#but i also cannot deny the circumstances that got him here either

[trashlie]

Thinking about what kinds of regrets does q-tip have, if one of them includes listening to hansuke to go to the party. Does he regret always expressing hatred to Nolan? Q-tip seems to still rather shirk away personal responsibility.

Thinking about how much does q-tip have trouble distinguishing conditional love with personal boundaries and breaking points in relationships. How much will it take for the rich loonatic to accept that he needs to better himself if he wants anyone to like him. What would it even take for q-tip to change for Nolan to accept his older brother’s a better person than before.

Would there be a new character who not only symbolically represents to q-tip the chances he wasted being an a-hole to Nolan, but a secret test of character to show how much q-tip grew? Like a small child q-tip has a chance to try again? Like maybe another small child who q-tip feels embodies the paranoia and insecurity that festers within the rich loonatic?

I feel shinae would be that second chance, especially if it’s true shin-hye really does have beef with her younger sister. Like the older sister acts like a jerk to shinae and q-tip realizes, s**t, i really was an awful sibling. I always made it about me. So, I’ll be there for shinae the same way Nolan was for her. I must be better.

Does q-tip deeply think Nolan will always stay and try to play nice with him forever, because the young boy’s love or desire to form a friendship with him that strong?

Will Nolan tell shinae that he bled out because q-tip assaulted him?

With q-tip in the hospital, will we get a shock reveal diagnosis, like what if yui secretly drugs him to enhance his paranoia, that’ll make the rich loonatic freak out even more?

I don’t know. I’m still waiting for q-tip to fall apart and go rock bottom bojack horseman style.

We don’t even know how q-tip will pay up for what he did.

Maybe he’ll step down? Maybe he’ll decide to have no kids so that the cycle ends with him, to ensure yui doesn’t level up to evil grandma. Could play into the theme of the cycle of hurt parents directly or indirectly inflict on their children.

Because even if shinae is the bridge between him and Nolan, the rich loonatic needs to choose to better himself before the breaking point of another relationship’s reached.

The thing about Kousuke is he knows all of this. That's what his whole conversation with Nol was about - he knows that he's an unlikeable person, he knows that there's a reason people don't like him and that they only reluctantly do because of WHO they are. From a young age Kousuke was well-aware of the privilege he was afforded for who he is and where he comes from, and that's a major part of his personal problems. He looks at Nol as being the one of them who got the best of Rand, the likable parts, the charismatic and charming points. And seeing that has made him all the more resentful, because none of that is him, none of that is who Kousuke has become.

On a subconscious level, he's even aware of his worst flaws. That night he got drunk in the club revealed a lot of how Kousuke really sees himself, through the lens of others. He so vehemently denies certain aspects of himself because he cannot reconcile himself with the truth: that he is rude and selfish and lacks necessary empathy to maintain relationships.

I think what Kousuke's bigger issue is that he doesn't know how to reconcile who he is with the role he thinks he's meant to fulfill. His whole life has been about trying to obtain Rand's affection and for a moment he'd reached a point of realizing it doesn't exist. But whatever he saw in the Bible - whether it was the fact that Rand carries around letters from Nessa (hence why he wanted to see the Bible again, he recognized the name) or something even more devastating to Kousuke (revealed in the most recent FP thus I won't write it here hehe) I think further broken him. Whatever he saw proves that this version of Rand, this affectionate, funny man neither of them knows does exist and that he just hasn't revealed himself to them.

The other thing about Kousuke is that he's, essentially, sacrificed himself all of these years, right? He's wanted one thing his entire life - his father's affection and validation. Anything else that he's ever enjoyed never became a want, it just became a thing he could shove aside in the quest for what he truly wants. It's clear from his beef with Nol that he does want other things - he just represses and denies them. He DOES want people to like him - but that's not the role of the Hirahara heir, is it? That's not what happens with people like them. Something I'm starting to believe is that Kousuke has to learn how to divorce what he wants from who he is - how does he let go of the ache for his father's affection when it's the root cause of who he is and everything he's done? What is the point of any of this if it doesn't culminate in being seen as good enough, as worthy enough?

Frankly, Kousuke alone cannot deal with his problems. In an ideal world, he'd go to family therapy with his father and work through that, but in an ideal world, he wouldn't have had to fight for his father's love in the first place. But that's the problem Kousuke faces - he knows how to be a decent person, and he's tried to be as evidenced through Shinae, but it's a struggle for him because his identity is so tightly woven with the way he raised. It's not as simple as to say "I want to be better to Nol as I have been to Shinae" becaue Shinae doesn't come with the same baggage that Nol and Kousuke's relationship does. Kousuke cannot have a healthy relationship with Nol until he reconciles what the issue really is: he is jealous of Nol and terrified that because of Nol he will never be loved by Rand, he is terrified that everything good only went to Nol, and that resentment is not something that goes away over night. Especially because Kousuke has that tendency of immediately rewriting anything that triggers that cognitive dissonance, anything that goes against what he expects. Rand assured Kousuke he wasn't in trouble, that he wasn't angry, that Nol was not Kousuke's responsibility, but immediately upon finding Nol at the Park's home, he jumped right into "Do you know how much trouble I'm in because of you?"

There is no quick and easy way for Kousuke to unlearn everything he's grown up to believe, all of the truths forged within him during his formative foundations. It will not be enough going forward to simply remember that Nol, too, has never met that version of Rand, that maybe that version doesn't even exist. Firstly, I think Kousuke would have rewritten that moment in a way that made him feel less uncomfortable in reflection, but also, again, whatever Kousuke saw in that Bible I worry could undo everything. I think Kousuke has seen a reminder that this version of Rand is real, it's just that (according to the beliefs Kousuke carries) he's not good enough.

Now, I DO think Kousuke wants to be better for Shinae, he just, again, is so out of touch, he doesn't know how to do this. I think if we look at the way he was raised, it makes a lot of sense? It seems he's always taken Yui at face value and not really questioned the lessons she imparted in him when he was young. He's never had to earn anyone's trust - he always assumes he has it because he is a person in power, a person to be revered. He has never been taught to earn ANYTHING because as the Hirahara heir, he's had it from the get go. How does he earn Shinae's trust? How does he reconcile his image in front of her? That's the thing that was so laughable about the otter plushie he gave her - not only does it demonstrate how little he knows her, it also demonstrates that he just doesn't know how to earn THINGS, period. The beaver represented something symbolic to him, but she doesn't know that. He has been handed everything he could want or need in life and he thinks that everyone else must want for this, because he has the good life, the one coveted by everyone. In his mind, a gift given seems to equate to something similar. "I am a good person who is giving you something special to prove that I am a good person."

But it doesn't work that way. Since it seems like there's no way out of her contract and Shinae will likely end up working with Kousuke (assuming you know.... there's no repercussions faced after this incident) I think that's when Kousuke will get schooled, but hmmm. Idk it doesn't feel right to me? How does that work when it comes to the time skips - it would mean significant development would happen off screen, and that doesn't suit quimchee's style, so I'm really iffy on this part, tbh.

The thing re: repercussions, too, is that Rand can push for them, but Yui is not a person to yield, and as it is, Rand wants to keep this whole thing hush hush, so I'm not entirely sure what to anticipate from that? Suppose he is forced to step down - a reason will have to be made, and that doesn't keep things very hush hush, does it? And again, I feel like Yui would easily be able to find a reason to block it. It's so easy to brush Nol's injuries off as being from the fall - which had plenty of witnesses - rather than go into detail about what happened. I guess the other thing is, is Nol willing to push it? No one but them REALLY knows what happened. Rand can assume and guess right but the whole thing creates a horrible fork in the road: either Kousuke gets away with it and Nol carries on believing that he is insignificant to Rand, or Kousuke is punished and he comes away believing that Nol does and has always mattered most.

