#to me For Honor is just a violent dress-up game

[totallyseiso]

I decided to make some changes to my Nobushi

I think she's perfect now

[armenianwanker]

Ocelotl is here to kick Conquistador Vela's ass

For Honor's new addition to the Outlanders clan is the new Ocelotl hero of Mesoamerican descent. In the context of the game, the last members of the Tenochtitlan empire, which had been massacred for its riches by Conquistador Vela, sail for Heathmoor with the help of the Pirates to enact revenge.

Putting aside the fact that For Honor is not the most stable game and that I ran into problems after buying the character for $4.39 on Steam, I was really hyped to try him out. I was also intrigued by the whole Mesoamerican theme of the character.

The armor of Aztec warriors is made from the skins of various animals, in the case of the Ocelotl, you can shuffle between Jaguar or snakeskin.

I also like his weapons, the Machuahuitl mace and the Tepoztopilli short spear. Both of them are lined with Obsidian (unless you change the weapon in the character customization menu). Obsidian is not exactly a sturdy material, but it is extremely sharp and I would not want to imagine that small rock shattering inside someone's skin. Talk about long-term PAIN.

The Ocelotl uses his spear for light attacks and his mace for heavy attacks and is the only character in For Honor capable of administering two consecutive zone attacks to the enemies, which also apply hyper armor, ensuring that the zone attacks are uninterrupted.

Also, this emote has the same energy as this.

[ieatstarsforaliving]

Denial (1)

Summary: Hazel and (Y/N) are the tributes from District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games. Hazel doesn't want to see (Y/N) die. And (Y/N) just wants to live.

Pairing: Tribute!Hazel Callahan x Tribute!Reader

Warnings: Mature language, use of (Y/N), (Y/N) is kind of a bitch but aren't we all when facing death, I swear she gets better, mentions of death and suicide, lots of mentions of violence with pretty graphic descriptions but it’s just depressive hunger game shit

Word Count: 2614

Note: I KNOW I said I’d write part 3 of Spiderwoman!Hazel Callahan BUT I suddenly craved angst and had to write this. I had to. Just let me post this today and I’ll give you Spiderwoman soon– I SWEAR. Also this is lowkey bad cause I have not written angst in a while. Idk. It's not gut-wrenching enough. I'll make it work somehow.  - Bia <3

No.

Not you. 

Anyone but you.

Hazel knows what the Hunger Games look like. 

Violent. Callous. Sadistic. 

None of those words resemble you. 

Hazel watches as you walk towards the stage, each step weaker than the other. She thinks you’ll fall over, but you manage to stand beside the extravagantly dressed escort, who claps cheerily in your honor with a guiltless smile. As he chatters about his appreciation for the games, you are expressionless. Your fists are clenched, your eyes fixed on the crowd, blankly staring at the faces of the people who know you. 

Hazel has never seen you so scared. 

“Well, then, shake hands!” The escort chirps, pushing Hazel towards you. 

There’s a pause before Hazel takes your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.  

Please, please look at me, she thinks. It’s going to be okay– 

-But when you do look at her, it's automatic. Empty. Involuntary, as if meaningless to share eyes with a future corpse. Hazel recognizes the shift of the dynamic between the two of you. She is no longer your neighbor, your classmate— no longer the girl you once kissed in the grounds of the forest.

-She is your rival. 

Her eyes flick away from you. It feels like you can read what’s in her head, both the shock and the anguish. Hazel is not ready to deal with either. 

So she drops your hand and looks away, staring at the camera zooming in on her face. 

But in the second of eye contact, Hazel does notice this; 

Grief has already struck your eyes. 

The train ride is silent. The District 12’s assigned escort, who introduces himself as Meyers, continuously attempts to make conversation with either one of you, talking about what a privilege it is to be traveling to the Capitol. 

You choose to be speechless, sitting on the plump green velvet chair with your legs pulled close to your chest. Hazel sits opposite to you, persistently peering while contemplating on how to start up a conversation— or maybe, not to start one at all.

You’ve been subtly ignoring her gaze, trying not to look deliberate in your avoidance. Staring at the passing trees out the window, you’re forced to picture the forest back at home— A hug of browns, shelter of extended limbs, sunlight filtered through the overlapping leaves above.  

Along with the images of forest, you’re forced to remember. 

It was a particularly cold morning when Hazel first found you in the heart of the woods, the chilling air hanging heavy with the scent of pine and coal. In your hands was a bleeding bird, fragile body betrayed by your well-aimed rock. 

It turned out to be a mockingjay, and as the crimson stain spread across its black and white feathers, the satisfaction of your hunt waned. Your hunger persisted, but found yourself frozen. The irony of the prey was a slap in your face. A mockingjay– Why did it have to be a mockingjay? The failed muttation, the insult to the dystopia— the only thing in the world that seemed to be resisting the Capitol— and here you were, unwittingly taking its life. 

Hazel approached you, and you flinched– but you didn’t run. You couldn’t, not when her eyes had such softness within them, as if forgiving your savage hand in place of the bird. Without uttering a word, she knelt beside you on the forest floor. 

Her fingers dug through the dirt, prodding into her nails until a hole was made. Her hands were soiled but warm as she took the mockingjay from your hands, placing it in the makeshift resting place amidst the roots of a towering tree. You watched as she covered the bird with earth. She then took your hand and guided you back to the fence, back to the meadow, to the bakery, where she bought a small piece of bread in exchange for the shabby jewelry off her neck. You learned later the necklace was a gift from her absent father. 

That was the Hazel you became used to. She was strong. Stronger than anyone you ever grew to know– as if to acknowledge that she could one day be standing in the arena. Yet you found her kindness to be her weakness. She never harmed anyone. Anything. She was a refuge from the harsh reality of the televised Hunger Games. And you kept coming back to her, mistaking the comfort for a shield against the brutality of the world. As if being close with her could protect you from any fucking thing. Perhaps that had prompted you to kiss her on that day, the day before the reaping, and all you could think about was how she didn’t push you away.

You snap out of your memories, the weight of the past and the jarring truth of the present boring down on you. You can’t handle either of those. You can’t handle looking at her. You can’t handle being in the same room as her. But the intensity of her gaze has burned into the side of your head, and you feel demanded to meet her eyes once more. 

When you finally look at Hazel, her eyes widen. 

She starts to open her mouth, on a pathway to a ramble, but the compartment door swings open, revealing a rough man with scruffy braids holding an explicit magazine. 

Hazel recognizes him– the only winner left alive from the Hunger Games from District 12. He’s notably muscular, with tattoos that circulate his stocky arms along with a rugged beard to match his image. 

He is Hunger Games winner material, Hazel thinks, and feels considerably feeble in comparison. 

The man looks around the room.   

“Man, I got stuck with two girls this time?” 

Hazel starts, “G–” 

“-Mr. G to you. I may look like this, but I’m still your mentor.” 

You stare at the man as he disappointingly analyzes his two mentees. He decides you’re not promising enough, not giving more than two seconds to consider you two before plopping on the green velvet seat and flipping through his magazine featuring a barely-clothed capitol woman. 

“You’re supposed to give us advice,” Hazel mutters. 

He scoffs in response, “I’ll give you advice; don’t die too quickly.” 

“So you think we have a chance?” 

“Hell no,” Mr. G laughs. “Look at you two.” 

You and Hazel stare at him. He notices the angry silence. 

“Alright. I’ll help y’all.” He shrugs, not looking up from the magazine. “When you arrive, you’re going to be grabbed by the most annoying sons-of-bitches who're gonna get y’all cleaned up and pretty to parade around the Capitol. It’s gonna suck. But you deal with it. No complaining. No resisting. You deal with it. Then you get in the arena, let them throw you around for a bit, and then find something visibly mild to kill yourselves with.” 

Hazel stiffens at the line. 

“What is wrong with you?” You shout, your voice laced with anger. “My life is on the line.” 

Mr. G glances at you with a raised eyebrow, indifferent. “Welcome to the Hunger Games, darlin’. You think having a different mindset is gonna keep you alive?”

“You’re supposed to be our mentor,” Hazel says, her voice trembling. “You’re supposed to help us survive.” 

“Survive? You kids from District 12 don’t survive. You endure. You endure and you die. There’s a difference.” He emphasizes on the words ‘die’ and Hazel wants to throw up. “It’s just like the year before this and the year before that.”

“So you’re just giving up?” You push yourself to your feet and step towards him. There’s resentment in your words, clawing at the lifeline that is supposed to be your mentor. “You’re pathetic.”

Mr. G gets up from his seat, looming over your frame. Unwavering, you glare at him. He lets out a chuckle, a brief moment of consideration flickering across his features. Then he pulls back his fist. 

In an instant, Hazel rushes in front of you, her body bracing for impact. His fist swings towards you, but it doesn’t land on your face. Instead, it meets Hazel’s, sending her backwards to the floor. The collision makes Mr. G stumble back a step, surprise evident in his eyes.

Hazel groans, rubbing her cheekbone but gets up again, standing in front of you with a defensive stance.

“Ah, I understand now.” Mr. G gawks at Hazel, amused. “The fighter and her protector.” 

Then he starts laughing, slowly staggering away from the two of you, walking out of the compartment with his dirty magazine still in his hand. Meyers quickly trails behind him, muttering something about tributes being barbarians and forcefully shuts the door with a resounding bang. 

Hazel turns to you, hoping her face isn't red. “Are you okay?” 

“Don’t.” 

Hazel blinks, taken aback. You’ve pulled away from her, creating a perceptible distance, your face flushed in an unknown emotion. 

“I–”

“-Don’t do that.” 

Hazel recognizes the barrier you’re attempting to draw between the two of you. She refuses to accept it and steps closer. 

“Don’t,” you insist. “Don’t come closer. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. We’re nothing.” 

“We’re friends,” Hazel protests.

“No,” you correct her, your voice cracking. “We stopped being friends when we were picked to kill each other. If we hadn’t—” 

If we hadn’t kissed, killing you would be easier. 

You stop. 

Hazel shakes her head, her expression in disbelief. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

She steps closer. You retreat. 

“Hazel, stop, please–”

She watches as your body begins to shake. A whimper escapes your lips, which is quickly covered by your hand. Then you’re sobbing uncontrollably, covering your reddened face as a means to hide yourself, but the tears manage to escape from the gaps between your fingers, soaking the condemned dress that you only wear on reaping days. 

“I- I don’t–” 

Hazel steps closer. “I know.” 

“I don’t want to die,” You croak. “I want don't want to die. I don’t want to kill. I don’t–” 

-I don’t want to kill you. 

The unsaid words ring around the room as Hazel pulls you into her arms. You don’t hesitate to hide your face into her neck, crying earnestly, body burning and painful, teeth clenched as the tears drip off your jaw and you refuse to let your lip quiver like a child. Hazel holds you tighter and presses her hand against the back of your head.

Hazel wants to say something. She opens her mouth.

Then she starts to cry.

As much as she hates Mr. G, he is right about the clean-up process before officially entering the capitol; it sucks. 

After arrival, the two of you were separated to different rooms with different stylists. Hazel’s stylist has been going about Hazel for two hours, scrubbing down her body with soaps of intense fragrance, trimming the nails into a smooth oval shape, rubbing makeup over her fresh bruise, painting on her eyelids, and primarily, getting rid of her body hair. She lays on the cold metal bed, barely clothed, as the hairs on her arms, underarms, eyebrows, nose– even places that shouldn’t matter being robbed of its hair. Hazel ignores the soreness of fabric being stripped from her leg, tearing out the hairs beneath it. 

Instead, Hazel thinks about killing. 

She thinks about the physicality of it. The impact of the blow, the act of stabbing, the struggle of choking someone. She assumes there would be weapons in the arena, there always is. But even back at home, she’s never crossed the line of killing even the smallest of creatures, not even when she was desperately hungry. But laying on the cold metal bed of the stylist’s office, she almost regrets the lack of practice. The visceral brutality, the raw and primal surge that accompanies violence— she’s unsure of it all. 

Then she thinks about you. 

She pictures a hand wrapped around your neck, slitting the flesh, warm liquid seeping through the fingernails— and the victim writhing, clawing, screaming— then finally falling limp. 

Hazel pales at the image. At the same time, she feels a particular jerk at her leg once again, and the stylist squeals the words, “Perfection! You’re beautiful!” 

She is ushered to sit up as the stylist grabs a cart filled with combs, bottles, and other products that Hazel doesn’t recognize. A mirror is passed, and Hazel blinks harshly at her reflection. She can see that she looks so… Capitol. Everything about her is enhanced; from hermetically coiffed eyebrows to her skin, perfectly shaped and painted, devoid of blemishes. The bruise from her mentor is gone, too. There's light bits of glitter on above her eyes, amplifying her blue eyes while giving her a much softened look. 

She looks like a tribute. 

“I really do wish you hadn’t cut your hair like this,” the stylist whines as she ruffles Hazel’s messy head with a sigh. A hairstyle she fearlessly trimmed with a pocket knife, now being sprayed by a sour, citrus themed liquid. “You are such a pretty girl. Perhaps we should glue a wig to your head.” 

“Don’t.” 

Hazel turns towards the voice. 

It’s you. You’re peering through the doorway, your entire form stripped and peeled away just as she is. Hazel does a visible double-take when she sees you, swallowing hard while staring at your half-naked body. She gazes at you, taking in the transformation that the Capitol has imposed on your appearance. 

If she thought you were beautiful before, she thinks you’re breathtaking now. 

“I like her hair,” You murmur, walking towards the bed. Hazel instinctively reaches up to touch her trimmed mullet, as if to confirm that it’s still there. 

“I suppose I can work with a tomboy image. Oh, I see a vision! I’ll be back,” The stylist sings to herself, running out of the room with a sudden enthusiasm.  

Hazel is still staring at you.

You shrug. “How do I look?” 

Like a lamb to slaughter.

“You… look different,” She says. “I don’t mean it’s bad. It’s good. But it’s also…” 

“I know,” you sigh, sitting beside Hazel’s bed. “A true depiction of Capitol beauty.”

“It could be worse,” Hazel starts. “We could be naked and covered in soot for the opening ceremony.” 

