#overwhelmed by existence itself i fucking guess & what its meant for me overwhelmed by expectations overwhelmed by vulnerability thats just.

[celestialmancer]

⛈️ ❌ ❌ ❌ // 2:09 am, tbd ;

[remsmoonlight]

— title : i need you

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : ryuji goda x reader

— summary : convincing ryuji of doing the opposite of what he’s set out to do is a pointless task, yet you will attempt if it gives him even one more day.

— warnings : blood, mentions of violence, some swearing, mentions of imagining of death, angst

notes : inspired by a prompt from here .. i had to do a self indulgent thingy for tumblr .. because why did they have to kill him off like that .. i tried to be dramatic as i possibly could

" none of this would've happened if you had just listened! "

A muffled silence drowns your hearing, the spinning of the Earth decelerates until it feels little more than a crawl with a weak grip. Rough cement scrapes the smoothness of your knee, leaving an angry blemish as grit fights to find its way into your bleeding wounds. No graze can pull you out of the deep end your heart finds itself fighting to stay above of, as you witness your worst fear painted perfectly on a canvas steeped in blood. The stillness of the air leaves you feeling flustered as your mind tries to make sense of what it observes before it, hoping that it’s no more than a deceptive trick played on itself by the fear you felt as you made your way up the tall structure.

A romantic thread of words have never failed in supply, but words left unsaid threaten to crush you under their weight, lost moments to time. A shudder of a breath shakily is let out, the cold air kick starts your body as you push yourself up and scramble to where the battered and bloodied body of Ryuji lays, almost motionless in pain. A childish cry to wake up from this nightmare is all you can think of, but reality does not bend to the whims of humanity, it continues with the path it has set. Resentfully, you can see the similarity that it shares with the male.

“ none of this would've happened if you had just listened! “ A broken cry full of fiery misery lick at the delicate snowflakes that descend from the heavens with a short lived grace, full of threats to burn as they penetrate your space.

The shock of the vibrancy of the liquid that escapes Ryuji leaves time standing still, you care not however, your fingertips gripping a heavy shoulder as the other lends a gentle touch to his cheek. Pain and grief masks itself as anger. You sorely wish to blame someone or something, but you had warned him.. You’d tried to reason with him that this course he’d set would leave him chasing an unattainable taste of sweetness of satisfaction that would dull with each day that dawns. A strong will that had left you in an addictive awe leaves you with a decaying taste in your mouth now, it creates an impossible amount of scars on your soul.

“ ‘Guess I should’a listened to ‘ya after all. “ He reluctantly answers, the humour unable to battle the drain out of his voice completely.

“ Why couldn’t you have just let this lie? “ A ticking pulls your attention away for a fraction of a passing second, a groan causes you to turn back.

“ Was always gonna end this way. “

A weakened grip that belongs to Ryuji ignores the resistance from his body, enduring the pain from the movement in order to experience skin against skin contact for himself once more. He wishes he could have found it within himself to have turned left, but he’d have lost himself without this self imposed purpose, fading into the background. It was selfish, to bring you into his world.. But to him? You’re an unfinished book, your words inked with glittering star dust that etch themselves into existence. He was unable to tear him away from your pages that you may have worn like wings. Selfish. To know how his story would end, yet knowing he would not be around for yours.

“ No. “ Your lips close, pushing against each other to numb the other, your features twisting into an aching grimace.

“ Can’t stop it now. “ he insists, brows drawing together as he scrunches his eyes up from the agony that throbs through every inch of flesh. “ Shit’s set in stone now. “

“ Stop it! “ You sob, hating how vulnerable you sound.

There is a sorrowful beauty in the scene, notes Ryuji. Pale beams of moonlight triumphant until the point of reaching your body that blocks it. Leaving no more than a radiant glow surrounding your head, providing an inhuman glow that illuminates your body as much as your soul — a wistful image that he’s glad to witness once more. Your being here is something of a majestic collision into a door to his person he’d fought to keep locked, if this is a departing gift he would gladly take it. He’d thought the last time he saw you would be when he unwillingly shared his plan, should this ending occur, he could take comfort in there not being a picture of you waiting at the door waiting for the other half of you to walk through the door, only to be met with a crushing realisation of never seeing him again. Only, he’d not expected you to follow in his tracks, not after he’s ignored your pleas of turning away from this path.

“ Ya better get outta here, ‘place is gonna blow soon. “

“ Not without you. “ you argue, refusing his direction — your grip strengthens ever so slightly, fearing the winter breeze has the power to boldly grow and tear you away from the man.

“ Ya got’a whole life ahead of ya. “ A twist of his heart is the dominant sensation he notices at the thought.

He wishes he could be there for it, to see the petals of your success bloom in the depths of your determination. One thing he could never understand was how, despite the tainted reputation that follows him like a shadow, never had been enough to put you off. Not a criminal tie to your name and you voluntarily merged your time and energy with his, with little care. Perhaps that’s where an addiction to his selfishness began. All his life and his Yakuza connections secluded him from genuine human connections and you’d trampled all over that with your impartial view. Many would prefer to cower in their fear, you’d scratched past the surface to see who he could be capable of being.

All the time spent together, and yet he still craves more. To linger in your orbit, time is his nemesis — for he still feels as if there has not been enough. Not the hours spent with the sun setting and you’re there by his side, when he’d spent more time committing the wonder at such a simple thing to his memory. Not the darkened hours spent together surrounded by silken sheets, and all that graced his ears was a musical symphony of breathy moans as you set about learning each other’s bodies. Never were the hours spent talking in order to hear the passion in your voice when speaking about something that interests you enough for him.

“ You can’t do this. “ You whimper softly, almost looking through the man you hold close. “ You can’t come into someone’s life, you can’t make them care about you and leave just because you want to. What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to sit by and let you do this? “

He says nothing, leaving space for a groan of pain to leave his lips as he tips his head back. He’s met with a darkened blanket where millions of stars are scattered so ungracefully, yet do not collide an uncoordinated dance across the sky. Uncertainty overwhelms him, over that is causing more pain — the wounds or the grief in your every word.

“ Just get the fuck outta here already. “ His voice echoes across the large space as he turns his attention back to you.

“ Were you lying all that time? “ You ask with a trembling lip at the thought of being without.

It feels like an endless amount of early mornings had been spent planning and chattering about the most random things. Your mind lighting up with the power of a thousand suns before the world had awoken around you. You can’t pinpoint the moment it happened, but the two of you awoke a little earlier than necessary to bathe in the image of the other — to forge a most perfect illusion of normalcy before stepping out into the real world. Mornings were not your most happiest bedfellow, yet you’d grown to love them just a little more when waking to the most simplest treat to sweeten your tongue.

“ What ya on about? “

“ All that time when we were talking, about what we were going to do? What we could do? ”

“ Why ya going on about that ? “ He asks curiously, eyeing you as you speak.

“ If you die, how are we meant to do any of it? “ Your words are rushed as you question him plainly.

“ Yer gonna .. just won’t be with me. “ Colour from the world feels as if it’s fading, merging into one bland monochrome depiction of a bright, bubbling city.

“ Can you stop?! “ A frustrated shriek tears from the bottom of your throat in response. “ I’m done talking in circles, I’m not dying here and neither are you. If I have to, I will drag you out with me. “

The world pauses in shock for a quiet fraction of a minute. To be spoken to in such a manner is not something Ryuji has experienced much in his life, even rarer by you — words that fell from your lips are always bathed in the sweetness of sugar, not an ounce of poison to anyone. Even the individuals who drew your temper out of its sleep were met with an incredible amount of restraint, he can hear the desperation — acting as a bucket of ice water to shock his nerve endings from the low temperature.

“ You did what you had to do. It wasn’t meant to be, but you can find another purpose. Build something else with your life, just.. Just come with me. Please. “

To be responsible for dragging you down with him, away from providing the world with your bright rays of sunshine in the bland day to day lives of everyone you came into contact with weighs heavily on his chest. Extra time spent with you, perhaps getting to know who his little sister has become are the treats tied onto a stick in front of him, life’s cruel bribe. He’d imagined how his ending would have been sketched by above, yet to have ties keeping him there had not been what he would have included. If he couldn’t be the one dragon, this would be a consolation prize that would allow for the petals of peace to bloom before he’d tear them down once more.

A strength he’d thought abandoned him glows with a dull hue, for a minute, he contemplates using that for Kiryu. Yet the other half of his soul wins the battle, a hand of his reaches out to push himself off from the concrete. It’s not an easy feat after being battered more than once, yet it’s not half as arduous as it could be with you supporting his weight — he’s fully aware how much of your strength he is using from your audible gasps of air.

“ Ya don’t gotta yell at me. “ he complains softly as he grips his side with as much force as he can dedicate to.

“ I don’t think it’s the time for this. “ You argue back quickly.

“ The red one. “

“ Huh? “ The sound escapes you as your features turn into a frown over how to get away from the ticking time bomb fast enough.

“ The lift, to get down. Press th’red one. “ He instructs you with a finger barely lifted, pointing in the direction of the button behind you.

You say nothing in response, the wheels in your mind working faster than your body as it moves purely on an instinctive reaction when receiving messages from your brain. Your stomach twists and turns from the descent to below, unable to process the way the city shifts into a state of obscurity from the swift movement. It would be a beautiful sight if it hadn’t attached a violent night as a parting gift.

“ You really scared me up there. “ You confess with barely a whisper. “ Can you promise me something? “

“ What’s that? “

“ That you won’t do something like this again. “ You say, with your heart hoping that he’d shy away from an impossible task should it present itself. Your eyes had seen enough hurt for one night, you’re confident you’d not be able to withstand it once more.

“ Wish I could. “

Teeth grind against the bottom of your lip, you should have known that he wouldn’t. Yet you also cannot find the strength to tear yourself away from the fire that burns within him, like a moth to a flame, you find yourself wondering how close you can stand against the heat before you flee from the pain it brings.

[tetsuroyaoyaoya]

A sigh left your lips as you stared blankly at the grey door standing before you. You knew that piece of wood was the only thing standing between you and your  relationship - not that it even existed yet - but its still seemed so daunting. The last of your hope barely existed now, and no matter how much you tried to envision a happy ending for yourself, it just didn't seem possible, at least not with Semi. 

Even with your problems and your doubts, the most important thing right now was the band and its fans. If you couldn't coax Semi back to Miyagi by tonight, then... you weren't actually sure what would happen, but you had a feeling that it wouldn't be good for you and Semi, or the band either.

You reached a hand up, resting your hand on the door before pulling back and knocking thrice.

Somewhere deep within you, you were expecting an answer, and something told you there was hope yet, so you knocked again.

Three.

Two.

One.

To anyone else, it must have seemed crazy that you were in this part of the district, banging on some random door in an empty building, and at this point, you could only agree. 

What were you doing? Chasing after some boy who clearly didn't want you, when you should’ve just stayed at home with your friends. You thought about doing exactly that, returning home, having your usual movie night sleepover, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. 

Shirabu and Taichi were your friends now too, and you couldn’t let them down.

With one last longing look, you finally turned away, hopefully leaving Semi behind you now, and made your way out of the building, ready to go back to Miyagi. 

It was almost showtime. 

---

“Y/N! I missed you!” You barely had time to brace yourself as a body flung itself at you, a blur of clothes and hairspray. A cough forced itself from you at the overwhelming scent, and the body, who revealed itself to be Taichi, backed away, a look of regret on his face. 

“Sorry...” You shrugged and smiled, reaching over to adjust the lapel on his denim jacket. 

“No luck then?” Your gaze slid over to Shirabu, who knew the answer the second you looked at him. He sighed, but smiled back, trying to hide how hurt he felt. 

The journey home had taken longer without the aid of Kenma’s helicopter, and so it was barely fifteen minutes until the show, meaning there was very little hope of Semi showing if he wasn't here now. It also meant that the two remaining members has very little time to come up with a plan on how to play a whole show with just the two of them. 

You began to panic as you watched them finishing getting ready, a knot in your throat as you began to come to the realisation that you were most likely the cause of the situation. Taking a few steps backwards, you removed yourself from the room, away from the mania of the dressing room. You needed a second to collect your thoughts, the venue suddenly way too hot and stuffy for your liking. 

Escaping out of a fire exit, you swallowed heavily as the cool evening air hit your skin. You tried to slow down the thoughts running circles in your mind, and came to the realisation that you don't remember the last time you had a moment to yourself to think quietly. 

It must have been before the party for Kenma’s company, you guessed, sine that was before the scandal and all of this drama you were putting yourself through. It was at the point where you couldn't actually remember how peaceful your life had been before. You had grown used to - and maybe even fond of - the chaos. It also helped that you had three new friends to keep it all in control. 

Chaos in Control.

How fitting. 

“Y/N!” Your head sprung up, squinting your eyes to see through the darkness as the alley was only dimly lit by the small light above the exit door. 

A familiar turf of grey hair came into view as Semi jogged towards you, already dressed ready to go on stage, guitar slung over his back. 

“They haven't started yet, have they? Look, I’m sorry-” He didn't have time to finish as his head snapped to the side, a sharp sting in his cheek. He reached a hand up to sooth it, wincing as he made contact with the skin. 

“Ow?” He looked back at you, eyes wide as he saw tears forming in your eyes, even though you looked as though you could murder him on the spot. 

“The show starts in five fucking minutes and you have the audacity to show up now? Seriously? I don't think I’ve ever met anyone as self-centred, arrogant... selfish!” Taking in a deep breath to calm yourself, you refused to look away from him. It clearly didn't work through, as the boy across from you couldn't help but crack a smile, letting out a laugh as he stepped forward, pulling you into his arms and wrapping them around you. 

As cliche as it sounded, it felt like you fit perfectly into him, your bodies moulding together as one as you relished in the warmth of the embrace. Eventually, you relaxed, giving into the feelings you were barely holding back, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I missed you.” You held your breath at the words, so quiet as his voice was muffled in your hair, but clear enough to cause your mind to falter, your resolve wearing thin as you tried your best to stay mad at him. He deserved it, after all. 

“I’m sorry.” You let out the breath as your attempt to hate him crumbled before you, not being able to resist the whisper of his breath brushing over your ear. You finally lifted your own arms up, wrapping them around his waist, reciprocating the hug. 

He squeezed you tighter for a moment, partly out of relief that you hadn't pushed him away yet, and partly because he really had missed you, and he was going to savour every moment with you from now on. 

It wasn't long, however, until the screams of the fans inside the venue began, and you both separated in a panic. With a silent understanding between the two of you, Semi grabbed your hand and pulled you into the building, you trying to keep up the best you could. 

It looked weird with only two of the band stood up on the stage, but you knew Semi was actually here, and he himself would be up on that stage in a moment as well, taking his place where he truly belonged. 

He parted with you at the side of the stage, and you quickly helped him take his guitar out of his case and pushing it off to the side out of the way. 

He hesitated before going out on stage, quickly turning last second you peck you on the cheek, leaving you a blushing mess as he joined the band and you tried to mingle in with the first few rows of the crowd. 

The boys looked surprised, but nevertheless happy, to see Semi, although you knew he was in for a major scolding when the show was over. 

Even so, they got on the show, and even from the first song you could tell the energy was much better than it had been the week before. Semi looked as though he had finally figured himself out, and it affected his performance in the best way it possibly could have. You just hope it stayed that way. 

It got to the end, and you were readying yourself to help empty the venue when the band had said their final words when Semi suddenly silenced the crowd. 

“Actually, we - well, I - have one more song for you all.” The crowd mumbled between themselves in excitement, and Shirabu and Taichi glanced at each other, shrugging. 

“This is the first time this song has ever been played and heard by anyone other than myself, so please bear with me if it isn't the best. Its not like its my job or anything.” The crowd cheered in support, and so did you, unable to resist a smile at the cheeky grin that spread across Semi’s face as he walked over to the side of the stage, a member of staff switching his electric guitar for an acoustic one. 

“Many of you know by know that I have a beautiful, amazing girlfriend, who is somewhere out in the crowd tonight.” His eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on you for maybe just a moment longer than he should have, as the people around you began to whisper and gossip.

“I have to admit, I’m a pretty shit boyfriend. I really don't deserve her. But no matter how much of a dick I am to her or anyone else, she sticks by me. She likes me for me, and I couldn't ask for anything more.” There were a few ‘awh’s and you couldn't keep the grin off of your face. 

“So, this is my present to her, for putting up with me. Here’s the Story of Us.” 

It wasn't until a few weeks later, when the whole band was in the recording studio, reimagining the song that you ever actually heard it, because you were pretty sure you just blacked out after that point, too preoccupied with your heard beating out of your chest to listen to it. All you could see were Semi’s eyes shining under the stage lights as he strummed expertly on the strings of his guitar, literally serenading his way into you heart. 

You didn't notice the tears running down your face until you could taste them as the song ended, and there was no time to wipe them away because suddenly Semi was handing his guitar to Taichi and jumping off stage, pushing his way through the crowd to get to you. 

He was in front of you in a blink, hand on your cheeks, lips meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever. 

You could see the flashes of cameras even with your eyes closed, but you didn't care. 

Finally, your happy ending. Not exactly in the way you imagined, but just as amazing.

The chaos was finally controlled.

--- 

You groaned as you looked at the empty venue, knowing you were one of the people who had to clean up after the crowd. 

Semi hadn't left your side since the end of the concert, and you had to physically pry him off of you so that you could leave, earning a chuckle from him as you struggled, before he finally left you go, leaving him alone with his two band members. 

He allowed himself to relish in the moment before turning serious. 

“I know you have a crush on her.” It was difficult to see exactly who he was talking to, but the other boy cracked a smile, looking directly back at Semi. 

“What did he say?” Taichi whipped his head around so quickly it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash.

“Kuroo let slip then?” Shirabu sighed, his secret finally out in the open. 

“Yeah, he popped by last night. Now that I look back though, it wasn't exactly subtle.”

“You clearly didn't notice.” Semi laughed at the sarcasm, not at all mad at his friend.

“Nah, I’ll get comfy in the friend zone. I quite like it here.” Semi rolled his eyes, bringing both his boys in for a group hug. 

“Forever?” 

“Forever.”

TWENTY-THREE - STORY OF US

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* updates every monday *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

one chapter left :(

its going to be a short one as well as its more of an epilogue. full tracklist coming soon.

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[drawlfoy]

The Placebo Effect p.1

pairing: draco x femslytherin!reader

warnings: probably gonna be some “mild” language (ok, coming back, i say fuck twice, so if you’re not down, now’s the time to nope out of here)

a/n: my first real writing post! please let me know if you have any feedback/constructive criticism. my requests are open, so pleaseeee send in stuff ;) also i’m not british so i deeply apologize if i don’t have enough british slang/if i misuse it...please tell me if i do!

summary: slytherin reader isn’t a big fan of draco and they argue allll the time. slughorn reshuffles potion partners the day they’re required to brew amortentia and... a little something happens. takes place in 6th year. 

word count: 1,936

pla•ce•bo ef•fect (noun) ~ a beneficial effect produced by a placebo drug or treatment, which cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient's belief in that treatment.

Y/N was growing increasingly irritated with her house: the dimly lit common room that always smelled faintly like shoe polish, the dorm rooms which always chilled her to the bone, the dark green that clashed with her favorite color (pastel blue, if you were wondering), the disgusting amount of blood purity prejudice, and of course, Draco Malfoy. 