This is where all of the possibilities become limitless to me lol because say the latter happens and Kousuke is held responsible. How does that impact his relationships? Now his relationship with Rand is further ruined, and that resentment towards Nol grows more. Or does he learn to let it go? Decide fuck pleasing Rand. Fuck pleasing ANYONE? He's such a hard one for me to gage because he just has so many unresolved issues and so much of it is rooted in Nol and Rand.

I'm also unsure if Nol will tell Shinae how it happened. I think it's something that is currently unspoken that she's probably already thought about. Without revealing too much from the recent FP episodes, she saw the state Kousuke was in. It's clear to everyone involved that Kousuke is NOT okay, that he's essentially in a state of shock. I think she might be able to deduce that whatever happened wasn't really intentional? That feels funny to say because Kousuke definitely went after Nol because he didn't want to let him leave like that, because he had so much resentment yet unspilled and was goading him into the fight but also his reaction to Nol bleeding, I think, shows that what Kousuke wanted was for Nol to fight back? like, hmm idk how to word this because it's not something I've fully made up my mind about but I think it's more like Kousuke WANTED Nol to call him out, because he feels so much resentment towards Nol, surely Nol must feel the same. It was that realization that this has been a one-sided war for so many years, that Nol never wanted the fight Kousuke did.

But seeing Nol bleeding, passing out? That wasn't what he wanted. Does that make sense? idk.

Anyway all this to say: I think it's not enough for Kousuke to acknowledge the kind of person he's been. His mental stability is fragile and largely held up by altering his accounts of what happens in every confrontational scenario in a way that doesn't make him uncomfortable. He struggles to accept actual reality because of the way it directly opposes what he expects and believes to be true. So how can he just up and change, if he's unprepared to deal with that reality?

I've always said he needs to fall and break to change, and idk if he's there yet. I'm worried about what will happen with him being in Hirahara Memorial, because I don't doubt Yui will, if she hasn't already been, be made aware of what happened, and maybe that's why Rand didn't want him to show up there? Not just because he would find out that that's not where Nol is, but because he doesn't want him to fall prey to Yui when he's at his weakest? Because Yui is a person who not only supports but recreates those accounts for Kousuke? I think as long as she is a player in this game, Kousuke's likelihood of change diminishes.

At this stage, I think it's very possible that Nol and Kousuke will never be brothers to each other, but my hope is at the very least for them to make peace. For Nol to be able to let go of that family and find peace with himself, without thinking of himself as damaged goods or baggage or a villain. For him to be able to let go of Kousuke - let go of the resentment and just live freely without him. But in order to reach that point, I think the only way for him to see change in Kousuke would have to deal with Yui. Since the chess game remains a prevalent them and Kousuke still plays for Yui's side, I think the thing that will aid him and Nol is if Kousuke is able to turn against Yui, and welp, we've established that's going to be increasingly difficult considering Yui is the only figure in his life who has ever shown him a sense of care, the only figure in his life that he has been able to safely run to. I know he knows what she's like, what she does, but when she's the only one who he has felt was ever on his side, that's going to be a difficult feat, isn't it?

(Also as a side note, when sending me asks, please don't refer to Kousuke as a lunatic. That's some pretty ableist language that doesn't sit right with me. Kousuke has a lot of issues, yeah, but trying to write it off as "he's just crazy/insane" or "he's just [mental illness]" doesn't feel right. I'm fine acknowledges all the ways the guy is messed up - he's got some pretty heavy trauma resulting from neglect and something that resembles PTSD but language like lunatic doesn't feel right - it feels very "this is a bad person doing bad things and I'm going to write it off as inane" and that doesn't sit right with me.)

#ILY Brainrot #I Love Yoo #ILY FP #ILY Spoilers #using those tags just in case #i keep it as spoiler free as possible but i'm just covering my ass lol #Kousuke Hirahara #i don't view Kousuke as an inherent evil as much as being a victim of his own life and circumstances in a way that is difficult for him to #escape. like. idk i have a lot of complicated feelings about him #he's absolutely responsible for the person he's become #but i also cannot deny the circumstances that got him here either #the things that define the character he possesses #how does he change and move on from all of that you know? #how does he let go of his resentment and jealousy? #how does he learn to see Nol as a person of his own rather than this extension of everything that makes him so jealous? #I also think in a twisted way Kousuke genuinely thinks Nol has had it easier #because Kousuke was on such a warpspeed fast track to earn his father's affections no shortcuts no breaks #In his mind Nol has already obtained what Kousuke has had to bust ass for #in his mind Nol is loved and Kousuke is trying to catch up #he sees Nol goofing around with friends and feels jealous that he never had that that he wasn't allowed that based on who he is? #so how does he learn to let go of those feelings? #further it's like... when this is his identity what is left if he lets go of it all? who is he? what remains of his identity when #he lets go of everything that propped him up? #who is he outside of chasing his father for a crumb of affection and resenting Nol for something that isn't even true? #I guess this is why I'm really keen for more of Kousuke's story - I want to see what comes of him #I want to see what choices he ends up making #I want to see if he wants the better path or not

[jackoshadows]

Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. - Jon, ADwD

What Jon is actually scoffing at here is the naivete and idealism of the songs of Westeros about chivalry and knights - which is pretty standard stuff for a pragmatic character like him. No Florian the fool from the songs is going to come rescue Val. And ADwD ends with the giant actually slaying the knight trying to take the princess from the tower! Talk about subverting tropes!

Jon is not scoffing at the 'princess in the tower ' but the willowy creature brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to come rescue her.

Jon is not mocking his own mother, Lyanna Stark, or her circumstances. From everything we know of Lyanna Stark, she fits the description of the 'warrior princess' that Jon is referring to. From the little bits and pieces we get of Lyanna it's a certainty that if she were imprisoned somewhere, she would be trying her very best to escape instead of believing in some knight from the songs.

Because, you know what? Like her son, Lyanna was brutally pragmatic as well.

The mirth curdled on Robert's face. "The woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She's sulking in the castle now, damn her. Your sister would never have shamed me like that." "You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert," Ned told him. "You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee." - Eddard, AGoT

"Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." - Eddard, AGoT

This idea that Jon's statement is irony considering his own mother at the TOJ also stems from the fanon that Lyanna was imprisoned by Rhaegar and the KG in the Tower of Joy and waiting for Ned to rescue her.

The higher likelihood is that the TOJ was where a pregnant Lyanna took refuge during Robert's Rebellion, safeguarded by the KG.

By the time Ned gets to the TOJ, the rebels had brutally murdered Rhaegar's children and wife and Ned was still Robert Baratheon's right hand man. If the KG fought with Ned and his men, there can be more reasons than just that they were holding Lyanna prisoner. We don't know the circumstances of what actually went down at the TOJ, why Lyanna was there and what happened when Ned got there.

So, no. Jon Snow is not scoffing at his mother Lyanna who, from everything we know of her, was not someone waiting for a knight to come rescue her.

At no point does cynical Jon Snow expect Val to save herself or be in charge of her own escape. After all, she is still a prisoner of sorts and later, a refugee at the Wall. What he is appreciating is the attempt. That Val is not sitting around trusting that someone is going to get her out. There is no one and Jon cannot help her. And yet she tries. That is what he admires.

Just like with Alys Karstark who comes to him for help in escaping the clutches of her uncle. What he admires is her bravery in the actions she takes to gain back power.

Arianne Martell's chapter is literally titled 'Princess in the tower' and no knight comes to save her either while the pragmatic and cunning Arianne attempts to use the serving girls to get a message out to her confidantes while agonizing over what is going on. It does not succeed but she still tries.

And like Jon Snow scoffing at the songs of knights rescuing ladies, Arya similarly mocks the songs of ladies throwing themselves off towers because their prince is dead.

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. -AFFC, Cat of the Canals

What's the point in killing oneself rather than seeking justice for the death of a loved one?

