#there is a massive shift in quality between the first two and three

[scalpelofshar]

Personal problems, I enjoy bg3 but my god is act 3 such a slog. The game has been out since what? August? I still haven't finished a single playthrough yet

there's just so much to do and I can't compell myself to do it in any decent time (and I certainly can't do it all in one sitting)

Act 1 is so much fun and visually beautiful to run around in (obviously, its the most polished third of the game)

Ac2 2 has that bloodborne-esque aesthetic I love so much and I'm emotionally invested with the Thorm family drama™️ and it stimulates the writer in me

Act 3 I repeatedly go "ugh how is there still questing to do how long have I been in this city" which is a shame because I want to finish the game it just feels more like a chore

[moseslikellamas]

Cinders in the Dark pt.5

Pairing - Benjicot Blackwood x Whent!OC

Summary - The lord of Raventree arrives.

Warnings - Magic, delusions, trickery, frightening imagery, blood, graphic depictions of violence, depiction of death, depictions of panic attack, anxious thoughts, grief, not canon, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2k

Listen, I’m about to play VERY fast and lose with both how magic operates in asoiaf and significant cannon aspects. We’re all gonna have to suspend our disbelief and believe in the heart of the cards.

Lucinda had found her way back upstairs to her room much easier than she would’ve thought possible. She had even found her abandoned torch lying on the ground still flickering. As weird as things were, this did not concern her. She’d just picked it up and continued on her way back. Then she went up to her room and promptly fell asleep, exhausted.

She dreamed of being young again, just a small girl climbing trees and wading in creeks. Carefree and unencumbered. She dreamed of the sun on her face and the sound of her peers laughing. Most of all she dreamed of being held and the soft sounds of shared sleep. They twisted together in a golden ray of hope, something she had forgotten the feeling of.

When she woke, it was with purpose and a plan. The evening was late but no one had come up for her, so she had to assume the lord had not arrived. She set to work getting dressed, wearing another gray dress that nearly blended in with the depressing castle stones. It would’ve blended in completely if it weren’t for the embroidered front fabric which displayed her house colors and sigil. The tiny bats had garnets sewn in as eyes and they would shimmer in the torchlight whenever she moved. She’d hand stitched several dresses over the years. It was good to have hobbies in a place where reality twisted, it was something concrete to hold on to.

She spun around to face her cluttered desk, suddenly remembering the sword she had grabbed and looking for it. It lay untouched where she’d thrown it before collapsing into sleep. She walked over to it slowly, admiring the way the oil slick pattern shifted in the firelight, the shadows dancing along the blade. It didn’t make sense, any of it. The charred rib bone, the crown, nor the sword should exist because a burning pile of bones cannot give you physical objects. And yet all three lay there staring back at her accusatory. She didn’t own a sword sheath, why would she? But she had plenty of belts to spare. So she tied a few together and slid the sword in between, then strapped it to her side.

Lucinda had never swung a sword before and didn’t really intend to now. It was merely for show. And when a burning omen gives you a gift, you carry it. She tucked the rib in her dress top against her skin, but she did not wear the bramble crown. It was still coated in her blood and she didn’t relish wearing it again ever. So she just left it on her desk. The sun was nearly gone at this point, just the faintest bits of light were visible in the sunset.

Then she headed up the stairs two at a time to visit the witch again.

“S’not going to work.” She said right off first thing.

Lucinda huffed at her, irritated. “No lord is immune to Hemlock and I know you possess some.”

“Well that’s true enough. But that pretty blade of yours is just going to suck it up. How’d you like the Sept of Burnished Night?”

That was a nonsensical order of words to Lucinda. “Sept of what?” How could the night be burnished? It wasn’t a sword. She shook her head, irrelevant.

“The room you got the sword in, of course. Didn’t you see all of the polished stones?”

She’d been a bit busy going insane to admire the color or quality of the stone in the massively creepy room.

“Look, I don’t care about the Sept. If I can’t poison the blade then what can I do?”

The witch looked at her innocently. “Wait and see what happens? Easy enough.”

“Agh! Help me out here. I can’t just go in empty handed.”

But the witch had only clapped her hands and extinguished the light, leaving her alone again. Lucinda stood angrily in the doorway, the clear night sky peeking in through the windows. Then she sighed and started the long walk down to the main hall. All of the torches were out again and this time she knew she wasn’t leaving any windows open. It made the stairs dark and hard to navigate. She had to hug the wall because she couldn’t tell where the stairs ended. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the bottom.

She stepped into the great hall and had that relief stolen. All of the air was sucked out of her at the sight of hundreds of candles positioned around the room. They were on the floor, stacked on tables, high up on shelves. Everywhere she looked was the dim glow of a million tiny flames. She turned around and around, taking it all in. Why had they done this? And where was everyone? Surely she hadn’t missed supper, had she? She started to walk towards the kitchens to see what was going on in there but before she could reach the other side of the main hall, people began bringing in the dishes.

The entire house staff must have been helping to prepare the feast because it was an endless stream of people that came and went. Setting dishes down and then quickly exiting to go grab the rest. Lucinda decided she might wait somewhere else after all. She turned to leave but was stopped by a flood of Blackwood men coming in through the doorway. She hadn’t seen how many men had come originally with the imposter lord. It had only been the copy and a handful of men when they stood in front of her father that first time. Now she saw it was a quarter of a battalion at least.

Unable to fight through the incoming crowd she took her seat up on the dais, and waited for her father to arrive. The hall was eerily silent for the amount of men inhabiting it and it made her skin crawl. The only thing keeping her from bolting was the familiar sight of Orwyll standing by the door. Curiously, the copy of Lord Blackwood never showed up and she wondered if somewhere in the halls was a dead body. There couldn’t be two of him, so he would rid himself of the copy. It was a glum thought. At last her father arrived with her stepmother and her two baby brothers. That was concerning to her. Why would they bring the babes out? But she didn’t have long to ponder this before their guest of honor burst in.

The Lord strode in wearing a rich ruby cloak that billowed behind him. His hand rested on his sword pommel when he came to rest in front of the dias. Her father stood, raised his glass and called for a toast.

“To uniting these two great houses in holy matrimony.”

She hadn’t even really registered her fathers words because she was too busy watching the hand movements the lord was making. A queer moving of his fingers in a downward motion before flicking them up. By the time she looked up to meet his eyes, it was too late to stop him. Orwyll was across the room by the door and could not have hoped to reach them in time. Her father was grabbed from behind and pulled backwards out of sight. It was worse for her stepmother who started to scream when they ripped the children from her.

That was what got Lucinda up and on her feet, sword pulled out, standing in front of her stepmother. Her arms were shaking so badly she was afraid she might drop it. Their own guards had finally arrived but were having to fight through the crowd in the hall before hoping to step foot inside. She watched in silent shock as Orwyll was cut down, blood coating the walls before soaking into them. Her attention was split between the chaos of fighting and defending her stepmother who was still screaming. She’d lost sight of the babes in the sea of men writhing around them.

Lord Blackwood stood in front of her, the candlelight reflected brightly in his eyes. He did not draw his own sword as he approached her. She was overwhelmed by the amount of things happening and her mind was trying to shut down. But she held fast and tried to swing at him when he got within range. It was a sad attempt and he’d simply batted the blade out of her hands. It hit the floor with an echoing clang. Her stepmother was still screaming behind her. The lord looked down at her.

“You’re not wearing your crown.”

She stared at him completely disoriented, saying nothing. That was when someone ended her stepmother's screaming, the sound of metal on flesh and then silence. Lucinda winced when she heard the sound of her body hitting the ground. She took one stuttering step backwards, her vision filling with black spots before she lost the fight to be conscious.

***

When Lucinda woke her head was pounding. She groaned, putting both hands on her head and rubbing. It took her a full minute before she would attempt to open her eyes and a minute more before she could force them to stay open. She sat up slowly, trying not to jostle her aching head. Her hand was wrapped up and she looked at it confused. The events of the night came back to her and she began to hyperventilate, glancing around the room frantically. She calmed down a bit seeing she was back in her own room alone.

She tried not to think of what happened at dinner. But it was impossible not to. The sight of blood on the stone floor and walls followed her eyes wherever she looked. The lord hadn’t outright killed her or her father. She tried to think even less of the marriage proposal that had been sprung on her. She had no doubt that it was a sham. They had intended to take the castle after all. She would’ve been glad to be rid of it, they could have it free of charge. No need for murder, just have it. But if they were here and in such a force it was likely the crown knew about the trip.

Lucinda said a small curse to the witch in the tall tower. Nothing crazy, just that she would fall down the stairs… and off the side plunging to the ground. ‘Wait and see. Easy enough.’ What a joke of advice that had been. That’s how she wished her fall to be, easy enough. She stood gingerly before walking over to the window. Outside the stars twinkled so brightly they seemed to mock her. A night like this shouldn’t be beautiful, it should be dark and wretched. She stood there, wishing she could climb atop her horse and leave this horrible castle.

Her door squeaked open and she turned to see who would enter.

“Lady Whent.” The Blackwood lord said, dipping his head towards her.

“Abomination.” She snarled back. They were past the point of pleasantries in her eyes, if they’d ever been there to start with.

For the first time she saw the lord smile, a true grin broke out on his face at her words. He stepped closer to her, crowding her in by the window. He paused when he spotted the crown on her desk and picked it up. He twirled it in his hands, not making a sound when the thorns cut into his hands. Then he stepped even closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him.

“My queen.” He whispered, placing the crown delicately back on her head.

She looked up at him eyes wide, heart pounding. He offered her his arm to take and having no other choice she did. And together they began to descend the staircase towards the ground floor. The torches were glowing with the gleam of scarlet as they walked.

[thekingofwinterblog]

Amphibia's Needed 4 seasons

When looking over Amphibia as a whole, it's easy to blame Disney for screwing over the show's quality in the third season, after getting pissed over true colors.

And there certainly is a lot to blame them for, as there is no doubt that they were responsible for the creators not being able to commit to exploring all the ideas they set up in the second season finale, and the tonal shift it promised.

However, there is also one other, massive problem with Amphibia that is not actually Disney's fault, instead being a result of how Amphibia was planned out from the start.

Namely that from day one(Literally, it was pitched this way) Amphibia was planned to be a 3 season long show.

In hindsight, this was actually terrible idea, as the overall structure of the series can tell you.

Season 1 had a very clear progression, with Anne and Sasha being stuck in the Valley and having to deal with it, befriending new people and making mistakes and growing from them.

Season 2 began in the aftermath of the Season 1 finale, and had the cast go on a journey, which ultimately led to the 3 girls being reunited, their various goals colliding, and the machinations of our villains coming to fruition, and everything all exploding in a glorious finale.

Both these seasons are clear stories, with a beginning and an end, and the steps in between given a full seasons worth of episodes to explore them in full.

But then we get into season 3.

Season 3 is 2 completely different stories, with each half having their own distinct beginning and ending, with their respective plots being very different from the other.

The first half deals with Anne and the Plantars on Earth, while the second half is all about the cast on Amphibia.

And the thing is, both of these two halfs beginnings and endings work. They're not perfect, but fundamentally this is how the story should be told.

The problem comes in between the biginnings and the endings of these respective stories.

Because neither half had even close to enough episodes to make their respective tales work out, even if Disney hadn't meddled all throughout season 3.

Season 3A is a slow affair, that takes it's time, and isn't close to covering Anne's emotional journey by the time it ends, something it wouldn't have been able to do in full, even if disney hadn't censored the creators plans.

Frankly speaking, season 3A plays like the creators didn't quite realize they only had so many episodes to tell their story with, and so took their time with stuff that by any metric should have been cut in favor of other stuff given their episode limitations.

And you can tell that it was only in the second half that they had suddenly realised, holy shit! We have SO MUCH we gotta do!

Commander Anne is rushed beyond belief, speed running Anne and Sasha's reunion, and only held together by the sheer strength of the bond between these two girls in spite of the sheer amount of stuff that has to be done in that entire episode really should have had 2-4 episodes all on their own.

But they couldnt do that. Because they only had half a season to tell the story of the return to Amphibia.

The rest of 3B is nowhere near as rushed as Commander Anne, but it is rushed, and it speeds along way too fast towards its finale, when the show desperately needed some time to breathe and relax. It even ended up cutting one fully planned and important episode(Sasha's origin story) along the way to the finale.

While Disney screwed over Amphibia, Amphibia NEEDED to split season 3 into two full seasons for the show to truly hit it's full potential.

And that was a mistake on the part of it's creator, who clearly made a huge blunder when planning this story out. Amphibia ISN'T a three part story. It's a 4 part story, where part 3 and 4 got smushed together to the detriment of the product.

[kai-keda]

how do you feel about s4 of lmk having a different showrunner and headwriter? it makes me concerned 😬😬

I’m not surprised because the Embrace Your Destiny specials had such a book-ending to them. Everything from the first season onward was tied up nicely at the end. To be perfectly honest, and friends from Discord can confirm this, I was Lowkey upset that the show was even CONTINUING after I saw that ending.

The series started with Tang having a narration about how “the story is never truly over” and it ends with Tang having a narration about how “the story is never truly over”. It’s beautiful. So it makes sense that the head writer and show runner have stepped down from the project. It’s a perfect point for it to either end or transition to something new.

Honestly, even if it was the same exact crew, my brain would be separating the first three seasons from whatever comes next because no matter what they do, it’s gonna feel disconnected from the previous stories due to that solid opening and ending.

Because that disconnect is already there for me, I’m not too worried about how future content will make me feel. That being said, there are some concerns I have based on previous experiences with fandoms and based on how I’ve seen this fandom act about “being right”.

Worst case scenario is we get another Dragon Ball Super situation. I don’t mean this in regards to the actual quality dropping, but more in how the atmosphere of the greater fandom will shift MASSIVELY.

Example Hypothetical:

DBK and PIF are shown in Season 4 to having not gotten their act together and continue treating Red Son like garbage which leads to a character arc of Red Son disconnecting himself from them entirely and fully joining the Monkie Kid Team.

Remember, whether this scenario sounds appealing or is well executed or not isn’t the point of this example.

Imagine this happens and you are left with half the fandom being excited because this is exactly what they wanted and have had all of their feelings on the subject validated by this. Meanwhile, the other half feels betrayed. There’s evidence of DBK and PIF doing better so why would they suddenly be so awful, right?

Now the part I’m concerned about is how these two halves would interact going forward.

The Dragon Ball fandom is a god dang WAR ZONE between people who don’t want to acknowledge DBS as a part of their personal canon of the series (cough cough - me) and the people who argue you HAVE to accept it (elitist dumbass assholes).

Now, don’t get me wrong, the Dragon Ball fandom is worse than the Monkie Kid fandom when it comes to forcing personal interpretations, analysis, headcanons and beliefs on other fans. But that doesn’t mean the LMK fandom doesn’t have those problems at all.

The LMK fandom ABSOLUTELY struggles with this.

See also “Wukong is canonically a father figure to MK” and “Red Son is canonically genderfluid” as only two examples. Both statements being objectively false because neither thing has EVER been stated in the canon of the show.

With the understanding that there’s a new show runner and head writer, there are - without a doubt - going to be fans who choose to say “I only go by the first part of the show”. Whether it has to do with relationship dynamics or characterization, there are going to be fans who have their current interpretations challenged by the new material and they’re going to blame the show runner/head writer rather than it just being something that filled in gaps they originally filled on their own.

Here’s my concern of how this is gonna turn out:

Rather than everyone coexisting, there’s going to be a shit show of a war between fans who don’t acknowledge anything post new crew and fans who think everyone HAS to accept everything from the show.

There’s going to be an overwhelming sense of who is “right” and “wrong” and the great LMK Civil Fandom Wank of 2023 - [whatever-year] is gonna pit brother against brother.

With the hypothetical I gave, we would see fans of the newer seasons putting the people who WANTED the Demon Bull Family to heal on blast with a sense of moral superiority via calls out stating “This user thinks you should never run away from abusive households!” (Which would not ACTUALLY be true of said user)

NOW

This isn’t GUARANTEED to happen, but I think it’s worth pointing out the possibility ahead of time. After all, being aware going in that there IS MOST DEFINITELY going to be people who don’t like what the new show runner and head writer have planned will be able to prevent us from going down a nasty path of proving why one side is “morally disgusting.”