He had been tolerable enough in the beginning, focusing all his chaotic energy on Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio, but ever since 6th year had started, he’d pulled back and instead moped around like a very pale golden retriever who had just been told he wasn’t ever going to play fetch again. Well, a very pale, very rude, and very rich golden retriever. As a result, Y/N had to see much more of his ridiculously pale (but admittedly very delicately structured) face.She hadn’t known peace since.

“Watch where you’re going.” 

The cold and haughty voice ripped Y/N out of her thoughts as she accidentally bumped into a silk-clad shoulder. She looked up to see none other than Malfoy scowling down at her, his silver eyes narrowed and his jaw set. 

“My apologies. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to block the doorway?” Y/N’s voice was sugary sweet, dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes. She also told me how improper it is to get into the pants of a muggle. I’m guessing yours didn’t buy into that lesson?” A perfectly plucked blond eyebrow raised.

Y/N felt her face grew hot. How did he know her mother married a muggle? Her mouth opened and closed as the overwhelming feeling of being lost for words overtook her.

Stay calm, stay calm. Don’t let him see that he rattled you. 

Y/N set her face into a smirk that rivaled his. 

“No, actually.” She readied herself to go in for the kill. “Instead, she taught me the importance of rejecting an ideology that would eventually lead to me fucking my cousin.”

With that, Y/N made her exit, slipping past Malfoy and flouncing off to the Dining Hall. Sometimes it felt good to beat that prick at his own game.

“Alright, students,” Professor Slughorn began. He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and cleared his throat in a way only old men could. “Today, we’re going to be brewing the most powerful love potion in existence. Can anyone tell me what this potion is?”

Pansy Parkinson’s hand shot up. Y/N rolled her eyes. When Granger wasn’t here to remind everyone how smart she was, Parkinson was always available to pick up the slack. 

“Yes, Miss Parkinson.” 

“Amortentia. Its aroma is different to every individual, depending on what scents you find most attractive, even if you aren’t aware of it. Consuming it will make one obsessive with infatuation.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” Professor Slughorn cleared his throat once again. Y/N felt a smile form on her face. She had a special place in her heart for the professor. He was so pure and reminded her of her grandfather...even though he was a muggle. 

“I’ll assign each of you to new partners.” Slughorn’s words immediately made Y/N reconsider her previous thoughts that portrayed him kindly. She turned and sent Daphne Greengrass, her (ex) potions partner, a disappointed frown and waited to hear her name. All of the other Slytherins were intolerable or at least a little prejudiced.

This is too much for a Monday morning she thought, placing her hand on her forehead in a dramatic gesture. 

“Greengrass you’re with Zabini. Nott, you’re with Parkinson. Y/L/N, you’re with Malfoy.”

The names afterwards morphed into a slush of noise that Y/N couldn’t even be bothered to comprehend. Daphne reached over and gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as Y/N sat, frozen with disappointment and surprise. 

This couldn’t be happening. She had done so well in his class. Why was Slughorn punishing her now? He couldn’t have missed how much of a piece of work Malfoy was, and Y/N was one of Slughorn’s favorite students. How could he betray her like this?

“Does everyone know who they will be working with today?” Slughorn’s voice pulled Y/N out of her pity party. 

“Yes, Professor Slughorn.” The depressed chorus of voices in the room offered Y/N some solace that, yes, she wasn’t the only one displeased with the new seating arrangements. 

“Good. Find your partner and begin. Your time starts now.”

Everyone sprung up in a mad dash to find their fellow worker and get started. Potions class was much harder now that they were 6th years, and each student needed all the time they were offered. 

“Fancy this.” For the second time that day, Y/N was given the treat of being surprised by Malfoy’s voice right next to her. 

“You chop, I stir.” Her words were matter-of-fact and straight to the point. She’d be damned if someone as rude as him messed up her shot at getting the highest mark. 

Surprisingly enough, Malfoy nodded, flipping open the potions book to the designated page and gathering ingredients while Y/N prepared the cauldron. 

Y/N almost started feeling bad for him as she stirred. The bags under his eyes were large enough to be designer and his eyes, once a bright and sparkling silver, were dull and unenthused. Perhaps she had judged him too quickly.

“Uh...Malfoy,” she began awkwardly, losing confidence once he met her eyes with a convicting stare, “I’m sorry about this morning. For calling you...er...a cousin fucker, and stuff.”

His eyebrows raised again. She wondered if his eyebrows ever got tired with how much he judgmentally lifted them.

“No. You’re not.” His tone was more defeated and uninterested than vindictive, so Y/N let it slide. They continued their work. 

“Your hair.” 

The phrase jolted Y/N out of her flow and forced her to look up at her partner. 

“My what?”

“Your hair. It’s about to get into the potion.” Malfoy glanced down at the lip of the cauldron and back up to my face with one eyebrow cocked as if to say yeah, look. Y/N obliged and saw a single strand of her hair barely about to touch the edge of the cauldron. 

How had he even noticed that? 

“Overdramatic much?” Y/N shot back. 

“We’re almost done, can we just get through this first?” Malfoy’s tone came across as nearly pleading, something that Y/N would never expect.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the directions. She only had to stir the potion thirteen times clockwise, and it would be done. 

“No, I think we can talk about it now. It is basically done.” Y/N glared at him. If he wanted a fight, he could get one. 

“Well then.” His tone was a 180 from the pleading one he had adopted just a few seconds ago, now snippity and offended. “I said that no, you weren’t sorry, because I meant what I said this morning. I know you did too.”

“How would you know what I think?” 

Merlin, who did he think he was? 

“Half-bloods. They’re all the same, so predictable. It’s like you all have a hive mind or something.” He paused to fiddle with his sleeve. “But it doesn’t matter whether you meant it or not. We both know it’s not true.”

Y/N was fuming. How many times had she stirred? Ah, yes, 8. 5 more to go. It took all her willpower to continue stirring at a controlled pace. 

“Don’t you know that your blood purity isn’t a personality trait?” Y/N hissed back. 

“Sure. Still makes me superior though.” His eyes were flaming despite his measured response.

“What are you gonna do once your lot is all intermarried? What’s the plan, genius?” 

2 more stirs to go. 

“I don’t take questions from pathetic half breeds,” Malfoy spat.

1 stir left.

“Why, because you can’t answer it?” Y/N exclaimed. “You know you’re wrong!” 

13 stirs. Y/N’s hand slowed the ladle to a stop.

“No.” Malfoy leaned in, so close she could feel his hot breath one her face. “You just know that you’ll never be welcome here.”

That was it. Y/N’s hand shot up from the cauldron, aiming to shove the Malfoy heir away from her, but she forgot to drop the ladle. Instead, the ladle was flung at the two with enough force to splatter their exposed skin with the freshly brewed amortentia. 

Y/N and Malfoy both froze, staring at each other, then staring at the potion coating them.

“What have you done?” Malfoy whispered, eyes growing wide. Y/N had never noticed how kind his eyes looked--they were like two miniature stars, flickering and shimmering with the reflected light of the room. 

So that’s why my favorite color is pale blue Y/N thought dreamily, letting her hand drop the ladle to the ground. It clattered as it hit the stone, but she didn’t notice. It was much more worthwhile to admire the fairness of his hair. How could it be so pale and delicate? It reminded Y/N of spun gold.

Draco--when did she start calling him Draco?--raised one quivering hand to the side of her face.

“You have an eyelash.” His voice was quiet but deep and melodic.

His thumb brushed over the skin under her eye, making her shiver from the cool touch. He had very long, elegant fingers. How had Y/N never paid any mind to them before?

The classroom had fallen silent at this point, but Y/N hadn’t even noticed. All that existed in the room was the boy gazing at her with eyes softer than anything she had ever seen before. He still hadn’t moved from his close proximity. If Y/N looked hard enough, she could count the dark grey flecks in his eyes--ooh, or each of the long eyelashes fanning them. 

Draco licked his lips, a motion that pulled her attention away from his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean what I said about your mother,” he whispered. Never had Y/N ever heard such a tenderly stated sentiment before. 

“I know. I didn’t mean what I said either.” 

Draco’s hand was resting on the side of her face, cupping her cheek and holding her in place.

When had that happened?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except the fact that the blond boy was leaning even closer, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. She followed suit, sending one last glance down at his lips before they touche--

“Well, isn’t this an interesting scene.” 

Y/N and Draco sprung apart to see Professor Snape staring cooling at them.

“Thank you for calling me over, Professor Slughorn. I can take it from here. Parkinson looks like she might need some assistance.”

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N had difficulty tearing her eyes away from Draco, and it seemed as though he was fighting the same struggle.

“Do indulge me,” Snape drawled. “How did you both manage to accidentally consume the same potion?”

“Professor,” Y/N replied, “We didn’t drink it. It just spilled.” Her tone was giddier than she would’ve liked, but it was okay. Everything was okay, just as long as Draco kept looking at her with those jewel-like eyes.

“Well then.” Snape sighed. “I am assuming that neither of you bothered to listen to the explanation of how amortentia functions?”

“Well, sure, Professor,” Y/N responded. “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world and it makes you fall in love with--”

“You see,” Snape interjected, “If you or Mr. Malfoy decided to pay attention, you would’ve heard that amortentia is meant to be consumed. Its effects don’t occur from skin contact.”

“What are you saying?” Draco looked just as concerned as Y/N.

“I’m saying that you two have some unfinished business to work out. The potion didn’t cause,” Snape motioned to the two students, “this.”

With that, Professor Snape stalked off, leaving Draco and Y/N to gape at each other. 

final a/n: if you would like me to continue this, let me know! thank you for reading and send your requests in! and in the case you’re confused by the ending: check out what the placebo effect is. it’s a very interesting topic! 

[alyssa-ward]

Possibilities and New Allies

[ Follows Warplans ]

[ Riley’s perspective is about Unexpected Company ]

“We’re goin’ t’die like this.  You and me.  Sittin’ stuck in a dagger, and that’s just goin’ t’be it.  Maybe I’ll die alone, and you’ll survive, and someone else can figure out ‘ow t’put you back together and fix Kat.  Maybe that.”  Alyssa leans back on the stump, back and head against the fur of the perpetually sleeping wolf, staring up at the empty night sky of her woods.  Her mental space within the confines of the weapon she exists in.

It feels like it’s been forever since something changed.  So when it does, it snaps her attention immediately.  Suddenly like a light in the dark, the trees part, a new path created in her grove, a new soul clearing she’s never seen before, and she bounces to her feet, abandoning the wolf to move towards it.

Her mental voice broadcasts out to whoever just touched the hilt of the Dagger, the teal colouration in the blade and pommel glowing brightly a moment.  “Well you’re not Kat.  Who the hell are you?”  Her voice carries not nearly as much of her thick accent over mental link, though the Gilnean lilt is still there.

A wash of surprise comes back over the link, clearly whoever holds the weapon is startled. "Who's there?!"  The voice is female, not one the Warlock recognizes.

"Alyssa. Answer the question. My patience is...not great right now." Her reply comes firmly, if perhaps with a touch of distraction as Alyssa steps through the gap into the trees to examine this soul that has newly exposed itself to her.  Nearly like a sea urchin, with a strong solid core of grey, cracks in its surface that show through something more pure and light within.  The exterior though is surrounded by harsh long thin black needles that one would surely skewer themselves on making any attempt to reach for what is true to the owner.

"Sorry, Alyssa, but I'm not exactly keen on following the orders of strangers," desperation and paranoia are the emotions Aly pulls from the woman’s emotional state, linked as it is to the Dagger she now holds, "especially those I cannot see. I'll only offer this one chance to show yourself, my patience is long-expired."  It’s all the clearer though that some things will have to be explained.  Frustrating.

"I can make you," Alyssa’s voice comes in almost a mutter of impatience.  She could, she’s sure of that.  The soul is right there, and spines or not she could manipulate and force.  There’s an overwhelming temptation to do just that.  No games, no conversation, no argument.  Just co-opt this person's existence and use them as a tool to her ends.  "If I can see you, then you are already holding me." Someone has slowly embraced her current existence, time to play nice for now. "You have the dagger, yes?"

"The fuck are you going on about?" Confusion and anger, Alyssa’s cryptic words only seem to upset the new wielder. "If you can see me, you already know I've got a blade. You should also know that I'm quite skilled at wielding it,” a brief pause in words and then, “show yourself!”

A wave of emotional exasperation comes across the link that forms between the Dagger and the person holding it, this time from Alyssa as she allows her feelings to wash over the link, with enough force to buffet the wielder.  "I am the dagger."

It clearly has some of the desired effect, the mix of dazed confusion echoing back at Alyssa makes the Warlock smirk to herself as she slowly circles the prickly soul.  "The hell does that mean, you are the dagger? What kind of game are you playing at?"

The second wave of exasperation Alyssa sends is less forceful, but the lack of patience and frustration in the weapon is still a tangible sensation. "Tell you what, I'll tell you the whole story if you tell me your name, where we are, and where the hell Kat is."

"It's finally happened. I've lost my damn mind." For a moment it feels like the person wholding the dagger has started to lose it.  Something akin to laughter coming over the link.  Alyssa wonders for a moment if she’s pushing too far.  Debates attempting to calm or stabilize the woman’s state with magic.  "Carrying on a conversation with an inanimate object like some kind of fucking lunatic."  More laughter.  "Alright, I'll play along. I'm Riley - friend of Kat's. Currently sitting in her living room, by my damn self, because she's nowhere to be found." A pause. "Well, she's somewhere. Somewhere that's not here."

A name is a start, and Alyssa pauses her investigation of the soul to dig through her memories.  Riley.  Riley.  It turns up nothing.  Friend of Kat’s indeed, for a moment she almost feels anger flaring up at her partner for her insistence on keeping all of her life so neatly separated.  She’d be more exasperated by the woman’s worries of her lost mind, but any sass or irritation turns into a wave of confusion and and the unmistakable sensation of a sinking heart. "How are we in her living room?  Is this where you found me?  We were in Uldum...that doesn't make sense." Alyssa's tone turns slowly toward panic as she responds. She did agree to answers though, "ah, Alyssa, girlfriend of Kat, not that I expect her to have mentioned me to friends. I...died," that's putting it lightly, "and Kat stopped my soul from leaving and put it in this dagger. You're not losing your mind."

"Stop..." the soul before Alyssa, Riley’s soul, bristles, spines drawing in on the core, twisting and bending in distress.  It’s clear Alyssa’s tumultuous emotions crashed hard in a wave with Riley’s, overloading her. "Whatever you did just now... don't fucking do it again.  We're in her living room because this is where I thought she'd be. Now I've got a lot more questions than answers, a missing friend, and a dagger with the soul of Kat's girlfriend trapped inside? Her DEAD girlfriend. Sure. I'm not losing my mind." A moment where Riley seems to be re-focusing herself "I'm guessing you're the redhead?"

"Didn't do anything...guess you're not used to the emotions. That tracks." Alyssa wraps arms about herself, trying to steady her emotions and keep some measure of calm. She steps out of the clearing containing Riley’s soul.  Best not to look at it right now, too many temptations, and so she crosses the grove to look down on the sleeping white wolf in her mental space again. "Yeah...used to be." Hard to keep everything bottled up to save Riley from the backlash, some sorrow leaks through in those words.  She finds herself looking down at herself, trying to keep a firm picture of ‘Alyssa’.  Hard to do when you don’t even have a real body anymore.  Redhead...she’d been so proud of her hair.  "So..." she searches for the words to broach what she wants to say. "You can fight. You're Kat's friend. We have to find her, we're agreed on that?"  Best to focus on moving ahead.

"Just prefer not feeling them amplified, if it's all the same to you. I've got enough of my own shit bouncing around in my head - things I'd rather keep buried - and I don't need you digging around in places you shouldn't." Sorry of her own, Alyssa can practically feel Riley’s tears. "I can fight, yes. Kat is my friend, and I intend to find her. Not sure what use I have for bringing along a chatty knife, though.  After all, she must have left you here for a reason, yeah? Or sent you here. Whatever. It hardly makes a difference." Skeptical. Calculating. Confused. Overall, a lack of trust.  The words are also a needle of their own, digging into Alyssa’s insecurities.  Why did Kat throw her away.  How did she end up here.  It doesn’t matter, only thing she can do now is act, as best she can.

"It's not...I'm not in your head, not like that at..." Another brief sound of frustration, though this one at least backlashes with far less impact as the Warlock checks herself. "Okay, Riley? Riley. I'm sorry, I've been stuck in here I don't know how long. I've had nothing to do but worry about the last moments I had with Kat. I'm scared, and I'm angry, and I'm stressed, and I'm taking it out on you yeah? And you don't deserve that." A wave of calm comes from the weapon as Alyssa puts into practice stilling her chaotic mind. "I'll tell you everything I know, I can help you find her...please don't leave me behind. I need her to be okay, I need to help."  Every effort made to hide her terror.  The idea of being left behind again, of returning to the endless silence with nothing but herself and no concept of time and space.  She can’t do it.  She needs this woman, whoever she is.

"Alright." Frustration and uncertainty were still very much present, and while the short response was clearly meant as a means to temporarily silence the voice in the dagger, it lacked the harsh edges of her previous words. Perhaps a flicker of recognition and understanding at the mention of being trapped for an unknown length of time. Sympathy. "Alright. Fine." Another pause for a deep, slow breath. "Tell me what you know, and we'll go from there. Suppose the worst-case scenario is walking around with an extra weapon - sure, that'll mean I've actually lost it, but that was bound to happen sooner or later.  You said you'd been in Uldum - I found some notes that line up with that. Think she's still there?"

Some level of reason between them. This can be worked with.  Alyssa clamps down on her wave of relief.  Best not to show the woman just how close to losing it herself she is. "Maybe. I don't know how long it's been." A deep breath, concern in the link. Alyssa knows that this woman, if she cares for Kat, won't like what's left to tell. "She fell to N'zoth's influence. It corrupted her completely and took her. By the end she was almost nothing but madness." A small pause to let that process before she continues with the 'good news'. "I don't know how but she left me something. I have, I think a piece of all that was left of the good in her soul. The last thing she said to me was 'find me'. Uldum is the best bet I have."

Alyssa's words prompted a powerful wave of heartache that Riley was powerless to contain, and she fell silent for an almost uncomfortable length of time while the link exploded with sorrow and regret. "Uldum it is, then." That Riley is crying again is nearly bottled up by the stoicism she tries to project, but it’s still hard to miss.  "Fucking hate sand..." she muttered.

"I know how you feel," says quietly in Riley's mind. "But I can't believe this is the end. We need to strengthen this piece of her I have, and then put it back."

"How do we go about doing that?"  For a moment there’s less emotional back and forth, focusing on words and actions.  It doesn’t last.

"I...don't exactly know," Alyssa's response comes, a little less assured. "I would know more if I knew exactly what it is. I think it's a piece of her soul." A glance at the chalk board that materializes in her liminal space, visible only to her. "I need to feed, if not Kat, then myself, but I think I can strengthen it with souls." A pause. "How are your morals."

"Excuse me. What?" Riley paused, blinking. "Feed?"  Alyssa winces a bit.  Being called out on her word choice like that is a firm reminder of just how quickly her humanity is slipping away.  It was a silly thing to say, edgy.  Feed.  "Dammit, Kat," she muttered. "My morals are questionable, at best, but taking someone's soul because you're feeling peckish is kind of a big ask, don't you think?" The question was rhetorical, of course.  "What, um. Flavor? Do you find most palatable? I guess we can start there..."

