on Steve’s face. “EDDIE. My name is Eddie.”

“It’s nice to meet you Eddie. Are you free tomorrow?”

[nevermorgue]

I'd love to hear your headcanons with Ada and Annabel and Ada and Wil. Their relationships interests me, and I'm curious what you have in mind with roommates, and two people who find admiration in the same guy. (Hopefully two in the same ask is okay--)

Okay, you’re so right. I do love both of those dynamics a lot. And of course I’ll do two, I love these

Ada and Annabel

- It’s complicated. Annabel finds her irritating, but she wouldn’t wish for anything bad to happen to her. Ada envies Annabel terribly, but admires and respects her greatly.

- Ada keeps begging Annabel to help her try the rag curl method out, but Annabel is trying to drag it out because she knows it won’t work with Ada’s hair type.

- Annabel hates how Ada tries to flaunt her ‘friendship’ around like an object. It’s how she was treated when she was alive; pretty object.

- Annabel had to resist every urge to roll her eyes when Ada told her she could ‘have Prospero to herself now’ once she got with Montresor.

- Ada tried to take her tea the way Annabel does but it was far too bitter. She sneaks sugar in when nobody is looking.

- Ada loves walking with her in the garden, pointing out flowers that ‘her darling would definitely pick for her’. Annabel is so tired of it, but she puts on a smile and goes along with it.

- Annabel has woken up to Ada hyperventilating/crying. She usually pretends to stay asleep, but on one occasion she actually sits up and offers comfort. Ada refuses to tell her what is upsetting her, wiping her eyes and insisting a lady would not react like this. Annabel says nothing to that.

Ada and Will

- cannot get along. They’re too similar, and they both hate it.

- Will is passive to literally everyone but her in canon. He talks back to her all the time. I think he sees her on his level of pathetic.

- They will tell the other that Montresor doesn’t care about them, even though they both know deep deep down that it’s true on both ends

- Will is further in denial than Ada. Ada kinda knows what she’s doing + pursues Montresor in a time of vulnerability. She wants to like…see someone as messed up as she is. Meanwhile, Will is just desperate for someone to call a friend.

- Ada finds out that he writes and insists that she is made into a character. So he makes a very ugly, evil hag.

- She tried to use ‘Fear Itself’ on him and couldn’t find one thing. It kept changing, as if his brain couldn’t decide what was worse.

- She was genuinely uncomfortable seeing him wear her face for the first time. It was too accurate. It made her wonder how often he’s watched her to be able to do that.

- Ada laughs in his face and jokingly says he probably turns into her to pretend that he gets Monty’s romantic attention too…and he can’t even deny it.

- They have a big fight after that. Ada always hits harder.

- They really cannot even sit in a room together alone without arguing unless someone is supervising them.

- Will remembers when she complimented her eyes. One day they’re just existing in the same room and he just quietly goes, “…did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said my eyes were nice.”

And then Ada is confused- when did she say that? When she remembers, she ends up speaking without a filter.

“Duh, gray is a rarity for eyes you know.”

And that’s the only time they can ever truly speak to one another because Montresor is such a heavy blanket over them both that he’s the factor that keeps them from forming any sort of bond.

[sencrose]

— WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

pairing: naoya zenin x f!reader, implied feelings involving naomaki

tags: dead dove do not eat. dubcon, angst?, reader is described as having a similar appearance to maki (mostly in hairstyle), incestuous undertones, physical abuse (against maki, sorry queen) established relationship, throatfucking, no prep, rough sex, pain during sex, (condescending) praise, hair pulling, internalized misogyny

wc: 3.2k

summary: You do not know what your husband sees in you. For better or worse, you learn.

a/n: back on my writing horrible things about naoya bullshit!! ngl this was weird to write but i also had a lot of fun with it. big thank you to @blueparadis for beta reading this for me <3 please read the tags and proceed with caution. ao3 link here

tagging: @pixelcafe-network @jellyfishsart

You do not know what your husband sees in you. 

