#x on y essays

[lockpickingliar]

Ouma Kokichi (Kichi) on Lies

I've been meaning to write this post for a while, but it's been really hard.

But that's a lie.

What if it wasn't, though? Or what if it was, but the excitement of not knowing which way or the other makes for a good opener on a post about lies? Lies have a lot of uses, y'know.

Lies change the way you see the world, while truth forces you to confront it whether you like it or not.

I love lies. I love them more than anything. They're something that got me through the day by making things more fun, or easier to swallow, or just kinder in some other way. I say in the game: "There only ever is one truth, but endless possibilities for lies."

So if you don't like the truth, then lie.

That's a lie, too.

I hate lies. I hate them more than anything. Every lie I've ever told, it's only made things harder, or more stressful, or hurt people in some other way. Lies are scary things that can be used to hide the truth from people when the truth is what they need.

Do you think this might be the lie instead?

I grew up a liar. I lie because lying's fun. I lie because it's safe, and changes the world. I lie because it helps people, when you know how to do it.

I lie because it doesn't matter. I lie because it always matters. I lie to cause problems for the people in my way. I lie to make things easier for the people I care about.

I've gotten really good at telling lies over the years. I have lots of reasons to lie, and when you have as many reasons as I do, you end up lying a lot. Practice makes perfect, after all.

Or maybe I'm just naturally good at it.

Maybe my Talent is a lie, and my true title is the Ultimate Liar.

Maybe I don't have a Talent at all.

Maybe nothing about me from the game is real.

Maybe it's all lies.

But that's no fun, I don't like that. So let's come up with another, better lie.

My name is Ouma Kokichi, I am the Ultimate Supreme Leader of Evil, but that's a lie. I'm a liar, after all, it's what I do. Which part of that is the lie? That's your job to figure out.

Everyone needed a focus. A focal point to fixate on, so they wouldn't go around and around in circles with baseless accusations. It's hard to cooperate against the bad guy when you don't know who in the group the bad guy is.

So I'm evil now.

It gave them something to focus on.

It made things a little easier for them to stomach.

No big deal.

I kept lying, because I'm a liar, and I'm evil now.

I didn't like that lie very much, actually. Everyone hated me and my lies, and I couldn't lie that hatred away. That's a lie. It didn't stop me from trying. It's not like I can help it.

That's another lie.

It's not a very funny one, though. Compulsive lying is a scary thing. Sometimes I lie so much that I don't even realize I've lied until hours later. Sometimes I lie and feel so sick afterward because I wanted to tell the truth. Or maybe I feel sick because I was fighting the whole time to tell the truth and failed to the compulsion to lie.

But I lied about being a compulsive liar, didn't I?

If you lie enough, your lies start to overlap, and if they overlap enough, it stops mattering. No one knows what the truth is anymore, not even you, because there are so many lies to untangle that you can't even remember what the original lie was.

I lied when I first came here. I came here five years ago, y'know. They liked to ask me all sorts of questions about where I came from, and I liked answering them because it gave me the opportunity to spin all sorts of lies.

Lies about growing up in a facility.

Lies about being diagnosed with something different every week.

Lies about a very good friend, who was taken away one day, never to be seen again.

I loved to play pretend as a kid, so who knows? Maybe it all was a lie.

Maybe I was just some sick kid in a hospital, trying to make things more interesting for myself.

My favorite manga is Promised Neverland.

The first time I ever touched grass, it was given to me in a tray after I asked for it one week wanting to know if it was real.

Or maybe it was when I organized a lie where we all went to a summer festival together, with crayon cutouts of fireworks and ill-fitting yukata, out in the yard because I asked so nicely.

Or maybe I'm just lying about the grass.

I lied a lot, after all. So much that sometimes I can't even tell what's real.

It's scary.

That's a lie. It's just how I live.

I love lies. They have the power to make the world a better place.

But in the Killing Game, the world couldn't become a better place.

I lied and lied and lied for everybody else, but no one would lie for me. I told so many horrible, horrible lies just to get the puzzle pieces to fit. I lied about being evil until I wasn't lying anymore. Until I broke the one rule I made for myself.

Or maybe I'd already broken it the night Taro-kun died.

Or maybe I broke it before I even came to the Killing Game and forgot.

Or maybe I didn't break it at all because I'm in a time loop and everyone's still alive, I just have to get it right.

Or maybe I didn't break it at all because it's all a simulation and if I go back and finish the job, let the press take me, I'll wake up in the hospital and everyone will be there and everything will be okay because they're all alive.

Or maybe I didn't break it at all because it's all a simulation and if I go back and finish the job, I'll wake up in the facility and no one will be there because they were all a part of the simulation.

