#the fandom has had more than enough of that latter ugh

[inner-sakura]

Even Superheroes Need Sunscreen!

Rating: General Audiences Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Relationships: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Chapters: 1 of 3 Summary: Two very tired teen heroes + one afternoon nap in the sun = quite possibly the most ridiculous reveal ever. [Or, the one where Ladybug and Chat Noir rely a little too much on their super-suits, Tikki waxes poetic about SPF, and Alya gets the last laugh. And the first. And many subsequent ones as well.]

Read it here

chapter 1: burnout

At last, springtime has come to Paris.  

The sun is shining, the birds are singing…  

“GRAWWWWWWWR!”  

The akuma du jour lets out one final enraged cry, before dissolving in a swirling, malevolent cloud of purple.  

Ladybug gazes on tiredly, the object she’s just purified still crushed under her right foot. When she thinks no one is looking, she gives it an extra stomp for good measure.  

It was the first nice day that Paris had seen in months, and she spent the majority of it chasing after a giant, fire-breathing monster—complete with razor-sharp fangs and a viciously spiked tail that had sent her and Chat Noir careening through the walls of at least thirteen buildings by her final count.  

Mostly Chat though, she thinks, wincing apologetically as she meets her partner’s eyes.  

He tilts his head in confusion as he helps Monarch’s latest victim to their feet, question clear in his gaze. 

All good, LB?  

She nods discreetly, smiling at the young woman who’s glancing between the two of them with a confused sort of awe. 

Once the Miraculous Cure has been cast, and they’ve ascertained that she’s well enough to see herself home, Ladybug and Chat Noir vault away, neither willing nor particularly interested in sticking around much longer to deal with the growing crowd.  

They run side-by-side for a while, vaulting over rooftops and around brick chimneys in silence, until they’re certain the coast is clear.  

“UGH!”  

Chat collapses first, rolling into a somersault as he lands on the roof of an abandoned building. Instead of rising as she’d expected, he remains splayed out on the ground, limbs akimbo.  

“I thought that fight was never gonna end!”  

Grateful for the excuse to give in to her burgeoning exhaustion, Ladybug drops to the ground next to him, trying not to let on just how tired she actually feels.  

She rolls her neck, groaning when it lets out a pop.  

“I know, right? I had to recharge two separate times. I haven’t had to do that in forever! I can’t tell if that means Monarch is getting better at this, or that I’m losing my touch...”  

“Well, it’s definitely not the latter,” Chat snorts, shooting her a sideways look. Ladybug tries her best not to flush at the indirect compliment. She’s only partly successful. “Honestly, I think it was just a lucky break on Monarch’s part. That woman’s sheer pigheadedness could have rivaled even Chloe Bourgeois on a bad day.”  

Ladybug chokes on a laugh, surprised to hear such a jab falling from Chat’s lips. Although occasionally cheeky, her partner was normally much more mild-mannered; polite almost to a fault, even with people Ladybug herself found to be hopelessly annoying. 

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who was more tired than they were letting on.  

“Aww,” she leans into his space, her hand rising to pet his hair. “Sounds like someone’s a grumpy kitty today. Not getting enough beauty sleep?”  

Chat purses his lips, green eyes narrowing at her teasing.  

“I think we both know that is not the case,” he says archly, gesturing down the length of his body as though to say ‘Uh, hello? Have you seen me?’  

Ladybug’s eyes flick over him briefly, taking in the lean musculature of his torso underneath the black leather; the breadth of his shoulders, and the slim taper of his waist that would have made even the most seasoned of runway models weep with envy.  

Okay, fair point, she acknowledges with a proverbial tip of her hat. Though she’d rather die than admit it aloud.  

Instead, she gives him a conciliatory scratch behind the ears.  

Despite his earlier pique, Chat’s body language is anything but displeased as he leans into her touch, nuzzling the hand currently playing with his hair. After a few increasingly slow blinks, his eyes fall shut and stay that way, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he basks in the attention.  

Her lips quirk up almost unwittingly in response. 

This cat, honestly…  

Ladybug slowly reclines next to him, propping her head on one fist as she takes the opportunity to examine his profile. 

No, she concludes after several moments. If Chat Noir is losing sleep, it’s not at all apparent in his physical appearance. He’s as handsome as ever, if not more so—his skin and hair practically glowing under the late afternoon sunlight.  

The teenage girl beneath Ladybug’s mask feels a stab of envy at the evenness of his complexion, the length of the blonde eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Even the glossy shine of his hair is impressive.  

She runs her fingers through his bangs, pushing them back from his forehead. Chat smiles in his sleep, turning toward her like a flower seeking the sun.  

At this point, it’s obvious to Ladybug—and probably to anyone else who has ever beheld him in all of his glory—that Chat Noir needs no assistance in the beauty department.  

If he wasn’t so busy getting thrown through walls by overgrown lizards, battling supervillains, and saving the lives of everyday Parisians, he could have easily been an actor or a model with his looks.   

Ladybug wonders, not for the first time, what kind of life the boy on the other side of Chat Noir’s mask lives. 

But mostly, she wonders what it might be like to touch him without her gloves on. To feel the silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the softness of the cheeks on which his eyelashes rest.  

Her fingers pause in their ministrations.  

Best not to go there, she thinks, pulling her hand away as she lays down fully beside him. 

The roof tiles are toasty beneath her, the heat seeping into the muscles of her back making it that much more difficult to fight the exhaustion weighing down her eyelids. 

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Ladybug lets her eyes slip closed, enjoying the warm spring sunshine caressing her face.  

A quick power nap sounds like exactly what she needs right now. Especially if it’ll help chase away any more intrusive thoughts about her slumbering partner and his unfair prettiness. 

-x-  

Sometime later. 

“Chat,” Ladybug slurs, fighting the pull of unconsciousness as it tries to drag her back under. She prods at his shoulder. “We shouldn’t—sleep here.”

All she receives for her efforts is a grunt. 

“We could…” Burn, she wants to say. But she’s so comfortable, and Chat’s arm is curled over her waist, and sleep is so pleasantly heavy on her eyelids. 

Surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt. 

  

-x- 

Even later still.  

Ladybug wakes to an annoyingly high-pitched beeping, sounding uncomfortably close to her head.  

She groans, trying in vain to roll away from the noise.  

Except it keeps following her, blasting into her eardrums with the proximity that could only originate from one source.  

Earrings. Tikki!   

Ladybug bolts upright, squinting blearily as she attempts to get her bearings.  

The first thing she realizes is that the light has shifted significantly since she last opened her eyes; the shadows stretching across the rooftop to nip at her heels, afternoon warmth rapidly giving way to the deepening chill of evening.  

The second realization is that Chat is still stretched out languorously beside her, dead to the world, and they’ve clearly been napping for not minutes but hours, judging by the way the sky has melted into a dazzling array of pinks and oranges and golds. It’s a breathtaking sight, and one that Ladybug normally would have found quite beautiful, if she wasn’t so busy freaking out about Realization Number Three—

Which is that she has maybe thirty seconds, tops, before her transformation unravels around her, taking with it her anonymity, her dignity, and any semblance of relaxation she may have achieved during her impromptu slumber. 

Catapulting to her feet with a lack of finesse that even her superpowers can’t disguise, Ladybug scrambles for the chimney on the other side of the roof, accidentally stomping directly on top of Chat Noir in the process.  

“OOF!” 

She’s just ducking behind the brick wall when his indignant yowling reaches her ears, the magic of her detransformation whooshing over her in a rush. 

“What the heck kind of wakeup call was that?! Seriously, bugaboo, we've got to work on your bedside manner—” Chat pauses, his voice growing concerned when he fails to locate her. “Bugaboo?” 

“I’m over here,” she calls, quickly digging in her purse for her emergency Emergency Snack Stash. “My transformation let up unexpectedly so I need to feed my kwami.”

Tikki harrumphs around a mouthful of macaron, her expression less than pleased.  

“It wouldn’t have been unexpected if you had de-transformed like you were supposed to, instead of falling asleep immediately after a long battle," she snipes. 

Marinette winces apologetically, knowing instinctively that she’ll be making up for this gaff for a while. Most likely in the form of copious amounts of baked goods. Her parents are probably going to think she’s stress eating again.  

Chat’s voice is closer the next time he speaks, although still a respectful distance away in light of her de-Ladybugged state.  

“Looks like we overslept, huh?” She hears the sound of his baton click, followed by a beep. “We were asleep for two hours? You’ve gotta be kitten me!” 

Marinette barely waits for Tikki to swallow her last bite before she mutters her transformation phrase, stepping out from behind the chimney to level Chat with an unimpressed stare.  

“Really, at a time like this? My kwami is going to be giving me shit about this for the next forever and you’re hitting me with reused puns?” 

Chat’s jaw drops.  

“Reused puns?” He appears appalled at the notion. “I would never!” 

He crosses his arms, his expression one of pure indignance. “When have I used that one before?” 

“M. Pigeon 38 and 56,” she rattles off automatically, realizing a beat too late that memorizing every single joke someone has ever told is not the kind of behaviour a Normal Person with Exclusively Platonic Intentions might exhibit. 

For a moment, Chat merely blinks at her. Then, his eyes widened, his face lighting up with glee. 

“My lady, are you blushing?” He sounds delighted by the prospect. 

“What? No.” Ladybug scoffs. “Why would I be blushing?” After all, as Marinette, she’s said far more unfortunate things under far worse circumstances. This inadvertent admission, while embarrassing, was barely a blip on the mortification scale when compared to the world-ending natural disasters she’d been capable of when her crush on Adrien was at its peak. 

Still, Chat seems unconvinced. “Then why are your cheeks that beguiling shade of pink, hm? You can’t fool this cat’s eyes, bugaboo. We have excellent vision, you know.”

Ladybug scowls, turning back to glare at him. Her mouth snaps shut on her retort, however, when she notices that Chat’s skin is pink as well, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy shade of red. 

“Wait, how long did you say we were asleep for?” She flips open her compact, blood draining from her face at the time she sees listed in the upper corner. 

“Chat, we slept for almost two hours! I’m not blushing, I’m sunburnt! And by the looks of it, so are you!” 

Underneath the pink, Chat's face goes ashen. 

“Oh no,” he moans, crumpling into a ball. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.” 

Ladybug falters, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction.

“It’ll be alright, chaton,” she crouches next to him, her hands fluttering uselessly over his shoulders, too confused to even properly offer him comfort. “Just put some calming lotion on it when you go home. Aloe works well in my experience—”

“No, you don’t understand,” his wild green eyes snap up to meet hers. “I am not allowed to get sunburnt. This is a disaster. My Fa—“ here he stumbles, averting his gaze as she helps him to his feet.” —facialist is going to kill me!” 

Ladybug drops his hand, her prior concern completely evaporating. 

“You get facials?” 

Chat looks offended at her disbelief. 

“Of course,” he sniffs. “How else do you think I maintain this youthful glow?” 

Ladybug rolls her eyes, wincing when the action tugs at her inflamed skin. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you might want to get inside before that ‘youthful glow’ becomes visible from outer space.”  

Chat sputters.

-x-

When she gets home, Marinette applies every single cream, lotion, and gel in her arsenal to try to bring down the redness in her face.  

And when even that doesn’t work, she calls in the big guns.

-x-

“Oh, Marinette, what have you done to yourself now?” Sabine frets, patting cool lotion onto her cheeks. 

Marinette grimaces, both at the sting of the motion and her own stupidity. 

“Next time you want to lay out in the sun in swimming goggles of all things, at least promise me you’ll wear sunscreen.” 

“Yes, Maman...”

-x-

[lotusthewriter]

Don't Forget

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

Rating: G

Relationships: Alphonse & Edward

Characters: Alphonse Elric, Edward Elric

Summary: It's a special date for the Elrics.

Word count: 717

AO3

A/N: Technically for October 3rd, but it's FMA 2003's 20th anniversary today, so I guess it still counts.

This takes place after Conqueror of Shamballa.

DO NOT SHIP THE ELRIC BROTHERS. P/roship DNI.

--

Al shouldn’t be feeling nervous, really. He and Ed have known each other since forever. Still, Al can’t help shaking a little, mostly as he leaves everything ready.

Either way, Alphonse makes his way to Edward’s door, hoping he’s not going to bother him.

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

“Brother?” He calls.

“Oh, come in!”

Al slowly opens the door, finding Ed’s desk filled with papers – all from the rocket science course.

“Sorry, are you busy?” Al asks.

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” Ed takes off his reading glasses – and Al knows Ed would hate him if he ever told him that Ed looks like their father. “What’s up?”

Al blinks, distracting himself from the thought.

Ed suddenly starts smelling something.

“Did you bake something?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh… yeah, I got the recipe from Ms. Gracia.”

“Oh,” Ed smiles, “that’s great, Al.”

The younger Elric shouldn’t be this nervous.

“I-I made it for you!” Al blurts out.

Ed softens. “For me? Why?”

It does hurt a little to hear him sound so surprised. Like Ed doesn’t deserve good things.

“Come on, let me just show you.” Al offers him a hand. His brother takes it, confused, so he lets Al pull him out of the chair and towards the dining table.

There lies a cherry pie fresh from the oven… and the handmade card Al made. He’s confident that the pie is good, but as for the latter… He hasn’t really drawn in ages, and has only picked it up again in times of boredom.

Much to his surprise, Ed seems more awestruck by the card than the pie. He takes it carefully in his hands.

Al rubs the back of his own neck, unsure what to do.

Dear Brother,

I know today is not a good date. I know it meant that we lost what we once had. But I wanted to celebrate that you’re still here with me. I would never trade it for anything in the world.

Thank you for always looking out for me. I love you.

Al

The cover itself is, well, a sketch of Ed smiling genuinely, even if sadly. Something Al wishes he could see more often – just his brother being happy.

When Al looks back…

“... Oh no, Brother! I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he apologizes, hating himself for ever thinking this stupid card could make this day easier. “I’m so sorry.”

Ed appears to only then realize that he’s indeed crying. He touches his wet face in shock, as if he hasn’t cried in years .

“I just- I wanted…” Al doesn’t know what to say.

Suddenly, he hears a laugh.

“Oh, Al.”

Then, he finds himself in his brother’s arms. Al freezes, not expecting the reaction. Ed hugs him tightly, burying his face in the other’s shoulder, seeking Al’s warmth. It sometimes surprises Al, remembering he can actually feel his brother’s touch now. That Al is finally here, back as a human being.

It didn’t happen as they wanted it to… but just the fact Al gets to hug Ed again is more than enough.

“I love you, too,” Ed whispers. “I love you so much.”

Al can’t help it. His eyes are filled with water.

“Thank you for being here,” Edward adds

Alphonse smiles. “Of course, Brother.”

Ed doesn’t let go for a while… not that Al is complaining. He does whine when his brother decides to kiss his cheek multiple times, though.

“I truly have one talented little brother,” Ed compliments. “An artist AND a baker?”

Al rolls his eyes. “Come on, you’re exaggerating.”

“No way, this is beautiful. I’m keeping this forever. And I’m putting all your art on the fridge.”

He laughs. “Ugh, Brother!”

Ed snorts, ruffling his darker blond hair.

With this, they finally decide to eat the pie together. Ed finds it a masterpiece, of course. Al can’t help blushing; his brother can be so embarrassing.

Since today is technically Ed’s day off, the Elric brothers decide to go out in town. After greeting their friends, they head out to the park. At one point, Ed wraps an arm around Al and pulls him close. Al smiles and leans against him.