It is not that you are without merit, but you are, simply put, plain. A weed in a field of flowers in full bloom. The diet that follows after a bad bout of the stomach flu. A satellite in the night sky that might be mistaken for a star — until it glides past far too quickly to be one, much to an onlooker’s disappointment. 

You know what power the Zen’in clan holds. The kind of power where even the most upstanding of sons will poison their fathers just for a taste. The paranoia that comes with it, the rumors of potential traitors whispered between paper doors is enough to keep anyone on edge. 

With all of that in mind, you know in your heart of hearts you are not the type of person the next head of the clan would pursue. 

Yet you were told he picked you out by hand, out of the dozens of matchmaking papers given to him. Applicants that began and ended on ink, their names, birthdays, and occupations, were discarded without a care of who they were,, or who they could have been. 

What an honor, you were told. 

So you packed up your things with a judgemental eye, preparing yourself for the worst when you arrive. Would they let you keep a stuffed animal that was a birthday gift from a friend, or is that too childish? What about this shirt — is it conservative enough or will it bring unwanted attention?

You left most things behind. 

—

Every now and then, you recall a conversation you had with your mother shared over a plate of cut fruit, shortly before you received the news from the Zen’in clan. It comes to you whenever you see the young girls rushing through the corridors, hands holding a stack of sheets that tower over them. 

“Do you have any dreams?” she asked, carving the skin of an apple, the crimson peel spiraling under her skillful thumb, “Ambitions?”

She tended to ask this now and then. It’s natural, you assumed; a mother’s desire to know anything and everything there is to know about their child. 

It’s hard to remember or keep track of all the answers you’ve given her. All you know is that they’ve become less ambitious over the years. From huffing your chest out and saying you’ll be an astronaut who lives out in the stars with the profound confidence only a child could have, to something less spectacular, more mundane. 

You didn’t have much luck becoming a sorcerer, which shrunk your options. Maybe you’d go to school. Maybe get a degree, get some kind of corporate job, waste your life away in a gray office cubicle. 

But none of those are dreams. Obligations, perhaps.

“No, not really,” you replied, detached from the conversation. It was the truth. 

She patted you on the back, comfortingly. “Ah, that’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.”

You still don’t know what she meant by that, but you also made no effort to ask for clarification. The words simmered low and steady until it burned and branded itself in your head.

As if to pull you out of your thoughts, your mother handed you a slice, an offering. Despite her words, you wondered if it was consolation. 

—

Even after some time has passed since your arrival, you do not know what your husband sees in you. You’re not sure he sees you at all. 

His touch is few and far between. 

To your surprise, on the night of your wedding you did not consummate your marriage. It happened two weeks after, and it was not what you expected from someone who had supposedly picked you out on his own accord. 

It was anything but gentle. You learned quickly that Naoya Zen’in is not a patient man.

Rough hands were grabbing anywhere, everywhere. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to devour you. 

Nothing placated him. When you gazed up at him teary-eyed with soft pleas to go slower, you only made things worse. Hands grabbed onto your form to flip you over, push your face into the sheets so he didn’t have to hear your protests. Fingers pressed deep into the dip of your waist, so hard you worried about bruises forming (they did). 

Once he got what he wanted out of you, he tossed you to the side. As if you were some random girl he just happened to pick up for the night, someone he hoped would be gone come morning. 

As if you weren’t his wife. 

It was the first time in a long time that you realized, maybe, you had wants. Desires. To do something instead of having something done onto you. 

But your mother’s words haunt you. 

You don’t want to be greedy. 

—

For the first time since arriving at the estate, you have a hint of what your husband sees in you.

You don’t think you’re supposed to see it. You don’t think you’re supposed to be here at all.  

A girl lies on the floor of the open courtyard, her head underneath Naoya’s heel.

It’s like looking into a mirror, though a bit distorted. The image is similar, but the puzzle pieces filling in the gaps are all different.

Her hair is much like yours, though the strands that frame her face hang like blades, sharpened, ready to cut anyone who gets too close. 

You don’t have that type of intensity around you. The pieces of hair that frame your face soften your features. Wispy, uncertain shapes that blow away with the slightest puff of wind. 