But no, that must be a lie because Taro-kun is also here.

But robots and AIs have come here, too, so maybe it's not a lie after all.

...

I hate lies.

I hate that I hate lies.

I hate that the Killing Game has tainted them for me.

In the time that I've been here, I've gotten into the habit of monologuing to myself. When I used to thrive more on questions and answers, the questions eventually stopped, so I just started talking to no one in particular, musing to myself. I can't tell if any of what I'm saying is true anymore. Or maybe it's all paradoxically true somehow. It feels like I'm compulsively telling the truth.

But that's a lie.

I'm trying to rebuild my relationship with them, but it's hard to do. I miss them. I miss telling lies and enjoying it. I miss the kindness that goes into the lies I tell. I miss being able to lie however I want because in the back of my mind I always had a firm grasp on the truth.

Did I, though?

That's more Cookie's thing.

Maybe I'm lying again.

Does it even matter?

I don't know anymore.

But that's a lie.

[rambunctioustoons]

different drum // the stone poneys 🎶

[ilyhaitanii]

your thoughts on manila mikey 😵‍💫

kei…oh my god u are going to have to RESTRAIN ME. dont ever let me speak abt any mikey. anyways u ask and u receive my love <3

mikey is..different. when everyone had lost him, when he had disappeared he still kept you at his side. he treated you the same as always, though that sparkle in his eyes when he looked at you was dimmer. his love for you was still the same, he was still mikey— your manjiro.

the two of you share a small flat— nothing major, just a mattress, a table, couch, tv, and a small pot plant in the corner near the door. manjiro’s sitting outside on the concrete balcony. he sits in the cold ground, the gloomy weather aiding his bad mood.

groggily, you crawl out of bed, the blanket still around your shoulders dragging behind you. you make your way over to him. you stand behind him, adjusting the blanket to drape around his shoulders.

he’s adapted a new habit of drinking black tea in the mornings. very unlike him considering he enjoys the sweet things in life, but the taste of the tea on his tongue allows his brain to settle down from all of his disgusting thoughts as it occupies itself with the disgusting taste of it.

“jiro,” your morning voice rings in his ears as his attention is now focused on you, not the waves of the sea in front of him. “come inside. it’s too cold,” a soft pout on your lips makes his lips curl every so slightly. wordlessly, with your hand in his, you drag him inside and back to the comfort of your queen sized mattress.

manjiro lays on his back, arm around your shoulders. he pulls you close to him, his cold fingertips leaving goosebumps in its tracks.

“stop,” you whine, pawing his fingers off of you. you move away from him, yet keep your legs draped over his hip. “you’re too cold,” his reply is almost instant,

“warm me up then?” the slight raise of his eyebrow, makes your heart flutter. he says these things so easily. you turn to face him, his hands cupping your chin. his thumb taps your bottom lip and your mouth opens for him. he slips his finger inside your mouth as your eyes flutter shut.

majiro feels himself twitching in his pants. he feels bad for this, he feels bad for keeping you with him. if not for you, manjiro’s pretty sure he would’ve been gone by now. you keep him tame, keep him somewhat grounded. you make his life worth living even if everything else has gone to shit.

some drool drips down the sides of your mouth. manjiro slips his leg between yours, allowing you to ride his thigh. it elevates some of the tension in your body. you pant around his fingers. that hazy look in your eyes makes him smile a little more,

“good girl,” manjiro’s other hand digs into your hip, pulling you further onto his lap. he leaves bites and small hickeys across your chest and neck as his fingers dip under your shirt. “no panties? you’re such a slut, jeez…” his voice sounds annoyed, but manjiro is salivating at the thought of you sleeping beside him without underwear. how did he not notice this sooner?

his thumb rubs up and down your slit, catching onto your clit. you lazily shudder in his hold, eyes threatening to close. he can feel the heat radiating from your pussy as it drips onto his fingertips.

“tell me what you want, baby. come on,” he coos at you as he watches you bounce on his fingers. you mewl into his neck, trying your best to move your hips up and down, but it’s so early and you’re so tired.

“please…please, jiro,” you meekly reply to him, brows furrowing at the effort you’re putting in. he thumb catches onto your clit, rubbing little hearts into it.

“you’re awfully lazy for such a needy thing,” he replies back in a flat tone, watching your tits bounce in front of him. you dig your nails into his shirt, balling them in your fist. his fingers brush over your most sensitive spot and you yelp as he curls them into it. your vision is blurring, spots of white are seen in the darkness behind your lids.

“jiro,” you whine, much louder this time. “i need you, please,” the high pitches whiny tones have him biting into your shoulder. you clench hard around his fingers as him palm is soaked.