You laugh, knowing that the only thing District 12 is known for are coals. And there’s not many costumes you can be inspired by coals. Hazel smiles at your laughter, feeling instantly better. It’s a sound she hasn’t heard since the forest, as if a piece of home has been brought back to life. Although the room is cold and metallic, there’s warmth in between the two of you. 

Her gaze lingers on your transformed appearance. With the grime and dirt from the District rubbed off, you seem so fragile, so innocent, so out of place in the cruelty of the Capitol. None of you belong in that arena. And all of a sudden anger rises in Hazel. She wants the Capitol to burn. She wants the Capitol to burn for what it does to innocent lives like yours. 

Your laughter eases and you’re left staring back at Hazel. The forest and the Capitol are vastly different places. Even the silence is different. Back there, it was a pleasure to be silent. Here, silence is almost sickening. Still, your warmth persists.

“I’m serious about winning," You say.  

Hazel holds your gaze. 

“I know.” 

She offers her hand. You take it. And for a long time, neither of you speak. You just breathe and cling to each other, lost in a moment that's become heavier with your words.

There is a brief pause before the full effect of everything comes barreling towards Hazel. She ignores it.

Instead, Hazel thinks about dying.

Next Chapter: Anger

(Guys I don't know how a taglist works so just comment "Tag me next chapter or" "tag me in all upcoming chapters" on THIS POST if you want to be tagged ok???)

@vster0769 @milktea-academia <333

[alavestineneas]

Together

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Johanna hears the baker assure Katniss. District 12 tributes remind her so much of them. She was once seventeen, and she was once blindly in love. It irritates her—why are they allowed to be like this? Why did she have to hide?

warnings: mentions of suicide attempt, typical hunger games violence

''I think I'll retire quite sooner than I intended with that girl,'' Blight announced, flopping down on the sofa with a distinct sound.

Haymitch chuckled at the man's visible misery, passing him a glass from the nearest tray. ''Is she back at it again?''

Blight nodded in defeat. ''I tried to be understanding, you know, with all of that happening to her family, but my nose is bleeding for the second time this week.''

Haymitch mastered a sympathetic face.  "I've met a lot of monsters, but teenage girls are by far the worst beasts.''

Y/N rolled her eyes at them. ''I'll talk to her.''

Blight looked at her as if she had three heads. "There is no point unless you want a black eye instead of that makeup.''

''Well, I am also a teenage girl, which is what you are so afraid of,'' Y/N said as she stood up from the couch and straightened her dress. ''If I am not back after half an hour, call security.''

''Or doctors,'' muttered Blight under his breath.

"Or doctors." Y/N shrugged.

To be fair, Y/N was quite intrigued by Johanna Mason, the most recent victor. Cunning, quick, and violent—this is what the media tried to portray her as. Y/N knew better than to trust their vision—after all, according to them, she herself was the Capitol's darling, bathing in love and fame for the past two years.

Judging from the sound, somebody was moving furniture in the room. Y/N knocked, more out of habit than from need. The doors in the Capitol are never fully locked—another illusion for a fake sense of privacy.

"I said go fuck yourself, or did I completely knock out your brain?'' a girl's voice responded from within.

Y/N chuckled. "Is this how you talk to your elders?"

The pacing around the room stopped.

''Who are you?'' the Mason girl asked, obviously surprised.

"You'll find out when you open this door—not the best way to start a friendly conversation, is it?"

The loud thuds continued as if nothing had happened.

Y/N sighed. Why can't things be easy for once? She pressed the hidden silver button, and the door unlocked.

A girl with black hair looked at her with wide eyes. She was standing on the chair, holding a piece of rope.

''Hanging? Very original, I'll give you that.''

''What do you want?'' the girl grumbled, undoubtedly dissatisfied with the failed attempt.

''I want you to come down and get dressed,'' Y/N answered, glancing at the undone bed and shattered glass everywhere. ''As simple as that.''

''No.'' The girl looked determined, still standing on the chair. ''I am not going to another idiotic party with those fuckers.''

''Really? I hope you believe in ghosts, because you'll be dead tomorrow morning.''

''I don't care. I don't want to live anyway.''

''Has anyone ever told you that you are such an egocentric bitch?'' Y/N asked, leaning against the wall. She surely got Mason's attention with that—the girl looked at her, insulted.

''Excuse me?''

''You should've just died in that arena and given somebody a chance to live. Take my tribute, Elly. Do you know how much she wanted to survive? Why steal her chance if you'll waste yours anyway?''

"My entire family is gone, and you want me to smile for the cameras?"

"You are correct; they would have been overjoyed to learn that you honored them by killing yourself over a damn party."

The girl stared at Y/N, debating whether she should listen, before getting off the chair with a slight thud.

''I'm Johanna.'', she mumbled.

Y/N grinned.  "Nice to meet you, Johanna. Now let's show these bastards who they are messing with.''  

-

Y/N writes to her almost every week. Johanna has learned the schedule by now - she writes on Saturdays, and on Thursdays, a white envelope is sitting on the porch. She complains about life in District 8, the horrendous dresses she got as presents for her birthday, or how her make-up team appeared to lose their taste after changing the designer.

Johanna never answers. She tells herself it is for the best—she can't get attached to anybody. Mason keeps all the letters neatly stocked in the first drawer of the closet. She won't admit it, but she rereads them every evening. Then, it's easy to pretend they are just two ordinary 17-year-olds.

She doesn't allow herself to answer. Not until Y/N mentions that she is back at the Capitol. Johanna knows what it means—while her friend got to keep her family, it cost her a lot. Only then, she takes a pen and sits at the table, scribbling a response.

It looks messy—nothing like the nicely curved letters Y/N has. She rewrote half of a paper five times. Johanna shoves it into the envelope and sends it off before she can change her mind. She can't help but smile when she gets an answer. Y/N doodled a funny figure, suspiciously similar to Johanna's, covered in spikes. Mason gets the message—she will write more often.

-

Johanna mentors for the first time; her tributes are both alive, which has been rare for so long in the Games. The mentors' lounge is not as crowded as it was in the morning; most of the past victors take turns monitoring the arena. The quiet chatter is the only sound besides the screen. They talk about a dinner tomorrow, a new escort, stylists—anything but the Games.

Y/N is also here - the boy from District 8 is still hiding. They both know the game makers won't allow it for too long. Y/N anxiously fidgets with the rings on her hands, staring at the void. Johanna guesses they are never getting used to it—even older mentors are visibly uneasy, almost too drunk to walk a straight line.

A scream draws her attention back to the screen. A massive, tiger-like creature charged at the boy Y/N mentors. He tries to fight it off with the nearest stick, screaming in horror as the animal opens its mouth and takes a bite of his leg, tearing it off.

Johanna's head flies at Y/N; she is already watching, lips pursed into a white line. More screams ring in the now silent room, along with sounds of growls and what Johanna believes to be the sound of tearing flesh. Finally, the screaming stops; the camera changes to Career's pack.

The mentors try to hide their gaze from the Y/N's figure as she stands up from the couch and leaves the room, her steps echoing in the hallway.

The District Two mentor pours himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one go; most mentors follow him, and the conversation completely vanishes.

Johanna tries to recollect herself, adjusting the hem of her shirt. The boy's blood-stained face still runs through her mind, so she doesn't notice a figure behind her until somebody places a hand on her shoulder.

''Go talk to her. I'll watch.''

It's a blonde woman from District One - Cashmere or Gloss, Johanna was not sure. She wants to argue but quickly changes her mind. The woman obviously means no harm. So, Johanna nods.

She finds Y/N easily - she is in the training room, sparring with animated figures with a spear. Johanna recalls Y/N telling her that the only reason she chose spears was because they resembled the sticks she used to practice with at District 8. Mason thinks she was joking - her friend was hitting every target with ease right now.

Johanna sits down beside the girl on the burnished metal floor. She was never good with words; it was Y/N who always seemed to know what to say.

''I'm sorry.''

''He was very happy to eat ice cream, you know?'' Y/N says, her voice faint.

"It was his wish?"

Y/N nods. ''It makes them feel better, I think. Hell, it makes me feel better about sending them to their deaths—to know I did something good for those kids.'' She looks down at her hands, her lips trembling. ''He was a nice kid and died such a horrible death, Jo, such a terrible, cruel death.''

Y/N's voice breaks.

She leans into Johanna's embrace, and Mason almost instinctively wraps her hands around her friend's shaking shoulders. It was the first time she saw Y/N like this. Without a mask Capitol made her wear, without the walls she built around herself. Just Y/N.

''We are going to be alright,'' Johanna says.

She hopes her words sound convincing. Of course, they're a lie - nothing is ever okay in this messed-up world. They both know this, but Y/N still whispers a small thank you.

Johanna's heart aches, and a familiar warm sensation spreads through her chest. She resists the urge to wipe the tears off her friend's face. They are friends, and Johanna is happy with that. It is still a lot more than she deserves.

-

Today is Y/N's birthday, and the Capitol is throwing a big party for "the favorite." Johanna doesn't ask why she has this title. Of course, they adore her - Y/N won the Games when she was fifteen. She grew up in front of the camera, and, what is more flawed, she grew up with people behind it.

It is easily seen when Y/N's face changes each time she walks on the stage. Her warm eyes transform into big doe eyes, and a picture-perfect smile appears. She is a perfect actress, quick to come up with a witty remark or play into the naïve girl they view her as.

She won the Games that way; Johanna has to remind herself. Y/N got a 3 as a training score, possessing almost none of the fighting skills. She did, however, know what the Capitol wanted: someone charming, attractive, and willing to put on a show. That and the desert arena got her where she is now.

The perfect victor now lays on the floor next to Johanna, her head on Mason's lap. They are both twenty-one now, not that their age ever stopped them from stealing the alcohol. The party is tomorrow, and Snow wants to put on a show. For now, they can live.

''Jo, can I tell you something? But you must promise not to be angry.''

Mason responds with a hum; she enjoys hearing her rash ideas. The braid she is making out of Y/N's hair is coming out not like she intended, and Johanna huffs in annoyance. ''Just spill it, would you?''

Y/N's face becomes serious. ''I think I am in love with you. And to be fair, it scares the shit out of me.''

The world stops for a second. Johanna thinks she did not hear it right, but there is no other way to understand this. She feels her heartbeat in her ears, loud enough to cover any other noise.

''Well. Yell, scream, or say something. Anything.'' Y/N sits up, a half-finished braid falling undone.

''We can't,'' Johanna says nervously, licking her lips.

''So, you feel this way too?''

"No, that is not the point. We can't do this.''

''Why?'' Y/N takes her hand in hers. ''They'll have to allow it. We can even be a secret if you want to. We'll figure it out, I promise.''

''No.'' Johanna shakes her head. ''You know what happens to the people I love, Y/N. One wrong step, and you will be dead. I can't do this, not again.''

Y/N pauses. "I think you are just afraid to be happy."

"No," Johanna whispers, "I'm afraid of losing you."

Y/N blinks, fighting the tears gathering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Johanna was faster.

''I'll go. It's late.'' If she stays any longer, she might lose it.

The door behind her closes with a loud bang. The realization comes suddenly - she lost the only person who loved her. Johanna lets out a few choked sobs, sliding against the nearest wall in a small, empty hall. The worst part is that she loved her too.

-

Johanna is mad—furious even. The Capitol already did everything in its power to break her, yet here she is, going back into the arena. Her reaping wasn't that much of a surprise; she is the only female victor in District 7. Johanna is convinced every name drawn wasn't random—a brother and sister from District One, Finnick and his sweetheart Annie, Y/N.

They meet in the bathroom before the interviews, of all places. Y/N is attempting to remove the mascara from her eyelid, and Johanna is trying hard not to laugh - if only the cameras saw her like this, she would undoubtedly win over all of the sponsors. No other victor radiated as much anger and determination as she does now.

''Stop laughing and come help me,'' Y/N grumbles.

Johanna grins. ''I wasn't laughing.''

''Yeah, whatever.'' Y/N watches as Johanna picks up a napkin and dips its end in the water.

''Close your eyes.''

Y/N does what she is told, the corners of her lips twitching. ''Yes, ma'am.'' She earns a slap on the hand from Johanna. ''Ouch! What was that for?"

"Not everything has to be a sex joke, you know?"

''Well, where is the fun in that?" Y/N opens her eyes. Johanna's face is inches away from hers. ''Jo...''

''Shut up," she mumbles, covering the girl's lips with hers.

Y/N throws her arms around her, pressing Johanna's body as close as humanly possible. The kiss is hard. Griping. Almost painful. It's like they can't get enough of each other. But Johanna wouldn't want it any other way.

Y/N pulls away first, watching Johanna take a few rushed breaths in. ''I thought we couldn't do it,'' she jokes.

Mason rolls her eyes.  "I liked your mouth closed better."

Y/N's face turns serious, her playful expression vanishing. ''Regarding that. Give them hell. For me.''

Johanna nods. ''I promise.''

-

It wasn't supposed to be easy, and Johanna is reminded of that by stupid birds; while she pities Finnick and Katniss, she is also jealous - they still have someone to care for. Mason doesn't know if Y/N is still alive - the last time she saw her was at the Bloodbath. She can't swim.

''They won't touch Prim!''

Johanna hears the baker assure Katniss. District 12 tributes remind her so much of them. She was once seventeen, and she was once blindly in love. It irritates her—why are they allowed to be like this? Why did she have to hide?

''Your fiancé's right. The whole country loves your sister. Forget the districts; there will be riots in the Capitol if they torture or harm her.'' Johanna turns to the cameras and yells. ''Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we set your backyard on fire? You know you can't put everybody in here!''

She feels the stares of her alliance on her, but frankly, she does not care anymore. ''What? He can't hurt me. There's no one left that I love.''

Finnick glances at her, eyebrows raised. He knows. Y/N was his friend too.

-

Johanna tries to meet her fate with anger at first. It served her well throughout her life, as she dealt with every adversity with sarcasm and insults. Mason maintains her arrogance, refusing to allow them to hear her screams or begs. Johanna refused to be turned into entertainment, even after losing. She didn't cry when they cut her hair or beat her. She told herself, "The help is near.''

It provoked them more. The torture becomes more violent day by day until Johanna is exhausted. She has endured it for weeks, and help still hasn't come. She just wants to slump in her chains and silently take it.

The breadboy's cells are next to hers; she hears his screams more than she does her own. Johanna wasn't sure how much time had passed until she heard another familiar cry.