The similarities start and end there. 

Though she’s younger than you, she wears a hardened expression, one you always thought would come to you with age. You realize now that you must’ve had it easy when you see how she wears it like it’s all she’s ever known. 

Although you go unnoticed by your husband, the girl acknowledges your presence. Her gaze meets yours, fury ablaze in her eyes, along with something else you don’t recognize. Your legs react before you even realize, taking a step back. 

Even with her body pressed into the ground in submission, you can tell she is anything but. It’s written candidly on her face, teeth bared to the world, begging for flesh to dig into.

Your husband must be a blind fool. Even you can see from a distance that she’s a wild animal in human form, just waiting for a chance to break the chains of her enclosure. You feel it in her stare, how she strips you down to a state even Naoya hasn’t witnessed. You don’t like it. How her eyes hone in on you like a lion staring down its prey.

Then again, would you even be considered prey? Even a rabbit has a fighting chance at running away. You do not know how to run. Not towards a goal, and certainly not away from danger.

But you can still walk. Walk while you can and you can forget you’ve ever seen this. Stuff it back in the recesses of your mind, back where you wrote off wants and desires and greed all those years ago.

You don’t walk away fast enough.

When you hear her name slip from your husband’s lips, your stomach freefalls. 

You haven’t been at the estate for long, but you know of her. Everyone does. You just never had the chance to put a name to a face. Maki Zen’in, one half of the clan disappointment, alongside her twin sister. It goes without saying that you also know of the ties that connect them.

You know your husband is a cruel man. He has to be; it’s practically a requirement for someone of his power and status. But it’s hard to watch when it’s laid out so plainly in front of you. Even so, you stay.

You watch with a tightness in your chest as he pulls her up by the base of her ponytail before throwing her back onto the ground, gravel and dust dispersed in the air from the impact.

Anger lights a fire in his eyes. No matter what he does, he doesn’t seem to get the reaction he wants, or much of a reaction at all. She takes it in stride, only emitting hushed grunts when he kicks her. While you flinch at the volume of his voice rising, she boldly sneers at his frustration.

You meet her eyes again. 

She laughs. 

It isn’t to piss off Naoya. No, it’s directed at you. The bystander who’ll go on with her day like nothing ever happened, even after witnessing the horrific abuse doled out at the hands of her husband.

Even though she doesn’t hold an ounce of cursed energy in her veins, you know what she thinks of you. You hear it in the dry chuckle she lets out before Naoya kicks her again.

You’re cursed. 

How pitiful. 

—

You’re sure he’s ranting about something, maybe something Naobito did, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to him. All you can think about is the girl in the courtyard, with an ire in her eyes you’ve never seen before. When was the last time you looked like that? Felt something so intense it radiated off of your very being, so bright and radiant it couldn’t be ignored? Have you ever had that kind of fighting spirit in you?

A stagnant silence brings you back. You vacantly stare back at your husband. It was your turn to speak for once. You perk up at the opportunity, though you’re unsure how to seize it.

“Sorry. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t need to say anything. C’mere.”

He pulls you in closer, his hand petting your head. It’s the only time he shows any semblance of gentleness, a cruel way of lulling you into a false sense of security. You know what comes next. His hand presses against your head, lower, lower, until you’re nestled against his crotch. Naoya looks at you, expectantly. 

Your fingers wrap around the cotton ties that hold his hakama pants, pulling with a tug. From there, the fabric falls easily, more so once you reach around his waist to undo the tension from the straps. 

You steel yourself to do what you’ve always done, though something sits in the back of your mind. 

You get him to groan with a long stroke of your tongue on the underside of his cock. Build yourself up to taking his entire length into his mouth, inch by dreadful inch, but it’s hard. By the time you swallow him whole, you can feel his tip pressing against the back of your throat. You do your best to service him at a pace he’d be satisfied with, one you know is out of your skillset, dribbling spit and coughing softly whenever you go too deep.

