#pre-hysterical mask

[acmeoop]

The Mask: Animated Series Action Figures (1997)

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p10

chapter 10: in every universe, i would be jealous

warnings - none at all

series masterlist

The paddock buzzed with pre-race activity as Lewis scanned the space. His gaze settled on a particular corner where Y/N sat huddled close to Daniel. They were surrounded by Carlos Sainz, their laughter erupting like firecrackers in the tense atmosphere.

Lewis couldn't help but notice how easily Y/N fit into their banter, a comfortable familiarity evident in their interactions. There was a casualness to their touch, a hand on her shoulder here, a playful nudge there. It gnawed at Lewis, a feeling he couldn't quite decipher.

Max Verstappen, catching Lewis's fixed stare, smirked. "Lost, Hamilton?" he drawled. "Y/N stole Daniel's hoodie again, it seems."

Lewis blinked, his gaze darting back to Y/N. She was indeed sporting a light blue hoodie, far too large for her petite frame, engulfing her in its fluffy folds. Daniel, a mischievous glint in his eyes, nuzzled his head into hers, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Y/N, seemingly oblivious to the entire paddock watching, snuggled deeper into him, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Daniel, in turn, leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead. The gesture was sweet, a casual display of affection between seemingly close friends.

But for Lewis, it felt like a punch to the gut. A wave of something hot and unfamiliar surged through him, a mix of anger, jealousy, and a pang of… was it longing?

He couldn't take it anymore. The sight of Y/N so carefree, so utterly comfortable with someone else, sent a tremor through his carefully constructed composure.

Without a word, Lewis pushed away from the team table and stormed out of the paddock.

His sudden departure created ripples of confusion among the remaining drivers.

"Where's Lewis going?" Lando Norris asked, bewildered.

Esteban Ocon shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe his pre-race routine involves disappearing acts now."

Charles Leclerc exchanged a knowing glance with Daniel. Daniel, though, seemed more confused than anything.

"Guys," he said, his voice laced with a hint of worry. "What just happened?"

Y/N, oblivious to the drama she had unknowingly caused, simply scrolled on her phone. "No idea," she mumbled, burying herself further into the soft hoodie. "But I hope Lewis is okay."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pre-race atmosphere crackled with anticipation as drivers lined up for the parade. Lewis, his face a mask of forced indifference, bumped shoulders with Daniel.

"Alright there, mate," Daniel greeted him with a wide grin, oblivious to the storm brewing within Lewis.

"Daniel," Lewis muttered, his voice clipped. "A word?"

Daniel, sensing a shift in Lewis's demeanor, tilted his head in question. "Sure, what's up?"

Lewis hesitated, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, the words tumbled out in a low growl. "So, you and Y/N… how long have you two been… together?"

Daniel's grin faltered, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. He burst out laughing, a surprised chuckle that escalated into full-blown hysterics. Tears welled up in his eyes as he doubled over, clutching his stomach for support.

Lewis's brow furrowed in confusion. "Daniel? What's so funny?"

Daniel, gasping for breath between fits of laughter, finally managed to croak out, "We… we aren't together, Lewis! Y/N's my best friend! My closest mate! Have you been… hallucinating?"

The realization hit Lewis like a physical blow. Shame burned his cheeks as he stammered, "But… this morning. Your hoodie, the kiss… on her forehead."

"Oh!" Daniel exclaimed, finally regaining his composure. "Oh no, that's… that's just Y/N. She loves physical affection, you know? Hugs, pats on the back, all that. But she's super shy and too much of an ego, wouldn't dream of asking for it. She wants to maintain that rosberg persona"

He nudged Lewis playfully. "See, that's where I come in. Big brother Daniel, always swooping in with forehead kisses when needed!"

Lewis stared at Daniel, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within him. Relief, tinged with a touch of disappointment, washed over him. But a new understanding dawned.

"So… you genuinely care for her, platonically?"

Daniel's smile softened. "Of course. Y/N's like family to me. We've known each other since we were kids, always got each other's backs. Whatever she needs, I'm there."

Lewis nodded slowly, a flicker of something akin to respect igniting in his eyes. "That's admirable, Daniel. Truly."

The parade horn blared, signaling the start of the walk. Lewis straightened his shoulders, a newfound determination settling within him.

"Thanks, Daniel," he said, a hint of a genuine smile playing on his lips. "See you on the track."

Daniel winked. "You got it, Lewis. May the best driver win."

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[severinageto]

“About you and the arcades” — ONE SHOT

Another day, another dollar. Who cares? They're all the same. Breakfast, training, lunch, training, dinner, training, and bed.

“And don't even think about staying up reading manga, okay?” said his mom every night.

“And don’t even think about bla bla bla” mimicked an adult Satoru, remembering those times.

He hated them. Sure, his strict upbringing had made him who he was, but they were still bad memories. Formative years, they say. Every time he bought a Shonen Jump, his mind went to the pre-bedtime scolding or, worse, to the time his mom found his stash and burned them.

“And I had the whole first arc of Dragon Ball, for fuck’s sake” he said, dumping six sugar cubes into his tea.

“What about Dragon Ball? My husband was Vegeta” said Shoko, just entering the kitchen.

“That's like the hundredth time you've said that.”

“Wow, someone's in a bad mood. What's up? Did Megumi get suspended again for hitting his classmates?”

Gojo slumped into a chair with a sigh. Yep, Shoko was right. He was in a bad mood. Megumi had indeed hit his classmates, and he’d have to deal with the principal (an activity he despised), but more than anything, it was the day that bothered him. A beautiful spring morning, ready for the first cherry blossoms. Only he could be annoyed by such a scene. But it made sense. A lot of sense.

On a day like that, he met him.

*

He'd been feeling bored for weeks, no, months. The lessons were dizzying, the training exhausting, and nothing amused him anymore. Wandering endlessly through the forest surrounding the Gojo clan estate wasn't exactly thrilling either, at least not since he turned fourteen. He was anxious. Next year, he would start his studies at the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, which meant not only perfecting his skills but also something he'd been denied his whole short life: meeting people his age. It wasn't far off, really. Nevertheless, Satoru couldn't wait. So, it only took a small slip-up with his mother to bolt.

It was the third time he'd run away from home. The first time, at six, he'd decided to play snail hunting in the forest, an activity he kept up until, at dusk, one of his hysterical guards dragged him back. The second time, at ten, he took the train to Tokyo. He wandered aimlessly, attentively observing the eccentric passersby, listening to the loud noises, and smelling the various food aromas only a big city like that could offer. Until he realized, disappointed, that he still drew the attention of minor sorcerers. And there were plenty. He returned home before they noticed he was gone, convinced that perhaps no one would ever understand what it felt like to be a freak.

But this time would be different. He knew exactly where to go. And not only that, but he'd discovered how to mask his cursed energy for a short time. That, plus a good cap, guaranteed him a few hours of forgetting his boring, routine life Gojo clan.

“Fuck the sorcerers” he muttered with a giggle as he boarded the train.

Upon arriving at his destination station, he ran up excited. He knew exactly where he wanted to go: the arcade with games from the late '80s and early '90s and, specifically, one game: Street Fighter.

He didn't expect a guy dressed in karate gear with a meter-wide back to be using it.

But Satoru wasn't one to give up. He knew he couldn't keep his disguise and low energy for long, so he had to make the most of it.

He approached the guy and patted him on the back.

“What do you want? I told you I'd help...” he said, turning around. “Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

Satoru, seeing him, could only think one thing: "bangs." He was facing a boy around his age, with violet eyes and dark, shiny hair, highlighted by a suspiciously untamed tuft.

He stared at him, mouth open. Not only did he have an intimidating demeanor, but he also emitted cursed energy. And strong energy at that.

“Well? Can I help you with something?”, the boy asked when Satoru didn't respond.

Gojo snapped back to reality.

“I want to use that machine”, he said, standing tall and speaking authoritatively. He'd grown a lot that year, probably about ten centimeters. He had to use that to his advantage.

“Good for you, but I'm using it. Feel free to wait over there”, he pointed to the door.

Confused, Satoru quickly glanced outside and then back at the boy. "What a rude jerk," he thought. Gojo wasn't used to being told no. And, although he hated himself for it and it contradicted his plans for the day, he played the clan card. After all, the boy with the ridiculous tuft was a sorcerer.

He removed his cap and glasses, locking his blue eyes on him.

“Do you even know who I am?”

The boy looked him up and down.

“An idol? Sorry, not into that stuff”, he said, turning back around.

Flabbergasted, Satoru stepped in front of him.

“I'm Gojo Satoru”, he said, indicating his eyes.

The boy, now annoyed, pushed him aside.

“What a rude introduction. Move, please.”

Satoru, even more perplexed, significantly increased the levels of cursed energy he was emitting. This caught the boy's attention. He widened his eyes and, after a few seconds, said:

“You have...that?”

“Yep. Told you I'm Gojo Satoru.”

“Your name still doesn't ring a bell, but”, he stood up and offered his hand. “...I'm Geto Suguru.”

Suguru had spent years unsure of what to make of his strange gift. He saw people and entities where there were none, heard horrible whispers in the dark, and smelled scents that would scare the vilest pirate. He'd intuitively learned to swallow curses, but he knew very little. He didn't even call it energy. To him, it was just "that." The only person he'd met with the same ability was the teacher from the Curse College who had come to recruit him. But he hadn't really explained anything. It would all come later, he'd said. So, meeting a boy his age with the same thing for the first time was incredibly intriguing.

He observed Satoru for a long time. He didn't want to forget his face.

“Are you gonna let me play or not?”, Gojo asked impatiently. He didn't want to be rude, but no one changes overnight.

“Wow, no manners," thought Suguru as he stared at Satoru, puzzled. Normally, if someone treated him like that, Suguru would either ignore them or tell them off. However, something told him it wasn't time to part ways with this strange albino and his frog-like eyes just yet. He felt their cursed energy made them, on a peculiarly intimate level, comrades.

After a few seconds, he said:

“There's another arcade two stations away with two Street Fighters. Want to go?”

“Why would I need two?”, Satoru asked, raising his eyebrows.

Suguru blushed.

“So we can both play.”

"Idiot," he added to himself.

Gojo stared at him for a moment, blinking as if he were being drenched by a thousand raindrops. This was new for him. Not only had he met a sorcerer who didn't know him, but one his age who was polite enough to invite him to play.

He stood up and walked to the door. Suguru looked at him questioningly, and Satoru turned his head.

“Aren't you gonna lead the way?”

Suguru nodded and hurried. They walked to the metro together in silence, but contrary to what one might expect from such a situation, they both felt strangely comfortable. As if they'd known each other forever.

*

At the next arcade, Gojo noticed he wasn't feeling so great anymore. He checked the time. He didn't have much freedom left. He had about fifty minutes before he’d collapse from the effort of hiding his energy. Plus, it was nearly time for his boring History of Clans and General Sorcery class.

“Ugh, school sucks”, he said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud.

Suguru pointed with a smile at the two Street Fighter machines. They were empty, almost waiting for them.

As they sat down, he said:

“School's not so bad if you focus on your studies and join a club. Which school do you go to?”

Gojo eyed him from under his glasses. Of course, this martial arts student had to be a star pupil. "The shoujo manga class rep stereotype," he thought, continuing to scrutinize him.

Taking his seat, he replied:

“I’m homeschooled.”

Now it was Suguru's turn to scrutinize. "So that's why he has no manners," he thought, watching Satoru pick his nose.

“Too bad. Thought we might run into each other in a tournament.”

Satoru eyed him suspiciously. Too bad? Why was this guy being so nice to him? He didn’t know who he was, so he couldn’t be a kiss-up. And Gojo couldn’t fathom that he was simply dealing with someone genuinely nice. He was too used to cold, sarcastic manners.