If you or someone you know has been a victim of a Civil Fandom Wank of this type, you may be entitled to financial compensation

If you know the term “Fandom Wank” without having to look it up, you may be entitled to financial compensation

[lordmayokcorner]

aespa Savage - Album Review

-- Image: Rolling Stone --

I’ve always loved aespa. I would consider them in my top three groups actually. Something I’ve never looked too deep into of theirs though is the Savage mini album, that is until recently. Every song just absolutely slaps, so I feel that I need to review this thing formally. My rating system puts 5/10 as totally neutral, and is mostly based on how quality I feel that the song is. Enjoy!

aenergy - 7.5

This song has a powerful anthemic pulse that is led by pitch enveloped distorted synth bass and a big-sounding hard-hitting drumbeat. It’s a bold but strong way to start an EP, but that’s pretty normal for aespa. The slight distortion is applied to virtually every element that comes in, but a separate reverbed echo is applied to the vocals, further adding to the anthemic quality of it. As for the melodic content, it can get a bit boring seeing as it’s the same basic two melodies repeated for a whole song over a pretty simple and unchanging beat. The bridge breaks it up though, a classic aespa thing. I love the back and forth lines about each member's role and the whole “___ your hands in the air” part. Generally a pretty good song, but can be a bit dry after too much listening.

Savage - 9

I never thought I would need this blend between a hiphop and industrial beat, but hell yeah I am living for it. The occasional vocal doubling adds emphasis to specific words in a creative way. When everything shifts up for Giselle’s rap, I don’t believe it’s possible to not break into a smile. Her lines here are so incredibly fun to listen to. The prechorus is pretty good, but I’m pretty disappointed by how much autotune they put on Ningning considering she could do so well without it. The elements of the beat that enter in and out on the offbeats in the amelodic chorus make it very pleasing to the ear. Giselle and Karina’s rapping in the second verse is just as fun and well done as the first, and Winter’s prechorus is to die for. The layering of harmonies and industrial percussion is very artful and well done. Not a big fan of the bridge however, it just doesn’t feel that unique. The ending after the instrumental break continues to prove how incredible the key changes and layering is in this song, not to mention the impressive high notes from Ningning.

I’ll Make You Cry - 8.5

The droning synth is a very experimental choice for a foundation to the beat, but it works very well as the bass and layered vocals enter. In the prechorus, the same synth gains an 8-bit quality. The way that everything drops down for the chorus gives the song a very ominous feeling to it, and then when elements re-enter we’re served with this excellent syncopation in the vocals requiring significant head bobbing. The whole song feels like it’s going back and forth between screaming and whispering, both in vocals and in instrumentals. It’s truly both a funky and a beautiful and dark song.

YEPPI YEPPI - 10

This song keeps some of the industrial-sounding percussion and synths from Savage but is much more upbeat and syncopated. The vocal delivery still feels very low-key though. The song starts to build faster and faster, and before the listener knows it everything drops and after a muted scream of “AESPA”, the song kicks into a completely unexpected massive catchy anthemic EDM beat. The way that the power drops on the down beat but the synth enters on the makes it 100 times more powerful. In the second verse, we’re given THREE separate beat changes, from a jungle beat for a few lines to a trap beat with horn stabs for the next few and back to the jumpy beat of the first verse. Once again “AESPA”, and the whole thing explodes into another huge chorus. This song is an absolute songwriting masterpiece between the vast assortment of beat and style changes, complex chord switches, entire world of instrumental sounds, and it’s ability to keep the listener on their toes. Most importantly, through all of this, it’s impossible not to be right there with it at every turn. I can’t listen to this song without bursting out into a stupid grin and bobbing my head.

ICONIC - 7.5

Full-on industrial, maybe even more than Savage. Just like every song previous, the use of syncopation makes the song infectious. The relaxing and soft prechorus leads to a sparse but intense chorus filled to the brim with power, using the classic 3-3-3-3-2-2 eighth note pattern (if you don’t know what I’m referring to, listen to the rhythm of the bass synth in the chorus). The verses are very straight though, following the beat with little to no syncopation. That’s part of what gives this song its ICONIC (haha) feel; The verses and bridge are straight while the prechorus and chorus are in the syncopated 333322 pattern. Sorry to go full-blown music nerd on you all. Aside from that, this song is a little dry compared to some others on this album.

Lucid Dream - 10

This song is the very antithesis of “dry”, it feels like drowning deep underwater. The sound design and melodies feel liquid. The bass in the chorus is so powerful and smooth compared to the relatively silvery sound of the other elements, making for a beautiful rich spectrum of sound but lacking any muddiness. Despite being as tripped out as I’m making it sound, it simultaneously feels very badass and groovy. The contrast creates a slight tension, and the song is tight enough that it feels like it needs to snap. In probably my favorite moment in any aespa song, snap it does. The synths become sharp and bright in an absolutely massive hit on the downbeat, playing with the pitch and rhythm as it bounces off of the downbeat increasing the slam’s effect in a way similar to a sidechain on a techno kick drum. Some badass spoken lines from Giselle create some beautiful polyrhythms, and the sub bass growls as it kicks into a half-time feel. Just like that, the power move of a breakdown is over and the song finishes smoothly. Don’t get me wrong, I love the whole song, but the breakdown is what really puts it at a 10. Aespa and their breakdowns man…

Final Thoughts

As aespa’s first long form release following singles Black Mamba, Forever, and Next Level, it has a lot to prove. Aespa’s music has never been lazy, and Savage proves that they aren’t just trying to make money off a title track. Every song is creative and meaningful to the album, keeping a very cohesive sound. Not a single track feels half-assed or part of a format. The use of percussion, syncopation, pitch, style, layering, and harmony is some of the best I’ve seen. I give this album an overall score of 9 for that reason, and my favorite track would have to be YEPPI YEPPI, just barely over Lucid Dream. I initially didn’t like much of this at first but with more listening I’ve come to love everything on it. It’s a game changer for me and the way I view aespa and K-pop as a whole. They’ve set a new standard for what I expect of songwriting and production that I believe very few other groups will be able to keep up with. Aespa is absolutely shattering barriers and proving that music is about more than money. Thank you for reading,

- Maya

[ippnoida]

Goyal Offset Works' new Heidelberg CX92 4-color press

Goyal Offset Works, a large-scale commercial printer has installed a new Heidelberg Speedmaster CX92 4-color offset press to enhance the considerable production capacity of its massive plant in Kundli in the Delhi NCR.

Established in 1978, the company was founded by CL Goyal in central Delhi’s Daya Basti and it has kept moving to larger plants as the business grew – first to GT Karnal Road and then to its current plant in the Kundli industrial area near Sonepat. The commercial printer is focused on book production and also produces season-based calendars and diaries for its customers.

http://indianprinterpublisher.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/IMG20240415152511-300x225.jpg

After completing his formal education Goyal increasingly took over the management role and focused on growing the company’s production infrastructure. “We imported a Heidelberg CPTronic 4-color press with coater directly from Italy to tend to our other products such as calendars. After using that machine productively, our interest grew in Heidelberg.”

As the company continued to invest in production equipment it ultimately set up three plants in the GT Karnal Road industrial area. However, the space constraints and moving back and forth between the plants became increasingly stressful and the growing commercial printer finally shifted base to Kundli in 2017. “In GT Karnal Road, our total production area was 45,000 square feet. The new plant in Kundli has a built-up area of 500,000 square feet on a single floor,” he explained. This means that all the operations and material movement including the postpress, finishing and bookbinding take place on a single floor.

Apart from the new 4-color Heidelberg offset which is a first for Goyal Offset, the plant contains several used Heidelberg offset presses including a 10-color perfector, two 8-color perfectors, and four 4-color presses. He feels quality triumphs in the business and the new press has a compact size that fits perfectly on the company’s floor since the book production workflow generally contains a significant amount of work in progress.

http://indianprinterpublisher.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/IMG20240415122638-300x225.jpg

The in-house postpress and binding department provides all finishing options including section sewing and hard case binding. According to Goyal, the company can bind books up to 70 mm thick.

Though many printers indicate that commercial printing has slowed down, Goyal feels book printing will continue to thrive. “Book printing will not face any downfall in the foreseeable future. The digital medium is growing but readers still prefer printed books. For instance, I don’t know anyone who collects eBooks. Kindle and other mediums are not able to retain users or even grow in terms of market share. Be it education or leisure, printed books will remain relevant.”

With a turnover of over Rs 50 crore, the company exports 25% of its production. Goyal plans to visit drupa, which is taking place from 28 May to 7 June in Dusseldorf,  to improve his already substantial understanding of the global trends in book printing and finishing.

[mikerichardson2023]

Arguing With Digital History

In adulthood, the difference between a fight and an argument became clear. While both prepositions contain elements of conflict, there is a definitive difference between the two words. A fight implies combat, whereas an argument calls for proof or evidence (Oxford). When it comes to digital history, argument-driven work is essential to the prosperity of the field. Models of Argument-Driven Digital History is significant because this collection displays the evidence or proof vital for dispelling doubt within academia. This work is more than a compilation of evidence, however. It acts as a guide for argument-driven structure within the digital humanities, exemplary digital collections, digital public history, digital methodologies, computational digital history, and visualizations (Introduction). This work is essential to the field because it is a complex collection of models of argument-driven digital history. Because there are so few argument-driven essays, it is essential as the evidence that this field matters and that it is here to stay.

In academia, writing, peer review, and publication is the lifeblood that will allow any field to prosper and survive. Digital History is a field that is only beginning to develop out of its infancy. Models of Argument-Driven Digital History is a compendium that supports the field as a source of evidence and possibly more significant displays the excellent qualities of the field, such as digital collections, data visualizations, mapping and network visualizations, word frequency analysis, topic modeling, and word-embedded and digital methodologies. Furthermore, these essays are organized and developed to allow future scholars to have a template for work that may be developed. For example, the article on computational digital history and digital history visualizations creates a broadened spectrum of sources illustrating hidden patterns. These models demonstrate "how to conceive and construct interpretations and arguments using digital history methods and materials (Introduction)." This work exemplifies the value of argument-driven research and how the process may become duplicated to fit the research goals of other scholars. The goal is that by providing this guide, a more prosperous and diverse digital humanities field will continue to develop over time.

An article included in this collection of arguments is Close Readings of Big Data: Triangulating Patterns of Textual Reappearance and Attribution in the Caledonian Mercury, 1820-1840, written by M. H. Beals, from Loughborough University. The project argues that a fundamental shift in digital history practices relies heavily on archival engagement. Moreover, the argument central to this project illustrates that a massive amount of effort is required to translate traditional research practices into this new digital environment and calls for the divergence of some of this energy into asking new questions that are fundamentally significant to digital history. The article mentions that mass digitization creates a detriment to the field due to the sheer volume of sources being digitized in this stage of the development of the field. For this reason, the author selects three newspapers that have been digitized and implements methodologies to analyze the sources.

Distant reading of newspapers propels the research in this section to develop an 'abstract view' of the material. This abstract view varies from close reading through the indication of a shift away from observing the textual content of a source's original structure (close reading) towards the visualization of global features of a single or multiple text(s) (M.H. Beals). The first method of analysis implemented into this project is the initial Lare Scale analysis, where a "creation of a century-long manifest of instances of duplicate text within the entire run of the British Library's 19th-Century Newspapers." The response of this analysis finds the visualization of the material to be a rough layer chart with a primary concern that the specificity regarding titles, periodicities, layouts, and topics needs to be improved. However, the Corpus Selection yields unexpected rewards. Beals finds positive calamity in the London periodicals are evidence as interesting outliers, and the corpus as a whole is trackable through the Mercury. This calamity results in the opportunity to ask different and potentially more interesting questions than the author initially intended to address.

Throughout this article, the annotations illuminate the more extensive practice of Digital History while giving the reader significant contextual insight into the author's process that allows them to reach their conclusion. This project is fascinating as it demonstrates the significance of Models of Argument-Driven Digital History. The primary purpose of this collection or guide is to offer proof that this field matters and to prompt scholars to ask new questions and explore new areas of research; Beals exemplifies both of these qualities in the conclusion of this project. The development of visualizations by implementing methods to extract and visualize data from digitized newspapers proves that the methods contribute to scholarship. Also, and possibly more significantly, this article demonstrates that digital history scholarship propels revolutionary investigation directions. Beals deviates from an original thesis where "middle-scale analysis" may be interpreted as "humanities big data." The conclusion is that big data techniques implemented on small-scale datasets reveal a quality largely absent from many case studies; the pattern is the more evident connections to broader trends and models as established through a sub-corpus of more extensive digitized collections (Beals).

In conclusion, Models of Argument-Driven Digital History is a vital collection of peer-reviewed and argument-driven digital projects that proves the field of digital history is a significant component of The Humanities. Close Readings of Big Data: Triangulating Patterns of Textual Reappearance and Attribution in the Caledonian Mercury, 1820-1840, idealistically demonstrates the core values of this compendium as a whole through implementing digital tools and methodologies to create a public-facing digital history project adding value to the academic community. Also, and arguably more significant, this work demonstrates the value of digital history as a frontier to reevaluate the direction of research goals leading to different and more exciting questions than initially conceived.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)

                  You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive.  It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.

If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them.  It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.

For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex.  But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand.  In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically.  He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family.  You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.

You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.

And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks.  Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.

Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again.  Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.

So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival.  Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.

The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English.  Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.

Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.

Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment.  You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.

The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different.  He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.

You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms.  Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.

“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.

He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him.  As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you.  No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.  

But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner.  His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.

“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.

“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side.  “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”

“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.

“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.

Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs.  Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.

Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap.  You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?

Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.

“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”

“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.

“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.

“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.

“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck. 

“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.  

“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder.  You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.

“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.

“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.

James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.

“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you.  “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”

The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.

“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued.  “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least?  Always by my side… like any good pet.”

A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly.  You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him.  But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.

James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.

“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal.  “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”

“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.

“You want more, don’t you?  Tako očajno…” he chuckled.  You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips.  “You want to be fucked, yes?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.

Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.

James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.

He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.

“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.

“Yes I do,” you denied.  “Because he told me to.”

Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip.  You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.

You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.

“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.

Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.  

You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.

“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.

“N-no, please,” he blurted out.

“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go.  You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.

“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”

“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him.  But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant.  “You find them attractive, don’t you?”

“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like.  And tasted like.”

Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).

You looked at Sam expectantly.  “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”

His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track.  “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.

“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”

His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into.  You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted.  “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”

Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.

Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.

“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.

“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare.  Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove.  “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.  

You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”

Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.

Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate.  And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.

He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.  

“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth.  “Fuck, can I come?”

“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.

You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.

“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples.  “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock.  I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”

As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.  

“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.

“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.

Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting.  “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two.  And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected.  “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance.  It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.

That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see.  Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.  

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.  

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side.  But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.

He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long.  “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”

“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.  

He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress.  “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.  

Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.

The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.

“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”

“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.

“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.

You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.

“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come.  You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you.  “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.

You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers.  “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.

Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste.  You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.

He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression.  They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.

"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.

"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.

All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option.  He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly.  Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?

“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.

“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.

“Good girl.”

But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep.  You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.  

“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.

“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned.  "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."

“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”

You felt him nod against the back of your neck.  “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you.  Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.

The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him.  He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.

"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?

"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.

It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years.  Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.

///

dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”

lutka = лутка = “doll”

draga = драга = “dear/beloved”

tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"

tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"

[lexosaurus]

The Illusionist

Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion

My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover  Word Count: 5262 Read on: [ao3]

---

“A kid?” Shouta asked. 

The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.

“He can’t be older than sixteen.��� Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”

Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.

That must have been them.

“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”

“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear. 

So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.

And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.

The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close. 

And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.

The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.

So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.

Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.

Such as, apparently, this one.

Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.

Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move. 

Wonderful.

Just then, his phone lit up.

Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”

“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”

“Understood. Any injuries?”

“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”

“Good.”

Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet. 

If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good. 

Which meant that he needed to end this. Now. 

But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.

On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.

Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.

“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.

Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.

“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.

Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.

The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.

“Eraserhead!”

Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.

“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!” 

“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”

“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”

“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.

“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.

“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”

Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”

“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.

The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.

“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.

Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”

“Got it!”

The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.

“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.

Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.

What the hell is that kid? 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk. 

And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.

So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?

Unless he was homeless himself.

The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?” 

Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”

“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.

“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sending a location now.”

Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS. 

His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.

There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.

There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.

Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!

“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”

Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?” 

The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”

“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.

But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.

“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”

Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.

Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.

He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”

The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”

“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”

“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”

Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.