On this day, they lost everything.

But today, they have each other.

They’re home.

[hxhhasmysoul]

I know people are very disappointed with Yorozu and her motivations. I’ve seen people calling her immature. And like ugh her reason to reincarnate is to chase a man and so on.

The former I disagree with on the grounds of it reeking of reactionary feminism and maybe ableism. It feels like a glorification of the girl boss - like people criticised a part of Nobara’s speech to Momo as shallow but now they are leaning into that mindset. It’s not inherently immature for a woman to pursue partnership.

And Yorozu is amoral and homicidal and delusional in way and very enthusiastic about all that. (Though is she really delusional when Sukuna agrees to her conditions? She’s clearly prepared for a battle with him though she didn’t expect him to pull out a different technique than his domain expansion - that is more of a miscalculation than a delusion to me.)

Is she mentally unstable? Maybe but also maybe not, either way she’s not immature. Mental illness doesn’t make her immature, that kind of thinking is a known bigoted trope. Enthusiasm doesn’t make her immature - there’s so much effort put into policing enthusiasm in adults, like there are only 2 people irl who are creators and avid fans like myself with whom I can talk about my interest with enthusiasm. Everyone else would call me immature. Nobara even voiced this stereotype that overly enthusiastic grownups are cringe.

No one calls Sukuna or Kenjaku immature. Both of them are amoral, homicidal and delusional in their own ways. Sukuna is the manosphere personified so he he tries to police his own enthusiasm especially recently but in his three first fights in the series it was very much out. Kenjaku is very enthusiastic, just their enthusiasm is less high energy than Yurozu’s more intellectually slanted, more palatable for grownups. The person who is called immature is Gojou, again because his enthusiasm is high energy. (I’m not going to go into the discussion of whether Gojou is on the spectrum because I don’t care about him enough, but I think it’s a fair reading of him and then again people on the spectrum = immature => bigoted trope; though if one wants to read Gojou as the victim of privilege and patriarchy that’s also fair imo). Of course Gojou, a bishounen, a man, is beloved by the fandom. Yorozu is dead in the water. 

The latter I disagree with on cultural grounds. From the era she comes from it makes perfect sense that she chases a man, that she wants to be a formal wife not a concubine.

Genji Monogatori is not unlike a wish-fulfillment self-insert fanfic* about the ideal man of the Heian era who is perfect not only because of how cultured he is, and because of the high aristocratic position he hold but because he takes care of the women in his life even after he loses interest in them. He doesn’t abandon them. I read GM many years ago, and not all of it and I’m to lazy to google it but the amount of women he courts and has relations with goes into dozens. He has wives and concubines and more fleeting romances. And yet he’s the perfect man of the era, even for the author’s self-insert who he sidelines at some point in the story for a younger woman.

Women in the Heian era didn’t really have names, at least ones we know of, the names we call them by were either references to their male relatives and their social position, or some pseudonyms. They barely had rights. Men could pursue many women at once. Marriage was coveted but impossible to attain for many women. And many of them ended up forgotten, living in poverty.

I’ve personally always liked Sei Shounagon more than Murasaki Shikibu because she was more defiant towards that system. Whereas Murasaki, who criticised Shounagon for gilrbossing, wrote GM a little feel good fantasy about a man who didn’t exist, a man who’d save a woman, treat her right. A little fantasy which women could read and dream, forget about their reality.

This is the reality that Yorozu comes from. Like she even downright says it, she wants to be a wife and he’s not allowed concubines, she wants to be the only one taken care of. And Sukuna doesn’t treat her request as stupid he doesn’t criticise it once. Don’t get me wrong, he hates the idea, he doesn’t seem to like Yorozu much. But coming from the same cultural context as she does, he absolutely gets what she’s trying to do and why.

He might also have no enthusiasm for the concept because there’s a hint of class difference between them. I think the poem(Gege, it should’ve been waka/tanka, was that too many syllables for a simple cat like you?) is there to highlight that. Yorozu tries to flirt in the courtly manner, writes him a poem. But as he points out the poem is shit, it doesn’t meet his standards. And poem writing in Heian was very much an aristocratic skill and women were very good at it. This indicate that she wasn’t someone from the highest aristocratic circles, she wasn’t rubbing shoulders with royalty, she wasn’t a lady in waiting. He doesn’t even answer with his own poem. Surely because he has no interest in courting her but he might also think it’s beneath him to properly respond to a subpar flirt like that.

This can show that he’s from high aristocratic circles and she isn’t but she’s trying act like it. She’s social climbing. The mention of villages might also point to that. In Shibuya Sukuna levels a part of a major city. She’s talking about villages, their perception of scale seems to be completely different.

They clearly know each other because she’s powerful. Powerful enough for him to acknowledge her, he likes when people have skills. But if I’m reading the class difference right, had he been a normal aristocrat not a sorcerer and had she been a normal woman of her time, who wasn’t at court, and not a sorcerer, they likely wouldn’t have met.

Of course everything I wrote above can be refuted by saying that I put more thought into this than Gege did. That Gege hates their female characters. There’s no way for me to refute that apart from saying that people putting thoughts or lack there of into other people’s heads makes me uncomfortable. But if you feel comfortable with that then go ahead.

And I’m not saying here that Yorozu is super well developed or something and that there will be a good pay off to her appearance because I can’t predict the future. I’m just saying that the idea of her feels grounded to me. I wish she existed separately from Tsumiki and they both got explored properly and it’s not unfair to worry that they won’t be.

_____

* Genji Monogatari is very “problematic” if viewed through the lens of the moral purity that’s becoming more and more pervasive online. People who subscribe to that should stay away from it, because besties you don’t have the range for it. 

[galactic-pirates]

How about Sanctuary fandom + Once Upon a Time (show)?

Ok cool. This will be the top 5 things off the top of my head, so I reserve the right to facepalm if I forgot something important. Thanks for the ask!!!

send me a tv show/book/fandom and i’ll say the top 5 things i’d change about it

Well first off let's address the elephant in the room that there are two ways to answer this question. 1) Is how I would change it to make it more like what I wished it was, 2) Is how I would change it to improve on what they actually chose to do. Those are two very different things. I am going to attempt to answer in the vein of number two, accepting canon and just tweaking it to be better, rather than throwing out everything in favour of the show I would have written, as I feel that's more in the spirit of what the question is actually asking.

So without further ado!

(I am longwinded so cut)

Sanctuary

Will was an entitled arse and that reflected badly on Helen. Why did she allow it? I'm sure he had some skills... maybe? I mean Season One Will wasn't so bad, but merlin by Season Four I was like "why is he even here?" and "the stones to demand Helen let him be an equal partner" - I mean how was he an equal??? Like NO! Anyway ahem I would change this. Lose the entitlement, increase the respect and definitely increase the competence. I'm not saying he shouldn't disagree with Helen because debate is healthy, and even the legendary Helen Magnus will sometimes miss an angle to consider but there are ways to write that respectfully.

Ashley lives! Is Sanctuary the Helen Magnus show? Or is it an ensemble? I think it sort of walks a middle ground, and I definitely feel like there should have been room for other characters to go on their own journey's and Ashley had a rich seam to mine. The whole "only child of the Five" thing, and her bio-dad being possessed by The Ripper. I googled after one of the previous asks made me go 'hey why did she leave?' and apparently it was a network decision and ugh. No. She still had a lot to contribute. Just imagine Ashley and Kate sparring together. Ashley noticing something was wrong with Biggie and saving him (I mean he was like her father figure right? Family!). Ashley being there for Henry, roasting him as only a sister can over Erika. Being all protective future auntie when he discovers he's going to be a dad.

This leads to the next point really - amp up the family vibes. I love James Watson as a character (and not just for ship reasons). Killing him off in his second episode was so wasteful and one of those reasons was because he was a link to the past. To Henry and Ashley growing up. To all those decades as Helen's friend. James was family. Yeah we had a couple of plot-centric flashbacks interweaving with present day. I loved seeing him like that but it wasn't enough. I know I said I would try and answer this as 'tweaking canon' rather than rewriting the show, and my desire for more of The Five probably falls under the latter, but still Uncle James, head of the London Sanctuary had more to contribute.

More worldbuilding/make use of the environment. I appreciate that this was probably a budget thing but I am dying to know more about Old City vs New City. From the pilot they teased that Old City had rumours of weirdness, and season 4 showed a large abnormal population (had that always been there?). I headcanon that an abnormal is what wrecked the old bridge but how? It just would have been cool to make more use of the setting, and deepen it/ground it more.

Last one (from off the top of my head) and I say this about most things I watch but honestly more politics. I know that we had the UN and SCIU and I mean that but also not. I feel like it would have been good to have more of a feel for the Sanctuary network as it was. Hear more/see more about the different Sanctuary's around the world before the network got rolled up in season 4. The whole "everyone has an abnormal taskforce" in season 4 was interesting but why did it wait until then? Like yes the Sanctuary network had a mandate but full offense really to the military complex - I call bullshit. The Sanctuary is about helping people, not about using abnormals for their skills. The show touched on this occasionally with Kate, and the black market, and of course we had The Cabal who seemed to be corporations in it for the money. I also get that the show was relatively light and it would get depressing being too realistic about how darkly self-serving governments could be. I just feel like the delicate balance/other players etc. should have been established earlier than season 4 somehow. Because even if they supported the Sanctuary officially, I can't believe they didn't have shady underground projects the whole time.

I know, I know it was supposed to be five changes. Call this one a bonus. Something a bit more about how the secret was kept. Why the world in general didn't believe/know? Especially with the advent of the internet/video. As a big picture thing. And then so I don't make a Point Seven - consequences. More about people struggling to fit in, struggling to hide, or not wanting to hide. A bit like "mutant and proud", as why should they have to? The whole abnormals thing speaks to me as someone who is other, and I wish they had delved more into this, "putting a face" on it so to speak, with individuals grappling with what their abnormality means in a world where it's "secret". I mean if there are those who want people to know, does the community force them to not stand on rooftops and shout? (metaphorically speaking). Do they keep silence for all the others who wish to hide? So yeah. More about the personal struggle.

Once Upon a Time

Neal should have lived. I said what I said. I know that wasn't the show they wrote, but I stand by the fact that is when the show started to really go off the rails. Now this isn't about shipping anyone in particular with Emma, it's about the heart of the story. Neal was a linchpin, connected to everyone, and made for a deeper story with more feeling. He was the reason for the dark curse, he was Henry's dad, he was the son of the dark one. I'm not Hook's biggest fan (I will get to him) but Neal (or Bae as he was known then) knew Hook on Neverland. Hook loved Neal's mother. Now I said this wasn't about shipping so CaptainSwan was canon, so we'll keep that, but imagine Hook pursuing Emma with Neal still alive. I think it would have humanised Hook a bit more, to have him apologise for having let Milah down, when he let Bae down on Neverland, and to promise that he wouldn't do that for Henry. To let Neal have feelings about that, to have them come to an understanding over it. Imagine a season 5 with Emma now as the Dark One, with Neal looking at Henry in horror, as his son now has a parent with that curse, for Neal to see his dad without it, and then to see his dad take it back. I could write far more than a (very extended) paragraph about this as Neal would have added so much to every plotline they wrote (even if I wish they hadn't written some of them).

Consequences. This is a theme I sort of touched on but oh man it's true. My biggest issue with Hook is the disconnect between reality and what the characters say. It makes it feel very OOC. Just declaring someone a hero, doesn't make them one, it doesn't erase their past or grant them instant redemption. Hook and Zelena did whatever they wanted with impunity and it was all just glossed over as they were "one of the heroes now" but they never actually changed. I'm not talking about punishment here, or justice, as that's a whole can of worms, I'm talking about the fact that they didn't do the work on themselves. Regina is probably my favourite character so I'm definitely not against redemption, but she struggled with it, wrestling with herself and with her past. She made clear steps over and over to make better choices. That was not true at all for Hook or Zelena. Actions speak louder than words. I absolutely hated how the narrative said one thing, but then the characters parroted something else - it just did not make sense. What the characters said/thought/felt needed to reflect the events on screen.

Pacing, logic, common sense. I often say that up until mid-season 3 the show was better, and it was downhill pretty much after that. However, season 3 was not immune because dear oh dear Neverland. The way they just wandered around the jungle for episodes and episodes, and then everything just got all crammed into the last couple of episodes in the arc. I really, really, really hate this tendency of shows. I rant about it often. Some shows are worse than others, (Picard Season 3 was a particularly bad offender), but Once had it's moments and it didn't even make sense. Another thing I super hate is when for no apparent reason really competent and powerful characters don't use the skills we know they have. If there is a) no reason why they can't, and b) they don't because it would solve the plot too easily - that's a writing problem. Make the villains more powerful, make there be a reason why they can't use their powers, but just to have them be incompetent is incredibly frustrating. Let them be awesome and still fail - that is fine. I'm not saying they need to be successful. I'm saying I shouldn't be side-eyeing them for walking around a jungle for eight episodes before doing what they should have done Day One.

Answer the damn questions and respect the viewers intelligence. Harsh? I said what I said. I am a writer and I create worlds and yes you don't have to know everything, giving the allusion of depth is a valid strategy - right up until the point that a plot point hinges on it and it doesn't make sense. Season One started with Henry stealing Mary Margaret's credit card, and using the internet to find Emma. The town was cursed, frozen in time, how did she have a credit card? WHY did she even have one? They couldn't leave. What about food - where did that come from? Petrol for the cars. Fashion - they were not dressed like it was still the 80's. Yes, I know magic/the curse, but how? It seems like such a vital underpinning they handwaved away, and it doesn't stack up. Going with the premise of "well it's cool" is fine for a personal project, but a multi-million dollar primetime show? I expect better.

Finally in the same vein - continuity. I have referred to this many times because it annoys me so damn much. In the Underworld arc they established that a special chisel/hammer thing was the only way to etch the tombstones. Then three episodes later Hook's hook could do it. When I complained about this before I vaguely recall somebody telling me it was spelled for that. All these years later I'm not sure but I am a detail-orientated person and I find it hard to believe I would have been so up in arms at the time, if that had been the case. At the very least it wasn't explained properly/shown explicitly, and I pay attention. I do. So if I missed it then GA would have. And the entire plot hinged on how they couldn't leave because of these tombstones so it was a pretty important detail. Anyway! This is only one example and there are others (but I have rambled long enough). I just feel like they should have had a series bible where they had a complete timeline of events, where everything they had established as fact was written down, so they didn't contradict themselves or wind up rehashing the same plot point a different way, like we'd forgotten this had already been dealt with (as I had not). Once is not the only show with this issue. I yell about it often. It's not hard to keep track of your own canon and I wish shows would do a better job of it. Callbacks are a favourite of mine because yes I do remember, thank you for respecting me.

[the-iron-orchid]

Hi! I have discovered lobster is not kosher and this is Julian's fav meal... But according to Canadian Jewish News "The Jewish Scriptures forbid eating all shellfish, including lobster. It is not forbidden for Jews to eat lobster, another forbidden food, even though they would never eat pork. Kosher food practices have been abandoned by others completely." What would you do? I read your wonderful halal alternatives for Asra. May I ask you about some sea-related meals alternatives for Julian? <3

obligatory disclaimer: I am not Jewish, I've just done some research and have wonderful Jewish friends willing to answer my ignorant questions! Please listen to actual Jews over me :)

Jewish identity is complex, with an ethnic and a religious component, and these may occur separately or together. So first I will say that it is entirely possible to hc Julian as an ethnic Jew who chooses not to keep to Kosher practices when he isn't back home in Nevivon.