Speaking of Arya, nowhere is this more evident than with Jon's attempts at saving Arya Stark. In ADwD 'Arya Stark' is literally a princess in the tower. For the Northern rebels fighting to overthrow the Boltons and consider Robb Stark to be their king, according to GRRM's World of Ice and Fire app (the official app guide to ASOIAF), Bran and Rickon are princes and Arya is a princess.

From Jon Snow's perspective Arya is held prisoner in Winterfell by Ramsay and while he knows Arya fights back, he also knows there's no chance for Arya to win.

He'd had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo's blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life. - Jon, ADwD

Like Lyanna before her, Arya is a warrior princess and yet Jon Snow also knows that it's going to be hard for Arya to successfully get to him at the Wall. Which is why he attempts twice to help her - once by sending Mance to go get her and the second time when he breaks his sworn oaths and rallies the Freefolk to attack the Warden of the North. Jon is not expecting Arya to successfully execute her own escape from the powerful Boltons. He is not mocking Arya or Lyanna for being princesses in a tower.

And Jon's mockery of the naivete and idealism is not entirely wrong as we see from Sansa's story. Sansa, who naively gets taken in by Dontos and entrusts information to him because she equates him to the Florian of the songs and thinks he is there to save her.

Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home. Sansa had prayed so hard. Could this be her answer at last, a true knight sent to save her? "Florian," Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her. "Sweet lady, I would be your Florian," Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her. Nodding, Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. "My Florian," she whispered. "The gods heard my prayer." She flew along the river walk, past the small kitchen, and through the pig yard, her hurried footsteps lost beneath the squealing of the hogs in their pens. Home, she thought, home, he is going to take me home, he'll keep me safe, my Florian. The songs about Florian and Jonquil were her very favorites. Florian was homely too, though not so old. - Sansa, ACoK

This naivete is exactly what Jon Snow is calling out. He's not mocking the likes of Arya or Lyanna who are pragmatic types and who take action to correct wrongs rather than believing in a sexist code of chivalry. From Lyanna disguised as the knight of the laughing tree (Because Westorosi sexism means she would be mocked, scorned and chided for being a knight - look at the mockery Brienne is exposed to) and helping Howland Reed to Arya stepping in to help Mycah to Brienne stepping in to help at the inn at the crossroads is what is actually true chivalry.

Brienne is no knight and yet it is she who is attempting to rescue Sansa Stark, not some knight from the songs. It's Brienne who exemplifies what being a knight is despite not being a knight from Sansa's songs.

It's fandom that valorizes and equates the 'princess in a tower' to certain female characters and upholding some notion of traditional femininity inspiring chivalry or some such nonsense when the books themselves don't make this distinction and never has.

Like this popular post:

Now, I agree that Sansa, Jeyne and Gilly do push the Hound, Theon and Sam to help them (Though Sam has always been a helpful type of person and Theon's arc is equally about his growth and interaction with the spearwives rather than simply Jeyne inspiring chivarly in him)

However why are Sansa, Jeyne and Gilly labelled 'princess in the tower' characters? Sansa and Jeyne are prisoners certainly. But so are many other characters. Theon is a prisoner. Is he a 'prince in a tower'?

Arianne's chapter is labelled 'The princess in the tower' because she is literally imprisoned in the Spear Tower. Val is first placed in the King's Tower and later Hardin's Tower.

How is Gilly a 'Princess in the tower' type character? Because she needs help? Because she does not fight with a weapon? Gilly and Sansa have nothing at all in common. Her childhood was different, her experiences are different and her journey is different.

"As you command, my lady." A spasm of anger flashed across Gilly's face. "Don't you call me that. I'm a mother, not a lady. I'm Craster's wife and Craster's daughter, and a mother." - Sam, AFfC

ADwD has entire mountain clans and Northern houses marching in the worst winter storms and expecting to die fighting against the Boltons - for princess Arya Stark!! The Lord Commander broke sworn oaths that have held for thousands of years for Arya Stark! What is that if not Arya inspiring hope, heroism, courage and chivalry?

Can we not label Arya Stark a 'princess in the tower' character who inspires the Lord Commander to save her despite heretofore not being willing to break oaths for anyone else, including Ygritte whom he loved?

And yet she is not included with Sansa, Jeyne and Gilly because she does not fit into their idea of 'uwu soft female characters' inspiring chivalry and hope. Daenerys inspires thousands of freed slaves to fight for her. One handed Jaime - one of the most selfish characters in the books - goes back and jumps into a bear pit to save Brienne, risking his life and freedom for her.

At it's core the book is only critiquing sexist and idealistic notions of knightly chivalry with it's 'waiting for some knight to rescue them'. Lyanna, Arya, Sansa, Jeyne, Gilly, Theon, Dany, Tyrion, Jon, Sam all need help to survive, they all struggle, they all have their vulnerabilities and they all inspire others to help them.

#Jon Snow #Lyanna Stark #Arya Stark

[penniedreadfuls]

The Problem of Lenny

Some thoughts about what could, or should, happen with Luke Kirby's Lenny Bruce in season 5 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

Cw: for discussion of drug use and suicide

Okay, I'm probably writing this half as an apology for not having updated "All Things are Temporary" in a while. (My other writerly obligations have hard deadlines D:). And the other half is because I was peeping in on the TMMM reddit and there's some guy saying he works on the show as a sound editor, and is giving out spoilers. Ones that say "Lenny dies, eventually" (as do we all) and that a Once Upon a Time in Hollywood like ending doesn't happen.

I take those "spoilers" with a grain of salt. But here are my personal thoughts both as a fan of the show and a writer.

Show Lenny is a fictional character and should be treated as such. TMMM has never been biographical towards him. Several parts of his life have been changed to fit the show. That's fine and dandy.

We all know he was only supposed to appear in the first episode, but that Luke Kirby charm is powerful. All of his previous interactions with characters have fit within plausible deniability. But that changes once he sleeps with Midge. I think that crosses a line when using a real person as a character in a show. (As much as I loved it)

The real Lenny Bruce died of a morphine overdose in August 1966. It doesn't get discussed much here, but there is the very strong likelihood that it was a suicide. The circumstances around his death, how he was found, what happened afterwards, are incredibly sad and tragic. (If you want to know, you can read it on his wikipedia. I will warn you, it's very upsetting.)

I can't imagine The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel putting that in the show, and doing it well. TMMM is a cotton candy world. There has not been anything truly dark in it. I was not impressed with the narrative of Midge's victimhood in regards to Shy. (I didn't like her apology)

TMMM is not Mad Men, historical happenings either do not intrude much or are played for laughs (Jackie Kennedy). But if the show got further into the 60s, that would get harder to ignore. And like the above realities of Lenny Bruce's death, they would not fit into the TMMM world. I also cannot see Mei getting an abortion.

ex. The Cuban Missile Crisis, 16th Street Baptist Church Bombings. Characters would and should comment on these. So it's probably a good thing the show ends in 1961. A lot happened from 61-66, and the show has so many plotlines, I think a big time skip would mess them up. I got away with the huge time jump in "All Things are Temporary" because of Lenny's internal thoughts and I cheated and had Midge give an interview.

I digress. I fear if ASP and the powers that be have fictional Lenny die as he did in life, that they would change it to make its more "palatable" for the show. An idea that I find immensely disrespectful, since it probably was a suicide. Midge would certainly come to know the details of Lenny's death and her reaction would be heartbreaking (I know Rachel Broshanan would knock it out of the park however).

So what do I think should happen? It comes down to three options. Spare, Ambiguous, or Dies. I've already outlined my thoughts on the last one.

Lenny is one of the most popular characters in the show, sparing him would be giving him what he was denied in real life. As long as the real Kitty Bruce approves?

I personally think that the show should keep it ambiguous. It will be better for all of us fic writers :D Most of all, I just want the ending to be well written. I never watched Gilmore Girls, but I've heard that I should be concerned.

What do you all think?