"Yeah okay that wasn't the best way to put it. I'm figuring this all out as we go. I don't exactly have a great deal of experience being stuck in a dagger either...Kat and I were figuring it out as we went along." At least it seems Riley is going to be more reasonable about this than Aly expected. "For me, I don't know if it needs to be souls. Kat poured...liquid azerite? Some sort of concoction she'd made. That serves enough to keep me going. For Kat though, I need something strong and pure. This part of her is weak, I think if we tried to put it back in as it is, the madness and darkness would just crush it again."  The Azerite is pure guess.  But that bit poured across the blade in Uldum certainly served to revitalize her when she needed it.

Besides.  That word.  Feed.  It was a bit of a wakeup, a reminder that Alyssa needs to try to retain her humanity, and maybe just accepting the cost of lives to keep her fueled isn’t the best way to hold onto the road back.

Riley was silent for a moment, filtering through the offered information piece by piece. "Well, the first bit's easy.  Not sure how much you need, or how often you need it, but she has a small stash of this liquid Azerite in her office." Another quiet moment passed before she spoke again. "That just leaves the other matter to discuss."

"That's a relief. I don't think it takes much." The other matter though. A bit of anxiety in the link as Alyssa mulls over it. "It's why I asked about your morals. I'm willing to sacrifice a whole lot to save her. Tell me where your line is, and..." she stops herself from saying 'we won't go over it'.  It’s a tempting promise to get what she wants but she knows it’d be a lie, and more than anything, she needs this Riley to trust her.

"Just tell me what I need to do," she replied, a somber sincerity emanating from her end, "and I'll do it."

"Then...we need a soul. Any soul will do, if you've got any enemies you've been waiting to remove, now's not a bad time. So long as there is some good in them, it should be enough to experiment with to find out if this will even work."  Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Oh, if you have contacts in Alliance Military or medical services, any information about the status of those who've fallen to N'zoth, if any have been recovered, that sort of thing would be good to know."  Much though her focus is on trying to strengthen the wolf...if indeed it even is what she thinks it is, it’s worth looking at other avenues.

"Yeah, I know a few people who wouldn't be missed - not by anyone that matters, anyway." Her tone was somber, as was the emotion which accompanied it; she wasn't pleased or excited about the prospect, but there was a palpable level of determination to see it through regardless. "I'll see what information I can track down on short notice. There's gotta be at least one of my contacts on leave in the city who can offer something useful. Or, at the very least, point us in the direction of someone who can."

"Thanks," Alyssa's response comes, a bit more sobered too in all of this. "I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Kat seems to keep everyone who matters to her as separated as possible from each other, but...we'll figure this out." Seating herself on the edge of the stump with the wolf, running fingers through its fur. "So you know what you're getting into, I should let you know what having me with you entails that we've figured out so far. If the blade is physically on your person, I can hear you, and feel your emotions. You'll feel mine too. I can't see you or where you are, I can't hear people around you. I ah...also can see and have access to your soul, we're linked, but if you ever need a break, just...set the blade down and walk away from it." Best to just be honest about these things. "I don't sleep anymore, I'm always here. If you need anything, well...in so much as I can do as not much more than a voice in your head. I'm here. Oh...don't so much as even nick anyone you don't plan to kill, keep the dagger in a sheath the rest of the time. I don't have great control, fresh blood sets off some things."

"This would be a lot to process on a good day..." Riley murmurs in response.  "Luckily, I've been handling blades since I was a kid, so I doubt we'll have to worry about any such accidents. Still..." a pointed pause as she seems to take a moment of thought "think our first order of business will be to fit you-... it. You..?" The sigh is audible across the link, "I'll fashion a sheath that'll properly fit the blade when we get back to my shop, just to be safe. I imagine we've got more than a fair share of bullshit ahead of us without adding more into the mix."

"We'll, uh." Riley seems to be picking up on Alyssa's own worried state through the warm fog of alcohol.  It’s a filtered sort of thinking that Aly got pretty used to seeing with Kat. "We're gonna figure this out, like you said. We'll find her."  Riley’s words seem meant as a reassurance of sorts, to herself as much as the woman trapped in the weapon.  "We have to."

"Yes, we have to," Alyssa agrees. "I refuse to accept that she's gone for good, I'm not ready for that...thank you Riley." A brief pause and then, "I'm going to think a bit, start planning the spell work I'll use when you get the soul. I'm here, and I'm always listening, if you need me, just to talk, or whatever," one can almost hear the vague shrug, "I'm here."

"Yeah..." a long pause followed her response. "I've seen her in pretty rough shape more than once. She pulled through then, and this'll be no different." Try as she might, there was an unmistakable air of uncertainty in her tone - whether she was trying to convince herself or Alyssa was anyone's guess. "I'll, uh. I'll do my own share of thinking on the way back. Let you know what I come up with."

Then the clearing to Riley’s soul closes up, the unmistakable sign that contact with the Dagger has been broken.  Alyssa finds herself with more questions, more fears, more worries, but revitalized too.  Anything at all, no matter how bad, is better than the endless nothing.  “I ‘ope y’trust this Riley, ‘cause I’m goin’ t’ave to,” she speaks to the wolf, before conjuring her Girmoire to her hands.  

There’s no real need to have the book, what’s accurate of her contents is memorized, but it helps her think through it again as she pours over her new notes about what it might entail to rip the Light out of a soul and transplant it to a new home.

[ @blue-eyedraven​ ]

[ Mentions of @kat-hawke ]

[thecousinsdangereux]

fic preview: over the wide skies up above (and the earth below)

Pairing: Blake/Yang (RWBY)

Playlist: On Spotify

Notes: This is a preview of a thing that I may or may not be something I actually finish post ski!au. Basically, it’s all for @twelveclara who wanted a Greek Gods AU. You’re lucky I adore you, you dumb bitch. I’ll fix this up and write more for you some day. Happy birthday. <3

                                                           — 

She was picking flowers: roses, crocus, and beautiful violets. Up and down the soft meadow. Iris blossoms too she picked, and hyacinth. And the narcissus, which was grown as a lure for the flower-faced girl by Gaia. All according to the plans of Zeus. She was doing a favor for the one who receives many guests. It was a wondrous thing in its splendor. To look at it gives a sense of holy awe to the immortal gods as well as mortal humans. It has a hundred heads growing from the root up. Its sweet fragrance spread over the wide skies up above. And the earth below smiled back in all its radiance. So too the churning mass of the salty sea

[From the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, translated by Gregory Nagy]

                                                            —

They meet on a Sunday morning, on the first day of Winter, under a cloudy and snow-filled sky.

It’s a collision only barely avoided; she swerves, but the white petals still brush against her cheek, sticking out every which way and thus not as easily dodged as the form carrying them (barreling around the corner without any particular concern or hesitation). The juxtaposition hardly stops there, because the resulting stream of expletives feels in direct opposition to what follows it: an apology that —  when directed at her — sounds soft and familiar, despite the lingering profanities.  

The thought doesn’t make any sense, but she hardly has time to consider its meaning when it first hits her; it’s quickly followed by a scent — floral and strong and overwhelming — that hits just as hard, turns the world over on itself, shifts the seasons, melts the ice around them. 

“Shit, sorry! I’ve got so many of these fucking things that I can barely see and I’ve got to get them to the greenhouse in like five minutes and I’m really running late and are you okay?” 

The flowers — she can see them more clearly now: long-stemmed and white with a brilliant yellow center ringed in red — obscure most of the woman’s face. But her long blonde hair spills outside of the boundaries of the dozens of stems barely contained to the two large buckets she holds in front of her chest. Blake finds herself briefly distracted again (distracted from a distraction), this time by the looping curls, the different colors of gold that glint among the strands despite the overcast skies. But then the woman shifts, trying to see around the stems, and with the movement, a new wave of the scent hits her and it’s all she can think about again. 

“What is that?” 

“What’s what?” The woman laughs and finally pokes her head through the flowers. The bright smile that appears is one that Blake cannot differentiate from the first bloom of Spring. “You mean like, the daffodils or — whoa.” 

She can’t pinpoint the reason for the change, but something makes the woman’s eyes (the color of the sky at 5:30 am in the middle of June) widen when they first meet Blake’s. The surprise steals her smile, but it returns almost immediately, stronger than before. 

“Whoa,” she says again. “Where have you been?” 

Blake’s a college freshman — one who got a fake ID at 16 and has been to frat parties and bars and clubs — and so she’s heard the line before (or something like it, ‘all my life’ tacked on at the end), but she’s never heard anyone say it like this woman does. The emphasis is in the wrong spot, the tone out of place, the emotion behind it incomprehensible. 

(Stranger than all that, her instantaneous thought — one she only just keeps from escaping her own lips — is waiting for you.) 

“I — what?” she says instead. 

“It’s the day before Christmas break! I’ve been here all semester and I’ve never seen you before. It’s not that big of a school. So, like, where have you been?” 

The girl shifts her cargo to the side — as though to give herself a better view — and the warm leather of her coat, the soft wool around the collar, belong on her frame as much as the dark gold belongs around her neck (a woven scarf, color deeper than her hair). 

“Not in the greenhouse,” Blake settles on. “I didn’t know we had one.” 

“Yeah, I could have guessed that.” 

It comes with a laugh and Blake’s not sure whether to be offended or not, but the woman quickly continues, before Blake can settle on any one expression.

“The Botany program is pretty small. Not too many people other than us visit the far field, let alone the Greenhouse.”

“Botany?” It’s not what she expects, but it feels right. 

(Blake’s not sure how she knows what feels right. But she doesn’t question it either.)

“Yeah. Plants are sort of my thing.” The girl lifts one of the buckets as though to prove her point, and Blake is once again reminded. 

“Yeah. What are those? They smell — ”

(Perfect. Like something she’s been searching for.) 

“Really good right?” She laughs again; a breeze, but one strong enough to bend the trunks of trees. “Yeah, people use it in perfumes all the fucking time. But I think I like the pure version of it best.” Leaning forward, the woman tips the bucket in Blake’s direction, allowing her to get another whiff. “Poet’s Daffodil. Narcissus poeticus, if you’d be into me showing off.” 

She’s leaning in, breathing in deep, but her surprise at the name is such that it nearly sends her rocking off balance and crashing face-first into the delicate stems.

“Oh, you are into me showing off.” The woman shifts again, but the flowers can’t obscure the brightness of her grin. “Hold on, let me take some notes for future reference. Is it the Latin, foreign languages in general, or the vast depth of knowledge that does it for you?” 

“No, I — ” Blake barely recognizes the laugh that escapes from her own lips. “No, it’s just. I’ve never seen it before. The flower version of Narcissus, I mean. But I’ve read about it a hundred times. The man, at least.” 

The woman’s head tilts in thought, but her expression clears quickly.

“Mythology nerd, huh?”

“Classics major.” 

“Oh, super mythology nerd.” She tips the bucket forward again. One of the flowers slides against Blake’s cheek. “You better take one then. You can show it off to all your friends. Spin it however you like. Something like, you got a mythological flower from a mythological girl.” She pauses. “Okay that didn’t actually make sense, I don’t think. I meant like, you got a flower from a goddess. Because I’m like -- uh, I dunno -- what’s the hottest goddess?” 

“The last person who answered that question got into an awful lot of trouble, in the end,” Blake quips, but finds her smile aches. (She also finds she has an immediate answer, though it’s not one of the three that Paris had to consider in the contest that lead to such trouble for the Greeks and Trojans both.)

“I think I remember the basics of that one. How about you take the flower and my number instead of a golden apple and we’ll skip the bad ending.” 

It’s sudden, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like Blake’s been waiting for a while. 

“Forward,” she says despite all that, because it’s almost as though she has to. As though there are steps to take that she’s not allowed to skip, lest she upset a balance she wasn’t aware existed before now. 

It’s a dramatic thought; she’d laugh at herself if — when she reaches into the bucket to grasp one of the stems — she didn’t feel the world sigh in relief.  

“I’ve never really seen the point of wasting time.” The woman shrugs, tone and words light, but only in the same sort of way (required, practiced lines). “There’s just not enough of it.” 

“You sound like you’re a hundred years old and on your deathbed,” Blake laughs, but oh, her heart is clenching. And she’s taking out her phone. She’s making a new contact. She’s already thinking about the first time she’ll text this woman and she doesn’t even know her name. 

(There isn’t enough time. Somehow, she agrees, and that makes her want to get all of it in now, while she has a chance.)

“Or I’m someone who is very late in dropping off some daffodils that don’t really like the cold much. Even if I have a very valid excuse in wanting to stick around.” She pulls away with several long strides backwards; it seems genuinely regretful, but she brightens a little, seeing the flower clutched in one of Blake’s hands (and her phone in the other). “818-815-6247. Let me know if you want to see the greenhouse. Or tell me about the prettiest goddess. Or do anything at all.” 

She takes another step back and Blake nods twice, before realizing she’s missing something. 

“Wait! I’m — ” It comes out sounding a little more desperate than she would have liked, but then, the woman turns back towards her quickly enough for a single petal to fall off of one of of the flowers, so maybe pretenses aren’t really something either of them are concerning themselves with. “I don’t know your name.” 

“Yang.” It’s not the name she expects, but it slides into place easily enough. 

“Blake.” (Somehow, that’s not the name she expects either, even though it’s her own.) “I’ll text you. Call you. Soon.” 

“Good.” She catches another flash of that smile before Yang turns away. “And I’ll be waiting. Or —  trying to. I’ve never been very patient, though you’d think I would have learned by now.” 

“A lot of practice?” Blake calls after her, takes a step towards her (doesn’t notice). 

“Too much, I think.” Her laugh carries, blonde curls whip in the wind as she walks off. “So try to have mercy on me this time.”

Afterwards, she smells of daffodils (of dark green leaves, of a meadow that stretches on and on and on, of mint and hay and dirt and weeds and the whole of spring), as though it’s coming from her pores rather than the flower she places in a small glass on her nightstand. The scent persists through showers and nights out and all the smells that come with living in a coed freshman dorm. It lasts for days (or eons) and stretches back in time, too; she finds it tucked away in memories where it has no place, couldn’t possibly exist. 

(She’s five and her mom takes her to pick blueberries, she’s fourteen on a field trip to the botanical gardens, she’s seventeen and trying to find a perfume that suits her, she’s nineteen and stepping out of her late night Byzantine history seminar. And it’s there — it’s always there — just out of reach: the field over, the next flower, a slightly different perfume, a whiff on the wind that she chases across campus for ten minutes before giving up.)  

(She’s older — ageless — and she doesn’t recognize herself, but it’s there too.) 

The scent of flowers lingers and Blake doesn’t mind. 

She also texts Yang before it can begin to fade.

—

They first meet on Helios’s Day, on the morning of the vernal equinox, under a bright and clear sky.

She watches from behind the treeline, but even from a distance, it’s obvious, the way the ground rises to greet her when the woman walks past: stalks lengthening, flowers unfolding, grass brightening into a more vibrant shade of green with each step she takes. The world is in bloom and it follows the unspoken instructions of only one creature that roams its face. 

Hesitation is not a trait often associated with the gods, but the god of the underworld feels it now, unwilling to interrupt the celebration that the very Earth seemingly wishes to partake in, but desiring it all the same. She is used to the damp, dark coolness of the world below, and the sun always seems beats down with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable heat, but today it feels indomitable and irresistible. 

Today, she wants to step out into the light. 

Vines wrap around her as soon as she does — nothing binding or restrictive, but welcoming — a soft touch that greets her in time with the smile of the one who controls them. She does not appear surprised at the intrusion, nor displeased, but when she walks closer and white flowers — fragrant and familiar — spring up all around them, certainty sprouts as well. 

“The receiver of many guests. Giver of good counsel. It’s not often we see you up here.” The tone is teasing, different from what she typically hears, and it warms her cheeks, places a shade of color there that others would not recognize. (She barely recognizes it in herself.) “What have you come to the surface for?” 

She has an answer to the question, but it’s an honest one, not one she typically gives freely. 

She gives it freely now.  

“Sometimes, I miss being around things that are alive.” 

The goddess doesn’t belittle when she responds — though her smile stays playful — like so many others would. 

“I may be able to help you with that.” 

The ground shifts again and one of the flowers at her feet lifts, stem lengthening to four times what would be natural, until it’s sliding between her fingers, depositing itself in her palm, releasing itself from the Earth when she lifts it to her nose and breathes deep. 

“Everything dies when I go below,” she says softly, and with regret. 

“Not this.” 

She stares into the goddess’s eyes (crocus, monkshood, bellflower, wisteria, lilac) and believes her words, impossible though they are. 

“I’m Kore.” The name doesn’t quite suit her, though the king of the underworld had known it before now. “You should call on me whenever you want to feel something that is alive.” 

“And what if I feel that always?” 

Kore laughs. The whole of the clearing blooms. 

“Then you should call on me always, Hades. Whenever you please.”

—

There’s no need for any pretense. No desire for it, besides.

They graduate from text to voice quickly — within the span of a week —  and when Blake calls, Yang answers on the first ring. When Blake asks if she wants to hang out, Yang rattles off seven different options without pause. 

(“I’ve been thinking about what we should do together since we first met,” Yang says, not really an admission, not when the truth is so easily accessible.

“That was four days ago,” Blake feels she has to add, but Yang just laughs.)

Yang — without flowers blocking her face — is more beautiful than anything Blake’s ever seen. It’s more than the sharp cut of her jaw or the muscles of her forearm or the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles; Yang is attractive and anyone would agree, but it’s more than that. (Something curls in Blake’s stomach and settles in place at the sight, roots growing quick and deep.) And maybe it’s more for Yang too, because her expression — when Blake steps into view, climbing up over the crest of the hill that marks the start of the far field  — holds more than Blake can measure. 

College is strange, and the relationships formed within it, stranger still. She’d met Sun at a freshmen karaoke mixer that she’d been dragged to by her roommate, and in the span of a few hours, they’d gone through every stage of a relationship imaginable: strangers (the awkward first meet), rivals (when he and Ilia had picked the same song and Blake had been dragged along in solidarity), possible partners (when mixer had become unofficial and the alcohol had come out), and (finally) best friends (when the awkward flirtation and intoxication was behind them).   

But this — Yang taking her hand and leading her towards the greenhouse — is different, and that must be apparent to both of them, because Yang hardly looks surprised when Blake doesn’t step away, even once they’re inside. 

“Why botany?” Blake asks, tone softer than the question merits.

Yang’s lips curl and Blake gets caught on the corner like it’s a hook; she wants to press her fingers against the indent, and then do the same with her mouth.   

“I like making things grow. Wherever I go.” Her smile is unabashed, even when she continues. “Cheesy, I know. But I like making things come alive.”

(Blake thinks of vines growing in places they shouldn’t be able to, thinks of flowers sprouting from the cracks in pavement, thinks of the roots of trees spilling out over and digging into rock. She thinks — most of all — of Yang’s hands on all of them and on her as well, a different sort of challenge that Yang never took as such.) 

“It’s not cheesy it’s — “ As she searches for the word, Yang’s gaze does something similar with the planes of her face (searching, though Blake doesn’t think she finds what she’s looking for, and finds herself coming up similarly short). “ —  sincere? Earnest?” She shakes her head; neither are quite right. “Whatever it is, the world needs more of it.” 

