#screw him honestly

[beebundt]

i like to think noodle re-ups his hair

[thejasontoddarchives]

Catwoman (2018-) #57

Bruce is really swinging between extremes huh

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Dick Grayson has to juggle being in the spotlight again as Brucie Wayne’s son with his nightly vigilante activities. Easier said than done, when most days he has to struggle keeping his eyes open during the day.

But now? After Brucie’s most recent investing campaign that’s pissing a lot of people off? Yeah, Dick Grayson is once more in the top ten of most wanted on the both kidnappers’ and killers’ lists.

Thankfully there’s a new crime lord in town with a penchant for altruism.

And honestly, this is gonna benefit them both! Dick’s got the money to pay him and Hood’s got the manpower and brute strength to act as his bodyguard, not to mention the added benefit of helping the man turn Crime Alley into something… well, something with less crime! It’s a perfect plan!

Now Dick’s just gotta convince the Red Hood of that, too…

[atsukunaritai]

li lianhua and di feisheng finding out about each other's entrapment

[wafflinglumos]

Guys, Sirius canonically did not care about the prank.

He shows ZERO remorse for what he did, I don’t know why this fandom absolutely adores absolving the marauders of their flaws, but it’s quite annoying. Sirius, canonically, did not care or feel remorse for what he did, he in fact justified what he did, and I love Sirius, he’s one of my favorites but come on, he sucked as a teenager, as did all the marauders.

I’ve also seen a lot, a LOT of people try to make Sirius’ actions come from a place of self defense, or some type of retaliation for something that Snape did but that’s also incorrect. His exact reasoning is(down below)

"It served him right," he sneered. "Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to... hoping he could get us expelled..." -Sirius in POA

After that Remus remarked that Sirius did it also because he found it amusing, and Sirius did not interject to disagree.

Also, a lot of people forget how important the prank was to James’ character, up until that moment James was to put it bluntly a complete dickhead to Snape, and vice versa sure but James was a dick, however he went out of his way to save him, and sure you could argue he did that for Remus more than Snape, but he still saved Snape. Diminishing the prank to just wolfstar angst is objectively incorrect.

Anyways, I still like “the prank” angst, but really guys, he did NOT care like at all. I also feel like there is so, SO much more angst potential with Sirius’ canonical feelings, rather than the angsty “it was a mistake” route that the majority of this fandom takes.

[teecupangel]

sorry to be one of the seven cal lynch likers but I like to daydream about if him and desmond ever met

They’d bang.

They’d definitely bang.

They’d look at each other’s eyes and go “ah, a fellow daddy issue-r” and bang XD

Okay, but in all seriously, I can imagine Cal being employed as a bouncer in Bad Weather while Desmond was working there. And they’d both try to pretend to not be Assassins. They gravitate towards one another because they could feel a sorta kindred spirit.

But they both would never talk about being Assassins, only being vague like “I left because my father chased me out of the house” and “my mother was killed and they never caught her killer” for Cal and Desmond’s jokingly saying he ran away from his cultists parents.

It’s a ‘sore’ subject that none of them really wished to talk about.

But they definitely grew close and whether they were in a relationship or if they were fuck buddies is up to you.

Cal is actually the one who left and Desmond never knew why.

(It was during this time that Cal actually killed someone and was arrested but no one knew that they should tell Desmond about it)

By the time Cal escaped Abstergo and managed to contact the Assassins, he learns of what happened to Desmond.

And well… Cal definitely wants more information, even if it means getting it from Abstergo.

(If you wanna add a bit of ‘history repeats itself’ deal with this one, Aguilar and Ezio also banged. Maybe once… or twice XD)

[legendofzeldasilentprincess]

after knowing the whole story of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, I still can't believe Nintendo really went for the Princess and the Knight trope

[benisasoftboi]

ChrisTrev not because of their personalities, or dynamic, or implied backstories, or the actors that play them, or really anything to do with them specifically as people at all, but because I work at an amateur theatre and I can think of few recipes for ridiculous chaotic hilarious disaster that are more potent than a director dating his head technician