“come on, baby. you can cum for me, yeah?” and just like that, you’re gone. you clench so hard around his fingers, gushing around them. he watches as your stomach contracts and your thighs tremble around him.

you lay limp against him, dripping onto his lap. your head rests against his shoulder as you almost fall asleep. that is until you feel his cock pressing against your hole. you jolt awake, hands on his shoulders, gasping.

“i think im cold here too, baby. warm it up for me, yeah?”

sorry i got carried away 🚶‍♀️🚶‍♀️🚶‍♀️ this was supposed to be short but i made it into a mini fic. sorry kei 🤥

[skelecentral]

Day 24 of bad Sansuary (hosted by @owl-bones!): Out-of-bounds

Only kinda finished but here it is anyway! It’s been a busy day today lmaoo

Also, another song that SCREAMS Nightmare to me, this one more than the last:

[metathemeta-art]

specifically for any other celiac dca enjoyers because. look. we gotta cope somehow!! but also this can apply to anyone who has food stuff going on. I think Moon would be super gross about it but he would also not let a single thing poison you ever. special robot sensors or something

[nomizombie]

what i would imagine me (an extrovert) would do to court könig (a socially anxious most likely introvert)

reference image: (totes didnt trace the rose because i HATE drawing flowers :33)

[magiefish]

Something I've kind of noticed about a lot of the academic scholarship I've read about Frankenstein / Dracula / Jekyll & Hyde is that everyone just seems to completely dismiss/ignore the characters as actual characters most of the time unless they're the Main Guys. Like, they'll go really in depth about Victor or the Creature's motivations and backstory and spend ages talking about Jekyll's relationship to Hyde and stuff, but the second it comes to characters like Enfield and Elizabeth or Lanyon and Clerval or frankly the Entire Rest of the Cast of Dracula, they just immediately seem uninterested. They'll just sort of vaguely gesture in their direction and go 'Oh yeah X and X thing happens to this character and here's a one sentence summary of their personality which doesn't really matter because this entire cast is interchangeable, anyway, onto the next theme' and half the time their One Sentence is just textually incorrect (looking at the New Woman/Traditional Woman descriptions of Lucy and Mina). And the reason I find this so baffling is because with other analysis I've read (e.g. Great Gatsby stuff) people seem to actually slow down and consider the characterisation and motivations of the cast as a whole with like. Nuance. Like they sit down and treat the characters as multifaceted and complex and having actual relationships with one another, and then you get to these books specifically and no one seems to care? Like they'll go really in depth with various interpretations and historical context for the Big Guys, and then never apply the same sort of examination to anyone else, and if they do, very rarely and probably only for one other character e.g. (Utterson or Mina).

If I had to posit an explanation, I would say its a combination of the archetypal nature of the title characters and the admittedly patchy writing of these books (which arguably lends to their archetypal status). I think academics kind of assume that the primary draw of these books are The Big Guys and the expansive themes and ideas they cover and that everyone else is just a pawn there to enable the narrative around the Big Guys, and the propensity for film adaptations to scrap or rewrite characters probably compounded this impression. And while I think this is at least partly true, the thing is, these characters were not always archetypal Big Guys. They originated in stories alongside *these* other characters *specifically* and it is worth asking what it is about the rest of the cast that makes the story interesting as well. Because, let's be real, if there was approximately no interest in the fucking *narrators* of Dracula, the best friends of Henry Jekyll, or the victims of the Creature, the original readers would have been completely bored out of their minds for most of these novels and public interest in them would not have been as great as it was. All of these novels were stories before they were myths, and academics should not be letting pop culture eclipse them unless they're specifically talking about the relationship between the two.

Overall, I just feel like academics are not only shooting themselves in the foot, but also doing a disservice to these stories by not bothering to investigate the other characters because frankly. It's lazy. It's lazy to dismiss an entire cast and basically skim read any sections involving them just because it's easy to focus on The One Guy. If you people really cared about themes, you'd understand that characters are inextricable from them. Like shit dude I see more care given to characters in essays about Greek tragedies, you guys are waaaay fucking behind

[riaki]

> under warm kitchen lights and puffy silk sheets dad!aki hayakawa x reader hcs/drabbles

man... i finally finished this. oh my word wc: 3.2k :cry: cw: fem!reader (use of mother terms but no explicit description), brief mention of hospitals, kids omg so scary boy n girl not proofread!!

i always find myself writing waaayyyyyy too much for these 'short' drabbles/hcs/whatever they are. i think this one got even worse than the yoshida one. anyways its ok cus i live laugh love aki

also thank u @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for feeding me ideas with canon hayakawa family interactions :3

it's hard for him, to say the least.