That said, there's also no reason not to think about alternative foods for hcs where he does keep to the dietary practices! Many common fish are Kosher, and fish is also pareve (not meat or milk), which makes it more flexible as an ingredient.

In keeping with his Slavic coding, here are a few seafood-based ideas, many of them considered comfort or holiday foods:

Salmon or Trout Caviar (not from sturgeon, which have no scales and are thus not Kosher)

Ukha (Russian fish soup)

Shuba (a pickled-herring layered salad, aka 'herring in a fur coat')

Stroganina (thinly shaved frozen raw fish, like a frozen sashimi)

Kulebyaka (salmon or other fish baked in pastry with rice, onions, etc)

Any kind of preserved fish roe from Kosher fish (though this is more of a Mediterranean-style preparation in the real world)

And of course that classic of Jewish cuisine, gefilte fish (I can almost hear one of my Jewish friends groaning from across the continent...)

As always, I welcome corrections and additions! I do what I can, but I'm definitely not an authoritative source.

[queenlilith43]

Alrighty so here is my stupid, stupid theory about the Wicked Powers and the Eldest Curses.

I'm adding a keep reading option because everyone will thank me for this later. And it contains serious Eldest Curses and Last Hours spoilers. (YES. I will drag Chain of Iron into here because I want to.)

So I want to talk about what I think the antagonists in the Wicked Powers and what will happen because of it. And how the antagonists will show up.

So who do I think the antagonists are? Whelp, here's the list:

Thule people

Faerie court drama

The Cohort

Lucifer + other permanent threats

I'm going to explain the antagonists and what I think will happen. I will explain how much of a problem I think they will be.

Thule

Well, Janus is going to be in there. He had established himself as a villian from Ghosts of the Shadow Market. He's what Jace could have been if he had stayed under Sebastian's power. That is to say, a very evil Jace.

Janus had been tasked by the Seelie Queen at the end of Queen of Air and Darkness to find actual Jace Herondale. Do we want Jace kidnapped? NO. Will this cause problems? YES.

Thule as a world is a problem. Part of it leaked into our world in QOAAD, causing the warlocks to start to turn into demons. (Including a very cute purple poodle that was Malcolm Fade.)

Shadowhunters can't use their weapons and runes in this world. I wonder if it was able to influence the Shadowhunters in this world enough to stop that.

And Sebastian is still alive in Thule. We know how much of a problem he is. If he ends up in our world . . . We should be worried.

I think Thule can be a problem. It might be a huge problem. It all depends on how easily the main characters can deal with Janus.

I personally want then to deal with Janus and Thule by just yeeting him into a Portal. I can imagine Kit doing that and then dusting off his hands.

If someone can get rid of Thule easily, things will be fine. If Thule isn't dealt with early on . . . Everyone is screwed.

Faeries

We have met the First Heir of the courts. Also known as Kit Herondale. We also have the Seelie Queen, who is very evil, ruling over the Seelie Court. Along with that, Kieran is ruling the Unseelie Court.

And as we know, the Seelie Queen made Janus try and find Jace. So she ties into the Thule plot.

I feel like there is going to be some major faerie drama. Kit is going to have to fight to unite the courts, whether he wants to or not. It is his destiny to do this.

The faeries wouldn't accept Kit as their king, because he's mainly a Shadowhunter. (As we know, Shadowhunter blood breeds true.) I am hoping Kieran emerges as the king of the new courts and is able to have a good life with Cristina and Mark.

Kit is going to have face his faerie side and the powers that come with it. I'm going to love seeing his character develop through all this.

The faerie court drama is going to be in there, and part of Kit's character arc. It is needed, and if Kit and Kieran get rid of the Seelie Queen fast we might not even have to THINK about dealing with Thule.

However, this plot will need at least two books to resolve itself. That means Thule and the faeries will be involved. I'm going to touch on Thule at the very end again.

The Cohort

Ugh, I hate these guys. Especially Zara, who is the one person everyone in the fandom wants dead.

Considering what the Cohort represents and everything that had happened, they are going to reach new heights of evil. That was already in the playing cards, but I just KNOW they'll be worse than we thought they were going to be.

And the Cohort is trying to hurt the Downworlders. Alec is over there, trying to help them, but the Cohort loathes him for that.

I really don't know how important they will be. But when I talk about what I believe a main plot will be, and how Shadowhunter-Downworlder relations factor into it.

Lucifer

This one is where the Eldest Curses ties into the Wicked Powers. And this is what I think is going to be the main antagonist after a certain point.

Before you question me on this, hear me out.

The Shadowhunters have always known they will face an end to the world. It's been an idea since the very first book, City of Bones.

Jace talked about how there were more demons coming in every year, and less Shadowhunters to fight them. This was in the FIRST BOOK. And of course we had bigger fish to fry, but it's an idea that stuck with me.

I feel like even in the Infernal Devices series everyone knew there would be a demon threat so great the world could end. It wasn't as obvious, because Mortmain wasn't an antagonist that posed a large problem. His clockwork monsters were easy to defeat, and it was in Britain, which is technically an island. So they couldn't go they far unless they hopped on a boat and sailed around the world. Along with Mortmain just being a mundane.

In the Last Hours, the idea of a demon threat that could end the world is even more real. In Chain of Gold, we had to deal with demons that attacked in broad daylight, something that had never happened before.

And there was Belial, who might be planning something that messes with their weapons. (Although he won't get far. He's a terrible, even laughable villian who is being set up like this for future reasons.)

Now we have Lilith, who is a danger to this world. With Cordelia as a paladin, Lilith could have enough power to mess with the world. It's more real, but with this being a prequel, we know things will be fine.

Back to the main series, the Mortal Instruments. In the latter half of the series, Lilith shows up, and mentions her past. And this includes Sammael.

Sammael is a Prince of Hell. He poses a threat to the world. He is the one who weakened the wards in the first place with Lilith to let the demons in.

Thankfully, Simon turns Lilith into salt. We don't have to deal with her, but the threat and the demons she knows remind us how fragile this world is.

After Lilith, we have Sebastian. His demons blood makes him unstable, and he created this army of Endarkened Shadowhunters. But was his existence a threat to the fabric of the universe itself? Not really.

It could think our world, but not in the way an actual demon could. He is powerful, but Sebastian loves in pain. The demon blood in his veins weighs him down, and he has weaknesses. Clary defeated him once, and she can deal with Thule Sebastian later.

The Dark Artifices introduced the concept of the world ending. Not with Malcolm, but with Thule. Thule was a real Hell dimension, a place where the demons have taken over. A ruined world, and one where Sebastian rules over the land with an iron fist.

The only way Sebastian was able to rule over Thule was because Lilith showed up at just the right time. And strangely enough, it was shortly after she was lost from our world. Coincidence? Well, it could be, but knowing these books, it probably isn't.

In the Eldest Curses, this idea was introduced just a little on the first book. Asmodeus was there. It was a flash of it, but it seemed like the demon threat was mentioned.

The second book mentioned that idea again, with Sammael showing up. That's right. Sammael, the Once and Future Devourer of Worlds.

He really seemed to show the threat of demons. The way that no matter how hard the Shadowhunters would fight, the demons would win in the end. It said in that book Sammael would destroy the worlds in the end, no matter what.

And oh my god the epilogue. He had all the Princes of Hell in a room. And now, they are going to summon Lucifer.

Why do I think Lucifer will be outside the Eldest Curses? Because he is important.

In the folklore (my inner Swiftie is showing) Lucifer is the angel who started the rebellion in Heaven. He looked into the face of God, and turned away into the darkness. He is a force to be reckoned with.

But what happened to him? We haven't even heard of him in the Shadowhunters universe until Chain of Gold, where he was confirmed as a Prince of Hell. At first, I thought Sammael was Lucifer, because that is one of his names.

But they're two different demons. And one is more powerful.

Because Lucifer hasn't even been mentioned before, I think his sudden existence is going to be in the Wicked Powers, along with the rest of the Princes of Hell.

Belial is being set up as this whiny, sexist demon to make the other Prince of Hell so much WORSE.

The Wicked Powers is supposed to be a threat that the Shadowhunters have never faced before. And the LITERAL DEVIL? Yeah, they've never dealt with a force like him before.

But the only way the Shadowhunters can defeat the demons once and for all is by teaming up with the Downworlders. It's been hinted at. When the Shadowhunters and Downworlders work together, they are able to fight the demons off.

This is where Clary's Alliance rune comes in. Her rune, binding the Downworlders and the remaining Shadowhunters together, and they will fight.

The Cohort is going to hate this. But it's the only way to deal with Thule (which I'm going to talk about in another post) and Lucifer is with the Downworlders.

And Magnus if ping to be important. Every time Magnus is there, the Shadowhunters win.

But one my other theories is that Magnus dies. Because this is the end, and Magnus is in every single book. So for him to die, it would mark the very end.

So I guess Magnus would fight bravely in the battle and then die, to make an end to these books.

Any thoughts on this? Please reblog!

[reyofsunlight666]

aesthetics vs plot: a rant

(For reference: the books I have in mind as I write this are Moïra Fowley-Doyle's The Accident Season, Deirdre Sullivan's Savage Her Reply and Sarah Maria Griffin's Spare and Found Parts, the latter of which I'm currently reading) This year I've been intentionally trying to seek out and read Irish SFF. Most SFF I usually read is American, and I want to get a sense of what's going on this side of the Atlantic. In practice, this has meant reading mostly YA, as there's very few adult SFF writers in Ireland. And boy howdy, have I noticed some bullshit. *cracks knuckles*

All three of the novels I namechecked above are incredibly high-concept. Mysterious gothic phenomena happening year after year to a Family With Secrets? Yes, please. Retelling of a famous Celtic myth from the perspective of the evil stepmother? Sign me up! Steampunk gender-swapped Frankenstein in post-apocalyptic Dublin? Oh, hell yes. And all three of them are incredibly disappointing. The Accident Season's mystery plot descends into incoherence. Savage Her Reply promises a morally grey woman with power and then promptly skates over how she got that power. Spare and Found Parts has tons of cool worldbuilding details, absolutely zero of which impact the protagonist's life beyond mild inconvenience. In a post-apocalyptic world. All these issues have in common what I've noticed is a wider trend in YA as a whole: aesthetics over substance. What does it matter whether your protagonist is actually memorable or interesting? She's a brown queer woman! What does it matter whether your plot has distinct narrative beats created by protagonist agency causing organic consequences? Look at this Steampunk Desk Porn (TM)! What does it matter whether you make your settings meaningful by including them in meaningful plot points? Look at these escaped zoo animals in Phoenix Park, and watch as the protagonists fucking cycle by them with no consequences! (Okay, I'll admit I've got especially strong hate for Spare and Found Parts. That's because it's fresh in my mind, but the others have issues like this as well.) Look. I definitely have more artistic goals in common with these people than not. But if you include fantastic elements, they ain't just a pretty backdrop. If you treat them like that, they become forgettable, a series of widgets to put together instead of becoming Other and Alive. You have to make them matter.

For contrast, look at Welcome to Night Vale - a work that on the surface has much more hodgepodge worldbuilding. But Night Vale feels much more vivid and alive because it makes the worldbuilding integral to plot, character and place. Citizens of Night Vale are regularly inconvenienced, maimed and murdered by the Weird Thing Of The Week. Things like Carlos heading to the desert otherworld or the army of little people under the bowling alley trigger major character developments for the main cast.

Another crucial thing about WTNV and building a weird aesthetic is that it doesn't go all weird, all the time. There might be mysterious hooded creatures, but they sit in Starbucks. There might be pictures of an almighty Glow Cloud, but they get posted on social media. The show has a basis in ordinary life from which the weirdness can grow.

These books have no such restraint. In The Accident Season, the titular accident season and the old house where the climax happens was more than enough for magical realism. But the author had to go with all quirk, all the time. A rural Irish town and an isolated family needed to be kept ordinary apart from the weird stuff. But no, there had to be an incredibly quirky best friend and an incredibly quirky secret...gathering...thing in the school and an incredibly quirky Halloween party and...ugh. Instead of the actual cool plot & setpieces standing out, they ended up as one more exhausting attempt for the author to convince you how special she was. I wonder how much this is connected to norms of fandom and fanfic writing. I hate to say that, because I love fanfic. But underdeveloped original characters, lush settings that have about as much interactivity as a Pinterest board and little to no grasp of plot feel very internet- and fandom-influenced as flaws. And modern YA, with its interest in diversity, romance and left-wing political standpoints, is heavily influenced by fanfic, even when it's not being written by fanfic authors.

I hate this stuff precisely because of how much I love diverse characters and interesting genre literature and SFF set in Ireland. I want these things to be good because I want more of them - as a reader and a writer. I want to read this stuff. I want to write it, publish it & know that I'm not either getting tarred with the same aesthetic brush as this crowd or having my flaws swept under the rug in the name of ~social justice~ or ~the YA book community~ or some equally gooey concept. And whenever the aesthetic YA/diversity bubble bursts? I still want to get published, and I won't be able to if my aesthetic goals can be brushed off as poorly executed fads.

[absent-angel]

Writing on the Wall

Chapter 28: Sweet Summer Child

Fandom: Inuyasha

Summary: Inuyasha doesn’t believe in haunted houses – until he actually buys one. Figures. A story told in drabbles. [Ghost AU] [InuKag]

Read it on ff.net

AN: Short. It's so short. Stupid short. I know this is a drabble series, but ugh.

Word Count: 356

Warnings: Inuyasha’s potty mouth and, uh, character death. Because, you know, ghost story.

Chapter 28: Sweet Summer Child

Kagome was a sweet child. A good girl.

Kaede can’t recall a single example of her anger, save perhaps an episode when she was six. Souta had ruined her favorite doll. Though, truly, Kaede couldn’t altogether blame the child... scissors and colored pens were involved, and the end result was enough to make even the adults cringe. Kagome had screamed, yelled, and stomped her tiny feet.

But she never once raised a hand. Never once, pushed or kicked or scratched. Her anger had been as real as the tears slipping passed her cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to overcome Kagome’s nature.

Never hurtful. Never cruel.

Kaede was too young at the time to truly appreciate what an oddity her neice’s inherent kindness was. Her sister was a full 14 years older—as such, Kaede had been more interested in her schoolwork and the cute boy in class than her sister’s children. It wasn’t until much later—long after the tragedy that befell her sister’s family—when she had a daughter of her own, that she realized how easily young children can show such cruelty even in the same breath as innocence.

Not that Kikyo was a bad child; Kaede thought her to be prone to tantrums and small bouts of cruelty just as much as any other child on the play ground. But in raising Kikyo, Kaede came to understand and appreciate how truly good Kagome had been as both a child and an adult.

A gentle soul, her sister used to say. Kagome was the child she never worried about. The child she could always trust to choose kindness over anything else.

Inuyasha shifts from the seat he’s made himself on the ground beside her chair. Kaede wonders if it is because of physical or emotional discomfort. There is a tension he carries in his shoulders, an agony in his eyes, that makes her think it’s the latter. His voice, softer than she has ever heard it, is as rough as the gravel beneath him. “Do you think she did it?”

This time, Kaede doesn’t hesitate to answer; a grim smile twisting her lips. “Never.”

[ko-fanatic]

Blood, Guts and Chocolate Cake (Part 2)

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Danganronpa

Pairings: IshiMondo

Summary:

It seemed after the night before, Ishimaru was back to routine. The issue? Mondo wasn't previously aware of said routine.