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[bikebian]

another way that it chapter 2 screwed over mike i feel like was trying to make him scary when calling bill or any of the losers because like imagine getting a. call ans u hear the person saying “it’s mike” “you need to come home” LIKE SO OMINOUSLY like WHY is he so vague ? that shit doesn’t make sense….. there r millions of ppl named mike …. i still don’t understand why they did that u can make a horror movie but still intertwine the love. they focused too much on horror, the losers are just not Losers like they’re supposed to be… ur supposed to stay bc u LOVE each other not bc ur FORCED to stay

[warning-heckboop]

"Why did you make Peri mad at Dev instead of wanting to forgive him?" dunno. Vibes I guess

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[artaintfartwarriors]

All of starclan in his mind

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I just saw the excellent post about Chuuya's loyalty and 1) how he hasn't questioned his philosophy and 2) "In a world where a "path" typically involves challenging the characters' philosophies and forcing them to reevaluate, what the hell is going to have to happen to get Chuuya to do the same?" (quoting you)

Chuuya is always used by others. He's not the only BSD character whose been taken advantage of, but it does seem to be reoccurring with him? First by the government who intended to use him as a super weapon, then by the Sheep who used him for his ability, then by mafia/Mori (getting him to join in exchange for sparing the sheep, keeping his past from him and giving him incentive to become an executive and stay in the organization). He's constantly used for his power.

Please tell me if I'm misinterpreting what you all said, but it seems (to me) that Chuuya ignores the mafia's/Mori's manipulation because they have helped him and given him a home+family, so he's instead loyal to them.

Because even though Mori has not and is using him for his power, he still allows it/goes along with it because they've helped him in the past and earned his loyalty.

So Chuuya tolerates being used.

He's now being used again, obviously, in part, because of his power. We have Fyodor referring to him as just his ability and bragging about how he can "use" him better than Dazai ("doesn't that mean you're unfit to USE a gravity manipulator")

Do you think it's possible that just being vamped and used again will cause him to reflect on his mentality? He's once again being used (but be it in far more blatant way: literal mind control. Also reminds me of Verlaine+his creator). Reflecting on how he's been used in the past and no longer accepting being used by others anymore?

Or do you think it might have the opposite affect and push him deeper into the mafia somehow

Also it's interesting that Fyodor is using him but hasn't earned his loyalty (like the sheep+mafia) and how that'll affect Chuuya

I'll get to the second ask in a bit but I'm combining these because they're related.

About the first ask: I mean, yeah, you're right about this. I don't know that I'd consider it so much "ignoring" though as "the benefits outweigh the costs so whatever", and I do want to state that I'm pretty sure Mori is genuinely at least a little fond of Chuuya (see: their conversation about leadership at the end of Fifteen), and his Mafia colleagues do respect him.

But yeah, you are absolutely right to say that there is a pattern of people who want Chuuya for his ability and his loyalty, and/or reduced him down to these traits. Playing hot potato with the escaped military lab experiment and the Mafia won (<-simplification for the funnies but still).

But here's the thing: if this was the end of it, we might expect to see some resentment mixed in there from Chuuya. He was blackmailed with the Sheep's lives. His past was intentionally locked away from him until he worked his way up to executive. That's... not great.

But instead we find pretty much only gratitude from him. Why?

Well, see, there's a reason I put the return of Chuuya's screwed up self-concept in the tags on that post, because it's kind of at the heart of his impressive loyalty. Chuuya believes that since he is the one with the strongest power, that makes him responsible for protecting everyone else, which means that he rationalizes any concern or protection directed at him as something "above and beyond", and worthy of recognition and repayment. Remember that he genuinely felt like just a vessel for power and nothing else for apparently quite a bit of his childhood, and the Sheep emphasizing that he owed them for taking him in probably did not help.

When it comes to having his back, the Mafia did this for him in a way no one else did. They protect their own, a value that aligns closely with Chuuya's own personal philosophy. The Mafia is also relatively safe from external threat, if we recall Dazai's pitch to Odasaku in Day I Picked Up Dazai - Odasaku is being targeted, but no one in their right mind would challenge the Mafia just to get to him. So, the Mafia has provided Chuuya with protection, comradery, and relative safety, which in my mind all condenses into a central need that takes precedence over everything else to him.

Chuuya's core need is actually stability.

And this makes quite a bit of sense. He started off as a kid with no memories and a whole lot of trauma he couldn't remember the roots of. One's past is a source of stability, but that had been taken from him. His position as leader of the Sheep was shaky. Even his identity as a human being was called into question. Chuuya as a kid and teen was largely untethered, separate from everyone else with no way to ground himself. Under those circumstances, something that originated as a chain could easily become a safety rope.