The honesty doesn’t sound as sweet coming from her lips, but Yang doesn’t appear to mind. She smiles again, wider this time, and the plants around them pulse with a soft sigh, a tangible exhale of oxygen. And when Yang walks along the rows -- running her fingers gently along the leaves and petals and stalks -- when she speaks each of their names, Blake could swear the vegetation leans into her touch. 

The thought is less strange when coupled with her own: that she wants to do much of the same. 

She searches for patience, then. 

She’s had practice with it too. 

(She used to have more of it.) 

—

She doesn’t last long. 

But then, how could she? 

Only a week later, one of Yang’s friends throws a back-to-school party and Blake gets pulled along, as seems to be the new trend. 

(“It’s weird,” Yang says, much in the same way she always does, with a grin lighting her face. “She’s normally a lot more particular about her guest list.”) 

There’s alcohol waiting for them as soon as they walk in, and they each throw back a shot before moving any further, though the (surprisingly) fancy cocktail Blake picks up shortly after is one that she nurses for the rest of the night, at least until her hands find better uses. 

Yang’s hands find them more quickly than Blake’s; she’s tactile and gregarious and fun and she touches people as she greets them, throughout conversations, when she says goodbye. But she touches Blake most of all: her hand on the small of her back, her fingers threading through the hair that rests at the nape of her neck, her chin resting on Blake’s shoulder. 

It builds and builds and there’s not enough time and so Blake reaches down, tugs on Yang’s hand and pulls her outside. It feels like the only place they can be — tucked into the corner of the balcony of Yang’s friend’s lavish apartment with the night sky overhead — when she kisses her. 

There’s no surprise in the action, but there’s plenty of everything else. 

(Blake considers all the Greek words for affection, for feeling, for lust, for every form of love known to the poets, and disregards them all.) 

Her lipstick is dark, and it’s smeared over Yang’s mouth when she pulls back (later — that night and in the upcoming weeks and months and years — she’ll find it in other places: Yang’s neck, her thighs, her sheets). The stains Yang leaves is of a different sort, but Blake first notices it in the taste left on her lips. She runs her tongue along it, brow pinching in thought, and Yang laughs as she watches her try to figure it out. 

“Pomegranate,” she explains. “It’s the lip balm.” 

Blake can’t see how that accounts for all of it and kisses her again, just to be sure.

—

The first time they kiss, the world springs into revelry.

The humans flourish under the bountiful harvest; their yields triple, they write songs about the season, they throw feasts without excuse, and each of the gods benefit from an upsurge of tributes, from the smallest villages to the largest city-states. 

She hardly notices. 

Instead, she focuses on memorizing the way Kore tastes. 

 —

She meets a boy in her Ancient Greek Lit class, finds his translation of the first line of the Odyssey to be interesting. The word polytropos, he argues, should be taken as an active description; Odysseus is not controlled but in control of his fate. ‘Sing to me, Muse, of a compelling man; sing through me the story of a man who could shape the world around him’, the boy writes, and Blake gets caught on the intensity in his expression as he reads it, is taken by his confidence and passion (forgets to argue against the lengthiness and the clear liberties he takes). 

He greets her after class, suggests they study together sometime, and that’s what Yang finds them doing a couple days later, tucked away in a corner of the library, pouring over words translated a thousand times, Adam finding a way to disagree with every previous version of them. Yang slides into the conversation and the seat next to Blake without needing to be invited, her warm smile at ease even when Adam switches to Greek, speaks fast and condescending. 

“Well I don’t know anything about any of that,” Yang says easily. “But Blake told me that myths were supposed to be enjoyed by everyone, right? That they were passed on from generation to generation, like bedtime songs or campfire stories. Seems like getting all wordy and pretentious doesn’t really fit that idea, right?” She smiles, and Blake’s gaze shifts towards it, away from the clear ire in Adam’s eyes. “I’d go with Blake’s version.”

In the hour they’d been at the table, Blake hadn’t offered her own translation (hadn’t been asked), but it’s scribbled there, within the margins of the pages of printed out Greek, and Yang’s fingers brush against the pen strokes as she leans in, their shoulders brushing against each other. 

“Tell me about a complicated man,” Blake reads, voice soft. 

“Yeah.” Yang nods and completely ignores Adam’s glare. Blake finds doing the same to be easy, his magnetism fading away, swept aside by stronger forces. “Sometimes you’ve got to admit that something like that can’t be totally summed up in a word or even in a sentence. There’s something kind of beautiful about that too — I think — admitting the complexity in such a simple way.”

“I… think so too.”  

Adam doesn’t last for much longer, quickly tiring of not being the center of attention. He slams his books shut and shoves his chair out with force when he stands and Blake can’t remember what it was about him that appealed to her in the first place.

“I don’t like him,” Yang says after he leaves, a simple declaration as she steals a sip from Blake’s water bottle.

Blake blinks. Considers. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be studying with him again.” 

And she doesn’t. 

(It’s not normally that easy, she thinks, later on, and isn’t sure what she means by that at all.)

—

The humans tell tales about them, before their story is finished. 

Time is odd like that when you are immortal and infinite. Beginnings and ends and middles get jumbled in a way that they never do for those who have a life to live in a linear manner.  

It starts small: maidens whispering to each other, children making up rhymes, mothers telling stories to put their daughters to sleep. There’s a soft reverence in these traditions, and though she does not catalog the words they use, she picks up on the meaning. It settles in her chest — the warmth of it — different from the sort that presses at her heart when Kore is near, but significant in a distinct way. 

The tales change over time, warped by the teller and the listener alike, move further from the truth. But the humans could hardly know of the color of Kore’s hair, the tone of her skin, the color of her eyes, and what did it matter when the genders were confused or the courtship was pressed into a single day? The meaning persisted, the good intentions enough to sate the both of them. 

The stories lengthen, turn into poems, turn into songs, turn into performances, turn into epics. And one day Hermes tells them — amusement in his voice — that they have started to record them, to actually write them down.

But they carry on, much in the same way. 

What harm could human words -- written or no -- have on the lives of the gods?

[echodrops]

Why You Should Be Shipping Shigaraki/Ochako

No, no, hang on a second--I see that side-eye you are throwing hard enough to ruin your peripheral vision. I feel the shade you’re casting like a thundercloud rolling in. But you didn’t read wrong. I meant what I said.

I’ve never made a secret of my love for rare pairs, but for once in my damn lonely shipper’s hellscape of a life I would love it if my favorite crack ship in a fandom had more than two fics (I’m NOT JOKING) to its name.

What can I do to correct this egregious oversight before the entire summer passes with nary a whisper of the most romantic ship since Juliet wherefore art thou’d Romeo?

Well, what else? I was forged in the fires of early 2000s’ fandom, and I know that desperate times call for desperate measures meticulously researched and extremely rose-tinted

Shipping Manifestos.

Fam, I am about to blow your minds, align your chakras, open your third eyes--because Shigaraki and Ochako is the most slept on ship in the entire BNHA fandom, and if you give me ten minutes like an hour (holy shit, this is long), I can prove it.

Disclaimer: @mistystarshine is the enabler who convinced me to write this but we were both enabled by @ohmytheon’s Reconfigure (on AO3) so you know who’s really responsible.

Spoilers to Chapter 231, watch out.

First off, I know what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re still reading from pure shock. Maybe you’re doubt-reading to get your daily fix of internet skepticism. Maybe you’re waiting for me to say these two characters are meant to be because she wears pink and his hair is blue. Maybe you’re already freaking out about age gaps but like that is what future fics and AUs are actually for!!!

I’m not telling you to give up your IzuOcha or Kacchako. I’m not gonna pry ShigaDabi out of your eager little villain stan hands. But if you’ve never considered multi-shipping, now is the time my friends, because I’m totally serious heartfelt here! I’ve got VALID reasons for shipping Shigako--ten of them, in fact:

1) Midoriya is taken for granted as Uraraka’s love interest--but Shigaraki is incredibly similar to him.

There are reams of meta on the parallels between Midoriya and Shigaraki, with plenty people noting how Horikoshi specifically set the two up as foils to examine similar character development despite their drastically different circumstances. Yet for all the meta pointing out that Shigaraki and Midoriya are basically the same character through a mirror darkly, I’ve never seen anyone bear that thought out to its logical conclusion: there are traits Uraraka admires in Midoriya that are extremely apparent in Shigaraki too.

Multiple times in the manga, Uraraka expresses admiration for Deku’s resolve and refusal to give up. His determination in the face of impossible odds and his sense of dedication to his cause are powerful motivating factors in Ochako’s storyline, and Deku’s behavior--his willingness to charge straight into danger and his unflinching pursuit of his goal to be #1--have basically become the standard to which Uraraka holds herself.

Her crush is literally founded on an appreciation for Midoriya’s drive, earnestness, and constant growth as a person.

But these are all traits that Shigaraki also explicitly possesses. Shigaraki’s unwavering resolve is so strong that even though everyone around him says dream is unattainable... they follow him anyway.

Ujiko flat out tells Shigaraki he’s chasing a pipe dream, but he’s willing to come along for the ride strictly because of how committed Shigaraki is to making that dream a reality. The strength of Tomura’s conviction alone persuaded a collection of the most volatile and difficult personalities in the manga to band together and become found family the most well-known anti-establishment organization in all of Japan.

Shigaraki never, even in the face of overwhelming threat, backs down from a challenge, and he approaches each impossible task with absolutely as much effort, ferocity, and refusal to quit as Deku. He is just as dedicated, just as much of a shounen protagonist main character, and just as willing to push himself above and beyond as Deku.

The traits that motivated Uraraka to become the character she is today, many of the exact same traits that formed her crush on Midoriya, are all there in Shigaraki. In another world, the person who inspired Uraraka to go “Plus Ultra” could be Tomura himself, and if 1) no sense of self-preservation, 2) ZERO CHILL, and 3) dogged obsession are what Uraraka finds attractive, Shigaraki clearly has 'em covered. Oh no, he’s meeting all my standards.

2) Being serious though, Ochako’s role in the plot would be vastly improved by more meaningful interactions with the antagonists, even if just in battle.

I’ve written before about how badly the writing of BNHA treats Ochako, and why her constantly being out-of-focus is a hallmark of the genre’s crippling inability to handle dynamic female characters, but it bears repeating: in her current position in the story, Uraraka’s character has minimal agency. She exists to fill the role of Deku’s love interest (at worst) and an emotional crutch (at best). Again, absolutely no hate on the IzuOcha ship--it’s clearly canon endgame and “wholesome” I guess is what they’re calling it nowadays. But the way IzuOcha’s being written in canon is actually the worst possible thing that could happen to Uraraka’s individual character, because Ochako’s crush on Deku has been given virtually no bearing on the story’s main plot and allows Horikoshi to consistently reduce Uraraka’s personal accomplishments to “inspirations from Deku” (in order to, likely, fulfill young male readers’ fantasy of having a girl fixated on them).

Is Uraraka about to do something cool in the manga? Wait for her comment about being motivated by Deku.

Does Uraraka actually get to see some action and get involved in a fight? Wait for someone to bring up her feelings for Deku.

Is Deku about to have a dramatic clash with the story’s villains to advance the main plotline? Wait for Ochako to entirely vanish (at worst) or get sidelined into a three panel clip where she’ll use the same martial art move she’s been using since like chapter 10 (at best).

If I have to read “Gunhead Martial Arts” one more fucking time... Give Ochako her OWN supermoves goddammit!!

The story of the comic itself continually pushes Ochako out of any position of relevance. She’s not one of UA’s strongest fighters (despite having a quirk that, if applied like ANY of the male characters, has incredible potential), she’s not given half the emotional depth or attention even side characters like Kirishima get, and her backstory lacks the development many of the male characters’ get (I’m looking at you, Todoroki).

As a “good girl,” she isn’t allowed to get her hands dirty like Toga, she isn’t allowed to get as bloodied or ugly as any of the boys, and she can never be allowed to surpass the main male characters in coolness or plot relevance because girls can be “heroes” but they can’t be The Hero™. (I’m literally gagging, guys.)

Which is EXACTLY why a plot involving Shigaraki and Ochako--in ANY capacity, even just a flat out fight against each other!--would actually be a fan-fucking-tastic addition to BNHA.

Skip the token Toga vs. Ochako chick fight where they squabble over who loves Izuku more. Let Toga talk to Izuku as herself for once. Let Uraraka throw down with the League’s leader. At least once, Horikoshi? Just once?

Literally any form of plot that puts Shigaraki and Ochako into contact would mean moving Uraraka into a more central position within the manga’s plot, would boost her screen-time, increase the likelihood of her contributing to the story’s primary conflict, and would give her more to do and emotionally engage with than just repeating the same lines about Deku being amazing on an endless loop. There is untapped character development potential in spades here if Uraraka was given chance to genuinely interact with the other half of the story’s cast!

Give👏 Uraraka👏 something👏 meaningful👏 to do!👏

Putting the story’s foremost female character on out there on the frontlines with the manga’s actual main character antagonist would finally break her out of the mold she’s been forced into by genre stereotypes and set her on an even playing field with the male heroes at last.

A meaningful encounter with Shigaraki could be Ochako’s ticket to being treated respectfully by the story itself (and hell if giving underappreciated characters a real place in the world isn’t Tomura’s freakin’ calling card already).

3) Okay, I know the words “subverting expectations” leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth nowadays, but there is a huge difference between “throwing inexplicable plot twists at the audience just for shock factor” and “averting stale cliches in an emotionally rewarding manner.” Sure, cliches do exist for a reason, but there are still many instances where actively avoiding a cliche plotline is a great choice. A shounen manga’s token love interest ending up with someone other than the hero--namely with a (reformed) villain--would be an interesting flip on the trite “hero gets the girl” script.

Look, we all know how it goes: Hero clashes with Bad Guy. They duke it out all over Kingdom Come. RIP like fifty square city blocks. The Hero wins, heads home triumphant, sweeps his Princess off her feet, and sails off into the hero rankings sunset. End of the same story we’ve seen a million times. Sometimes it’s done well and the audience is left satisfied. Other times, the heroine involved is reduced to the hero’s reward, less person than wish fulfillment. In either case, tying up a romantic subplot with a hero is the go-to way of resolving female characters’ storylines and, at this point, pretty much a given in manga, even when the romantic subplot is never given the development it deserves, leaving audiences bewildered at how and why the hook-up actually happened.

I’m not saying every comic should “subvert expectations” and cancel its romantic subplot between the hero and heroine, of course not. But I am saying that it would be pretty refreshing to see something else for once.

By virtue of their role, villains don’t usually “get the girl.” Even redeemed villains rarely end up in happy, healthy, well-written relationships. It’s not impossible but it is unlikely that a series’ designated female lead ever wavers in her attentions from the main hero to a new romantic target.

So it would be pretty cool if one did, if the moral of the story’s romantic subplot wasn’t just "token love interest completes painfully shoehorned romantic gestures.” A good romance with a redeemed ex-villain instead of a hero would take a lot more explanation. It would demand, by its very nature, more work on the author’s part to suspend disbelief. The characters would have to develop an entirely different rapport from the normal interactions between designated love interests, and, to a certain extent, strong character growth would be required in order for such a romance to even get started. There’s more moral complexity and conflict to a subplot like this, and a greater sensation of choice--if the heroine doesn’t have to end with the hero by the end of the story, well hey... That means she could end up with just about anyone. Whoa.

Even more so, in the specific case of Shigaraki, who has lived a life of misery and manipulation, the idea that he could come out on the other side, grow as a person, redeem himself, and eventually enter a healthy relationship with someone who isn’t going to hurt him is an idea I find deeply appealing. I think there are a lot of villain stans, myself included, who see parts of themselves in Shigaraki. If a character who has been so severely impacted by abuse can still heal and ultimately end up happy, to me, that’s a far more hopeful and heart-warming conclusion than the alternatives. I did warn you this manifesto would be rose-tinted, didn’t I?

I want storylines that prove that none of us are beyond saving. That people who make bad choices can still change. That romance isn’t a reward for playing the “right” role. That heroines have options. That there are still pleasant surprises to be found in romance plots.

4) But why Shigaraki and Ochako, in particular? It’s not like they have any remotely shared life experiences--

Oops. Friendly reminder: Ochako is the only major character in the manga besides the villains who is overtly described as, I quote, “poorer than poor.” Todoroki, Yaomomo, and Iida can all make it rain; Kaminari, Mina, and Jirou can afford stylish clothes; Kirishima can drop a stupid amount on night vision googles... Even Midoriya, whose father “works overseas,“ can afford plenty of All Might merchandise. One of the popular fandom theories for a while was that Ochako could be U.A.’s traitor specifically because of her desire to help her parents financially, and I think that most readers at this point can discern a clear divide in BNHA’s society: heroes are the “haves” and villains are the “have nots.” To be a hero in this story is to attend a prestigious school, have access to expensive support items, gear, insurance, fame and glory, etc.

Meanwhile, with the exception of All For One, to be a villain in BNHA’s story is to be marginalized, live in unfit conditions, lack access to basic safety and nutritional resources, and struggle to make ends meet. When ability to thrive in a hero-centric society is synonymous with being a good and worthwhile person, anyone who doesn’t just naturally excel in the hero-driven economy is treated as flawed at best and suspect at worst. Poor characters in the story are ignored, and, as demonstrated with people like Twice, left essentially to fend for themselves.

Uraraka’s status as lower income is mostly played for laughs. She’s still a privileged character in that she can attend U.A., receive hero items for free, has a safe place to live, etc. But it is important that the story acknowledges her family’s situation, because her financial status does set her apart from her classmates.

She is less privileged than the others. Being “the poor character” situates Uraraka in the interesting divide between those who couldn’t cope and chose to rebel against hero society instead, versus those who conformed to the hero system in an attempt to improve their situations. In different circumstances, if Uraraka’s family was just even the tiniest bit worse off, we might be seeing a very different character here, one who had to make some much harder choices to keep her family afloat.

Having been in the position of "going without,” Uraraka also has a unique understanding of the “real world” that many of her heroics classmates might lack. She understands what it is like to go hungry, to not be able to afford to keep up with the newest trends, to be constantly anxious about the future--to feel unsuccessful, overlooked, and under constant pressure to perform. As someone who wasn’t raised in the lap of luxury or even really a middle-class home, Uraraka has more insight into--and would likely have more empathy for--the plight of the downtrodden daily criminals of the BNHA world. Just based on her own life experiences, Ochako is more likely than her classmates to recognize how harsh reality can be, and understand the temptations that lead people to make terrible decisions.

This makes Ochako an especially interesting character in terms of her pro hero future. Would she be able to sympathize and reach out to struggling "villains” more effectively than others from her class, who lack her humble background? Would she be able to better see the big picture of BNHA’s society, and the way it actively creates villains from its marginalized populations? Would she be able to look at the League not just as criminals, but also as people who never stood a chance within the confines of a rigged social structure?

Uraraka’s background shifts her closer to the story’s villains than many of the other hero characters, and puts her in a unique place to both empathize and become motivated to change the flawed system that produced people like Shigaraki and the League in the first place.

5) Likewise, Uraraka’s background actually makes her more palatable to Shigaraki than other heroes. At least at the beginning of the comic, Uraraka isn’t shy about admitting that one of her reasons for becoming a hero is to help her parents financially. Ochako’s original motivation for heroism isn’t portrayed as nobly as others’ like Deku--Deku has no ulterior motives for being a hero; he just wants to save people and wouldn’t care about personally benefiting.