He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.

Aizawa felt sick.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.

“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?” 

“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”

Aizawa rose slowly. 

This wasn’t looking good.

Hurry up, Shinsho. 

The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.

“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.

“I’m not going quietly.”

Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.

“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.

Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.

Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask. 

“Go to sleep.”

The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy. 

“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.

Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt. 

He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.

Whatever he was, he was asleep.

“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.

Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.

“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily. 

Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”

“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.

“Good.” 

Shouta gave the kid one last glance. 

What happened to him?

---

It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.

Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.

When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.

Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.

Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.

Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.

Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.

“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”

Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”

The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”

“No matches?” Shouta asked. 

“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”

The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.

“It’s showtime.”

The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”

The teen didn’t respond.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.

“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”

But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”

“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”

The teen shifted. “Maybe.”

“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”

A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”

“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”

He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”

“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”

“I want to leave.”

Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”

As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.

Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.

“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”

“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”

“You here on vacation?”

The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”

“American?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been visiting?”

The teen shrugged.

Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”

“What happened to it?”

The teen shrugged.

Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”

“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”

The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”

Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”

Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”

“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”

The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.

Who was he scared of?

He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”

Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed. 

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”

“Even though he’s American.”

“Exactly.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.

“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.

The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”

“Uh…The United States.”

“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”

“I—yeah.”

“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”

Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”

“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”

If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon. 

It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes. 

“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”

Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”

“He will,” Shouta agreed.

“I wish we could help him.”

Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”

“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”

Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.

Just who was Danny Fenton? 

“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”

Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.

And he meant it.

---

“So…” Shouta started. 

Danny just looked tired. 

It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?

The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.

And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.

So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.

But he wouldn’t say what.

Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.

It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.

He seemed smaller up close. Too small.

“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.

“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”

Shouta raised his brows.

Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.

“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.

Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”

Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”

Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“I…” Danny looked lost. 

“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”

“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”

He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified. 

Bingo.

Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.

“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”

That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.

Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.

Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”

“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”

“What changed?” Danny asked.

“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”

Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.

“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”

“I...I can’t…”

Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”

Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”

The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.

Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”

“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks. 

“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, Danny.”

At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.

Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?

Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.

When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”

Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.

“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”

“Yeah?”

“The other option is you can stay with me.”

Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.

“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”

Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.

“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”

The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”

The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.

And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.

“Of course. I’d love to have you.”

---

Thanks for reading!

[check out some of my other fics]

[avatar-news]

From Studio Mir, the animation studio behind The Legend of Korra, here's the first trailer for Netflix’s feature film The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf

[Content warning for some nudity in the trailer.]

The legendary Studio Mir is back with a flagship new release, an original animated feature film in Netflix’s The Witcher franchise titled The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf. Studio Mir has entered into an official partnership with Netflix.

The trailer shows some stunning animation a level above the norm. This movie; along with other upcoming projects like the theatrical animated feature film The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim from Warner Bros. and New Line Cinema (The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit live-action film trilogies); three animated Game of Thrones spin-off series in development at HBO Max; and of course Avatar Studios, a new, dedicated studio for the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra working on an animated theatrical feature film and multiple series for Paramount+; are ushering in a new era of prestige animation.

(I should note that 2D is implied here.)

The entertainment giants are investing heavily into IP-based scifi, fantasy, and period/genre franchises, something that has been massive in the rise of prestige TV and the streaming era. This is now looking to expand into animation, with interconnected animated and live-action releases in one continuity like Netflix’s Studio Mir-animated film coming in August leading up to the second season of its flagship live-action fantasy prestige series proper in December. The next installment from Middle Earth will be an animated film released theatrically, with all the bells and whistles and budget a theatrical drop entails. Avatar Studios’ debut release will also be a theatrical animated film with the same huge potential, but it doesn’t stop there. That project will be part of a sprawling, “multi-tiered” plan for movies and series that at the moment most sounds like Marvel Studios and its unstoppable theatrical and Disney+ slate. Avatar Studios is uniquely positioned to lead the charge in the new era of prestige animation, and even define and create this new space as they go, and the industry knows it. Avatar proved itself as a heavy hitter on Netflix last year, which is the whole reason an entire studio happened. One of the animated Game of Thrones series in development at HBO Max looks to be set in Yi Ti, a tangentially mentioned far-off location based on imperial China. It’s entirely possible that this is an intentional attempt to directly compete with the world of Avatar.

Lots of big things are in motion, and Avatar Studios knows it too. It’s no mistake that they said their projects would be targeting different audiences and age groups. Don’t expect anything as “mature” as what Game of Thrones is known for by some, but the door is opening to targeting the general public at a much larger scale and breaking down the barrier of “kids’ cartoons” (something that both Avatar series already did to a large extent, but now it could happen in more existential, industry-shifting ways).

A big part of all of this is animation at a higher quality level, with a cinematic feel akin to the difference between standard-style TV and prestige streaming series. Studio Mir just showed their chops with The Witcher trailer, though it’s arguable that they already reached this “next” level in parts of The Legend of Korra like Book One: Air, the planned miniseries which they were founded to animate and show the world something new and very special, with a quality level that had not really been seen before and in many ways hasn’t been seen since (until now?). In fact, that planned miniseries was already the first prestige animation-- or a forerunner-- in a lot of ways. While technically still a “kids’ cartoon”, it undeniably pushed those boundaries pretty far, with a tone and focus much more like an adult drama. The production had an unusually high level of effort put into it that was essentially unsustainable in those conditions-- they were creating something much bigger than the industry was used to. After this, the miniseries became a regular series in both length and nature-- Studio Mir at first declined to return because they simply couldn’t keep up the quality they had held themselves to, then came back with a more sustainable level of animation and production. This isn’t to say that seasons 2, 3, and 4 didn’t reach incredible highs of animation at points, but rather that that even higher, “next level”, “prestige” character of the miniseries that became season 1 was precluded from existing again. They could, of their own passion, push themselves to that level once for a miniseries, but not forever. This applies to other aspects of the production as well, like going from the two creators themselves writing every episode in season 1, to a more standard-TV array of many different writers in the rest of the show.

The full series also had an awkward delay between seasons 1 and 2 for this reason, and overall came at an awkward time just as standard TV was dying, but before a “kids’ cartoon” company like Nickelodeon knew what to do with a series like The Legend of Korra. Ironically, it became one of the first high-profile shows to go to “streaming” when it was taken off the air halfway through season 3 and moved to online-only, but there was always a prescient, special feel to this show’s place in the industry. In fact, its very first premiere was online, weeks ahead of its standard TV airing debut. This is something that was a pretty big deal at the time in 2012, before there was such thing as a “Netflix Original”. In a way, this makes the planned miniseries that ended up being The Legend of Korra Book One: Air not just a forerunner of the upcoming era of prestige animation, but technically also employing the approach of prestige TV itself before it existed in live-action! The very thing that has completely changed the industry and world of storytelling in the decade since. It kind of makes sense, because they could do it in animation with their own effort, but it wasn’t a “thing” in live-action TV yet.

Well, that high-effort, “next-level” approach to all aspects of production coming together to make something “prestige” is something that companies are now backing up with money and resources and planning. It’s about to hit animation, and Studio Mir, from the first, appropriately Korra-like foreshocks to now with The Witcher, has been right there with it all. One question on everyone’s minds is whether they will return to take the Avatar franchise to this new, next level. Right now, we still have no idea. As mentioned at the beginning of this article, they do have a partnership with Netflix now, while Avatar Studios will live on its direct competitor Paramount+. However, it’s a non-exclusive contract, so they legally can work with Avatar Studios. The question is if they have the time and people to do it-- we don’t know how many projects with Netflix they might be working on, and whether they have their hands full.

What we can be sure of is that Studio Mir will be a cornerstone of the era of prestige animation, starting with The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf streaming on Netflix on August 23rd.

[wizkiddx]

hiii could you do one of tom asking your dad to marry you?? thankuuuuu

okay so I don't believe in boys having to ask the dads, because we are strong independent QUEENS and no man owns me ever, but I hope this is still okay <33

not proof read and written super quick so sorry!

summary: Tom's terrified to ask your dad a very particular question question

///////////////////////////////////////////////

“Mr Y/l/n” Tom called your dads attention from the dishwasher he was loading up. The holidays spent at your parents meant a lot of good things- but mainly food. So much so the dishwasher was almost continually on, just so you didn’t run out of crockery.

“Its Y/d/n Tom, we’ve been through this.” He was joking but with your Dad - Tom could never really tell. At heart your dad was an absolute softie, except no one really saw that except your mum and you. Always a daddies girl, Tom knew how much your dad had meant to you. He had guessed before he’d met you parents , that he would be protective.

And that he was, never frontally rude or cruel. It was more subtle - though to Tom it was very damn clear, he had his doubts. As a people pleaser, Tom didn’t like the fact he didn’t like him. Time and time again, he’d tried to prove just how much you meant to him and yet it seemed to fall on deaf ears. So three years down the line, it was safe to say he was bloody terrified. Heart-in-mouth sort of event. Tom did a lot of ‘terrifying things’: talking to massive studio heads; going on stage with thousands of people screaming; jumping out a plane even.

But no, a single conversation with your dad had his adrenaline going like nobodies business. Asking to marry you.

“You going to just stand their gawking? I hope the moviestar doesn’t make my Y/n do all the housework?”

“No sir I-of course I don’t” Stammering his way through with wide eyes, Tom practically leapt across the kitchen to the opposite side of the dishwasher to your dad. Secretly your Dad was chuckling away to himself, taking absolute delight in how terrified the ‘movie star’ was of him, but managed to keep a steely outershell. In silence, the two uunloaded the dishwasher, Tom desperately racking his brains for conversation starters.

This is what he did for a living, learnt the speech he’d spent hours preparing, then retell it. Why then, was Tom having such an issue with the script he’d arguable practiced the most? Deciding he needed a buffer, Tom went to the safe space of small talk.

“So how was the pub? Y/n said you were meeting some old friends?”

“Watched the match, bloody awful game and Wilks was crap, I don’t know why he even started.” Now this football talk was something Tom felt safe in. He had learnt as much as he could about your dads team - just so there was some mutual conversation.

“Yeh tell me about it, I caught the last half. Though the ref made so bad decisions too, that penalty never really was VAR or not.”

“Thats the most respectable thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

The next couple of minutes were spent with both men raving fanatically, letting all their anger out on the pretty subpar game this afternoon. In fact, Tom swore your dad actually laughed along with him at one point. Admittedly he’d caught himself almost immediately- but for two seconds, he had cracked it.

With the last mug placed in the cabinet, Tom was quite frankly shocked at what your dad said next. He had presumed that since it was late and everyone else was in bed, Y/d/n wouldn’t want quality time with his daughters boyfriend.

“You fancy a nightcap son?”

He’d never called Tom that either. Frankly, you dad preferred the nickname ‘moviestar’ because he knew it infuriated Tom. Made the tips of his ears flush bright red, that was Toms tell - one that your dad had noticed too early on.

Jerkily Tom nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he followed the elder man to the sitting room - where he kept the scotch glasses and bottle. No sooner had the drinks been poured, that Tom practically exploded with his thoughts.

“Mr Y/l/n-sorry I mean Y/d/n I-I um I needed to ask you something.” All he got was a long sigh and a nod, encouraging him to continue. “I-uhm….”Tom scoffed, clearing his throat because all of a sudden it felt like he hadnt had a drink in 10 hours, mouth completely dry.

“Well first off-and all respect. I know I don’t have to ask you. Y/n is the most independent and strong woman and we aren’t living in the 1950s. But, well but she loves you alot.” Tom stressed that last point especially, looking up to your dads poker face. It put him off for moment.

It was just how grumpy he looked, it was bloody terrifying. Taking a big gulp of the malty liquid, Tom steeled himself once again. “ And she respects you, your opinion always matters and I’d never come between that. And Y/n, she likes her traditions right? Like the stupid hat game you all play at Christmas dinner which makes no sense to me? Or the puzzle that you don’t start till everyone’s pretty drunk and tired at 3 o’clock in the morning on christmas? So that is… uhm thats why I’m asking you.”

Again all Tom was met with was a stern gaze, once again taking another generous sip of the scotch.

“Look I know you have your doubts about me- “ That got a response, a snort of agreement from your dad as if saying ‘you think’.

“But-but I really love your daughter. She’s my whole world and I can’t imagine being without her. And I know my lifestyle probably doesn’t fit with how you imagined your daughter to have. I mean-I’m not always at home and I’m away for months but- but…. look.” Tom sighed, shifting awkwardly on the sofa to directly face your dads armchair. “When I’m homesick and tired and grouchy from filming and I get back to the hotel I facetime Y/n. Everyday. And just seeing her smile, you-you know, the really soft small one that makes her dimples pop out? One look at that smile and everythings fine. Because all I’m thinking about is seeing that smile for the rest of my life. When she finds out she’s pregnant with our kid, when we’re taking them to college. I mean even when we’re 80 and probably sick of each other- she’ll still have that little smile that puts me into this sort of stupor. I just- I love her. And I’d do anything for her, I always will, I promise you that. So-so” With a shaky breath, Tom delivered his hitline.

“This is me just letting you know that I’m going to ask her to marry me and- I really hope she says yes.”

Tom was almost out of breath, and the breath he did have was shaky, looking up desperately at the older man across from him. He watched with wide eyes as your Dad placed his glass back on the drinks table with a clink, before leaning forward and standing up from the chair. He groaned slitghtly at the movement (his knees werent what they used to be) and took the two steps forward to be stood right infront of Tom’s seat. In that moment, Tom honestly thought he was getting a punch to the jaw at the very least. Afterall, he had just pretty much demanded that he were to propose to you.

As he braced for impact, tensing all his muscles, instead what he felt was a light pat to his right shoulder. Tom trailed his eyes up your dads figure to see what he thought was a gentle smile on his face too. Though he hadn’t ever seen your Dad smile at him before, so couldn’t say for certainty.

“You’re a good kid Tom, and you make Y/n very happy. Just pull yourself together when you ask her alright son? Didn’t think moviestars got stage fright.” And with that, your dad turned his back, heading toward the doorway that lead to the stairs to the bedrooms. Stunned, it took a moment or two before Tom processed - long enough that he had to leap up and call your dads name to get him to halt in the hallway.

“So is that a yes? You’re giving me permssion?”

“Oh Tom….” Your dad sighed in the lowlight of the hallway, in a more muted voice - now they were closer to the bedrooms where both you and your mum were sleeping peacefully. “ You already said, Y/n is strong and fiercely independent. I don’t control her, heck I don’t think she’s ever listened to me and never will. But…. for the record, I hope she says yes too and… I know she will.”

Scoffing in excitement, Tom combed a hand through his scalp, feeling such a wave of relief it was almost indescribable as your dad turned and trudged up the stairs. Once he heard the door of your parents bedroom close, he couldn’t help himself. He ran back into the kitchen, where he preceded to do an excited jumpy dance thing.

Because it meant a lot. To have your dads approval, to have your dads support. That meant the world. Not only for the sake of proposing but also, everything Tom said was true. He wanted to build a family with you - which meant that man was going to be the grandparents to your kids one day. That man had helped to craft you into the person you were today - his ‘person’. His perfect angelic, sweet woman.

Whenever he felt this excited, this happy, this elated - theres only one person he wants to be with. So, after turning all the lights off and checking the doors were locked (with a very obvious spring in his step) he then hopped up the stairs. Tiptoeing around, he got ready for bed in no time, before getting to the highlight of each evening.

Delicately he crawled into bed, sliding under the covers, so as to not disturb you. Naturally though, feeling the bed dip made you turnover- hooking your legs round his and resting your head on his chest. Tom chuckled quietly at your cuteness, stroking your cheek lightly with his thumb. It was enough to rouse you awake, enough to make you acutely aware of the thundering sound from his chest. With tired eyes, you propped your chin on his breastbone looking up at him with concern.

“You alright T? Hearts really racing.” He only replied with this loopy lovesick grin, his right hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Go back to sleep darling, I’m okay.” He did look okay, but he was almost too smiley and even with a foggy sleepy brain, you were still suspicious.

“Whats going on, you’re being weird?”

“Nothing…. your dad and me just had a chat… He called me son.” That shocked you too - clearly the conversation you’d had with him about being nicer to Tom had rubbed off.

“He did?”

“He did…. you are beautiful you know?” Now he was definitely being weird. You furrowed your eyebrows, as if trying to read his mind because something odd was going on in there.