“I don’t like sports much”, he said curtly. “Don’t talk to me, I'm starting my game, okay?”

"Yeah, he's an idiot," thought Suguru as he stood up and walked over to Satoru. "I should go study and stop wasting time with this annoying brat, but..."

Suguru hit the button to cancel the albino’s game. Satoru looked at him like he had just heard a dog talk.

“What the...?”

“I brought you here so we could both play. You have...that thing, same as me, and I think...I don’t know. You intrigue me. Can you play with me for a bit?”

Suguru was surprised to say those words and blushed like never before.

Satoru didn’t know what to say. No one had ever asked to spend time with him. People were always around him just because of who he was. Asking for permission to share his time was unheard of.

He didn’t think about it. He was intrigued by this Geto Suguru too. And in a way he couldn’t explain, he wanted to spend time with him. But they were short on time. He checked the time and clicked his tongue.

“I have half an hour. Then I gotta go or I’ll be half-dead.”

Suguru laughed loudly. He had no idea what Satoru meant, but it was funny anyway. And not just anyone could make him laugh like that.

“Alright, Cinderella. I’ll beat you in five minutes.”

He had no idea that Satoru played, hidden under his covers, for four hours every night. That, plus his exceptional brain, made him a whiz at everything he did, including ‘80s fighting video games.

After losing three rounds embarrassingly, Suguru thought it was best to throw in the towel. Not only that, but looking at the time, he realized his parents expected him for dinner in fifteen minutes.

“I think it’s time for me to go”, said Geto, a bit hesitant. He didn’t want to leave. He was having a good time.

Satoru looked at the time and was surprised to feel sad. He had to leave too. Standing up from the machine, he said:

“I have to go too.”

The two boys stared at each other like they were seeing their reflection.

“Wanna walk together?” asked Suguru suddenly.

Satoru nodded. He’d walk to Kyoto with this stranger, honestly.

As they left, Suguru headed to a vending machine.

“What do you want to drink?”

The albino panicked. He’d never had any of those neon-colored drinks before. They were forbidden to him. The strongest had to follow a strict, low-sugar diet.

“The same as you”

“But I haven’t chosen anything yet”, said Geto, confused.

Satoru just looked away. He felt a bit ridiculous, which was new for him. He had been raised to never feel less than the rest of the simple mortals.

Guessing what was happening, Suguru got a Sprite for himself and a Coke for Satoru.

“Hey, heads up!”, said Suguru, tossing the soda to him.

Satoru instinctively activated his technique. Geto watched in amazement as the can was repelled from his body.

“How’d you do that? That was awesome!”

Gojo blushed. No one ever praised his achievements. Being the strongest was his duty. And no one gets praised for simply doing their duty.

“It’s...I was born this way”, he replied, scratching the back of his head. “It’s because of that...thing you have too.

“Can you teach me?”, asked Suguru, his violet eyes wide with hope.

“No. You’d have to be born in my clan and with these”. He took off his glasses and pointed to his eyes as he sat on the ground.

Noticing Suguru’s disappointed face, he added:

“But you’ll learn other things at the school.”

Suguru smiled resignedly, looking at the ground as he sat next to Gojo. He didn’t dare tell him the things he could already do with his technique. For some strange reason, swallowing curses felt dark and ugly, and not just because of their taste. Sometimes he felt something ominous came with keeping so many inside him. Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, seemed beautiful, bright, and natural, as if no one else in the entire universe could carry it with such grace.

Since Suguru wasn’t saying anything, Satoru, a bit nervous, asked:

“You know about the Curse School, right? If not, I can talk to them about you. Next year, I’m starting my first year.”

Geto smiled at him. There was something endearing about what he’d said. His words made him feel welcome at the famous school, even though he hadn’t set foot in it yet.

“Yeah, they came to recruit me a couple of weeks ago. I’m supposed to start my first year too, but...”. He hesitated. “...that day, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. I said I’d give them an answer by the end of the month.”

Gojo felt disappointed. He had really started to like him. He could get used to those violet eyes and that flamboyant hair. No, he knew he would get used to it.

Playing it cool and while looking at his nails, he asked:

“And now? What do you think?”

Geto smiled at him. Gojo Satoru had become annoyingly charming to him. Maybe leaving traditional education wouldn’t be so bad. At least that curious boy would be by his side. And something told him he wouldn’t regret sharing his teenage years with him.

“Now I’m sure I want to go.”

Satoru felt a smile spreading from the tips of his toes to the ends of his violet hair. He never expected to smile at someone he’d known for less than two hours; it just happened as naturally as breathing.

He took a sip of his Coke and, besides instantly getting addicted to the sugar, felt the familiar twinge in his head. He didn’t have much time left. He had to lie down, or he’d end up passing out. He sighed and glanced at Suguru. He never thought he’d have such a good time that afternoon. He wanted to stay there, not just that day, but all week, month, year. But it was impossible.

Although, he thought, they had four years ahead of them. And who knows how much fun they’d have then. He smiled again. He felt that it would be alright. Very alright.

He stood up and, before leaving, extended his hand.

“See you next year, Geto Suguru?”

Suguru took it and, without letting go, replied:

“See you, Gojo Satoru.”

And so it would be. Even when he was out of sight, out of reach, and out of his life, in the countless memories of their days together, Satoru would see him. He’d see the photographs, the books, and the hair ties he’d leave behind. He’d see his smile, his eyes, and the way he said his name. He’d see, in short, into the intricate and gray soul of that boy who, thanks to ironic fate, he’d come to love inexplicably.

Unbearably.

Infinitely.

And he’d keep seeing him, until his last breath.

🕹️———————————-

Illustration by @ahresprite 🖤

[a1307s]

Take Me From You #3

(Jason Todd)

[Art is not mine! Credit to Naijarski]

Requested by: ynight14  and RavenMoore7799

Keys:

Y/N: Your Name

Word Count: 2,814

Warnings and/or Pre-notes:

Gets a little heated at the end

———————————————————————

     I can hear the blood beating against the veins in my ears, drowning out the sound of Y/N and Bruce yelling at each other. The scene is almost funny. A hysterical Batman screams at Y/N to not kill as Y/N yells at him for being a murderer. A poor drug dealer sitting between the two screaming adults, confusion and fear on his face. I can feel the laughter brewing in my throat from the scene in front of me.

     Even with the mask covering a good chunk of her face, Y/N is as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her. Though she's more filled out than she was when we were fifteen, that only makes her prettier and is expected. She's not going to look the same as she did four years ago. Honestly, she could be in a flour bag, and I would still think she's the most perfect person in the room.

     Despite the funny scene in front of me, my heart races. I haven't seen her in years. I didn't even know if she was still in Gotham, let alone still in contact with Bruce. Given, it doesn't seem like good or willing contact, but it's still contact.

     Y/N's hair bounces around as she yells, making my fingers ache with the want to run them through it. The want to touch her, hold her, and hear her voice is overwhelming. Well, hear her talk to me in a normal tone at least, but I'm happy to hear her in any way, even if she is yelling. At Bruce, of all people.

     "I'm done. I'm done with you, you're helpless!" Bruce yells, throwing his hands up as he parades himself in a little circle. Y/N must have been a big hell-raiser over the years to get a response like that. The bat grabs the drug dealer, dragging him away as he mumbles to himself.

     I watch as Y/N turns on her heels, tilting her head back and forth as she uses her hand as a puppet, mimicking Bruce's meltdown as she walks away. It's good to see that she still has her humor. Good to see that Bruce hasn't managed to get her killed yet either.

     I follow after her, staying hidden as she walks away. I should talk to her, tell her I'm back. Maybe she knows though. I mean Bruce and Dick know so I would assume Y/N and Alfred know too. Though, if Bruce and her are fighting like this all the time I wouldn't be surprised if Bruce 'forgot' to mention my revival. It's a petty move that would be right up his way.

     Y/N turns down an alley, so I wait a second, just in case. The sound of metal scratching concert fills the night. It's quickly replaced by soft clicks of boots against metal. I poke my head around the corner, watching as she climbs up the fire escape. I slide forward, grabbing a hold of the latter before it slides back into place.

     I don't know why I feel the need to stay hidden as I watch her slide open a window and crawl in. Well, I kind of know. I don't know if it's best for me to just pop back into her life. Maybe she has a boyfriend or a husband. Maybe she has a whole family. If she has settled in life, what gives me the right to tear that up?

     I know it's selfish of me to hope her life ended when I died. What kind of shitty person hopes that? Me. I hope for that. Given, I also hope she's had a fulfilling life since my passing, I just hope it wasn't with another man.

     As I climb up the fire exit, ideas of how to kill Y/N's imaginary boyfriend circle my head. Maybe Bruce is right, maybe I am crazy. I try my best to be silent as I follow Y/N's path. Once I'm on her floor level, I push myself against the brick wall, not wanting to startle her. Well, I'm doing it mostly to catch a breather and prepare for the worst.

     It takes a second, but once my courage is built up, I move, looking into her window, only to be met with a gun barrel in my face. "What the fuck Y/N?!" I yell, raising my hands in a sign of surrender. It would be pretty shitty to come back to life just for my girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? - to blow my head off.

     My eyes scan over her maskless face, taking in her bright eyes, her cheekbones, and her lips. God her lips. It might just be the horn-dog in me, but I've missed her kissing me the most. Well... I can think of other parts of her I missed more. Off-topic, very off-topic thoughts. My... Y/N is holding a gun to my face and my identity is still very much hidden in my helmet. I need to stay on topic.

     "Who the fuck are you?" She yells, her finger featherily light on the trigger. Her body shifts some, causing a small clinking sound.

     My eyes drop down to her neck, the direction the sound came from. Wrapped around her neck and resting on her chest is a black chain with two rings strung on it. One is a basic black ring, with a red band through it. Even from here, I can make out the words on it. Curved on the inner side of the band are the words 'Come home to me' with Y/N's name next to it.

     The other band is a copy of the first but with a small ruby held in the middle. 'Be safe for me' is curved into this one, my name next to the wording. It's the first thing I ever bought Y/N. I bought it when we were thirteen, the cheesy words curved into them being enough to back that up. It took three weeks of pickpocketing to afford, but it was worth every penny.

     "Who. The fuck. Are you?" Y/N repeats, empathizing her words more.

     "Um... Jason... Todd..."

     Y/N's face shifts to confusion and then anger. "Last time I checked, Jason Todd is buried in a box in the Gotham Graveyard. So, try again asshole."

     "Bruce buried me in the fucking public graveyard? Didn't even cross his mind to bury me in the Wayne Graveyard? What the fuck?" I say before I can stop myself.

     "What is going on?" Y/N murmurs, shaking her head some as her eyes widen. "Go... go away murderer," she says, pointing the gun down before slamming the window shut.

     Murderer? Like she wasn't just fighting with Bruce over her wanting to murder someone. I stand still, hands still in the air as I watch Y/N march around her apartment, panic-cleaning as she talks to herself. Her head keeps shifting around like she's trying to erase what just happened. Hopefully, this isn't how she would react if a different murderer appeared outside her window.

     Once my head is on straight again, I push the window open, the wood of it yelling in discomfort as it moves. Y/N keeps pacing around, muttering to herself about crazy people and leaving Gotham. I carefully crawl in, making sure not to knock into anything.

     I let myself rest against the windowsill, watching her pace around the small apartment. How has she lived this long if this is her response to a stalker? Maybe I caused her a mental breakdown.

     A small smile rests on my face as I tug off my helmet and set it on the side table placed next to the window. It's littered with loose change and bullets. Good to see she still has a careless air to her. I always found it cute when we were younger. It made me feel needed, knowing she wouldn't pay attention to the small details even if it would make her life easier. I liked doing those things for her, I like her needing me to do those small things, even if it's not things that need to be done.