while parenting is a new experience for the both of you, it's more than appropriate to say aki's the least bit familiar. putting up with denji and power (begrudgingly, he'll tell you-- although you never believe it) certainly has him battle-ready and prepared, albeit with a slight darkening of the circles under his velvety blue eyes and a minute downward tug on his chapped lips that need yours on them for rejuvenation when he thinks about the tiring journey lying ahead on a path of family that's only been slightly worn. but then you smile, squeezing his calloused hands that are bigger than yours and intertwining your fingers gently, and he forgets there's supposed to be blood between them as he presses a light kiss to your forehead and tells you in that smooth velvety voice that he's ready for whatever pandemonium your rascals will cause as long as you're there with him.

truth be told, there's nothing in this damned world that aki wants-- yearns for than a life of normality with you. he doesn't have a lust for a revenge that festers and infects, anymore; the only thing on his mind when his work gives the luxury of a time of rest is how wonderful it'd be to start a lively little family of your own as you smile at him or card your hands through his damp hair when you share a lukewarm bath surrounded by cold austere tiles in the darkest hours of the morning, having found him covered in a thin veneer of chilling sweat only moments ago, knuckles pale white as he clung to the duvet. more often than not you find a knot between his dark brows; a heavy weight on his shoulders that's perceivable but frustratingly intangible-- like an ugly patch of weeds in an old, worn garden that's not worth saving, but still has enough life within it to be marred by rot and degradation of soil. but when you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him flush to your chest, so close to your heart-- the place where he thinks he deserves to be furthest from-- when your lithe fingers work so gently it's almost painful to soothe the crease on his nose bridge and the tension between his bare shoulders, he's so bold as to dare to just hope for a life further than nights of hollow intimacy that, in vain, attempt to sew and patch up the gaping valley between the wants of his heart and of his mind. further than exhausted mornings littered with extinguished cigarette butts and framed with curling smoke, pale sunrises and slow, languid movement that reflect the growing shadows beneath his tired eyes; further than the bitter scent of the black coffee he always makes for himself because the pathetic attempt at at romantic in him insists that your sweet lips are the sugar and cream to his life enough. but in truth he can-- and thought he'd always be able to taste that overwhelming tang of something equitable to sourness on his tongue when he downs the bland caffeine, like the feeling that crashes and overwhelms him when he realizes that what you have right now? is just an illusion for his poorly-kept facade of something he wishes could be more. something with a shared bed and an extra room painted bright pastel, a bunk bed tucked into the corner and kids' toys scattered all over the place.

(and as much as you tell him otherwise, some small part of him that he's tucked into the darkest recesses of his mind will always, always believe that you deserve someone immensely better than him-- better than a cynical devil hunter with nothing to offer but years of bottled tears, unspoken words that die on his parched tongue, and withered feeling in his heavy limbs that come with the sensation of dragging himself through the pool of molasses that is the routine of life-threatening missions he throws himself into by a hollow ambition. but he's never, and if he's being honest, he doesn't want to have the heart to end things with you. and imagining you, holding hands with someone else, laughing that bubbly bright melody and smiling that cheery grin in any direction but his, makes his heart hurt uncomfortably and his cold blood boil.)

and so, when the fever dream that's your wedding day comes around, he wishes he had met you early enough to be addicted to the taste of your lips instead of the rough, paper end of a cigarette and the numbing thrill that settles in his diluted veins at the hit of nicotine clogging his lungs, before it's disillusioned and the despondent cycle repeats. you don't know the half of what he'd give for that. either way, he believes it a miracle that he even got the chance to see the starstruck look in your gorgeous eyes when he slid that silver band onto your ring finger; that he lived to see the day where the familiar touch of your tender hands coupled with the refreshing bite of cold metal on his skin, treating him like some elegant thing in your garden; a lily of the valley when in reality he's just some weed that should've been rid of. a flower who's bell shaped bunches of milky petals hang from the stalk like a condemned man on a court platform, yet still so bright and graceful you could forget the plant was poisonous. when aki had laid eyes on that pretty ring, tucked into a black box of deep velvet on a shaded patch of street one sunny afternoon, he immediately thought of how nicely the elegantly-cut gem would match your dazzling irises; he takes extensive care to make sure the luster suits as an addition to your appearance instead of a distractor-- after all, when he looks at his then future spouse, he wants to be drawn to your eyes, then the ring tying you two together like a red string on your pinky fingers. that, and the way your gaze will soften as it lands on him, in the way that could only happen when the purest angel from heaven chooses to spot the bastard straight from hell out of the crowd who dared to nose his way into your ethereal presence. it's truly befitting, he thinks; your touch is featherlight even when all he does is weigh you down like a ball and chain locked to your ankle, bound by softly-spoken vows and a promise amongst the white of veils and pretty cream flowers. and aki is a selfish man, so he's only glad he decided to weave your fates together, even if it meant the good and bad mingled to paint a splash of gray on love's canvas.