TW: Alcohol, and eating disorders (both restrictive behaviours and B/P), mentions of disability, underage sex/sexualisation, drugs

Other parts: Part one

A/N: So, I reference a small headcanon of mine that Mondo has asthma. So fed up of it being seen as a "nerd" condition, so... The boi now has it. Not severe, but still.

Mondo made the executive decision to stay sleeping on the couch that night. Not that he was that bad off - the suite was VIP, after all, and the couch was comfy. he was a just bit miffed that, firstly, he had to do that in the first place because Mr Pretty Boy wanted to go clubbing, and secondly, there was a plush, California king sized bed in his room which was being tragically wasted. He hadn’t exactly had many chances to experience that sort of luxury, and he’d slept like the dead the past few nights. 

Maybe that was a problem. Had he just not realised? Some “Ultimate Bodyguard”, if that was the case. Shit… Little asshole, making him question things and get all shaky and crap. It might’ve had very little to do with Ishimaru, in full honesty, but he was too tired to think it through clearly. 

At least he did manage to get some sleep, despite being slightly cramped. He was over six feet tall, after all; not exactly made for sleeping on the couch. He’d even managed a rare, pleasant dream; dogs and cotton candy, Daiya’s obnoxious laugh and hanging with their friends in one of the many abandoned buildings they used as hangouts. They were such edgy little shits, but it wasn’t like anyone cared about the disused factories and crap. 

He’d been reliving the time Takemichi got his tongue piercing stuck in his jumper (somehow, Mondo still didn’t know how the hell someone did that), when he awoke. It wasn’t some crash or anything, just the usual sounds of someone pottering around, getting ready for the day. 

He groaned as he sat up, head pounding. He still felt exhausted, and he’d definitely drooled in his sleep. He turned to the window, and realised… It was still dark. Fucking really? After Mondo told him he wasn’t going out?

“Hold it right there,” He began, hoisting himself to his feet, doing his best not to fall straight over again, “I thought I said -”

Oh. He wasn’t wearing the tight jeans and such he was the night before. 

Ishimaru raised an immaculate eyebrow at him from where he was tying his trainers. “Relax, I’m going for a run,” He huffed, “I might as well get on with my regular routine, since someone -”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there, kid,” He grumbled, stretching out his back and arms, “What time is it? Sun’s not even out yet…”

“Owada-san, it’s winter,” The kid sighed, a deadpan look on his face, “It’s about 5:15AM.”

It was a damn good job he wasn’t drinking anything - he would have choked on it. Who the fuck even wakes up at five in the fucking morning, let alone after being awake at midnight? Not to mention the clothes. Mondo was praying, if the kid really was going to work out in some way, it’d be in a gym. Heating, shelter from the elements, a bench he could probably catch some z’s on because it’s not like anywhere’s going to be busy at five in the morning -

“Now, if you excuse me, I’m late for my run,” Ishimaru waved off, going to open the door before Mondo reached above him, slamming it closed once more. For a guy who worked out pretty constantly, it was pretty effortless to overpower his grip. Eh, guess that what comes from having lithe muscle for aesthetics, rather than the bulky stuff for actual strength. Not to mention the lack of warning  -

No, that shit could wait until later. Fucking focus, Mondo!

“You said routine… Have ya really been sneaking out every day?!” He demanded. He could’ve been a little softer about it, sure, but you have to understand; this wasn’t a good start to the job, especially if shit got out. Was he being overly paranoid? Yes. Did he not have a reason to be? He abso-fucking-lutely did! 

“It’s not sneaking anywhere,” The idol groaned, sounding very much like the stereotypical teenager in that moment, “I’m an idol. As such, I have an intensive exercise routine to stay trim, not to mention fit enough to perform my high-energy choreography. I just don’t see the need to wake you and have an irritable tough guy around me, when I can easily complete my run without dragging you the whole five miles.”

Five fucking miles?!

Oh, today was going to suck. Today was going to kick his ass and run him over with a truck. All because an idol needed to “stay trim”. Fuck, if the kid was any trimmer, he doubted he’d have any skin left. 

“Were the idols you guarded before babysat so extensively?” He kid questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“In all fairness, you’re the youngest client I’ve had,” He grumbled, scrubbing his hand over his tired eyes, “But kid, you’ve got to tell me when you run off. Don’t care what for. You being famous, and pretty, and so skinny… I wasn’t kidding about my worry last night. Celebrities get murdered… Or worse.”

“You think… I’m…” The kid shook his head, cheeks red, gaze staring holes into his trainers, “I understand. I don’t like it - it’s suffocating! But… I see the logic.”

Mondo smiled, turning back to his room. He had to find some clothes that passed as exercise gear… 

---

Mondo knew someone had it out for him. 

He was wheezing as he jogged, trying to keep pace with Mr Trim in front of him, but lagging behind somewhat pitifully. He had his inhaler in his bag - he wasn’t that much of a dumbass - but holy fuck if this wasn’t torture. He didn’t do track in middle school. He was more than content to work on his strength and brawling skill. 

Speaking about things he was more than willing to do; laying down in the road, waiting for the next car to come along and end his misery, was getting far too attractive. 

Conversely, Ishimaru was just about breaking a sweat, panting. His insides weren’t threatening to become his outsides like Mondo’s were. Kid either had a stomach of steel, or he was just a lot more used to this shit than Mondo was - namely, the extensive train travel and exercise. 

Actually, considering the whole “Ultimate Idol” thing, it was most likely the latter. 

That was when his legs noped out of the situation, sending him stumbling and falling. He didn’t cry out, per se, so much as let out a manly grunt of surprise. 

Who was he fucking kidding? Ishimaru heard him through his headphones and blaring music. 

“Owada -san!” He called, rushing to his side in an instant, “Are you hurt?! Can you speak?! What’s wrong?!”

Ugh, so loud. 

“What’s wrong,” He grunted, “Is that someone is punishing me!” 

Maybe a tad dramatic, but holy hell! Fuck five miles, it felt like he’d run a marathon. 

“I don’t know if I royally pissed off someone up there -!”

He pointed an accusatory finger at the idol.

“Or someone down here! Like, sorry kid, but I give! Just doing my fucking job!”

Mondo watched the idol’s carefully cute and prim expression crack apart, his dignified (if far too loud) concern quickly falling into laughter and snorts. He had half a mind to be rather offended, but the carefully crafted exterior melting into those cute as hell snorts and chortling… That wasn’t even mentioning the look on the idol’s face. Pure fucking sunshine. 

Could he not be a queer disaster for five fucking minutes?!

“You’re rather funny, Owada-san,” Ishimaru chuckled. 

“Mondo.”

“Huh?” The idol barely breathed - lord above, give him strength - staring at him wide-eyed. Of course, that tends to be what happened when he let his tongue go before his brain.

“Ya can call me Mondo, none of that ‘Owada-san’ crap,” He grumbled, and he will eternally blame the heat in his cheeks on the marathon he was sure the other dragged him through.

“Oh! Well, in that case… You can call me Taka!” The kid - Taka, Goddamnit that’s cute - grinned. He was going to have to invest in those cheesy, stereotypical sunglasses if the kid was just going to unleash that megawatt smile on him without a shred of warning. Then, the kick to the crotch he really needed in that moment - 

“Now, as you’ve caught your breath, we should keep going! Obviously such a long break isn’t ideal for cardio, but we can still -”

He just flopped down once more, groaning like a man dying.

“I said sorry, didn’t I?! Ya don’t need to keep punishing me! I fucking give!” 

“Mondo,” Kiyotaka sighed, standing once more and looking at his FitBit, “Do you want to know how many miles of my morning run we’ve completed?” 

“I don’t know, ten, you animal!”

He was sent a rather disapproving, levelling look. “Two,” Taka deadpanned, “We’ve got three miles to go.”

That truck Mondo mentioned? The one the day was going to run him over with?

Yeah, it reversed for another hit.

[onebizarrekai]

HELP ME i saw you like a wilashe fic and immediately rushed to your account! i used to follow you in 2017 and got very excited!! ugh witchs heart the absolute flavour

yes!! hello! witch’s heart is very good and wilashe is also very good and fun and because this fandom is so tiny and has so little content I’m going to go on a tangent about all the reasons I love wilashe:

major spoilers for witch’s heart again!

ok. first of all, another thing I love about witch’s heart is that like every mc gets enough attention and gets enough interaction with all the other mcs that you get food for like all the ships. that aside, with all of the wondrous interactions we get among the characters and how pleasantly not straight-coded every character is, I fixated on wilashe for some reasons that anyone who knows me will probably not be surprised by.

firstly, the “you and I aren’t so different” dynamic which I’m a simp for, especially in this context. when you analyze their behavior towards each other and especially how wilardo perceives ashe, they have a really interesting dynamic with each other in particular.

sure, we get nice material like the screenshot below, but there’s more to it than an objectively hot cg and a boss fight between these two.

we have bad flirting with ashe bradley 101:

getting into some actual analysis, ashe and wilardo are perceived in the game as these two ‘problem characters’, not because wilardo is problematic himself, but because the two of them are usually the cause of things going awry, due to them both having the same goal of getting the witch’s heart to grant their wish, and being willing to kill for it. this being said, the difference between ashe and wilardo is that ashe is very unhinged at this point as he refuses to accept the death of his family and wishes to bring them back, and wilardo longs for death, y’know, because he can’t die and hasn’t been able to for like a millennium.

however, this doesn’t stop wilardo from sympathizing with ashe’s actions, even if their wishes are quite opposite, and this doesn’t stop the dynamic of their conscious ‘rivalry’. in the bonus stage, they both find the contract in an offhanded scene, and the first thing ashe says is “now it’s just a matter of who gets there first.”

ashe is much more dedicated to his wish. wilardo is hesitant and has been shown to be able to be swayed by reason, as you see in the bonus stage right after the scene in which they find the contract, where wilardo literally barges into claire’s room with ashe. you know, the scene where ashe made this face.

sirius gives them a big spiel about the cruelty of their methods while noel and claire run away, and ashe throws a temper tantrum as he often does. wilardo clearly doesn’t really like this and isn’t actually on board with this.

so like, wilardo shoots ashe, making a new decision at the last moment. now, this is a thing to think about in the context of sirius’s conclusion, which comes right after the bonus stage loop. you think to yourself “omg, wilardo has a heart!” but here’s the kicker. wilardo still sympathizes with ashe. actually everyone kind of does, except maybe sirius, who died again, since claire knows at this point that ashe lost his family, and wilardo knows he came to the mansion for the same reason as ashe–getting his wish granted. even though wilardo decided not to kill over it, he was still willing to do that in the beginning.

often times, wilardo’s reactions to ashe attempting to kill for his wish are with sympathy, even though he doesn’t know ashe’s wish. in wilardo’s own route, ashe literally attacked him and claire (that’s where the stand up cg came from) and all he had to say about it was “I’m sure he was just going through some stuff.” (which is kind of funny, if you ask me.)

so, later, in sirius’s conclusion, AFTER ashe’s bad flirting attempt, wilardo turns against ashe yet again in favor of protecting claire and sirius. ashe is already injured since he just fought sirius and also wilardo just shot him two seconds ago, so he starts to try and convince wilardo to side with him again and re-convince him that his wish is more valuable than the lives of strangers. ashe could have just attacked wilardo like he tried to attack sirius moments ago; maybe ashe knew that he didn’t stand a chance while he was injured, and because wilardo has a gun (not that that ever stopped ashe in the other stories, though), but I like to think that ashe viewed wilardo with some small level of fondness due to their similar goals and was actually taken aback by wilardo’s change of heart.

ashe’s feelings are the most confusing in the latter stories, since he goes from seeming like this unfeeling monster who will do anything (like, in the very first story, he tried to kill wilardo, stole his gun and then killed claire with it) to more hesitant and much more vulnerable, especially with his nightmares, general unwellness, and how much more he talks about his family. it feels like when ashe is left to his own, and isn’t spending all his time around claire like he does in story 1 (his own route) you can see his relationship with all the other characters grow a little more than they usually do, and this happens especially in noel’s story, the bonus stage and sirius’s conclusion.

also, the piano scene. you’re playing as wilardo and you find ashe playing the piano in one of the rooms in rouge’s club area. wilardo compliments his playing, asks if he can listen, and from then on in the game, they kinda have some really meaningful conversations that are much more personal than one would expect from two people who barely know each other.

anyway, yeah. wilashe is pretty neat and I just went on a big ramble.

oh yeah, that moment in wilardo’s route where ashe realizes that he can’t kill wilardo and doesn’t stand a chance against him and ashe is completely terrified is like. heh. nice.👌

[yeoldontknow]

❧ check in tag

tagged by the sweetest angel @propinqxity to do this little tag. this is such a cute list of questions, and some of these i dont think ive been asked before. thank you so much for the tag and the tumblr crush mention lovely. you truly are a bright spot on this website and i mean that sincerely <333

going under a cut because im certain i will ramble ~

1. Why did you choose this url?

its sort of like a pun between yall dont know and the fact that, hopefully, sincerely, chanyeol does not in fact know that i run this blog lmao i changed to this after a long time of being bread-jinie and i wanted to rebrand. i will, however, do my best to never change URLs again because the masterlist switch over was a complete hassle

2. Any sideblogs? If you have them, name them and why you have them

i have a fic recs blog called @yeoldontknowiread. as to why i have it, i know it hasnt been updated in ages since ive been kind of on hiatus, but i think reading and sharing work on this platform is immensely important. i actually read quite a lot of fanfiction, and i try my best to share the things i read. im very very behind on recs at the moment cause i try my best to write something substantial for every recommendation i make. as a writer, i know exactly the kinds of thoughts and feedback on fics that make my heart soar so i try to put in the same energy to my recs. community is only fostered when there is reciprocation

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

hmmm since april 2017. i actually had my 4 year anniversary this year and i did have plans for things but i got roped into real life things and couldnt celebrate the way i truly wanted to :(

4. Do you have a queue tag?

no but sometimes i think i should. i view tags as a library on top of my knee jerk response to things. most of my tags are just my initial thoughts or feelings at any given moment, so those take precedence over a specific queue tag

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

when i was getting into exo, i was reading fanfiction like crazy. i used to write fanfic quite a lot in other fandoms, but at that time i hadnt written anything in about 2.5 years. exo was the first re-introduction to that feeling of excitement and inspiration. after about 3 weeks of straight reading, i decided i wanted to write again. i wrote the prologue to hero in about two hours and tried logging into AO3 to post it. sadly i forgot all of my log in information because it had been years, and was getting frustrated. i really wanted to put it somewhere out of fear that id lose interest if i didnt do something with it, and everything id read had been on tumblr. so i made a tumblr just to put hero lmao i didnt have any mutuals. it was a blog with straight 0. i hadnt even created an account to interact with writers before that moment, i really thought id be a silent reader forever. but exo woke me back up and for that i am eternally grateful.