     I snap my mask off as well, placing it next to my helmet. Y/N continues to mutter and pace, occasionally throwing a phrase or two at me as she works her thoughts out. I look around her space. There's not much of it, which I'm not surprised about. It is an apartment in Gotham after all. Her living space is filled with bookcases, all of them filled to the seams with books and movies. There's a big, overstuffed couch across from a pricey television, probably an apology gift from Bruce. He's good at replacing emotions with money, which is easy to do when you have enough for ten lifetimes.

     Y/N's kitchen is littered with recipe books, loose papers, random dishes, and spices all over the counters. Her fridge is littered with pictures and more papers. Her bathroom and bedroom doors are swung open, unsurprisingly. She sucks at closing doors.

     Just like Y/N's kitchen, her bathroom counters are littered with makeup. Her bedspread is a mess, but besides that, her room is pretty straight and tidy. Even the nightstand by her bed is item less besides a lone alarm clock. That's not usual for her, maybe Y/N does have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who doesn't mind taking care of the small details for her, just like I used to do.

     From here, I can see the edge of a small table, a deep green cloth drooping off of it, that's tucked into a corner of her room. I let my curiosity get the better of me and push myself off the windowsill, making sure to close it behind me or else it'll be left open for the next two to three weeks.

     I walk into the room, expecting a hidden mess, but there's none to be found. I let my gaze settle on the mystery table that's not so much a mystery anymore.

     In the middle of the table is a picture of me. Well, a picture of us. It's from our first date night at the manor. I'm stretched out on the couch, my head in Y/N's lap and her hands tangled in my hair as we both smile at the camera.

     On either side of the picture is a candle; A white one for peace and a pink one for love. Each is held in a gold candle holder. In front of the picture is a few things. One is a bowl of Skittles, my favorite candy. To the left is a small, blue, empty bowl, and to the right is a full, red bowl.

     In the full bowl is the jewelry I use to wear; my dog tags Bruce gave me, the pocket watch I got from Alfred, the matching Robin bracelet from Dick, and my family cross I got from my mother.

     "So... you are alive," Y/N says, pulling my attention from the altar to her, standing in the doorway. She keeps shifting her weight and her fingers tap against the wood. It would only be more obvious that she's nervous if the word was stamped onto her forehead.

     "So, you made me an altar," I tease, trying to help Y/N calm down and loosen up some.

     "Of course, I made you an altar, Jay. You're Hispanic, it's part of your culture. Just because Bruce won't respect it doesn't mean I won't," Her words come out hot and fast, like she's embarrassed that I saw her memorial of me.  "Dumb, stupid, ginger ass, Hispanic boy," she mumbles, walking into the room.

     "Not my fault a Hispanic woman fell in love with an Irish man," I shoot back, watching as she slides onto her bed, her eyes looking everywhere but me.

     "I know," she mutters, lying back on her bed. "So... you must have one hell of a story to tell me."

————————————

     Ever since my lap around the Lazarus pit, it's been weird waking up. Mostly because my body doesn't remember it's alive yet, and partly because my subconscious has the same feeling, which means it takes a second to remember to breathe in the morning.

     Just like every morning, it takes me a second to remember how to breathe along with taking some time to remember I'm not in a box in the ground. I can feel pressure on my chest. It isn't dirt, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Just a PTSD attack. It'll clear up any second now.

     Except, it doesn't clear up. I debate on whether I should open my eyes or not. Sometimes opening my eyes makes the attack worse. I don't want to take that chance. There's nothing on my chest, I'm fine. I repeat the thought as I slide my head over my chest. Instead of coming in contact with myself, my fingers slide into a bundle of hair. Well, that's not dirt but the sure as shit is something or someone on top of me.

     I slowly open my eyes, being met with the sight of Y/N curled up on top of me. I can feel the smile crossing my face as I look down at her. She looks so peaceful, fast asleep, softy breathing as she clings to me. I've missed these peaceful moments with Y/N. Most days memories like these were the only thing keeping me going.

     I shift a bit, peaking at the alarm clock on her nightstand; Five sixteen. I didn't plan on spending the night, but there was a lot to talk about, and a lot of time to make up for. Most of the time was spent with me explaining everything from the past four years, my death, the Lazarus pit, my service in the League of Assassins, my reappearance in Gotham, and the newly forming hatred between Bruce and me.

     I guess we ended up falling asleep on accident, especially since my boots are still on. That, and Y/N is still in her spandex suit.

     I shift again, flexing my arm and fingers to try and shake the static feeling out of the arm Y/N's head is on. Despite my efforts to not wake her, Y/N stirs, shifting around on top of me. She whines a bit, her body scooting down my body as she moves. It feels nice having her weight on me, feeling her body heat crashing into me. "Good morning," I whisper, rubbing my hand through her hair.

     "Good morning," She whispers back, pressing a sloppy kiss into my chest. It's sweet, but I wish my shirt was off, I wish I could feel her lips against my bare skin. "You're alive," she adds, sleep still very evident in her voice.

     "I'm alive," I repeat, wrapping my free hand around her back. I pull her up my body, her legs squeezing my sides as her head tucks into my neck. I struggle with being alive again, a lot. It's hard dealing with Bruce. It was hard being in debt to Ra's Al Ghul. Despite that all, in this very moment, it's so worth being alive.

     I flip us over, Y/N's hold still strong on me as I do so. I prop myself up with my knee, not wanting to crush her under me. "I missed you so much," I murmur, sliding my hands under her shirt, the spandex clinging to both of us now.

     "I missed you too," Y/N answers, sliding her hands into my hair, her fingers twirling the strands around themselves. I push her shirt up, laying kisses across the newly exposed skin. It's been so long since I've seen her, smelt her, touched her. After four long years of nothing but my thoughts of her, I can finally play out all my fantasies. I mean, there's no better way to start the day than with a bang.

     Soft mewls fall from her, only encouraging me more. If I had my way, I would keep her locked away in this apartment. Just her and me, and my longing for her. Nothing but her begging for me and me answering her every beck and call.

     "Y/N?" I hum against the skin of her stomach. She tugs softly on my hair, letting me know she's listening. "We're going to stay right here, all week. Maybe even two weeks."

     "I... I can't. I have work."

     "Not anymore. You're not leaving this apartment until we play out every last thought I've had of you. All four years' worth." Her legs tighten around me, an easy sign of her getting needy, an easy sign of me getting my way. I smirk to myself, dipping my hands down to her thighs. "After all, making you feel good is the least I could do after letting Bruce take me from you." Y/N lets out a breathy moan, letting me know I won.

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

[senblades]

Tell us about the planning doc!!!

thank you very much for indulging me HAHA

So I started writing the planning doc like. When I really shouldn't have LMAO- I wasn't busy right then, but I was absolutely about to be. Oh well! What's done is done.

The planning doc is, essentially, a full outline of all the plot of fftsr, told exclusively in dumb jokes and memes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Or, well, more accurately, a dumping ground for all my ideas in chronological order, marked with dates and some (emphasis on SOME lmao) of the confidant rank ups for Akechi and Ren.

I'll share some of the outline already written in chapters to get my point across: (UH MAJOR AND MINOR SPOILORS FOR FAITH FOR THE SECOND RUN- earlier chapters, mostly)

As you can see, not everything from the doc makes the cut. Sometimes things just don't work anymore, or I can't quite find a place to shoehorn it. I'm pretty sure a line showing how Sumire was struggling without a team never made it into the chapter- or, if it did, it was so negligible that it doesn't even matter.

Plus, I definitely hadn't figured out all the scene-by-scene POV's by that point. The "April 18" bullet point implies that scene might have taken place from Sumire's POV, but the final chapter actually has it as Ren's.

I also put all my Metaverse powerpoint slide intermittently as they become relavent. I'm not actually sure if this explanation ever made it into a chapter... I think Akechi might have implied it? But I don't think it was ever spelled out, since I couldn't find a smooth way to do it. Oh well! Here it is now!

There's also outlines of character conversations and motivations, as expected. The level of detail within the planning doc is VERY uh. Well, it's dependant on a lot of things. There are some major beats that I just hadn't thought of until writing the actual chapters, but some of the character-related convos that are more centred to the plot got written down pre-writing chapter 1

From memory, I think the above scene also changed slightly in the final fic. Sometimes what I write as character motivations in the planning doc ends up being VERY DIFFERENT by the time I get to the actual chapter. And, sometimes, the characters just run away with a scene HAHA

Speaking of character convos, some of my jokes in the planning doc made it, almost word for word, into the fic's chapters. Akechi hysterically wondering if Rank 3 is the "deepest darkest secrets" Rank Up is something that I wanted to immortalise lmao

As you can also see, though, not all of the confidant rank-ups were planned- Magician rank 2 is implied, but I didn't actually know what it was going to be at the time.

And then there's the confidants I didn't have planned at ALL:

(UH SPOILERS UP UNTIL CHAPTER 46)

The Tower and the Aeon are the worst offenders of this: I retroactivaly added the Aeon into the planning doc- an easy feat, since it coincides with the Justice, but just know that it absolutely wasn't there originally lmao. The Aeon came about in two stages, if I'm remembering correctly- I wrote the dream sequence where Ren didn't remember shit, but some vision of Crow was there and did remember, pretty much on a whim, and then thought "okay what if that kept happening though"

I think that descision was one of the best things I could have done lmao- it made October third MUCH more exciting to write (and, I assume, to read)... (originally Metatron was not a factor in the boys remembering- just some annoying headaches and visions. Shadow Maruki was also a last-second addition! While Ren was off galivanting with Crow, I wanted to give Goro something interesting to do as well. So! Impromptu therapy session)

Now the Tower... I did have some. uh. Plans, for cognitive Akechi right from the start; I can't remember my exact thought process for when I started cooking for this confidant, but I think I saw a comment on Throw Away Your Mask explaining why the Tower was particularly apt for the character it's used for in that fic, and thought "wait I can cook with this". or something HAHA I can't quite remember. (I was also VERY MUCH inspired by Marigolds and A Tale of Two Tricksters for all of that... (love those fics you should read them if you haven't))

All of the PT's rank ups are missing from the planning doc, too. I knew I wanted to have all of them as confidants, but I had no idea what their arcana was going to be, or when those confidants would start or rank up.

I unfortuantly can't share some of my best jokes from the planning doc, since I'm joking about MAJOR SPOILERS from future chapters HA

ty very much for letting me gush lmao <3 <3 <3

[triptychgrip]

New fic: Yuuri vs. Yuri on Hot Ones Versus 🔥🔥🔥

Yura loudly exhaled then sat up straight. 

“Ok, so back in February 2017, there was a local hockey team that began renting the ice for the slot right after this geezer would “coach” his then-fiance,” he began, jerking his head in Viktor’s direction and making a big show of his air quotes. “Notice I used air quotes because 90 percent of the time he was flirting and hanging all over him and it was the most loose definition of coaching possible.”

Kenjirou gave a hysterical sort of giggle and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Feeling slightly defensive of his husband, Yuuri didn’t even have to think much about the words that left his lips.

“Vitya’s unorthodox methods worked, though, didn’t they?” he chimed in, not bothering to tone down his smugness. “Remind me, Yura: who was the gold medalist at the 2017 World Figure Skating Championships, again?”

Viktor and Aasha barked delighted-sounding laughs and out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Mila whip her phone out. Presumably, to capture the flush that had begun to stain his opponent’s cheeks.

“Yeah, well…anyway,” Yura resumed in a grumble, doing a pretty poor job of masking his flusteredness. “Most of the players– ”

“It was Yuuri-senpai! Yuuri-senpai was the 2017 World’s title holder!” Kenjirou interrupted in a shout, very unnecessarily. 

Yuuri bit his lip to suppress the mirth bubbling up within him and made a concerted effort not to look over at Viktor.