It's Y/N. Mason can swear on the remains of her sanity that it was her voice. She was alive. It takes Johanna everything not to show how much those shouts affected her—it could mean more torture for the District 8 victor.

Johanna now awoke from Y/N's screams and drifted into unconsciousness with them, as if by clockwork. The torture was sometimes worse than electricity. Her biggest fear came true—she sacrificed their happiness for nothing.

Mason is drawn away from her thoughts by another couple of screams. The sound of water pouring fills her ears - it's all happening again.

-

Johanna finds herself even more isolated when they are finally rescued. In a sense, they were in this together in the Capitol; she could at least hear other people, even if it was just screams. Johanna was now completely alone; whereas Peeta had Katniss and Annie had Finnick, Johanna had no one to look out for her. Johanna doesn't want to fight anymore. She is tired. There is a void in her soul, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

The doctors here tell her it's okay not to feel understood, but Johanna knows old Y/N would. She always somehow did. Mason wonders why everyone in her life despises her - what has she done to deserve this? Why do others have someone to return to, someone in their right mind? Why couldn't it be them?

Y/N was still under the constant attention of the doctors. They meet twice a week under strict supervision. Y/N listens to Johanna attentively each time, but something about her gaze feels odd. She can't place it - Y/N is distant and quiet, but that's unusual. Mason tells herself that it was the outcome of the torture they had to survive and that she'll get better with time. It's not her Y/N, but Johanna can't be the one speaking. The Capitol changed them both.

It finally clicks for Johanna when she hears that doctors found a knife in Y/N's room. A knife that she intended to use. It was the absence of hope in her eyes that felt unusual; before, it was always there.

''You are such a hypocrite, you know that?" Johanna tells her. They are in a hospital ward. Y/N's face is tear-stained, and yet, she doesn't answer. ''Remember what you told me the first time we met? That you have to live for those who can't?''

Johanna is angry. She is furious, both with Y/N and with herself, as well as with everyone in this dreadful building. Why can't they understand?

''Well, maybe I lied.'' Y/N's voice is hoarse. It was the first time she had spoken since their rescue. ''There is no point in living anymore, Jo. There always was none.'' She shifts on her bed, looking up at Johanna. ''It never gets better. So it's fairer if we end it now and save ourselves a lot of suffering. ''

''No.'' Johanna's hands are in fists, and she comes closer to the woman in front of her. ''You are not fucking allowed to decide that, not when I spent all those days staying alive and sane for you. Do you hear me? Not for me, for you! I woke up and listened to your screams. I thought about you before I fell asleep because I knew we would get a chance to finally have a normal life when this was over. And now you're saying there's no point?''

Y/N's lower lip trembles, with glimmery tears running down her sunken cheeks. ''I'm sorry.''

Johanna sighs and settles in next to her. ''Look, I can't promise anything. I don't know if it will ever be okay. But we can try.''

Y/N looks at her, and her eyes are finally warm again. ''Together?'' she asks.

Johanna feels the knots in her chest loosening for the first time in a while. ''Together.'', she nods.

[odessa-castle]

I'm bouncing around a larger post about Nishiki and the mortifying ordeal of being known, but in the meantime I'm thinking about Nishiki and Kiryu and how the clothes make (or don't make) the man. Like, beyond my visceral horror that Kiryu begged Nishiki to pick out a safe and boring suit for him in Y0 and then said he was envisioning something purple with gold stripes.

I'm thinking about Nishiki's incredible sensitivity to image and his need to control how he's perceived. I'm thinking about Kiryu's inability to let go of the past. I'm thinking about how KIryu dresses like who he thinks he is, and Nishiki dresses like who he thinks he wants to be.

There's some interesting incidental dialogue between Nishiki and Kiryu in Y0 while they're en route to the men's suit store. I wish it wasn't so easy to miss, because there's a lot to unpack here. (I'm just transcribing the English in-game subtitles here; I don't speak Japanese so I have no idea how loose vs. direct the localization is in this part.)

NISHIKI: …now that I think about it, you've been dressing like an old man since we were kids. KIRYU: Have I? NISHIKI: Yeah. The few times we got to pick our clothes, it was always like, "you're choosing THAT?" NISHIKI: I wouldn't say you're a plain guy…You'd pick shirts with weird prints though. KIRYU: Guess I forgot all that. It's weirder to me that you haven't. NISHIKI: Well, confession time. You're why I started caring about fashion. I swore I'd never go out dressed like you. KIRYU: Come on, I'm not THAT bad. [we have already discussed why kiryu is, in fact, that bad.] NISHIKI: [laughing] Aww, did I hurt your feelings? NISHIKI: Well, this time you've got me with you. I'll see my bro gets taken care of. KIRYU: Heh. What an honor. NISHIKI: Leave it to me.

Nishiki doesn't bring up Sunflower Orphanage much; when he does share memories of his childhood, those memories are kind of painful (see: "do orphans not get to dream?"). Kiryu's surprised that Nishiki remembers how they dressed as kids, but it makes sense that wearing a limited selection of hand-me-downs stuck with Nishiki so strongly. His clothes announced his poverty, and they weren't even his -- he had to share them with the other orphans, so what he wore showed he belonged to yet another stigmatized group. And I'm sure people picked up on those visual signals, especially other kids. Kids can be vicious, and appearance is an easy and immediate target! We don't know for sure how young Nishiki interacted with his peers and teachers, but given what the Morning Glory kids go through in Y3 (and given, like, everything about Nishiki), he probably didn't have a great time.

Kiryu frames his childhood as poor but loving, and places much more emphasis on the latter. There might be some rose-colored glasses at work there -- let's look at the flashback where Kazama tries (and fails) to violently dissuade Kiryu and Nishiki from joining the yakuza.

KIRYU: I owe you everything, but this isn’t about that. [...] We’ve looked up to you for all this time. Your car. Your confidence… The way everybody bows to you. We idolized you. I want that life, too. Is that so wrong!?

Nishiki doesn't really speak in this flashback, but like, Kiryu uses "we" enough for us to draw some obvious conclusions about Nishiki's own motivations. That being said, I don't think Kiryu's being dishonest or disingenuous when he describes his childhood as happy, and himself as well-loved. He's not ashamed of his upbringing, and he doesn't hide where he came from. Nishiki seems to have the inverse view. It's not that he doesn't love (at least some of) the people he grew up with, but what comes up first for him is what he didn't have. He didn't have money. He didn't have respect. He didn't have a cure for his little sister. He didn't have a lot of choice, right down to the clothes he wore.

(There's a whole other essay here about why Kiryu's and Nishiki's perspectives diverge on this, but I'm trying to limit the scope of this post. Suffice to say that, while I don't think game canon gives a timeline, I do think Nishiki was a little older when his parents were killed -- old enough that he actually remembers them, at least.)

The same mindset fuels Nishiki's interest in fashion. Yeah, part of it is that he's ribbing Kiryu, but I think it goes deeper than Kiryu wearing ugly shirts. Nishiki doesn't want people to look at him and see what's missing. Fashion isn't a means of personal expression for him, really. It's a message. It's the interplay of knowledge and resources and presentation: knowing what clothes read as successful and trendy and expensive, being able to afford those things, and convincing people that your successful important outfit makes you a successful important person. And he's not wrong about the social dimensions of fashion.

NISHIKI: Try sporting a suit that runs 500 grand for once. Trust me, you’ll see the world in a whole new light. KIRYU: Fashion’s not my thing. Besides, Kazama-san never wore flashy clothes. NISHIKI: You do realize he’s the family captain, right? Number two in the whole Dojima operation? You get to that level, you can wear whatever you damn well please. But for the rest of us, “flashy” is part of the business. KIRYU: So that fancy new car you bought was just “business”. NISHIKI: Yeah, and that fancy lighter of mine, too. Which you still haven’t given back. KIRYU: You want to play the rich guy, quit being so stingy. NISHIKI: But you get what I’m saying, right? People see the expensive car, the designer jacket, and the gleam of that little Dojima pin, they pay attention. A yakuza’s only as good as his image. [...] Take your buddy today. These squeaky-clean idiots, borrowing money just to blow on tits and booze… Nobody in this town gives a crap about substance. What you see is what you get.

That's our first take on one of the major themes of the game: what does it mean to be yakuza? Again, there is truth to what Nishiki's saying here, particularly in terms of the ethos of the eighties. I'm not an expert on the bubble era, but the worldbuilding in the game speaks for itself. People hail taxis with 10,000-yen bills. You punch money out of punks during random street battles. Nishiki keeps a personal bottle of high-end booze at a bar he's visited twice, mostly because he "can’t stand being taken for a bum." The act of spending is important, not what you're spending it on.

Nishiki's outfit in Y0 is perfectly suited (heh) to that outlook. And look, I might be inviting controversy here, but in context, I think it's a werq. Yes, it's loud. But the silhouette -- squared shoulders, single breasted, thinner peaked lapel -- is right on trend for the time period, and it fits him well. The colors look good on him. The bold pattern (no, it's not animal print) under the solid maroon is a risk, but he pulls it off. And excess aside, he knows when to pull back on the accessories. It's bright and confident and memorable, and boy would Nishiki like to be all of those things.

Also -- and importantly -- Kiryu would never go out dressed like that. Because we can't talk about Nishiki and Kiryu without talking about Nishiki's Mt. Fuji-sized inferiority complex. Mastering image doesn't just make Nishiki stand out; it makes him stand out from Kiryu. Let's go back to the beginning of the game.

NISHIKI: I’ll admit, though, you’re finally starting to look the part. You make a pretty convincing yakuza. You’re done with collections today, right? KIRYU: Yeah. NISHIKI: Good. That should put Kazama-san’s mind at ease a bit. KIRYU: Heh, dunno about that. But he always knew all I could do is fight. You’re the one who’s good at the dance.

Nishiki then calls attention to the "rags" that Kiryu's wearing, which...is not an unfair assessment. (TUCK IN YOUR SHIRT, KIRYU. HEM YOUR PANTS.) As the two of them walk around Kamurocho, Nishiki offers Kiryu plenty of hot tips, from meeting girls to making big bucks to cozying up to the brass. But even when Nishiki's opining on his area of expertise, there's a competitive edge to it. "You asking me to pick out clothes for you means you admit you have terrible taste," he tells Kiryu on the way to the suit shop. Kiryu tells him to shut up, but there's no actual hurt behind it. Kiryu doesn't really care that his taste in clothes sucks. Fashion isn't important to him. Most of the things Nishiki knows so much about don't really matter to Kiryu. And that makes Nishiki feel more insecure! Because if Kiryu rolls out of bed looking like a yakuza, if Nishiki's image counseling sessions aren't helpful or meaningful, if Kiryu can skip the dance and get to the top on the strength of his fists and convictions, then who cares about Nishiki's 500 grand suit or his hourlong hair care routine? If image isn't what makes a yakuza, what does that make Nishiki?

At the end of Chapter 6, Nishiki tries to look out for Kiryu again -- this time, by granting him a merciful death before the Dojima Family drags him to the Hole. It's one of my favorite scenes in the game. Nishiki's crying too hard to aim the gun properly; Kiryu tells him to man up and shoot. Finally, Nishiki collapses.

NISHIKI: Can’t do it… How could I shoot you!? Without you, I’ll always be nothing. Can’t make it as a yakuza… No. I wouldn’t even still be alive now if I didn’t have you beside me! I’m just… If you’re not with me, I’m useless! Nothing means anything!

Mastering image hasn't granted Nishiki anything of substance. At the end of the day, Nishiki's playing dress-up, and he knows it.

And I'm almost certainly getting into overthinking-this territory now (if I haven't gotten there already), but I kind of like the spin this puts on Nishiki ripping his expensive suit off in Chapter 14 when he decides to fight the Dojima Family at Kiryu's side. Like yes, ripping off your outer layers to get at the naked (so to speak) truth -- your irezumi, and what it represents -- is just Yakuza Storytelling 101. It's decisive, it's kind of dumb, it's great, it gets me hyped every time. But I like that Nishiki's honest answer to "what does it mean to be a yakuza?" isn't about looking the part. I am genuinely trying not to end this paragraph by saying that Nishiki must become like a dragon, but like...you get where I'm going with this.

Of course, Nishiki's back to playing dress-up in Y1/Kiwami. I'm not the first to call the Patriarch Nishikiyama look a glow-down (though I like the patterned white tie). Like, fashion-conscious Nishiki would look good in a Hedi Slimane/Tom Ford-esque skinny black suit. But he picks a silhouette you'd expect to see on a much older man, torso-swallowing pants and all. The slicked-back hair doesn't help. He's just so transparently trying to look bigger and broader and older, and he doesn't pull it off. Big Bad Patriarch isn't a good look for him, in any sense of the phrase.

A final thought: Kiryu's clothes, and Nishiki's commentary on them, are the subject of their first conversation in Y0 -- and of their last. Kiryu's costume progression in Y0 is a pretty obvious commentary on his journey, to the point where Kiryu and Nishiki explicitly call attention to the color connotations in their final exchange. As a Dojima grunt, he wears black, and it doesn't look good on him because "brutish thug who keeps his head down and does what he's told" isn't a role he's comfortable with. He wears white when he works in real estate, but the change in color isn't enough to sell anyone on his transformation into a civilian. Although it's a little rich for Oda "Red Clown Shoes" Jun to chide someone for not wearing a proper suit. At the end of the game, Kiryu's in his classic grey suit, and well, the game spells it out:

KIRYU: I’m not feeling black or white these days. This is where I’m at right now. I chose it myself. I’m making it a fresh start. NISHIKI: Fine, fine. See if I care! Wear it the rest of your life!

Nishiki, dismayed, tells Kiryu that the grey suit already looks dated, but for Kiryu, "fresh start" doesn't mean "on trend". His image might be out of step with how other yakuza view themselves, or want to be seen, but if he's always going to look like a yakuza, he might as well stake his claim on what being a yakuza means. Still, it's telling that, even as a young man, Kiryu looks like a throwback to an earlier era. As the series progresses, the games hammer this home more and more. How many antagonists tell Kiryu that he's out of touch with the modern world, that he represents a version of the yakuza that no longer exists, that it's time for him to make way for the next generation?