6. Why did you choose your icon?

the yours music video is...so stunning? like the colour theory throughout the whole thing is truly so inspiring and gorgeous. and this shot of chanyeol looking at the painting took my breath away, truly. tulips and the color of peach, like do you know how evocative that is? ugh

7. Why did you choose your header

my header was made by @jamaisjoons for my birthday this year because shes literally the most talented person when it comes to graphics. and this was so kind of her to do, i cried a lot

8. What's your post with the most notes?

uhm....either the body through time or truth i cant remember which but i checked recently and its one of those

9. How many mutuals do you have?

honestly at this point im not even sure. i know ive lost a bunch while i was on hiatus because i was basically a dead blog, and some people do dash cleanses. and im certain others have left, too, for their own reasons. still, i have a good core of friends though who are active and that is enough for me

10. How many followers do you have?

more than i probably deserve

11. How many people do you follow?

399

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

uhm i guess? there was a time when nng was not updated and every wednesday id post the days go by music video in sadness and grief but im not a big shitposter. if i make a text post its usually a life update or me crying about chanyeol, theres no inbetween lmao

13. How often do you use Tumblr every day?

tbh i havent used tumblr that often, not since march i think. i used to use it many times a day, checking in on friends and stuff, but once i started focusing on my phd applications i was only here sporadically. i didnt make an announcement either, just let my blog run on queue so i wasnt totally gone. i think i was checking in twice a week or maybe once every two weeks to refill my queue and check mentions etc. but now that my interviews are done im trying to get back on here daily to reconnect

14. Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?

ive had my share of disagreements with people and any details about those situations shall remain as they are meant to: private

15. How do you feel about "you need to reblog this" posts?

in what context? like, you need to reblog this or your wish wont come true? or like, please reblog this to spread the word/spread awareness, etc? in the case for the former, i scroll right by. in the case of the latter, if im around and see someone raising a go fund me or some major event is occurring and i find a post with good sources or charities i will reblog. mostly though, the full extent my activism isnt really on this blog. its my escape from reality. my activism is usually placed on other platforms.

16. Do you like tag games?

i doooo!!! theyre so fun i love learning about my friends

17. do you like ask games?

i love those too! theyre so cute and usually a nice way to have interaction immediacy with people in the community

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

no one. can we please abandon this notion of fame on tumblr? arent we all here to write about some dick and some smut and some fluff and then hang out together and log off? lmao tumblr isnt reality and followers/fame is so arbitrary on this platform, no one has any control over any of it

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

i am in love with so many people here. let me name a few:

@yehet-me-up @kyungseokie @jenmyeons @j-pping @jamaisjoons @inkedtae @kookdiaries @yoonia @dulcetvk @kithtaehyung @imdifferentshadesofpurple @ditzymax @sugaurora @sahmbtsficrecs @junghelioseok @yeojaa @augustbutwinter @joonscore @btssavedmylifeblr @cutechim @sunshinekims @kimtaehyunq @ouvuo @delhyun @exo-stentialism @sooibian @softyoongiionly @jinseunie @zibermuda @bratkook @1kook @luffles424 @xjoonchildx

and so many other people and mutuals that i am certainly forgetting. love is such an expansive feeling, and it encompasses platonic ardor and creative desire. i admire every single person listed for so many different reasons, and cherish and treasure them or what they provide to the community. love is such an important and broad experience. truly, i hope they feel adored every single day x

[unholyplumpprincess]

I Need It Rough

Here’s for @clefaiiiry for the idea of Crypto/Mirage and Crypto being frustrated and needy and getting his pretty little face fucked like he deserves.

Summary: Crypto is frustrated at a match gone wrong (IE he didn't win) and seeks out the comfort of his partner in a more...non traditional manner. Elliott, ever the most deserving of Best Boyfriend Of The Year Award, face fucks the hell out of him to help fuck out his frustrations.

(Older content)

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog :D

Minors and ageless blogs DNI or you will be blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Crypto/Mirage

Warnings: NSFT/18+, rough face fucking, uhhh fucking out frustrations?, fluffy aftercare, dom mirage??? On MY blog??

Words: 2.4k

__________________

Loud mouth. Smooth talker. Doesn’t shut up.

A lot of names for Elliott could come and go as they pleased. He knew what he was, and he knew what his voice did for many. Especially his fans. He liked to show off, be glamorous as he pleased. But, most importantly, he liked how his voice made a certain someone squirm.

Crypto had been a new legend added to the roster through unforeseen challenges. In fact, Elliott is sure they hadn’t even BEEN seen. Regardless, he’d been welcomed into the top Legends crew like one of their own. Even if there was some curiosity about how he even got there.

It took a little while to break through any of his layers. Even Elliott, who came off as the most least feared of them all, couldn’t quite crack his hard exterior easily. Because even if he came off friendly and inviting, Crypto had made it clear that Elliott was just as to be feared as any other legend. He was there for a reason. His smile and laugh were not the reasons his kill count was so high.

~Rest under the cut~

Becoming partners- now that was even unforeseen by Crypto. He had no interest in finding a partner, let alone falling for another legend. That in itself was dangerous, it drew too much attention. The media curious about who had Elliott all lovestruck.

Thankfully, Elliott could keep his mouth shut sometimes. Kept it a mystery. Some people speculated it to be the ever-fearsome Bloodhound, some even guessed at Wraith but when he chuckled and lightly brushed it off that theory was shot down entirely.

Crypto smirked every time he saw headlines. ‘WHO IS DATING THE LOUD MOUTH LEGEND?’ Tempting enough to reveal himself, almost.

Almost.

No one expected it to be Crypto. Why would they? He was a stranger in their midst, yet an enigma easier to solve than Bloodhound, he had a pretty face. It made it easier to climb the ranks of popularity online, something he still kept tabs on even if he didn’t run the drones streaming the game live for others now.

His mother would be proud knowing he’d landed her favorite. Elliott ‘Mirage’ Witt. However, he kept that out of the letters. No need for more exposure and concern.

When it came down to it, Elliott was a lover of higher expectations. At least for Crypto, who had been used to the idea of loving someone coming with a price. It did, but telling little bits about himself and going slow was not too bad of a price. Especially when Elliott was all smiles, dimples, and a smooth voice telling him that of course they could go slow.

It didn’t affect their work in the matches either. Whether against one another or on a squad, there was no hinderance.

Except, of course, when Crypto found himself in the top five. Edging closer to the sweet taste of victory only to fall to a newcomer who was keen on focusing the hacker down. A few shots to the back and a familiar pain only to find himself awake in the med bay with the words ‘SQUAD ELIMINATED’ on the screen in front of him.

It meant frustration. It meant need. It meant desires he couldn’t handle until they became too much and he’d rather scream or be used.

The latter was more appealing.

The dorms set up on this planet were nice. It was like a little community for the more experienced legends and those newcomers from all over who wanted to participate in the blood sport and work their way up to being champions. The qualifications for it all were something Crypto was glad he didn’t have to go through.

Elliott’s dorm is much like his room on the dropship when they were all being sent to Talos. It’s covered in fanart of himself in the living room, his color scheme most prominent here. There’s a few cardboard cutouts from various sponsors, different gear to promo, his kitchen has quite a few drinks and mixing tools for said drinks, something that makes Crypto smile a bit when entering. Elliott wanted to take his bar with him, essentially.

Rolling his neck and shoulders, Crypto sets about shrugging out of his coat, folding it neatly onto the couch. He’d come straight from the med bay. Stressed and frustrated. Knowing that Elliott was going to do an interview after meant that he had time alone to think. Best do it in Elliott’s dorm which felt like home.

Having long since abandoned his shoes at the doorway, he’s left in his tight black pants, matching shirt, and jewelry. Running a hand through his hair and letting out a low groan of frustration before fishing his phone from his pocket. It was wiped of any data, wiped of anything except one number that embarrassingly had a little gold heart next to the name ‘Idiot’.

He hesitates on texting him. Elliott loved the limelight, loved the glory, the cameras, and most importantly loved the afterglow of a match well done. Crypto feels himself hesitate, feeling almost selfish for asking him to come now.

It took awhile to work him out of his shell. With lots of kisses to his knuckles and Elliott promising that he was more important. He finally works up the urge to hit send and is relieved when it is read not 30 seconds after.

It takes five minutes of waiting. Five minutes of patient waiting.

At some point Crypto had gone to the bedroom. Setting a pillow on the floor and dropping to his knees onto it. Waiting patiently near Elliott’s bed as his head bowed, ears perked and waiting for the sound of the door to click open.

He hears Elliott laughing before he hears the door. Hearing his voice call out, “Yeah! We’ll get drinks later, kay? I’m gonna rest for a bit!” All chipper and cheerful before the door slides shut and the lock is clicked into place.

Crypto swallows thickly. Letting his tongue wet his lips as he keeps his head down.

He hopes he looks good, in the back of his mind. Legs splayed out just so on the pillow to outline his lower body. Hands resting on his thighs and head bowed. Showing off his body, trying to look inviting and not like he was digging his nails into his pants in frustration. Need.

He’s in tune with the sound of boots. The sound of gear being tugged off in a not-so-hurried pace. He nearly snarls, but he waits. Just be patient, fall into your space, relax. He tries to encourage himself like Elliott might, but it isn’t the same.

When Elliott finally comes into the room, he’s dressed in his boots and pants. Everything else tossed off and his curls left down from his goggles. Crypto raises his head to look up at him, steeling his jaw and feeling the metal of his jawline seem to heat up with his body.

Elliott looked a pretty picture. Eyes soft, a smile on his lips that read cocky but the dimples gave him that charming look, and a glisten of sweat about his skin. His torso is exposed, toned and fit with a dark happy trail leading from pierced navel down into his pants. Gold adorns his pecs from piercings through his nipples and Crypto longs to tongue at them.

“Hey, beautiful,” Elliott coos softly. As if calming a feral kitten. Carefully coming over one step at a time until Crypto’s shoulders relax, falling just as Elliott’s warm, calloused fingers cup his cheek. “Look at you. Already ready, huh?”

Crypto hums in response, soft and almost irritated. Nuzzling at his palm and nipping at his fingertips until Elliott nudges his thumb at his full lips. Crypto accepts, suckling on the digit and fluttering his eyes open halfway to look up at him.

Dark brown eyes look back down at him with an intensity that leaves him shuddering. “There you go, baby.” Spoken softly, almost possessively as he presses his thumb down onto Crypto’s tongue. Forcing his lips to part and drool to threaten to spill.

“God, can’t wait to ruin your pretty little mouth.” Elliott murmurs, as if to himself if he didn’t smear the saliva onto Crypto’s lips with his thumb. Wetting them as he pulls his hand back to begin working at his fly.

Crypto grunts, turning his head as if he was going to be difficult. A bratty scenario, trying to make Elliott rougher. It works like a charm when one hand winds in his hair, yanking his head back to face the trickster. He exhales sharply through his nose at the sudden pain, hissing as he’s come face to face with Elliott’s cock.

One hand in Crypto’s hair, the other wrapped around the base of his cock and lazily stroking, he looks quite the picture. Crypto tries to avoid eye contact, turning his gaze with another huff only to get Elliott to gently smack his cheek with his cock. “Come on, baby boy, open that sweet mouth up. You w-want to text me all urg- urging- ugh- in a hurry? You’re going to get it.”

Crypto almost smiles at the stutter. Watching Elliott squint his eyes for just a moment to focus on getting out of the tick. He normally could keep his voice controlled in moments like this, but if he focused too hard on sounding smooth, it came out harder. Just like that.

So he does smile, a bit more of a smirk. Eyes flickering up to meet Elliott’s, challenging him.

“Fine.” Elliott hums in response.

Fingers twist and yank Crypto’s hair fluidly. It makes him gasp out, lips parting enough for Elliott to slide the head of his cock in without risk of biting. “See? That so hard?” He coos out, watching as Crypto’s fingers scramble at his own thighs before he reaches up to hold onto Elliott’s instead.

It’s smooth sailing from there as Crypto gives into soft treatment.

The rough hand in his hair turns to soft pets. Stroking his hair back from his face by warm fingers. Another hand cups underneath Crypto’s jaw, stroking with a thumb at where metal meets flesh. Carefully feeding him inch after inch of Elliott’s cock.  

A beautiful thing, if you asked Crypto. Elliott was about seven inches, a nice size without being too thick or too much with an upwards lean. Some freckles dotting the base where he kept the curls there trimmed and tidy. The head was almost a supple red when aroused, peeking from foreskin that made it glisten and shiny if it wasn’t just from Crypto’s saliva.

It’s with trained practice he relaxes his throat. Fingers flexing on Elliott’s thighs and humming in discomfort at first. “Shh, you got this, baby. Take your time.” Elliott speaks so softly. Still petting at his hair and moving the hand from his jawline to rest in his hair as well to massage at his scalp.

It does the trick. And only in a few moments does his nose press to Elliott’s pelvis. Allowing him to take deep, slow breathes and inhale his scent as his fingers grip tight to his pants.

“Look atcha’, babe. Fuck- wish you could see how you look right now. Such a good boy.” Elliott sighs out, gently rocking his hips to get used to the wet tightness of his throat. How Crypto’s teeth scrape along sensitive flesh without biting.

Crypto, in turn, looks up at him with this sort of lazy submission in his eyes. Humming in response to being told he’s good as his hair is pet behind his ears and his temples given a soft massage with thumbs.

It was a warning. He always knew it was. Knew when to force himself to not focus too hard on it as Elliott slowly pulls out before pushing back in with a low moan that sets Crypto’s skin alight from how good he sounds.

It’s repeated. The same motion. Until Elliott can go faster. Until he’s truly face fucking him and Crypto’s hands no longer plead and scrape at his thighs, rather just holding onto him for dear life as he feels him press into his throat again and again.

When he becomes light headed, Elliott pulls out. Keeping the head on Crypto’s tongue that lolls out as he takes needy breaths. Pressing sloppy, wet kisses over the head and shaft with a hoarse, “Please-” Whining from his throat until Elliott takes him again and uses his mouth just like a toy.

Elliott is full of it. Full of that smooth talking, loud mouth that people don’t get to see. “You look so good, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, just like that Crypto-”

“What a good boy. You look so beautiful on your knees.”

“Bet you’d cum on my boots if I’d let you.”

He’s full of it, praise and dirty talk. Crypto’s too hot in his own pants, trying to grind against nothing for friction. The taste and scent being too much- it's all too much to his sensors.

Elliott shoves in one last time, grabbing Crypto’s hair and keeping him down on his cock. “Swallow.” He pants out, a whiny moan leaving him as he cums. A beautiful noise to match his furrowed expression. Curls hanging in his face as his fingers shaky even as they pet Crypto’s hair as the man swallows every drop. Even if he does make a small face at the taste.

There’s a pause as Elliott lets Crypto milk him dry with small lavishes of his tongue and soft suckles. Slowly pulling out and letting him lick at the head like nothing more than an obedient pup until Elliott laughs softly, breathily.

Dropping onto his knees, Elliott cups his jaw, bringing him in for a deep kiss. Tongue exploring and licking over Crypto’s tongue in reply. Tasting himself as both men moan in reply to the feeling until Elliott parts with a wet sound.

Crypto’s eyes are glassy, lips parted and flushed just like his cheeks. His pants are straining, his hips canting into nothing as Elliott brings him into an embrace. Caressing his hair and his back, petting over his skin until he calms down enough to nose into Elliott’s neck and come down.

“Thank you,” He murmurs out, voice hoarse and shaky. Nosing just below Elliott’s ear until his partner pulls him back to place a soft kiss on both cheeks, then his forehead.

“You’re welcome...Let me take care of you this time around?” Elliott murmurs too sweetly, nuzzling their noses together as if he didn’t just face fuck him into a stupor.

How could he say no?

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

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

Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a  suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons…  Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby. 