“As I was saying!” the Ice Tiger huffed, shooting him a nasty look, as if he could read his mind. “Most of the players kept to themselves, and other than some very questionable tastes in cologne that we were subjected to in the break room and locker room, they were fine to be around. But then there was the team captain, Sergei…who just straight up sucked.”

Yuuri decided to adopt a neutral expression.

While he hadn’t been the biggest fan of Sergei, he’d also never known what to make of his love’s opinion that the man had had a crush on him. It was true that Sergei had sought him out for conversation more than a lot of Yubileyny’s other skaters, but he’d chalked this up to the fact that at that point, he had still been extremely new to Russia in general, and had probably seemed starved for friendly faces. 

And, if Madame Baranovskaya had shot laser beams out of her eyes whenever she was in Sergei’s general vicinity, Yuuri had suspected this was due to her distaste for hockey, and not anything to do with a sense of protectiveness over him.

“There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to explain all the assorted means of suckage, but it was sometime in May that I snapped,” Yura continued on, looking impressively impassive. “Sergei had the most douchey hairstyle by the way…this platinum blonde, dyed sort of swoopy-thing that was his entire personality, to the point he never stopped talking about it.”

---

The above excerpt is from my newly uploaded fic (which I teased in this post), detailing Yuuri and Yurio facing off against one another on Hot Ones Versus. Taking place during the 2021 off-season, the two of them are currently the top two seeded skaters in the world, and their rivalry is heightened by the fact that they are both Viktor's students.

Just like my Vanity Fair Lie Detector fic, I had such a blast writing this, and am really excited to work on the final chapter, which will be from Yurio and Viktor's points of view. (Mila and Kenjirou also have large roles in this story, as they have tagged along for the episode filming for moral support, LOL).

If you read this WIP and enjoy it, PLEASE tell me what you think; I love receiving comments!

🔥 You can read Chapter 1, here 🔥

Oh, and as I mention in the pre-notes, this story marks my 20th Yuri!!! on Ice fic. Maybe it's about time I made a pinned post, lol...

[psicheanima]

what are your thoughts on danganronpa v3? i remember liking it a lot when i was young but nowadays im seeing a lot of hate towards it and im thinking of revisiting it now that i have a better grasp on the kind of stories i like but idk if its worth it lol

How funny, I’m having the kind of opposite experience. When I first played the series when I was about 14-15, I was incredibly critical of V3, especially the character department. I still think it has the most annoying cast (THH probably has the “worst” one, but that’s because a majority of them are boring rather than gimmicky like V3) but upon revisiting it recently, I’ve actually grown fond of a lot of the characters I didn’t like.

Kaito, for instance. I really appreciate his role of “obnoxious” more. His dynamic with Kokichi became one of my favorite things to think about, when previously it was something I acknowledged as important to the game but didn’t really engage with deeply. I actually looked forward to seeing them interact while previously I had just enjoyed it to see Kaito get “put in his place” (and mind you, I didn’t really care for Kokichi either back then, that’s just how much I disliked Kaito.) those dudes are great foils to the other. It’s fascinating to see a “sidekick” (ironic) and “antagonist” be the antithesis to one another rather than the protag and antagonist like previous games. Saihara and Kokichi are opposites in many ways, but Kaito and Kokichi are fundemntal opposites down to the core, and it’s a great position to place the player in— the incorrect best friend who saved you or the correct bad guy who you think wants to doom you all. Yeah, great stuff. Kokichi’s great. I had started to like him more even before this new playthrough, but he’s just great. It’s rare I fall for a character’s mask, but even when acknowledging said mask, I didn’t really take in just how completely Kokichi lies about every singular thing until this one. He’s a sad person. We never actually knew him, not even for one second, face to face.

I also dislike Himiko way way way less, her arc really put her in a new light and made me wonder why I hadn’t cared for her after trial 3 when I first played. Oh, and on that note, some of the mysteries are pretty bad upon reexamination. Korekiyo is easily the worst trial in the series, yes worse than the starter trial in THH. Like, Jesus. It’s so bad. But the class trial back and forth is always pretty fresh. Like I said— looking at dynamics I hadn’t previously. I did always think trial 4 was one of the best in the series, still think it is. It’s difficult.

It has my least favorite “ending trio” (Kiibo was top 3 favorite characters and he didn’t have much competition, I’ll always be mad at this death, I don’t care!)— but man, I’ll always love Tsumugi! That ambitious ending still does leave a slight sour taste in my mouth, but even back then I did understand the purpose, though I was more bitter about it.. As I age, the comedy becomes more pronounced so j can’t take it too seriously. Good luck getting a job with no ID and fake trauma. So funny. So so funny. Tsumugi was hysterical for that— she’s just such a kooky, meta villain. Love her dearly. Wish she got some more moments to set her apart pre trial “6”– yes, yes, that’s the point, plain plain plain blah blah blah, still. Still!

So upon re-examining, there’s more good, but the bad is still there. It’s an ambitious game for “Danganronpa”. So that means it misses and sometimes it hits. Oh, probably has the best dialogue in the series— but also the worst translation that absolutely unforgivably massacres some characters! There can be no balance in this world! How tragic! I think it’s always worth revisiting a series.

[istherewifiinhell]

back on the grief train woo woo (day recap) (most serious skip warning yet)

i have a predilectiction to not wanting to record or remember when (like the specific when in time) bad things happen. but in the last couple years of blogging, and i guess the year and change of drawing ive found a lot more appeal of recall. so i wonder if its not so bad to. record the bad. at any rate i dont think. not recording it makes it less real. which i think is the fear. and. my head is doing it anyway.

im doing this coping method questionable activity here instead of a journal becauseeee??? natural format my brains prefers i suppose.

to recap. the bad horrible no good very bad day

- i went to sleep late, as usual. i wake late. same. i prelong getting out of bed. also same. scrolling idly (or 'pre scrolling' the dash. i dont know why i do it)

- screams. screams and distress and misery and comforting a screaming distressed person. various talking down of hysterical lines of thought. (thats not an insult. 1. circumstances 2. understood behavioural trends) the joint and mouth gear i sleep in dont even come off until the screaming is done. have u every pet someones head in a wrist brace?

- lots and lots of crying. more comforting. the gear comes off. i brush my teeth. exhausted sitting and hovering around the. scene of the incident.

- migration to kitchen as food needs win out. all doors shut and all living beings collect. toast is eaten. water drank. etc.

- backup arrives. infomation is gathered. places are looked up and called. plans are formed. actions are taken. i mentally catalogue setimental, soothing, but give upable fabrics.

- i rip up threadbare torn bed sheets. i have to figure out how to get my dead cat into a box.

-he was around 12-15 pounds. we called him toddler sized and shaped. he had a mean punch and strong grasp. i taught him to sit on my shoulders, sometimes.

- realise how much heavier he is now. i cry. i cover him with the sheet. i somehow get it under him. hes stiff. even the tail. i cry. i pet his fur. i sob getting him into the box.

- backup apologizes. im on my knees. wailing. i think. definetly louder than anything ive done yet. backup gestures the dog at me. knowing my situation. distressee entered at some point. gets a hug from back up. i think i am gestured into the hug. i gesture down. im on the floor.

- i wail and am hugged.

- i am invited on the trip to the place. i gestures to my face. my sleep clothes. i dont see it happening. im told i dont need to be strong all the time. i reiterate. i really just wouldnt be able to get my glasses and a mask on.

- i dont see the box. i dont see much. at i dont remember if i have tea now or earlier. i soon as i hear the car go. im crying again. the sister cat meowing didnt help. i dont actually know or belief if that. i have no idea what she experiences. shes a cat. but. yeah.

- blogging happens? sometime happens? people return.

- im told. four years ago he developed a heart murmer. apparently thats a thing. 4 years. bengin to. serious.

- blogging happens. as well as algorithmic irony. i am asked if i want to watch something. i say. shower first. i forget ever song ive ever heard. for a moment. i settle on the album pocket.

- eventually i come down. i get food. we watch a movie. its a good movie. i have a nice exchange with a friend during too.

- i watch some dishes and realise. bizarrely. my old manager might find out about this. the vet was near to my job. the guy was friends with the techs. this was the kind of infomation he would share with me at times.

- youtube videos until the group disbands.

- i start recounting this my head

- i am wearing pjs i dont like. whatever the level for snotty sleeves where u chuck a set in the hamper has surely been met.

- typing this. using a spare pillow case as a hanky

- im gonna go and try and find the horse traqulizer of pleasant youtube videos.

[crystalelemental]

Unit Teambuilding - Sygna Suit Silver

Okay, Silver and Sneasel are happening.  This rules.  Keeping the pre-evolution was the right move. However this also fills me with concern. Like, the egg is his Neo Champion alt right? Please DeNA.

General Overview SS Silver offers a lot.  As an Ice-type Tech whose focus is mostly on damage, his main claim to fame is "Best Ice-type Damage Dealer."  Low bar.  His gimmick is Triple Axel, a move that gets progressively stronger as it lands, but has an unfortunate 90 accuracy.  His Buddy move is the same move, but in this instance, it is his means of capping crit.  Each hit gives +1 crit, but more critically, gives -1 sync cooldown.  Silver is a full turn saved on sync by himself, provided all moves hit.

This leads to a bit of a discussion around Silver, because his Buddy move is bizarre.  On the one hand, that's a lot of utility on that move!  You might want to pop that early!  But on the other, this is his best damage output, if conserved.  Problem: the activation condition is upon entry, but the deactivation condition is "When not at full HP."  In the era of AoE, and especially Gauntlet, this Buddy move will effectively never function as damage.  It is always setup.  And setup is where Silver's oddities start to show.

Tripping Strike 9 into Cakewalk is very respectable.  Buddy move then regular attack caps that.  But he also has Inertia and X Speed+.  So he can set up the speed, but when?  He also has a trainer move that's +3 attack.  Which, again, when?  Silver reminds me vaguely of SS Hilbert and why I skipped him: the desired traits are all there, but they're scattered in such a way that nothing flows nicely.  Whatever tools he may have, he needs allies covering for the ones he doesn't.  If he's debuffing speed (he should), then he needs attack and speed.  If he's buffing speed, he needs Atk/crit.  If he's buffing attack, he needs speed/crit, which I don't think exists.  But most critically, Silver needs accuracy.  And that means he's either gridding Pinpoint Entry 2, which is costly, or he's bringing an ally with accuracy, which is rare.  Real ones know, this means it's time for stonks, but outside of that, his potential partners are fairly limited in scope.

I think it's going to be interesting seeing how Silver shakes out in functional play.  He's got the numbers behind him, and is in a type that desperately needs the help, but I'm really curious how consistency will play.

Move Level and EX? As a damage-focused Tech, 3/5 is fairly demanded.  Silver does almost nothing else of value at 1/5.  There is the use of "is a full fast ramp by himself," but I have a difficult time saying that a sync pair is worthwhile for just -3 cooldown and some speed debuffing.  Aim higher.   And of course, Tech, so without EX the sync isn't always so impressive, so like...man, Silver is demanding.  That said, rare moment of saying “4/5 might legitimately be worth it." Punishing Strike 4 is actually good odds for the debuff, and Evasive Strike 9 is absolutely hysterical if you want to conserve Buddy move.

Team 1: SS Silver, H!Caitlin, Tech Lapras STONKS!  I swear, I will never let go of people calling H!Caitlin niche back on arrival.  The shift in the meta to include grid expansions that let everyone independently cap crit has been a godsend.  Caitlin is Silver's optimal partner, to the point she could be considered his only true partner.  While Silver speed runs first sync, minimizing foe's speed in the process, Caitlin caps Atk and Spd, but also gives accuracy buffs.  Look at that, full power but sync on turn 3.  And the saved grid energy means Heavy Hail 5, so just slap in a random Hail eggmon and you're done.  H!Caitlin is perfect, best sync pair.