that's the story of your love on weighted scales that runs through his buzzing mind the night your sweet little kids ask their mama to recount the tale of your plunge into devotion together to them, far different than the telling words which seem to sweeten tenfold as they fall from your lips onto eager ears that soon turn deaf, sleeping soundly in your arms. for all the aloof, coldness and silence he's ever turned out into the harsh world your family lives and breathes in, aki's surprisingly loving as a father-- he can't help the gentle soft spot he has for your children when he remembers the big, teethy grins with little cinnamon pastry crumbs scattered around their curved lips and round cherry cheeks are a result of your combined efforts; the streak of tenderness you unearthed in him finds itself being yanked wide open by two pairs of small, grubby hands that are tiny enough to wrap around the length of his thumb, like a little pair of gloves that sponge the inpurity from his hands and make his eyes soften, crinkle around the edges in the way that you love. it's certainly not an unfamiliar feeling; the one invoked deep within his hardened chest buds and unfurls within his organs when your kids take their first breath of fresh air-- well, as fresh as clinical hospital air and stark white lights can get-- is the same one that hit him like a truck when his gaze inevitably finds its way back to you every moment you're near him. cupid's arrow has long burrowed into the cavity of his chest, and if he's honest, he doesn't mind at all. if you had the energy to, you would've snuck a quick picture, if not mental, and made a little sweet teasing fun of him for being so dumb-- no, starstruck; a fool absolutely enamored with two little reflections of you and him. the product of literal years in blood, sweat and tears; maybe some coffee, and definitely some love.

and while aki may involuntarily be an intrinsic liar to his very core by nature (you still love him either way, even when he tells you he tried to stop your baby boy from crawling onto the kitchen counter over the sink and clambering onto two shaky toddler legs to paw at the jar of peanut butter in your cabinet), you're not. so you'll enjoy the strawberry blush that seeps its way across the soft skin of his cheeks that you've mapped with fluttering kisses and trembling hands when you tell him just how much of a great father you think he is to your kids, on the nights when he gets home with sufficient energy to whip something up for the haven of cozy warmth he calls 'home'. you'll prep a warm stew together that makes your daughter's mouth water and eyes go round as saucers as she clings to aki koala-bear style, legs wrapped around his neck and fingers curling into his raven hair as she watches him stir the broth with one hand (the other resting firmly, yet gently on her ankle) to melt the icicles clinging to the awnings of your windows for frigid winters. or, maybe some cold soba for those humid summer nights to enjoy amongst the symphony of cicada buzzes and city sounds, watching lights flash by as you laugh and reach out to wipe the soup off of your son's cheeks when the noodle he was indulging on goes up a little too fast, missing the way your husband's eyes fall on you ever so affectionately. you'll enjoy a sweet, tender kiss in the golden hazy glow of your warm kitchen bubble, full of lively mirth as you carve out silly little smiley faces and stars out of potatoes and bits of cucumber and carrot. on the rare occasion you decide it's a good idea to let your kids contribute a little, the immediate and guilty regret you feel when you watch your daughter slip up and knick her little finger gets washed away by a familiar, blooming feeling of adoration, almost sickeningly sweet in its intensity as you pause to watch aki kiss away the beads of ruby red blood welling on the cut, rubbing her 'boo-boo' so tenderly it makes your heart hurt as you gently plaster a cute sunflower bandaid over the cut while your baby girl stares at your husband with such wonder you think he might be a knight-in-shining-armor in her wide round eyes. and it makes his bleeding heart skip a beat when you tell him you see him the same way, too. there's always guaranteed to be a fresh plate of intricate bunny-shaped apple slices as dessert after dinner, and on slow nights spent in the company of family, there'll be a quick and intense battle of rock paper scissor or sticks between the love of your life and your beloved children on who'll be the lucky winner to put their head in your lap tonight.