“Now you’re just being creepy. What’s up?”

Tom just leant forward to kiss your forehead, then pulled you down onto his chest.

“I just love your family and I love you, you know that?”

“Are you trying to get into my pants? Because my parents are literally in the next room.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.”

[zevexsii]

eli clark x reader sfw + nsfw hcs (gn s/o)

obligatory mention of how much i LOVE this man

cut for length and nsfw content

sfw

mom friend energy. eli probably has some of the healthiest behavior, at least comparatively, considering the rest of the manor is an absolute trash fire(loving). 

not saying that eli hasn’t witnessed his fair share of trouble! there’s a lot that he has to deal with- mainly guilt, considering he has a fiance and… feelings for someone else. any sort of relationship would happen very slowly, and you would have to be very open and honest- communication is absolutely key. 

eli lowkey worries that his feelings for you are temporary, seeing as he has no communication with gertrude, the next thought he has is that he’s using you in place of her. it’s terrifying for both of you. 

he isn’t, though! it’s definitely hard to stop thinking about; eli can tell when you’re upset or worried (part of his abilities is being able to perceive the emotions of those around him, to an extent), so please sit down with him and talk it out. eli’s anxiety rises with yours, and it pains him when he can’t comfort you :((

eli would like to continue wearing his engagement ring if you're alright with that. the entire arrangement is complicated and needless to say, eli has a lot of feelings about the subject.

moving on! eli's favourite forms of intimacy involve physical intimacy and words of affirmation <3 i hc that seeing through brooke rose saps a lot of energy out of both eli and brooke, so eli likes to keep his arm linked in yours, even if it isn’t all about having a guide. so pda… but not really? he isn’t opposed to sweet kisses on the forehead or cheek in public, just nothing big. 

eli kind of zones out a lot?? you’ll be in the mess hall, and eli will abruptly lean his head on your shoulder, no matter what you’re doing, humming contentedly under his breath. he’s not trying to stop you from eating, no, not at all! eli just has airhead tendencies and you love him for it. 

if you tend to overwork yourself, or just have trouble taking care of yourself in general, eli won’t be having any of that. since you can’t prioritize yourself, he’ll have to do it for you. 

when eli goes to bed or notices that you haven’t eaten yet, he’s right at your side, gently tapping your shoulder and handing you a glass of water or offering to bring you something up from mess hall. eli understands if you’re working on a deadline, but it’s still concerning enough for him to drag you off for a short nap or two. 

eli is the best cuddler around. lay down with him once, he’ll be pretzeled around you in no time- you’ll never want to get up and that’s the point. he’s not really picky about positions, but his favourites involve ones where he can gently run his fingers along the outline of your facial features (if you’re alright with that, of course). his smooth fingers ghost the outline of your lips, and eli’s smile outshines the sun.

he isn’t the best cook, but he’s more than willing to help out or learn! it’ll be a little more difficult, but eli isn’t opposed to trying things that make you happy or help out.

it may not be too noticeable under eli’s thick robes, but he’s got a really soft tummy and is pretty chubby! his cheeks are real round too- hold them and he’ll lean into your palms, nuzzling gently into your touch. 

pull him onto your lap or hold him!! please don’t let him pull the “i’ll crush you,”. if he does, simply shush him and rest your arm around his waist, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head every now and then. he’ll be asleep in no time. eli goes soft if you want to hold him on your lap or vice versa. when he’s got you in his arms, your head nestled in the crook of his neck, there are no words for the warm, protective feeling he gets in his chest.

he prefers holding you most of the time, but if eli’s craving reassurance and comfort, your arms are his hideaway. 

eli is an oblivious petname enthusiast (going both ways), his favourites being dear, darling, and love. hearing the soft tone of your warm words alone makes his heart melt- regardless of what you’re saying. 

another thing that makes eli indescribably soft is seeing you interact with brooke rose. if eli’s companion isn’t with him, it’s common for miss rose to be found perched near you, either being fed or keeping a careful watch over your shoulder. 

brooke also keeps a close eye on you during matches! she knows eli holds you in high priority. if you’ve perfectly timed a calibration or kited the hunter for an impressive run, you’ll hear a faint hoot of support off in the distance as brooke flies back to eli. 

eli is normally very confident in his qualities as a partner, but every now and then, something completely throws him off and into a puddle of self-doubt and crippling fear of inadequacy. during these times, eli needs a lot of one-on-one attention and verbal reassurance. 

he’s also sort of obtained the role of “therapist friend” among the manor inhabitants and sometimes finds himself bending over backward to help others. this trait is exposed in the way that eli will try to brush over the severity of his emotions and problems when he vents to you. 

make sure to interrupt him there and encourage him to discuss things thoroughly. he’ll be truly grateful that you noticed. 

eli really enjoys couple baths :) he’s a little insecure about his body at first, but reassure him, or give him privacy to join you in the sea of bubbles and sweet-smelling oils chosen specifically for their relaxing aromas. 

nsfw

eli is a very soft lover. rather vanilla, but isn’t opposed to indulging you in any of your lighter kinks. he’d rather not touch anything that requires a safeword. sex with eli is about love and pleasure, going both ways. 

big switch energy and will take whatever role his partner needs for the time being. eli’s a little hesitant about initiating, but he’s stellar when it comes to picking up on seemingly minuscule hints- the lingering touches and hazy look in your eyes when you look his way. it drives him insane, but eli waits for the safety of a  private space to nestle himself close to you, his hands slipping lower and lower before one of you finally plants your lips on the others.

as far as libidos go, eli’s sort of casually horny all the time. he’s not going to pressure you into doing anything prematurely though, don’t worry- it takes a while for him to even consider having sex with you, and even longer for the worst of the guilt to subside. 

loves it when you ride him. especially after a difficult match; eli is sore and tired, all he wants is your warmth and a reminder that you adore him. 

seeing as his sight definitely isn’t the best, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to bring brooke rose into this, eli would prefer a more vocal partner. whimper about how good he feels as you bounce up and down on his cock. eli lives to have you go to town on him, using him completely for your own pleasure, milking him for all he’s worth, while your mindless whimpers give away how close you are to cumming. 

eli has an obvious praise kink. worship his body or murmur out your need for him, and his round face flushes completely, precum drizzling from the tip of his dick. he’s decently sized too, roughly fifteen cm in length and twelve cm in girth.

not too fond of oral- receiving, that is. it feels too harried and impersonal for eli to be satisfied with it completely. the only time he’ll ask you to suck him off is when he’s completely exhausted or he’s jealous. on the other hand, one of eli’s favourite places to be is between your legs, caged in by your shaking thighs and driven on by your gasps and moans of pleasure. eli is completely enamoured by all parts of your body, but your thighs are one of his greatest weaknesses. 

when eli tops, he prefers missionary. that way, he’s got the sight of your beautiful face pinned down beneath him burned into his brain, your mutual devotion to each other immortalized in indescribable ecstasy. he has to be as close to you as he can get, too. 

without realizing it, eli begs for you quite often. neither of you really see it as begging, but either way, eli’s breathless pleas of “y/n, please, i need you,” send you reeling. 

eli’s pace is slow and sweet, gaining momentum as he reaches climax and/or you signal him to speed up.

can go for a max of three rounds. eli’s massive creampie kink is activated when he pulls out; the sight of his seed leaking from your soaked hole leaves him seeing stars. most times this leads to an impromptu second, or even third round if you’re up for it.

if you’re feeling a fair bit more dominant, eli is completely fine with penetration. he’ll be extra vocal if you tease him lightly while you prep him. every curl of your fingers inside of him coaxes breathy whines and desperate groans from eli’s heaving chest, and he wouldn’t have it any other way <3

interlock your fingers with his while you milk eli’s prostate, his chest heaving with heavy pants and moans in perfect tandem to the rocking of your hips. remind him how beautiful he is, totally full of you and lost in every slight shift of your cock or strap-on. 

eli won’t bring it up, but it becomes pretty obvious early on that he’s super into overstimulation. you’ve corrupted his thoughts entirely, every sense has been washed over by mindless requests of “more, more, more, please, and oh god i can’t take it anymore, y/n, please-,”

yeah, you’ve completely destroyed him. 

aftercare is tender and sweet, just like eli. depending on who’s subbed, eli will softly work shampoo into your hair, letting you lean back against him, or you’ll gently run a washcloth over eli’s back, applying pressure to any residual tightness in his shoulders. afterward, offer to grab some snacks or water from the kitchens and crawl into bed with your exhausted lover, snoozing off to whispered praises and lovely nothings.

[evilzoldyck]

Fiancée

part II

Suppressing down a burdensome sigh, you  looked back at the establishment who regretfully informed you that you were not able to match the prerequisites that the job description required. You knew all too well the insinuation of that statement, coming from a zero educational background and a rather low income class, the echelon of the societal hierarchy was brutal in your pursuit of a second occupation. Instead of quality, values and work ethic, they chose to look at the brands of your shoes and your status in this highly polarised civil structure.

Perusing through the town for any opportunity you could sought out until your heels formed blisters was a normal part of your everyday life, this day though, you figured you could take a short break by resting underneath a shady spot at the bustling market. While you were rubbing on your sore calves you can't help but overhear the excited prattle of a group of girls nearby. They all adorned leathered purses and scintillating jewelleries; young, beautiful and free of any burdens and responsibilities. 

“Have you heard? The Zoldyck family are hosting a formal competition for the chance to win the noble position of becoming a wife to one of their son!” The blonde haired woman reported with wide eyes. 

“Really? That family of assassins are holding a public trial?” Another one with carefully manicured acrylic nails spoke up. “You’d think as an assassin they’d be less privy about this.” 

“That’s not all, I heard that the winner also gets ten billion jennys,” the last one stated. “The Zoldycks are always ostentatious as ever, probably a marketing strategy to lure more girls in to participate.”

“Who cares about some jennys. I’d want to see the groom in question and if he’s really as tall, dark and handsome rumours made him out to be. If I hadn't been engaged, I'd try it out in a heartbeat.”

The blonde woman scoffed and retorted back, “good luck with that, I heard there’s over a hundred girls coming in from all over the world intending on participating already, and that’s just the numbers on the first day. Who knows how many will actually end up in three days time when the trial officially begins.” The group of girls wandered away until you couldn't hear their idle chats anymore, but their conversation still replayed over your mind like a broken record player. 

Ten billion jennys? In three days time? Those numbers alone made you heart skip a beat. There was a strong urge for you to look further into this for a mere moment before you scolded yourself mentally afterwards. There was no reason for you to get involved with someone as infamous as the Zoldycks. ‘The costs far outweigh the benefits,’ you told yourself. Propping yourself back up to your feet, you began to head home once the sun sets beyond the horizon. 

“Mother?” you called out once you stepped inside the shabby hole in a wall restaurant you ran with her. The candle lights all but one had been melted down, making it hard for you to see through the small, dark space. Once you turned around the corner and into the small kitchen room you spotted her cleaning up after a rather large spill which looked like porridge from the stone pot. “Mother what are you doing? You know you’re not allowed to look after heavy tasks,” you reprimanded, guiding her up back to her feet and wiped off the spoiled food from her hands with a nearby towel.

“It’s fine, just a little accident is all.” she waved you off as you continued to clean her hands where you spotted a rather large bruise on her along her inner arms.

“What happened?” you demanded in bewilderment. “Did that bastard come here today? Did he do this to you?” your series of questions did nothing more than to drive her away from you, but the thought of that filthy loan shark landing a hand on your mother made your blood boil and hands shake until you couldn't see anything else. “I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.”

“Oh hush, there’s no need for that,” your mother dismissed as if it was a trivial matter. “I’ll just clean this up and head on to bed-” you stopped her from bending back down to clean up after the mess and insisted that you do it yourself as you directed her back into her bedroom upstairs. Supporting her weight all the way up the stairs you assisted in preparing her bed and tucking her in. 

“You’re such a good kid,” she suddenly cooed, bringing up her frail and roughened hands from labour comfortingly up to your cheek. You held onto it and smiled down at her softly in response. 

“How did the interview go? Did you get accepted?” Once your smile disappeared into a disappointed frown she immediately soothed you. “Opportunities will come and go, don’t fret about it, darling. You’ll get it next time.” Though you nodded along with her words with a small beam, you knew you couldn't survive on optimism for much longer. 

“Good night,” you kissed down on her temple and blew away the fire flickering beside her bedside table before closing the door. Though it may sound impossibly crazy and foolishly dangerous, you knew where you had to go in a few days. Though the chance of you winning may be less than one percent, you would take any chance you had in order for you both to escape the life you currently had. 

The next two days went by in a blur, monotonous and grey as ever, and when you finally arrived onto the grounds of the Kukuroo mountain on the third day have the reality finally knocked you into your senses. Around five hundred girls filling your very peripheral visions stood and crowded in front of the ill-famed gate. Their mere chatter mass assembled together sounded like a roar, intimidating you by the sheer size of the sound of your competitors. Nevertheless, with a determined spirit, you filled in with the massive crowd around you. 

Suddenly, the noise all but halted once an old, feeble looking man made an appearance before the participants, smiling joyfully as if he knew something you didn’t. “Welcome ladies to the first day of the public trial on behalf of the Zoldyck family,” he greeted mirthfully. “We have expected a big turnout and for that we are more than grateful for. Therefore, this morning and the next marks the first preliminary task.” 

“Without further ado, each of you will have one chance to open the Testing Gate, which all of you must know that the first panel weighs around two tonnes and the ones after weighs twice as more as before, you are free to choose which panel to open. If you fail in opening the gate within the first five minutes I am afraid you are immediately disqualified from the competition. There is no need to label numbers as we expect them to go down drastically, I will monitor the first task for the time being and to all of you, I wish you the best of luck.”

There was an unnerving glances shared with each other by the girls, anxious on how to overcome the first issue with their high end shoes and neatly done hair and makeup. Of course, the Zoldycks won’t be looking at appearance to fit the mold, rather it was strength that they were seeking for. You cursed at yourself for not realising it soon enough too, wearing the nicest clothes you had in your closet and even going as far as spraying a bit of your mother’s perfume.

As the time goes by, the numbers slowly decreased with each failure. Some even left without trying, those who went undercover as a news reporter, a media freelancer hoping to snap a quick picture and those who thought they didn’t bear a chance. So far there were only five who managed to open the gate with one or two choosing the heavier panels. Once it was decided that it was your turn, the sky had already turned dark with the moon and the stars hung high above the skies.

Narrowing your eyes in front of two tonne door, you began to lean all your weight and force into pushing it open. There were sweats beading up to your forehead already as you continued to push on forward. “One minute,” the man stated. The minutes turned into seconds and so far no progress has been made. Gritting your teeth you kept your force constant hoping that you could manage to get a crack soon. 

“Four minutes.” Those very words alarmed you, making you lose focus for a mere moment. Though as quick as it came, you fortunately caught yourself, instead you drowned out the crowd behind you, along with time, sound and your senses and the elements of the world. Carrying that energy you had, you honed in on pushing your momentum forward. Suddenly a gap shifted, making you focus on not losing that velocity.

The older gentleman was counting down the last twenty seconds but you couldn't hear him, the ladies in the back watched in awe as you were the first one in a while to make such progress in the last few hours. When the crack widened to a space that you deemed was enough to slip your body through momentarily before the door swung back and crushed your bones, you managed to squeeze inside within the very last second.

Gasping tremendously for air from the overexertion of your strength, you looked around to find yourself on the other side in a quiet, shrouded forests along with the other girls who made it through before you. Once they've acknowledged your presence, they were quick to assess you head to toe with their sharp eyes. 

Of course, you couldn't forget that this was a competition.There was thick tension in the air between you all knowing that these people did not view you as anything but a rival. Taking your spot wordlessly on a tree stump, you waited for the first task to finish with the others and that meant waiting all night and day until each girl has had her turn on the gates.

This waiting game continued on until the next late afternoon when the sun was about to set again. There was now a total of fifty three of you waiting on the other side, each anxious and tired as every second passes. Suddenly, a pair of finely dressed men arrived bearing a stone faced expressions while carrying finely ornate candlestick to light the way. 

“Congratulations on passing the preliminary round. We now continue on with the trial by heading to the estate. You'll do your best job to keep up with us.” Without any further questions, they swiftly turned around and headed into the direction to the top of the mountain. It took you all a second to process what they said before you all followed and began your long trek uphill.