"Wear it the rest of your life!" is a funny little in-joke, yeah, but...it's a little sad when you think about it, isn't it? Kiryu gets new outfits from Y3 on -- and in every game, he ultimately puts the suit back on and heads to Kamurocho. It's exactly of a piece with how Kiryu views being yakuza. We, and he, can debate the exact extent of his retirement from the Tojo Clan's affairs, but the yakuza isn't a career for Kiryu, it's a set of beliefs he carries with him. He wears the suit the same way he wears the dragon on his back: as an indelible part of his self-image.

[valdaycare-au]

The Halloween Update! (since we Mateo Vincent??? MATEO forgot to update the blog.) Part 5

Mateo is the one who is responsible for updating the website but as the last photo is his, allow me to do the honors of updating you with the finale of this... Je ne sais pas, this series? Oui, it seems to be the proper term. Mateo went in as this... hm, how curious. This is... a costume? Really? I thought he was wearing his usual outfit! Madame Ling went in as a nurse—which I was later told that she actually went as Nurse Joy from Pokémon (that surprised me), Kirra went in as Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn (Sasha a fait un travail incroyable!) And you're telling me that... Mateo wore a costume? This is a costume? Who is he even supposed to be? Himself? The colors don't fit him, he looks so... plain. Mon dieu, what a disaster. I thought he was an architecture student? Why is he—

Quoi merde—Mateo?!

Cabrón, chingas tu madre.You think you can just push me off the computer like that, homie?

The hit was unnecessary, connard!

And so is pushing me off the computer, so now I'm just giving you a taste of your medicine! Take that, tonto!

Why, you—?!?

Yes, me! Go back and work in admin instead of taking care of children since you're so bad at it!

If there's anyone who's deathly bad at something, it's you and your idiotic fashion sense! Why not ask the new babysitter for fashion tips since you obviously need some, asshole!

What?! I don't need fashion advice from him, I'm the reason he dresses that way! I told him how to dress!

Have you told him that you're just as violent as your aunt too?!

(They continued bickering until Sasha put a stop to them both—or, more correctly, Vincent was taken away against his will as Sasha carried him on his shoulder, effectively leaving Mateo to finally do this job.)

Um... Sorry about that. You didn't have to see that, haha.

Anyway! If you ask me, I definitely had a blast at our party! It was just unfortunate that we weren't able to post videos and other photos besides the ones we have with our Little Wonders since we needed consent from the parents and the, well, sitter after party is, um... not really available to be disclosed to the public (let's just say that depressed adults are involved). But enough about that, let's talk about my lil' homies!

First things first, I love Pokémon. I still have my original Gameboy cartridges for Pokemon Blue and Red, I collect the cards, I've played all of them and I have very strong team compositions in all of my games! I thought that maybe the kids would like Pokémon and so I dressed up as one of my childhood heroes—Ash Ketchum! No kidding, I cried so hard when I watched him finally become the world champion from the episode from last year. There's news about the series finally ending, too! So it felt appropriate to give a tribute to my own personal hero.

I was planning to bring my very own 'pokémon' to the party (it was just a bunch of my exotic pets, nothing much) because the kids wanted to see them but I realized that, well, the kids are very rowdy and it would be hard to bring them. So instead I made little pokéballs for everyone!

As for my favorite buddies, I like to think that I'm putting them here because they're fun and chill to hang with! They're absolutely cute, passionate, and adorable, no one can resist these little troublemakers even if they make a mistake.

I absolutely adore Tala's sass and liveliness. She would talk to me about the Filipino telenovelas her moms would watch with her and I love her enthusiasm about learning about her culture this way. She's quite the conversationalist, too, as she never runs out of stories!

Jamie was livid when I gave him the pokéball I made and I know mi hombrecito would appreciate what I gave him. He reminded me of me due to his obsession with the action figure and cartoon character KAY/O. He's quite the lively and imaginative kid and I couldn't be more honored to have a little space in the little guy's head everyday and every night when he falls asleep.

And of course, who's going to forget lil' Sunwoo Byrne? Kid's got a huge appetite, she absolutely loves the sandwiches I made her before! I do think it's cute that both her and Jamie are fans of Pokémon given that they bond over watching cartoons and the like! Makes me feel secure knowing that there are still kids who loved cartoons as much as I did—do, since I still watch them now. They're just fun to be around with, you get me?

And unfortunately I was the last one in this batch. Maybe in the future we'll get to have another one to be included in posts like this? I don't know, but this was certainly fun to write!

[nyxknocks]

I support women's rights but most importantly I support women's wrongs. Not that I think the women in this movie did anything wrong, but if they did, I would support them. I digress.

So, I've had Ugetsu on my list of movies to watch on Max for well over a year now, couldn't remember for the life of me why. Watching it, now I do. I love me a good ol' ghost story. Too bad this left me mostly disappointed and frankly, pretty pissed off.

I didn't think I could be more annoyed at characters than Shige in Tokyo Story but I guess I forgot that men as a whole exist because wow. The men in this film suck massively. Selfishness and greed is most definitely the name of the game in this, as well as the male obsession with honor and notoriety. The two men essentially ruin their own lives (but more important the lives of their wives) in an effort to further their own selfish whims--money, status, glory, what have you.

The ending is insulting because you expect the message to at least somewhat be like "look, this is what happens when you stray from your family duties for selfish actions" but the men are fine? At the end? And they get their wives back, albeit halfway. They really made her haunt him forever and be happy about it after he wholly and fully married another lady, ghost or not. How is that justice? How does that make them learn their lesson, truly? That they can destroy everything they had and leave these women destitute and alone--one murdered while defending their son and the other having to resort to sex work after being assaulted. The lack of agency the women have is insulting even if it is period appropriate. If I died after being abandoned by my useless husband while he had an extramarital affair with a ghost, I would haunt him too but I wouldn't help him. That man would suffer every day for the rest of his life, smh. The kid can go back to the village elder, they took better care of him since clearly that dad didn't care one iota until his ghost wife and ghost home faded into ruin. Prick. "Why did you have to die" I will. Kill you.

I could not care less about the split narratives. The samurai one felt shoe-horned in and lack luster compared to the ghost one (though that could be my bias) and felt less developed. With more runtime, this probably could've been better, but alas. Disappointing.

Now. What I did like about this (besides the ghosts) was the MUSIC and AUDIO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my god the creepy little bells from the moment you meet Lady Wakasa showing off that something just isn't quite right from the jump. Her lighting and dress is often ethereal, and the way they shot Ukon during the reveal of the whole ghost-bit was amazing. She was fully in shadow looming behind Genjuro while he was getting mind freaked. This is immediately mirrored when he returns and we get Miyagi fully enshrouded with darkness/shadows with the only light being on the sandals--which further mirrors the focus shot on the sandals left in the dirt during Ohama's assault. The make up was SO effective in making Lady Wakasa just uncanny and off, really setting her apart but mostly making you believe it's her sexual allure--that she's some temptress, not a ghost. I'm also a sucker for all forms of traditional music, so that fan dance scene was easily my favorite bit. Ghost lady? Check. Fan dance? Check.

This movie does excellent at portraying both men and particularly men in power as highly aggressive, selfish, and destructive. The samurai are not protectors--they are violent men who pillage like bandits do. Dutiful wives are left behind--to their death, or to be assaulted with no option left but death or sex work--and then expected to just pick up right where they left off when the men decide they learned their lesson and are ready to come back. No lesson is truly learned. So they went back to working hard, so what? What happens a year from now, when another big sell happens or he finds another grand dream? Pull the same stuff again, expect the women to take them back? She's stuck haunting him forever man !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I call bullshit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[masqueradepdh]

PVLF Incorrect Quotes

AU - Petty Vengeance, Lifelong Friendship (my fic) Aka, Garroth and Laurance got into a fight, Garroth knows about Laurance’s past with the SKs, and so he asks to hang out with them out of spite. Turns out, they get along quite well.

*in jail* Zenix: So who should we call? Gene: I’d call Sasha but I'd feel safer in jail.

Garroth: I wish I had the ability to make boys really nervous… Zenix: Holding a really sharp knife to their throat usually does the trick for me!

Gene: I kind of like this good cop, bad cop act you guys have going on. Zenix: It's not an act. It’s just that I’m mean and Garroth isn't.

Zianna: Hello, people who do not live here. Sasha: Hey. Gene: Hello. Zenix: Hi. Garroth: I gave you guys spare keys for emergencies only! Zenix: We were out of snacks, that is an emergency!

Sasha: What's the point in saying dressed to kill if you're not even going to have one little dagger strapped to your thigh? A single poison ring on your finger where the engagement ring given to you by your recently deceased husband used to sit? Commit or quit. Gene: So true.

Zenix: Is stabbing someone immoral? Gene: Not if they consent to it. Sasha: Depends on who you're stabbing. Garroth: Yes?????

Sasha, setting down a card: Ace of spades. Garroth, pulling out an uno card: +4. Zenix, pulling out a pokemon card: Leafeon, I choose you! Gene: What the fuck are we playing!?

Zenix: I trust Gene. Garroth: You think he knows what he's doing? Sasha: I wouldn't go that far.

Zenix: Might fuck around and let nature consume me. Garroth: Like you're gonna go feral or go lie in the dirt for a bit? Zenix: Yes.

Garroth: You know, you can solve your problems without violence. Zenix: okay, but, consider; I’m really, really good at violence.

Sasha: Alright, who's turn is it for the pep talk? Gene: I believe it's Zenix. Zenix: Alright Knights, fuck shit up and don't die. Garroth: Amazing.

Garroth: We need to appreciate the smaller things in life. Sasha: Okay. Zenix, I appreciate you. Zenix: I'm going to commit a violent deed.

The Cops: I hope you have an explanation for this. Zenix: Actually, we have three. Gene: Pick your favorite.

Garroth: Laurance makes me feel things. Sasha: What things? Garroth: Feelings. Sasha: He makes you feel feelings? Garroth: Yeah. Sasha: What a bitch.

Garroth: How do I deal with my enemies? Zenix: Stab them. Garroth: That's a bit extreme, I was hoping for a more passive solution. Gene: Stab them only a little?

Garroth: Okay truth or dare. Gene: Truth. Garroth: How many hours of sleep have you gotten this week? Gene: Gene: ...dare. Garroth: Go to bed. Gene: I don't like this game.

Sasha: I wish I could block people in real life. Gene: Restraining order? Zenix: Murder!!

Sasha: In my defense your honor I had really good music on and it made me wanna do something evil.

Gene: You call it a near death experience, I call it a vibe check from god.

Garroth: How is "pretty boy" supposed to be an insult? I'm the prettiest goddamn boy in town.

Zenix: Currently considering becoming a bother or a nuisance. Maybe even a menace or a rascal idk I haven't made up my mind yet.

All of them: It is my god given bisexual right to be dramatic.

[eluminium]

I think you mean the opposite? Maybe I'm just reading wrong but I think the theory is that Skizz is the source/origin/patient zero of the boogey curse because the only season post-3rd life to NOT have the boogey curse was Double Life, which also did not have Skizz. Last Life, Limited Life, and Secret Life all had some form of the Boogey curse, and Skizz was part of all of them. So the theory is that the pure manic bloodlust of Skizz's final moments in 3rd Life spawned the boogey curse in some way. Skizz mentioned liking this theory (that he originally found on Reddit) on the pod when they were talking about The Life Series.

EVERYTHING UNDER THE READ MORE IS ME THEORIZING FOR FUNSIES. LET ME COOK OKAY. I COOKED WITH THIS. PLEASE READ

There's also the fact that Skizz has NEVER been Boogey naturally, one of the only three people to have that title. The other two are Grian, a Watcher, and Cleo, who is undead. And it makes sense that Skizz has never gotten infected, you can't corrupt something that's already there. (YES I KNOW ABOUT SECRET LIFE BUT SHHH I HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THAT JUST YOU WAIT-)

Personally, I like the idea of the Watchers noticing the potential of Skizz's lingering madness after 3rd Life and using it to weave the boogey curse for their next killing game. I mean, he was the first to truly spill blood by perma-killing both Jimmy and Cleo before dying himself, what better source could you get for a curse hellbent on spilling as much blood as fast as possible?

You can also say that, in a way, the Boogey Curse is a dark reflection of Skizz. What Skizz's bloodlust is without the rationalizations and justifications he makes for himself. Skizz is at his heart loyal and honest, and he's always been that. He says and usually does only aim his manic bloodlust at those who he thinks deserve it. But at the end of the day, no matter how pretty you dress it up, Skizz's bloodlust is still violent and crazed and messy. And that's what the curse shows. By taking only the manic bloodlust and rage from Skizz and leaving all the loyalty and honor behind, it truly shows its ugly nature when placed in people with less altruistic mindsets and much more to lose. Every person who bears the curse reacts differently to it, but at the end of the day it's still selfish and cruel. Taking another life just to satisfy yourself and your own goals. And Skizz, the source, is no different. He might kill out of loyalty or a sense of justice, but he also kills to satisfy himself, whether he's aware of it or not. The Curse is just what Skizz is/would be without all the pretty justifications on top.

Hell, Skizz being the source of the Boogey Curse could even be the reason why he was absent in Double Life. His soul was too fragile after having to be the source of the First Boogey Curse for the entire season, so the Watchers temporarily took him out of the game to keep his soul safe so they could keep using him in the future. Then he returned in Limited Life to repeat the cycle.

But in Secret Life, despite Skizz's soul probably being fragile again, they didn't want to take Skizz or the curse completely out of the games because it makes so many tasty snacks. So they compromised by only using the Boogey Curse later in the game. But who did they give the curse to? Right, Gem. Who was infected with something from the End Dimension after opening the portal and turning yellow. And the Boogey Curse that sprouted from her was different from the traditional curse, behaving more like a plague and also including elements of teamwork and alliance, something the OG Boogey Curse was meant to completely destroy. Wouldn't it make sense that whatever was infecting Gem and the Skizz-sourced Boogey Curse meshed together to create something unique? A new sickness that, while having elements of the OG curse, was different enough to be its own thing? That would mean that Skizz wouldn't be Patient Zero for the Secret Life zombie boogey curse, that would be Gem. He wouldn't have his immunity anymore. Which left him open and vulnerable to the infection, just like the rest of his comrades.