And once Chuuya found this stability, there was really no need for him to change anything. So he didn't. He settled into his new role and became really, really good at it, and didn't bother to re-evaluate beyond that. Why would he? That minimal core need has been met, despite the rocky beginning.

Which brings me to this second ask because it's actually incredibly relevant. Yes, Chuuya and Sigma are alike. You are not losing it anon.

Let's run a list, shall we? They both awoke with no memories and a missing history, and had their humanity called into question. They were used and blackmailed repeatedly, which they were, fortunately and unfortunately, consciously aware of. When they find something that matters to them, they become violently defensive of it. They both operate on principles of reciprocity and transaction because that is what they believe to be normal in relationships (Sigma's ability even is quite literally a transaction!). They both have pretty low standards for their assistance (Sigma hearing one (1) single person (Atsushi) be kind to him in what he thought were his last moments, Chuuya "You have helped Chuuya! Chuuya will now kill and die for you!" Nakahara).

Above all else, they are looking for stability. They are looking for a home.

As of yet, Sigma hasn't found a true home, but it seems we may be building up to him joining the ADA. The key part is Sigma's realization that the Agency doesn't rely solely on transaction. Dazai is not using the Agency, the Agency is not using Dazai. The Agency members are all helping each other. They care about each other.

Meanwhile, Chuuya has already found a place that provides his core need, but there's one caveat about the Mafia that should be clarified here - as Odasaku says in Dark Era, people within its ranks don't talk about personal matters and feelings with each other, and everyone instead keeps to themselves. If you don't talk about your issues or air them out, relations tend to stay personally shallow and dictated almost entirely by the demands and positions of the organization. This is not a conducive environment for reappraisal or self-exploration.

Unfortunately, this is ideal for Mr. Chuuya "I'll keep all my emotions right here and then one day I'll die" Nakahara.

Chuuya has found some measure of stability - solace in his own self-defined identity in spite of the initial ambiguity as to his humanity. "This is who I am", "Till those flames die down, I can't just do whatever I want", "I'm gonna do what I need to do", etc. But importantly, this identity is entangled in whichever group he happens to be a part of, which in this case is the Mafia. This kind of self-identity cannot exist without the structure of an organization. It relies on the reciprocity of a group.

Moreover, it relies on Chuuya showing very little vulnerability. Compartmentalize, and move on. He expects that of himself.

So, we've established that Chuuya has his core need for stability met by the Mafia - a relatively secure place that runs on transaction, which is familiar to him - yet it also doesn't push him out of his comfort zone with respect to emotional vulnerability and openness. What this means is that, in the Mafia, Chuuya is practically invincible, both physically (his ability, his martial arts prowess) and emotionally (personal life kept hidden and guarded as a Mafia expectation).

Unfortunately, this means Chuuya also remains stagnant as a character, which finally, finally brings me back to your original question anon.

No, I don't think the vampirism is enough to trigger change in Chuuya's character. Chuuya has some standards, and treating him like a tool (and Dazai's tool, no less) is going to seriously piss him off, but that's anger at Fyodor, and it doesn't impact his stability with the Mafia any which way. If Chuuya had've been forced to activate Corruption to escape the drowning then maybe he would've been angry with Dazai enough for something to shift (activation being his own choice is a huge theme with them), but since he didn't, I expect Chuuya will unfortunately just shrug it off and roll with it. Probably yell at him for a bit, but nothing that would have far-reaching consequences for his character unless there is something about his current situation we don't yet know.

I think for Chuuya to grow and change as a character, he needs something major to shift in his life - the threat has to come from within his place of security. He needs to be destabilized. Something needs to happen that specifically targets his tethers and his self-concept.

Personally, my money's on the destabilization of his bond with Mori, who he has the most respect for, because that might trigger development related to leadership and goals, but I guess we'll see. I think it'll probably be incredibly heart wrenching and hurt us all severely, whatever it is.

Huh. I wrote a lot. Congrats for making it to the end! I'm going to sleep now. :D

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Edited by removing the entire middle section because it was absolute garbage and probably should’ve been its own post. I hope the rest of this holds up. That’s what I get for writing things at 2 in the morning I guess.

[sapphorror]

I love it when they do this. I really do.