One last thought. I really believe that ASP intended for Midge and Joel to end up back together during the first two seasons, and then realized the idea is not a popular one. (Are people writing MidgeJoel fic? I don't think so!) Hence we get Mei and Miami.

TL;DR: TMMM should either spare Lenny or go all out in depicting the realities of his death. To lessen it is disrespectful.

#midge x lenny #the marvelous mrs. maisel #midgelenny #midge maisel #tmmm #tmmm season 5 #meta #I ramble

[crellanstein]

Prodigious

I find it odd how the fandom focuses so much on Aang’s childhood being ruined when he learned he was the Avatar at 12, but there’s very little talk about how discovering she was the Avatar as a toddler affected Korra’s life and how she was raised.

But we’ll circle back to that...

Because this is a good starting point to talk about one of the most prevalent themes in the story, which the mainstream discussion of tends to only focus on a few characters -- That is the Child Prodigy. 

We’ll start with the two most obvious. The ones we always talk about.

Azula.

The clearest example of your typical child prodigy (if there is anything typical about a prodigy). Azula showed early mastery of very advanced Fire-Bending techniques, and is the only Fire-Bender to use blue flames, which was intended to make her stand out amongst the other villains but is also indicative that her Fire-Bending is more pure and powerful (blue flame is produced when burning pure O2 or fuel without contaminant at a very high temperature). 

All this lead to her being praised and favored by Ozai as a child, but as double-edged swords go, this also meant she had a lot of pressure on her shoulders to never fail, and she rarely did. Her ego matched her talent, and let’s be honest she was the baddest bitch the show had ever seen. Conquering Ba Sing Se, defeating the Avatar in combat, and dropping some of the most devastating lines of dialogue in villain history; she was a force nobody wanted to reckon with. 

And that become a problem for one asshole in particular...

Being jealous of his own child is just one item on a laundry list of reasons why this guy is the worst father in the history of fathers. Azula had begun to outshine him with her victories, and Ozai’s maniacal ego couldn’t handle that, so he left her behind to babysit the Fire Nation while he went out to burn/conquer the world, which also was her idea.

And while this wasn’t the only thing that aided in her demise, it certainly was the final straw which sent her spiraling down into this...

In the end Azula is a sad example of how certain unfair expectations are placed upon talented children, and the more they succeed, the more these expectations grow and weigh on the them until they either disappoint those looking down on them or surpass and embarrass their elders.

It is a lose-lose situation which inevitably destroys them.

There is a similar example of the child prodigy, but his story goes a little different.

Aang.

Even as a twelve/thirteen year-old boy Aang by far has the most impressive stats among any character in the Avatar universe.

Basically mastering 3 of the 4 Elements in less than a year, after mastering Air by the time he is twelve (not to mention inventing his own Air-bending move, the Air scooter). 

Aang is an example of a child prodigy who had too much thrust onto him at too young an age because of the talent he showed; because of this he panicked and ran away, and the world was worse off for it. 

Aang/Sokka/Katara’s story is all about how in times of War, responsibilities normally handled by adults are pushed onto kids who then have to grow up very fast in order to deal with it all.

The message is clear. War robs the young of their childhoods. 

Now, let’s talk about a different kind of child prodigy.

The Unacknowledged. 

Yes, of course I’m talking about Toph, the greatest Earth-Bender to ever live.

Because of her blindness, Toph’s family tried to keep her sheltered and safe by hiding her from the world. Refusing to believe she could ever be more than helpless. Anyone who has seen the show knows that is far from the truth.

But because her potential went unseen, there were some negative effects to her personality. Initially, she resented her parents, and rebelled; which established a certain level of independence, a bad attitude, and a hot-headed streak. Over time spent with the Gaang these behaviors subsided because she finally had friends and they accepted her for who she was. By the end of the series she was fully willing to accept aid from them when she needed it, like holding on to Sokka’s arm in environment where her bending couldn’t help her “see”. 

Toph’s story is a foil to Azula’s, both showed immense talent and badassery, but while recognition of Azula lead to ever-mounting pressure for her to succeed; the lack of recognition for Toph created a need for her to be acknowledged and set an undercurrent of frustration which leads to her acting out in the ways she does.

The lesson to take from Toph’s story is not to shelter your kid from the world out of fear for their safety, and to be open to recognizing their talents, not shun them.

Next are two more Unacknowledged.

Katara and Sokka.       

Their story, and the reason behind their circumstances, is one of the more complicated and nuanced ones in the series, so here we’ll focus on how it fits into the subject of discussion.

Because of the War, Katara was robbed not only of her mother but also of any Southern Masters to train her, and any role models Sokka could have looked up to left with his father to fight. Because of this Katara’s potential and Sokka’s genius went unacknowledged not due to neglect but rather due to circumstance. (Yes, I think Sokka is a genius, how many 15 yr olds do you know that can plan an invasion, design submarines, and spit poetry off the cuff?).

This is a further example of how War robs kids of necessary childhood experiences, and these two robberies had particular effects on both Katara and Sokka’s character developments.

Sokka had the responsibility of protecting his home put upon him at a young age. The men of his tribe leaving prevented him from completing his rite of manhood until the Gaang ran into Bato of the Water Tribe, and early on Sokka was constantly trying to prove himself as a man and a leader. Sokka is one of the smarter characters of the series, but he rarely got credit for it until the third season. Not to mention that because he wasn’t a bender he often seemed less useful than the others. The circumstances of war made his talent go unnoticed and because of that he often was unsure of himself and overcompensated to prove something.

Speaking of talent going unnoticed.

Katara is definitely one of the more talented benders of the series. After training herself for years with little progress, she essentially mastered Water-Bending in a few weeks under Master Pakku. While her anger towards the Fire-Nation mostly centers around the loss of her mother, it can’t be ignored that the delay in her training was a direct result of the Fire-Nations’ actions.  Toph’s anger and frustration vented itself as rebellion. However, the same frustration and anger is within Katara, but because she wasn’t as natural a bender as Toph she sought to learn and be respected, and when that was denied to her is when that anger bubbled to the surface in some terrifying ways. 

While Toph’s talent went unnoticed because of her families neglect, Katara and Sokka’s wasn’t acknowledged because there was nobody to acknowledge it. Because of that both brother and sister wanted to prove themselves to the world.

And then there is Zuko.

I know what you’re thinking. Zuko wasn’t a prodigy, his Fire-Bending skill didn’t catch up with Azula’s until the finale and he never mastered Lightning-Bending, but this section is about the Unacknowledged.

Zuko had many other talents besides Fire-Bending, he was a master swordsmen, and was able to successfully break into every secure facility he attempted in the show (which was almost every secure facility the show featured).  Unfortunately, these talents were never recognized, because the only thing the royal family cared about was bending ability (It’s possible the reason he learned the sword was because he lacked skill in Fire-Bending). 

As per usual with Zuko, this part of his tale is quite sad. Many can relate to being outshined by a sibling, and when it becomes all too clear that one cannot match another’s talent it’s quite understandable to focus on what they do excel at, but even then there is no promise of recognition for their own talent. Zuko was even mocked by his father during the solar eclipse when Ozai tried baiting him into attacking with his swords. 

This lack of recognition is one of many sad aspects of Zuko’s early life, but it is a definitive example of one of the hardest unacknowledged prodigy’s cross to bear. The Outshone prodigy, one whose talents are never noticed because a bigger and brighter star stands in the way of such recognition, and arguably the most frustrating type mentioned here. Toph/Sokka/Katara all came from situations were there was no recognition being given to them or anyone, but Zuko had to bear watching massive amounts of praise be piled on to his sister while he and his accomplishments went by the way side.

Ozai summed up the situation best.

“Azula was born lucky, Zuko was lucky to be born”

Alright now where have I been going with all this?

So, far we’ve covered a lot of wrong ways to treat a child, whether they show talent or not, and how the circumstances of war can also take many things from children.

But what happened to Korra?