It also plays into the Watchers losing their grip on the narrative of Secret Life, most noticeably seen with The Canary Curse not playing out as usual. In their hubris and greed, they put Skizz in the game despite his soul being fragile from carrying the weight of being the source of the Boogey Curse. They wanted the strife and discord, so they hastily threw the curse onto the new and already aggressive Gem assuming that it would play out as normal. But Gem was already infected with something else, that and the curse mutated into a loyalty plague, and everything spiraled out of control. The Watchers had no choice then to remove the curse from their game by the next session to regain control. But as we know, that control was gonna keep slipping away from them...

we do not talk about the skizz boogey curse theory enough. do you know insanely cool that is. why does no one talk abt it

[megan-is-mia]

How about “You look so beautiful in that dress, from which kingdom do you live?” for Vil?

7. “You look so beautiful in that dress, from which kingdom do you live?” (Yandere! Vil Schoenheit x Fem! S/o)

She knew what she had to do, she just wasn't sure if she had the strength to do it. (Y/n) was nobody special, just another peasant who had a part to play. Her homeland of Tyeala had been invaded by the mighty King Vil and was currently in the process of being conquered. The only hope the people of Tyeala had of defeating their mighty foe was assassinating the king before his conquest was complete. However this was easier said than done, many men had gone to their death in the quest to end the man’s life. So now the kingdom was playing a different game, sending someone undercover to a ball the king was hosting to kill him. That someone just happened to be (Y/n) who had gladly volunteered to serve her country in this way. Covered in makeup, her hair elegantly done-up and wearing a dress worth more than her weight in gold, the young woman searched for her prey. Every so often she found her hand wandering to the blade concealed in her dress and the reminder of the violent nature of her task made her shiver. “You look so beautiful in that dress, from which kingdom do you live?” a voice spoke from beside (Y/n) making her jump in surprise. Imagine how much her surprise increased when upon turning towards the source of the voice she found herself locking eyes with the very man she had been sent to kill. King Vil was just as beautiful as the stories said and she found herself staring at him entranced for a long moment before her wits finally returned to her and she faked a laugh. “Oh this old thing? I’d hardly call it beautiful” she said, batting her eyelashes at the man. “I’m Lady Nadia from the Country of Roses” the young woman went on even as her heart began to race a little. She wasn’t going to back out on her mission, but she didn't expect the man to come to her of his own accord. “Is that right? Well Miss Nadia, would you do me the honor of a dance?” Vil said, extending his hand to (Y/n) who quickly took it and allowed herself to be led onto the dancefloor and spun around.

“So tell me Nadia, what's your opinion on your homeland’s choice to support the rebels in Tyeala?” the young king asked as they waltzed to the music. “Well i personally wouldn't call them rebels, it was their home before the Fairest King decided he wanted the country for his own” she replied quickly, having decided to play dumb about knowing who Vil really was. The young man let out a laugh as he dipped her backwards and spun her around some more before the song ended. “Perhaps you have a point but why shouldn’t the land belong to the Fairest King? He is a good leader and the people of Tyeala would benefit from his guidance” Vil countered as the music changed to a tango and they were forced to change their dancing accordingly. “Well that isn’t for him to decide, the people of Tyeala just want to be in charge of themselves like any other free nation!” (Y/n) spoke out a little more passionately then she meant to. She uttered an apology and their next few dances were performed in silence.

Eventually Vil pulled her away from the dancefloor and into a small room off the ballroom. The man sank into the massive couch at the center of the room and let out a huge sigh as he relaxed. This was (Y/n)’s chance, she carefully locked the door behind her and began creeping towards the man with her hand wrapped around her concealed blade. She moved into position behind him and was just about to grab his throat to slit it when her entire body suddenly froze up. “Oh come on, you honestly didn't think that would really work now did you?” Vil said with clear amusement as he reached up and knocked the blade from the young woman’s hands. “I’ve had the most skilled hitman try and fail to assassinate me. What made you think that you, a mere peasant girl with a knife, had any shot at success?” he went on mockingly as he snapped his fingers and (Y/n) found her legs moving without her consent so she was standing in front of the young king. “Though I must admit you are a far fairer sight than all my previous would-be killers” the young man spoke, pulling (Y/n) into his lap with a chuckle. “What did you… do to me?” the young woman forced out through barely responsive lips. “I enchanted you of course, i'm not just an excellent tactician but a skilled sorcerer” Vil said without hesitation. “That's why you never had a chance from the start, your people sent you here to die like a lamb to slaughter” he added nuzzling her.

“You’re lying!” (Y/n) spat out definitely. “Am I? What could I possibly gain by lying to you right now?” Vil replied smoothly. The young woman felt her soul being torn to shreds as the pieces began to click in her mind. Soon she was crying heavily and the young king was kissing them away as fast as the tears could fall. “Weep not, for I have good news for you. Your natural beauty interests me and I have been looking for a bride for some time. I will make you a happy wife and allow you to rule over the land that took you for granted” the man promised sweetly, his words already beginning to take a hold over (Y/n)’s desperate soul…

THE END

[sonianvmd]

thh characters with a crush on you

warnings: none, maybe some swearing but otherwise nothing major

oH and mentions of murder and death but this is danganronpa so im going to assume u expected as much

a/n: so we kickin this blog off with a bang, writing for LITERALLY THE ENTIRE TRIGGER HAPPY HAVOC CAST LMFAOAOAOAO (excluding hifumi, yasuhiro, and the two despairs doe bc i’ve already made that clear)

also some character’s sections are shorter than others im sorry i just couldnt think of as many bullet points for them *tiktok cry emoji*

edit: I FORGOT CELSESTE FU K SORRY

spoilers under the cut!!

★ 彡 ★ ミ ★ 彡 ★ ミ ★

makoto naegi

when he realizes he likes you, he doesn’t necessarily panic or anything, but he does get nervous

nervous around you, that is

y’all saw how he was with sayaka

if he says anything that might sound intimate then he’ll immediately rephrase it or reassure he didn’t mean anything by it

he really only does have good intentions but his wording just kinda flops sometimes

he appreciates how you listen to him and value what he says

you don't make him feel dumb or inferior compared to a bunch of ultimates with actual talents

he’ll muster up the courage to tell you eventually

let’s hope his luck comes through 😁

byakuya togami

now when THIS man realizes he likes you, he a bitch nigga bout it 😐

he can't believe he fell for a common plebeian such as you

but it was hard not to

the way you preferred to get to the point

the way you were aware of your situation and didn't sugarcoat how you felt about it, although you certainly were nicer with it than him

he's ruthless

anyways

you knew your priorities and spent no time trying to use your resources

he noticed how much you had in common; in you, he saw himself

and we all know how this mf feels about himself 😐

he’ll be quick to defend you in class trials

he won’t realize he’s doing it but he just subconsciously protects you

but just because he doesn't notice it, don't mean the rest of the class brushes past it as well

yeah they on his ass LMFAOO

kyoko kirigiri

kyoko is very good at keeping her composure so she won’t be very obvious

she’ll probably just hang around you more

she’ll also defend you in class trials, calmly

“oh, it couldn’t have been [name]. i remember seeing them in their dorm around the time the murder took place.”

hifumi probably finna say some dumb shit like “aye what was you doin in their dorm doe” but anyways

she finds you respectable

if you have anything to contribute, she’ll let you take the floor

when she tells you, she’s very composed, but also very indirect LMFAO

she’s not too sure on how to express her interest in you but maybe she’ll go about it like “well, [name], now we’ve made it here, would you like to step back into the world with me?” or somethin else along those lines idk

take her hand

pls

toko fukawa

y’all know her whole “master togami” shtick

yeah so 😁😁😁😁

no but fr, toko ofc still has her borderline stalkerish 🧍🏾‍♀️ tendencies

she’ll often find herself staring at you, either in the library or in the morning meetings everyday at breakfast

but she isn’t as straight forward as she is with byakuya

i actually think she’d be mad shy and non confrontational

the whole thing she kept up with him ? yeah, never again

if you approach her first then she’ll be able to get a few words out but for most of the conversation, she’ll just nervously play with her braids

you’ll most likely put two and two together

unless ur a makoto kinnie bc then you’ll have to wait till someone else puts it in place for u but anyways

if you decide to approach her about it, you’ll kinda be backing her into a corner bc she’s just bad at deflecting things lmao

she’ll eventually confess (begrudgingly but hey i mean its better than nothing)

expect much stuttering and a gesture like giving you a small gift

and not to be that writer that uses japanese terms in english writing but toko seems like a tsundere but not really if that makes sense?? so she’d probably shove it in your hands and if you try to say something then she’ll just try to play it off as not a big deal lol

calls u a baka 😍😍

aoi asahina

i know y’all all see how she is with sakura

yeah.

aoi is the kind of person who’d like to spend time with their crush rather than shy away from them

she values you and your friendship very much

bring her donuts

just trust me bring her donuts

she doesn’t really realize she’s into you like that for a while but believe me, she is, the whole time

and yeah i think she’d be nervous to tell you bc that’s just natural but ultimately she’d be cool about it

uh oh looks like we goin for a swim

sakura ogami

similar to kyoko, she’s very calm

despite her big and bad appearance, she really is a sweet girl

she cares for you and your well-being very much

will indeed go on x games mode for you

the way she tells you is very sincere and well spoken

kith her

naow

im sorry this is like the shortest one i couldn’t think of much for her 😔😔

leon kuwata

flirtatious ass mf

and he’s lightskin

so this just cannot go well

y’all know that bit where it’s like the guy yawns and stretches his arms up and then wraps one around your shoulder

yeah that’s literally him LMFAOO

he’s very confident

he was fairly well known with the ladies at his old school so you know he’s rhockin wit it ‼️

but

you feel.. different than usual ??

those girls were just lil flings n dates bc he was nice enough to accept their confessions and it boosted his ego anyway so it was a win win

but you

he was genuinely interested in you since he had saw you the first time

he didn’t just acknowledge your appearance

he learnt about your personality and your hobbies and what you liked and such, and he really cared and wanted to hear you talk about it all

he felt the need to really make an effort to show you how much he respected and had affections for you

he doesn't tell you in a grand way

probably just asks you out to a movie or somethin

he's chillin

mondo owada

you know

for being the biggest, baddest, most respected biker gang leader

or just for being in a biker gang period

mondo’s a huge softie lol

yeah he gets violent but he’s a sweet guy who cares about and is loyal to his friends

so mfs need to be nice to you

or they gettin whooped

when he decides it’s time to tell you how he feels, he thinks over his words and he’s all confident there’s no way you’d reject him but then he sees you in the halls and goes 🧍🏾 LMFAOOO

he’ll push through but it’s like he’ll walk up to you and look away from you because he refuses eye contact and just go

“so y/n, would you wanna.. tch.. come to a drive-in movie with me or somethin’?... dumbass.”

real smooth mondo i think you got em good job

please tease him LMFAOO it’d be so funny

he’d probably yell but you can tell he’s not mad so you just keep going with it

but once you’re done tormenting him, you do agree to the movie, don’t worry 🙏🏾

also mondo would call his s/o doll

that is all

chihiro fujisaki

my fav dude in a dress <3

chihiro would be quite shy, but that’s just how he is tbh so no surprise there

he’s very kind so he’d check up on you often just to see how you are

he cares about you v much

the way he confesses is one that consists of a red face as he offers you a box of candy or something similar

and he’d feel honored that you reciprocate his feelings

he’d be very scared to tell you his secret but once he does, he’s delighted to hear it doesn’t make any difference to you

he doesn’t know how he got so lucky with you

not only because woooo they like me back but also because you like him despite,, well everything about him LMFAOO

sweet lil boy

i’d feel like he’d talk about you to alter ego a lot

and when u meet the program for the first time, he’s like “oh! you must be [name]! master’s told me all about you :)”

sobbing i miss him

kiyotaka ishimaru

okay here’s the thing

if taka were to like someone

i can’t tell whether he’d be more strict because he doesn’t want them to get in trouble (and also so it would hopefully divert any suspicion that he DOES like you since he treats you the same as everyone else, only more)

or if he’d hold back more because he favors them LMFAOO

so imma write a lil bit for both

in the case that he was even stricter:

he’d prefer to be around you because he believes the best way he can make sure you stay out of trouble is to make sure you don’t get into any in the first place

of course it’s impossible to monitor you every second of every day but he does his best to make sure you’re doing well

if he sees you do anything out of line, he’s shutting that shit down IMMEDIATELY

but in the case he let up:

he’d still lecture you but noticeably less than the other students

if your feet were resting on top of a desk, he’d ask you to move them and then leave you alone rather than yell at you and forcibly move them himself

if you notice his behavior towards you in comparison to the other students do not tease him about it he will go as red as his eyes /hj

either way he’s confessing to you with a polite but exaggerated bow while holding out a well thought out letter with both hands

sayaka maizono

she will tell you

idk why but i feel like she’d be straight up lol

she’d make sure she’s sincere

she is the ultimate pop idol and all so she wants to make sure you know that she really does like you and isn’t playing a sick joke on you or anything

ok bc

while i do think she’d tell you

i’d feel like she’d be a little indirect just to see how you feel

like she’d give you a free ticket to one of her upcoming concerts with a kind smile

and naturally, you're like :o

and of course you come to support her

and seeing you smile at her from the crowd and cheer her on was the encouragement she needed to push her to ask you out

for real this time

she asks if you wanna come to a concert with her and ur like “oh yeah i love ur shows!!” bc ur dumb and then she’s like “no i mean.. for another artist” and eventually it hits you that she’s asking you out and ur like “oH YEAH YEAH SURE THAT SOUNDS GREAT YEAH OK” LMFAOO

———

i really hope that this is good LMFAOO this is my first time writing for dr so 😃👍🏾

fun fact i finished toko’s section first and taka’s last 😁😁

and i’d like to thank @mius-imagination @bloodygir n the rest of the discord for helping me figure some of these characters out *simultaneously whips and nae naes*

bye ive been working on this for like weeks this took forever

———

edit: here’s a deleted section bc i kept blanking for this character 😍

[andypantsx3]

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself. 

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued. 

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before. 

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it. 

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter. 

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent. 

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan. 

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with. 

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him? 

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway. 

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you. 

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him. 

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now. 

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it. 