But Naoya isn’t satisfied. He’s impatient, his fingers weaving through your hair, pulling tight before he quickens your pace to his own liking. It’s something you still haven’t gotten used to. The burning in your eyes, the gross wet sounds that leave your mouth as he bobs your head up and down like a toy.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Take me in so well, don’t you?” His grip around your hair tightens.

He continues recklessly fucking your throat, ignoring all of the choked cough and garbled yelps you let out whenever he hits the back of your throat. All you can do is take it, ball your fists and fold your thumbs in, and hope that trick you learned about reducing your gag reflex isn’t just some urban legend.

Naoya removes yourself from him as roughly as he places you onto him. The rush of air is both a welcome one and sudden change, and you gasp and cough at the sensation.

“Wife,” He brandishes the title like a weapon, the blade of a dagger pressed against your neck.

“Tie your hair up for me, won’t you?” he poses it as a question, but you know you have no choice in the matter. 

Time freezes.

Your eyes shift and you find yourself fiddling with your fingers, hoping he will change his mind if you look up at him with a disarming plea in your eyes, but his gaze does not falter. His eyes only get darker, a dangerous amber that glows like a warning sign in the lowlight of your shared chamber, as he awaits you to fulfill his request. 

Maybe your husband doesn’t see you, but you have always seen him for who he is, even if you didn’t want to admit it. It shines more than ever, when he tilts his head and the corners of his lips upturn. A snake carefully wrapping itself around a rat, just one good squeeze away from keeping you in his clutches forever. Once again, you’re trapped and frozen with nowhere to go. Unfortunately, you play your part well without trying.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It probably runs in their blood.

Slowly, you tie your hair up, strands spilling between your fingertips as you pick them up again, gathering and pulling through the hair only halfway through the elastic, an unstable, floppy bun.

You don’t want to be greedy.

A ghost of unspoken words from your mother whispers against your ear, and maybe if you caught on a bit sooner, things would be different. What was she trying to tell you? What did she hold behind her tongue so cautiously?

Because that’s not how I raised you?

Because that’s not a woman’s place?

Because that’s not what makes a good wife?

But none of it sounds quite right.

And though the thoughts swirl and cloud your head, something else rings bright and clear through the murkiness. 

You want. You want to be wrong. You want it with an intensity you’ve never felt before in your life, a desire clawing its way out of your chest, desperate to see the light of day. 

It’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.

Naoya gently tugs on the loop of hair with his fingers, almost intimately, and it makes your stomach curl. He pulls apart the strands in half to tighten it, until a ponytail reminiscent of the one you saw earlier today sits on top of your head. 

It is only in this moment the clouds in your mind disperse, the addendum your mother wanted to add clear as day.

Because all you will be left with is disappointment.

Even though you’re filled with unease, you follow his lead because it’s all you’ve ever known. He pulls on the waistband of your skirt before pushing his hand against your back, getting you in position to arch for him. 

His fingers drag against your slit, before sliding two of them inside your hole, ignoring any initial resistance. Another thing you learned about your husband is that he’s a determined man; to your dismay, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit, he’ll make it fit. Even the stretch of his digits is uncomfortable, scissoring them inside you just to hear you whine under his touch. You wince when he withdraws them, tighten up when you feel something hot and hard pressed against you.

There’s no getting used to his size. Even if he took the time to prepare you properly, you’re sure it would still hurt – if not at the initial penetration, then at the frenzied thrusts that come shortly after. His plump cockhead nudges teasingly against your hole, poking and proding before pulling away. He likes to keep you on your toes, hear you whimper when he surprises you a rough thrust. 

Something about him seems more impatient than usual.

He pushes himself into you, and you bite down on your lip as he splits your walls apart in one swift movement. Over the course of your marriage, you’ve learned to wait out the pain, keep your breathing steady until he starts to move. But his pace never stays slow for long. It’s only a short moment before his hips slam into yours faster and you have to weave through the sheets and grip for stability.

“Naoya, ‘s too much,” you whine, voice high pitched and on the edge of sounding needy.

Without warning his hands wrap around your ponytail and he pulls tight. The sharp pain makes you wince, arch your back until you’re pressed flush against his chest.

“Talking back, are we?” he quips back.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say, hushed and quiet. 