(Before we get into to this I should state that I like Korra, and the purpose of this is not to bash her as a character or her arc, but rather to give a little of my insight into it.)

It’s well established that Aang was told of his heritage too young, and that was a detriment on his development into an adult, but what would have happened if he realized his powers himself not long after he could walk? We’ll never know, but we do get to see the effects it had on Korra. 

When she revealed herself as the Avatar, Korra set her entire life in a new direction, and because Aang tasked the White Lotus with finding and training her that direction was out of her control. There are two key differences between Korras’ and other Avatars’ lives.

1. She grew up in isolation on a White Lotus compound.

Every Avatar before Korra we know of spent a portion of their early lives traveling the world in order to master the elements; along this journey they not only learned how to bend the other 3 elements, buy also many things about the 3 other nations and the world they are tasked to protect as a whole. By confining Korra in safety and bringing the masters to her the White Lotus deprived Korra of this opportunity to learn and grow and understand the world and the people within in. It also deprived her of learning modern bending styles until she reached Republic City.

While this might have kept Korra safe from the Red Lotus, it grew within her a naiveté about how the world worked, and because of this when she actually did venture out into the world she was terribly unprepared for it.

2.  She was trained and mastered 3 of the elements by the time she was 16.

Most Avatars don’t know they have this power until they reach 16 and then they spend several years learning to control it. Korra’s natural talent in the bending lead to her training being expedited not by necessity like Aang’s, but due to her talent and eagerness. Korra excelled at the physical part of being the Avatar and because of this by the time she reached maturity she had become over-confident in her abilities and true to what her Fire-Bending master said in Ep.1 she lacked restraint.

I’m not saying her bending isn’t great, but rather because it is so great it’s her go-to solution to anything, and she enjoys that so she uses it with enthusiastic gusto and not a lot of thinking before striking.

This overconfidence coupled with her naiveté of the world is what lead to many of her rash decisions and actions, most of which had negative consequences, and I believe are the reason behind some fan are dissatisfied with her. Aang had been almost the complete opposite, even by the age of twelve he was an experienced world traveler and an incredibly humble guy. 

Some may have been dissatisfied by these character decisions, but they served a purpose, they are only the beginning of her arc. The internal challenge Korra must overcome through 4 seasons is to humble herself before the world, and learn from it. This was finally achieved in the 4th season when the metal poisoning in her body forces her to face others in the world as equals, only then had she completed her journey.

And why did it all go this way?

Because she is a very unique child prodigy, what she demonstrates in the first episode of LOK would be akin to a toddler playing the violin or hitting a three-pointer; she could bend 3 elements close to just after learning to walk. That is the kind of prodigious talent rarely seen because it is mostly impossible. How does a rational person handle a child like that? 

It’s a tough question, and something this essay has been circling around the whole time. Each example here is the wrong way to handle talented and different children, but what is the right way?

As always look to Iroh.

Who treated his surrogate son Zuko with both respect and compassion. 

Unlike Toph’s parents, Iroh worried over Zuko’s well being, but also allowed him to be independent, make his own decisions, and take his own risks.

Unlike the Nomad Leaders, he didn’t want Zuko weighed down by his position in the world and the responsibility that came with, and always encouraged him relax and take advantage of the moment.

Unlike Ozai, Iroh would always be there to support Zuko in his victories and his failures. Iroh shows him the right path but does not force him down it.

And even after Zuko betrayed and abandoned him.

Iroh was never angry with him, and embraced him upon his return.

He wanted Zuko to grow and be a better man. Even if Zuko wasn’t a prodigy like his sister. 

And that is the answer here. The way to raise a prodigy is the same way anyone should raise any child. Love, Support, a Guiding Hand rather than a Forceful Shove, Recognition of What Makes Them Unique, and Forgiveness When They Falter. The problem comes along when you start treating children differently because you see them as different or special. All children are different, all children are special.

Kids are kids, and they all deserve a proper childhood.  

#lok #legend of korra #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #korra #avatar korra #avatar aang #aang #toph #atla toph #katara #sokka #azula #the gaang #zuko #firelord zuko #poor zuko #atlazuko #fire lord ozai #phoenix king ozai #ozai #blue spirit #prodigy #white lotus #red lotus #waterbending #firebending #earthbending #airbending #appa

[nixxx11]

Ending Umbrella Scene Analysis (Mr. Pigeon 72)

I loved this scene so, so much from the new episode, I'm going to be rewatching it on repeat for 5 years 😍

So anyways, I noticed some interesting things about the parallels of the umbrella scenes...thought I'd share...

Marinette got trapped under the umbrella when she was standing alone under it in Stoneheart.

In Mr. Pigeon 72, they are both trapped under the umbrella together and are standing next to each other.

It symbolizes the fact that now both of them hold the umbrella, showing their mutual love for each other, Marinette not being alone in her feelings for Adrien anymore.

“Wow, have you kept it all this time?”

Immediately after, the scene shows us rain and lighting, the same situation in Origins when Marinette first fell in love with Adrien. It’s indicating that she’s fallen in love with him again.

Marinette's love for Adrien was originally depicted in the umbrella scene. He gave her the umbrella. It’s the moment that sparked her love. But it doesn’t end there. He's also given her something else, which she's kept for a long time. It's not just an umbrella. The umbrella is supposed to symbolize love between them. More than a reverse in the love square, it’s a reset.

Adrien's question about keeping the umbrella doesn't just refer to the umbrella. It refers to her feelings.

Marinette has kept the umbrella concealed, the same way she’s kept her feelings concealed. What’s special about this scene? The fact that she didn’t conceal her feelings. She’s been trapped, like an umbrella, but she’s finally opening it up in this scene.

The symbol here is that she’s had the umbrella the entire time.

She’s kept her feelings for Adrien buried inside the entire time, finally taking them out during this scene and falling in love again.

The umbrella served as a symbol of her love for him, and by showing that she kept it, it suggests she never lost it.

Yes, Marinette spent so much time in denial of her feelings. She even tried dating Luka. She tried to forget about Adrien. But she never did let go of Adrien. Marinette still has the umbrella, but she's using it for the first time after falling in love during this scene.

I can't go to describe how well the dialogues are written in this scene.

Although Marinette wanted to return the umbrella, Adrien told her she would need it to get back home.

They're literally speaking through the umbrella's terms here-

Their love is symbolized by the reoccuring situation. Adrien is telling her that it’s too early for him to accept the umbrella. He tells her she needs it to go home. Before he can accept it, Marientte needs to accept her feelings for him and become comfortable with herself. She needs to feel comfortable around Adrien before he can accept his love for her. That’s why they’re both standing under the umbrella this time. Not just Marinette.

When they were both holding the umbrella, Marinette asked him to walk home with her. The way she asks for love is indirect. He was happy that Marinette wanted him to walk alongside her, but looked back and realized there were still too many responsibilities for him too. That it wasn’t time yet.

I think this scene was trying to tell us that it’s too early. It’s not time yet to hold the umbrella together, before walking beside each other, before accepting those feelings. He first needs to get control over his life. They must be prepared to hold the umbrella together, not just as Marinette and Adrien. As a team.

But he can’t accept the umbrella just yet.

Life is not waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain.

I love what Alya said here. The quote essentially suggests that you should enjoy the present moment for what it is, rather than wasting time watching it pass.

Adrien and Marinette falling in love under the umbrella happened all over again, and it’s really not a coincidence. Alya said that she wanted Marinette to understand that she needs to live for the present rather than constantly worrying about being a guardian night and day. No matter how bad the circumstances are, she's still got to take breaks. Marinette found out immediately after that Adrigami had split up. But instead of going to console Adrien, she went to console Kagami because she knew Kagami’s only friend was her. She learned to accept circumstances as they are and immediately decided to go to Kagami. Because that’s what (girl)friends do.