Team 2: SS Silver, P!Bea, SS Hau Hau is a very good partner to Silver as well, just because of how he kicks off all known multipliers.  P!Bea adds in Hail, and gives a quick shot of attack for Silver's fast-ramp.

Team 3: SS Silver, Lillie/Aaron/Hop, Masked Royal/Darach Let's talk about some other options.  By support, Lillie and Aaron have offenses and accuracy boosting.  Notably, Aaron's an optimal pick for conserving Silver's buddy move until after first sync, thanks to covering crit.  Hop can do the same, if you want, but lacks accuracy boosting.  In the case where accuracy is covered, Masked Royal is a fair pick.  Speed boosts and potential defense debuffs are very helpful.  But failing that, Darach is the man of the hour.  Darach has Defog, which is free points in CS, but more notably has the combination of Weigh Down and Slo-Mo.  Darach helps spread speed debuffs AoE, something Silver cannot do, and the lowered evasion of the enemy team substitutes for boosts to accuracy, allowing Silver to hit consistently.  Darach is notably great for more defensive teams, thanks to the shift in CS points to Crit Sheld he removes, and the attack debuffs.

Team 4: SS Silver, BP Clemont, Tech Persian/Siebold/Tech Lapras Gauntlet approach.  BP Clemont is a pretty nice partner for Silver in this context, thanks to Spark's paralysis rate, Screech to debuff defense, and X Accuracy All to patch up Triple Axel. Of particular note, when gimmicks like debuffs or status changes (Siebold can confuse with Aggravation) are required, you drop Heavy Hail. This permits picking up Burst In, which can get a guaranteed crit on either first sync (not recommended due to two conditions for speed drops) or Triple Axel (sure crit for damage into +3 crit). You can drop Endurance for Burst In too, but given how Gauntlet is, I'd keep Endurance as a primary concern.

Team 5: SS Silver, Ghetsis, SC Lillie/Support Chansey/Irida Alright, there's one other thing that Silver can do really well, and that's bottom out speed. While generally not exciting, this does set him up for Cakewalk sets. The most notable Cakewalk partner being Ghetsis, who has natural Cakewalk multiplier, and Hunter's Instinct on Glaciate.  Even better, Ghetsis' Double Drop Noble Roar can be used to full debuff the target, easily setting up max power first sync.  For fast-paced stages, SC Lillie gets Ghetsis to capped offenses faster than anything else, and thanks to his Sharp Entry, Silver's fast-ramp the majority of it is achievable in two turns.  For some contexts, Support Chansey may do okay, thanks to the Let's Brainstorm buff complementing Ghetsis' needed offense and low speed.  Leaf is generally better though, due to +2 to all stats on first sync, including accuracy.  But of special note is Irida, who has built-in Vigilance, and can reasonably tank for a team, while supplying special defense drops and Zone.

Final Thoughts SS Silver seems really good. Finally, we have an Ice-type that doesn't have some horrific flaw for no reason. He's just a pure damage dealer and is really, really competent at that job. Triple Axel is legitimately fantastic damage for a two-bar move, all it requires is a little accuracy he can build in himself if needed. And the sync. Finally, a competent sync. SS N got hit with such atrocious multipliers it's almost laughable, but Silver...well, okay, it's still demanding, but it's at least achievable. I hate to say it, because Adaman is ridiculous, but I actually value Silver over him. A competent Ice-type damage dealer is a rare commodity, and Silver's easily the best we've gotten thus far.

[letsthinkdigital]

Lecture Diary 1

For this week we started the semester off talking about the history of video games! It should be said that there are entire degrees and courses built around video games so it’s safe to say we won’t learn everything about them. But, we did learn quite a bit. One of the first (not the absolute first though) gaming systems is Play Football. It was made in 1926 by Chester-Polland Co. and it is a game where two people play football in a gaming cabinet. Now things started becoming “video games” around 1950 ish one of my favorite examples is the NIM ROD in 1958 not because I’m huge into video game tennis. But because I laughed hysterically thinking about how people that these scientists were building bombs when in reality they were just sitting there making a cool fun little video game.

Could you imagine?

Just a quick little comic lol!

Now one of my personal favorite game systems is Atari and that’s mainly because I grew up with it. That is the N64 and game cube. Atari came out around the '60s/70s and the N64 and Game Cube came out around the '90s/2000s. The only game we had that I could play well on Atari at my age was Space Invaders. For the N64 my parents could not get me off of Majora’s Mask and the game cube was always being used for Animal Crossing. I honestly can’t remember a time when there wasn’t Animal Crossing in that system and there are honestly so many other games and systems it honestly would take me forever to name and talk about them all. I will say though that I am really happy with how things have developed. We live in a time where you can literally watch a product evolve. I like how things went from a simple pixel being knocked back and forth across a screen to in-depth storytelling and it’s only getting better with time! I mean people have taken pre-existing concepts and turned them into immersive worlds with video games. One of the best examples of this is definitely Alice Madness Returns. While it is a sequel to the American Mcgee’s Alice both serve as a wonderful reminder of how you can take something as simple as a storybook and turn it into a massive world with a narrative that leaves you wanting more. I really do like watching and keeping tabs on the latest and greatest games but it’s always nice to be reminded of their roots by looking back at the older consoles and devices!

Speaking of consoles and devices, our homework for this week was to go on:

and to find a controller that interests us.

Now I will not lie to you there are some really cool controllers on this site and each one is made specifically for the game being played. But the one that stood out to me was the YettiBebbis: Puppet In A Cult! I have always loved puppets and to think that someone not only made a game about puppets but, made a controller that is a puppet control arm?

I was so excited to see it!

Basically, you play as this little puppet monster and have to convince the rest of the little monster cult members around you that you are a regular cult member by doing the ritual dances just like them. You control the little monster with the control arm by moving specific parts of the body, jumping, and turning it’s great! I think this kind of game design should go mainstream! I miss when game companies used to make cool controls for specific games and mechanics.

We need more of this definitely!

[vickiabelson]

Today, Live! I spent most of my life up in smoke. When 3 years ago I met actor, comedian, musician, writer, director, cannabis rights activist, Tommy Chong, by chance in a Chinese restaurant parking lot and he said “yes,” well, I was higher than an ounce of today’s weed would get me. I think. He was my last live Game Changers guest pre-pandemic and had it not been for the damn COVID, he’d agreed to grace my living room for Women Who Write. I love the man. Tommy’s given me more laughs in my life than I can count and I re-laugh those laughs at will, they’re so indelibly etched in my brain. 

Tommy, with his longtime partner Cheech Marin, changed the world of cinema with Up In Smoke. Cheech and Chong’s Next Movie, Nice Dreams, Things Are Tough All Over, oh please! Tommy co-wrote and starred in all seven Cheech and Chong films, directed four of them, and was four times Grammy nominated with Cheech for Comedy Album of the Year, winning one of them. Starting out as a songwriter and musician, The Vancouvers signed with Berry Gordy, charted with Tommy’s tune, Does Your Mama Know About Me, and followed the Jackson 5 on the bill in Chicago. He had a years-long run on That 70s Show, interrupted by a little time in the big house. He voiced Yax in Zootopia, went to the semi-finals on Dancing With The Stars, and appeared as The Pineapple on The Masked Singer. He came thisclose to an Off-Broadway run in The Marijuana-Logues, is the subject of the Doc, aka Tommy Chong, and penned The I Chong, and just last year with Cheech and Eliot Rahal, Cheech & Chong's Chronicles: A Brief History of Weed. 

Tommy’s been married to the same gorgeous woman since 1975, they’ve been together even longer, he has five kids, and since meeting him in that Chinese restaurant parking lot, interviewing him, texts, chats, interviewing his gorgeous Shelby with a drive-by by him, I’ve always found him to be warm, accessible, and downright lovely. For a guy who’s smoked a lotta dope, he’s sure gotten a lot done and impacted the world in an unforgettable, lovable, hysterical way. As always with Tommy, I’m so damn excited about this. He’s a freelapse- a contact high! 

Thomas Chong Live on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson

Wed, May 3rd, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET

Streaming Live on The Facebook

Daily by Toni Vincent & @peter_and_paul_ Cartoons

[materialisnt]

after years of waiting for dental care we finally get it only to end up w a severe airway-compromizing infection. meanwhile getting er staff to wear a g/d damn surgical mask is treated like hysterics. they know i have a severe infection n still feel comfortable maskless pre-test results? literally what on earth.

hr has been over 100 the whole time were here and despite dehydration our blood pressure is??? really high? what on earth. what. on. earth.

[thebigoblin]

🥰 #10 "I give you permission...." for Sterek please!!

Hey! Thank you so much @princecharmingwinks for the prompt ❤️ Sorry for having taken so long (and I promise to others that I'm working on your prompts too, it's just slow going progress!), but I hope you like this!!!

This is written for my 300 followers celebration thing, from this list I believe. (I saw the “I give you permission” and I ran with it... it wasn’t until I was finished that I realized that wasn’t the prompt at all! I’m going to write that one too tho, because the prompt is so sweet, just not sure when). 

This has also been posted on AO3 (for registered users) if that's more your style.

Relevant Tags: Angst With a Hopeful Ending, Pre-Slash, Self Love, (not the sexual kind), Flower Symbolisms, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski Is a Nice Thing

Achingly Infinite

Never let it be said that Stiles Stilinski is prone to giving up easily.

Derek has known Stiles for, fuck, nearly six years at this point, and still he is entranced by Stiles' entire being. Every time he sees the human — now with a magical prowess that matches Derek's own level of comfort in his wolf skin, and he's a born werewolf — there is something new to behold. Skill, idea, movements, tattoos, a new facet of his personality — Stiles.

He's so much, means too much, and Derek is scared of the day he'll lose him.

Derek knows he's not relationship material. Unless he's being exploited, he's not worthy of being loved, and he believes this so wholeheartedly that when he sees Stiles look at him with that look, the soft look with his eyelashes fanning over tawny eyes, lips stretching into a smile, face and scent lighting up with happiness... he bolts.

He only has enough time to register the beginning of the souring of Stiles' scent before he's far away from the diner he and Stiles were supposed to meet at for lunch. Only then does he relax, and unlike normal people who would be ecstatic at knowing their love is reciprocated, he tries to come up with ways he can make Stiles hate him.

It's either that, or him destroying Stiles' life. And given any circumstance, he'll always, always choose the former.

Even though it will hurt. Will make him want to claw and cry and curl up in his bed. But that's the kind of love he has for Stiles — protective, overbearing. So much and so achingly infinite that his pain barely feels like pain when it's Stiles he's saving. Caring for, even in his own backwards way.

Derek isn't stupid. He knows this isn't healthy, isn't okay for him, but this is for Stiles.

For Stiles.

*

Derek manages to avoid Stiles for exactly a week before he's being cornered at the Sheriff's station, John himself standing guard outside his office while Stiles makes Derek stay with a flick of his hands. It's like being in a mountain ash circle, except there's no grey powder, or a circle.

"I thought this was an emergency," Derek utters when it's clear he's lost, that he's going to have to face this song if he wants the chance to dance the way he's planned meticulously over the past seven days.

Stiles fixes his steely, purple eyes on him. "It is," he agrees, "My Alpha isn't talking to me. That's a cause for concern, isn't it?"

Derek tries his best to not give anything away. Before he met Stiles' observant eyes, he used to have a mask so absolute he could have won billions in a poker game, but with each second spent with Stiles, he's lost it. Or perhaps Stiles has just gotten good with reading Derek, just as Derek has gotten good at reading Stiles.

He hopes to anyone listening above that he manages to pull the words, "Maybe he got sick of you," out so convincingly that Stiles will be hurt, will start hating him again, like he did when they first met. But all Stiles does is laugh, a hysterical, unbelieving sort of laugh, and Derek is confused. But he doesn't let it show. He scoffs. Says with enough contempt, "This. I tell you something, anything, and all you do is mock me. Ever think that's not what I need? That I need someone who respects my decisions and does exactly what I say?"