You were no stranger to walking vast distances but as you were currently running without sleep or food it made it quite strenuous for your journey up ahead. Once you've arrived, you’re greeted with the sight of a gargantuan house and in front, somebody waiting for you. 

“These are the ones who passed?” a woman dressed in a Victorian attire with a mechanical visor implored with a testy tone. 

“Yes Madame, should we escort them to their quarters?” One of the worker asked. The lady raised her hand in objection whilst keeping a steady view on all fifty three of you. 

“No need, I shall take them from here, you may be excused.” Without another word they bowed respectfully and left. “You all are here because you wish to make space for yourself in this family. Before you can idly daydream of such foolish fantasies, I will be here to test you all. You will be subjected to many trials, as many as I deem necessary, it will take days, months or even years but the trial will not end until I am satisfied that one of you is worthy enough. Should you break, cry, slip, scream, fall- should you show any sign of weakness during these times you are immediately disqualified.”

“Those of you who are not prepared for such endeavours, I advise you to head back now,” she stated, waiting for anyone to back out of the competition and when no one did, she narrowed her eyes further. “Very well then, follow me.”

There was an insinuation in her voice that tells you no matter what any of you will achieve you may never be deemed worth enough to earn a place in the family. Following the lady of the house dutifully she showed you all to a large room where fifty three futons are laid out in perfect symmetry on the floor along with a concave wood with a stick attached on the middle of the back and a pair of small bowls, one filled with rice and the other with cherry blossom petals for each bed. 

“You shall all sleep here during your time in the competition, those items you see are crucial to your rest. Place the rice to your left and the petals to your right head. The sticks are to prop your head up while you sleep where you will not make a single movement or sound. We will monitor you all night while you do and if I such as find a grain of rice or a petal out of place from their bowls or even failing to keep your head upright by these sticks, you are finished from here on out.” She instructed and before she could add more, she sniffed and grimaced for a second. 

“Be ready by six in the morning, the showers are down the hall to the left.”

Once she left, everybody claimed their spots on the bed and you took yours near the end of the back where it was the quietest. The one next to you was searching for her bowl of petals and you spotted it beneath her futon, out of her line of sight. When you offered it to her with a small smile she snatched the wooden bowl from you and averted her gaze instantly. 

“You shouldn't be here,” she muttered, sinking in her blanket. 

“What?” You couldn't help but ask. 

She rolled her eyes and huffed out an air of annoyance, “you’re going to get yourself killed.” Propping her elbows up to level with you, she eyed you seriously, “you’re not a nen user. We could all sense that back on the gates. Everyone here is a user except for you and that testing gate was nothing compared to what’s going to come. You shouldn't be here, you won’t come out the same if you do.” 

You watched her carefully rest her head on the stick and shut her eyes. Silently you did the same and through the pain and stress of your neck from balancing your head perfectly upright should’ve bothered you, it didn't do as much as her words. Still, you're willing to put yourself through hell, there was no other choice and to back out now would defeat your purpose.

It was close to dawn, and though you were restless all throughout the night you fought the urge to move and stayed perfectly still. Once you woke up however, you saw ten less empty beds. Frowning a bit, you got up to put your bed away and wash yourself before the clock strikes six.

Forty three people now remain and once you have all assembled in the main room before the entrance, the lady from before along with two other butlers arrived. This time she formally introduced herself as Kikyo Zoldyck, the Madame of the house and family. They directed you all towards a large room where a bowl of rice and soup was already prepared for each one.

“You must all complete your breakfast with proper, courtly manners, anything less revolts me. That means you must at all times during the meal to not slouch or make a sound, sit on your heels and eat a grain of rice one at a time.” She ordered acerbically. 

You took a seat to the one nearest to you and waited for their signal for you to eat. Once it was given, you apprehensively picked up your chopsticks and ate a single grain and more or less swallowed as it was so small you could barely taste or chew it. Five minutes have not yet passed when suddenly a girl doubled over, spilling her food everywhere whilst retching into the floor. Everyone turned their heads over to her in horror as they realised what you have all been eating.

Poison.

The smell of bile filled the room as Kikyo fanned her face to waft the air away from her vicinity and gestured to the guards to take her away. The rest of the meal was unfortunate as you struggled to ignore the groans and nausea of the others who fell victim along with the putrid smell around you. Ignoring your innate instinct to reject the food you chose to focus on your mind over matter, no matter what they were going to do to you, it was not nearly as painful as seeing your mother suffer when you could do something about it. 

It was then that your body went on almost pilot mode as you could not recall having any more thoughts or memories of yourself subjected to various torture trials. The days increased into weeks and the number of girls that were here soon dropped like flies. The woman that you spoke to on your first day, she was gone too by the fourth night as you watched the now empty spot beside you as you went to sleep.

Every day was a routine of testing the limits of your strength. Every meal given was always laced with some poison, it has come to a point where you suppressed your urge to vomit so hard each day that now it had sit still in your stomach. 

The same could be made every time you are sent to the electrocution chamber down in the depths of the cold basement where you could spend the whole day being shocked in miscellaneous voltages by the workers who looked like they were enjoying it too much. Or when snow came in, they would strip you bare of your clothes and drench you all in cold water outside. The lashings were always held arbitrarily though, they would only stop until the markings started to show as Kikyo deemed the sight of a scarred back to be ghastly to gaze upon.

Then there were only three, this time however, the task you were assigned was definitely an odd one. Kikyo was known for her admiration of finer things in life such as traditional japanese and eurocentric arts, this task she requires you was to perform an intricate dance. Beauty and gracefulness came later in the part of the competition you guessed. 

Though the level of difficulty was just the same as the previous ones.There was an emphasis on how every movement from the slightest tip of your fingers could immediately expel you if you strayed from the original choreography. For days at night you practiced until your feet would give out or until you heard birds chirping at the sight of the first light of the day. 

When the day finally came to determine your performance you are finally escorted onto the Zoldyck estate, though only one participant must attend at a time and you settled with being the last. So when it was finally your turn, you arrived at a private room where there was a screen that divided you from your spectators. The room itself was beautiful, lit with red candles and carefully carved up wooden walls that tells infinite stories.

You could see before you that Kikyo was not alone this time, there was another sitting patiently beside her. Before you could pry more to try and make out the mysterious figure, Kikyo’s voice reverberated through behind the screen to instruct you to begin. You inhaled a small breath and blinked in shock momentarily. You hadn't noticed before but the floor was absolutely covered in small broken glasses. You knew better than to expect the least by this point.

Clearing your mind as you do with every single trial that you participated in, you stepped forward. You could faintly hear the sounds of small shards of glasses every time you moved as well as feeling the red liquid slowly pooling beneath your feet. Nevertheless, you began without a moment to waste. Twisting at every turn, sliding your feet across the floor while masking your emotions with a stone, cold exterior. Hanging to every last words of her instructions to follow the exact routine. 

You were halfway done with your performance when the other figure suddenly stood up and came closer to the divider. Though you presumed it was quite unusual, you continued on with your dance until the person swiftly cut the screen seemingly with his bare hands to reveal an expressionless, grim man with long midnight hair and as far as you can tell, endless deep eyes.

The strange man that emanated pure darkness stood before you uttered your name in a low breath. “That is your name?” you halted your routine once he had addressed you as you nodded politely in response, looking down out of respect. 

“A daughter of a mere commoner, you run a restaurant with your poor, ailing mother down on an unnamed street. You don’t come from an impressive background or lineage, nor martial training of any skills and your nen has yet to be awakened.” He stated matter of factly. You held your tongue for you feared that you would be the cause of your demise.

He stepped forward towards you, his bare feet coming on contact with the sharp glass and yet no blood came gushing out like yours did. “You know the ones before you, they were the exact opposite. They came in and used their nen skills to protect and form a barrier against their skin and yet you endured even without having basic nen training which I would find quite impossible until this very day.”

“I could sense you are determined, but your heart is set somewhere else,” he came in closer and Kikyo now stood up, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “It is not me that you desire, is it?” The man was impossibly close to you that you found it hard to catch your breath and answer promptly. Judging by the implication of his words, he must be the son of the Zoldyck family.

“No.” You answered truthfully, not knowing whether or not that was the smartest move. He let out a small hum before asking once again, “then why do you do it? Why do you subject yourself to such extreme affliction without any power? Why do you fight so hard just to live another day?” 

“There are those worth fighting for, for every horrible persecution you put me through I will continue to fight.” His demeaning words spark a gust of defiance within you. “And you're wrong, I am equipped with power, something far more greater that no other kind of nen could reach.”

Furrowing his eyes, he looked at you in disbelief, “you're misunderstood, emotions cannot give you strength, they are mere obstacles in life’s objectives. It makes you weak.”

“Emotions aren't weak, they make me stronger, love made me stronger.” Looking into his eyes you saw no trace of empathy within him, you’re not shocked to learn if this man knows no concept of it. “It’s what kept me standing here after all this time.”

He stood still for a quiet minute, silently staring you down with those cold, dead eyes. He raised his arms and for a moment you thought he would strike you down with it and immediately dispose of you for speaking out of turn towards him. Instead, you're startled to find yourself swept off of your feet and held firmly by him, relieving you of your pain while your droplets of blood fell languidly, making a subtle drop against the wooden floor and glass.

“Illumi! What are you doing?” Shrieked Kikyo, holding up her dress to run towards the both of you. 

“The trial ends here,” he responded absentmindedly. “I have found my fiancée.” 

“No! It's only been a month!” She refuted erratically “She is the weakest of the bunch, her luck will run out soon just give it more time! There are far others more deserving with noble titles and background. You are upsetting the order, she cannot take your place beside you, she is far lesser than-” A look from Illumi caused her to clamp her lips shut.

“The sole objective was to find the strongest one to take the place as my wife and strengthen the Zoldyck family, was it not mother?” he asked bluntly. When she didn't respond he continued, this time facing you as he spoke, “I have seen proficient nen-users crumble under the pressures of these tortures, imagine the strength that she possesses once her nen is awakened.” 

“There is no need to look any further then, send the others home.” Illumi finished and began to carry you away from the room and Kikyo who appeared as if she was about to have a meltdown. 

Once the heavy doors were closed behind you, you flinched once you heard her piercing screams that shook the manor as he gave you a small imitation of a smile all throughout the time. 

You did not know whether to let your heart soar as you won the indisputable prize that could set a proper life for you and your mother or shrivel for the future. You could not have imagined in your wildest dreams for the man you’re sent to be wed off to be one that personified death. Just being held by him shook your very core. His aura radiated nothing but darkness, you felt no light in it that you could almost choke from the tension. 

There was no telling that this man would ever show compassion, there was something that tells you days with him would be worse than what you've endured these past few weeks. Setting your gaze forwards you tensed as you looked upon a macabre painting ahead of you, ironically painting your future ahead. 

In sparing your life, you ultimately gave him yours in return, but he and all his family would be a fool if they think they could take your love away.

[katavicbun]

As promised (actually I don’t think I promised it but whatev) here is the girl talk snippet from “It’s Not Over. We’re Not Done.” chapter 15. If you haven’t read it ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798473/chapters/70625382 plu plug plug) then you’ll be confused, but like... if you want contextless post-DR3 “Nagito has friends” fluff, who am I to stop you?

Back in the Jabberwock killing game, Nagito almost enjoyed the motives that they were given. As soon as the 77th class had been thrown into the thick of it, Nagito had been beside himself with anticipation at seeing brilliant Ultimate hope persevere against the depths of tragedy. But he didn’t think he’d be happy about a new killing motive again. 

Granted, the reason was much less nefarious this time around. 

The First Blood Perk: there would be no trial or punishment for the first blackened. They would be free; or whatever that meant in the context of the simulation.

Nagito was looking forward to telling Hajime the relatively good news, but once his game-watching shift was over, it looked like Kazuichi had beaten him to it. 

From what Nagito could hear at a distance, it sounded like Kazuichi was putting a bit too much emphasis on how “Kokichi is being an absolute dick to Kiibo”, but the tension in Hajime’s expression lessened with the actually-important news. 

Even when Kazuichi left, Nagito stayed where he was, indecisively shifting from foot to foot. Hajime hadn’t reacted well at all when the two’s relationship had been outed the day prior. He was slowly warming up to showing casual affection when they were alone, but when others could see them…

Hajime finally noticed Nagito fidgeting on the other side of the hall, his face softening further, a small but genuine smile gracing his face. The sight went straight to Nagito’s heart, speeding it up to double-time.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten this lucky. 

But before either could call out a greeting, two hands slapped over Nagito’s eyes as someone leaped onto his back. 

“Ah?” Nagito said in subdued alarm. 

“Nagichan spotted! Deploy, deploy!” Presumably Ibuki screeched in his ear, as he bent under her weight. 

“Oh, wonderful! I was worried we would not be able to meet today,” Sonia chirped, somewhere to Nagito’s left. When Ibuki slid off and he regained his sight, Nagito saw the two, plus Komaru, beaming at him expectantly. 

“Do you… need something…?” Nagito blanked. 

“Uh, yeah!” Komaru exclaimed, as if he were missing something very, very obvious. “We haven’t talked about-“

She cut herself off when she spotted Hajime in earshot, looking as baffled as Nagito felt. 

“Ha! Ha! Hajiman!” Ibuki hooted, “Nagi is needed in another castle!”

She and Komaru grabbed both of Nagito’s arms and tugged him back in the direction he’d come from. 

Murder, maybe? No, probably not. 

Sonia smiled brightly and gave a brisk wave to Hajime. “Do not worry! We shall return him to you soon!”

Komaru and Ibuki giggled madly at her word choice as they dragged Nagito away. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure Hajime’s face began turning a concerning shade of white. 

Komaru threw the door open when they reached her and Toko’s room. The three girls filed in without hesitation, but Nagito stopped at the doorway. Wasn’t it inappropriate for a man to enter a girl’s room? It wasn’t like he had ever done that before. Nor had he ever wanted to. However, the protest never had the chance to leave his mouth before he was pulled in, too, the door slamming behind him. 

It came as no surprise that Toko was already inside, curled up under the covers. She seldom moved ever since they were locked inside the hotel, still wracked with guilt and self-horror from what she had done to save Komaru from Tsumugi’s crowd. From who she had let Genocide Jack kill. 

“Hello, Toko,” Nagito said quietly. “Is Nami bothering you?”

Toko made a small noise of negation. 

The only parts of her that Nagito could see was the tangled purple mess of hair sprawled across the pillow, and her hand, absently petting his dog lying beside her. Evidently, at some point during the past two hours or so, Nami had slipped inside, like the spoiled pet she was. 

“Tell us everything!” Komaru urged excitedly, jumping onto the mattress to sit with her girlfriend. Sonia knelt delicately on the floor on Toko’s other side, and Ibuki flopped down next, yanking a very confused Nagito with her.

“Everything...? Komaru, we were on the same shift,” Nagito reminded her.

“Huh? No, not about the…” Komaru trailed off. It seemed like their merry group of twenty-three was split down the middle when it came to how to deal with their situation. Hajime couldn’t stop talking about it, but Komaru was trying very hard to talk about literally anything else.

Ibuki interrupted. “So are you and Hajiman, like, ooey-gooey lovey-dovey, or are you…” She made a variety of random sound effects that Nagito was afraid to interpret.

Sonia and Komaru were leaning forward with sparkling eyes and wide grins.

Ah.

“I… um,” Nagito stuttered, completely unsure of how to answer. The room suddenly felt very warm. And small. “Not… Not the second one. I think.”

“Ooey-gooey boyfriends!” Ibuki squished his cheeks as Komaru and Sonia shot him with rapid-fire questions.

“When!?”

“Where?”

“Who confessed!?”

“Oh! Have you kissed?”

Nagito managed to pry Ibuki away from his face. She bounced away, unbothered. “A week ago, in the hotel hallway, it… depends, and…” Nagito stopped. What was he even allowed to disclose? So much of this was uncharted territory; he still wasn’t used to having friends in the first place. He still wasn’t used to even calling them friends, despite them insisting it was so.

“He’s blushing! They totally have!” Komaru accused proudly.

“My goodness, the both of you must be so sweet!” Sonia clasped her hands together under her chin. “What did you talk about?”

Nagito had replayed the moment an inappropriate amount of times in his own head; maybe it would be nice to talk about it out loud. And they were asking. “Hmm… Hajime said he loved me, and let me kiss him.”

The three girls had frozen smiles on their faces, like they were expecting more.

Ibuki blinked. “Ah… aww?” 