(although, aki rarely lets himself win, because he knows he'll be able to later that night if not in that fond moment, sure to become a treasured memory.)

aki sees himself as a good father; he's strict when he needs to be, and he always tries to make time for his kids. he's even stopped smoking in front of them; in the house, as a whole. he had to pepper you with a few sweet, slow and intentional kisses and light-hearted apologetic words when you demanded to know why your requests for him to stop slowly killing himself with each drag fell to deaf ears, but suddenly you got a little more intimate and out popped a few kids-- and he'd stopped. of course, those were enough to pacify you; he made your resolve weak, like the sweet wobbly jello you indulged your daughter to as you watched your husband work out a crossword puzzle with your son. sometimes, you have to remind him sternly not to curse in front of his kids. but when he reminds you of the vehement stream of swears that always left you when you had to change less-than-pleasant diapers in your earlier parenting years, he’ll chuckle at the flush on your face, because you seem to elicit a lot of those from him. he’ll smile, because he’s finally found something worth the effort. and he'll run a hand through your hair and press a kiss to your forehead because you've made him capable of caring (and he knows how to distract you). sometimes, though, he thinks he's a little too soft on their pleading looks and puppy eyes on the nights when lightning streaks across the sky in frightening arcs, claps of thunder rumbling across the dark clouds when the streets of tokyo are enveloped in curtains of rain showers, when one (or both) of your beloved kids peeks their head from the doorway, a little 'can i sleep with you guys?' escaping as a timid peep. he watches in a sleepy sort of amusement as you nod, one hand lazily curling around your waist to keep you close to his side as he rests his chin on your shoulder. and it's your turn to stifle your amusement when a small, quiet mumble of protest leaves his mouth as your kid sidles into the covers between the two of you, effectively splitting you from your husband. if he was impatient, you know he'd have half the mind to pick them up and plop them at the edge of the bed to have you all to himself, but on most nights he'll just observe in quiet affection when you scoop up your son or daughter in your arms, cradling them to your chest and playing with that head of soft hair, humming gently in a way that makes his heart melt at the edges

sometimes, when 'uncle' denji and 'auntie' power are over, they'll poke fun at him in their usual, disrespectful and chaotic manner, because it doesn't take a pair of keen eyes to see the way he looks at you like you've hung the very constellations in the sky; like the stellar designs in the firmament were all carefully crafted by your hand. he's no overdone zodiac freak, but he dares to say the stars aligned the night he was finally able to call you his and only his. denji and power get along incredibly well with his kids; it almost makes him jealous. like you, his resolve is incredibly easy to weaken with the right expression and the right words; your kids must've picked up a few tricks from your book, because they know exactly how to play him into the palm of their tiny little hands. denji and power spoil them to no end; the wonder duo indulge the kids through games of tag and roughhousing, treating them to a wide array of candy and sweets that guarantee a doctor's visit the following week. he swears the pinch between his eyes you worked so hard to eliminate returns little by little when he watches them run around the place he used to call his safe haven, leaving a trail of absolute destruction and havoc in the form of torn magazines, splintered puzzle pieces, apple sauce sludge, tiny lego blocks (that leave a lifetime of pain), and pairs of his socks. it only gets worse when they learn how to negotiate; he makes a mental note to blame denji and power, because there's no way in hell your children figured out how to bargain from you or him. whines of "aww, but uncle denji lets me take the toys outside, dad!" and "buy me that neko charm, or else i'll tell mom you knocked over her plant pot yesterday!" (which, for the record, isn't true. that was 'auntie' power.) that being said, it's a given family outings are narrowly avoided disasters; as the kids grow, aki swears he'll have to start keeping them on a leash, or they might end up accidentally shoplifting your local 7/11's supply of sour gummy cubes, or have fed daffodil seeds to each stray cat on your condo's street under one blink of a weary eye. at the end of the day, he always caves with an exasperated sigh and an irritated 'fine. but don't tell your mom, okay?'. after all, he's always been a sucker for you; who's to say he's not the same with your kids?

unserious hcs... :3

def the type of dad to mutter 'no she didn't' or 'they probably deserved it' under his breath when ur daughter's school principal calls u both in to tell u she stuck her chewed melon gum in three different girls' hair that day

unreasonably competitive w his children. god knows why

yells at ur kids a lot and starts pouting like the grown ass man he is when u scold him for it ("sorry, love. i got used to it. power and denji were a hell of a handful.")

tucks them both in n denies it with everything in him when u ask if he likes making them beg for goodnight smooches

tells them to fuck off (in childrenspeak) when its ur marriage anni / date night

when they were rlly young, u guys used to all do family showers and or baths together but then water would get everywhere and the rubber duck would be fought over n bathbombs would overflow and the kids would get mad at each other so u dont do that anymore...