Stiles stops laughing abruptly. His eyes are their usual color now, a bright golden in the streaming sunlight from the window, his hair a wild mess, like he's been stressing out, pulling on his hair all day long.

Stiles says, "That's not what you want," and Derek bares his teeth.

"You don't know what I want, Stiles." I want you. But I can't have you.

"You want me." Startled, Derek lets his half-shift fade away, cursing himself mentally for being stupid and saying it out loud. He's been so careful these past years but now—

"Relax, you didn't say it out loud. And no, I didn't read your mind. I can't do the Charles Xavier thing, and you know that, Derek."

Derek rolls his eyes, and before he can stop himself, says, "If you wanted to, you could." Stiles smiles at him, and it's the first one since Stiles captured him in his father's office. The realization makes Derek's gut churn with anxiety, of having given up on his master plan to make Stiles hate him so easily.

Whenever he's with Stiles, his walls turn to dust, but this is ridiculous even for his standards.

Stiles seems to catch each one of his thoughts, because his smile keeps growing until it's a legitimate grin, so beautiful and breathtaking that Derek has trouble moving his eyes away. He just stands there, near the windows, in his jogging clothes — yoga pants and a tank top — staring at Stiles.

"You want me," Stiles repeats, and moves closer. Derek is frozen in his spot, sweaty palms at his side, his own heartbeat a war cry in his ears. "You've wanted me for a long time, Derek Hale... perhaps as long as I have you. But you already knew that, didn't you?" Derek doesn't nod, doesn't do anything in response to the fact. Stiles has stopped just a little away from him, enough that he's not encroaching so much on Derek's space. He continues, "I respect you. I don't always respect your decisions, because frankly sometimes they're just too careless, but I respect you, so I didn't say anything for the longest time. I figured you would come to me when it was the right time for you, but... it's been so long, Der." Stiles' voice breaks at those words, and instinctively, Derek brings up his arms to hug Stiles close to himself. Stiles doesn't resist.

Derek thinks about how to reply to that. To the newfound knowledge that not only Stiles loves him back, but that he's known for who knows how long that Derek loves him back, too. And Stiles has been waiting for him to further their relationship into the romantic territory, because it's Stiles, the one person who knows Derek best, especially his relationship with boundaries in general. He thinks about it, replaying the words Stiles spoke just now over and over, and finally, comes to a reply that is satisfactory, at least to him.

Stiles pulls back just as Derek opens his mouth, his face expectant and a little embarrassed.

Derek says, "I think you just answered your question."

Stiles' scent had never truly lost the tinge of anger, and at his words it rises again, like a wave in the ocean, rising with the pull of the moon. "What?" Stiles shouts, mouth twisting. "What the fuck does that even mean? Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you're pulling a Deaton!"

The comparison makes Derek's lips quirk upwards, but he pushes the feeling down, instead letting his eyes wander down to the wooden flooring of the Sheriff's office. He can still hear John's heartbeat outside, as well as a few officers, and he wonders what excuse John has given his officers in regards to all the noise coming from this room.

"Don't you smirk, douchebag. Answer me! I didn't plan this ambush for nothing, and unless I get some—"

Taking in a deep breath, his eyes still downcast, he says, "You said, 'your plans are careless,' and that's true. And that's where your answer lies." He looks up, and finds Stiles' confused face just inches from his own, the spark having moved forward further in his anger. Licking his lips, he explains, "You know me better than anyone, Stiles."

Stiles' face goes through a lot of expressions as he parses the meaning of Derek's unsaid words; confusion, more confusion, thoughtful, sad, anger, more anger, then sad again, livid, and the most damning of all... heartbreak.

"Derek..." Stiles says, voice so low it's almost impossible to hear. They stare at each other for who knows how long, and when Stiles finally unfreezes enough to come forward further, Derek steps back. Stiles' magic isn't stopping him, so he moves as far away as possible, stands at the door to drive home the point that he's done with this conversation.

He stares at the blindingly bright sky visible through the window as he says, "I don't deserve good things, Stiles."

As he leaves, he's grateful Stiles doesn't follow him.

*

Let it be said again: Stiles does not give up easily.

The day after the ambush at the police station, which he isn't exactly sure how either of the Stilinski’s pulled off, Derek gets a bouquet of flowers delivered to the Hale house. At first he thinks it's for one of the betas, so he picks it up from the porch — the smell of the daffodils overpowers the scent of the human, and it's so strong that Derek sneezes twice — and puts it on the center of the dining table. It looks good on the mahogany table, and after searching it for any cards at all, which he doesn't find, he shrugs and heads for his daily jog.

It's the one thing that takes his mind off of things easily, so he doesn't dare miss it. As he leaves he calls out to Boyd and Erica, "There's a bouquet here for you!"

They call out in confusion, but Derek doesn't turn back around. He figures it must be for Isaac or Cora or Jackson.

He doesn't realize how wrong he is until he's picking up the fifth bouquet of daffodils off of his porch on the fifth consecutive day, the gifts devoid of any name of the person who is sending them. But by the fifth day, Derek has a pretty good guess who it might be.

He hasn't been to Stiles' house for days now, for good reason, but he's a wolf on a mission. So he swings inside Stiles' bedroom through his perpetually unlocked window, takes one whiff of the room, and flashes his eyes red at the spark sitting innocently on his desk chair, arranging the sixth bouquet.

"I told you—"

"You told me, and I quote, 'I don't deserve good things, Stiles.' And see, I can't just accept that. You should know, because as I've also told you, I love you." Derek looks away from Stiles' beautiful face, and Stiles tsks. "Oops. I said I wanted you, right? Eh, same thing. I want you, I love you. I love you, I want you. Anyways. What was I saying?"

Stiles says the words as easily as he's breathing air. Like loving Derek isn't a chore, isn't a part of a well executed plan that he needs to play perfectly for some ulterior motive. Like loving Derek is just... a thing that happens, one Stiles loves that it has happened.

It's too much, so much for him, and he just wants to leave. Wants to push Stiles away so that he doesn't end up making Stiles bleed with him. But he's transfixed, as he always is when he's watching Stiles; his fingers work quickly, deftly as he plucks away the extra leaves on the stems, the little blue bow adjusting nicely on the bunch as Stiles lowers it inside the little plastic, then the vase.

Derek takes said vase numbly when Stiles hands it to him. "Since you're already here," Stiles explains.

Derek wants to ask why Stiles loves him. How can he love him? Doesn't he see how Derek destroys everything he loves? But instead of all that he asks, "Why flowers? Daffodils, specifically?"

Stiles beams and excitedly tells him, "Daffodils symbolize new beginnings! And I wanted you to start a new journey. It seemed fitting. So." Stiles shrugs, like it makes perfect sense.

"Stiles," Derek says, pained. "I can't—" I can't ruin you, is what he wants to say. "I can't."

Stiles' beam turns into a small smile; a little sad, a little encouraging, and all Stiles. "I know," he says like he heard what Derek couldn't say, "I know. I had other plans for you, actually."

Stiles' heart stays steady, so Derek forces himself to ask, "What did you have in mind?"

Stiles' hands wrap around Derek's, both their hands wrapped around the vase. New beginnings, Derek hears in Stiles' voice, at the same time Stiles says, "The most important journey is the journey of loving one's own self. I want that for you, Derek. I want you to love yourself, so that one day—"

"I can love you and not be afraid of it?"

Stiles' smiles brightens as he admits, "I'd like that." Derek can't help but smile at thought: In a distant future, when he'll be Stiles' and Stiles will be his, and he won't feel bad about it. "But more than that, I want you to love yourself because I want you to see that you deserve good things. Things that you want."

They stare at each other for a moment, Derek's eyes following Stiles' tongue as it darts around to wet Stiles' lips. In that split second, Derek thinks about leaning forward, the vase being crushed between them as they kiss. He thinks of not waiting for who knows how long for the day he can call Stiles his, for going in right now and never resurfacing. But then he flicks his gaze back up and into Stiles' eyes, which are earnest and fond, bright and beseeching.

Stiles wants Derek, but he wants Derek to believe he deserves Stiles in the first place. Because if Derek is being honest, Stiles is the nicest thing he can have — if only Stiles will have him back in return.

And Derek wants whatever will make Stiles happy.

So he says, "Okay," and cradles the vase carefully in his arms.

"Is that you giving me permission to do whatever it takes to make you love yourself?"

Derek doesn't know what the future holds, but he does know that Stiles won't ever lead him astray, so he agrees readily. "I give you permission to do anything to make me love myself." He frowns. "But no Disney movies marathon. Last Christmas was more than enough."

Stiles' laughter follows Derek all the way home, the vase of Daffodils held gently against his arms.

[anonauthorsworkshop]

sir i really am craving the poly ship pre relationship when they’re all pinning on each other

I have been preparing for a hell of an exam week. Sorry if it's lackluster. Here you go, you little gremlin. Most of it is focused on you guys (damn simps)

SCP-049:

Doesn't know when, but one day he seems to have started to ... notice you more. The way your hands move with you as you speak. Your laughter. And whenever you're confused, the tilt of your head. But those are only observations, surely.

Doesn't realize just quite how much attention he has spent on you. Not until the moment where his focus drifts while writing in his journal. When his focus snaps back, it appears all he had written was not about medicine, not about a cure, but about 035 and... you.

035 he's known for lifetimes. It's understandable he'd feel something at a point, he tries to reassure himself. But, you? Ah. He doesn't know what to do. Tries not to think of it too much, only to think of it each day more than the last.

Scientists soon observe he has become more distracted than usual. It's troubling. Was something bothering him? It's odd for him, one so focused and passionate of finding a 'cure,' to enter such a daze. During interviews, he seemed to be deep in thought, sometimes humming, and, often, not responding to inquiries at all.

He only escapes his daydreaming state once he sees you and 035 again. Becomes rigid, thinking that if he ever admits feeling, you two would send an endless stream of teasing remarks his way. Or, even worse, it separates him from both of you. The awkward tension, he can only imagine ... you and 035 would distance yourselves, never interacting with him again.

He comes to a conclusion. He'll stand by both of your sides, and the friendship will continue. It's the best he can do.

Yet, this time, when you direct one of your signature smiles at him-

For once, he's glad there's something to mask his yearning expression.

SCP-035:

Initially, like everyone else, you were entertainment. You were fun. But you stuck around. And eventually, to him, you became a genuine joy to be around.

Overhears staff members complaining about how frequently he has been breaching containment lately. Hysterical! Who would want to be stuck in this stinking cell all day? It's not his fault. Plus, when he breaches, he gets to see you and 049.

Wait, you and 049? ...Is that why he's breaching?

In contrast to 049, upon his realization, he becomes much more aggressive during testing. Initially tries to convince staff to allow him to see the two of you until he's tired of waiting. He starts demanding for both of you. And, eventually, with the annoyance of his constant breaches and his anger, they let him go to you and 049 to satiate his rage. (Under strict procedures, of course.)

He's more clingy than usual. More touchy-touchy. He can't help it. He wants to be there for the both of you. But when he thinks of saying something about it, he doesn't want it to ruin the friendship that has already been developed. It's alright. As long as he is able to continue to feel the comfort of your hand resting upon his shoulder, he will be okay.

There's a moment where you laugh at one of his jokes, and he takes the time to truly look at you. He finds himself surprised at his own reaction. He's known as clever. Sly. Manipulating. He knows what to say, how to react to get what he wants. But this time, he doesn't. He stares at you. If he were to hug you, to 'kiss' you, would you find it gross? Your clothes would only dirty. His black substance would get messy. You wouldn't enjoy having that in your mouth, would you?