When the storm passes, you can dance in the rain. When you wait for a storm to pass, you will freeze. Life is a struggle, and you will have to deal with daily struggles that are outside of your control. Depending on how you handle your struggles in life, you’ll either build yourself up or break yourself down. In the midst of the storm, you can find peace if you take the right steps.

‘Learning to dance in the rain' refers to the need to prepare for difficult times rather than merely wait for them to pass. This means that, despite all the challenges in life, it is still possible to find happiness. Despite being stuck in the middle of a bad storm, it’s important that Marinette learns to dance in the rain. It’s about how to view things, and how we keep optimism about our future, and recognize that we're heading in the right direction. You won't put your life on hold if you make it a point to enjoy life, even if it means you might have to sacrifice something to let loose once in a while. When the storm passes, you shouldn’t sit down to wait for it to pass since you may forget to get back up and continue your life. That’s what Alya is trying to tell Marinette. You’re going to get tired, and you can pause for a break in the weather, but dancing in the rain helps you get back up and finish what needs to be done.

Whenever there is a storm, Marinette isolates herself from love. Not just Adrien. Any type of affection. Her friends, her family, Luka...That’s what happened in Gang of Secrets. Marinette wants to keep her friendships but she doesn’t want to reveal her secret. It's important to her not to involve her friends in this. They shouldn't be burdened by her. It’s safer if no one finds out. Having a secret, and a struggle to prioritize, and maintaining her relationships causes her to do that to herself and people around her. In spite of the fact that it hurts, she's avoiding relationships entirely because she hopes it will protect those around her. Her time and energy is limited because relationships take a lot of effort and time. As a result, she avoided any type of romance. To the point where she was in clear denial of her feelings.

Now that she has Alya, she can help her. Of course, Alya's support for Marinette cannot be underestimated, but the episode is also a reminder that things aren't close to being ideal. As strong as Alya is, she isn't so strong that she can completely reverse Marinette's fall and reset everything back to normal.

Marinette’s definitely recovering. Nevertheless, the show is doing a lot to demonstrate that it is still a process. She’s still spending lots of time battling Shadowmoth. She has been making all kinds of crazy contraptions to hide the miracle box and kwamis in her room, and it’s driving her a little insane. She’s spending most of her time working on translating the grimoire while maintaining her double life and duties as a civilian. The storm is waning- but it isn’t over yet.

Why is that line from Alya so important? Because Marinette does need to let loose. Take a break from all the plans and simplify her life sometimes. Her approach is to take charge of situations, make plans, and set up things to make them happen. When she’s Ladybug, her assertive behavior means she is automatically paid attention to, and her clever plans save the day. Sometimes her anxiety is spiking and it goes a little too far. A flaw shown throughout the show: She goes from trying to lead a situation to trying to control it, steamrolling the other people involved. Complicating things often stresses her more.

Gamer 2.0 is a perfect example of this. This episode shows how she goes to great lengths to make people happy and even overworks herself in order to do so. She attempted the same approach over and over again out of stress and confusion in response to the situation. The concept of “dancing in the rain” is actually what Chat Noir did and was trying to tell Ladybug in the episode. Yes, there was indeed a storm. Yet, it was the enjoyment he found in the midst of it that helped them in the end, wasn't it?

Another example from this episode. Marinette did that with Kagami. Marinette was determined to reconcile Kagami and Adrien since she thought that would be the best outcome for their relationship, regardless of Kagami’s multiple attempts to tell her she didn’t want to make up with Adrien.

She, however, reevaluates the situation and reconsiders her approach when she's calmed down.

It took Marinette a while to allow herself to be happy again because she was waiting for the storm to pass. Alya advised Marinette to take a break and get her mind off of those things, but Marinette kept insisting that she couldn’t until she had everything figured out. While Alya tried to make Marinette forget about her stress by telling her about Adrien's commercial and the breakup, Marinette denied any sort of feelings she had for him, because if she tried to pursue Adrien while Shadowmoth was still active, it would end in the same way as Luka. And she doesn’t want a repeat of that. That’s why she seems to be avoiding romance.

Her avoidance doesn't just stop there- she fights as hard as she can to keep Kagami and Adrien together. Why? Because she can’t get distracted. Because she’s put a barrier on herself. Marinette is evidently not allowing herself to be happy until Shadowmoth has been defeated and her life calms down.

Marinette unknowingly recreated the moment where she first fell in love with Adrien, except this time they were holding the umbrella together. It's a symbol of reciprocation.

Kagami: The beating heart, the tingling..I felt all this. At your place. You’re the one that blushes and stutters when you’re around Adrien. You know his schedule over three years. You’re right, Adrien is perfect. He’s perfect for you.

The whole point; Marinette had a very specific goal in mind: scheming to make Kagami realize that Adrien loved her. Yet it clearly did not work that way. Mariette managed to avoid all that pressure once Adrien found interest in someone else and for once, she didn't have to worry about it. Because she didn't aim to be the one with Adrien, she didn't obsess over how every move she made could lead to him disliking her. Her downfall in past episodes was that she anticipated Adrien's reaction and panic over how it would ruin her life.

In much the same way as the first umbrella scene, Marinette didn't focus on her feelings for Adrien due to the fact that she didn't develop them until after the moment. As a result, her romantic feelings were able to blossom without thought or hesitation. In this interaction with Adrien, Marinette conveyed exactly what she wanted. She barely even stuttered or stumbled over her words when asking him to walk home with her.

Since Marinette was still convinced Kagami had a chance with Adrien, when Kagami told her that she’s the one who should be with Adrien and then walked away, she had little time to reflect, since Adrien immediately approached her.

Marinette and Adrien allowed themselves to be themselves and let the unfolding of events be an unplanned event.

Adrien still has a special place in her heart, despite it taking her longer to recreate a moment with him. The parallels show that this is the moment they fell in love all over again.

Marinette took advantage of being alone with Adrien in the rain to ask him to walk her home with her, spending more time with her. His father wouldn't approve of him skipping Chinese lessons if he turned her down despite the fact that he wants to.

In that moment of walking home, she was not only smiling, but also enjoying "dancing in the rain." Both literally and figuratively.

And I really, really want to talk about the end card. After three episodes of Marinette being curled up alone, crying, depressed and helpless, look at her now- She’s happy, she’s dancing, laughing and so in love!!

Marinette dances in the rain, as Alya suggested, indicating that we can still let loose even in tough times.

Not everything is fixed; it's clear that there’s still lots of duties for her. But even though she has a storm coming, she's in one at present in the midst of it all, but despite these responsibilities, it's fine to enjoy herself in the moment!

Another very important thing to note from the scene…

When Marinette takes out the umbrella….

She didn’t give it back to him. But he didn’t take it back.

She isn’t losing hope or giving up on her feelings for him, she’s content to keep and enjoy the feelings and accept wherever that leads her.

Despite still having much to think and reflect about, she now acknowledges her feelings, something we’ve seen her struggle with since the end of S3.

Another thing on the end card...the pictures of Adrien. In the pictures, she’s dancing in the rain, so it emphasizes yet again her happiness to enjoy her feelings for Adrien. In one of the pictures, Adrien is wearing the scarf Marinette made for him; I feel that this could be foreshadowing? Because if what was needed was pictures of Adrien, what was the need to include the scarf in two of the pictures? I’m thinking maybe it has something to do with a scarf reveal in the future. (That’s just a theory though)

And the most important thing from this end card was also because of the scarf. Marinette was the one who gave Adrien the scarf, and Gabriel is the one responsible for Adrien not knowing about it. He’s like a barrier between them- both as Gabriel and as Hawkmoth. (@sugarcubetikki Sugar I was talking to you on Discord about that so I thought you might want to be tagged)

Adrien has no idea that it's from Marinette, he thinks it's from his father. The thing standing in their way is his father.