“I’m sorry. Was that too much?” Nagito frowned. He was trying to get better at determining when he had been talking for too long.

“D-details…” Toko mumbled. So she was listening. 

“It… was nice…?” Nagito ventured.

“What did you talk about?” Komaru prompted. Sonia and Ibuki nodded.

Oh. Just a little more, then. “I told him that I fell in love with the Hajime inside Izuru and the Izuru inside Hajime. Then he requested that I stop saying things like that if I continued rejecting his advances. I reminded him that it was for his own wellbeing, and he told me that for whatever reason, he believed that I wasn’t an utter detriment to his quality of life. He even said he was sad when I died!” Nagito closed his eyes dreamily at the memory. “He said many kind things, and allowed me to kiss him. He smiled!”

The girls looked considerably less excited.

“I… I am… more confused, somehow.” Sonia cocked her head, her eyebrows upturned.

“Wait, hold on, did Hajime say he loved you before?” Komaru asked. “When you were in Towa with us, you said it was one-sided.”

“L-lying…” Toko muttered.

“No, not on purpose!” Nagito quickly clarified. He tried not to lie when he could. “Hajime also said it on the boat ride back to Jabberwock, after we escaped Aozora.” 

“Well well well!?” Ibuki shook her fists, pumped up again at the prospect of more gossip.

That memory wasn’t quite as pleasant.

“When Hajime was fixing my prosthetic, he wanted to know why I sacrificed myself for him, and allowed myself to be captured in his place. Of course, I reminded him that I loved him,” Nagito recounted. It seemed like an obvious question at the time. Now that he had hindsight, though, he wondered if it was simply a way to steer the conversation. “He said he felt the same. He tried to kiss me, but…” Nagito winced.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t let you. Because I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You think I’m doing this because of Izuru!?”

Nagito shook his head. “...Well. Like I said. It was… for his own good.”

Sonia gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, Nagito, I… I am so sorry!”

“You’re… sorry?” Nagito repeated. Not quite the reaction he was expecting.

“I told you that Hajime was fixing your arm because I thought you wanted to talk,” Sonia explained mournfully. “I knew how you felt, and I could tell Hajime had feelings for you as well. You both acted so odd afterwards. I should have picked it together!”

“‘Put’,” Toko corrected.

Calling his and Hajime’s actions “odd” was a bit of an understatement. Hajime tried to explain himself, and reconnect, and care for Nagito. But Nagito pushed him away. He was cruel.

“Um, question?” Komaru spoke up hesitantly. “You keep saying that avoiding him was for his own good. What do you mean, exactly?”

“Is it Nagichan’s luck?” Ibuki asked.

Nagito shook his head. If it were anyone else, or if Hajime was 100% “Hajime”, it would have been. Something terrible would have happened to him, just like his parents. But Hajime’s own Ultimate Luck nullified the negative aspects.

Well. Not Hajime’s luck. It was-

“You are talking about the simulation, then?” Sonia offered after a pause.

No, not really. Nagito wasn’t in the mood to correct her, though. Plus, the Jabberwock killing game was a massive roadblock between the two of them. 

“I never saw the simulation, though. What happened?” Komaru asked. 

Sonia and Ibuki avoided Nagito’s eyes.

The Jabberwock killing was also the massive elephant in the room.

They all waited for Nagito to explain. He didn’t. He figured the extent of his actions would best be described by the ones he hurt.

“Ah. Well,” Sonia said after his silence became apparent. “Nagito, um… he was a little…”

“Wacko?” Ibuki supplied.

Sonia looked at her sharply. Nagito nodded in encouragement.

“Nagichan tried to hurt Imposter. And everyone. And Hajiman... is also part of ‘everyone’?” Ibuki continued with uncharacteristic discomfort. Her details were very lacking. Nagito thought it would be best to fill in a bit.

“Not out of self-preservation, either. I simply thought that by introducing despair, it would persuade our classmates to fight for their own brilliant hopes. When I failed, I tried to convince the others to do the same,” Nagito explained. The words were familiar, but even he noticed that his tone lacked the enthusiasm he once spoke with. It felt less like the ramblings of a devotee, and more like an objective, emotionless retelling. “I found out our past identities as the Remnants of Despair, and used my own life to try and take theirs. After all, it was the only use I could think of for myself.”

By the deafening silence following, Nagito came to the conclusion that this was not the planned topic of discussion.

This was all news to Komaru. Still, she didn’t look surprised. It probably sounded very consistent with her and Toko’s experience with him.

“But we have forgiven you!” Sonia insisted, covering his hand with hers. “You have proven that you are a good man, many times now. And… we have all done… terrible, terrible things.” Her voice dipped down at the end of her sentence. As pure-hearted as she was now, Sonia, too, was a Remnant of Despair.

“Hajiman totally thinks so, too!” Ibuki piped up, the positive momentum picking up again. “He’s gone gaga!”

“First impressions aren’t everything, either!” Komaru added. “I mean, look at me and Toko. The first time we met, we were totally different to each other than we are now.”

“It wasn’t the first time we met,” Nagito blurted out.

Oops.

“You… knew each other when you were students?” Sonia deduced. “I did not know that.”

“Oh no, Nagichan didn’t like Reserve Courses…” Ibuki recalled. There went the positive mood again. However…

“I met him when he was no longer a student,” Nagito corrected, his tone flattening out. He met him when he was no longer Hajime.

“I see. Hajime feels guilty because Izuru hurt you?” Sonia asked quietly. 

Yes, but not the way she meant it. 

Nagito wasn’t planning on explaining much further, but Toko spoke again, her voice muffled under the blankets.

“W-where did you g-go when you l-left Towa? Th-the f-first time I-I mean.”

Nagito’s head shot up.

“Wh-what Tsumugi said…” Toko murmured.

“Nagito Komaeda, Ultimate Lucky Student number two, psychopath hope-bitch, Izuru’s personal puppy dog!”

A sharp inhale from Sonia, a gawk from Ibuki, a sympathetic sound from Komaru.

The questions popping around in their minds were practically audible, but they knew enough not to voice them. It wasn’t like they didn’t understand what Toko was implying, either. 

Nagito felt that familiar, peaceful feeling of resignation fill his body, pasting a blank, cheerful smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you planned on talking about today. Though, if it’s any consolation, I’ve found this conversation enlightening. It’s good to remember your roots, isn’t it?” Nagito mused. “‘Hajime and Nagito’... it’s pretty nonsensical and twisted, hmm? His claim to care for me is… impossible. And so is yours-”

Nagito was cut off when Sonia tackled him.

“Do not dare finish that thought!” She cried, squeezing him much tighter than he figured she would be able to. “I do not claim to know how Hajime feels, but I know how I do!”

“Sonia…?” Nagito blinked, trying and failing to untangle himself. 

“You are sweet and kind. You saved my life, even after how we have treated you!” She insisted, cheek squished against his shoulder. 

Ibuki leaped at Nagito from his other side, nearly knocking him and Sonia to the ground. “Ibuki’s crazy, too, it’s a-okay! And she was wrong, Nagichan would never hurt his neighbors’ pets. Nami-Mami is so happy!”

The dog’s tail thumped on the bed at the sound of her name.

“Plus, Nagi’s got the voice of a princess, and he lets me play with his floof!” To illustrate, Ibuki plunged one of her hands into his hair and ruffled madly. Nagito really didn’t like it when (most) people touched his hair, but he was too surprised at the moment to protest.

Two more arms wrapped around his shoulders as Komaru laid on her stomach to reach them from the bed. “I know I haven’t really known you for too long, but I wanna get to know you more. We didn’t get off on a good foot, but you’re so different now!”

A hand landed on his head.

“I-I j-just do wh-what Komaru does… sh-she makes friends w-with w-weird people, b-but…” Toko muttered.

Nagito felt tears prick at his eyes, but he was too cocooned with affection to be able to wipe his face. “Ah… that’s… thank you,” he murmured. 

He jumped when he felt a light slap on his scalp.

“Also, come on! Hajime is totally head over heels!” Komaru scolded playfully. “When you talked to him on the computer back in Towa, he was so happy you were okay, I thought he was gonna, like, explode!”

“I-it was gross,” Toko agreed.

“And Hajiman tried so hard to rescue you!” Ibuki squealed. Nagito flinched at her proximity to his ear. “Ibuki heard he carried Nagichan all the way back to the bus. Like a knight and a princess!”

Nagito wasn’t sure he liked Ibuki’s insistence of him being a princess, but she meant well.

“And I have never seen Hajime as happy as he was when you were together.” Sonia said, pulling back to put a hand on Nagito’s cheek. “We are not defined by our actions in the past. Who you are now is most important, and the person that you are now is the one we all love.”

Being loved: it was an experience that Nagito never really had. Of course he wouldn’t recognize it.

“After everything… I think you should allow yourself to believe what you are told.” Sonia smiled gently. “Don’t you?”

Change didn’t come easy. It didn’t come quick. It came in increments, in short bursts, in relapses and two steps back, and in growth. 

One gesture couldn’t change everything. But it could help the process.

“I… I love you all, too,” Nagito said thickly.

********************

Nagito knew he’d made Hajime lose his cool quite a bit back in the day. But not like this. Never like this.

The hole Hajime had punched through the wall watched them like a single black eye, the resulting drops of blood on the carpet almost visible, even in the dark. Hajime’s eyes were puffy, and the bandage on his hand was bulky and rough.

When Hajime had gotten out of the shower, Nagito was laying on the bed and feigning sleep. He wasn’t sure what he could even say to Hajime, and decided that acting was the least offensive thing to do. He kept his eyes shut, even when he felt Hajime’s bore into him. Even when Hajime laid down and clung onto him for dear life. Even when Hajime hooked his legs like a vice around one of Nagito’s, and gripped his shirt enough to make it ride up, and buried his face so far into the crook of Nagito’s neck that he worried his breathing was compromised. 

Maybe it was to prevent Nagito from leaving and trying to sacrifice himself. Again.

Or…

“I think you should allow yourself to believe what you are told. Don’t you?”

...Or maybe Hajime just wanted reassurance that Nagito was there. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

“I love you,” Hajime whispered shakily to the supposedly-sleeping boy, his breath warm on his skin.

Hajime wanted Nagito to be scared about the prospect of his own demise. But how could he be?

Right now, Nagito had everything he wanted. He had… friends. A makeshift family. He had Hajime.

For once, Nagito was happy.

[wonda-cat]

You mentioned rewriting that one analysis post on Tommy’s revival stream and I’d really look forward to it! I never got to read the full og post and that’s the only place I saw these takes. Especially the one about the afterlife being too depressing. It’s not even just about Tommy, the implication that even if every character is safe and happy by the end, this is their inevitable fate is messed up. It’s not “a neat subversion” it’s just depressing and doesn’t add anything.

Hey, anon!

I sorta decided to not rewrite it? I feel a bit differently about the essay in the end, although I still believe in most of my points. I’m also just not nearly as passionate about it as I was when I wrote it (I finished it in a single sitting, which was... interesting.) However, yes, the afterlife stuff still bothers me just the same, as well as the odd changes to Wilbur’s characterization... post mortem.

But—just for you, anon—here’s the entire meta-analysis essay anyway, with some minor edits to the stuff I don’t agree with anymore!

My Many Narrative Issues with Tommyinnit’s Revival Stream

I want to preface this by saying that I dearly love the Dream SMP and understand it isn’t exactly comparable to other mediums like TV and film. With this being the case, most criticism against it is generally in bad faith or strange in foundation. Complaining about streamers for bad acting is the best example that comes to mind. 

These aren’t professional actors. Most have never acted in this sort of setting, or even at all. Quite a few have admitted to never roleplaying before. Which is why it’s warranted to praise Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Ranboo, and others when they deliver stellar performances. The same applies to criticism of music choice, dialogue delivery, focus, tone, etc. 

However, one such category I cannot overlook is in regards to its writing. The writing of a story is its entire foundation. It encompasses many things—conflict choice, character development, themes, and morals. The author creates the blueprints for the architect, who then expresses the story with light, sound, color, pacing, and music. It is in its execution that we see if this connection is made or broken. 

The reason I find poor writing mostly inexcusable is because it is one of the most available skills to practice and perfect. I don’t mean to say that it’s easy, I mean to say it is something anyone can attempt to cultivate. Whether they do it well or not depends on their methods and experience. If anyone can self-publish a novel and be criticized online for its quality—and even compared to the works of Mark Twain—then I find critiquing the writing of the Dream SMP to be perfectly reasonable. 

However, since the Dream SMP script is a set of loose bullet points, tearing apart dialogue and scene continuity—which is nearly all improv—is rather useless. It doesn’t exactly have a clear focus as the plot plays out. The characters talk in circles until they hit the story beat required, and then they move onto the next. Thus, when criticizing it, one should generally critique grand events and narrative-specific shifts, more so than small-scale character interactions. 

Which brings me to my main point: The broad narrative choices taken in Tommyinnit’s most recent livestream, ‘Am I dead?’ may lead to disastrous writing pitfalls in the future. 

I’ll be outlining each of my issues below, in hopes of creating a better understanding as to why I feel this way. 

This might become quite lengthy, so please bear with me for a bit.

Tommy’s relationship to Wilbur has flipped. This change is jarring and seems out of character.

Tommy and Wilbur’s friendship is rather complicated. While Wilbur does care for Tommy immensely, especially during the L’Manburg Revolution and the Election Arc, his mental spiral during exile put a massive strain on their relationship as a whole. Wilbur brushed off Tommy’s feelings and wants, while clinging to him and pushing everyone else away. He was simultaneously distant and suffocating. 

Tommy, on the other hand, has an unclear view of his mentor. Since the beginning, and even long after Wilbur’s death, Tommy held him in especially high regard. He saw him as a brother-figure and a wise leader. He followed what he said and did everything he could to impress him. Yet, Wilbur still hurt him while the two were together in exile. 

When speaking of him, Tommy tends to flip infrequently between remembering Wilbur the way he was before his mental decline and thinking of him as a monster. Both of these images conflict with each other, but they weren’t nearly as extreme as what Tommy described Wilbur as when he was revived from death. The fear Tommy displays to Wilbur is beyond intense—it feels as if the audience may have missed a month’s worth of character development. 

This can make sense, especially since it was stated that he’d spent what felt like two months in the void. However, this shift is still deeply at odds with Tommy’s previous impressions of Wilbur, which is both disheartening and confusing. The fact that Tommy would agree to stay with Dream—his abuser and murderer—over his past mentor is simply head-reeling. It paints a very different picture of Wilbur’s character, somewhat conforming to the fandom’s ableist impression of him—the idea that Wilbur is insane and irredeemable, and always will be. 

It also ignores Dream being the driving factor in Wilbur’s downfall, as well as the double-bind deal with Dream which required him to push the button, no matter the outcome. Others have pointed out that Tommy may be lying to get Dream to bring Wilbur back, and there’s compelling evidence for that. For one, Tommy and Wilbur’s conversation seemed uncomfortable, but it was certainly nothing like Tommy implied. (Unless this fear comes from something Wilbur said off-screen.) 

Tommy also begged Dream to not bring him back multiple times over, which he should know would make Dream even more tempted to, simply because he likes seeing Tommy in pain. Tommy is also a known unreliable narrator. He may be making Wilbur out to be worse than he is by accident (even still, I’d argue this is a bit of a stretch.) 

However, there are some issues with this theory. Tommy offered himself as payment to Dream if he chose to let Wilbur rest. This is a deal Tommy knows Dream is extremely unlikely to refuse. Tommy is what Dream has coveted all this time. If Tommy genuinely wanted Wilbur back, he would not offer this. This sort of compromise is Tommy’s greatest nightmare—something he would only do in response to his friends being threatened or his home being destroyed. 

To add, Tommy is not great at lying. Unless he was taught by Wilbur for those two months* in the afterlife, there’s no chance Tommy would be this good at it. Thirdly, Tommy is terrible under pressure. He uses humor to cope. When he can’t, he cries and shouts and spills his heart out. While cornered, Tommy will tell the truth about anything, especially if Dream casually debates killing him again, just for fun. 

For now, it’s too early to tell how the relationship shift will play out. In the grand scheme of things, this issue is rather minor.

Season three’s writing is needlessly bleak. The portrayal of the afterlife is a nightmare. There is no rest, not even in death.

I adore the Dream SMP storyline in its entirety. I believe the first season is fantastic, and while the second season has some narrative clarity issues, I enjoyed it just as much. Although, I would argue season one had a more concrete understanding of its Hope-Conflict balance. 