Instead, Ochako is presented as someone who (initially) sees heroism as a means to an end. It’s not that she doesn’t want to save people, but that she’s not doing so only for the intrinsic worth... the hefty paycheck that comes from heroism is a big draw.

Over time the manga has shown her shifting away from this (which actually makes her character less unique, unfortunately), but I’m sure it’s still a thought for her, and she’s definitely going to send paychecks to her parents in the future. At the end of the day, heroism is still going to be Uraraka’s ticket to a better lifestyle, even if she’s committed herself to it honestly by the time she leaves U.A.

But it’s this exact form of personal motivation that Shigaraki is much more likely to understand than the “goody-two-shoes” motivations of people like Deku. Multiple times in the comic Shigaraki has expressed confusion with society’s habit of clinging mindlessly to symbols, of their blind faith in the virtues of heroism, and their ability to simply overlook suffering because “surely a hero will do something about it.” Stain’s ideals about “true heroes” go straight past Shigaraki, who seems to hate heroes who are earnest (All Might, I’m talking about All Might) far more than those who are simply faking their way through for fame. 

Shigaraki understands humans who are driven by personal gain. He respects the individual desires of people he cares about. Someone in the hero industry explicitly seeking tangible benefits would likely, to Shigaraki at least, come across as more genuine than someone who claims they have no ulterior motives, and a person who is blunt about their needs and grounded in the reality of BNHA’s world would likely be much more acceptable to Tomura than someone who spews trite lines about peace and justice.

Shigaraki’s feelings for heroes have been irreparably damaged by his conditioning from All For One, but there are certainly some heroes that he would find less loathsome than others. He will probably never understand Deku’s selflessness. All Might’s saccharine symbolism actively infuriates him. But a person who became a hero to put food on the table? To provide for her parents (maybe especially because it is her parents she’s trying to provide for)? That’s at least understandable. If the manga’s future does see Shigaraki redeemed, my thought is that the only type of heroes we’ll ever see him willingly interact with would still be heroes just like Ochako, with more “down to earth” personal motivations. Uraraka, your codename is “If I had to date a hero”...

6) While we’re talking about shared life experiences, there’s another very obvious similarity between Shigaraki and Ochako: neither one of them can touch things with all five fingers.

Cute/fridge horror observation: Shigaraki is even daintier about touching things than Uraraka is; Uraraka usually lifts just her pinkies, but Shigaraki frequently uses as few fingers as possible.

Yeah, yeah, they both have to be dainty and careful with everything they hold. It’d be cute to watch them eat together. They could mutually gripe about the annoyance of video game consoles not designed for four-finger use. More than that though, neither one of them can touch other human beings without the risk of causing death.

Uraraka, as a hero, has the more privileged quirk design (she can turn her quirk off, while Shigaraki can’t) and until recently, the comic was always very careful to portray Uraraka’s quirk in a way that no one was endangered by it. But dropping Zero Gravity into the hands of a villain for a single chapter reveals the truth: Uraraka’s quirk has just as much lethal potential as Shigaraki’s.

Like Shigaraki, Uraraka has to face the reality that her touch alone could jeopardize the safety of anyone she comes into contact with, in her daily life and in her hero work. Drop some debris without looking twice? Just crushed a civilian. Release your quirk without thinking? Now the villain you floated is paste on the sidewalk. Thought that it was safe to float away the building? Oops, you crushed someone still trapped inside. Yikes. In a one-on-one battle, Uraraka is actually at a disadvantage not because her quirk is weak, but the dead opposite--in an outdoor fight, she would have to actively work not to accidentally send people off into outer space.

Having an auto-activate touch quirk means that both Shigaraki and Ochako have to be conscious of every single thing they touch all the time. Both of their quirks require constant bodily awareness, and both come with the lurking knowledge that “My touch causes problems.” Even for Ochako, who would merely be a nuisance if she accidentally floated objects indoors, it’s easy to internalize frustration and negative associations with one’s own body. Every day, Ochako has to be careful with herself in a way that few of her peers do, another factor that sets her apart.

One of the story’s overarching themes is the idea of “self-acceptance” and what it even means to “accept yourself” in a world where (almost) every human being possesses a distinguishing feature, often built into their bodies at the expense of standard human functioning. For people with limited control over their quirks, who can’t choose when the effect activates, a quirk is a constant burden and facet of their identity that entirely re-shapes how they interact with the world. Both Shigaraki and Uraraka face the practicality of having burdensome, even lethal, auto-activate quirks that require constant self-awareness. This is a similarity that, of the major characters, only Shigaraki and Ochako possess so far. (Even other major characters with touch-based quirks like Overhaul appear to be able to choose when to activate their quirks).

The “funny” way Shigaraki and Ochako hold things seems like just a small similarity until you remember the amount of practice and frustration it must have taken to internalize a four-fingered touch. Until you remember that this similarity marks them both as very careful and self-conscious characters. Until you remember that Shigaraki’s got a one-touch instakill... but so does Uraraka Ochako.

7) Okay, similarities are cool and all, but you know what they say: opposites attract. And if we’re talking character motivation, there are no cleaner opposites in the entire series. Shigaraki and Ochako are actually even better emotional foils than Shigaraki and Deku, because Ochako’s central motivation is “Make as many people smile as possible” and Shigaraki’s is, literally, “Make it so no one can ever smile again.”

I know I ragged on it earlier, but now I’m going to use it to my full advantage: as the story evolved and characters grew, Ochako’s “true” motivation to become a hero revealed itself: she feels a deep, intrinsic happiness when witnessing the happiness of others. Her desire as a hero is to spread relief, the sense of security that allows people to go about their days smiling. She literally feels happiest when everyone around her is happy.

Even more so than Deku, this casts Uraraka as Shigaraki’s diametric opposite in the story, because Shigaraki’s entire pipe dream goal also hinges on the smiles of others--and how absolutely much he hates them. Shigaraki’s goal is total world destruction because he just resents the happiness of others that fucking much.

On the surface alone it’s more fascinating than the story will probably ever live up to: Ochako, the heroine who wants to spread smiles; Shigaraki, the villain who wants to destroy them. Even if we’re just talking canon, zero romance involved, that would still be an interesting conflict to explore. The story could cover a lot of deeper ground by drawing the comparison between these two characters more directly. It would definitely validate Uraraka being involved in more major plot events, at the very least.

BUT this was supposed to be about shipping, so of course I can’t leave it there, and leaving it there would only be half the story anyway, because nobody is born hating smiles. Everything we’ve seen of Shigaraki’s past so far indicates that he was a kid with a cute dog, a warm relationship with his sister, and an interest in heroes--i.e., a decent life that probably included his own fair share of smiles. Shigaraki’s hatred and resentment are direct products of the traumatic manipulation he suffered at AFO’s hands. He despises the idea that people around him can smile and act upbeat, even when they objectively know villains are lurking all around them. He is actually sick to his stomach at the idea of people blindly putting their faith in heroes, knowing what he does: that heroes often fail, that there are many people who desperately need to be rescued and are instead overlooked. The world failed Shimura Tenko and then had the nerve to keep on smiling without him.

Other people’s smiles represent nothing but the joy, security, love, and peace that Shigaraki Tomura hasn’t experienced since the day his quirk manifested. The sight of any living thing fills Shigaraki with rage because everything bright and beautiful, everything good and calm and kind and soft and warm, is everything that Shigaraki has lost and believes he will never, ever get to experience again.

Shigaraki doesn’t really hate the pure happy smiles of others; he hates the fact that the world has taken away every single thing he ever had to smile about.

It is my belief that Horikoshi is hinting at a redemption arc for Shigaraki, especially as we see the League become closer allies. But Shigaraki can’t be completely redeemed, can’t be persuaded to give up his world-destruction plan, until he can look at the smiles of others without scorn. Until the bright, upbeat attitudes of heroes other people no longer feel like a personal attack. Until he’s happy enough that the happiness of others no longer hurts. Until the weight is lifted.

And I can’t think of any character more obviously suited to helping lift an immense weight than Uraraka, the zero gravity hero who wants nothing more than to spread smiles.

8) Speaking of lifting weights... Kacchako is a popular ship stemming in large part from Bakugou’s refusal to treat Uraraka with kid gloves. He faces her head-on as a real opponent and views her like any other hero hopeful.

As I’ve said before, this is pretty much the most respectfully the series itself has ever treated Uraraka Ochako, and it caught a lot of attention because it was one of the rare occasions that a female pro hero-in-training was really treated as an equal to the male characters. Kacchako shippers had something awesome to work with.

But... You know who else treats women as equals? (Hell, you know who treats literally everyone as equals, from those with mutant quirks to trans people to those with severe mental health issues?) You can say what you want about Shigaraki’s habit of, you know, mass murder, but in terms of viewing others equally and respecting (okay, let’s be real, it’s probably closer to just ignoring) differences, Tomura is about as open-minded as BNHA characters come. The League is an equal opportunity employer.

Unlike actual hero characters, Shigaraki has never once suggested that Toga is incapable of keeping up with any of the male members of the League, and in fact has entrusted her with many of the League’s most dangerous and crucial missions. He explicitly has faith in her ability and skill.

Toga’s right there in the fight against Gigantomachia and the QLA, as much an equal member of the League as anyone else. In terms of gender equality, the villains seem to be light-years ahead of their hero counterparts, and Shigaraki in particular doesn’t discriminate, among his allies or his opponents either. He’s not a “spare the women and children” kind of guy; every hero and villain challenger is treated with equal violence (and equal snark), whether they’re male, female, a long-time pro or a student in training.

In whatever context--canon opponent, AU ally, or a future romantic interest--Shigaraki would take Ochako just as seriously as Bakugou did. If you like Kacchako because Bakugou doesn’t dismiss Uraraka, that same dynamic would be present in Shigako too.

9) And on the topic of Shigaraki and women... It doesn’t feel accidental that every single female character who ever had love for Shigaraki has been taken away from him. A distinct part of Shigaraki’s storyline is that all positive female role models have been systematically removed from his life. He lost his grandmother, a hero he could have looked up to; he lost his mother, who he now has no memory of; he lost the older sister he clearly held dear... All For One’s control over Tomura has always been total, but this particular detail feels especially insidious: was All For One’s spite for Nana so strong that he delighted in deliberately destroying every single relationship Tenko had with women connected to Nana’s legacy? (Or is AFO perhaps just a raging misogynist? Every single one of his known associates is male and he seemed to despise and mock Nana particularly hard...)

In any case, the point I’m trying to make here is that, even ruling love interests out, Shigaraki’s storyline would be enriched by forging a meaningful connection with a female character like Ochako. Acceptance--maybe even some grudging admiration--for a female hero? A fantastic opportunity to show just how different the “villains” are from the discriminatory society that produced them. Supporting friendship while he’s on the road to recovery? A+ way to diversify interactions between the male and female cast. Send a tough girl to Tartarus to question his motives? Nice chance for tense dialogue and some good old noire-esque foe yay. Hostage situation that takes a turn for the surprisingly cordial? Fun way to explore different dynamics and humanize the villains because hey, they treated the “damsel” to dinner shortbread cookies. My god, Shigaraki could even develop some positive sense of rivalry with a woman, for example! The possibilities are endless if you’re actually willing to give female characters a shot!

Being more serious, Tomura’s life has been dramatically marked by the loss of his female family members, and--at least from what we know so far--his entire youth was spent without the presence of reliable friendships, let alone any form of “love” that wasn’t disturbingly fake. Beyond his fragmented memories, he has no models for healthy relationships, romantic or otherwise.

Letting Shigaraki develop to the point that he could form a mutually positive relationship with a female hero character would be extremely cathartic for me as a reader. I don’t mean “rewarding redemption with a last-minute happy ending romance”--I mean actually getting the opportunity to watch Tomura rediscover what it means to be genuinely loved and realize he has the capacity to give love and be happy in return...

Reaching that level of mutual support and closeness--especially with a female pro hero--would be the biggest “FUCK YOU” that Shigaraki could give to All For One, short of, you know, actually killing him.

Shigaraki Tomura has a critical (and deliberate) lack of healthy connections to women. BNHA, coincidentally, has a criminally under-utilized female lead just twiddling her thumbs over here, waiting for a meaningful plotline to be thrown her way.

Sure, putting AFO in prison is cool and all, but have you considered... crushing his pride and legacy of evil by helping the boy he tortured for years learn to love again? I’m just sayin’!

Uraraka Ochako, snatching Shigaraki right the fuck out of AFO’s hands:

10) Basically what the whole thing boils down to is this: Shigaraki Tomura needs a hero.

Don’t mistake my meaning. A lot of “girl meets bad boy” plots end up amounting to “girl becomes emotionally responsible for fixing bad boy’s issues,” and that’s not what I’m gunning for--Shigaraki has to redeem himself because redemption is only meaningful when it stems from the character’s own inner desire to change; I’m not quite rose-tinted enough to buy into the Love Redeems trope myself. I’m definitely not advocating anyone dump Shigaraki Tomura as he is now into Uraraka Ochako’s lap and expect her to turn him from a beast to a beauty. It’s not an unrelated woman’s responsibility to fix a broken man.

But! From a reader’s perspective, I think we can agree: Shigaraki’s redemption cannot be complete until he learns to believe in real heroes. He doesn’t have to like them. He doesn’t have to support hero society. But he has to be able to look at real heroes like Izuku and Ochako and admit that they are doing what’s right--that society is a better place because they are here. Shigaraki’s path to recovery can’t even begin until he’s capable of at least acknowledging that the world has things worth saving in it.

If Horikoshi moves forward with a redemption arc for Shigaraki, it will probably be Deku who Detroit Smashes the message of truly noble heroes into Shigaraki’s head. That’s his job as the resident Warrior Therapist, I suppose. But you know... to me, it might be even more meaningful if Shigaraki’s hero--if the hand that reaches out to rescue him--isn’t The Hero’s™ but just a hero’s. We all know Deku is selfless and good to the core. As All Might’s perfect successor, he really has nothing to prove. It’s everyone else who is in question. It’s the whole rest of hero society that owes Shigaraki Tomura an explanation for the suffering of people like the League’s members. It’s everyone else who needs to prove they can do better--that in the future, there will be no bloody children left abandoned in back alleyways.

Uraraka Ochako’s conviction is to save people. As a female hero who hasn’t lived a privileged life, she’s uniquely situated to think about those who are most often overlooked. In a world where violence begets violence, where only those with strength and flash excel, what a powerful message it would send for the terrifying antagonist to effectively be rescued by someone the story itself has called “a frail girl.” At the end of the day, heroics isn’t supposed to be about mountain-destroying explosions and mach punches--heroics is supposed to be about heart, about reaching out a gentle helping hand, about spreading smiles to those who need them most.

Tomura’s faith in heroes has been brutally stripped from him, and every part of his conflict is tied up intimately with his misdirected hatred: it wasn’t actually heroes who isolated and hurt him--it was villains. In order to move forward, he will have to come to that horrible realization, deal with that means for himself and his place in the world, and recognize the truth: there are goodness and good people in the world. Selfless heroes, those who wouldn’t turn their backs on a crying child, do exist. There are people, even now, who would extend a kind hand to Shigaraki Tomura and do their best to bring a real smile to his face. Because that’s what’s really going on, after all.

Shimura Tenko is still waiting to be saved.

And I know just the person to do it.

[radioactivereactions]

hello!! it's a bit overdone, but I'm a hopeless romantic so I was wondering if you could do fo4 companions react to the first time saying "I love you," in their relationship; whether it was sole who said it first or them! thank you in advance, hun!! 💖💖❣️

Bold of Youto Assume I’m not a hopeless romantic.

Cait

Emotions aren’t Caits strong suit. She liked hugging, lovedkisses and would kill for a night alone with sole, but as far as verballyexpressing her compassion for sole the poor girl is like a deer in headlights.She wants to be able to say what she feels towards them, but her own pride andthe simple fact this entire thing is completely new to her always makes herclam up. What if she made a fool of herself and made Sole think less of her?She couldn’t have that, she couldn’t risk that. But it still irritated her tono end that her own anxiety stopped her from doing the one thing she wanted themost in this shithole of a world they call home. Never in her life have heremotions held her back from anything, and for once she couldn’t just beat upthe problem and have it solve itself. Which is why instead of the punching bag,she turned to the drink.

Ham gives Sole a nod as they enter the Third Rail, seeingtheir eyes roll back for a moment before they trudged down to the bar. Theyscanned the crowd before finally setting their gaze on Cait, her head restingon one of the tables. “Yknow I think before long they’re gonna name this tableafter you” Sole sighs out, tapping their head “C’mon, lets get you home”

It takes a while to get Cait to her feet, even longer to gether up the angled ground to exit the bar, from then on it still wasn’t exactlysmooth sailing; Sole being used as a support for all of Caits weight the entiretime while they stumble through Goodneighbour. At least Cait didn’t weigh thatmuch.

After a long and treacherous journey up the stairs of thehotel Rexford, Cait slumps over onto the bed with a slurred groan.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Sole murmurs, pushing a fewstrands of hair from her face

Cait murmurs something inaudible as a response.

“What was that?” Sole chuckles,

“Yknow I fucken love ya” She grumbles drunkenly

Soles heart picks up, a goofy smile spread on their facewhile they lean down and kiss her forehead “I guess now I do”

“Damn rightcha do”

Curie

Being a synth gifted little Curie with so many new andexciting opportunities, and filled her mind with so much information to learnand archive. Things like breathing and needing to eat and sleep in order tosurvive was entirely new to her, not to mention finally being able toexperience things like happiness!

She had only heard of love previously from her creator;Kenneth Collins, when she observed a very peculiar set of symptoms her archivehad not been able to diagnose as he spoke about his previous life and family.Curious as always, she questioned Collins on what was happening to his body,and upon his explanation on ‘love’ Curie was absolutely flabbergasted on howemotions could impact the human body like that, to the point she doubted thevalidity and thought Collins wasn’t telling the truth.

But now here she stands, next to the very person who rescuedher from her solitary in Vault 81, feeling the exact same symptoms Collinsdescribed many years ago.

Rapid heartbeat, clammy hands, dilated pupils, and generalanxiety. Was this love?

“Sole” She spoke tenderly, gaining the attention of them, assoon as their eyes met the symptoms only worsened.

“Everything alright Curie?”

“This relationship ‘as allowed me to finally solve a greatmystery with myself. I believe I am in love you”

Danse

Being exiled from the Brotherhood broke Danse in many ways.His entire life seemingly becoming absolutely pointless to him and his entiremotivation to simply exist being exhausted. But having Sole by his side madehim feel safe, secure, happy; after the confrontation with Maxson they’re all hehad and he wouldn’t rather have anyone else by his side.

It wasn’t long after he left that he and Sole had become athing, which only expanded his admiration for them. There wouldn’t be anyoneelse in the entire world who he would trust as much.

It was another day of patrol, Sole being on the lookout forsome sort of special gun that may or may not exist. Leave it to Sole to listento a random wastelander clearly on some mixture of chems.

“You realise the more times we spend looking for a possiblyexisting bit of metal is more time we could have been spending on somethingworthwhile” He mutters for the 7th time, not getting a response likethe time before. He goes to speak up once more before Sole suddenly dartsahead, turning a corner and going out of view.