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

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

So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

[beeblackburn]

The First Law for the fandom ask! 😁

The first character I ever fell in love with: In hindsight, Logen Ninefingers, given how much he eviscerates his character trope so completely even then, but in the immediate, at the time, sense? The moment Sand dan Glokta first complained about the steps, my heart was gripped and it took awhile.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: On a personal level, too many to count, everyone’s either such a piece of shit or were written sympathetically enough before Abercrombie knocked the pedestal off them in this series. That being said, Sand dan Glokta. I still really like him, partly thanks to The Trouble with Peace and one hell of a choice scene, but after what he did near the end of Last Argument of Kings, and revising the series, I can’t help, but realize what I liked about him was the potential that he’d grow a heart and stop doing awful things, and him doubling down at the end was disappointing, if not surprising.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: Jezal/Ardee. It was cute when I first read it, and I generally think Jezal had enough strength of character to try to do right by her, if the kingmaking business hadn’t been a thing, but I think it’s super telling that, upon being king, he thought about making her his mistress instead of realizing that wouldn’t have placated Ardee and she’d be bitter about the broken promise. In the end, they never fully knew each other, Jezal never knew the full extent of Ardee’s past, and what attracted them to each other was the dream of something better rather than anything substantial. I pity them, but they absolutely wouldn’t have worked out like Glokta/Ardee ended up doing.

My ultimate favorite character™: Logen “The Bloody-Nine” Ninefingers. But Black Calder and Crown Prince Orso are really close behind and they could easily climb overhead Logen with The Wisdom of Crowds. I’m expecting it with Crown Prince Orso, depending on how his character goes.

Prettiest character: Probably Crown Prince Orso? I know Leo dan Brock, Jappo mon Rogont Murcatto, and Stour Nightfall (though Jappo and Stour’s more my type) are objectively more handsome, but I like a little pudge in my handsome boys and Orso’s got that while having a prettier personality.

My most hated character: Collem West, easily, but I think Malacus Quai could've been better, character-wise.

My OTP: Everyone/Therapy. Seriously, Shy/Temple. Abercrombie can write some really sweet couples for such a self-professed cynic, given Calder/Seff, Bethod/Ursi, and Shenkt/Vitari.

My NOTP: Bayaz/Power. Seriously, Shev/Carcolf. Shev, please stop going after someone you know is toxic. Walk away and close that door forever. You deserve so much better, you gay babe.

Favorite episode: Red Country or The Heroes. 

Red Country has such a somber tone of bittersweet past and longing for redemption that I just ate up and broke my heart against. Lamb, Temple, Cosca, Shivers, Shy and the Felllowship, so many people want to do better from their pasts like in his past books but this time, maybe, just maybe, Abercrombie lets some of them win against their inner demons. It’s such a haunting book, men with the ghosts of their pasts hanging around them and the inevitability of changing times creeping onto them as they trek the Near and Far Country.

The Heroes is basically a typical cookie-cutter war story except it’s Abercrombie writing it. The entire Northern subplot of The First Law distilled into a narratively and thematically tight book, with some tremendously strong supporting characters, some of my favorite POVs (PRINCE CALDER! FINREE DAN BROCK! BREMER DAN GORST!) and carrying some of my favorite scenes of the entire series! It’s such a treat and I’ve loved each and all of my five rereads. This book puts all other war stories to shame for not even coming close.

Saddest death: Count Foscar (Monza relating him to the boy Benna was, laughing in the wheat, breaks me every time). Antaup (how dare you take a chapter to establish how heartbreaking a cock-blocker’s death would be, Abercrombie!), Tul Duru Thunderhead and Scale Ironhand. Oh, those hurt. Those hurt so much. And, despite how much of a shithead he was, Nicomo Cosca’s death hit me surprisingly hard. Sad and pathetic and broken.

Favorite season: Tricky. Because The Great Leveller and The Age of Madness have my favorite books in the entire series and the former’s got The Heroes and Red Country... but it’s also got Best Served Cold, which was I admittedly colder (heh) on. I’ll take the bullet that it’s a me problem and it’s still a fundamentally well-written book. The latter’s got A Little Hatred, which was a far better The Blade Itself in some ways, and, especially The Trouble with Peace, which was a roller-goddamn-coaster of a book with absolutely some of my favorite material by far. I’d say The Great Leveller for now, but I’m holding my breath on The Age of Madness usurping The Great Leveller in the end, given The Wisdom of Crowds sounds like it’s getting into all the revolutionary and freaky stuff I love about the trilogy, a relentless inferno for society and the soul.

Least favorite season: Look, I love every book in the Circle of the World, but The First Law was the result of Abercrombie stretching his legs for the first time, writing-wise, and it shows. Logen’s wife and children never fully breathe as a necessary part of him and his early magic shows growing pains in Abercrombie’s writing, West’s material isn’t as incisive a character deconstruction as it could’ve been (dude should’ve been more insidiously a piece of shit in his mind to subvert his “good commoner” trope), Dogman’s only gets by himself particularly interesting at the leg end of Last Argument of Kings, and Craw does his character better I’d say, Cathil and Ferro were underwritten (though I think Ferro’s got interesting stuff in her POV), and everything to do with Terez. Just. That. Ugh. The writing bones are solid and the main trio, Logen, Glokta, and Jezal, are all wonderful POVs, but I think it’s safe to say The First Law is Abercrombie’s freshmen writing, compared to his more affecting material in The Great Leveller and The Age of Madness.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: ... Shivers? I do love him in The Heroes, Red Country, and The Age of Madness, but it always drives me a little crazy how much Shivers’ worsening moral decline is linked to Monza fucking Rogont and not him instead, making him out to be an entitled hyper-jealous asshole, and I ended up being disgusted by him. Add in the fact that he knew what he was getting into when he took a violent job and kept going, despite at least two targets, and kept caving into Monza’s higher payments, Shivers was always a piece of shit in his own right. He fell, he wasn’t pushed by Monza. I like enough of Shivers’ Best Served Cold material, but I just like his later material far more, even if I respect his earlier journey.

That being said, if he sacrifices himself for Rikke’s life in The Wisdom of Crowds, I’m going to rescind all this, because that’s the sort of perfect grace note to the anti-Logen and paaaaaaaaaaaaain. So let’s just go with Threetrees because, by god, he’s a relative snooze compared to the other “straight edges” of the series.

My ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: This could define almost anyone in this series, frankly. I guess Logen or Gorst? I really love their material, but they both definitely belong in a landfill.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Can it be anyone but Crown Prince Orso? Dude’s the only one in this world who thinks “there’s a moral question” to rulership aloud to another and isn’t homophobic, racist, or sexist (looking at you, Leo). Even Calder’s got murdering Forley and Reachey in his dark deeds and Temple’s spent years helping Cosca, which... shudders.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: Monza/Shivers. It’s got some good material and I really hope they can make peace in The Wisdom of Crowds, but also *waves hands* everything else about them, honestly. God, they really did both suck to each other.

Also, Leo/Stour. It’s so wrong, yet so right. I don’t even know if it’d be hate-fucking if they got together at this point, but these two morrions deserve each other.

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: Jurand/Glaward, Rikke/Orso, and Cas/Vick? They’re pretty cute and could easily give each other some happiness, I feel.

[crowsnests]

taste of certainty - part two

Fandom: The Arcana  Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 6034 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

I know that it can take me even deeper if I let it But my limbs are trying to swim away

- trust; half-alive

II. beach fire sparks

The car ride is mostly quiet, Nadia and Pasha sit at the front, humming along to the songs Pasha puts on– clearly some sort of playlist made just for the two of them. Syran looks out the window, buildings and lights passing by. The sound of Ilya’s voice doesn’t want to leave her mind.

Syran suddenly feels watched, so she pries away from the window, noticing how Pasha is leaning over the passenger seat to look at her.

“What?” Syran asks.

Nadia glances at her from the rearview mirror.

Pasha smiles, sly. “You know what.”

Syran thinks she does, but– she’s gonna pretend like she doesn’t. Mostly because she really doesn’t want to know what.

She shrugs, “I don't.”

Most of the time, if she focuses, Syran can be a good liar. She hopes to channel her talent right now, although she knows that sometimes Pasha has the ability to see through her.

“You really really don’t?” Pasha insists, smile getting wider.

Syran narrows her eyes, “You’re mad at me for the pizza choice?”

Pasha sighs, clearly impatient to Syran’s stubbornness.

“No! You and my brother!” She groans. “You got all cosy, and Ilya was all like ohhh hello and you were like oh shit, oh my god!!” She tries to imitate the two of them by changing her pitch. Badly. “Like, come on, just date already!”

“Wh– what?” Syran is a good liar, but hearing Pasha talk so earnestly about– whatever’s between her and Ilya is– weird.

“There’s no–” Syran swallows, trying to get her tone back to normal. “What do you mean? I’ve fallen asleep near you guys before– I mean. I just didn’t expect it to happen, this time. Why would we date? We’re friends.”

Please stop, please stop. She thinks.

Pasha furrows her brow. “Friends, huh? I mean, yes. You are friends. But mayyybe you could be friends that smooch.”

Nadia reaches to put a hand on Pasha’s thigh. Pasha turns to her for a second. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Your truth doesn’t mean it’s also Syran’s truth, babe.” Nadia’s tone is gentle, but she gives Syran an understanding look from the rearview mirror– Pasha doesn’t seem to notice.

Syran feels incredibly relieved. She is grateful to Nadia for bailing her out of this conversation.

“Yeah, my truth is very different from– whatever it is you think. Ilya and I are friends and we don’t– s– smooch.” Ah, she really wishes she didn’t say that last part.

Pasha narrows her eyes one more time. “Ugh, whatever,” she huffs, turning to sit properly, facing forward. “I just think you would be really good for my brother. He needs someone as nice as you.” She mutters, clearly more serious this time.

Syran can’t help but widen her eyes at that, flattered. She tries to ignore the heat on her cheeks, though.

“W–well, thank you, but there’s nothing like that between us.” Syran is trying to convince herself more than Pasha. Nadia throws her one last look from the mirror and she knows she’s caught on more than Syran would like.

As soon as Syran gets back home, a lazy meow greets her at the door. Her cat, Persephone, bumps her head against her calf. Syran reaches down to pick her up and scratch behind her ears.

“Hello, cutie, hope you didn’t feel too lonely today,” Syran plants a kiss on top of Persephone’s head. She lazily meows as a reply, in between all the purring.

The apartment is quiet besides that. Without Ran’s excited laugh and warm presence, the atmosphere in the house feels wrong.

Once Syran’s in her room and changed into comfortable clothes, all the embarrassment catches up to her as soon as she sits on the bed. She stares at the window for a second, then the thought of Ilya makes her want to hide herself further in bed and scream into a pillow, like she’s fifteen again and her emotions are all over the place.

Well, the latter is definitely true.

Persephone lays down beside her, kneading on the duvet until she finds a comfortable spot.

Just when she’s done strangling her pillow, Syran’s phone rings with the sound of a text.

from: dumbsra - 21:03

goodmorning (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Syran groans. She wants to punch him. She knows exactly what he’s referencing, but she is not going to fall for it.

to: dumbsra - 21:04

It’s nine pm

from: dumbsra - 21:04

Oh, i know (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

to: dumbsra - 21:05

good to know you can read a clock, then

from: dumbsra - 21:07

I’m just saying, you looked like you were really comfortable tonight (.❛ ᴗ ❛.) (－ω－) zzZ (¬‿¬ ) °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°( ´ ▽ ` ).｡♡(„ಡωಡ„)

Fucking idiot. What is she even supposed to reply to that? Fuck you, would be appropriate, but she knows that it will give him more ground to make dumb jokes.

Why is everyone onto her?

to: dumbsra - 21:08

we need to discuss the way you use emojis, honestly, it’s a problem

from: dumbsra - 21:09

Ignore my words all you want, you know i can read your mind (つ✧ω✧)つ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

to: dumbsra - 21:10

then i’m sure you know what i’m thinking right now

from: dumbsra - 21:10

that you should ask Ilya out on a date?

(☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

to: dumbsra - 21:12

No, that i stole your favourite shirt once and i will do it again

Goodnight! ( ◡‿◡ )

from: dumbsra - 21:12

ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ don’t you dare

Syran puts her phone down, stopping herself from answering more. She hears it vibrate a couple times, definitely Asra complaining about being left on seen, but she doesn’t care right now.

She turns to her cat, who looks up at her, languidly, “At least you’re on my side, right, Persie?”

Persephone just yawns and goes back to napping.

Syran sighs. All she wants to do is get ready for bed and not think about Ilya’s comforting presence.

🂱

When she arrives at the park entrance, their designated meeting spot for the winter fair, there’s enough people around for Syran to not find her friends immediately. That’s until she spots a tall figure on the side of the entrance.

“Muriel!” She calls, waving towards him.

When she reaches him, breath forming little clouds of vapor, Muriel smiles down at her, “Hey, Syran.”

Muriel is wearing dark green gloves that Syran remembers getting him a few birthdays ago. “Aww, you still wear them?”

Muriel nods, “They’re warm.”

“Hello babe,” Asra pops up from beside him and beams at her, all bundled up in a puffy jacket and bright teal beanie.

“Hey handsome,” she teases back, hugging him briefly. “Where are the others?”

“Pasha and Nadia should be here soon, Ilya is– somewhere.”

Syran blinks. Ilya can be late sometimes but he lives with the two of them, so– “Didn’t he come with you guys?”

“Yeah, then he forgot his wallet in the car,” Asra rolls his eyes.

Syran laughs at the thought of Ilya scrambling to get back to the car and looking for his wallet.

Idiot.

She realises she’s said it out loud when Asra throws her a look. She tries to hide her face in her scarf.

Ugh, does he have nothing else to think about?

“Hey!” Someone exclaims from behind them just then, saving her from any comments Asra might make. “Found it!”

Except that someone is Ilya, waving at them and running, dark crimson scarf coming loose to show his neck.

For fuck’s sake, she can’t catch a break. He looks handsome as always.

“Oh– hey Syran,” he comes to a halt right in front of her, surprised, as if he hadn’t seen her before. To be fair, she’s only the second shortest of the group (first being Pasha by an inch or so, thankfully), so maybe he really didn’t see her. Then, he smiles and Syran wishes her scarf was big enough to become a cocoon for her to hide in.

She’s fine. She’s okay.

( “I don’t have a crush!” she told Ran over the phone last night, after recounting the events of the evening. “That’s ridiculous. Ilya’s been my friend for a long time. He’s just– nice, okay?”

“Of course he’s nice, wasn’t he nice before?” Ran laughed. “Feelings can evolve, you know?”

“No– no– he was.” Syran huffed. “It’s nothing, okay? I’m just– I’m just tired, all these years I’ve been fine, so I’m fine now too.”

She could almost see Ran raising her eyebrow at her, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Syran insisted. “I know very well what a crush feels like. Whatever I feel for Ilya is– not a crush. It’s fondness, friendship. Not– anything else.”

Ran sighed, surrendering. “Whatever you say, Elkas.” )

Ilya’s eyes are so hard to look away from, but Syran finds the strength to put her hands in her pockets and stare at her boots. Pretty safe defense mechanism, if you ask her.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ilya asks the group.

“Well, I assume since you found your wallet you’re going to pay for everyone?” Asra smirks.

Ilya scoffs, “You still owe me money for that dinner we had, Asra.”

“I paid you back!”

“A mug you shoplifted isn’t exactly the same,” Ilya retorts.

“It’s a beautiful mug and It reminded me of you! Isn’t the thought that counts?”

“It literally says World’s Worst Doctor, you little shit–”

“You still use it though!”