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

[midnightdemonhunter]

GOD THAT WAS GREAT !!! I'M ACHING !!!!! fuckin UHHHHH could we hear some about mikan & junko too then? junko & sonia? junkoooooo & akane & nekomaru? the last two in particular i always struggle with thinking of as despairs, & i'd love to hear your takes on them & literally any fleck of the remnants you want to discuss <3

THANK YOU!!!! I spend my days constantly thinking about Junko with class 77 and the remnants, so I'm absolutely delighted to get the chance to talk about them!! (put under Read More cause i have a LOT to say)

The big pain about Mikan and Junko to me is the idea that Junko is just NICE to her. Like she bumps into Mikan on her first day of school and laughs off Mikan's apologies. She says good morning to her every time they meet. She doesn't blink at Mikan's ramblings. Like she's giving Mikan a normal amount of attention and because Mikan is so starved for attention Junko becomes the love of her life. And it's like MAN she would have felt this way about whoever treated her like this and Junko just happened to be the first.

I think Junko's big thing pre-tragedy is to ask fucked up hypotheticals to everyone she knows, and she has a blast doing it with Mikan-- who's always happy to answer insane medical questions. And then after the tragedy...well Junko has always forgiven and embraced Mikan's worse traits-- surely Mikan owes her Beloved the same!

In terms of remnant Mikan...I feel like my ideas are the least revolutionary? She's one of the few remnants who 1. Has a reasonable amount of fics/art 2. Has a reasonable amount of GOOD fics/art So i don't have a lot of unique concepts with her?? I do absolutely love the idea that she is one of the less crazy remnants-- since for all we know, she's a mild one!

I really think Sonia would love Junko. Junko is a blunt, morbid person who would delight in Sonia's serial killer obsession, and they would have a great time binging horror movies and discussing Hypothetical Fights to the Death. Sonia is one of the many people Junko dates in the lost years, and they're sparkling blondes on the surface-- very violent cheerful conversations below it.

In the end...Sonia proposes to Junko, and offers her a spot on the throne. Junko happily accepts! Junko then precedes to happily kill herself in a very non hypothetical killing game, breaking Sonia's heart. Now Sonia is a bride abandoned at the alter, who wears her wedding dress permanently in honor of her departed love. She has BIG Mrs Havisham vibes.

I very much respect all Girlboss remnant Sonia concepts but unfortunately I have doomed her to be a sad girlfail girlcry. She finds the idea of anyone finding her attractive after Junko horrifying, and mutilates herself as a way of preventing this. She has chosen Junko over her kingdom, and she is very aware of this choice.

ARGH AKANE AND NEKOMARU. Honestly I agree with you, these two are really hard to nail down as remnants. Nekomaru especially, since he is both gay and seemingly very emotionally healthy, so it's harder to imagine him going to any of the lengths the remnants go to for Junko. However I try my best to justify and imagine it!!

In school, both Nekomaru and Akane were Junko's sparring partners. (separately). Nekomaru is very concerned about Junko but is also under the impression that he can fix her. HE CAN NOT. Junko wants to see how far she can push him in their fights, and how violent he can get with her. She'll leave their sparring sessions bruised and bleeding and beaming. Akane's sparring sessions are much less bloody, but much more homoerotic. Junko always loses the fights but wins the arguments.

Neither of them realise how much Junko means to them UNTIL she dies on live television. Nekomaru feels like he failed one of his athletes, and Akane only realises she was in love now that Junko's gone. Akane becomes determined to never get attached or become weak again, and stops eating. She avoids Nekomaru out of repressed guilt on how badly she's treating her body. She also kills a lot of people she used to care about as a way of cutting ties Whoops.

Nekomaru....is the most emotionally healthy remnant who moves in with Souda and is still happy but...he also cuts off his legs to replace them with prosthetics which contain Junko's bones so uh. There's that. He also really enjoys violence now! Thanks Junko!

Basically, I have pretty clear images on where Nekomaru and Akane are at Hopes Peak and as Remnants, it's just the inbetween I find hard.

Getting back to more general here, but I really do have a LOT of remnant thoughts, as you can see from my ask blog (which I'm very slow with but still remember) and all the fics I've written. Speaking of remnant fics, I'm gonna plug Those Who Carried On here because it's where I've started putting all my other standalone remnant concepts that exist basically to expand the possibilities of the remnants. That fic is a delight to work on and I very much want everyone to see it!

If you're interested in more of my remnant or class 77 Junko dynamic thoughts, please feel free to send more asks like this one! This is really only the tip of the iceburg, and I'd love to discuss my personal remnant ideas, the interpretations i love in the fandom and the ones I don't, as well as any other remnant/lost years concepts! (as well as my seething hatred of dr3) If you personally want to talk about this stuff more in-depth with me, hit up my tumblr dms and I can keep talking. I'd love to hear your thoughts as well! Once again, thanks for the ask and the excuse to ramble!

[amuelia]

How do you think Roose will meet his demise? Or will he survive? What's your best Roose end game predictions?

Thank you for the question! This will be a long post under the readmore, going into my thoughts on the show ending and exploring what the books may have set up in regards to themes and characterization, as well as a bit of general analysis of Roose' story arc in a Dance with Dragons (and some speculation about Ramsay as well).

If you click on the readmore i will have divided the post into sections with bolded Headers, if you want to only read my specific endgame ideas you can skip ahead to the "His Endgame?" section.

In The Show

The show had him get killed by Ramsay in s6, which informs a lot of the fandom speculation about this storyline.

I am not a fan of the show's scenario as it was both similar to tywin and tyrion as well as a mirror of robb's death; it would also be offscreen in the books since neither of the characters are PoVs and Ramsay would need to do the act in secret. This would ultimately undercut Roose' role and impact, being a death scene that is not very unique and also isn't shown to the reader directly. Since no PoV is even in Winterfell currently, we would just hear of it from afar and not witness the consequences.

The show also has a different dynamic in the Bolton storyline, emphasizing Ramsay as the "main character" of this arc, and elevating him to the main villain for s5-6 to fill Joffrey's shoes as an evil character played by a very charismatic actor. Ramsay's show writing is informed by the needs of a TV setting that wants shocking moments and capitalizes on "fan favourite" actors; his rising importance in the show thus is not necessarily an indicator of his book importance. The show was also missing many central characters like the northern lords and the Frey men in Winterfell.

The show had a tendency to kill off characters early when they wanted to cull storylines or had no plans to adapt more of the character's story (like Stannis, Barristan, possibly the Tyrells...); In Mance Rayder we have the most obvious example, where they killed him off for real in a scene that in the book was a misdirection. We also have characters like Jorah where it appears the showrunners had their own choice of how they want his storyline to end, even if Grrm has his own ending in mind.

"For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah to be there at The Wall in the end," writer Dave Hill says. "The three coming out of the tunnel would be Jon and Jorah and Tormund. But [...] Jorah should have the noble death he craves defending the woman he loves." - Dave Hill for Entertainment Weekly

So a death in the show does not need to be an indicator that the books will feature an equivalent scene, even if it gives a hint as to what may happen. By s5 the show has become its own beast, and the butterfly effects from radical changes they made as well as the different characterizations results in the show having to cater to its own needs in many cases when it gets to resolving a plotline.

"We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor's talents." - Benioff and Weiss for the s5 DVD commentary, on Indira Varma's casting as Ellaria

In The Books

(Since this post was getting out of hand in length a lot of these arguments are a little shortened/not as in-depth as i'd like! Feel free to inquire more via ask if something is unclear or you disagree)

In the books i find it hard to make a concrete guess as to how it will end. Occam's razor would be to assume the show sort of got it right and that it will vaguely end the same, which could very well happen and i will not discount the possibility; Ramsay is cruel, desires the Dreadfort rule, and is a suspected kinslayer and has no qualms to commit immoral violence.

"Ramsay killed [his brother]. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Reek III, aDwD

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand [to attack his father]. - Reek III, aDwD

Arguments against this or for a different endgame come down to interpretations of the themes in the story arc and opinions on dramatic structure/grrm's writing, and are thus very subjective.

The way the story currently is going, Ramsay killing Roose treats Roose almost as a plot device; his death brings no change or development to Ramsay's character as we already know his motivations and cruelty align with such an act, and we can assume that he would feel no remorse about it either. The results of such a scene would be firmly on a story level, as it brings political changes and moves the plot along into a specific direction. Roose himself cannot have any relevant character development about it as he does not have a PoV and we would not be able to witness his reaction from the outside.

“The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.” - William Faulkner, often quoted by Grrm

Further, killing his father is very difficult to pull off in secret (Roose is frequently described as very cautious, and employs many guardsmen). And even if Ramsay pulls it off (people often interpret Ramsay as Roose' blind spot, assuming he might be caught by surprise, not expecting Ramsay would bite the hand that feeds him), Roose is the one that holds his entire alliance together; The Freys would be alienated by Ramsay who would antagonize Walda and her son as his rivals, The Ryswell bloc appears to dislike Ramsay (especially Barbrey), and the other northmen are implied to not even like Roose himself. Killing Roose would quickly combust the entire northern faction, and hinder Ramsay's further plans (another reason why I am not convinced of a book version of the "Battle of Bastards"). Though this might of course, if we look at it from the other side, be grrm's plan to quickly dissolve this plot and move the northern story forwards.

"Ramsay will kill [Walda's children], of course. [...] [She] will grieve to see them die, though." - Reek III, aDwD

"How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots." - Reek III, aDwD

"Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' death at Ramsay's hand also removes him thematically from the Red Wedding, as we can assume such a death might have happened regardless of his participation in the event (seeing as Ramsay is getting provoked by Roose constantly in normal dialogue, and has a general violent disposition). Roose already took Ramsay in before aGoT started, and married Walda very early in the war, which is already most of the buildup that the show's scenario had. It also has little to do with the The North Remembers plot except set dressing, since the northmen are presumably neither collaborating with/egging on Ramsay nor would they appreciate the development.

Themes: Ned Stark and the rule over the North

Roose is treated as a foil to Eddard; They are often contrasted in morals and ruling styles, while also having many superficial similarities that further connect them (they are seen as cold by people, grey eyed, patriarchs of rivalling northern houses, etc...).

Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. - Jaime IV, aSoS

They both have a "bastard son" that they handle very differently; Roose treating Ramsay in the way that is seen as common in their society. Ramsay and Jon as a comparison are meant to show that Catelyn had a reason to see a bastard as a threat (since Domeric was antagonized by his bastard brother), but also shows that her suggested plan for Jon would not have stopped any danger either (as Ramsay being raised away from the castle didn't help).

And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the north to see. - Catelyn II, aGoT

"Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." - Reek III, aDwD

It appears to me that Roose' story functions in some ways as an inversion to Ned. He makes an attempt to grab a power he was not destined to (becoming warden of the north), where Ned did not want the responsiblity thrust upon him ("It was all meant for Brandon. [...] I never asked for this cup to pass to me." - Cat II, aGoT). Where Ned rules successfully and his northmen honor his legacy ("What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." - The Turncloak, aDwD), the Boltons are largely hated and there are several plots conspiring against them ("Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die." - The King's Prize, aDwD).

It seems possible to me that in terms of their family and legacy, Roose might also live through an inverted version of Ned's story; where Ned died first, leaving his family behind, Roose already lived to see the death of his wives and trueborn heir, and might thus also live to see Ramsay's death. Ned leaves behind well raised children and a North who still respects his name, and even though he dies it will presumably all be "in good hands" in the end (in broad strokes, obviously this is all much more morally complex). Roose however built up a bad and toxic legacy, and also built his way of life around evading consequences; it makes sense to me that he would be forced by the story to finally endure all the consequences of his actions and witness the fall of his house firsthand. After all we already have Tywin who fulfils the purpose of dying before his children while his legacy falls to ruins, and a Feast for Crows explores this aspect thoroughly.

Roose' arc in A Dance With Dragons

The story repeatedly builds up the situation unravelling around Roose, and him slowly losing a grip on it and becoming more stressed and anxious.

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek II, aDwD

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. [...] That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. - Theon I, aDwD

It also directly presents him as a parallel to Theon's rule in aCoK, who similarly experienced a very unpopular rule and his subjects slowly turning against him. Presumably, the point of this comparison will not just be "Ramsay comes in at the end and unexpectedly whacks them on the head". Both Theon and Roose invited Ramsay into their lives, giving him more power than he deserves, and causing Ramsay to make choices that increasingly alienate others from them (the death of the miller's boys for example has repercussions for both Theon and Roose). Grrm is likely steering this towards a difference in how they will deal with this situation.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again." - The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember? How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known?" - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' arc is deeply connected to the relations he shares to the other northern lords, which has been heavily impacted by the Red Wedding. It stands to reason that they are going to be an important part of his downfall, and we see many hints of them plotting to betray him.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." - Davos IV, aDwD

Themes: Stannis and kinslaying

The books set up Roose and Stannis as foils as well; Both lack charisma and have trouble winnning the people's support, Stannis and Roose both parallel and contrast Ned, Stannis appears as a "lesser Robert" where Roose is a "lesser Ned", Stannis represents the fire where Roose represents the ice, both struggle over dominion in a land that doesnt particularly want either of them, etc... What i find interesting is how they are contrasted over kinslaying:

"Only Renly could vex me so with a piece of fruit. He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach." - Davos II, aCoK

"I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aCoK

Stannis is set up as someone who is very thorough and strict in following his own code and his "duty", even if he does not like what it forces him to do.

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady." - Davos IV, aSoS

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends." - Jon I, aCoK

Roose however is frequently characterized as someone who tries to get as much as he can while avoiding negative consequences, and who does not have a consistent moral code and instead bends rules to his benefit to be the most comfortable to him.

It is often theorized that Stannis will end up burning his daughter Shireen; the Ramsay issue might then serve to contrast the two men. If Grrm intends it to be compared by the reader, I can see it going two ways: Either Roose will be forced to finally act in a drastic way after avoiding his responsibility in regards to Ramsay and he will be forced to get rid of his son, making him break the only moral hurdle he has presented adhering to during the story (though analyzing his character, the kinslaying taboo is probably less a sign of moral fortitude and more him using the guise of morals to explain a selfish motivation). Or he might not act against Ramsay and suffer the consequences, presenting an interesting moral situation where some readers might consider his action "better" or more relatable than Stannis', breaking up the otherwise very black and white moral comparison between the two men. It serves as an interesting conflict of the morality of kinslaying compared to what readers might see as a moral obligation of getting rid of a monster such as Ramsay; contrasting Shireen whose death would not be seen as worth it by most. Ramsay as a bastard (who was almost killed at birth if he hadnt been able to prove his paternity) also makes for an interesting verbal parallel with the bastard Edric Storm, and might be used for a look at the utilitarian principle of killing a child (baby ramsay/edric) to save countless people from suffering that underpinned Edric's story.