Similarly to this scene- what gets in the way of him walking home with Marinette is his father. He has too many responsibilities. He needs to go home. Same with the scarf. It's his father's actions that limits him and hides the truth, it's the same reason he isn't able to realize Marinette's love for him in both situations. Gabriel’s like a strain putting a restriction on them. It’s the same thing that happened in Chat Blanc. That’s why they couldn’t date.

The next part is probably my favorite :)

It’s so silly and cute. The umbrellas closing in on them.

But even that, note the difference between the two- Marinette was trapped under the umbrella by herself before. Now they’re trapped under it together. They’re both trapped under their own love. That’s why this scene wasn’t necessarily a reverse love square. It’s indicating that the next step is for both of them to carry the umbrella.

In a tender moment with Adrien where they retrace past steps, Marinette falls in love for the second time after getting Kagami's blessing to pursue Adrien. Her umbrella symbolizes the love between them, and thus she offers it to Adrien.

The difference this time is that she is in control of her feelings, rather than allowing it to be given to her.

She willingly offers the umbrella to Adrien. She isn’t trying to make a disinterested Kagami try to date Adrien anymore.

There’s also something so different about his look. When he initially befriends her, he’s careful because he’s never done it before. He’s never had friends, it’s all new to him and doesn’t want to mess up. At this moment, he isn’t really going for friendship or romance or anything specifically, it’s just a relationship he wants to fix. Adrien has made a friend for the first time, and Marinette wouldn't even look at Adrien before that happened. It’s a situation where he’s happy to have befriended her. He is delighted that after several attempts he managed to become her friend. But this scene is so different. It’s almost like a realization. It’s perfectly reflected along with the fact that he isn’t the one lending his umbrella this time.

In the first umbrella scene, Adrien passed the umbrella to Marinette. The love is something he gave to her.

But in this scene? They’re holding it together. This perfectly represents that love is reciprocal and it takes the two of them to hold on to it.

Literally nothing to analyze here, I just love them so much lol-

The parallels here are absolutely adorable, they’re laughing at each other’s clumsiness and being silly. They’re both nervous and making silly mistakes out of love. It’s one of the times we get to see Adrien’s goofy, clumsy side around Marinette and it’s a parallel to the same reason they fell in love in the first place. Their reactions to each other here are so genuine and full of warmth. They’re so in love.

Adrien gave the umbrella to her in the first scene. She accepted that gesture of love and carried it with her, sometimes in denial but ultimately ended up taking it out. When she tries to give it back in this scene, Adrien tells her she still needs it.

She can’t give up just yet. That’s why she’s full of happiness at the end of the episode. Marinette wants to enjoy her feelings for Adrien, she’s overjoyed to be in love again.

Adrien can’t accept the umbrella from her just yet because…

Marinette needs it.

It’s too early for him to.

But it’s such an important moment of growth.

It’s vital that they’re ready to hold the umbrella together, not just as Adrien or Marinette.

Those two are made for each other. Kagami said it. Master Fu said it. There’s no doubt there anymore.

This episode carries a very important theme. The entire show does, actually. While life isn’t all about waiting for the storm to pass, we all have to learn to deal with the thunder and rain through experience and learning. It’s what Marinette and Adrien do every single day. We can allow life-threatening challenges to overwhelm us and leave us in darkness or we can embrace them with well-lit light. What made Marinette grow in this episode was that realization.

It’s about deciding if we want to embrace the rain by learning to dance in it, or if we want to make it even harder by waiting the storm out. Marinette finally danced in the rain. Things are headed in a good direction.

An important symbol I personally found memorable from the episode; Even in the middle of the storm, Adrien and Marinette are still tied together by their umbrella, they’re trapped under it, because they’re trapped under their love for each other.

(Or you know, you can just ship Marigami and move on with your life)

#miraculous ladybug #mr pigeon 72 #miraculous analysis #mr pigeon 72 analysis #ml season 4 #ml spoilers #ml season 4 spoilers #mr pigeon 72 spoilers #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #umbrella scene #miraculous #ml season 4 analysis #long post #tw long post #adrienette #marigami #ml love square #my analysis

[ethanesimp]

LET ME GO // V. D. A.

Pairing: Servant! Victoria De Angelis x Royal GN! Reader

Summary: You're cornered into making a decision that won't only break your heart but Vic's too.

Request: Maybe something that makes me cry

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death threats and death, arranged marriage, swearing

Word Count: 3.1k

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

Taglist: @superchrystaldrug @reputationdamiano @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @bidet-and-legolas​

A/N: I hope this is sad enough nonnie and that you like it :) It's my first time writing for Vic so I hope y'all enjoy reading as much as I did writing it! And yess, we’re still continuing this angst fest :)

Love was a double-edged sword.

That was one of the first things you learned in your life. You’d see people in pain, crying and destroying themselves for it. It took you a long time to understand why one would do so much for a person, what was so special about them to sacrifice so much?

It took Victoria for you to fully understand. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful, energetic, and sweetest people you’d ever met. Those gorgeous blue eyes and endearing laugh made you fall head over heels for the girl you often saw around the castle ever since you were little. 

Ever since you shared your first kiss with her at the back of the stables while your friend Thomas looked out for guards, you knew your relationship was going to live on borrowed time but had always refused to dwell on the thought too much.

You were aware the circumstances you lived in were like a ticking time bomb stuck to your back. It was far too obvious and you’d be too naïve to think otherwise considering you were a member of royalty and the kingdom would eventually be your burden to carry. However, what you weren’t aware of was how easily things would fall apart or when, or how quickly. 

You’d already spent three years of pure bliss next to Victoria, sneaking around the castle and stealing moments and memories only the two of you knew about. You couldn’t deny that you’d always longed for more, to be able to show all your love for her in public and ask her to rule the kingdom by your side, but no amount of dreaming or wondering about what if’s would ever make your situation any different.

Six words were all it took for your bubble of denial to finally burst. Those six little words kept on repeating inside your head over and over again as you held Victoria in your arms. Her pretty eyes were looking into yours and a sad smile adorned her face as you brushed her hair back with your fingers. You could see the tears in her eyes and knew she could see yours, but neither of you dared to comment on it yet.

It was a delicate subject and neither of you wanted to talk first in fear of triggering an argument, even if you were both aware it was coming soon and there was no way to stop it. So you just sat there together in complete silence. The only thing that could be heard was the sporadic sounds of the window creaking because of the wind and the soft crack of wood burning on the large fireplace. 

You placed a soft peck on her lips and caressed her cheek delicately with your thumb, also removing the tears from her rosy cheeks. You pressed your forehead against hers and tightly closed your eyes as you smelled the sweet scent of flowers that hung in the air because of the small flowers woven into her light hair. 

Her arms were tightly wrapped around your body as if she was afraid that you’d suddenly vanish in the form of smoke and would slip from her fingers. You held her closer as a form of reassurance and sighed when you felt her once quiet sobs turn so violent they’d shake her whole body. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled and rubbed circles on her exposed back. You wanted nothing more than to take away all the pain she felt and let her know things would be alright, but you didn’t want to lie to her either, “I’m so sorry you had to see all that amore.”

She shook her head and buried her face against your chest as she cried harder. Victoria had always been so strong, so unbreakable, yet those six little words had just broken her and her heart into a thousand pieces. 

You’re getting married tomorrow. No questions. 

You’d been set to marry the heir of a nearby kingdom ever since you were a little kid, promised away to the other royal in exchange for resources to save a dying kingdom and they’d told you all about it in front of your friends… and your girlfriend. 

Your father had made you meet them right in front of her. The young royal, ignorant to your situation, had even gone as far as to kiss both your cheeks and quickly peck your lips. You had all been so taken aback by it, but no one commented on it because it would look suspicious. 

Even though all you wanted to do was take Victoria and run as far away as your legs would take you, the conversation you’d had with your father just minutes before the announcement stopped you from even trying. 

He looked exasperated, angry. You’d tried to browse your mind for anything you’d done wrong as of late but couldn’t come up with anything. There was no reason for him to be as mad as he seemed. 