Muriel and Syran exchange a sympathetic smile, knowing very well the bickering between the two can be neverending. This argument comes up at least once a week.

Thankfully, Nadia and Pasha join them, interrupting the discussion.

“Market time!” Pasha exclaims as she runs for the entrance, Nadia and Ilya in tow.

They enter the park, all decorated, pretty lights illuminating everyone’s stunned faces.

They’ve been here before, when they put it up, but they have changed some of the stalls since– regardless, it’s always a fun night for them. The little wooden cabins sell all sorts of things. People crowd them, looking at the different displays.

Syran drifts towards one that sells honey from a small independent company. She and Asra sample some of it, while the others spread over the displays around them. Pasha buys a scented candle, Nadia some golden handmade earrings, Asra decides to get yet another set of incense, and Muriel takes a liking to a little hand-carved wolf sculpture.

Syran finds herself by a stall that sells minerals and crystals, all neatly separated by wooden boxes. She recognises some of her favourites: lepidolite, chrysocolla, black opal, agate. The stall owner smiles at her, reassuring her that she can look at them closely.

She picks up a lepidolite rock, looking at how the light reflects on the coarse lilac surface.

“Anything interesting?” A voice comes up behind her, startles her enough for her to almost drop the crystal.

She takes a second to regain her thoughts, still recovering from the small jumpscare. Ilya curiously inspects the display, like he didn’t just give her a mild heart attack.

“These are cool! Do you collect them?” He asks, leaning closer to look at some tiger’s eye.

“More or less,” Syran nods. “I’ve always liked to, since I was a kid.”

Ilya turns to her, grin on his face. “Aww, baby Syran playing with rocks!”

She rolls her eyes but not without a smile, “They are pretty rocks!”

Ilya laughs, then nods. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

Syran stares at him for a second, both of them just standing there as she still holds the lepidolite.

It’s not a crush.

Ilya turns back to the crystals, suddenly averting her gaze. “So, uhm– they all have meanings, right?” He points at the display with his gloved hand.

“Yeah, each has its proprieties– people use them for meditation, or for healing, things like that.”

Ilya looks up at her again, brows knotted. “You believe in that stuff?”

Syran shrugs, “I mean– I like the idea that something can help you find whatever strength or energy you need. Quartz gives you clarity, agate helps with stability, amethyst with intuition– you know, they’re quite empowering.”

“Still, why rely on something external to bring you those things?” He tilts his head, like he’s genuinely trying to understand, albeit a bit skeptical. “How can a stone give you that?”

Syran can’t help but chuckle. “Guess you could think like that. But they're supposed to help you find that in yourself, to bring it out. At least in my opinion.” She looks at the display again. “Plus, why not? If it helps somebody feel better, why take that away?”

She feels Ilya’s gaze on her for a second, before he turns to look up at the rest of the display. “Mh, that’s a nice take.”

Syran side eyes him. “Ah, men of science,” She sighs.

Ilya laughs. “Don’t you have a degree in biology? And– what’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, picking up another crystal to look at it. Citrine. “Nothing, just– people in your field are often cynical of stuff like this.”

“Are you calling me closed-minded?” Ilya sounds offended, but it takes Syran one look to know that he’s joking.

“Mh– you said that, not me,” she teases.

Ilya smirks. “Okay, what does this one mean, then?” He picks out a random crystal and shows it to her with childlike gall. Syran looks at it. Moonstone.

Oh, great.

“Uh– it’s about hidden feelings? Helps to heal relationships and opening up– yeah. I mean, it’s written on the paper there.” She vaguely points at the box where the moonstones are, turning away from him. She doesn’t need to tell him everything about it.

Ilya laughs, then delicately puts the stone back. “Well, okay, okay.”

A man steps up to the display right by Ilya, trying to look at the rocks in front of him. Startled, Ilya steps closer towards Syran, apologising to the man.

She sighs, small and imperceptible, because of course he had to get even closer.

Syran moves her gaze to look at the necklaces at the back, pendants made with various crystals. There’s an aquamarine one, calming blue and really pretty.

“What is it?” Julian is so close he’s basically whispering in her ear.

“Huh?” She doesn’t dare look towards him.

“Which one are you looking at?”

“Oh, that one–” She points at it. “The light blue one.”

“What’s that?”

“Aquamarine I think– uh, it’s connected to water. Healing, moving on. Stuff like that.”

Ilya hums. “Looks nice. It suits you.”

“Uh, I do–”

Syran gets interrupted when someone pats her hard on the shoulder, startling her. Again. Ilya seems to feel the same.

“We thought we’d lost you guys!” Pasha’s voice doesn’t sound reprimanding, rather she has a wide smile on her face when they turn to her. Behind her, there’s only Muriel, piercing eyes on them.

“Where are the others?” Ilya asks.

“Nadi’s already at the skating rink with Asra,” Pasha grins. “So you better get going.”

Ilya gasps. “That’s cheating!”

He darts away towards the rink, Pasha hot on his tail, taunting him with predictions of his downfall.

Syran can’t help but laugh. She and Muriel fall behind, taking their time to reach the others.

“That’s nice to see,” Muriel says, breaking the silence.

“What is?” Syran turns her head up to look at him.

“The two of them– being on good terms.”

“Were they– not?” Syran asks, brows knotted.

“Well– ah, it’s a long story. Probably not my place to tell.” Muriel shakes his head. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” She smiles, understanding. She can’t say she’s not surprised at the news, though. Ilya and Pasha seem to be really close, it’s hard to imagine them anything but.

Muriel smiles back, puts his hands in the pockets on his coat, shoulders rising up a little. “Yeah, I just– I wonder how it is. To have siblings.”

Right.

Muriel is an only child and he was raised by his grandma. Syran doesn’t know much about his life growing up, she’s always assumed he never wanted to talk about it.

She wonders if maybe he just never felt like anyone wanted to listen. That’s the case for her, anyway.

“It depends, I guess,” Syran says. “Everyone’s got their story.”

Muriel nods. “Yeah– do you– I mean, maybe I don’t remember but– do you have siblings?”

She thinks of her little sister back at home with her mother. Growing up without a second parent and having to mature early to help around the house, Syran never had the chance to get close to her sibling.

“I do. A younger sister, but–” Syran looks ahead as the skating rink comes into view. “We’re not like them. I rarely hear from her now. I don’t think she likes me very much. I mostly find out what she’s up to through my mother, so. Yeah.” She sighs. “Yvaine has always been a mystery to me.”

Muriel stops as they reach the edge of the skating rink. “Guess you can’t choose family,” he sighs.

“Guess not,” Syran smiles, bitterly. Then she looks up at Muriel again. “But hey, that’s okay. You got something better.”

Muriel frowns, looking at her with confusion. “Huh?”

She grins. “You got us.”

Muriel takes a second, blinks once.

Then he starts laughing. It rises slowly, his eyes crinkle up and his smile grows wide. He reaches out to ruffle Syran’s hair, affectionately. She’d complain, usually, but she can only laugh with him.

“Yeah– I do. We all got each other,” He says.

Then, Asra calls to them from inside the skating rink, leaning on the edge. “Hey, you two! Stop wasting time!”

🂱

Syran hasn’t skated in a while, but she quickly gets the hang of it again. She and Muriel seem to be the ones struggling the most, though. It takes a bit, but once she finds her pace, she starts going around the rink with more confidence, running into her friends now and then, sharing laughter, and throwing playful jabs at each other.

“You’re not that bad!” Ilya says as he comes up to her, starts skating by her side.

She shakes her head with a smile, “Please, I almost broke my spine earlier.”

“Not your most graceful moment, I’ll admit,” He teases.

“Hey, you’re supposed to support me!” She tries to playfully swat at his arm but ends up losing balance instead. Just when she thinks she’s going to fall on her face again, Ilya holds her steady. Close to him.

Too close, once again.

She can smell the musk of his perfume, she wonders if he can hear her beating heart.

It’s not a crush.

“Thank you,” She utters up at Ilya, words coming out in a puff of vapor.

“It’s okay,” Ilya smiles, still holding her. “Anytime.”

She looks away. “Hopefully not, I’d rather not risk falling again.” Syran laughs, still feeling the pain on her buttcheek from the last time she fell.

“Well, yeah.” Ilya laughs back.

Then it’s like he realises he’s still holding her, and– she remembers it, too. He slowly pulls away from her as she stands properly again. “Uh, hey, by the way–”

Asra skates up to them just then, interrupting Ilya. “You losers been still for too long, stop blocking the path!”

Syran gapes at him. “I wasn’t aware there was an ice skating police?”

Asra huffs, “There is one now! Move!” He goes to push her, but she slinks away with a laugh. He starts chasing her and Ilya yells back at them.

“Am I off the hook, then?”

Asra follows Syran, trying to get her, although he stumbles here and there. Differently from Syran, he finds his balance again quickly, laughing in glee.

It lasts only a moment, but she meets her gaze with Ilya’s across the rink. Wasn’t he saying something?

But before she can think about it Asra takes Syran for a spin, makes her twirl, holds her hand. It’s fun like this, and they properly start skating together. They enjoy their time and joke around– and sometimes still fall on their asses.

It’s great, but it starts to get a little taxing for her. “I think I’m done for now,” Syran heaves when they come to a halt in a corner of the rink, leaning onto the rail.

“What, giving up already?” Asra pouts.

“My face is going numb.” She puts her gloved hands on her cheeks, but it doesn’t help much– they’re all wet from falling on the ice.

Nadia comes up to them, perfect form and game face on her features. “Quitting so soon? You guys are hopeless.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Asra glares back. “We don’t claim to be professionals.”

“Not all of us see this as a competition, Nadi,” Syran smirks. Nadia almost looks insulted, but it’s all for show.

“Is that a challenge?”

“It really isn’t,” Syran laughs. Then, she notices Ilya coming their way. “Plus, looks like you’ve got your hands full already.”

Nadia turns just as Ilya catches up to them, breath heavy and hands on his hips. “What’s up Satrinava, ready to resign?”

“In your dreams, Devorak.” She glares. “Next one to touch the rail is out.”

Ilya squints at her. “You’re on.”

Syran smiles as they go off, skating away in the midst of the other people. Both of them look effortless, although Nadia is something else completely. She twirls and jumps, dares Ilya to do the same. He tries, but it’s not as graceful.

This is Nadia Satrinava we’re talking about, after all.

Eventually, Syran steps off the rink, finding Muriel already leaning outside by the rail, chatting to Pasha who’s still inside. They’re both acting like there’s no chaos generated by the others on the rink

“Done?” Pasha asks when Syran walks up to them, still feeling a little weird from having her feet back on normal ground.

“Yeah– it’s all fun and games until you get bruises everywhere.”

Muriel laughs, “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Aw, you guys need to believe in yourselves a little! The more you try the better you get!” Pasha’s encouraging words are sweet. “Plus, if Ilya can do it without making a complete fool of himself, so can you.”

“I don’t know, he seems to be struggling a little,” Muriel hums, nodding towards the others.

Pasha turns and Syran can see that Ilya looks definitely more tired than Nadia. There’s still resolve on his face, she can see it more clearly as they slowly approach their side of the rink.

“Go babe, show him how it’s done!” Pasha starts cheering.

A second before Nadia passes by them, she winks at Pasha and sends her a kiss, effortless and elegant. Ilya, hot on her tail, just sneers at his sister, raising up his middle finger. She gives back just as much.

“He’s gonna go down,” Pasha mutters. Then she turns to them. “Gonna do a few more rounds and see if Asra wants to do some stunts. See ya later!” She waves just before skating off.

Once again, Syran and Muriel are left alone, fondly smiling at their friends.

“This is quite the show, I have to admit,” Syran laughs. “Cheering from the sidelines.”

“Mh, I think no one is rooting for Ilya, though.” Muriel says.

Syran realises that’s kinda true. “Oops– well, hey. Maybe I’ll cheer for the both of them.”

Muriel side eyes her. “Mh. No preference at all?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean. We all know how Nadia can get, so I kinda feel bad for Ilya.” She chuckles, looking at Nadia as she expertly swings past a few surprised people, skating backwards to laugh at Ilya.

“Right,” Muriel says under his breath. Syran feels his eyes on her, so she turns back to him.

“What?”

For a second there’s a small smirk on his face, but then Muriel shrugs and turns back to the skating rink. “Nothing.”

Syran narrows her eyes, kinda weirded out.

Muriel is not the type to beat around the bush, he’ll usually say what he thinks and with as few words as possible, so it takes Syran a little by surprise.

“Not convincing.”

He huffs a laugh, ruffles Syran’s hair again. This time she pouts up at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You’re being weird,” Syran turns towards the rink as she adjusts her hair. “What about you, big guy? Any bets?”

“Oh, hundred percent Nadia. Pasha and I have some sort of bingo going on, though.” Muriel laughs again.

“Bingo?”

“Yeah, like everytime Nadia flips Ilya off, everytime Ilya apologises to someone for almost bumping into them, everytime Nadia winks at Pasha, stuff like that. Winner gets fifty bucks.”

“You guys are ruthless.”

Muriel smirks, “Maybe.”

“What’s the criteria for this competition anyway? It’s like they just make up rules on the spot.”

Syran says, a little confused. It just looks like a weird version of tag where insulting shouts are thrown across the rink as the other patrons turn around in shock.

“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure they know,” Muriel shrugs. “Ilya looks pretty confident, though.”

And yet, no more than a minute later, Ilya stumbles on his feet and spins around, trying really hard to stay up on his own. However, he puts a little too much energy in his step and that makes him haphazardly skate his way towards where Muriel and Syran are.

“Oh no–” Syran starts.

“Shit, fuck–” Ilya comes to a halt right in front of them, hands on the rail and torso leaning forward. His chin is just a few inches to the left of Syran’s cheek. “Uh– hey.” He says with a side glance.

“H– hey.” Syran answers. It’s okay, her heart is doing absolutely nothing right now. She’s not mad at the universe at all.

He really has a nice perfume.

Ilya slowly gets back up, smiling awkwardly at her. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Then, pushes himself off the rail, looking at his hands with eyes wide. “Oh no. Shit. Did Nadia see that?”

Muriel raises an eyebrow. “I think everybody did.”

As if on queue, cheers of victory rise from behind Ilya, making him wince. Pasha kisses Nadia and Asra claps vehemently– then, they all start skating towards them, clearly enjoying Ilya’s demise.

“You owe me a drink, Devorak. Again.” Nadia beams when she reaches the rail. Ilya just side-eyes her.

“Whatever. You got lucky.”

🂱

They end up in the big cabin by the rink that houses a cafè/pub. Warm drinks in hand and sitting by the fire, all of their frozen nerves from the ice skating start to melt.

It’s cozy and comforting, a nice relief for Syran after the cold of the ice rink. All of them are chatting and teasing Ilya for his loss. He laughs with them, but eventually they start reassuring him too, even Nadia, saying that he wasn’t that bad, after all.

Syran decides to buy him mulled wine, served in a ceramic mug with some cheesy winter phrase printed on.

“Consolation prize!” She cheers, coming back from the bar.

“Oh my, this is such a beautiful gift Syran,” Ilya says, theatrically. “I shall cherish it with all my heart, thank you.” He mock cries, playfully dabbing at nonexistent tears under his eyes.

Syran laughs under her breath as she sits back next to Asra, rolling his eyes.

The patrons around them die out and Ilya excuses himself to the bathroom. The moment he leaves, Pasha cozies up to Nadia, the two discussing the victory again. They all chat a bit, Pasha making fun of Asra’s odd faces while skating. Then, a moment of comfortable silence between all of them.