Immediately Danse follows, listening out and trying to figureout which way, they had gone, but eventually the footsteps of his comrade justdisappeared.

“Sole” He calls out repeatedly, walking between the mazes ofdilapidated buildings of the commonwealth. Gaining no response each time. Astime passes so do his steps, his eyes scanning everything that moved and histeeth keeping a grip on his bottom lip. He continues calling out to Sole, thepanic gradually setting in at the sheer magnitude of possible things that mayhave happened, the bad things overwhelming the good.

“Sole!” He yells out, his breathing becoming scarce as deadsilence greets him, until after one cry out a call is returned.

“Danse! You alright?”

He turns around quick as a heartbeat to see Sole on the otherend of the road, his body acting on its own and running towards them, jumpingout of his power armour to wrap his arms around soles body, who is confused butnonetheless returns the hug though not as tight as Danse. “You good?”

“Yeah… Now I am” He replies hushed, rubbing their back “Don’twander off like that again okay? I can’t risk losing you… I love you too much”

Taken aback but overwhelming happy at the confession, Solereplies “You have my word”

“Outstanding”

 Deacon

We all know Deacon. You can’t readthe man for shit. He could be ready to tear out someone’s liver with a rustyspoon and hardly anyone would know. In a lot of situations, this habit is a goodthing, it allows him to stay in character and gather as much Intel as he canfor Des, but when you’re meant to be romantically involved with him it can bemore than tiresome.

Sole tried not to rush him, knowingit was a hit or miss with Deacon after Barbra, and giving him as much time ashe could. But they couldn’t help but grow more and more conscious aboutwhether or not he truly cared for them.

They have already said they lovedhim, many times in fact. But what did Deacon reply with?? ‘Mhmm’ 'Of course youdo’ 'Well who wouldn’t?’ 'Yeah me too’

Many could see how that would makesomeone feel. And eventually, it just got too much for Sole.

'I’m just saying it won’t kill you toat least say you love me back’ Sole huffed

'You really want me to say it?’ Heasks.

'Yes. Yes I do’

Oh boy.

Safe to say Sole got what theywanted… 

That same day, Deacon climbs on topof the centre table, a megaphone in hand.

'Deacon what are you doing?’Desdemona asks, already done with whatever antics he has in store, Sole lookingover to him from another table.

'Attention everyone!’ He exclaimsinto the speaker, everyone cringing at the feedback. 'I have a very importantannouncement to make' 

'Think you could do it withoutalerting everyone within a 10-mile radius??’ One of the members grumble

'I stand here today because I suck,and I intend to change that fact by proclaiming my undying love for that sexylittle number over there’ he declares, pointing directly at Sole who buriestheir face into their hands. 

'I love them so much it makes memushy inside, and there’s no one I’d rather almost be mauled by a bunch ofghouls with’ He declares proudly 'And if anyone fucks with them they better beprepared for a world of hurt, thank you that is all' 

He jumps down, sauntering over toSole with a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

Sole lowers their hands and stares upat Deacon who has their arms outstretched for a hug which they obliged, almostbeing suffocated by the embrace he gives “I can’t believe you" 

"You know you love me” Hereplies, Sole can practically hear the smirk on his face

“Who couldn’t”

Hancock

Leave it to Hancock to say it during sex.

What more do you expect from the man?

However, what Sole didn’t expect was his outright denial ofit. They tried their best to make him admit it but he just continued to defendhis case. It was amusing at first, seeing the normally calm and confident manbecome flustered and unable to take control of the situation.

But eventually, it just became degrading to Sole, theseemingly innocent argument becoming more and more heated as time continued.

“Look I know you said it, its nothing to be embarrassedabout, can’t you just admit it, John?” Sole interrogated while he stumbled aroundhis room looking for his clothes.

He replies in a stern gruffness “I don’t wanna talk about itsunshine, just drop it”

“But-“

“Look I just said drop it” He interrupts, walking out of theroom and slamming the door behind him, throwing the room into silence. Solestares at the door for a moment before laying back down on the bed, theirvision gradually becoming blurry and their breath turning into ragged wheezesas they try not to cry.

They don’t know how long they were there for, unbothered tomove from the bed and just rethinking over what had happened. They were so lostin thought they hadn’t even noticed Hancock stepping inside the room, it wasonly when he sat on the opposite side of the bed that they had noticed he wasthere.

“I’m sorry” He murmurs quietly “I dunno why I acted likethat… I guess I just didn’t want to admit I said something like that”

“So you didn’t want to say it?” Sole replies quietly

Hancock is quick to respond “That’s not what I meant,” he sayshurriedly “I mean I didn’t wanna say it during… y'know. I wanted to say it at amore meaningful time… Like during a nice dinner or some sort of sappy ass timealone when I’m not off my face or some shit”

Sole turns over “Are you off your face now?” They askquietly, getting a wicked smirk from Hancock as a response.

He leans down and presses his lips against theirs “I love you”He hums, “I love you so damn much”

MacCready

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. That was the only way MacCreadycould describe what he saw, watching his son running around and finally be ableto act like a child instead of being bedridden and unlikely to survive.

That with the addition of Sole running around with him,giving Duncan piggybacks and tickle attacks, the sweet sweet melody of hearinghis sons’ laughter after so long making his heart almost explode out of hischest.

“Anyone want drinks?” He calls out to them, Duncanenthusiastically replying with a shrill ‘Yes!’ and Sole giving a nod his way.With a smile he wanders back inside their home, looking out the window while grabbinga few bottles of Nuka-Cola. He jumps momentarily once he hears a loud thump but soon comes to his senses while the all too familiar sound of Duncans cryingfills his ears.

He hurries outside and looks to the source of the crying,seeing Sole with Duncan in their lap, holding his hand and rocking gently,giving him gentle consolidations. “Hey, it’s alright” they whisper “Want me tokiss it better?”

Duncan nods and holds out his hand, to which Sole covers insmall kisses, guiding them up his chubby little arm before planting one on hisforehead, earning a giggle from the small boy.

MacCready walks over and sits by them, handing Duncan a juicebox which he greedily slurps up, an arm wrapping around Sole and pulling themclose. “God I love you” he whispers, kissing their cheek.

Nick

“Ellie, would you just drop it?”

“Come on Nick you needa stop being so afraid about it”

“Now, now who said I’m afraid?”

“Nick,” Ellie says doubtfully, staring at the synthetic manwho sits at the desk of the agency.

He sighs, resting his head on his damaged hand, the otherdragging a cigarette to his mouth. “I just don’t wanna risk scaring the kid offis all” He sighs out, a cloud of smoke trailing out.

“Oh come on Nick, stop selling yourself short” Ellie whines,slumping over in a chair “You know you won’t do that”

“Lately it feels like I don’t know anything at all” Nickadmits, leaning back

Ellie lets out a gentle chuckle “They really do that to youhuh?”

“Seems that way…”

“The more you put it off the worse its gonna be to actuallydo”

“Well look at you being the teacher for once”

“Come on Nick…”

“Look” He begins, standing from his desk “I’m not afraid toadmit it, I love sole, and I wanna tell them but…”

Ellie edges him on “But?”

Nick sighs “… I’m scared. I so desperately want to tell thembut whenever I see em I just freeze up and I wonder if I really deserve to lovethem… Happy?”

“Well I mean I am, I’m not sure about her though” Ellie humsout, earning a confused look from Nick and nodding her head behind him.

Turning around; his entire body almost gives way as Solesteps out from behind a filing cabinet.

“Have fun you two” Ellie sings out whilst walking out of theagency door, leaving the two alone.

It’s silent for a moment. The awkward tension being so thickyou could cut it with a knife.

“I guess it can’t be helped now” Nick musters out

Sole chuckles lightly, moving to sit at his desk, gesturinghim to sit at the opposite chair, which he does. “Why don’t you start at thebeginning?”

Piper

Writing is and always will be Pipers method of letting off steam,to her it seems the only way she can truly express what she’s feeling is bywriting it all out. Angry about some close-minded resident who keeps giving herattitude? Write a detailed story of throwing them off a tall building. Upsetover Takahashi’s noodle stand to have to be closed after a malfunction? Reachinto your inner 13-year-old and write an angst-filled poem reminiscing aboutthe good days and just how doomed we all are… It was just second nature to herat this point.

The only problem with being a reporter in Piper’s eyes wasn’tthe public opinions clashing your own, or the death threats, to her the worstthing about it was with her being thevoice of the people, it was always her talking, and talking and talking. Shewas the person people went to advice too. She was the person who gave theadvice. So when shes lost on her own ambition and feelings, who was she to turnto for guidance??

In rare times like this when not even writing could helpher she’d go on long walks around the commonwealth, coming back at randomtimes no one could predict.

Sole has done odd jobs for Nat before whenever Piper left,most of it is to publish and print off whatever papers Piper had yet tofinish.

They logged on like many times before, scrolling throughwhatever articles and  touching them upwherever necessary, and like every time before reading through the ‘PublickPerspectives’ submissions. It was basically the only thing that everyone inDiamond city collectively read and enjoyed, for the most part, an entire groupof residents dedicated on theorising who asked what.

A few were obvious, a few took time to consider before comingto a rational conclusion, until Sole reached the final submission.

“Dear Publick

“I’ve been dating this person for a while now and things havebeen amazing so far, they make me happy beyond belief and I really see myselfwith them in the future but… I just can’t open up to them. I can’t evencompliment them without becoming a nervous wreck, and you can forget aboutsaying those three big words… And I’m worried my hesitation will drive them offfaster than you can say ‘noodles’. Advice?

-        Blues Clues”

Sole pondered for a moment before everything clicked inplace in perfect harmony. Taking place at the terminal, their fingers flewacross the keyboard, their heart racing at the same speed.

“Dear Blues

Take your chances before they walk away, regardless if theylike you back or not you deserve it to yourself to unleash your feelings. Ifind myself in a similar situation, the girl I’m with just won’t open herself upto me and I sometimes feel guilty about it. As much as id love to pin heragainst the wall and proclaim my absolute adoration to her, I guess writingthis will have to do”

Surely she’ll pick up a copy of the paper soon.

Preston

Preston is a bub.

A sweetheart.

A dumpling.

A little ray of sunshine.

And a goddamn gentleman.

Almost as soon as he and Sole started being a thing he wantedto say he loved them, and ever since he first said it you cannot stop the manfrom saying it every day. Whenever they wake up, just as they fall asleep, anddear god the amount of times hed say it during sex is adorably ridiculous. Thoughit wasn’t always like this, he was terrified of first saying it to Sole in fearthey would think he’s rushing the relationship, though he so desperately wantedto say it.

The first time he let it slip through was surely a time toremember, and not exactly the way he pictured it.

It was a night like any other, Preston doing his usual roundsaround Sanctuary, and Sole resting on the couch in the Home Plate. It doesn’ttake long before their eyes close, their mind still awake and aware but theirentire body sluggish and heavy. They hear the front door of the house open,closing gently a few moments later with a pair of feet stepping over to standin front of them. No doubt Preston.

A blanket is thrown over them, Sole flinching lightly whentheir hair is pushed from their face, Preston’s thumb gently rubbing againsttheir cheek. “I love you” he whispered.

There was no mistaking it.

After hearing that Sole eyes burst open, making Preston jumpback lightly before hurrying down the hallway to the bathroom, closing the doorbehind him with Sole hot on his trails.

It took a while to get him to come out of the bathroom, andsince then after a lot of encouragement from Sole, he never forgets to tellthem every day.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 4

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,122 for this chapter (15,775 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

i want to die

Aw, what happened? Did you give SugarScape spoilers?

Despite Dan's horrible mood, that makes him snort. no you buffoon 1 sugarscape has been dead for yrs, much like how i would like to be 2 i don't say spoilers ever 3 it's WORSE

I may be a little out of the loop. You gonna make me guess? I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think it was.

phil, Dan sends on its own for emphasis. i touched my coworkers tit on live telly and now i can't look her in the fucking eye

Jaime hadn't actually cared much. She'd laughed at him, made some jokes about how Dan's spatial awareness hadn't developed yet, and then moved on with grace. Meanwhile, Dan had been having a mild panic attack on his side of the sofa because all he'd meant to do was brush a distracting piece of lint off Jaime's shoulder and, somehow, drastically missed.

It was all of ten seconds of his life, and Dan is still freaking out about it. He's been pacing his hotel room since they got back, hasn't even bothered changing out of the nice shirt he'd worn for the interview.

Like accidentally? Phil finally replies on Dan's third lap of the room.

no phil i need to grope people on camera to finish. what kind of person do you think i am. YES ACCIDENTALLY.

I dunno what you're into. I'm sure she knew it was an accident?

Yes, Jaime knows it was an accident, but that's not the point. there will be gifs phil

Phil sends him some emojis, only some of which make any sense in context. Dan isn't sure why that calms him down so much. He sits on the edge of his bed and sighs, waiting for Phil to stop typing. It takes a while, but eventually Phil says, Then you'll deal with them. It honestly can't be worse than you falling off the Jimmy Kimmel stage? I swear I saw that gif for months before I knew who you were. And if you're worried about people saying you did it on purpose, tell Jaime. You can talk about it like adults.

It's all laid out very clearly, and while it does make Dan feel better, he doesn't think he's finished being dramatic yet. He checks the time and sighs heavily.

dont suppose you'd be up for a late lunch/early dinner to distract me??

Sure! :), Phil responds immediately. The quickness of his agreement makes that part of Dan's brain start shouting again. I'm actually filming today though. I'll be done in like half an hour if you want to meet me here? Then we can either get takeaway or go out?

It's truly fascinating to Dan how practiced Phil seems to be at giving someone options and pretending like either one is fine rather than just offering his own opinion on the matter.

After assuring Phil that he'll be there, Dan considers getting changed. He's only got fifteen if he wants to get to Phil's place on time, and he isn't exactly known for his quick wardrobe decisions.

In the end, Dan just swaps his nice shoes for some sneakers and rolls his sleeves up. He's a little overdressed still, a McQueen button-down maybe a little too fancy for just hanging out with a new friend, but. He doesn't want to be late. Besides, he looks good. Maybe he likes the idea of Phil being surprised, looking him up and down, having the interview as an excuse to be so dressed up.

The part of Dan's brain that exists to remind him that men are attractive has been so, so loud this week. It's been impossible to ignore.

Dan messes with his straightened fringe until his phone beeps, telling him his Uber is outside. He remembers where Phil lives, in the very vaguest sense, but has to get the exact address from Phil.

He's glad that Phil's front door is painted a specific sort of blue. It would be just Dan's luck to knock on the wrong narrow brick building.

Thor barks, somewhere inside, and Dan shoves his hands in his jean pockets as he waits for Phil to answer the door.

"Hey!" Phil greets him before he's even fully opened the door, beaming. To the great pleasure of Dan's ego, Phil's eyebrows raise as he looks Dan over. "Y'know, you could have changed. I wouldn't have minded waiting a bit."

"Feeling underdressed?" Dan teases.

"A little," says Phil. He pushes his glasses up and gestures at his own graphic tee and slippered feet. "If I'd known there was a dress code, I'd have put on a sports coat."

"You look fine, I was just impatient," says Dan. He waits for another beat. "Uh, can I... come in?"

Phil is giving him a smile, the one with deep eye crinkles and his tongue trapped in his teeth, but it drops as he realises that they've just been standing in his doorway. "Oh! Yeah, sorry, come in. I'm actually not done filming just yet, Thor distracted me. Shouldn't take long."

"What are you filming?" Dan asks curiously, his heart pounding a bit as he follows Phil inside and then, surprisingly, downstairs. "Wait, you're the basement flat? Your video lighting is so good, though!"

"Mostly artificial," says Phil. He sounds wistful. "Someday I'll have a place with a glass window, just you wait."

"What are your windows made of now?"

"What? They're made of glass."

"Then why would you need to wait for one?"

"What did I say?"

"Glass window," says Dan, fighting back giggles. They reach the basement door and Phil lets them in, giving Dan a sheepish sort of smile over his shoulder.

"I meant a glass wall. Like a wall of windows, y'know? That's the dream."

"Yeah, it is," Dan agrees, but he's distracted by the fact that he's in Phil's flat. He kicks his shoes off among the pile next to the door and looks around. "It feels super weird to be seeing this place in 3D."

"Oh, probably," Phil laughs. "You want some slippers? My feet get so cold down here, I've got like a dozen pairs."

"I'm alright."

Phil's flat has less natural light than Dan had expected - or, evidently, than Phil would prefer - but the sheer number of lamps, string lights, and scented candles scattered around the place give it a soft glow that Dan is a big fan of. There are bright colours on every surface and every wall, and the overall effect isn't as overwhelming as it could be. Dan still thinks it could be edited down, but. It's very Phil.

To his vague surprise, he sees Phil's bed pushed against the far wall, a backless bookshelf the only divider from the open living space. Box lights and camera are all set up at the side of his bed.

"If I didn't know what you did for a living," says Dan, gesturing at the setup.

Phil grins at him. "Yeah. My landlord still doesn't believe that I don't make porn. You want a drink?"

"Sure, whatever you're having," says Dan. He spots Thor, curled up on a fluffy dog bed in the corner, and immediately starts cooing. "Oh, there you are! Hello!"

Thor perks up, cocking his head to the side, and Dan gets on the floor to call him over. Within seconds, he ends up on his back with an armful of happy puppy, and he giggles helplessly as Thor licks all over his face.

"Thor, down," Phil says from somewhere above them, sounding amused. Thor backs off, winding through Phil's legs a couple of times before he trots back to his bed.

"I love him," Dan informs Phil, still flat on his back. It's not the most flattering angle to look up at Phil, but he can deal.

"So do I," says Phil. He holds up a glass. "Ribena?"

"Please," says Dan, standing back up to accept the drink. He suddenly feels very weird, standing in the middle of Phil's lounge slash dining area slash kitchen slash bedroom. "Er, you've still got to finish filming, yeah? I can just... sit."

With a small grin, Phil waves at his sofa. "Make yourself at home. Just try not to rile Thor up too much? He's already made my blooper reel longer than the video itself."

"I think I can handle that."

Dan cannot, in fact, handle it. He brings his Ribena to the floor so he can sit next to the dog bed and scratch all of Thor's favourite spots. He finds one of Thor's toys as he listens to Phil wrap up a story that sounds maybe ten percent true, and then - well. It progresses to a tug of war before Dan can even entertain the idea that this might be distracting to Phil.

"Dan," Phil says, in this tone like he's trying to sound stern but can't stop smiling. "Are you growling at Thor?"

Yes. "Maybe."

"Maybe? I'm literally filming right now."

"He's just so cute," Dan whines.

"I know he is," says Phil. "I deal with this struggle every day of my life."

Dan sighs and lets Thor have the rope, watching wistfully as he zooms off with it. "Sorry, I'm really not trying to be a dick. I know this is your job."

"Hey, no," says Phil, suddenly sounding much closer. Dan looks up from corgi-watching to see Phil leaning against one side of his shelves, hands in his pockets and a soft smile playing around his lips. Butterflies erupt somewhere in Dan's belly. "I'm not bothered, really. I think it's cute. I just also, y'know, would like to eat sometime today."

"Why don't I just order something?" Dan suggests.

"Alright," Phil hums. "I'm lactose intolerant and hate mushrooms, but the intolerance can be ignored for pizza if that's what you want."

If that's what Dan wants. "What do you want?"