You don’t think he accepts your apology, not when he tugs a bit harder and gives you a thrust so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. Whether he accepts it or not, he’s still enjoying himself. You hear it in the groans he lets out whenever he hits you deep inside and you moan at the impact, feel it in the way his other hand kneads your breast before giving your nipple a tug.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You wonder if his words are actually directed towards you, but you don’t think too hard about your response, falling back on your default mode of placating him.

“Mhm,” you hum softly.

“Then you won’t mind if I go harder, right?” he asks, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. There’s no smooth transition, he simply goes straight into fucking you harder.

His pace is dizzying, the slap of skin-to-skin echoing throughout the room as he fucks you.

He only gets louder and more desperate as his hips slam into yours. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this before. It makes your mind race, makes you wonder if he’s holding back his tongue to call out another name whenever he hums a bit too long in pleasure. Each sound he makes causes your heart to skip in terror and anticipation, but you never hear it. Still, it trembles. 

“Be a bit louder for me, ok?” he whispers in the shell of your ear. His hand traces down from your chest to your waist, lower until it reaches your aching clit. “I’ll even treat you tonight.”

The unexpected contact pushes you further into him, sends a shiver of tension up your spine. You don’t want to admit the pleasure boiling up in you, not like this, but your body doesn’t give you much of a choice. Your lips are the first line of defense to fall, high pitched moans you don’t recognize spilling so easily, naturally, as if it’s water leaking from a faucet.

Maybe he thinks you’re enjoying yourself just a bit too much, because the grip on your hair tightens once again. But it doesn’t stop the rush of warmth building up in your stomach, from your muscles tightening to prepare for your impending climax.

“Nao, I’m close, I’m close-”

Shame washes over you along with your orgasm, walls fluttering against his cock, as he fucks you through it. Naoya’s own climax follows shortly after yours, his hips thrusting harder until he stills with a shaky groan. 

Only once he removes himself from you, you collapse on to the bed, body spent. You cautiously reach for the hair tie, looking over at Naoya as you pull it out with a soft tug. He doesn’t stop you. 

You know what your husband sees in you.

You wish you didn’t see it too. 

[hwnglx]

that shuffled song is cute, what a plot twist. the lyrics do fit. this reading was quite extensive though, he has so much depth to his personality.

lee know's real personality behind the scenes

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled song: sunshine by stray kids

+ lee know is an incredibly independent guy. he seems to have overcome a good amount of hardship in the past, which has equipped him with this profound ability to heal himself, and led to him being pretty self-reliant. he's always been sensitive, still is sensitive; but good at handling it now. he's an example of someone who took the pain in his life, and has been able to turn it into a valuable lesson for himself. not only that, the things he went through shaped him into a person full of wisdom and depth, who has a good understanding of life. i can see him giving valuable advice to people, and being this person you can comfortably seek in times of tribulation.

he is an amazing listener as well. people feel comfortable talking to him about anything, really. he's someone who's good at attuning himself and his energy to people's specific needs, which can make him very pleasant to be around.

hugely perfectionistic. lee know is the type of person who works quietly but puts in consistent effort. i got reminded of when skz filmed their survival show back in the day, and lee know got eliminated. even after dropping out, he continued to practice tirelessly by himself. that seems to be a good reflection of the type of hardworker he is behind closed doors. he holds himself to insanely high standards, and wants to continue discovering an even better and improved version of himself all the time; especially in regards to his career. he isn't the type to work for other people's approval and crave their validation, but moreso his own satisfaction and fulfilment. he feels his best when he's able to conquer challenges with his own strength, and isn't dependent on anyone's assistance.

there is this very slow-moving and patient energy to him, where he isn't impulsive and doesn't rush into things. he makes sure he contemplates his actions several times before actually going through with them. this makes him a considerate guy who respects people's boundaries. the people he surrounds himself with, lee know choses wisely and carefully. he won't just give his precious time to anyone. but the people he does spend it with, he cherishes dearly.

this is so interesting, because on the one hand he can give off this immensely individualistic energy, where he just kinda lives in his own world to his own accord, yet on the other hand, he's someone who deeply values the handful of people he's close to. there is this nurturing and loyal side of lee know only the ones close to him could tell you about. he puts a lot of importance into looking after his intimate circle of friends and family, and making sure they feel cared for.