If only he did not secrete. If only there was no mask, forever eternal to be worn.

[sjhanny2000]

Secrets Worth Sharing

A/N: Hey y'all! This is my first Naruto fanfic, which I've also posted on Archive of Our Own. Please be kind and enjoy!

Warning(s): Minor character death, angst, hurt/comfort, intersex characters, arranged marriage, talks/thoughts about abortion/miscarriage

~~~~

Tobirama Senju was a man of many secrets. Well, more like a man that highly values his own privacy and is not as open as other individuals (like his easy-trusting older brother for example). He was not given the privilege of being open with his truths and feelings, having been groomed from birth to be a heartless shinobi who did not allow his emotions to interfere with his performance. His father had been harsh with these facts whilst training and out on the battlefield, blunt and uncaring that Tobirama and his brothers were children and children had no place amongst the battlefield and shouldn’t be expected to take a life without a bat of an eye. Kawarama had only been seven when he was ripped away from this world, so young and full of life, and it had taken everything in Tobirama’s small, lanky eleven pre-pubescent form to not break down much like his elder brother had, to feel such unbridled emotion his surviving otouto had felt. Itama’s death only a year later (sweet, innocent, and healing Itama) wrung him dry of tears, of allowing himself to be so vulnerable when it came to loss because to die ‘in battle was honorable’, at least that’s what their father had said as dirt was piled atop of his otouto’s grave to the right of Kawarama’s. He fought with every fiber of his being to protect what little family he had left, taking hits meant for Hashirama and saving Toka from debilitating blows, creating new jutsus, and putting the needs and feelings of others before his own because he wasn’t supposed to feel, shinobi don’t feel-.

Then, as he stood dutifully beside his anija opposite the Uchiha heirs amongst their fellow clansmen, Tobirama couldn’t help but feel. Moments before he had nearly stolen the life of one Izuna Uchiha and as adrenaline and tension crossed through his ever lanky yet muscular form, the conversation mingling between the opposing clans made his heart thumped against his chest as the two clan heads agreed to peace. Hope fluttered dangerously in his chest as his wine colored orbs searched Madara’s half hidden profile, gazing at those pools of obsidian with caution and reluctance whilst trying to determine whether the Uchiha was speaking truth when he offered his hand in establishing between through blood soaked clans. The time following the mutual surrender of the Senju and Uchiha, of Hashirama and Madara finally obtaining the means of support to create the peace they had dreamed of from a young age as they were forced to bury clansmen and young brothers, was a whirlwind of events, filled with peace talks, negotiations, and making sure his anija did not make a fool of himself. He waited for the other shoe to drop as each party laid out the final agreements, for this foolish dream of peace between the two rivals to come to an end before he began to believe it was true, and much to his surprise and his other clansmen (including his far too optimistic elder brother), the Uchiha set a requirement for concession.

“A Senju heir must marry one of ours, as a show of mutual acceptance of these peace agreements and in means of acquiring extra security for our clan.”

By the time this peace talks came to be, Hashirama and Mito had been married for nearly a year already and with the eldest Senju heir already taken and the other two dead and gone, the responsibility of establishing peace, in ending the unnecessary bloodshed between their respective clans, to honor the unneeded deaths of Itama and Kawarama, fell onto Tobirama’s shoulders. Being placed in such a position with no means of escape or replacement had been both suffocating and frustrating but he knew better than to reject the frail olive branch the Uchiha had set before them. Hashirama had tried to reason with Madara, (“Madara, is this really necessary-?”), and before the Uchiha clan head could even think of a response, Tobirama calmly sealed his fate.

“We agree to the terms you lay before us.”

His readied agreeance shocked not only his brother and cousin but floored the Uchiha delegation, particularly one Madara Uchiha who stared at him like he had grown a second head. Many deemed him one of the greatest haters of the Uchiha, having seen his treatment towards the rival clan on and off the battlefield, but Tobirama truly had no firm and enduring hate and ill-will towards the fire natured shinobi. Yes, he felt hate towards the Uchiha that had slaughtered his brothers but it was not directed towards the entirety of the Uchiha; they had been at war and a shinobi did whatever it took to survive or gain an upper hand, even if it meant killing the innocent. He found himself wondering what Kawarama and Itama would be like as he stood there with determination, arms crossed over his chest with finality. Would they be upset at seeing him agree to practically give himself away as a bargaining chip as a means to obtaining peace? Would they beg for there to be another way, to demand the Uchiha change their mind? Sadly, he would never know and that piece of knowing reality only strengthened his resolve.

Hashirama, placed between a rock and a hard place, conceded to giving away his only living brother away as a means of finally having peace and Tobirama watched as dread and reluctance colored his anija’s tar colored eyes. The plans of this arranged marriage were set and Tobirama found himself coming to look eye to eye with his promised husband and obsidian orbs subtly clashed with his pools of merlot, an unspoken bond now tying them together forever. Upon arriving back at the Senju compound, Tobirama found himself subjected to a nearly hysterical Hashirama, his elder brother demanding why, why had Tobirama agreed to such demands, there had to be another way-! Toka, while significantly more in control of her emotions, had similar demands, her main emotions having been anger and frustration (“There is only enough room for one idiot in this family, little cousin, and Hashirama already has that role covered!”) and after dealing with a depressed Hashirama, Tobirama did his best to soothe his cousin's worries. The only calm and rational person aside from Tobirama himself was Mito, his well-collected and commanding sister-in-law swiftly jumping in and knocking some sense into her blubbering husband and seething cousin-in-law and if she told him that she questioned his intelligence as they parted ways for the night, only the gods and the chirping crickets would know.

With the negotiations finished and the bed made and laid in by both parties, the construction of Hashirama and Madara’s dream village began and with it began his forced courtship with the Uchiha clan head. Hashirama, in an attempt to be intimidating, threatened the apathetic Uchiha with bodily harm if he ever came to harm his “precious otouto”, those his threats fell short for numerous reasons, the largest being that the peace treaty prohibited any violence occurring between the clans. Tobirama was swift in reminding his anija of this fact. Madara and his courtship began with a rocky start, as many arranged marriages do (Hashirama and Mito’s being the rare exception), and the need to be open emotionally, to not hide his emotions and to be the mind and voice of reason always was a difficult task. His betrothed also struggled with this reality, to be vulnerable in a world that ate such an open state with murderous glee, and arguments were had and feelings accidentally stepped on. Two emotionally stunted men together was a recipe for disaster and many watched them with bated breaths, for their engagement to fall apart, for the cautious hopes for peace to shatter into millions of pieces before their very eyes. The weight to succeed weighed heavy on Tobirama’s shoulders and as he stood in the middle of Madara and Izuna’s backyard amidst another argument with Madara, copious amounts of rain hailing from above without restraint as frustration and confusion tormented his soul, it finally forced him to collapse. He shouted at the Uchiha standing a mere few feet away from him under the roof of the engawa, tears racing down his marked face as he shouted himself hoarse, one of the worst storms in the region's history unfolding around them. Madara watched him with irritation, a well-made mask of indifference sitting upon his stoic visage, and as Tobirama finally gave up, when he threw the towel in and allow himself to be vulnerable for the first time in years, the Uchiha’s rough lips were suddenly on his own and suddenly his surroundings, his worries, his fears were gone and replaced with warm comfort.

Their relationship became one of truth and openness from that moment forward, the two of them doing their best to establish a balance between themselves, and unknowingly fell in love along the way. By the time the primary building of Konoha had been completed and their wedding date arrived, Tobirama could confidently (and quite fondly, though no one needed to know this at the time) state that he loved Madara Uchiha. As they exchanged their vows before the clans of the village, with Izuna smirking that ugly smirk of his and Hashirama in tears as his poor wife comforted the weeping fool (“He is taking Tobi away from me Mito!”, “Tobirama is not yours beloved, he is a grown man.”) Tobirama gazed at his husband to be with honest hope and heated cheeks. His heart sweetly ached at hearing Madara say “I do”, at knowing without a doubt in his mind that he was now Madara’s and Madara was his, that he had someone in which he could wholly confide his secrets and feelings in, and Tobirama knew he had been blessed well the moment their lips joined, sealing their marital union as those around them cheered and sobbed in the case of his anija. Their marriage, while lovely, of course experienced its own bumps here and there, particularly on matters of legislation and equality within the village, but Tobirama wouldn’t trade it away for the world because a world without Madara at his side was not worth living in.

Yet, as he stared at the white stick resting within his shaking hands, Tobirama feared that the world they had made was going to shatter at any second. Two lines of crimson glared at him with undenying truth, the feeling of an extra, new source of chakra nestled within his own person only confirming the results within his grasp. He had been born as an anomaly not only in appearance but in anatomicalities as well; the midwife had nearly passed out when she caught sight of not only albinism but his newborn self having both male and female genitalia and his father’s reaction hadn’t been much kinder. Few people knew of his condition and those who did typically accepted him no matter his abnormalities, Madara being no exception to that, and as he found himself happily married and being tasked with teaching the up and coming generation, the Senju found the yearning to have children of his own grow with each hair ruffle.

Tobirama knew the likelihood of someone with his condition, rare as it was, being able to carry a child let only father one and had unhappily accepted that he would never be able to have a child of both his and Madara’s making. With this truth in mind, the two of them still practiced safe sex and were content with the moments of parenthood being a mentor allowed them, never feeling compelled to strive for anything more; well, at least, Madara hadn’t shown any interest of having children of their own. Even with their vigilance and cautiousness, they ended slipping up here and there, having drunk too much sake or simply enjoyed feeling one another intimately, flesh to flesh, and now here Tobirama was, standing alone in their shared bathroom, two seconds from imploding as he internally panicked. How could this have happened? They had been so careful! What was Madara going to think?!

Silent, unshed tears threatened to fall down his pale features, the gravity of the situation at hand weighing down on him without any restraint. Madara and he were busy with their village and clan duties, with Tobirama being the advisor to his idiot brother who had been elected hokage somehow, along with being the Uchiha matriarch, and Madara acting as his other advisor and clan head. They had already been married for two years and were financially and emotionally stable as two shinobi could be and would have no trouble affording the costs that came along with having a child. No, Tobirama worried over whether this pregnancy was even viable and if Madara would want the child growing within him. The two of them were happy and content with their childless life, what if Madara only wanted that? He couldn’t give up his child so easily, the chance of having one in itself was a miracle, but he could never imagine living a life without his dark haired Uchiha. This secret was going to be the literal death of him.

*Knock knock*

Soft knocks from the bathroom doorway ripped Tobirama away from his heavy thoughts, the Senju hurried tucking the test into the pocket of his training pants, calling out swiftly, “Enter!”

He was thoroughly relieved when the calm personage of his sister-in-law appeared in the doorway, a look of caution and soft worry conflicting with her beautiful features as she stepped forward, sliding the door closed behind her.

Comforting pools of inky black washed over his form, the Uzumaki princess coming to kneel beside him, “No one saw me enter. It is just us.”

Relief flooded his system once more, a shaky sigh escaping the albino as he ran a hand through his hair for probably the millionth time in that hour alone, “Thank the gods.”

“If I may ask, what is this sudden need for secrecy Tobirama,” Mito questioned calmly, gazing at him with searching eyes. “Has something happened?”

Here goes nothing…

Slowly retrieving the test hidden within his pants pocket, Tobirama shakily deposited it into his sister-in-law’s hands, and if the situation had been different, Tobirama would have revelled in being able to shake Mito into a state of shock as she was now.

The Uzumaki’s now avid attention shifted from the positive pregnancy test to Tobirama, the redhead murmuring with caution, “Are you certain?”