Phil blinks. "Oh, whatever."

"No," Dan presses. He knows it isn't very good manners, but he wants to see if Phil will actually offer an opinion of his own instead of walking that thin line of indifference. "I will quite literally eat anything. You pick."

It's quiet for a moment while Phil thinks it over, only the hum of the refrigerator and Thor's little huffs of breath for background noise. Dan has to admit that the small basement windows have an upside - less traffic din is able to get through. Coupled with the way Phil has lit his flat, the atmosphere makes Dan feel comfortable, like he could curl up here and just stay.

The rug under Dan is soft, the Ribena is perfectly watered down, and he's got a cute dog and a cute boy to stare at. He really could sit here forever and be content.

"I feel like Chinese," Phil says eventually. He's chewing on his lip, and Dan realises he hasn't seen Phil look so... anxious.

"Chinese sounds great," says Dan. "I'll order."

Phil seems relieved that he hasn't accidentally made a horrible choice or something, and he goes back to filming while Dan fucks around on different apps to find the best Chinese place in Phil's area.

--

"You never actually told me how you managed to grope someone."

Dan, who had gotten all wrapped up in chow mein and MasterChef and had forgotten his hellish morning by this point, chokes on air.

"Oh my god, nooooo," he groans, covering his face with both hands and sinking further into the sofa. He hears Phil laugh. "She just! Had some fucking, like, fluff on her shoulder. Like lint. I was gonna brush it off."

"How did you fuck that up so hard?" Phil asks. He sounds so amused that Dan wants to keep hiding, but the curse has him peeking out between his fingers curiously.

"I've never heard you swear," says Dan.

"I don't," says Phil, "on YouTube."

Unfortunately for Dan, the sound of Phil swearing is very hot. He groans again, overdramatic to cover up his very real blush, and gesticulates wildly. "My limbs are not friends with my brain, okay, I've got very big hands and I misjudged where I was putting one of them."

"Yeah, you do." Phil's eyes track Dan's hands with an intensity that makes Dan's gut constrict. Then he blinks, meets Dan's eye again, and the look is gone. "That sucks. I get it, though, my body and brain are not on the same frequency at all."

Dan thinks, a little hysterically, that this is a very good reason not to try and have sex with AmazingPhil - he doesn't want to end up in A&E.

There are roughly a hundred other reasons, too. Dan's uncertainty about his own identity, the fact that he's only in the UK for another two weeks, and the very real bond that they've been forming as friends are all at the forefront of his mind. Even so, it helps to make a joke to himself about it.

"Have you ever touched a tit accidentally?" Dan asks dryly.

"I've never touched a tit at all," says Phil. He's drinking coffee despite the hour hurtling into evening quickly, and Dan has to wonder if he ever sleeps. "Not really my wheelhouse."

"They're fine," Dan says, with much less enthusiasm than he normally would. He can't sit here and talk about his boob opinions with Phil, though, because that way lies madness. So he changes the subject, talks loudly about the episode of MasterChef they're on.

He's not ready to come out properly to himself, let alone to someone he barely knows.

Well, okay. It would be more accurate to say 'just met', because Dan feels like he does know Phil fairly well at this point. At least as well as he knows Jaime or Patrick. And maybe that's more of a commentary on how shit a coworker he is, how bad at making friends he is, but whatever. The point is that he likes spending time with Phil a lot, and he wants to do it more, but he can't have that conversation yet.

Dan knows he's attracted to guys. When he was younger and had an even worse handle on himself, that attraction would either lead to fumbling, fearing for his safety, or both.

Right now, specifically, he is attracted to Phil. This feels different, because he's got no reason to fear Phil or to immediately jump him, he's just comfortable sitting next to Phil in the dim light and letting the warmth of the feelings settle in his chest.

Maybe someday he'll be ready to tell Phil that he likes guys. Maybe that'll even go somewhere. For now, Dan is going to trash talk the chefs like he knows what he's talking about and settle into Phil's sofa and laugh like he belongs there.

Dan gets a little too comfortable. He has no idea what time it is when his eyes start to droop, but he's sure it's unreasonably early for someone who goes to sleep in the wee hours of morning most of the time.

A hand on his shoulder jerks him back into full awareness, and Dan blinks over at Phil. "Whuh?"

"Hey," says Phil. He's smiling and his voice is low. Dan can feel the slight chill of Phil's palm through the thin material of his dress shirt.

It's overwhelming, suddenly, how much Dan wants to lean in to Phil. The itch under his skin that he would feel ten years or so ago, the restless, guilty want that had him falling into bed with whatever bloke would let him, is thrumming through him with an intensity he hasn't prepared for. Dan's tongue feels heavy, and his gaze drops to Phil's mouth before he can stop it.

"Hey," echoes Dan, a beat or two late.

"You're falling asleep," Phil says. There's something about his tone that Dan can't quite place, so focused on his own emotions as he is. "You wanna stay over?"

Dan really, really does. But he really, really, really shouldn't.

"I can't," he says, not bothering to hide how regretful it makes him to turn the offer down. "Breakfast telly or whatever in the morning."

The loss of Phil's hand on Dan is one that he thinks he'll be feeling until Phil touches him again. "Of course. You probably have to wake up ridiculously early for that, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

Dan orders himself an Uber and slides to the floor with Thor in order to stop himself from giving his body what it wants in the short amount of time before it arrives. Thor likes the attention, and when Dan glances up to see the soft, unguarded look in Phil's eye, he thinks that Phil probably doesn't mind being ditched for his dog.

They chat about MasterChef and Dan's upcoming interview for a few minutes, safe topics, and Dan is disappointed when his phone beeps with the notification that his driver is close. He doesn't actually want to leave, he just knows he has to.

"We have to do this again before you head up to Edinburgh," says Phil. He walks Dan to the door, which is a little pointless - it's a total of eight steps away.

"How'd you know we're going to Edinburgh this weekend?" Dan asks, distracted from the process of getting his shoes on.

"Been in the business a while, lucky guess."

"Right. Well, then, I'll have to see what I'm doing on Friday."

"Yeah, just message me," says Phil.

There's a moment after Dan gets his shoes on where they're both just standing there looking at each other, and Dan's heart starts pounding like he's getting chased.

"I'll see you Friday," Dan says quietly, even though he isn't sure that he's free. He just needs to say something. His phone beeps again, probably telling him the driver is outside, and Dan is both relieved and annoyed.

Phil opens his mouth to say something, but Dan's racing heart and anxious mind doesn't want to hear whatever it is. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Phil's waist in a tight goodbye hug. It's the sort of embrace he'd give any of his friends, nothing overly intimate, but he knows he'll be thinking about it later anyway.

When Phil's arms drape over Dan's shoulders and his thumb brushes deliberate circles over the back of Dan's neck, it hits Dan very suddenly that if he were to try and kiss Phil right now, Phil would let him. That kind of knowledge is intoxicating, the surety of it making Dan's head swim.

But. He still doesn't know for sure what he wants, and his Uber is waiting. So he just pulls away, says goodnight, leaves.

[opheliamblackwood]

Refraction: Chapter 3: Human Error

There was no point to anything it seemed. I woke the next day thinking that it’d all been some fucked up, horrible dream. But, as I sat up I realized that it hadn’t been. Reaching for dad’s hand, I could feel my fingers trembling. His hand is as cold as a winter night. Fuck.

“Fuck!Fuck…fuck! This isn’t real. This isn’t…it can’t…Dad! Dad, wake up!” I screamed shaking him. Dad’s head moved over to the side, but his eyes didn’t open.

I fell back and slumped against the wall, arms resting lazily across my knees, drawn up to my chest. Tears slid down my face, but I couldn’t make a sound. I’ll have to inform the Elders and they’d have to send him above or below, whichever I choose. It’d be more merciful to send him below, to where he’d give himself back to the earth. If he went above….well, there were things, monstrosities that couldn’t be imagined. The Elders always had observers and scouts on board. The observers lived closer to the surface and constantly kept an eye on things above surface using something like a telescope. They told everyone that the lands were barren. Trees were decayed if not ashes and anything that tried to grow, couldn’t. Corpses littered the ground and animals, the ones that survived, were misshapen, broken somehow. The scientists wanted to study them, but they couldn’t run the risk of bringing them below ground and contaminating everything. They’d worked too hard to keep the shreds of humanity safe. There were only a few thousand of Humans left and that was scary to think about. Oftentimes, I think that maybe it’d be better off if the human race died off. Then again, most wouldn’t consider me human. I would never be that again and I don’t know what to consider myself either. I’m an in-between. Not fully mutant, not fully human. I am both and neither all at once. The Elders liked to keep tabs on their Metas and what our powers are so they could study us. It was their belief that we are what the human race needed to survive. Nature had granted us a gift and our only chance at renewing the human race is because of people like me.

Staring at my hands, I watched them tremble. My heart is pounding and the silence is louder than the blood rushing to my ears. I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t. I keep trying to take big gulps of air and force my lungs to work, but my body won’t listen to me. No, instead, spots are dancing in my vision and I feel weightless. I’m swimming in black and there are the faintest sounds in the distance. I’m starting to come to.

Someone is searching for me. I can hear so many voices. I can’t open my eyes, as much as I try to. I see his eyes, twins to my own. He doesn’t speak but I can…feel his voice. It doesn’t make sense, but in a way, it does. I feel what he’s saying more than hear it. I feel overwhelming sadness pouring from him, but not for himself. It’s for me. Somehow, he knows. He knows about Dad, he knows about me. He reached out to gently touch the side of my face as if trying to determine whether or not I’m real or an illusion. But, the moment his fingertips brush the side of my cheek, his face crumples up in pain and he falls to his knees. When I reach for him, he fades. I don’t even know his name.

Bria is shaking me awake.

I’m groggy as I growl out what I say.

“What the fuck..?” I manage, while rubbing the side of my head which is now throbbing.

Tears are pooling in Bria’s eyes. She’s eye-level with me, crouched down.

“Rory….I’m so sorry. “ she says, gently placing her hand on my shoulder.

I struggle to get up, using the wall for support.

“For what?” I ask, finally able to stand.

“You dad…I found him. I called the Elders and they’re sending someone out here.” Bria said, steadying me by holding my elbow and she guides me over to a chair in the corner of the room.

“When you didn’t come to work, I tried calling you. I must have called twenty five times. When you didn’t answer, I took a sick day and decided to come and check on you. I realized that I never knew where you actually lived. But with a lot of sneaking around, I managed to find out via the systems. I booked it over here and the door was locked. So, I may have wiggled a window open and snuck inside. I found you and your dad here…” Bria said while leaning against the wall.

She looked shaken as she looked over to Dad’s corpse. The reality set in and I was stone inside. I couldn’t feel. I wouldn’t feel. Especially not with someone on the way to come get Dad.

“ I got home and I thought he was just out cold, but when I realized he wasn’t breathing…I couldn’t handle it. It was too much. I can’t…I can’t do this.” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I focused on a spot on the floor.

Bria came over and wrapped her arms around me.

“Oh Rory. I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere. You will make it through this. It may hurt like Hell, but you will. And you’ve got this amazing girl as your friend so, you know, that helps.” Bria said, winking at me.

I appreciated what she was trying to do and I couldn’t be mad at her for it. She was always there and I’d always been such a shitty friend. Dad had always asked me why I never had Bria over to hang out. I guess, I just expected the whole world-what was left of it, to hate me. I didn’t want to get close to anything other than my Dad, because it’d hurt that much more when it was ripped away from me. I wasn’t ignorant to the fact that being Meta would eventually make my life difficult. It was always just a matter of time.

                                                         ---

I feel the shift of something inside of me. It moves in degrees, fractions. Increments of the dregs of a slowly rising darkness are bleeding through me.  The things I loved are becoming dull and useless. I don’t have much of an appetite these days. The liveliness I used to feel is transforming into a sadness that makes my limbs feel as if they’re made of wood. Sometimes I come home from work and just sleep. No matter how much I sleep, I still wake up tired.  Good old Depression, my friend. For the past week or so since my Dad died, I’ve been dreaming of the man I saw in the lab that day. Only, he speaks to me too. I can never make out what he’s saying because it’s always garbled. But, he seems adamant that I hear what he’s saying. It’s never any use. Sometimes, I walk up to the glass and put my hand on it in my dreams and just as he’s reaching for the glass to rest his hand against it, I wake up. His eyes always widen, like he’s never ready for me to be yanked away from him. Dreams are weird. 

I am listless, a ship that lost its trajectory, crashing into a bottomless pool with no hope of rescue. Perhaps this is what it means; to feel so utterly lost and pointless. I’m like a comma in a sentence. No one really pays attention to it, but it still has a purpose. What’s the point? If no one cares about my existence?

It's different. It's different when your parents or your siblings care versus someone who doesn't have a direct tie to you, no familial obligation to love you. Perhaps this is what my life will become now, an empty bottle. It was once full of something, but now it’s empty. Here I am believing that I’m meant to be one of a small race of people that adapted to the poison of the world so that I could  help save it. But, maybe they were wrong. Maybe I’m wrong.

How can you save the world when you can't save what makes up your world? What sort of promise does that make you feel like you have? None. I still have Bria, but it isn’t the same. I’m an orphan now. Unwanted, unloved, broken and lost.

Get up...

I feel something tugging at the farthest corners of my mind.  What? Was that a man’s voice I heard?  

In my sleep, I’m sinking. I’m always drifting in this pool. The water is black, murky and I can barely see anything but this faint blue glow on the surface. There’s this feeling of peace that I can’t fully explain. I just know what when I’m feeling it, it’s the most comforting feeling in the world and nothing matters. There is no fear, no pain, no feeling other than it. I just want to submerge, stay there forever if it means I can stop feeling all of the things I’ve been feeling when I’m awake. But, something tugs, reaches for me in the water. I’m ready to give up, but it won’t let me. An arm reaches down, starts pulling me to the surface and right when I get to the surface, I wake up. I never see who the arm belongs to, but it’s strong. 

                                                           ---

My head is pounding when I wake up. It’s probably my blood sugar due to the face that I barely eat anymore. I sit up in bed and rub my arms. I’ve got goosebumps. The dreams do that to me now too. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I glance around the room. Yep, still the same shitty situation in the same shitty place in the same shitty world. Great. Well, guess I should get something to eat.

Standing up, I think about the taste of coffee with a little bit of cream and sugar and that really gets my appetite going. This is weird. My stomach grumbles and I glance down at my stomach. Rubbing my stomach, I walk over to the fridge. My robe with unicorns on it makes me think of my last birthday, when my dad got it for me. Stupid shit like this usually makes me start tearing up, so I distract myself while staring in horror at the disgusting innards of my fridge. 

“Alright Rory, get your shit together. This fridge isn’t gonna clean itself.” I say to myself as I start pulling questionable containers out of the fridge-spoiled milking being among them. I crinkle my nose as I shove everything into a trash bag and tie it up to put in the corner of the kitchen. I place my robe on the back of one of the kitchen chairs as I get a small container, fill it up with dish liquid and a sponge. I spend the next half hour scrubbing the mess out of the inside of the fridge. Somehow, cleaning always makes me feel better. So, when I finally dry everything in the fridge and put what isn’t spoiled back inside of it, I feel somewhat accomplished. 

Turning the coffee pot on, I start on the few dishes in the sink and clean up the rest of the kitchen. When I’m done, I glance around me and smile to myself. Time to get my reward-beautiful coffee, the ambrosia of the gods. There’s a little light on my phone that keeps blinking red on and off, so I pick it up and unlock it. I’ve got several text messages from Bria. Sighing, I open up my messages and read them one by one. 

“ Hey Ror, just checking in. Feeling any better at all today?”

“ Do you want me to bring you dinner? I know you don’t eat much these days.”

“ Do you want me to come over? I don’t mind. We can have a girls night. I’ll bring pizza.” 

Girl’s night? Are you serious Bria? Do I look like a Girl’s night kind of girl? The next text is what makes my heart leap in my chest.

“ Dude. Some wild shit happened down at the lab today. Apparently, I overheard Singleton talking to another higher up and one of their Meta’s got loose. Apparently, he’s not just any meta, but he’s pretty fucking dangerous. Wild, right? Please be careful. Who knows where this guy could be. Lock your doors.”

That gets a response from me: “ Are you serious?! Did they say anything else about it? Has the Meta been found? I’ll be at work tomorrow.”

A Meta on the loose that is dangerous. Hm. This isn’t gonna go well. Makes me really excited to go to work tomorrow. I wait a few more minutes to see if I get a response and decide to give up. Time to shower and pull my head out of my ass. This sulking shit is only cool for so long. I’ve always been the type that just needs space and time to be moody and sullen before I come out of it. It’s like living in a fog for a bit. Depression sucks ass. 

[empresskatariah]

Prologue

Fomorians were sea-folk, though they hadn’t always been, and those that took to land were often weakened by the absence of water. There was enough of their previous form left to give them proper legs and a means of breathing, but not even their tremendous reserves of magic could keep their skins from drying out. Containing one was simply a matter of waiting until dehydration set in and slowed it up.

But tonight the stars were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that kept dumping torrents of rain. The air was heavy and humid, dank with the stench of wet asphalt that had been dry for too long. Oz surveyed the cityscape from his perch atop a high-rise for some bank or another, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his raincoat while the other held onto a small radio. His slitted pupils dilated as he scanned the streets for any sign of activity, then narrowed slightly as the radio crackled.

“Do you see anything?” came the query, a masculine but youthful tone.

“Nah. Sky’s still pissin’. Don’t bode well if it’s the Fomoire about.”

Oz’s voice was a stark contrast to the one from the radio. He spoke quietly but gruffly, with the barest hint of a lilting Scots’ brogue. Baritone with a growl, someone had said once; Oz didn’t disagree with that assessment.

“You never know, maybe it’s just another Kelpie and someone overreacted. It wouldn’t be the first time. I mean, how many years has it been since one of the Deep Ones came ashore?”

Oz’s face scrunched into a scowl and he opened his mouth to retort, but then his jaw clicked shut without a word. It was moments like this one that made him feel tired, or perhaps old was a better word for it.

“Three decades, give or take a couple years. Doesn’t feel that long to me, though.”

“Cheer up, old man.” A laugh came through the speaker. “Odds are we get to finish up here soon and then we’ll go to Waffle House, my treat.”

Oz’s eyes widened. Suddenly the promise of Waffle House shone like a flaming beacon in the midst of this dismal murk, beckoning him onward. He leaned forward, peering out at the desolate vista with renewed interest.

“Better be ready to pay dearly, then,” he said slyly, one corner of his mouth pulling upward in a toothy grin, “because I haven’t had waffles in–”

A scream cut him off. It was a man’s shriek of terror, a raw and desperate sound that cut through the muggy air like a knife. As if on cue, lightning lit up the sky and a clap of thunder followed merely half a second behind.

“What was that?” the radio demanded.

“I’m on it,” Oz grunted, stuffing the radio into his pocket as he lunged.

The ground was many stories down, at least twenty floors, but Oz hurled himself over the edge with no hesitation. For a moment he was flying, in the next he was falling – he plummeted carelessly as the air roared past him, his raincoat flapping noisily as he went.

He closed his eyes. Wondered how big of a splat he’d make if he just stayed like this and hit the ground. Wondered how long it would take to come back from a mess like that.

I always land on my feet, he thought absently, and dissipated into a cloud of black smoke.