"As Faulkner says, all of us have the capacity in us for great good and for great evil, for love but also for hate. I wanted to write those kinds of complex character in a fantasy, and not just have all the good people get together to fight the bad guy." - Grrm

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" - Eddard VIII, aGoT

"If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" - "Everything," said Davos, softly. - Davos V, aSoS

However Grrm decides to present these conflicts or which actions the characters will take in the end, it will result in interesting discussion and analysis for the readers.

His Endgame?

Looking at the trends of the past books, it is probably going to be hard to predict any specific outcome; every book introduces new characters and plot elements that were impossible to predict from the last book even if their thematic importance or setup was aptly foreshadowed.

Roose has a lot of plot importance and characterization that has, in my opinion, not yet been properly resolved in a way that would be unique and poignant to the specific purpose his character appears to fulfil. However I also have a bias in that i did not like the show's writing of that scene which makes me averse to see a version of it in the books, and i really like Roose as a character and want to see him have more scenes in the next book(s). This leads me to discount plot speculation that cuts his character arc short offscreen early. Roose is only a side character; however, i have trust in grrm's writing abilities and that he would give him a proper sendoff that feels satisfying to a fan of the character.

"…even the [characters] who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems… When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain — if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection." — George Martin

Considering my earlier analyis, there is a case to be made for Roose killing Ramsay; however it appears grrm might have a different endgame in mind for Ramsay, foreshadowed in Chett's prologue:

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . . - Chett, aSoS

I tend to think something might happen to Roose/the Bolton bloc later in the book that would cause Ramsay to attempt to flee the scene again like he did back in aCoK fleeing Rodrik's justice; perhaps Ramsay is sent out to battle but then flees it like a coward, or he sees his cause as lost. This time, the fleeing and potentially disguised Ramsay would not make it out to safety though, and get killed without being recognized as Ramsay, dying forgotten. This would serve as dramatic irony since Ramsay so strongly desired to be recognized and respected as a Lord of Bolton, without being too on the nose.

As for Roose, i could see him getting captured and somehow brought to justice (either when someone takes Winterfell or in some sort of battle). I see it unlikely that he will be backstabbed like Robb was, because it seems very "eye for an eye" and ultimately doesn't teach much of a lesson except "he had it coming"; But the various people conspiring against him could lead to his capture by betraying him (giving a payoff to the northern conspiracies and the red wedding). I would find a scene of him standing trial interesting since i believe we didn't have one of these for a true non-pov villain yet, and it would be an interesting confrontation that he cannot escape from (he also loves to talk so it would be a good read to see him make a case for himself).

I assume Roose will be out of the picture when the Other plot finally properly kicks into gear (whether dead or "in prison"). With Stannis as a false Azor Ahai and Roose as a false Other (with his pale, cold features), their struggle in the north seems to be a representation of the false "Game of Thrones" that distracts people from the "real threat" of the Others.

As always this is just my opinion, and it could all go very differently in the books! There could always be something that completely uproots my analysis and goes into a direction i did not expect from the material we had; But i have fate that Grrm as a writer will deliver and give me something i can be satisfied with.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 10 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 2.7 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

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A Lot To Celebrate

You're not a poet, and you surely weren't born with literary talents. But if that's something you learned after coming to Kattegat, is that you can feel. And you feel it, the distance, the days that don't seem to pass by. Aslaug takes you to everything she has to do, alongside Helga, Torvi, and some other women. The weather is quite nice, and you're not cold all the time. Kattegat is a completely different place, but you do find ways to enjoy it. The town is empty, less loud than it used to be. And it doesn't help when Ivar's absence hits.

It usually happens in the morning, or the evening. When you wake up, with nobody lying next to you, and right before falling asleep. You miss Hvitserk too, and even Ubbe. Bjorn... Not really.

Aslaug started talking about marriage after a while, making you blush so hard you feel like you'll burst into flames. You haven't spoken to Ivar about it, and you don't want to take things too fast. But secretly, you enjoy making plans, and you even give some ideas of what you'd like. The celebration is quite different here, and you can actually have a say in what you want and what you don't.

You start getting impatient when the winds start blowing colder, a sign that summer is passing. And you can't even begin to describe your happiness when the news arrive of the boats returning. The town bursts into life, and you decide to pick up some flowers in the woods to make yourself a crown. Helga comes with you, happy her husband is coming back. Searching through the forest, you put the flowers you like on a basket, holding the bar of your dress out of the way as you climb a small slope.

“What do we have here?” The voice doesn't belong to Helga, that's obvious, and it makes you turn around, freezing when you find two men standing some feet away.

Looking at the sides, you see Helga, way too far among the threes, oblivious to your company. “What do you want?” You ask, fingers holding the basket a little tighter. “The warriors are returning from England.”

“We know.” The tallest says, walking over you. “We were heading to Kattegat but now that we found a pretty girl like you...” He smiles, and his friend circles around you, making it impossible for you to run. “...We thought we could use a little distraction.”

“(Y/N)?” Helga calls, and you look her way. She comes running, grabbing your arm when she reaches you.

“One for each.” The one standing behind you says. “That's an improvement.”

“If you touch any of us, Ivar the Boneless will know.” You speak fast, holding Helga's hand.

At the mention of Ivar, the one before you steps back, squinting his eyes. “Ivar isn't here.”

“He's on the boats about to arrive.” You explain, trying to keep your voice steady. “I belong to him now, and I'm sure you know Ivar is very possessive of the things he owns.” Pulling Helga with you, you start walking.

“Are we going to let them go?”

“I won't piss Ivar off.”

“We'd be done with both of them and far away from Kattegat before he even gets here.”

“Run.” Helga whispers and you both set in motion.

You're not sure if they're following you or not, but you don't stop until you're back in town. The basket and the flowers were left behind, you're not sure where, but it doesn't matter. Once you're surrounded by people again, you try to catch your breaths.

“Are you alright?” You ask, running a hand through your hair.

“Yes. You did right back there. Talking about Ivar.”

“It wouldn't stop the other one.” Taking a deep breath, you start walking again. “It doesn't matter. Not now. They're almost here.”

“You tell Ivar about that. They'll probably come to Kattegat.”

“I will.” But not now. As you walk to the deck, the first boats are already here, and you're immediately looking for Ivar.

The fear from moments before vanishes when you finally spot his boat, sailing way too slowly for your taste. When it finally stops, you push some people out of the way, unable to just stand there and wait. When you see him, you get the same feeling you had on the first time those blue eyes met yours. Smiling, you watch as two men help him out of the boat, putting him on the ground. You're not sure why he's not with the clutch but you don't care. Kneeling, you sit on your legs as Ivar crawls over you. Your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest it seems, and you feel relieved to see he's not wounded.

“Hi.” He says, a funny smile on his lips.

“Been a while.” Ivar settles down, hands resting on his lap.

“Sorry if I'm not standing, princess, but–”

Grabbing the collar of his leather vest, you pull him into a kiss. Standing, crawling, it doesn't matter. Ivar is back, alive and well, and you'll have him all winter.

“Do you have to do that here?” A very annoyed Ubbe complains, making you pull away and laugh.

“Hello, Ubbe.” You stand up, giving him a quick hug. “It's good to have you back.”

“It's good to be back.” He smiles, walking away, and greeting some people.

“Hvitserk?” You ask Ivar, at the same moment you see him coming your way with his father.

“I'm still here,” Ivar complains when you step away a little to hug Hvitserk and Ragnar, welcoming them back.

”Don't be jealous.” You tell him, keeping his pace as he crawls through the deck. “Let's get you cleaned up. You have some blood on your clothes that I know it's not yours.”

Ivar simply giggles, and that's all the answer you need.

Ragnar's house is very, very loud tonight. You hear them from inside your bedroom as you dress up for the biggest feast they have here. To celebrate those who came back alive and to honor those who didn't. Once you're ready, in a new, beautiful dress, you sneak your way to the main hall, but you stay behind the leather-like curtains, a few feet away from Ragnar. He glances at you, smiling.

“Ivar isn't here yet.” He says, and you raise your eyebrows.

“What makes you think I'm looking for him?” Shrugging your shoulders, you're happy he's too far to see your blushing cheeks.

“I know a lovebird when I see one.” He mutters, giggling.

“Fine, old man.” Rolling your eyes, you step back, waving at Ragnar before turning on your heels and heading for Ivar's bedroom.

The halls are empty, obviously, and your footsteps echo. You're not sure why Ivar isn't at the feast yet, so you softly knock on his door instead of just pushing it open.

“Who's it?”

“Me.” You answer, wondering what's about with his angry tone. “Can I come in?”

“I'm bathing.”

“And?” Your brain is somehow slower than your body because you only process what Ivar said when you're already inside. “Oh.” You mutter, seeing Ivar in a huge tub. Pushing the door close, you clear your throat. “Sorry... I can leave if you want.”

“No, I...” Stuttering, Ivar settles down again, his back at you. “There are just some things you don't have to see.”

“Like your legs?” You decide to just say it, noticing, even though he's looking away, that he nods. Slowly, you make your way to where he is, and you can't help but notice his tub is like three times the size of yours. For the legs, probably. The closer you get, the more restless Ivar gets, as if he's trying to hide himself. “Your hair is dripping.” You whisper, stopping behind him. “The floor is all wet.”

“They'll clean it up after.” He snaps, turning his head to look at you. “You don't have to–”

“To see you?” Walking around the tub, you just look. You know why they call him Boneless now, but you were expecting something far, far worse. Slowly, you raise your stare until you meet his eyes again.

Ivar expects you to leave. You can see it in his eyes. He expects you to leave and be with someone else. Probably, Bjorn, you think. But no. You don't want anyone else, and you need to show him that.

Taking a deep breath, you pull the skirts of your dress up to your thighs, stepping inside the tub. “What are you doing?” Ivar asks, a low chuckle escaping his lips. As you lower yourself, the water spills out, and you pity whoever will have to clean this up.

“This tub is huge. It fits two.” You answer, settling down, straddling his hips. A smile breaks through his lips, and you feel your heart warming up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sigh. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” Ivar brings a hand to caress your cheek, and you close your eyes.

“And I need you to know that I don't want anyone else.” Whispering, you place a lingering kiss on his lips. “I want you, Ivar. Crippled and everything, I love...” Your voice fades as you realize the word you just said. Biting your lip, you clear your throat. There's no reason to hide it, it's true. And he has to know. “I love you.”

“Marry me.”

Whatever you were going to say next, it gets stuck in your throat. You can't help but wonder if you heard him right, and then, you just expect him to laugh, to say it was a joke. But Ivar just stares at you with a serious face. “A-are you for real?” You stutter, looking for any signs of doubt on his face.

“I am.” He nods, his thumb caressing your lower lip. “I want you to be my wife.”

Smiling, you pull him into a kiss, fast and passionate, that leaves both of you breathless in no time, forcing you to pull away. “Yes, I want to be your wife.” You tell him, unable to keep the smile from your face.

“Then buy a new, pretty dress, and make a flower crown for the wedding.”

“Well, I was going to make a flower crown to welcome you back but...” Helga did say you should tell Ivar, but you don't want to ruin the moment, it just happened that the conversation flowed this way.

“What?” He inquires, already aware something is wrong.

“I went to the woods with Helga when we heard the boats were coming to pick up some flowers but these two men showed up and surrounded me.” You speak in a low voice, not really pleased on remembering it. “When I said I was with you one of them backed off immediately, but the other said they could be done with both Helga and I before you got here. So we ran.”

Ivar's expression changes and you get now why people fear him. It feels like he could burn those men alive by just thinking about them. “Are they here?” He asks, voice clouded by fury.

“They said they'd be coming to Kattegat so probably yes.”

“Then let's get out of this tub and join the feast.” Ivar kisses you on the lips before holding your waist and pushing you up.

It's not like you could stop him, so you just do as he says. Your dress is ruined, so you go back to your room to put on a dry one. Half an hour later, you're entering the main hall, hand in hand. Ivar gives you a look that you already know what means. He wants to know if they are here, so leaving him standing by the thrones, you walk around, eyes scanning through the people. You're about to give up, thinking they had the decency not to show up when you eye Helga, and she tilts her head to the side. And there they are, chatting, unaware of the rage that will rain upon them.

Turning around, you find Ivar's eyes set on you. Feeling brave, you walk over to the two man, with their backs at you, touching both their shoulders. They stop suddenly, curiously looking at who's behind them. But when they see you, their expression change, as if they've just seen a ghost.

“Hello again.” It's everything you get to say before some men, ordered by Ivar, come to take them away as they desperately try to fight, saying they're sorry. But it's a little too late for that.

“Now that the trash was removed...” Ivar raises his voice, and a silence falls on the hall. Making your way over him, you blush a little, taking his hand. “...I want to announce that Princess (Y/N) and I are getting married.” The hall bursts into cheer as people raise their cups and celebrate.

Aslaug comes to hug you and her son, a smile that means she already knew this was coming. Ragnar comes next, then Helga, Floki, Torvi. Hvitserk comes running, hugging, and spinning you around, a bright smile on his lips. Ubbe does the same, telling his brother something you couldn't hear. Bjorn only nods from a distance before walking away. You're so happy now that it hurts to see him so bad. Sighing, you grab Ivar's arm.

“I'll go speak with your brother. I'm sure the news didn't sit well with him.” You know about the growing jealousy between the two brothers, but everyone will have to learn to deal with it. Nobody is going anywhere, and the best you can do is try to make things work out.

Ivar gives you a look, not happy about it, but sighs and nods. “He'll try to convince you to marry him instead.”

“Then he'll lose his time.” Placing a kiss on his lips, you smile and go where you saw Bjorn walking to. You find him outside, drinking what's left of his cup before letting it fall to the ground. Pulling your cloak tighter, you slowly approach him. “I'm not the only princess out there, you know it, right?”