He gave her a weak nod, his nerves growing with each second. “I can sense another source of chakra developing within me. Its size fits with the time frame of the last time Madara and I slept together without protection eight weeks ago.”

“Does Madara know of this,” Mito replied, face growing stoic once more. His lack of an answer had his brother’s wife sighing, placing the test back within Tobirama’s grip, “I see. I figure this pregnancy was neither planned nor expected.”

Tobirama did his best to reign in his fluctuating emotions, the sensor squeezing his eyes shut, “I presumed having a child of our own would never be a reality, considering our circumstances. We have never discussed having children, Mito; what if he does not want to be a father? I-I cannot just dispose of it.”

Mito shifted her form, a comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “While I cannot speak entirely on your husband’s behalf, Tobirama, I know I can say that he would be over the moon to hear you are with child. Madara treasures the clan children, why would he not adore having his own?”

Both he and Madara treasured the children within the Uchiha clan, spending large amounts of time assisting fellow clan members by babysitting their spawn or teaching them various jutsus. Tobirama had often found himself imagining the dark haired children that often swarmed his husband were their children, excited to see their father after a long day. A reality he never thought possible until now.

Pools of wine, shakened with doubt and worry, came to fall upon Mito’s face of comfort and dignity, “How do I even go about telling him? What if he assumes the child is not his?”

She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, voice smooth as water and warm as midday sun, “He would have to be stupider than he is now to conclude the child within you is the product of adulterous actions, brother. You simply need to be honest with him, just as you always have been; keeping this secret will only complicate things more.”

“Tobirama, I’m home!”

No, no, no, he wasn’t ready, he-!

It was only Mito’s touch that kept Tobirama grounded in that moment of panic, the Uzumaki stating with confidence, “Some things cannot be kept secret Tobirama. Tell him.”

“Tobirama? Is everything alright -?”

Madara’s familiar figure appeared in the bathroom doorway, the Uchiha’s already concerned face only intensifying as he stopped mid sentence, coming to kneel beside Tobirama with worry, “What has happened?”

Standing to her feet with grace, whilst knocking the pregnancy test out of view, Mito greeted the Uchiha clan head with a small smile, “Nothing that will not right itself in time, my friend. Now please excuse me, I promised my husband of mine that I would have his favorite dish prepared for him before he returns.”

Her gaze shifted to Tobirama with skillful ease, stating calmly, “Have faith Tobirama, all will be well.”

With that, the Uzumaki was gone, and the two men were left to themselves, an awkward silence quickly enveloping their persons due to her absence.

It was Madara who spoke first, the Uchiha taking Tobirama’s bare hand in his gloved one, “Are you alright Tobirama?”

Was he alright? He was eight weeks pregnant with a child he was not even sure had been possible until his discovery, one he was not certain that his husband would want. The Senju had numerous duties to fulfill not just as the advisor to the Hokage and as clan matriarch but also as a sensei to his students; he would not be able to assist them in learning for the following months until the child’s subsequent arrival.

Tobirama swallowed the fear attempting to slither up his throat, hand tightening around Madara’s, “Promise me that you will listen to what I have to say before releasing your judgement Madara.”

“What is going? Tobirama-!”

Steeling himself, Tobirama gave his husband a stern glare, “Promise me.”

Madara shifted uneasily in his position beside Tobirama, answering reluctantly, “I promise to listen.”

An agitated sigh left the sensor, Tobirama doing his best to gather his thoughts, “As you know, I have been experiencing fatigue and bouts of sickness these past few weeks. To better understand the reasons behind my condition, I conducted various tests on myself and whilst running these tests, came across a foreign entity within myself.”

His husband stiffened and moved to speak but Tobirama cut him off before a sound could escape him, “Worried that it was unnatural, I began to run more in depth tests to better understand the origin of this foreign entity.”

“In the end, with my symptoms in mind, I conducted a final test to confirm my suspicions. The results have me anxious about your reaction, because it is something I did not think possible of occurring.”

The clan head gazed at him with wariness, fear present in those beautiful pools of midnight black that Tobirama loves to peer into for hours on end, but Madara’s voice is strong with determination, “Whatever it is Tobirama, we will face it together! Hell, that idiot brother of yours will do everything in his power to fix it!”

A frown formed on Tobirama’s face, the sensor retorting quietly, “This is not something that can be healed Madara-.”

“It cannot hurt to at least try,” Madara shouted, his other hand coming to cup Tobirama’s left cheek. “I refuse to let you die laying down you foolish Senju-!”

Chuckling wetly, tears of anxiety and cautious joy blurred his vision, “I am not dying you Uchiha idiot.”

Confliction of relief and confusion waged on Madara’s personage, “You are not? But you said it was unfixable-!”

Tobirama was quick to cut him off, giving the fiery man a firm look, “If you had let me finish before rudely interrupting me, I was going to tell you that the condition I am in cannot be healed but it will fix itself on its own in seven months time you blockhead!”

Black eyes searched his person, clearly scrambling for answers, and the albino groaned in annoyance, “I swear, you can be as dense as my brother at times! I am trying to tell you that I am pregnant, you imbecile!”

Oh kami, what had he done?

Madara froze in his spot beside Tobirama, staring at him with undetectable emotion, and the sensor instantly was sent into a panic at his reaction, “I know we have never officially discussed having children and I know having a child right now while the village is still so young and with us being so busy is not logical but I want to have this child and I will raise it with or without your approval-!”

Rough lips smothering his own cut him off mid-rant, fiery passion burning brightly in the act of intimacy as his husband’s other hand came to cup his right cheek, and after a few moments of quiet, Madara pulled away, joy shining brightly in his tear-blurred eyes, “How could you ever think that I would not want to have a child with the man I love?”

With that, Tobirama fell apart, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he timidly replied, “A normal man could never do this.“

“Who said I wanted a normal man,” Madara firmly questioned, eyes stern and passionate. “I married a man who is a genius shinobi in his own right, who also happens to have a condition that has gifted us with a chance to have a child of our own flesh when so many others couples dream of such an opportunity!”

“You are not upset,” Tobirama whispered cautiously.

Madara gave him a shining smile and kissed him once more, tears of his own running down his face as his right hand came to rest on the albino’s flat stomach, “I could never be upset over something like this Tobirama. A child is a gift from the gods; I only pray it has your beautiful mind.”

The Senju stifled a sob at the Uchiha’s confession and Madara rested his forehead against Tobirama’s, allowing him to give his husband soft, comforting kisses.

After a few moments, Tobirama was able to reign himself in, giving Madara a small grin, “Hashirama and Izuna are going to be complete nightmares once they learn I am expecting.”

Scoffing, Madara pulled away, though he didn’t move his hand resting on Tobirama’s abdomen, “Those two buffoons are already nightmares in general. All hell will break loose once they hear they will be receiving a niece or nephew within the year.”

A comfortable silence filled the area for a few minutes before Tobirama spoke once more, “I asked that we do not let anyone know of the baby until at least the twelfth week mark, Mito aside of course; I do not want to get anyone excited in case I happen to miscarry.”

“You are not going to miscarry anything,” Madara stated confidently, moving Tobirama to rest his back against his chest whilst other hand came to join his right one. “But I understand your reasoning and agree to wait until you are ready to share this news.”

Tobirama turned his head to look at his husband, murmuring lovingly, “Thank you Madara.”

His husband pecked his lips, replying fondly, “Anything for you, my husband.”

Some secrets were better worth sharing after all.

[tunemyart]

come, let us open the ball.

So as promised, here I am to yell my emotions at you all about Olivia (1951). 

I’ve actually been holding off because I have so many of them, and was struggling to find a line through some of them that was cohesive and didn’t just make me want to start sobbing. But when I rewatched and heard - really heard! - the main musical theme for the film again during the opening titles, I found that cohesive line and got to work. (After, of course, I finished sobbing.)

Olivia (1951) is a film that is delightfully entirely about women and centered on queer women specifically. Much like Portrait of a Lady on Fire, when the men do arrive in the world of the film, everything’s wrong, the rules have changed, things are spiralling into chaos. Into this pre-tragic world is sent 16 year old naive, adolescent, and naturally self-centered Olivia to become our principal POV character. 

The story is not about her.

(saving your dashes from words, more below the cut.)

Of course, Olivia thinks it’s about her, in the way that a 16 year old girl is pretty much required to, and she does a good job convincing us of it for a while, too. Slowly though, more details start rounding out and completing her new world - for us the viewers, at least, if not for her. Olivia’s besotted focus is firmly on one headmistress - Mlle Julie. But Julie’s focus, through a thousand machinations and layers, is on the other headmistress - Mlle Cara. 

The film does us the favor of sprinkling in other POVs for added context through Olivia’s unreliable narration. These include our tragedian chorus in Mlle Dubois and Victoire, as well as our principal tragic heroines, Julie and Cara, who are playing a game that Olivia can’t see she’s gotten caught up in.

Narratively, it takes a while for us to get a sense of what’s going on here. Julie leaves in the evenings for parties in Paris while Cara broods loudly about how alone she is without her. Cara allows a third wheel to dictate the time she spends with Julie, while Julie’s face falls and she broods. Cara invites the girls to be her friends and to tend her in her self-made invalidhood while she lounges on her fainting couch. Julie effortlessly seduces those same girls away - and specifically, away from Cara - with her poetry readings, special attention, special outings to Paris, flirty promises and innuendo, etc. Cara, hysterical, accuses Julie of doing precisely what she’s doing. Julie calmly strokes her hair and tells her she loves her and that she has a wild imagination.

The game is “how do I make you jealous/worried enough to crack and come back to me,” and it’s a disastrous one - for themselves, and for everyone else around them. It’s also incredibly compelling in an train wreck kind of way.

But it wasn’t until I saw this:

that there was absolutely no coming back for me. I had boarded the train to Julie/Cara nonsense town. I’m love them. All of it.

Because for the first and only time in the film, they’re happy. They’re happy. 

The film isn’t subtle in its classing of Julie and Cara as the kind of romantic exes who don’t want to be exes, and you kind of assume that at one point they must have been happy while you’re busy watching the tragedy unfold. But seeing it for one startling moment, breaking through the clouds like a window into the not-too-distant past, is something else.

“So many revelations tonight!” Julie exclaims of the costume ball she and Cara are presiding over. “And here is what Gertrude dreams of being…” 

It’s interesting that the staff are not in costume like the girls are - but yet Julie and Cara inhabit some in-between space. They’re not wearing their everyday clothes the way the rest of the staff are, nor are they performing elaborate costume theater the way the girls are. That said, don’t discount that the way they have made themselves up is also a “revelation,” what they “dream of being.” 

“Do you see, Cara, how easy it is to be happy?” Julie asks Cara at the beginning of the scene, nodding to the couple dancing in front of them. “For the children, yes,” Cara replies. “For us, too,” says Julie - and three minutes later, as if she’s determined to prove it, she pulls Cara up to dance. Let’s be happy. See how easy it is?

Look at the way Julie leads Cara to the dance floor and tugs her into her arms, the way their arms naturally come around each other. Look at the way they effortlessly begin to move together as they start dancing. Look at their big smiles - even Cara’s, who doesn’t wear smiles as masks in the way Julie does! - lost in the moment and each other’s eyes. They’ve done this before. 

And here they are again: a window into their own past, a revelation, the thing they dream of being, happy and in love, moving easily with each other the way their bodies remember, inhabiting a life and a space they worked hard to create for themselves. 

Of course it can’t last, and it doesn’t. That’s the point.

The music is occurring diegetically, emanating from within the scene. Yet from here where it’s rooted, it permeates the rest of the film and becomes the musical theme which opens - yes, opens - and closes the film itself. 

The film itself which it must be said is also a memory, authored by an older Olivia, and which we’re drawn into - unknowingly at this point! - by the same waltz, echoing through time to bind up this story and dwell at its heart. Here, someone is forever playing a waltz at Julie’s command.  Here, Julie herself is forever turning to Cara with hand outstretched and saying tenderly: “Come, Cara. Let’s open the ball.”