When he reformed he was standing where he’d envisioned going splat, on a curb surrounded by loose litter and dead leaves. A large plastic bag full of waste lay nearby with several stray cats helping themselves to its contents. When Oz passed them by they stared at him, heads turning in unison as their eyes tracked him.

“It’s the King,” one of them murmured in cat-speech, amazed.

“Not anymore,” Oz growled, continuing on his way without pause.

He was glad for the lack of human presence on a night like this. It meant he could move faster than any human should without attracting unwanted attention. A man of his appearance had no business sprinting up Seventh Street at the speed of a cruising car, and yet he did so with ease. When he came to a large puddle he cleared it in a single leap, never losing his balance for an instant.

It should be around here, I know I heard it coming from this direction…

He skidded to a halt as another scream sounded. It echoed from the dark recess of a nearby alleyway, where a single electric light flickered intermittently. Immediately Oz felt an oppressive aura emanating from the shadows, a force of sheer wrongness permeating the rainy haze and causing his skin to prickle into gooseflesh. He only realized he was clenching his teeth when his jaw began to ache. Slowly, carefully he took the radio from his pocket and pressed the button.

“I know this stench,” he said quietly. “It’s one of Them. Put everyone on high alert.”

“A Deep One? A real Fomorian?” Oz could tell his comrade was truly afraid. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Aye.” Oz drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a weary sigh. “Listen. Perce. You’re a good kid. A brave one. But I’m tellin’ you, you need to sit this one out. Let me handle it. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you and believe me, you’re better off stayin’ where you are.”

“Like hell I am,” Percy scoffed. “I’m your handler, Oz. You’re my responsibility. As if I’d just let you face something like that on your own. I’m coming and I’m bringing backup, all right? You just wait for–”

Oz turned the radio off. Tossed it aside. It skittered over the pavement and clanged against a metal trash can.

“Backup,” he spat, shaking his head as if the notion was ludicrous. “Guess I’m to hurry, then.”

Advancing into the alley was like pushing through a series of disgusting membranes. It was completely invisible, even to fey sight, but Oz could feel the presence trying to ward him off with a field of pure thought meant to dredge up his every fear. To a human it might have been overwhelming, perhaps enough to induce insanity, but to Oz it was an annoyance.

The closer he got, however, the worse it became. When he looked down at his hands he was greeted with the illusion of being covered in a horde of slimy things that pulsed and quivered like disembodied intestines. When he breathed it felt like swallowing bile. His sanity remained intact, his intellect coolly refuting the falsehoods, but it was still monumentally unpleasant.

So distracted was he by the psychic onslaught that he failed to realize he had found the crime scene until his foot stepped on something soft instead of pavement. When he looked down he saw a hand. Just a hand. The blood leaking out of its stump of a wrist was still fresh.

“Oh,” he said aloud, and dared to lift his gaze.

The sight that assaulted him was something not meant to exist. It was a creature whose composition had been dictated by mankind’s fear of the unknown, specifically man’s fear of what lay hidden beneath the ocean. It was vaguely humanoid but obscenely inhuman, a conglomeration of gills and eyes and tentacles that inflicted itself upon reality with malevolent iron will.

It was a Fomorian. And it was still eating what appeared to be a homeless man.

Oz considered his options. Ending this quickly meant going all-out, but going all-out meant his compatriots would have… difficulties dealing with the aftermath. The rain was still falling in copious amounts, meaning this beast wouldn’t run out of hydration anytime soon. It would be a long and ultimately costly fight that would likely decimate this part of the city.

You are afraid to give in to your true nature?

Oz hissed and covered his ears with his hands, though he knew it was a futile gesture. The question had been projected directly into his mind.

“I’m not afraid,” he snapped, unwilling to give the Fomorian the satisfaction of conversing as it wished to. “I’m just pissed off. Why are you here? There’s nothin’ for you here on land.”

I could say the same for you, the entity replied. Its tone was flat and emotionless, much like the text-to-speech voices human devices produced. Why do you continue to play human, Irusan?

“Don’t call me that,” Oz snarled. “It’s complicated. And you’re avoidin’ the question. Why. Are. You. Here?”

He awakens soon. No longer will we be imprisoned Below in the ruined depths of Atlantis. We shall walk the Earth again as we did in the days of mighty Balor. We shall shed these cursed forms and reclaim our land from the Usurpers.

At the mention of Balor Oz’s glare deepened and he clenched his hands into fists. Tufts of black fur were beginning to emerge from beneath his sleeves. As he bared his teeth at the enemy, he could feel that his canines had elongated.

“Fuck Balor,” he declared, “and fuck you. I’m giving you one chance to go crawlin’ back into the depths and that’s it. One. Or I’ll tear you apart and turn you into pâté.”

The Deep One tossed aside what was left of its dinner and regarded Oz with what could be presumed as contempt, since its features were unsuited for expressing emotion. It was a smaller variant compared to others of its kind, but it still filled the entire alleyway and towered at least two stories.

You should be our ally, it complained. Your behavior is illogical.

“I’ve never been much good at doing what’s expected of me,” Oz growled, stooping down like a coiled spring ready to unleash, sharp claws emerging from the tips of his gloves.

“OZ!”

A shot rang out and the Fomorian recoiled as it was struck by an iron bullet. Vile vapors billowed from the wound and it loosed a psychic scream that brought Oz to his knees. He could hear cries of anguish behind him as the human personnel who had come to aid him were assailed by mental violence they had no way of fighting against. Despite his own pain, he managed to turn and saw Percy still upright, albeit on one knee.

“Percy, you fool,” he managed.

The man whose face was still that of a boy scowled and raised his handgun. Blood was trickling from his nose and ears but he stubbornly persisted, firing off another shot at the eldritch being.

“I called for more backup,” Percy yelled, his teeth stained red. “I told them to bring everyone. I–”

His eyes bulged and rolled up, showing only their whites, as his body began to tremble. The hand holding his gun swayed left, then right, then planted the weapon’s barrel firmly against Percy’s temple.

Human puppet, the Deep One rumbled. Die.

Oz reached out toward Percy, fingers spreading in vain as Percy’s life ended in a bang and a spray of red mist.

A memory flashed through Oz’s mind unbidden, a crystal-clear remembrance of the day they had first shaken hands.

Hi, I’m Percival Ainsley. You must be Oz! I’ve heard so much about you. I think we’ll work well together, you and I.

As he watched the young man’s body crumple to the ground, Oz felt the last tether that had been holding him back snap.

“I’ll kill you,” he bellowed, his voice deepening into a roar as he turned to face the enemy. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill...”

The sound of meat being skewered cut him off. The realization didn’t set in until Oz’s eyes followed the tentacles that had extended into his own torso, one shoved directly beneath his heart while the other had stabbed through his right side. The pain was oddly distant, save the immediate annoyance of his left lung collapsing.

“Kill you,” he wheezed, grabbing hold of one protrusion with both hands. It was strong but so was he; rage fueled him as he twisted the tentacle in an effort to remove it.

You have become weak, the Fomorian noted dispassionately. And with that it lifted him and slammed him into a brick wall with enough force to break through, sending up a cloud of dust as debris scattered.

The next few minutes seemed to last for hours. Oz slowly became aware of many things: the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, the pain of several broken ribs, a burning sensation that might be a punctured organ or two, and the fact that his right arm had become completely dislocated. His head felt wrong, as if his skull had cracked open like a walnut’s shell. Instead of getting to his feet as he wished to do, he could only struggle as his body refused to do more than thrash around feebly. A killing rage still burned in his chest, but it burned in vain.

“Dammit,” he swore, coughing violently. “Damn you.”

He’d been too slow. Too indecisive. Too willing to give a monster a chance to stand down, too attached to old allegiances that meant nothing now…

Percy. Lad. I’m sorry.

His left hand reached out, trembling, but grasped nothing. Then it fell and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Sounds of battle drifted to him from what seemed a far distance, though he knew they were mere meters away. Reinforcements had arrived. Oz had no doubt they would be able to kill the Fomorian, or at least harass it until it decided to flee back to the sea. But he could no longer muster the energy to care about victory or defeat. Simply breathing was a Herculean labor now.

Not again. Not again...

His last thought, as his heart ceased to beat and one last breath passed through his lips, was of waffles.

[askshalvanic]

Yume Nikki rant/thoughts

Ahh, Yume Nikki, one of the most renowned RPG games in history. While certainly not as nearly as popular as Undertale, it does have its spot within the RPG community, and some people like the game, hell, there’s some who find it inspirational or even life changing. Now, the problem is… I don’t really share this opinion or thoughts on it. In fact I don’t like the game very much. I didn’t really enjoy it, and to be honest, I immediately uninstalled it and wanted to forget about it the moment I was done playing it. The reason for this was that it was mostly a negative experience. I did have a few moments that I enjoyed here and there, so it wasn’t all that negative, but about 80% or so of it did make me think “can’t wait for this piece of shit to be over”. Now, I know this might be an unpopular opinion, but I really, REALLY don’t like Yume Nikki.

I may draw some comparisons to Bioshock Infinite in the sense that this masterpiece of a game that almost everyone and their grandmother consider worthy of a TEN OUT OF FUCKING TEN doesn’t really bode well with me either (I say this mostly because I feel that I’m in the minority when it comes to the people that have played this game and not loved it), and I honestly consider these two the games that I am not willing to play ever again in my life. But this ain’t about Biocunt Integrate, it’s about the dreadful world of Yume Nikki.

Also, I guess as a fair warning, SPOILERS AHEAD IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED IT. This was more than anything meant to be a self reflection on what I thought was wrong with the game, and thus ended up mentioning a lot of spoilers, so if you want to play it blindly, go ahead before reading this, you might take a while though.

I’ll start with the things that personally I liked or made me have some form of respect for the game because it’s easier to list those reasons given there are very few positives, and because I want to get that out of the way first. I guess the positives would be that I liked the atmosphere the game had. It was unnerving, and scarier than most games that claim themselves to be horror games and only rely on cheap and predictable jumpscares and nothing else. And Yume Nikki literally just has some fucking sprites and dark rooms, and yet it’s one of the most disturbing and honestly creepy things I’ve seen. The soundtrack’s just a bunch of looped sounds that doesn’t last too long, but it still adds something to the feel of each world that makes it different from the others. The world designs too are amazing (except for Hell) and each of them looks interesting in their own way. The fact that each effect had its own little details whenever you used them was also pretty cool. The lack of a conventional way to tell a story and just leaving things for you to interpret was an interesting choice from the dev, and the fact that Gast- I mean, Uboa, which is one of the most interesting things about the game isn’t central to the story or you don’t even have to see it to beat the game is actually really cool. Overall I guess it is safe to say it is a pretty unique and well thought out game in general, and I respect it from an artistic point of view.

Now, for the obviously much bigger list of negatives. See, my first problem with the game is how overly complex some things in it are. Several of the events are RNG based, so you basically have to get lucky for some of the most intriguing or interesting moments in the game. Then there’s also the fact that not only events, which are completely optional so there’s not too much of a problem, but also one of the fucking effects that you need to get is tied to an RNG, meaning that you better get lucky and get it at the first try because otherwise it’s gonna be waking up, going to hell, go through the previous world before that one and then get to the actual world again, hoping you get the right one this time. I get it for events that you don’t even need to see to finish the game, BUT FOR ONE OF THE STEPS TO GET TO AN EFFECT TO BE RNG? I sincerely find that pretty bullshit and unnecessary. But that’s a minor issue I had.

The bigger issues are more or less tied to the existence of Hell itself. I mean, it does justice to its name, its a fucking torture to go through it, not only because if you take the wrong turn at any point or don’t have any reference of where you are going or are constantly looking at a fucking map you WILL get lost, but also because it’s so stupidly bright red that after a while of being there your eyes will scream for mercy, and you will more than likely spend a long time in that place, if not because you got lost, then because you essentially need to go through it more than once if you want to actually beat the game. Some people may think it adds to feeling of adventure and danger and excitement, but I simply find it annoying and a nuisance. Essentially, this game isn’t for overly impatient people. You complain about loading screens? Boy, get ready to meet HELL. Admittedly, you do get to do a lot more during the travel from point A to hell to point B, and there is danger there, but I would rather sit through a few moments of a loading screen than have to deal with the bright as the sun red tone in the background designed to either drive you insane or to completely fuck up your eyes, and once you get the stop light effect, the toriningen becomes kind of irrelevant at the price of walking at a normal pace. It can be fixed by just looking at a map but even then it’s still an eye sore and even with the map you can get lost, which happened to me a lot, and the fact that you NEED to go through hell in order to get to other worlds for their respective effects makes it all the more annoying and sigh inducing whenever you see the multi-shaped little shit portal that takes you there.

Another major issue is perhaps the fact that if it wasn’t because a wiki exists or because I had help through most of the game, I would have never figured out where to even get the effects, which ones I was missing, how did they look like or how to get to neat little events that were honestly quite interesting and well made. I know that’s what some people might find charming or the whole point of the game really, to find it out by yourself, but to be honest I would have given up eventually after being unable to find any more stuff because it is all so hidden. I can appreciate when a game goes out of its way to be mysterious, when there’s stuff to find, when it is challenging, but honestly, most of the stuff in this game is far too convoluted for me to give it a pass on that. Aside from the instructions, you are pretty much on your own and therefore entirely fucked. Hell, I would have thought the minigame with the console was somehow important or it would give me something interesting at the end, but reading “nah it’s just a jumpscare” made me realize a lot of this game would be confusing or I’d believe something would be important when really its not. And having somewhat of a trolly person as your guide doesn’t help much either.

Speaking of which, my guide and friend also took part in what makes me not want to play or hear anything about this game ever again. Because of the way he hyped up the ending, even when I started to hate the game a part of me thought “the ending will probably be worth it” to keep going on. The ending, do it for the ending. I’ll talk about the ending later, but needless to say that part of me was wrong, and the ending was somewhat overhyped  him. This was a minor inconvenience however when compared to the one thing that even made me stop mid stream and say “I’m done” and then close the game out of the blue. The god damn insistence on me having to play the game one way, as opposed to how I want to play it. Yes, I might have missed some events that were interesting, but given the fact that he tends to trick me into thinking something when really something else is going on already had me mistrust his guidance to a certain degree, and had me looking up shit on my own to confirm if he was saying the truth. I honestly felt after a while that I was being forced to do things one way instead of doing them by myself and the way I wanted to do it, that is why it was more of a chore than a game, I felt like I was doing some sort of homework that I had to finish at some point, I felt obligated to do it and that made me hate more than anything, the fact that I felt like I HAD to finish it as opposed to wanting to finish it. Feeling forced to do something makes you not want to do it, especially when someone keeps banging over your head “DO IT THIS WAY, DO THIS BECAUSE YES EVEN THOUGH ITS NOT IMPORTANT, DO IT MY WAY NOT YOURS” was a tad overwhelming and made me feel like I was being manipulated and like I needed to do it one single way. Feeling like that sincerely made me want to rush to game, to be done with it, to not have anything to do with it again, and so I did. I started regarding it less like a cool but fucked up game and more like one fucked up homework that I had to do because I had no choice in the matter (sorry if you see this, but you did influence my views in this game a lot).

And this takes me to my final point as to why I dislike this game so much, and this is where I start comparing it to Biodrug Ultimate and its the ending. See, both games have this feeling to me that for some reason if you miss anything or if you don’t do something in specific you will get a bad ending out of however many there could be, because being games that look so creative and unique they probably have more than one ending, right? Well, that is a lie for both of them, but unlike Bioterrorist Influence I didn’t have my expectations high for Yume Nikki. I was already expecting the worst, without much hope for anything because I had Hyoko to tell me at least that there was one and only one ending. And even then the ending still fucked me up, because I didn’t know what, out of all the horrible things that could happen, to expect. And while it was leagues better than the shit show Biodunked Ontimate had to offer for one of the most disappointing endings I’ve ever seen, it doesn’t make it any less depressing or empty. By the time I had finished the game I felt like absolutely nothing that I had done was worth it, like the journey to get here had been void and meaningless. This wasn’t disappointing because I was already expecting nothing from the start, but it did upset me because I had learned nothing and I left with nothing but a bitter taste. Yes some events were pretty cool, same with most of the worlds, it was an interesting concept of visiting a girl’s consciousness through her dreams, and since most dreams tend to be fucked up it would make sense for hers to be pretty bizarre as well. But what was about the effects and about her dreams that drove her to suicide? What did she feel like after exploring all over her own mind and dreams that would make her do that? Why? WHY?! To top it off, I actually felt like it was me the one that drove her to it. Digging so far deep into her consciousness that she felt the only way to deal with her problems was to end with her own life, and that I was the one that pushed her off. I don’t care that she doesn’t actually exist, I don’t care that this all a videogame that I ended up hating, it’s still all so fucked up and it feels awful that with the press of one key I was the one that made her jump into the abyss, never to return again or dream again. I felt empty, sad, upset, thinking about why did things have to turn this way. I hesitated for a while to even make her go up those stairs, but I feel like in the end my own desire to be done with it all, to close the loop, to never come back to this game again made me do it, because I know this is a game, I know many others before me and many more after will press that key to send Madotsuki crashing against the pavement down below, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying or fucked up that I sent a little girl to her own death. I never did the Genocide Route in Undertale because I felt that after having establishing a bond with such lovable and interesting characters I’d be guilty of not only betraying their trust for my own amusement but that I would also take away that feeling of uniqueness and of having such well thought out and caring characters that sincerely made me cry at the end of the Pacifist Route and turning it all into dust, into void, only to get to that one boss battle that everyone keeps praising and that turned Sans into the actual joke that he’s become now within the Undertale Fandom. But that is a rant for another day. The point is, I didn’t do it because to me Undertale is much more than just an RPG, more than just a game, it meant a lot to me and I cared deeply about the characters, to the point of not wanting to murder them, even though I know its a game and it won’t matter either way in the real world, I feel like not caring would make me even more of a twat, and even though I didn’t enjoy Yume Nikki, that still doesn’t mean I wanted Madotsuki to die. Even when I sent her forward I had hoped for there to be something that saved her or for her to actually not jump out of the balcony even if I told her to. Fuck me for having nice thoughts I guess. Oh I also did make the choice to be a nice Madotsuki that didn’t murder anything even though my friend was insisting that I should be the exact opposite of that but whatever.

In the end, I guess the bad things do overweight the good things for me as far as this game goes, and I still feel this sense of emptiness when I think about it. If there is a message, I am unclear about what it is. The world of dreams is incomprehensible? If you dig too far into your unconscious you won’t like what you’ll find out? No matter what you do the outcome of things is inevitable? That death is the true ending for everything? Life and dreams are meaningless? The more I think about it the more it feels like I’m straying away from whatever meaning there is because it all felt so pointless and just not worth it that I can’t find a meaning to all of it. Like, what was the point of driving Madotsuki to suicide? What was the whole point of gathering the effects if she was going to end up dead anyway? Would anything have changed if I hadn’t looked for the things? Nothing changes no matter what you do in the game, so then what does it matter? Did it happen because she was on a quest to find herself and who she is within these dreams and was unable to find it so she then killed herself? I just don’t really know what the point of it all is, and this is exactly my problem with Bioshock 3: The Electric Boogaloo too, after all I did, and all I went through it seems as if thought it was pointless, like I shouldn’t even have bothered if I wasn’t going to be able to change anything for better or for worse.