- lee know is quite conventional and more traditional in his views. i don't necessarily see him being judgemental or condemning things or people different to him out of malice, he just consciously rejects them for himself since they're so foreign to him. he prefers staying in his own bubble and living the lifestyle he's already familiar with and accustomed to. he hates when people stick their nose in his business though, or pretend they have a say in his life. he lives his life based on his own beliefs, values and desires, and will get genuinely annoyed if someone pretends they know what's good for him.

his caution can also go to extremes sometimes. he's the type of person to only invest energy into something, when he himself sees substantial benefit behind it. if something feels empty to him, he won't entertain it any longer. he also seems to be a person who doesn't enjoy the feeling of regret, it just seems to kinda linger in him and nag at him for a while, which is why he's extra careful about how he proceeds in several areas of life. even if, let's say he has this seed of an idea for something in his head; it's likely he won't always bravely go forward with it, out of fear of it potentially going wrong. he's hesitant to take any risks out of fear of losing his grip on what he's built till now. almost like he has this house of cards, and is trying to hold back any wind from making it fall down.

lee know is a person who doesn't enjoy displaying his negative and more self-deprecating emotions (like self-doubt, lack of confidence, insecurity or regret) externally and can therefore be prone to swallowing them, and internalizing them. this can lead to them potentially coming up in a more rash and stronger manner later on.

he will not hold back if you manage to provoke him, or rub him the wrong way. in general he actively avoids conflict or drama, but if he catches someone intentionally sticking a dagger in him, he won't be the type to just stay silent. he can get very offensive and blunt, his words can get sharp as a knife, they're often quite hurtful. (very scorpio mercury thing) he just knows how to push people's buttons. he's excellent at reading people, and has a quick wit. so he'll probably have your vulnerable spots already all figured out before you even know it, and hit you at places he knows will trigger you.

a lot of this seems to stem from him just being on guard a lot. he doesn't wanna get hurt, so if a person manages to make him feel threatened, he's likely to go into verbal offense mode out of self protection. i just heard “hurt people hurt people”. as mentioned before, he's gone through his fair share of struggle until now. reason why he seems extra protective of his peace at this point in time.

[queenlua]

hey. hey. what mtg deck would naesala play?

Naesala doesn’t play Magic: the Gathering.  what do you think he is, some kind of nerd?

…that’s what he says, at least. except, at some point, Leanne gets her hands on some cards & omigosh there are ANGELS on here and they’re so pretty!!! & so now she has an ANGELS DECK & she wants Naesala to play, so he’s like “fine i guess”

(this is when they’re all still young and precious and adorable.  also: Ice Age is the hot new set of cards in town.  no one is actually good at Magic yet, the only way you learn the rules is via exciting rumors on the playground, the metagame advances at the pace of a monthly Scrye magazine subscription, etc)

ANYWAY.  Naesala starts out just playing whatever pile of cards Leanne hands to him & is perfectly happy getting rolled by her; he’s really treating it as a social hanging-out kinda thing, kinda like pinochle or whatever

except then Reyson makes a whole THING of it, y’know.  he shows up with his own aggressively handcrafted green/white deck and he’s going to BEAT Naesala and that’s going to make him stop bugging LEANNE.  (i mean, it won’t, but insert whatever adolescent boy logic you like here)

Naesala doesn’t care that much about winning either way, but he *is* a horrible troll and enjoys rankling Reyson

so that’s when he bothers walking into an Actual Hobby Shop for the first time (taking care not to touch anything more than he has to) (when is the last time anyone dusted this place or wiped down a counter, gross) & he asks if they have a copy of The Official Rules & he then proceeds to read them cover-to-cover

and thus, the following week, he’s the one that breaks the news to Reyson, mid-game, that regeneration can’t save your creatures from Wrath of God & Reyson is PISSED.  “that’s not fair” “it’s the rules” “you hafta SAY that first” “sorry Reyson but your river boa is dead” etc etc insert childish squabbling here

anyway.  fast-forward a bunch of years + one genocide later, and, dang, it’s been a while since Naesala and Reyson talked, huh?