To briefly explain, the Hope in stories are its ‘highs’ and good moments. These appear when a character the audience is rooting for is narratively rewarded. They happen during character building in the text—it’s the downtime and peace that allows for connection and relatability. It’s a moment for the viewer to breathe easy. 

The other half is Conflict, an obstacle in the story that gets in the way of the main characters’ goals, beliefs, and motives. These are the ‘lows.’ They give the narrative focus and weight. They make the highs feel even higher. They establish consequences and force the characters in the story to change in order to adapt and overcome them. 

I bring up the Hope-Conflict balance because a traditional hero’s journey would have an appropriate amount of both. Their highs and lows are generally equalized, as the name suggests. However, this balance has been awkwardly skewed in the latter half of season two and in the current plot of season three. To clarify, it is perfectly reasonable, and even common, for some stories to tip the scale more to one side. 

But a common mistake for amateur writers is to create their stories as either hopelessly dark to cause the audience continuous distress for the sake of distress, or to keep everything entirely conflict-free for most of the plot. What do these both have in common? They each make the story boring and predictable. 

Season three has taken this concept and thrown a monstrously heavy weight onto the Conflict side and flipped the scale so hard it has crashed through the ceiling. The viewers are hardly given time to find any joy in Tommy’s character, as he’s thrown into yet another abusive situation, just barely after his first narrative reward. The world is painted as relentlessly violent and traumatic. 

Every person Tommy meets is morally grey, unhinged, or out to hurt him. Everything most of the characters love is taken from them by those in positions of power. Ranboo cannot even grieve properly because it scars his face. Puffy, Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo all blame themselves for what happened to Tommy. 

The audience watches lore stream after lore stream with the same depressing tone (with the exception of Tubbo’s, but I assume that’s unintentional.) Tommy is revived after being brutally beaten to death by his abuser, surrounded by all of his greatest fears. The afterlife is revealed to be akin to inescapable torture. It’s a colorless void that wraps the individual like fabric. 

Time moves thirty times slower within. There’s nothing—nothing but the voices of others who’ve passed on before him. Dying in a world already devoid of happiness takes the characters to a place worse than hell. When a narrative delivers unfair suffering to the entire cast without a moment of joy to speak of, the story will feel simultaneously overwhelming and pointless. 

Why watch characters suffer when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel? What happiness could they strive for when we know they’ll never get to keep it? How can I be satisfied with a good ending, if I know that an afterlife too terrible to name is what awaits them, truly, at the end of their story? Death isn’t even a white void that offers rest—it is eternal torment. 

Obviously, it isn’t a good message to send by making the afterlife seem like a quiet, perfect place or an escape from pain. But making it an unspeakable anguish which awaits, assumedly, every character who will die in the future? I deeply hope Tommy was only being an extremely unreliable narrator. 

More likely, I hope the place Tommy was taken to was a Limbo of sorts, not an end-all-be-all destination for everyone.

The degree of Tommy’s narrative punishment continues to escalate, to an almost absurd degree.

Tommy is one of the most tragic characters to exist in the storyline. He was sent into war at a young age and experienced two traumatic events during it. He was exiled by the newly elected leader and witnessed his mentor Wilbur spiral and break down with paranoia. Tubbo is executed publicly in front of him. When expressing rightful anger at the person who murdered him, he’s beaten nearly to death and never receives an apology. 

Schlatt dies right in front of Tommy, after his initial refusal to hurt the ex-president. His brother-figure and mentor is killed in assisted suicide on the same day his nation is blown up. His best friend exiles him from his home for the second time. He routinely self-sacrifices to protect his country and those who live there. His most treasured possessions were taken from him and he was called selfish for trying to retrieve them (although his methods were self-destructive and volatile.) 

He was pushed to the brink of suicide after being relentlessly abused and isolated in his exile. He was horrified when he thought he was responsible for drowning Fundy. After making an objectively good decision to stand by his old friends and change for the better, his country was obliterated by the man he once idolized, his father-figure, and his abuser. 

He was left scattered and without purpose for many days. Then he fights against Dream and loses, while also reliving his trauma. He watches Tubbo almost die at the hands of someone he once thought was his friend. He doesn’t tell a single person about what happened to him in exile. The day he tries to sever his connection to Dream and heal, he’s trapped with him for a week, surrounded by everything that terrifies him. 

He threatens to kill himself, speaking about his own life as if it were an object—something to hold over Dream’s head. He blames himself for everything bad that’s ever happened to L’Manburg and his friends—internalizing a mentality as a scapegoat for everyone around him. He is forced into the role of ‘hero’ despite the title being unfair and distressing to him.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s then beaten to death by his abuser and spends what feels like two months in an afterlife that is worse than hell. When he returns, his senses are excessively heightened. Dream can cause him excruciating pain, just by pinching him. He can send Tommy into an instant panic attack, just by raising his voice. 

The punishment Tommy’s character receives is a thousand times worse than everyone he has ever met, or ever will meet. And it shows no signs of stopping, as Dream now has control over Tommy’s very mortality. Tommy now fears the slightest damage and feels as if he’s losing his best friend all over again. He is also forced into a position where he has to kill Dream out of necessity, to protect everyone he cares about.

Characters need fitting punishments in relation to their actions. Not always, but in order to be satisfying? Yes, they do. It is preferred that a main character deal with unfair situations and difficult conflicts, but this is borderline torture p*rn. Putting Tommy in these distressing and abusive situations on repeat and punishing him for doing objectively moral or healthy things is exhausting to watch. 

To quickly add, I find the general insinuation of Tommy going to hell distasteful, especially considering the contents of his storyline. I know this may be hard to believe, but Tommy is one of the most moral characters in the plot, besides Puffy and Ghostbur. He’s also the only character, followed by Ranboo, to recognize that they can be wrong and make mistakes. He changed himself in order to heal and be a better person. He was in the process of paying people back for the things he’d stolen. 

He’s learned to be hard-working and less violent through the guidance of Sam. He has apologized to everyone he’s ever hurt (with the exception of Jack Manifold, because that man is allergic to communication.) He puts himself in harm's way to protect others. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt anyone. He goes out of his way to make connections with people and maintain them, even if others don’t reciprocate. 

He’s hopelessly optimistic, despite his outwardly bitter façade. He loved so much and put meaning into the smallest things. The thought that a person like him—a suicide and abuse survivor—would go to hell after being beaten to death by the man who took everything from him; it makes me sick to my stomach. 

The only thing more morbid than Tommy’s afterlife being different than everyone else’s, is the concept that everyone will end up in this same eternal torture, no matter what they do. Take your pick: Tommy is sentenced to anguish until the end of time for no reason, or everyone will receive the same disturbing ending, regardless of their actions.

The narrative weight of Ranboo’s character is potentially out the window.

For the past few months, I’ve watched all of Ranboo’s lore streams faithfully, curious to see what role he would play in the future. His ‘hallucinations’ of Dream seemed to be sowing the seeds for a plot that has Ranboo taking the fall for every single insidious thing Dream has done. It would also be a tragic parallel to Tommy’s trial. 

Ranboo being convinced he was the one who blew up the community house, when Dream himself admitted to doing it, was one of the bigger indicators for me. This is just one of many other unexplained occurrences. Dream seemed to be making an effort to trigger and control Ranboo, especially after Sapnap’s prison visit. It appeared, from the way he went about this, that Dream had some grand use for Ranboo as part of his plan to be freed from Pandora’s Vault. 

However, after Tommy’s stream, the way Dream explains himself makes it seem like there was no plan besides seeing if the book worked on people. And if he didn’t after all, then what was Ranboo for? Was Ranboo unimportant? Was Ranboo just some weirdo who happened to phase out when seeing smiley faces and imagined conversations that may or may not have happened? 

I bring this up more as a worry, and much less so as an active problem in the narrative. They haven’t actually thrown Ranboo to the way-side or written themselves into a corner yet. In future streams, this could very easily be explained away or developed as more information is revealed. 

Only time will tell.

The potential for Wilbur’s future development and importance to the plot is unfeasible.

I feel as if I am the only person on earth who doesn’t want Wilbur Soot or Schlatt revived. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is not a dislike for these characters. I especially adore Wilbur, as he’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t want either of them resurrected because their stories have already been told. They each had a fitting conclusion that ended their involvement perfectly. 

Bringing Wilbur back would especially cheapen the impact of the War of the 16th. It’s the end of a man who was brought to the absolute edge and out of desperation, shame, and self-hatred, he destroyed himself alongside his creation. Bringing him back would leave the climax of the previous story hollow. My biggest issue, however, is that a lack of story importance would likely follow his return. 

The only real impact I’d like to see is through a healing arc with Tommy, an apology to Fundy, or a confrontation with Phil/Niki. But that’s really all the potential I can realistically see. While I don’t doubt Wilbur as an agent of chaos, able to create plot out of thin air; what is he going to do now? His country is gone, his friends and family are scattered about, and his mission from the 16th is already accomplished. 

What is a well-educated, charismatic politician supposed to do in a world already broken and without nations? Read poetry to himself and cry evilly? However, this is working off the assumption that Wilbur would be returning as his old self. 

If Wilbur is resurrected as a ‘villain’ of sorts, then what? He’s not good at fighting in the slightest. He would have no materials. There are no real allies he can make, other than the arctic group. On top of that, there are already more than enough villains to last a lifetime. 

We don’t need any more, I promise. Quackity seems to already be shaping up as another antagonist, alongside Sam’s slip into darker and darker shades of moral ambiguity. We also have Philza and Techno, which are already overkill. But then we have Dream who, despite being in a prison, has the ability of selective revival. This is mercilessly overpowered, especially if he makes many allies. The dude could just bring his dead friends back so they can keep fighting forever. 

Then there’s Jack Manifold and the Crimson followers; Antfrost, Bad, and Punz. That’s not even including characters who are refusing to get involved. How are Tommy, Tubbo, and Puffy expected to do literally anything to fight back?

Dream’s experiment on Tommy implies he had no backup plan to begin with. This makes his character seem both short-sighted and foolish.

When Tommy woke up after being brought back to life, Dream sounded surprised that the revival worked at all. This instantly shatters the perception that Dream was highly intelligent and thought ahead. With just a few lines of dialogue, it’s implied that Dream killed Tommy, unsure of if the resurrection would even be possible on humans. 

Which, to risk something that important, seems unbelievably stupid. Dream needs Tommy, from his perspective. Tommy is his ‘toy,’ the one who makes everything fun. If he lost him and couldn’t get him back, what then? Oh well, everything Dream was doing was all for nothing, I guess. 

Why not attempt this experiment on literally anyone else first? Like Sapnap or Bad or, hell, even Ranboo. I suppose it could be that, as soon as Dream got the book, he experimented with it after the 16th. This appears to be insinuated with Friend and Hendry’s revival, although this is uncertain. But even then, he was still unsure of the book’s effect on a human being.

Also, this means, hypothetically, Dream’s entire plan of escape hinged on the experiment working, to begin with, and also on bringing back Wilbur if it somehow did. I find this even more ridiculous. Why Wilbur? That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone get through the traps in Pandora’s Vault. Even if he is intelligent after years* in the afterlife, that’s also a strange assumption. 

How do people learn things in the void? Where do they even get this knowledge? I’d honestly argue Techno is a far more competent choice than Wilbur. And even if Dream did bring him back and tell him he owed him his life, what’s to stop Wilbur from just killing him permanently? Or killing himself, continuously? 

No way would Wilbur want to be controlled by anyone, ever. The dude would sooner fuck off into the mountains and become a nomad than help a neon green bodysuit cosplay as Light Yagami.

Dream’s discussion about Sam implies that he wasn't playing any part in Dream’s plan, making Sam appear entirely incompetent and neglectful of Tommy.

Dream talked about Sam in a way that seems detached and unaffiliated. He also mentioned him being broken up about Tommy’s fate and not being aware he’s still alive. Dream not being partnered with, or not using Sam in his plan leaves many plot holes. I’ll go through each one. The initial incident was an explosion, coming from the roof of Pandora’s Vault. This did not affect the Redstone mechanism for the doors or dispensers. 

Meaning, Sam could’ve had Tommy leave the way that was expected for visitors after he investigated and found no issues. This likely couldn’t have been done in less than a day, but it would be better than an entire week. If Tommy was required to stay for longer, due to protocol, he could’ve gotten Tommy out and then placed him in one of the minor cells for the remainder of the time. 

Also, no one else lost a canon life for leaving via the splash potion of harming and returning outside the maximum-security cell; why would Tommy? To add, Sam being uninvolved means that the explosion could have only been caused by Ranboo or Foolish. That, or it was placed long before and timed for the moment Tommy entered the main cell. (I’m going to ignore how ludicrous it is that someone would know the exact time Tommy would’ve entered the room with Dream.) 

If Ranboo was the person behind the detonation, this implies he was necessary for Dream to kill Tommy to test the book. But that makes it even stranger. If this was Dream’s goal all along, why not kill Tommy the instant he was trapped with him? It makes no sense for him to wait so long. 

Sam is also directly at fault for not letting Tommy out, even after the week was up. There was no reason not to. He already knew there were no issues with the prison at that point. Although, to be fair to Sam, his character may have been paranoid and checking everything more than necessary, just in case. But this still isn’t a good excuse for him ignoring protocol in this one instance, and yet, not in any of the others. 

All of these plot holes or inconsistencies would be removed if it was revealed that Dream was blackmailing Sam in some way, or Sam had been working with him since the get-go. That Sam was the person who set off the explosion in the first place to trap Tommy inside. It would also explain Sam’s refusal to let Tommy out and by keeping him in there for longer than necessary. 

This can also coexist with Sam’s attachment and care for Tommy. He probably wasn’t told about Dream’s plan to test the book and genuinely believed Dream wouldn’t hurt him. On top of that, Dream is known to be a pathological liar, so his statements about Ranboo and Sam could be entire fabrications. 

Who knows?

The Book of Revival invalidates death entirely. The narrative now lacks both tension and consequence.

Another way the Dream SMP differs from other storytelling media is in the way it goes about its character deaths. In a TV show, for example, there will be characters who die just because, or when it’s important to the plot. However, it seems as if the Dream SMP is hesitant to commit to killing its characters. And there are many reasons for that. 

The most important one being, killing someone’s character excludes them from the story and some of their livelihoods depend on them regularly streaming on the server. There is also the issue of the cast becoming extremely sparse if characters keep dying. Typically, in stories, when you kill a character, you should introduce another. 

This keeps the cast from dwindling as the storyline goes on. This means the writers would have to find new streamers to join, who will develop their own characters and relationships with the plot’s continued momentum. This can be stressful and daunting to those who may be newly added in the future. 

Keeping this in mind, the Book of Revival is annoying from a writer’s perspective. When death is no longer an issue for a story hinged on its characters’ mortality, then what do you have as a consequence anymore? We’ve explored every kind under the sun; from abuse, to betrayal, to loss, to destruction. 

In stories, traditionally, death is a finality. It’s a conclusion. Whether it’s good or not depends on the character’s actions, its build-up, and the event’s execution. Without this lingering sense of danger, tension evaporates from the story. 

Why should I care if Tommy loses in a fight to someone, if he’ll just come back a day later? Why should I care about what happened to Wilbur, if he just returns as if nothing happened? The answer is simple: I won’t. I will no longer care if Tubbo or Ranboo or Sam die in the story, because the idea of revival even being a possible outcome leaves me unenthused and uncaring. 

The Dream SMP likes to flirt with death. It teases the demise of its main characters many, many times. More so Tommy’s than anyone else’s. Wilbur’s failed resurrection, which had unforeseen and unfortunate outcomes, is now strange in comparison to Tommy’s, which happened without a hitch. 

To be fair, we actually don’t see how many attempts it took. But here’s the problem; Dream could do it without the book being physically present. He’s trapped in a prison with nothing on him, meaning he doesn’t need any materials either. It’s also implied he could do this as many times as he feels, for anyone he wants. This would be exceedingly overpowered, if not for one thing—Dream himself is mortal (at least, I fucking hope he’s mortal.) 

If someone kills him one last time, that knowledge is gone forever. And I’m glad they’ve established at least some way for Tommy to win. Because at this point, I was losing faith. 

There is also the bare minimum establishment that Dream can refuse to bring back those he doesn’t care for. He can also use it as a shield, holding this power over other people. If Dream is gone, death is permanent. But isn’t that how death is supposed to be, anyway? 