an absolute goof and doesnt know what the hell hes doing at first... one time ur son was choking on a cherry pit and he didnt know what to do so he just. shook him. by some miracle it worked (if it was denji or power he wouldve js smacked their back unnecessarily aggressively)

unrolls his cigarettes and makes origami shapes out of them; once ur daughter got her ears pierced he made a pair of crane earrings for her from the paper (clean ofc. i hope)

thoroughly enjoys forcing himself into mother daughter nights and he grumbles but secretly loves when ur daughter practices makeup on him or braids his hair

hopes and prays like an idiot that his kids see him as a cool epic devil hunter awesome sauce dad and not a silly pathetic failwife househusband (that's only for u to think)

stitches up any clothing, pillow cases or stuffed animals that r falling apart, also makes sure that no color bleeds when washing clothes and that nothing shrinks cus he does all the laundry for evryone

helps u make a family photo scrapbook and tape polaroids to ur fridge. lets the kids cut out patterns and shapes (his fav r the nutrition facts for some weird reason) from their juiceboxes and kids' magazines to put in the scrapbook

whenvr ur napping he always tells them to shut up. or he just forces them to nap too so he can be lazy and crawl into bed w u

a very good dad !!

hes such a loser oh no.. i should've just used the unserious hcs for the entire thing. i rambled im sorry it will happen again. i love himr

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[lockpickingliar]

Ouma Kokichi (Cookie) on The Hospital

Nine days ago, I was finally discharged from the hospital. Graduated to in-home palliative care, since my DOA symptoms have slowly reduced enough that I could sit up on my own at times, stomach light solid foods, breathe without assistance for the most part.

I was so scared at first. That's a lie. I didn't really think it was something that would ever happen, though. In the beginning, I had no intention of recovering and enjoying my afterlife. I brought this death on myself. I fully intended to atone for everything I had done. For all the people that died on my watch, for the three people—or I guess, two people—that I directly led to their deaths. The people that I killed, either by negligence or direct involvement.

Do you think I'm lying?

But then there I was, settled into an apartment with Ran-chan. Everyone worked so hard to help me to get there. I still have so many medicines to take, little machines and whatnot on hand in case my lungs start acting up, a wheelchair just to go from one room to another. Still, I was out. DICE threw me the biggest party they could, too. A whole shebang with fireworks and everything, partly to celebrate the end of summer, and partly to celebrate this milestone in my recovery.

It feels like a lie, now.

I'm back at square one. Back in that damn hospital room. None of my organs are cooperating, my head is so hazy it's hard to even write this post, and all I can think about is how I failed.

They're dead because of me.

Because I couldn't lead them well enough.

Maybe that discharge was a false hope. Who am I kidding? I don't deserve this. Freedom. A happy afterlife. Not after everything that happened. Everything I did. Everyone I hurt.

I want to die under that press once for every person who died on my watch.

But I'm lying again.

I might deserve it, though.

I wonder if Saihara-chan thinks I deserve it.

This all started because I found out more about him, and what happened after I got here.

Turns out in my universe, my plan actually worked. Crazy, right? I guess the one little detail of me keeping my clothes instead of flushing them like in canon made a major difference. Or maybe Momota-chan did a better job of pulling his weight.

That's probably it.

I'm just glad he pulled it off and broke the system. Ended the killing game. Didn't have to be executed. He still died from his illness, but I can at least rest easy that his death doesn't fall on my laundry list of responsibility.

That's a lie.

If I'd done a better job leading, we might've gotten out sooner, and he might've been able to get to a doctor and live.

I don't feel responsible for anyone's deaths. I did what I had to do to survive...

But that left me alone.

And to Saihara, I always would be.

He meant that. He meant every word. I don't hate him for it, though. I hate him. I could never hate him for being right. I hate him. How could he have thought any other way? I hate him.

Even after I died, nothing changed about how he viewed me. It makes sense, since my plan worked, he never had to go into my room. It's not like he even could, since my room key was with me when I died. If he cared enough, I figured he'd have to find a way in himself. To prove how much he cared. I refused to just give him the answers so easily, after all the work I put in.

He never saw any of that work, though, so it doesn't matter.

They want to bring him here. They want to make him understand. I'm not sure if there's anything for him to understand. I want to talk to him. To make sure Team Danganronpa is gone for good, and if not, to make sure it's burnt to cinders. That's a lie. I want him to move on with his life. I don't want him to be haunted by the past.

I should really stop lying so much. I don't even know where I was going with this.

I wanted my post about my discharge to be happy, y'know. To talk about how grateful I was to everyone in DICE for helping me see hope again. I never meant for this to happen. I wanted to keep getting better for them. Maybe this was bound to happen, though.

This hospital room is just where I'm meant to be for eternity, suffering to make up for everyone I failed.