Naesala hasn’t touched the game much in the interim.  i mean, he’s played some, because he’s got this one annoying underling who’s really into it, and part of being a good leader is very occasionally letting your hair down & letting everyone dunk on you in some goofy multiplayer MtG game in the mess hall.  so he has a couple gimmicky decks he’s thrown together for casual play.  he’s got a Relentless Rats + Thrumming Stone deck.  he’s got a goofy Tinker deck—he put it together when he was REALLY out of the loop, and thought he’d discovered this great new combo no one else had noticed—he was pissed when he learned that card had been banned, like, two years ago, dude.

but his main deck is this black/white weenie deck that he’s cobbled together over the years—it’s charmingly old school but still holds up reasonably well.  it’s got Hypnotic Specter and Order of the Ebon Hand and Order of the White Shield and Hymn to Tourach, and he’s thrown in a Stromgald Crusader and a Damnation and such over time, it doesn’t exactly adhere to good modern deck design principles but it generally puts in a respectable showing.

meanwhile, Reyson has gotten *way* too into MtG—like, uncomfortably into it. have you ever had a friend who got Way Into A Particular Hobby Because They Were Clearly Desperately Unhappy About Something Else In Their Life? And They’re Trying To Tell You About All This Insane Hobby Drama That They’re WAY Too Invested In And You’re Trying To Find A Subtle Way To Tell Them Bro Get A Little Bit Of A Life Please?  yeah, that.

i mean, it’s understandable!!!  he can’t possibly compete with the hawks in all their reindeer games, dude just literally does not have the muscle, but there is a decent contingent of hawks that are pretty into MtG so he is determined to dominate there.

Reyson is not a natural talent at the game, but he’s a total grind, so he is in fact the most dominant MtG player on all of Phoenicis.  so when Naesala shows up in Phoenicis for the first time in years and years, and Reyson's got all these Unresolved Feelings about that whole deal, of course he challenges Naesala to a game of MtG, yugioh frenemy style, to test his friendship mettle or something

Reyson’s playing a ridiculously aggro red/black deck.  i’m thinking some good filthy gargadon rakdos.  just on and on and on the attack

so Naesala gets out his charmingly old school black/white weenie deck, kinda rolling his eyes, but sure he’ll give Reyson a game if he wants a game, no Reyson he doesn’t know if it’s a standard legal deck or not but it’s the deck he’s got, will you shut up and just play—

and Reyson’s mostly dominating, but Naesala’s doing his level best to hang in there, and the match comes to a rather dramatic climax when Naesala manages to stabilize during one of the games & he taps out to cast a 5-mana big boi—

and, yeah, of course Naesala’s janky old school black/white deck has a Serra’s Angel as a win condition & yeah it’s the exact same one Leanne gifted him years and years ago & they both know it.

they end the game pretty quickly & awkwardly after that & neither of them remembers who actually won.

(wow this Naesala guy is such a simp.  god this is such a fucking cheesy moment.  i hate this, hold on, i’m gonna go throw up in my mouth a little… OKAY i’m back.)

ANYWAY.  all that plays out, doot dee doo, fast forward to post-Radiant Dawn:

* Reyson’s a very happy red/white Boros player these days.  he has chilled out a little bit but is still pretty easy to bait into getting Mad And Competitive again.  (Tibarn frequently does this because it’s kind of cute when Reyson’s pissed about magical cards) ((Tibarn’s decks are absolute piles, oh my god.  just the most janky barely-functional Timmy stuff imaginable. someone explain the concept of a mana curve to this poor man))

* Leanne still likes ANGELS!!!! & also white weenie stuff & also cute stuff generally.  despite her benign appearance & her weakness for playing Cute Stuff over Good Stuff, she’s a more naturally talented player than Reyson & has just enough of a killer instinct to generally come out on top