What a bleak premise—the afterlife is pure eternal torture while life is cheapened by a lack of consequences.

Conclusion

All this to say, I am cautiously optimistic for the future. I hope dearly that every single one of these can be disproven or developed in the coming livestreams. Obviously, there’s not enough information to really determine what the end result will be, or how everything will fall into place. 

Every time I have theorized about the story, it has done something completely different and pleasantly surprised me. I want this trend to continue. 

Surprise me again—I’ll be here to see where it goes.

[wishuhadstayed]

First comes love, Then comes marriage....

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 3.2k 😳

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy (does that need a warning?) otherwise, none.

Summary: Aaron and reader return from their honeymoon with some exciting news (Part 7 to Begin Again)

Author’s note: Y’all know I couldn’t just leave it at a wedding 😘 (also the pic below is terrible quality but this is what I envision Aaron looks like on the honeymoon, plus slight beard, of course. You’re welcome 😏😉)

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Two weeks in the south of France had been the best of your life. Aaron, being a hopeless romantic had wanted something special for your honeymoon and planned it all, with a little assistance from Rossi and Emily, of course. No typical cruise to the Bahamas would do for his beloved wife.

Three days after your fairytale wedding found you lying facedown on a beach, warmed by golden rays of sunlight. The sound of waves crashing on the sand a soothing melody. A deep, familiar voice cuts in.

“You’re gonna get burnt if you don’t use some sunscreen.”

Turning your head and squinting one eye open, you spy Aaron. Dressed in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, he is truly a sight to behold. Broad shoulders, bare chest, all toned, athletic muscle, and all yours.

“Help me out?” you request, coyly biting your lip. “So I don’t miss a spot.”

“I’d love to,” he replies.

Next thing you knew, he was on top of you knees straddling either side of your waist as he leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck. Putting his massive hands to good work, he slowly massages the coconut scented lotion into every inch of flesh not covered by your bathing suit.

“Easy there, we are still in public,” you remind and he lets out a pouty groan. Moving from on top of you, he settles so close that your legs touch and fixes you with his best sad puppy look. It wins you over every time.

“The day is still young, my love,” you say, reaching to stroke his scruffy jaw. The mischievous grin he flashes in return is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

——————————————————————————

“Aaron,” you call from the bathroom as you’re preparing to go out for dinner. He arrives momentarily, dress shirt slightly unbuttoned and tie draped over his shoulder.

“What is it, darling?”

“Can you zip me up?”

“Of course, dear,” he replies, pulling your hips flush to him before tugging the zipper into place. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he places a warm, scratchy kiss just below your right ear, melting you instantly.

Taking in your form in the mirror, he comments, “You look ravishing.”

“If you don’t stop, we’re never going to make it to dinner.”

“Would that be such a sin?”

“You know we’ll probably never get another chance like this,” you remind him while buttoning up his shirt. “We should enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Alright, you win. Fancy dinner it is.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, you woke early. Rolling over in bed, you find Aaron still asleep, his face serene. Not wanting to disturb your husband’s much needed rest, you slip quietly to the bathroom and into the large tub.

Waking alone, Aaron gets up to investigate, finding you submerged in the tub, the water and bubbles barely protecting your modesty.

“Good morning,” he says, taking in the sight before him with dark, hungry eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. And you looked so peaceful I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“I had just started washing my hair.”

“I can help with that.”

Sliding forward, you create just enough room for him to settle behind you. Resting your head on his bare chest, you let out a soft sigh of contentment. His strong hands work the lavender scented shampoo through your hair, forming a rich lather as he gently massages your scalp.

“Mmmm, we should do this every day,” you whisper.

“I wish we could, but it’s back to the real world soon.”

“Let’s not think about that. Let’s just stay like this a while longer.”

——————————————————————————

Eight weeks after the honeymoon and things had indeed gone back to normal. Aaron had gone back to work, and you were running yourself ragged trying desperately to keep up with Jack. Between school, soccer practice, keeping the house clean, and trying to squeeze in time with Aaron whenever he was home, you were genuinely exhausted.

Early one Saturday morning you’re rudely awakened by a sudden and powerful wave of nausea. Shoving Aaron’s shoulder, you try to rouse him. “Hmm? What is it babe?” he manages, still half asleep.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you groan, clutching your stomach.

“What?” he questions, now more alert.

“I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

With that statement he rises, scooping you up from the bed and carrying you swiftly to the master bathroom. He places you gently on the cool tile in front of the toilet not a moment too soon. He smooths your hair away from your face as another wave of nausea overwhelms you, forcing everything out of your stomach. As you place your face on the cool porcelain bowl, he rubs your back soothingly.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Yeah,” you reply shakily. “I actually feel a lot better now.”

Sitting up slowly, you turn to face him and see the thoughtful look on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was just thinking...” he murmurs quietly, voice trailing off.

“Thinking what?”

“Are you pregnant?”

“PREGNANT?” you practically screech, eyes wide with shock. “You think I’m pregnant?!”

Pulling you close he explains. “You have been saying that you’ve been super tired lately.”

“I’ve been taking care of a 6 year old boy and running a house by myself, OF COURSE I’M TIRED,” you state crossly, unwilling to believe his explanation.

“I know you have darling,” he soothes, softly stroking your back. “But this seems like a classic case of morning sickness.”

Thinking about it, you can’t really help but agree, even if you’re not quite ready to accept it. “Yeah,” you sigh, leaning your head on his strong shoulder. “You’re probably right.”

“We should get a test. Just to be sure.”

——————————————————————————

Returning from the drugstore, you both head for the master bathroom once more.

“Wait here,” you request. “I’ll call you in once I’m done.”

A few moments later, you call and he enters. Finding you seated on the tile, he wraps his arms around you.

“How long do you have to wait?” he inquires.

“Three minutes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Terrified.”

Feeling you start to tremble, he squeezes you reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, it should be about time. You ready?”

“I can’t look, Aaron. You do it.”

Shifting slightly, he reaches for the test perched on the edge of the countertop. After a moment of silence, you can’t take it anymore.

“Oh come on! Out with it, you’re torturing me.”

Looking into your eyes with the warmest smile, he says, “It’s positive. We’re having a baby.”

Hearing the confirmation, you burst into tears immediately.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asks, pulling you closely to his chest and planting a soft kiss to forehead.

Looking up into his perfect chocolate eyes, you confess. “I want to have a baby with you, I really do. I’m just scared. So... scared,” you sigh.

“I know it’s unexpected and really soon, but we’ll figure it out. We always do, dear. I suppose this means you’d rather not meet the team for brunch today.”

“Crap!” you exclaim. “That is today isn’t it? No, we have to go. We promised. I’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t show.”

“We can reschedule if you want.”

“No, I’ll go. It’s fine. Just please don’t tell them, Aaron. I know you’re excited, but I’m just not ready.”

“I swear on my honor, I will not tell a soul.”

——————————————————————————

The whole way to the restaurant Aaron could barely keep his hands off of you and focus on the road. He was every inch the proud dad already, and no one even knew except the two of you. You had to admit seeing him so excited was exceptionally cute, and secretly it made you the tiniest bit excited as well.

Walking up to the restaurant, Aaron keeps a steady and reassuring hand at the small of your back. Approaching the door, Aaron opens it allowing you to enter first.

“There’s the happy couple!” Announces Rossi, standing to greet you both. The two of you make your rounds at the table exchanging hugs and handshakes with the whole team before taking your seats. Looking around, you notice Penelope has already taken the liberty of ordering mimosas for all the ladies.

Quickly flagging down the waiter you ask, “Can I have a glass of water please? Thank you so much.”

“What’s up, sugar?” Penelope inquires. “You’re not drinking? You just got married! You should still be celebrating!”

Trying not to raise too much suspicion, you do your best to brush it off with a reasonable excuse. “We had enough alcohol on our honeymoon to last a lifetime,” you laugh, hoping no one sees through your little white lie.

“Speaking of alcohol, I have a great story for you all,” you say with a sly grin.

“Oh no,” Aaron groans, covering his flushed face in embarrassment. “Do you have to tell it in front of everyone?”

“YES,” you insist. “It’s the sweetest thing. We had dinner one night with plenty of wine and when we got back to the hotel, he crashed on the bed, still completely dressed in his evening wear. I knew it wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep in all that, so I started trying to take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt when he starts struggling and swatting my hands.

I heard him mumble, “stop, don’t touch me,” but I really didn’t think anything of it and kept on. Next thing I know, he’s slapping my hands again and I swear to God his exact words were,

“Stop trying to get me naked! I’m married! I love my wife!”

I almost cried laughing, I swear. I grabbed his hands so he’d stop swatting me and said, “Aaron! Aaron!” That finally got his attention. “I am your wife.”

“Oh,” he said, giving a thoughtful look. “In that case, carry on.” And then he immediately passed out again.”

By the end of the story, the whole team is roaring with laughter and Aaron is looking like he’d very much like to crawl under the table and hide.

“Oh my God,” says JJ, wiping tears from laughing so hard. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Questions Aaron.

“Afraid not, boss man.” Morgan replies.

“Can we please change the subject?” your husband pleads.

Having pity on Aaron, Emily steers the conversation ina different direction.

“How have things been since you got home?”

“It’s been good,” you reply. “I’m just so tired! Keeping up with Jack and taking care of everything when Aaron’s gone is a full time job,” you say, patting Aaron’s knee and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“She’s been amazing, honestly. Jack loves having mom around. I was getting a little worried because she’s been feeling a little under the weather lately, but she seems a lot better now.”

Across the table, you can see the wheels turning in Penelope’s mind. Before you can even guess what she might be up to, she blurts out,

“Are you pregnant?”

The whole table goes silent in anticipation of your response.

You feel Aaron’s hand squeezing your leg under the table and you wrinkle your face in frustration as you give him permission.

“Go ahead and tell them,” you sigh.

At this everyone’s eyes widen as they listen closely.

Aaron speaks up. “Well, we were going to wait a while before telling anyone, but,”

“I’m pregnant,” you interrupt.

The whole table erupts into excited chatter.

“That’s fantastic news you two,” Rossi says. “It’s about time I had another kid around to spoil.”

“Congratulations,” offers Reid. “This baby will be lucky to have such great parents.”

“Oh, Jack is going to be such a good big brother,” gushes JJ.

“This baby is so loved already.” Emily comments.

“That’s gonna be one good looking kid,” Morgan chimes in, making everyone laugh.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Penelope inquires.

“We honestly have no idea,” you reply. “We found out just before you did.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God” Penelope stammers out, clearly panicking. “I had no idea! That was so rude of me to ask. I am SO sorry.”

“It’s okay, Penny!” you reassure. “You all would have figured it out sooner or later. Besides, we both want you all to a big part of this baby’s life. We love you all.”

“Does this mean we get to plan a baby shower?” Emily asks.

“If you want to, then absolutely!” you encourage.

Gazing at Aaron, you see him glowing with pride and excitement. Seeing his infectious smile and feeling his hand squeeze yours, you could feel your nerves melting away. You couldn’t help but begin to be a little excited for your growing family.

——————————————————————————

The two of you decided that you needed to break the news to Jack as soon as possible to avoid anyone letting it slip before you got a chance. The next morning as the three of you are all snuggled on the couch watching Sunday morning cartoons, Aaron gently broaches the subject.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Yes daddy?”

“How would you feel about being a big brother?”

“A big brother?” He asks, quizzical look on his face.

“Yeah, buddy,” Aaron replies. “How would you like a baby brother or sister?”

Turning to face you, Jack asks matter-of-factly, “Mama, are you having a baby?”

“Yes I am, little man,” you respond, ruffling his thick blonde hair. “How does that make you feel?”

“It’s cool!” he says, grinning widely.

“You’re not gonna be jealous are you?” Aaron asks. “Because Mama’s going to be spending a lot of time taking care of the baby when I’m not home.”

“No, daddy! I’m gonna help, just like I do all the time when you’re gone. I’m gonna be the best big brother ever!”

Tearing up, you give Jack a tight hug.

“I love you so much, buddy.”

“I love you more Mama,” he says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

With that, a giant weight is lifted from your shoulders, and the three, soon to be four, of you settle in for a perfect, lazy Sunday.

——————————————————————————

Two and a half months later it’s finally time for your doctor’s appointment to find out the sex of the baby. You knew you should feel excited, but with Jack at school and Aaron and his team out of town on a case, you couldn’t help but feel a little down. Not wanting to go alone, you called up the only friend you could think of.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jess, it’s Y/N. How are you?”

“I’m good, honey how are feeling? Is everything okay?”

“I’m alright now that the morning sickness is easing up. Listen, I actually had a favor to ask you. Aaron’s working and I have a doctor’s appointment and I really don’t want to go alone and I was wondering if you might be able to go with me.”

“Of course I will! You should have someone you know with you. Be there soon.”

Waiting in a cold exam room, you chatted with Jess until you were interrupted by a knock and someone entering the room.

“Mrs. Hotchner? My name is Gina, I’ll be doing your ultrasound today. This is your first baby?”

“It is.”

“And you’re here today to find out what you’re having? You must be very excited.”

“Very much so. I can’t wait to tell my husband.”

“Well let’s find out , shall we?”

As you roll up the hem of your shirt, she squirts some cold gel on your stomach and begins to move the probe.

“There’s the head,” Gina says, pointing to the screen. “And there’s the feet.”

After a few more moments, she announces, “Looks like you have a perfectly healthy baby girl. Congratulations!”

——————————————————————————

“Could have sworn it would be a boy,” you comment to Jess as the two of you settle on the couch. “You think Aaron will be disappointed? I know how much he adores Jack.”

“Disappointed? Never.” She reasssures, softly taking hold of your hand. “He’s crazy about this baby already. Goes on and on to anyone who will listen. He’ll be wrapped around her little finger the second she’s born.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course!”

“Oh that makes me feel so much better. Thanks for everything, Jess,” you say as you both rise and embrace each other.

“You’re welcome, honey. If you need anything at all, give me a call, okay?”

“Will do! See you later.”

“Bye!”

No sooner have you closed the front door behind her than your cellphone begins to ring.

“Aaron!”

“Hey baby, how are you?”

“Good, I just got back from the doctor. Jess went with me.”

“That’s good sweetheart, I hated I couldn’t be there with you. Listen, I’ve gotta run. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you and I love you.”

“I love you too. We’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe, okay?”

“Always, bye babe.”

“Bye.”

——————————————————————————

Later that night, you snuggle into your king sized bed with Jack. It always made you feel better having him around when Aaron wasn’t home. “Gotta get some sleep so we can see daddy tomorrow,” you say, tucking Jack in. You were both exhausted and passed out as soon as your heads hit the pillow.

The next thing you knew you were gently awakened by a soft hand gently stroking the side of your face. Slowly opening your eyes, you’re greeted by Aaron’s perfect face and the sound of his voice.

“Good morning baby,” he says leaning down to give you a soft kiss.

“Mmmm, good morning,” you return with a sleepy smile. “Jack, wake up! Daddy’s home.” you announce shaking the sleepy lump under the covers.

“Daddy! We missed you!” Jack declares, emerging from his cocoon.

“I missed you guys too,” he says sitting down and pulling Jack into his lap. “I’m sorry I missed your doctor’s appointment.” He says, draping an arm around your shoulders and placing one hand on your growing belly. “How have you been?”

At that moment, the feeling of movement from the baby causes you to tense up and take a sharp breath in.

Sensing the shift, Aaron asks, “Is everything alright, darling?”

“Yeah,” you reply, looking deep into his beautiful brown eyes. Everything’s fine. I think you’re daughter’s just excited to have her daddy home.”

“My daughter?” He questions, tears beginning to well up. “It’s a girl?”

You nod in the affirmative, and Aaron begins to cry as pulls you in as close as possible with Jack in the middle. Gently pulling back, you inquire, “You’re not disappointed, are you, Aaron?”

“Disappointed? Why would I ever be disappointed? She’s going to be smart and perfect and beautiful, just like her mother,” he says softly caressing your jaw.

“I’m getting a baby sister?” Jack pipes up.

“Yes you are, buddy,” Aaron confirms. “You gonna take good care of her?”

“Yeah! Nobody messes with my sister!”

“That’s a good big brother,” you encourage, running your hand through his hair. Turning to Aaron you mention, “I guess it’s time we started trying to pick out a name for her.”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he says with a grin.

——————————————————————————

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