Asra’s eyes are immediately on her.

“What?” Syran wonders, feeling put on the spot.

“Nothing,” Asra smiles. It’s his coy smile that says everything and nothing. She has the urge to punch it off his smug face.

Syran decides to ignore him.

“So, Muriel, how’s the bingo going?” She asks him.

“Oh, I’m winning.”

He exchanges a glance with Asra, the two of them almost communicating telepathically.

“Ok, now I feel like there’s something here.”

“I don’t know, is there?” Pasha asks.

“Yeah, is there?” Asra adds.

“Could you stop being a gemini for half a second?”

Muriel laughs at Syran’s joke, but she keeps a serious face.

“Aw, I love you.” Asra side-hugs her, trying to diffuse the situation. “Also no, I can’t. Just like you can’t stop looking at Ilya like that.”

“I don’t–”

“Who’s looking like what?” Ilya is back from the bathroom, and he slowly sits down back in his chair, perfectly arched eyebrows raised.

“You, like an idiot on the rink! Ha!” Asra immediately changes the topic, leaving Syran hanging. She won’t forget, not this time.

Muriel sips his wine, side eyeing them. There’s another sly motherfucker.

Just as it arrived, however, the weird mood is gone, and all is back to normal. Once again Syran finds herself being grateful for her friends. No matter how tough things get, she knows they will be all there for each other.

Even though they are most definitely hiding things from her.

🂱

Syran’s Sundays mostly consist of catching up on shows, cuddling with Persephone, taking time to cook meals she loves, and doing some grocery shopping. She also takes care of her plants and, sometimes, gets a headstart on work.

Asra calls her boring, but she finds peace in it. It’s not that she doesn’t like going out, she loves a good party every now and then, but there’s a different kind of pleasure in taking care of the small things. Plus, now that she’s got the apartment to herself for the week, she can play loud music and karaoke as much as she wants.

Really, it’s a blast.

When her phone rings in the middle of the day, just as she’s moving her big potus out of the sun, she groans. Her hands are full, so she shifts the big pot in one arm and lodges her phone between her head and shoulder without checking– she expects Asra to be calling her to continue their previous text conversation. She has not let go of what he said at the Winter Market.

“For the millionth time, it’s not what you think!”

“Oh, it isn’t?” A deep chuckle resonates from the other side of the phone.

Shit.

“Oh– fuck– uh, thought you were Asra– ah, I mean– hi, Ilya.”

“Hi, Syran,” He laughs, all throathy and low. Ugh. “Am I bothering you?”

“No, not at all– just taking care of my plants– uh, give me a second.” She puts the potus on the kitchen counter, grabbing the phone before it slides down her neck.

“Okay, all set, what’s up?” She tries to act nonchalant. Well, she is nonchalant. This is just Ilya, after all. Her good friend, Ilya. Yep. Nothing to worry about.

“Well, as you know, Pasha’s birthday is coming up soon,” he starts.

“Oh, yeah, right! Damn, I almost forgot.”

Ilya laughs. “Me too, to be honest.”

Syran can’t help but chuckle too, then gasp dramatically. “Why, your own sister?”

“Shh– don’t tell her or she’ll kill me. I’ve been very busy with my research, ‘kay?” He sounds solemn, but she can tell he’s smiling.

“All right, I’ll cover for you– if you buy me a coffee,” She laughs.

A little voice in her head asks where is this confidence coming from anyway?

Then again, this is just Ilya.

“Deal,” he answers.

Ilya, who’s now just being quiet on the other side of the line. “Sooo, why are you calling me?” Syran asks, tapping her fingers on her kitchen counter.

“Oh, right, well– Okay, so. Well, I don’t know what present to get Pasha. I know it sounds lame, but I genuinely have no idea what she might want this year.”

Syran stops for a second, thinking of Pasha and what she’s like. She likes plants, but she’s got plenty of those. She likes pretty clothes and cute shoes, but those would be hard to get right. Syran finds herself coming up short of a sure answer.

“I see– have you asked Nadia?”

“I tried, but she replied with something vague, and then got competitive because she is going to get the best present anyway, or something.”

His answer makes her laugh again. Of course: Nadia is extremely kind, gentle, and helpful– except when she decides to win against everyone else.

“I assume the others weren’t much help either?”

Ilya sighs, “Well, Muriel just shrugged and pointed out that she likes flowers, Asra suggested a glow in the dark lava lamp, so– yeah, no.”

“So, I guess now it’s my turn to give advice?” Syran chuckles, padding to the other side of the kitchen, where Persephone is lounging in the sun. She scratches her fur.

“More or less,” Ilya trails off.

“Huh?”

“Well, I was– uh, I was wondering if you could come with me. To get her the present? Really I don’t know if you’ve already picked something, but. Uhh– maybe we could work on it together? Since you know her well, and all? And I’ll get you that coffee, too.” He huffs a laugh, almost nervous.

A day going around shops with Ilya? Just the two of them? That’s fine, Syran’s fine, it’s no big deal at all.

“She’s your sister, Ilya,” she can’t help but tease him a bit. “I’m sure you know her well, too.”

“Yeah, I know she’s my sister.” He scoffs, fake annoyed, “But– I mean, yeah, I kind of know what she likes– but every year is hard, and I’m not the best at presents– and you seem to be great at it, so–” He trails off.

Syran listens, trying to figure out where this is really going. If she were actually great at presents, she would know what to get Pasha in a heartbeat. But, regardless, she likes to think she’s got a good eye.

She doesn’t know whether to stop him and reassure him or let him talk. But before she can decide, Ilya continues.

“And. Uh. This year she’s throwing this big themed party, too, and it’s the first time I get to meet all her friends, n’stuff. I don’t even know what to wear–” He sounds really concerned. “Truthfully, I just want to make her happy. I feel like the last two years I didn’t do great, so. Yeah.” He sighs. “And– and, I don’t want to lose to Nadia, either.” He ends it like he’s confessing a deep, dark secret.

It makes Syran laugh, thinking him cute for worrying about his sister so much.

Then, she swats away the idea of Ilya and the word cute in the same sentence.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy whatever you get her, Ilya,” Syran smiles, hoping to reassure him. Persephone turns to expose her belly, meowing coyly. “Don’t stress yourself so much, you clearly care a lot and that’s enough to make a good present.”

“Thank you, uh. That’s. That’s nice of you to say.” He mutters, and Syran thinks she can feel him be a little relieved.

“Just saying the truth,” she wishes the smile on her face wasn’t so goddamn insistent. She and Ilya have this sort of mutual understanding, where not many words are needed to guess how the other’s feeling. Well, most of the time. Still, she lately realised how surprisingly similar they are.

And yeah, recently Syran has been feeling a different kind of pull towards Ilya, but she doesn’t need to think about that. She’ll be dead before she catches anyone thinking him cute anyway.

“So…” Ilya starts then, shaking Syran from her thoughts. “Is that a no? On the– uh, present hunting?”

“What– no, it’s a yes, I mean, yeah, no, I’ll come!” Syran replies before thinking, surprised, and a little too eager.

Fuck. She takes a deep breath.

“What I mean is: I’d be more than happy to help you pick a gift. I need to get one myself, anyway.”

“Ah, that’s great,” He exhales, clearly relieved. Then, he seems to regain his composure. “Are you free on Wednesday?”

[chibimyumi]

I didn't know that you hate Vincent . Can I ask why ? I thought Vincent was loved by the fandom Sorry I am new to the fandom

【Reaction to: My least favourite character - Maurice】

Dear @1hellofacookie​ and Anon,

Vincent Phantomhive is indeed an incredibly popular character despite his little screentime. I think the primary reason is because Vincent fits the popular trope of “the mysterious handsome dark lord with a gap-moe” like a hand in a glove. Remove his good looks, and how much is left still then?

Let us look at his behaviour. While we are at it, I shall use this post as a character analysis of Vincent Phantomhive.

【tw: Emotional manipulation��

Vincent Phantomhive

Vincent is an incredibly unscrupulous person, and that is nothing new in Kuroshitsuji. Vincent’s lack of scruples is supposedly a feat to his job as the Queen’s Watchdog. HOWEVER, we never get to see how this ‘feat’ is put to ‘good use’, how it is employed against the enemies of the crown. Instead, his lack of scruples is almost without exception portrayed as “friendly teasing”, and the people who don’t deserve it bear the brunt of it.

[Note: For this post I have re-translated whatever translation errors there are in the scanlation I found. The retranslations are marked with an arrow.]

Condescending Attitude

The most important example is how Vincent treats Deidrich. In chapter 75 we meet an incredibly angry young Deidrich, and anyone who has ever done group-projects with bad partners can understand how incredibly legit Deidrich’s frustrations are. (UGH my war flashbacks ÒAÓ)

It could be that Deidrich is just somewhat aggressive in his expressions, but it could also be that Vincent is a repeat offender. And knowing Vincent, it is probably the latter ⇊

When Deidrich calls Vincent out on his slacking, Vincent did not show the least bit of remorse. The only two ways to explain this is either that:

Vincent is too proud to admit a mistake, or

he actually believes it is alright that somebody else does his work.

Either way, neither are a good reflection of his personality or attitude in life.

Not admitting fault is one thing, but the thing Vincent proceeds to do is scoff at Deidrich’s expression of legit anger. Vincent does not see Deidrich as a fellow human with feelings; he treats Vincent’s anger the way patriarchy treats the anger of women: laughing it off. It may not seem much on the surface, but this is a very classic tactic of disempowering someone.

Another example of Vincent not taking Deidrich or his feelings serious at all is the panel below. Deidrich has serious concerns about a leader’s responsibilities, and makes clear that he does not think someone as irresponsible as Vincent is suited for the role.

Despite the seriousness of Deidrich’s terms, Vincent waves it off as: “is that all?” and even dismisses Deidrich’s selfless term as: “you have no ambition whatsoever.”

Vincent proclaims that he is going to think of something too, and later we find out he in fact intends to make Deidrich his fag. This is a power-play. He is ‘teaching’ Deidrich what ‘ambition’ is, and feels the need to one-up Deidrich, showing who is superiour.

Hypocrisy

Another serious problem of Vincent’s personality is his hypocrisy.

Vincent is portrayed as an incredibly irresponsible prefect judging from whatever screentime we have of him. The only reference we have of him is him doing nothing a prefect should, plus the assessment from Deidrich (who has obviously seen more of Vincent than we have). As the audience never gets to see anything that could prove Deidrich wrong, Deidrich’s assessment is the closest information we can go by.

Deidrich voices his very understandable concern about Vincent’s legitimacy on the prefect’s throne, and says: “if the prefect’s like this, I wonder how bad the other dorm students are.”

Though this phrase was clearly meant as an insult, Deidrich refrains from making definitive statements. He even backs this thought up with the tradition of the Weston school: “The prefect sets the example, and the house students follow”. Given this tradition, it is not weird at all that Deidrich would wonder whether the house students might also behave as irresponsibly.

Despite Deidrich’s moderated criticism WITH ground, Vincent replies as follows: “would you not talk badly of the other students of the blue house?”, and shows very clearly that he is serious. ↑

HOWEVER, this is an act of supreme hypocrisy, as at the start of this flashback ⇊, Vincent had been the one who first insulted Deidrich, Deidrich’s national identity as German, and ALL Germans in front of him.

Vincent… Deidrich does not get to wonder whether you’ve set a bad example for the house to follow, but you do get to insult all Germans (be it in jest or not?)

Disrespect of Autonomy and Consent

The ultimate slight of Vincent is treating Deidrich as a slave.

Sure, them making a deal using cricket was something the both of them decided, and Deidrich should probably not have let Vincent walk off before they both agreed to what terms they were competing under. However, even without Deidrich’s naivety, Vincent should have shown the decency of NOT turning somebody in a lifetime slave to begin with.

We cannot victim-blame Deidrich for mistrusting Vincent to begin with. But more importantly, Vincent did not respect the most basic principle of equivalent exchange.

The term Deidrich set was for Vincent to step down: the worst that could happen to Vincent was that he’d return to being a normal student. Big deal. Vincent however, decided WITHOUT Deidrich’s consent, that he would turn him into a lifetime slave.

Vincent said “become my fag”, and if we look at the definition of fag, this should be: “a junior pupil AT A PUBLIC SCHOOL who does MINOR chores”. The moment either of them left the school SHOULD be the end of this contract.

Making somebody a fag without their prior consent is bad enough, but Vincent entirely crosses the boundaries, and states very clearly that this status as “fag” was supposed to continue INDEFINITELY. PLUS, he strips Deidrich entirely from his basic human right, as he is supposed to obey him “without question”.

That’s a slave, dear ladies, gentlemen, and gentlepersons. That’s slavery. I don’t know what to tell you, but that’s slavery.

Vincent does not even give Deidrich the proper chance to speak, and simply dismisses his legit protest with: “but I am [done talking.] Hereby stating very clearly that Vincent Phantomhive will from this point on, be the person to have the last word that matters.

Framing

How is this being framed? As a light-hearted back-and-forth bickering. Alexis’ reaction is used as a ‘tell-device’ to tell the audience that we are supposed to find this a light-hearted back-and-forth bickering between boys. However, we all know very well that this master-slave relation continued to present day, as Vincent made very clearly that this “contract” would pass on from him to his sons.

The reaction from the people who listened to Alexis’ story ranged from admiration to disbelief, but nobody there showed disgust. Or at least, not tellingly. As such we can conclude that the enslavement of Deidrich WAS supposed to be something ‘cute’.

Underhanded Emotional Manipulation

Vincent is a repeat offender of emotional manipulation, and this too is always framed as something ‘cute’.

Let us look at chapter 99.5 where Vincent uses his sick family to emotionally manipulate Deidrich into accepting that ‘a fag’s work’(which Vincent uses his absolute power to make Deidrich do) as ‘willing thoughtfulness’.

“No, I didn’t make you do this work, YOU were just so nice and kind and loving, Dei-dei ♥” was basically the psychological message he was instilling into Deidrich.

In chapter 131, Vincent makes sure that this enslavement would continue to the next generation, and uses the safety of two young children to emotionally manipulate Deidrich into continuing his servitude.

It is very damaging for children to get promises broken - especially promises that have to do with their rights and safety. Even before Deidrich consented to this indefinite servitude, Vincent took the liberty of making the promise to the children in Deidrich’s stead. Herewith he would effectively turn Deidrich into the bad-guy for saying: “sorry kids, I am NOT going to protect you should you lose your father,” even though it is Deidrich’s fundamental right to refuse.

NASTY.

Vincent also makes sure to keep ‘rewarding’ Deidrich for obedience good behaviour, and frequently dishes out compliments; the classical hot-cold treatment.

Again, just like I said before under the caption ‘framing’, this all is framed as a fluffy ‘tsundere’ back-and-forthing between two ‘friends’.

I don’t have anything against unscrupulous characters like Sebastian, or O!Ciel, R!Ciel, Joker, Baron Kelvin etc. etc. But the difference is that all these characters ARE properly portrayed to be wrongdoers.

With Vincent however, it is clearly meant as light-hearted fluff that rides the tailcoat of the ‘tsundere’ trope.

Deidrich is NOT tsundere; he is a victim to Vincent’s continued emotional abuse.

That is why I considered hating Vincent the most out of all characters in Kuroshitsuji - because his slights are never properly addressed, and only ever shown as ‘edgy’.

I hope this helps!