* Naesala favors black, and mostly just tries to figure out whatever deck he can play to troll his local meta, but he’s still got that black/white deck in a sentimental drawer somewhere.

also: look, i don’t play Commander nearly enough to provide any substantive commentary on that front, but… my very first instinct, when i read this question, was: “this bitch would definitely run Braids, Cabal Minion as his commander.”  except i looked it up and apparently Braids is Very Banned In Commander.  boo.  does the format ban fun, too.  c’mon, let a dude ruin everyone’s game every once in a while!!!  i think Naesala is equally pissed about Braids being banned is what i’m saying

so yeah that is my complete theory of Naesala And Magic The Gathering lol

[possamble]

I'm not allowed to be on social media for more than two seconds today but I just wanted to say that Laios will absolutely have his own reaction to all this as someone who would die for Falin but has also imprinted on Marcille as his Emotional Support Comphet White Girl Not-Girlfriend along the way

[missrosegold]

Looks like I just lost another close friend to guy who isn't worth a pile of dog shit. 😊

[windcarvedlyre]

While I'm talking about DR3 and its handling of themes, does anyone else feel like danganronpa's ideas of 'hope' and 'despair' became a bit flanderised sometimes?

I could be reaching- the series has always been incredibly hammy in how it uses the terms- but in DR1 they still felt somewhat grounded in the words' actual definitions and in DR2 Komaeda fixating on an abstracted conflict between 'hope' and 'despair' was presented as a bad thing. Thinking 'hope' is synonymous with 'talent' was part of the problem, but even without that he'd feel like an intentional twisted parody of Naegi. He takes the thematic conflict between hope and despair too literally; to him the concepts were less states of mind, more grand causes, and so no amount of suffering became unacceptable to him if it made for a more interesting narrative in the end.

But sometimes later additions to the series... kind of sound like him? Maybe I should revisit DR3 and give it more of a chance, but I felt like the entire narrative approached 'hope' and 'despair' in some of the ways Komaeda does. Like it kept throwing those words at me as a substitute for actual depth, because hey, it's Danganronpa, right? That's what you're here for, right? Especially considering how little interest the writers showed in non-Ultimates besides Hinata as people, making 'hope' feel genuinely associated with talent to some degree.

Similarly, in DRV3, what did it mean for the survivors to reject both hope and despair? Stripped of those words, their choice was to break out of the narrative's control, not let their reality being potentially fake get to them, and face the unknown together. Is that not 'hope'? Is that not emotionally identical to both previous games' endings? Does that not make the game's use of 'hope' completely divorced from its meaning?

If the themes were handled more coherently I could see that being done intentionally- exploring whether the series started with a good message and lost its way, and/or asking whether 'hope' is hollow if your struggles, your eventual triumph over them, everything was contrived for others' entertainment- but I feel like if that was the case the DRV3 characters should reclaim hope and reject false definitions or exploitation of it instead of rejecting hope itself. Because again, with feeling, what does that mean???

[hecksupremechips]

Night shift or short attention span for the wip thing?

I’ll choose night shift basically Akihiko has this nightmare based on a real memory where he and Shinji got into a very heated fight that dissolved into like, chaos and angry beatings on Akihiko’s part and his nightmare is a warped version where he just keeps punching Shinji in a blind rage until there’s nothing left of him. He wakes up terrified and unsure of what’s happening and Shinji isn’t there BUT ITS OKAY HES FINE he’s just at work I think sadly unfortunately my man has to work a shitty convenience store job to make some money while trying to figure life out and he’s temporarily working night shifts so that’s why he’s gone and Aki does call him at work in the middle of the night for reassurance and asks if that incident really went down the way he remembers it (it didn’t). It’s kinda dark but has a nice ending at least

[pepprs]

hm. i think i am going to stop going to counseling. he does not understand me. he pathologizes things that are not pathological.

[avatardoggo]

soooo i was right 🫠😐🫥 the Friend like likes me and it seems e v e r y o n e around me has known sINCE FEBRUARY

[lisbonsteresa]

climbing the walls this is so excellent