Ryuji having the worst bi crisis of his fucking life bc his mom just had to fucking ask “oh, whats this young ladys name?” when he showed her a picture of Akira petting Morgana. Like okay yeah Akira is like objectively pretty, hes like the Classic Delicate Pretty Boy just like Yusuke which is like whatever; straight dudes have eyes, and they know what women like to see. But now hes like. Seeing things he likes in girls IN Akira now and he cant make it Stop like its genuinely keeping him up at night 😭
Pretty boy used to be A Face that would come up in his mind when he thought of the term. There was no specifics in mind, just like. Pretty Boy. Pretty boy! You say that and theres like a Face Template that shows up in ur minds eye and hed just attribute that to any dude who was like Vaguely Pretty. But now its Akira 😭 and he finds himself cataloging things that Akira does that he KNOWS he finds cute when girls do it. The hairtuck behind the ears. The headtilt when he mishears a question. The Actually Pretty Doe Eyes. The breathy, nearly inaudible chuckle he does in place of a Real laugh (thats made better by the fact that its so hard to get him to laugh in the first place). He likes cute snacks. He blushes easily. Ryuji is sitting here like ‘theres no fucking way man. Like theres just no way. That shit makes NO sense (a lie)’ lying in bed in the middle of the night looking like this vvvv w his phone in his hands (looking at pictures of akira)
It drives him insane bc like he did Not see any of these things as like inherently girly or whatever. Like thats just akira thats just his bro! And he does OTHER weird shit that cancels all that shit out. Hes like a messy engineer/tinkerer, he rolls out of bed and whatever situation his hair is is everyones problem. He wears that AWFUL gym uniform and doesnt tweak it AT ALL?? He likes baseball?? hes got a whole binder of trading cards that he will show off if u show any moment of weakness. Like hes just Some Dude but also manages to be Some Girl at the same time and Ryuji is like thats not fair. Life sucked ass but at least it made sense before Akira stumbled into it 😭
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Ghoul- Ghoul- Ghoul- i must know, we’ve seen how Ghost and Die operate, we’ve seen Fetch and König (love those two fr) you said Soap summoned his demon- what’s he like with his demon?
-Lurk 👁️
I feel like Soap and his demon are well fit to each other. I have many thoughts actually about this. Mostly that when Soap summoned his demon he sort of bypassed the distribution system. So his demon did not come pre-obsessed with him. They sort of volunteered to see what was up and decided to stick around on their own. So the relationship is definitely different from Ghost and Die/König and Fetch.
Anyway, here's Soap and his demon(Hush) on their first mission.
"So," Soap tugs the casing off a strip of wire with his teeth, "do you know Die?"
"Do you think all demons know each other?" You raise a brow, fingers holding wires against C4, hand raised to keep the area quiet as Soap works. Soap stops his wire twisting to look at you, you snort. "Yeah I know Die."
"Don' do that, we got half a bomb between us." He sounds half serious, but his smile is a mile wide. You shake your head, wrist flicking to enforce the perimeter as an enemy attempts to cross it. Your silence gripping their neck until they also fall quiet.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just seems like," Soap stops, mumbles to himself and shoos your fingers away to check his wiring, tugging the ignition free and turning it over in his hands. "Now that isn't right." You wait for him to do what he needs, readjusting wires and sticking it back into place, before prompting him again.
"What's it matter if I know Die?"
"Figure if we're all living in close quarters you may as well know each other." Soap grunts, bopping the ignition with his fist a few times to make sure it's stuck. "Alright pop this where I showed you."
"Two men in four meters, try not to get shot while I'm gone." You tell him, grabbing the bomb and sinking into the shadows. It's an easy place, Soap's already done all the hard work, you just need to press the button. The little red light on the top blinks, and you flick your magic over it. The wall explodes without so much as a sigh, blanketed by your cottony silence. Satisfied you let your ties pull you back to Soap.
"Breached." You watch Soap wrestle one of the two heads you'd counted to the ground, arms tight around his neck until he stops kicking. "Nice one." You flick a few shadows through the man to be sure he's dead while Soap checks his pockets.
"Nice yourself, didn't even hear the blow." Soap inspects the magazine he's pulled and pockets it.
"Yeah it was crazy quiet, you must've wired it wrong."
"You've got jokes," Soap grins, you laugh a little and drop back to the shadows as he starts moving towards the breach, "Let's hear another."
"What's worse than finding a bomb under your car?" You ask, muffling his steps and scanning for any non-Soap noise.
"Wot?"
"Not finding it." Soap snorts.
"Oh you are worse than Ghost, you know that?" He asks, pressing against the broken wall and nodding you into the room. "Why'd the demon cross the road?" His voice is low, rumbling, you like when he tries to be quiet. Somehow he never gets all the way to whispering, he sounds better like this anyway.
"Why?" You scan the room, your shadows forcing their way down throats and pressuring out of lungs, enforcing silence.
"The power of Christ compelled them." Soap responds. You bark out a laugh loud enough to draw fire, melting in surprise back to the darkness. Soap shoots from his cover while you pull yourself together enough to be helpful. "Liked that one, eh?" He sounds far too pleased for having you blow your cover. You like that about him too. Smiling from the shadows as he forces his way forward, aim deadly as he clears the room.
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i can't decide which i like more:
the idea - very much canonical and in the author's original concept and view of magic - of the dark arts taking a toll on one's exterior and looks. tom riddle sacrificing his beauty willingly in the name of eternal life, black magic as something that innately corrupts. bellatrix escaping from azkaban with the barest vestiges of her ancient beauty. going from one of the most beautiful women in england to a shell of her former self and no amount of dark magic being able to fix it. and she just. doesn't care. goes from pretty, proud and vain in her youth, to the feverish, fanatical glow harry sees in the department if mysteries. finally she sheds the petal of the rose - look like the innocent flower, her master had once said - and only the thorns remain. the parallel with voldemort himself. the idea that they like each other better now, the only ones to like their respective new appearances better. bellatrix because she can taste the power radiating off him, because she knows how resentful he was of his old face. (oh, he's never said anything explicitly, he would rather be flayed alive than speak of his filthy muggle father to her, but she knew he didn't like himself, took no pride in his aesthetics, it was most unusual, really.) the dark lord because he's reminded of her sacrifice - she was the only one who didn't denounce him, who tried to find him - every time he looks at her. she gave up everything for him: her reputation, her family, her freedom, her health, her beauty, her youth.
or.
the horcruxes are an isolated case. not all prices to pay for power are physical. some dark magic sucks at your humanity, your emotional regulation, your empathy and gives back superficial little gifts. its roots are far from the deep anger, desperation to cling to life of an horcrux. these are ancient witches' remedies to be the most envied in the village. the idea that rotten cores hide behind the prettiest faces. and bellatrix was always vain, always took immense pride in her beauty, her black, pure features. when she escapes from azkaban she tries everything in her power to be herself once again. she still drips with obsession but gradually regains all of her beauty too. cruel people can still be beautiful. gorgeous people can still be inhuman. and yet there is something so human about a woman making her way through the ranks of a very militarised group and still caring so much about what she looks like, still having insecurities, being preoccupied with mundane things like age and decay - and hating it because he would hate it, he hates weakness, and still not being able to help herself. the dark lord was always a collector of shiny things, was he not?
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