[agentc0rn]

ok so I found my old XY playthrough bookguide and damn.. am I happy and miffed. Long list of thoughts ahead.

As someone who enjoys lore especially now with a resurfaced interest in xy (hyper fixated on az + legends z-a), I’m bummed about the way the story turned out in later years after I played XY.

Three details I've noted: no concept art, early and first planned out ideas, lore implications of aging immortality with regards to AZ

Wished this man had concept art!! :( The book even inquires about what he could have looked like 3000 years ago (though the cutscene has shown his younger self + the painting in the museum in Lumiose city).

Second, as the images of translated statement based on the interview with Masuda suggests, the story of AZ was planned out first apparently. Wonder what happened during the development cause he only became sidelined…

Thirdly, the last image shows a side info about why AZ looks old. Now, this may have been already addressed at some point, so I may be just repeating something that was said long ago. Nevertheless, it basically states how Floette remains the same for eternity due to being fully subjected to the ample life force energy from the pre-ultimate weapon, whereas for AZ, he received the effect partially; while becoming immortal, he still aged in a natural process but at a slower rate - still not sure if this is because of his close exposure during the revival event or the aftermath of the ultimate weapon beam? Though from what I recall, he was "bathed in the ultimate weapon's light and doomed to wander forever" and not from the pre-ultimate weapon, so but I feel like it could have been from the first time the machine was used too.

last thoughts: character arc -

I really wish we interacted more with him throughout the story - as travellers then eventually friends towards the end (we need adult companions!!). Maybe we could have helped him by fighting a team flare grunt or that he turns himself in to protect us from team flare at some point hence him being in jail. Alternatively, I feel like if he had been freed before and was there to witness the legendary battle and/or lysandre, THAT would have given him a reason to try to understand the bonds between people and pokemon, what a trainer is, therefore broadening his view on the world that he had been long oblivious to, etc - all leading up to his request to battle with us. He wants to know the world better and to coexist with pokemon, thus reverting to his “old self”.

I also think that him telling the story should have been a big shift in his character because of being helplessly stuck physically & mentally and witnessing someone young and small (protagonist = floette) bearing the burden of duty in solving the big crisis and all that.

Anyhow, thank you for reading my rambles lol

[skullywullypully]

Miguel: I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. Someone asked me what the Spanish word for "tortilla" was once, and now I dream of kissing them under the moonlight. Y/N: What kind of animal is the Pink Panther? Miguel, already taking off his clothes: God, Y/N, you’re so f**king stupid.

[incomingalbatross]

I have now. FINALLY. Read Beowulf.

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

I may have writers block rn but I can assure you that miss 'y/n' reader girlie will never 'giggle' she will be teheing for no-one in my fics. My great sense of second hand embarrassment can not handle it. The word actually triggers my fight or flight for some reason.

"You giggled" NO TF I DID NOT

I shall tehe for no one. I may bark, beg, get on my knees, but giggle... GIGGLE? I draw the line.

[the-way-astray]

why do u think grady is a bad parent

i don't think he's a bad parent per se, but i do think he's worse than alden. anon, you're going to get a lot more than this, coming soon (a different anon got to me first so i'm typing out a whole essay in response), but i want to be one step closer to a clean inbox, so i'm kicking you out.

here's the the gist of it: it's a combination of the "that boy" thing (which i find incredibly immature), the fact that he doesn't seem to trust sophie with making her own romantic decisions, the fact that he gave sophie the boys talk as a punishment, not as a learning experience (she gets the talk because she met with keefe behind his back; any sort of coming-of-age/puberty talk should not be given as a punishment), a few personal opinions (i hate the "dad immediately antagonizes the boyfriend/potential boyfriend" trope for example), and i think his way of parenting sophie is borderline misogynist sometimes, which is funny for a series that. isn't supposed to have misogyny.

all of this is very interesting to look at from, say, a character study point of view, but i'm looking at him solely from a "would i want this guy to be my dad?" point of view. for which the answer is a definitive no (from me). the narrative acknowledges some of the things i dislike about his parenting style, doesn't acknowledge others, and sort of . . . half? acknowledges? some other things, in a way of like "oh, that's just a thing grady does, grady will be grady". kind of unserious. anyway i'll talk about it more so. that's coming.

[2prince2sparkle]

Losing my mind hearing that people think being punitively misgendered as they/ them only happens to she/her trans women and not also he/ him trans men

Edit: glad I dug through the shitty comments enough to find op saying she didn't mean the phrasing of a particular sentence to imply this didn't happen to trans men, she wasn't expecting the post to blow up and was just writing about the things she's experiencing in a casual rant way. Internet ok sometimes. (Still other people in the comments thinking the above though.)