Bjorn turns around suddenly, furrowing his eyebrows. “Came to make me feel better?”

“I came to tell say that you don't love me, Bjorn.” Walking over him, you stop when you're closer. “You love the idea of the prophecy being fulfilled.”

“Don't act as if you know me.”

“I may not know you, but I know this.” Raising your voice a little, you take a deep breath. “Maybe the Seer wasn't talking about me.” You don't believe their Seer or the things he says, but if it's to make Bjorn feel better, to put some sense into his head, you don't mind bringing him up. And, you did learn a lot about their culture, and you know how things work here. “If it was, I wouldn't have fallen for Ivar.” Friendly, you touch his arm. “I assure you who the Seer saw wasn't me, so don't waste the time you could use finding love. This... This is what was supposed to happen, Bjorn. And what's supposed to happen to you will come, I know it.”

Despite the nod, you don't think he's convinced. “You're very beautiful.” Bjorn says in a low voice, and you blush, looking down and muttering a ‘thank you’. “I never thought anyone would really love Ivar, and to know someone looking like this chose him over me.” He giggles. “It's insane.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment. But it's not about choosing him over you. And it's not about him being a crippled and you having normal legs. It's about the heart.” Shrugging your shoulders, you see when Bjorn looks at something behind you, and you know who it is. “The heart is a wild creature, Bjorn, it loves who is loves and... Mine loves Ivar.” Giving him a small smile, you step back. “Yours will find someone too.” Turning around, your smile grows bigger when you see Ivar, walking over him and taking his hand on yours. “Let's go back in there. We have a lot to celebrate.”

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

[eideticmemory]

FINE LINE | SPENCER REID

Two decades and two children later, you and your ex-husband learn to navigate the world of co-parenting.

Word Count: 2,604.

Warning: Daddy issues, mommy issues, angst, drama, romance. Love to see it.

You could feel it. The light illuminating your face, touching it with a gentle heat that made your eyes flutter open. Your head felt heavy, as if your neck was attempting to support the weight of a canon ball. You rested your skull on the back of the chair you sat in, eyelids dropping just above your irises. Just in the distance, you could make out a cinema screen. Large, blurry, projecting a bright white screen.

Her image appeared in the center of the square, perfect, in place, still. But you could make out the grin on her face. Watching her dark red lips release the words, “Hello, sleepyhead.”

You could just barely muster up the strength to part your lips, pushing out a small gust of air. It was hot and made your mouth feel like it was on fire.

“H—“

“Oh,” she interrupted you, gently, quietly. You jumped at the feeling of her touching your arm, her palm tight around your forearm. She was cold, freezing, but you could still feel warmth radiating off of her. “I’m afraid you can’t stay too long this time. It’s time to wake up.”

“Hm?” You whined. “Mm?”

“Wake up,” she repeated. “C’mon, wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake u—“

“Up!”

You jolted, violently, harshly, your eyes springing open to reveal the usual sight of your bedsheets.

“Mom, wake up,” an exasperated voice sounded from beside you, the words catching your attention instantly. Tightly.

“Huh?” You mumbled, flickering your eyes up to the figure at your side, sitting on your bed, looking at you with a concerned stare. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Eden asked. Sunlight shone on her face, giving her the appearance of an angel. Sent to wake you, pull you back into reality. “What were you dreaming about?”

You let out a long sigh, as if you could even begin to explain your subconscious mind to your 15-year-old daughter. “Oh, y’know,” you whispered, sitting yourself upright and resting back against the headboard. “Just...lions, and tigers, and bears.”

“Oh my,” Eden responded, her big brown eyes concentrated on your face.

You chuckled underneath your breath, and let out a quick huff. “Oh, shoot, is your brother up?”

“He’s up, he’s dressed, he’s fed, and reading the Illiad.”

“Oh?” You stepped out of bed, pulling the duvet over your legs to reveal your pajama pants. “What happened to War and Peace?”

“He finished that yesterday.”

“He gets quicker every hour,” you shook your head.

“It’s a genius thing,” Eden shrugged. She fiddled with the ends of her hair, watching the strands brush over her fingers as she chewed her lip. “Hey, mom?”

“Yeah, kid?” You replied, standing in the bathroom mirror as you began to get ready for the day.

“You—you know dad, right?”

You stopped in your tracks, any and all movements coming to a halt. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you spun on your heels, slowly, until you came face to face with Eden. “Uh . . . your dad?”

“Yes.”

“Tall? Long, brown hair? Hazel eyes? Has a birthmark on his right thigh?” You listed, toothbrush hanging from your mouth.

“Ew,” Eden cringed. “Yes.”

“Never met him in my life,” you shrugged.

“Mom.”

“Kid,” you tilted your head, face softening as you realized how nervous she was. “What’s up?”

She sighed, ducking her head down to avoid eye contact. “I invited him to my sweet 16.”

“Oh.” It came out like reflex. You said the word before you could fully process the information.

“Are you mad?”

“No—huh? E,” you rushed to sit beside her. “You don’t have to hide inviting your father from me—you—you don’t have to invite your father at all. He’s always welcome to visit on your birthday. And of course he should be at your sweet sixteen.”

“Really?” Eden questioned, eyebrows raised. “So, it will be a nice day? A nice party? Everyone will be nice to everyone?”

“Yes, yes, girl scouts honor.”

“Good,” she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh, babe,�� you murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It—“

“Mom!” A shrill voice struck both of you with fear, coming out of nowhere.

“Yes, my love?” You directed at Emerson, watching him fidget with his hands in the doorway. His shaggy brown hair covered his face slightly and his button up was tucked into his khaki shorts.

“My chess tournament starts soon, are you coming?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world, kiddo. You and your sister go downstairs while I get dressed.”

They’re obedient, your kids. Kind, driven, smart — with an average IQ of 187.5. The could take over the world if they really, really wanted to. But they don’t. They just want to go out for pizza, and get their twenty dollar allowance every week, hang out with their friends, focus on school, and . . . to see their father. You solemnly set your toothbrush down in the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror — tired, worn out, nauseous from another . . . dream? Nightmare? You’re not sure, and frankly, you don’t want to think about it.

So, you pushed on. You got dressed, fixed your hair, used light makeup to cover your exhaustion. Stepping out into the bedroom, your eyes quickly fell on your cellphone — the device laying on your bedside dresser. Hands on your hips, you shook your head, telling yourself not to do it. It’s not necessary, it’s overbearing to even think about.

Then, you remembered who you were dealing with here. And you rushed over to picked up the phone.

“[y/n] Reid,” he beamed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I heard you talked to E,” you whispered, pacing back and forth in your bedroom.

“I did,” Spencer confirmed. “She called me the other day.”

“To invite you to her birthday party.”

“Yes.”

“And are you planning on coming?” You asked.

“Of course I’m planning on coming. It’s my daughter’s sixteenth birthday.”

“Right, right, it’s not like you missed her fifteenth, or thirteenth, or her twelfth, or her actual birth, or anything.”

“[y/n]—”

“Listen, I didn’t call to argue, or even talk,” you sighed. “I just called to tell you that this party isn’t an option. You will be here Saturday at 10 o’clock sharp, you will help decorate, you will spend time with your children, and you will make this the best damn day Eden Reid has ever had. Understood?”

“I have to help decorate?”

“Spencer—“

“I will be there. 10 o’clock. I will help decorate, I will spend time with my children, I will make this the best damn day Eden Reid has ever had. I understand.”

You released a quiet huff, like your lungs couldn’t stand to hold the breath any longer. “Thank you.”

Spencer let out a soft, sad laugh, “Haven’t done that in a while.”

Chess gives you anxiety. You understand it. You can conceptualize it, and even play it. Well. But the bubbling in your stomach every time you witnessed a game — particually one where your eight year old son is playing — comes back to haunt you again and again. You don’t worry about Emerson, he can take care of himself. He’s like his father in that way, the game is in his blood. But the tension, the speed, the risk. It made your breath lodge in your chest, and every so often, you had to sigh to regain control.

The only thing that could pull you from that stress is Em. Emerson Derek Reid, the little half smile on his face when he wins a match. It makes the three hour tournaments worth it. Watching your boy play against college level students who have been playing all their lives. Yeah, so has he.

He jumps off stage in an excited state, rushing towards you with open arms. “You’re a tiger, kid!” You exclaim. “You killed it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he shrugged. “It’s really my opponents’ fault, they wouldn’t know a queen from a rook if it was looking them in the face.”

“Ooh, cat fight.” E remarked, causing Em and you to laugh.

“Hey,” you said. “Since you’re both already out of school today . . . wanna play hookie?”

“Mom? I am shocked!” E gasped, trying hard to contain a laugh.

“Oh, c’mon, we never get to hang out anymore since you guys started these college classes and my business went up. I’m off work, you’re already out of class, let’s just do it. Let’s go shop and eat and hang out and I will write you guys an excuse for tomorrow, okay?” You rambled, putting your hands to their shoulders.

Em and E looked at each other, and after a minute, they looked up at you and nodded.

Your very, very favorite people on the whole planet.

You took them to the mall. Bought Em some new clothes, but he wasn’t really interested. You and E did most of the picking. He sat in the corner of the store reading and only participated to try on outfits you guys had picked out. You both squealed and told him how cute he looked, and he scrunched up his nose. Just like . . .

And then you bought E some shoes, some vans. There was a huge sell, and she fell in love with everything she tried on. And you fell in love with seeing her happy so you ran up a bill.

“Okay, which one of us is dying?” E said as you sat at lunch. Em bursted out laughing.

“Wha—neither of you! I just wanted to spoil you guys. You kill yourselves all week with school, even though it’s summer. And I never see you, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” Em hummed, an unconvinced look in his face as he eyed his sister. “I bet someone died.”

“Em!” You exclaimed, E’s laughter blending in. “God, you guys are morbid.”

“Our parents both worked in the FBI, we’re basically trained,” E giggled.

Just then, you got a call. Work. Fuck. You stood from the table and stepped outside, excusing yourself first.

“[y/n].”

“Can we close the Pickett case tonight?”

“Raven . . .”

“I don’t want that boy in that house for one more second. [y/n], I will send you more of my notes, but . . . read them, read them. You will understand. Please.”

You sighed, “I’ll be there at ten. If you are not there at ten . . . I’ll wait for you. Let’s do it.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thanks! Bye. Sorry. Bye.”

You took in a deep breath and shook your head.

Nothing was going to spoil your lunch. Not today.

The car ride home, the three of you vibed to music. Your kids knew every word to Fleetwood Mac’s discography and it was your greatest accomplishment. They even developed their own dance routine to Dreams when they were younger.

Your very, very favorite people on the whole planet.

You pulled up to your house, and as you approached the driveway, you saw a familiar car parked out front. Your stomach flipped, caved in, skipped, hopped, and jumped.

Words can’t even described what it did when you saw him.

Sitting on the porch swing.

“Dad?” Em exclaimed loudly in excitement. You parked in the driveway, eyeing Spencer the whole time.

“Dad?” E said quietly, confusion in her voice. “Did you—“ She directed at you, interrupted by her brother hopping out of the car.

Em ran up to Spencer, and his father scooped him up in a quick motion, spinning him around and kissing his head.

You let out a quick huff, turned to E and smiled, “C’mon, go say hi.”

You followed E out of the car, and watched as she tip toed towards Spencer. She suddenly skipped and jumped into Spencer’s arms.

“Hey, dad,” she said.

“Hey, kid!” He replied, before putting her on her feet. “Your hair is getting so long!”

“Yeah,” she twirled her hair and laughed. “What are you doing here!”

“I wanted to see you guys . . .” He turned to you. “And your mom, who’s quiet as a mouse.”

“Hello,” you shrugged, giving him a kind smile.

“Are you staying for today, dad?” Em asked, tucked under Spencer’s arm.

“I was actually hoping to stay until Sunday, if that’s okay with your mom, of course.”

Your very, very least favorite person on the whole planet.

“Please, mom? He can be here for my birthday!” E pipped.

Em. E. Em. E. Those big, pouty eyes of theirs staring you down. “You can stay in the guest room,” you told Spencer.

“Is that close to your bedroom?” Spencer smirked.

“Heh,” you huffed. “Don’t push it. You can stay upstairs.”

“Yes! C’mon, dad! I made a new model that I wanna show you!”

Later that night, you made the kids pasta. It was one of your finer cuisines, taught to you by an old friend, and they asked for it all the night, especially when they needed to study.

Spencer wandered into the kitchen after getting settled upstairs. “Woah! I thought we could go out for dinner, huh? My treat?”

“We would, dad,” Eden said. “But we both have tests tomorrow. Calculus and Physics. Maybe tomorrow.”

You set their plates down and looked up at Spencer. You walked over to him, eyeing him knowingly as you led him out of the kitchen.

“They’re nerds,” Spencer laughed.

“They’ve also both got an eidetic memory. It’s gonna take them all of three minutes to study, then they’ll be all over you again,” you told him, walking out onto the back patio.

Following you, Spencer closed the door behind him, isolating you two on the porch.

You sat down, plopped down, and looked up at him, “Why are you here?”

“Subtle.”

“Spencer.”

“I mean it, you should be a federal agent.”

“Spencer.”

He sighed heavily, “I have some things I want to . . . handle.”

“Here?” You asked.

“Yes,” he hesitated. “I haven’t been enough a part of the kids’ lives—“

You rolled yours eyes. Yeah, you knew that.

“I want to fix that, to have a real relationship with them.” He continued.

“You’ve always been able to,” you shrugged. “You get distracted.”

“Work,” he muttered.

“Always is.”

“And . . .” he whispered, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the ground.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “And?”

“I — I want to fix my relationship with you.”

Huh.

“I want us to go to therapy.”

Huh.

“Wha—“ You stuttered, rising from your seat. “Spencer, what?”

“Not couples therapy. Nothing . . . romantic,” his voice cracked. “But we can’t keep acting so . . . poorly around the kids. They’re smart, they notice things. They always have.”

“Spencer, how are we gonna go to therapy? You’d need to dig up Freud himself and have him work on us full time.”

“I just think we need to talk,” he murmured. He stepped closer to you, breathing deeply as he towered over you. “Will you please just think about it?”

You stared him in the eye, let out a heavy exhale.

Spencer.