“I seem so stupid to you, don’t I? You ungrateful child,” He’d spoken, tone sharp and voice laced with venom. You had flinched at how harsh his words sounded, still clueless as to what he was talking about, “I could put up with you not giving a shit about the Kingdom that will soon be yours because you’d have to stop that childish behavior of yours. But sneaking around with a maid’s daughter? That’s just ludicrous!”

Your heart fell to your stomach right then and there. He knew.

“I have tried so much, given you every single thing you wanted to hopefully get you to listen, but I’m tired of playing nice. You’re getting married tomorrow. No questions. And don’t you dare try and run away unless you want all her friends and family killed the second you step foot out of this castle.”

 She thankfully hadn’t heard your father’s words and you weren’t planning on telling her a thing. You knew for sure that if she’d heard, you would’ve already lost her. She had always been one to stand up against things that were wrong, and that time wouldn’t have been an exception. Unfortunately, your father was anything but lenient and you had no doubt that if she even thought of raising her voice at him things would end in chaos. 

“This is so unfair,” She murmured against your chest as more sobs escaped her lips. You stroked her head gently and nodded, “I know it is, I know.”

Then, she raised her head and looked at you with excited eyes as she wiped her tears away. She had an idea and you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it, “Let’s run away, Y/N. Right now. I have an aunt who lives far away in a kingdom where they will never find us! And we can be happy.”

Your gaze softened at her words. There was nothing you wanted more than to run away with Victoria, far from your parents and the responsibilities you’d been born into. You would’ve tried it too had your father not threatened to kill her family and friends if you did so. But you weren’t going to say a thing. 

“Victoria… We can’t- I can’t,” Her smile fell the moment she heard your words. She pulled away and left your embrace, making you instantly miss the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

Victoria sat down next to you, her eyes focused on yours as if she were trying to read your mind, “What do you mean you can’t? This hasn’t been the first time we’ve talked about it and you’ve always agreed to do it if we ever needed it, which we do now. What’s changed?” 

You had to look away after hearing just how hurt she sounded. You didn’t want to see her cry again because you knew you’d end up telling her every single thing your father told you. Anything would’ve been better than having to tell her, so you decided to say something that would not only break her heart but yours too, “I just can’t, okay? Vic, we were being childish! I cannot just flee the kingdom and expect no consequences. That was a stupid idea that would never work. I need to serve my duty, not run off with some servant’s daughter and forget all about my responsibilities here!”

She moved even further away from you. Victoria didn’t even try to hide the hurt caused by your words, “Oh, okay. I get it now,” She nodded and laughed bitterly as she turned around and gathered all the clothes that had previously been scattered all over the room, ”All this time I’ve been nothing but a fool...

“You know, when this all started between us, my friends kept telling me you were just using me for your amusement,” Victoria spoke. Her tone almost made you flinch because it just had as much venom laced in it as your father’s had earlier that day, “I never believed it, you know? I thought you loved me! But no, you’re just as hungry for power as all those fucking bastards, and I was nothing more than just your little game.” 

Her words felt like agonizingly painful stabs to the heart. You didn’t give a shit about power, about the kingdom, about anything but her. However, you weren’t selfish enough to be driven by your desire to be with her, a desire that was almost a need at that point. At least not after knowing everything that was on the line. Her family… her friends, friends who had become your own too. 

Oh how much you wanted to cave in. You wanted to reach out to her and wrap your arms around her frame while you told her just how sorry you were, how much you didn’t mean those words. But you stayed quiet instead and listened to her insults, took them in, and tried your hardest not to flinch or shed a tear, as much as it hurt to do so.

You didn’t stop her either when she ran out the door, tired from crying and screaming at you. Instead, you waited until she harshly shut the door behind her to finally cry. You cried and cried for what seemed like an eternity, got up from the bed, and tore the room to pieces out of pure frustration and hatred to both the universe and your parents for doing this to you. 

It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you smashed the mirror to pieces with your shoe and tore off the blue wallpaper from the walls. Then, with weak knees and a heavy heart, you slid down the wall and sat on the floor.  You pressed your forehead to your knees and placed your hands over your face as you cried some more. 

Eventually, you fell asleep, exhausted from all the crying and heartbreak you were feeling, wanting nothing but for it to stop. Not too far away, Victoria was being held in the arms of her best friend, who held her while she cried and fell apart in his embrace. No one who was with the two knew what to say. Contrary to what Victoria had said in an attempt to hurt you, all her friends believed you were head over heels for her. Everyone knew you’d do every single thing she asked, but they had all been proven wrong. 

─────────༺♡༺─────────

There was an instant the next morning when you woke up, everything still foggy, where you forgot everything that had gone down the day before. You should’ve held onto those seconds tighter, but your brain didn’t let you as it brought back all the memories from the previous night like violent waves breaking into the shore, so painfully you had to hold your head with your hands.

When a servant walked in, he didn’t question the broken glass scattered all over the wooden floor, neither did he comment on the bare walls and the fact that you looked terrible. He didn’t because he was one of Victoria’s closest friends, Damiano. He silently pieced the story together in his mind and felt his heart break for his two dear friends.

He’d once described you two as a melody. A beautiful one that seemed to flow smoothly and left everyone around them speechless because the force in it was something that no one ever expected from such a quiet-sounding and delicate piece. You loved each other with everything you had, kissed each other like that time would be the last, and now, when you needed all that power and force, you weren’t using it. It made him sad and he couldn’t help but compare you two to an instrument that had gotten out of tune during an important solo. 

Minutes before entering the room, he’d been ready to lash out at you for breaking his sister’s heart, but the mere sight of you made him reconsider. Especially when you looked at him with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked into his eyes with so much panic and desperation as you spoke up, voice hoarse and barely inaudible, “I’m so sorry.”

He crouched down to your level and didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your body and hold you like he’d held Victoria the night before. Damiano, for the first time in a while, was out of words to say. He wanted to understand what had happened because Victoria had been so distraught the night before that her words had come out in, mostly, incoherent mumbles that not even Thomas or Ethan could catch. 

“What happened Y/N?” He asked in the sweetest, most delicate voice he could muster. It caught him off-guard how you started crying even harder at his question and gripped the collar of his shirt so tightly he was afraid of getting choked by a heartbroken you.

After a few sniffles, you spoke up. Thankfully, your words were much clearer than Victoria’s had been, “I fucked up, Damiano. That’s what happened,” You hiccuped, “I’m nothing but a coward. When my father threatened to kill her family I just stood there looking so fucking stupid. I just nodded along to everything he was saying.”

Damiano’s brown eyes opened wide as he processed your words, “He did what?” You brought a hand to your face and pulled at your hair in frustration at the realization that you had let those words slip. No one was supposed to know, especially not the person who was so close to her that he was basically her brother.

But the secret you’d tried so hard to hide was now out and it felt like a breath of fresh air after being close to suffocating, so you told him everything. All the words spilled out of your mouth and you didn’t even try to stop them. In fact, the exact opposite thing happened and you told him everything with as much detail as possible to the point where a little movie seemed to be playing inside your head.

He didn’t say a word until you finished talking. By that point, you had already calmed down enough to only sniff every once in a while, which was nothing compared to how distraught and shaken up you’d been minutes earlier. That’s when it dawned on him that the only thing you needed was to talk, it also explained why Victoria had been so heartbroken. She didn’t know about it…

It was like you were able to hear his thoughts, because the moment he opened his mouth to speak, you interrupted him, “No. I cannot tell Vic and neither can you. I know you love her just as much as I do and you know how she’d take this… Look, I can live happily if I know she’s out there, safe. How would I ever live with myself if she was gone and it was all my fault?”

His heart broke at your words, but he truly had no clue what he could ever say to make you feel any better, so the only thing he did was hold you closer and let you cry some more.

-

He eventually had to leave before another servant walked in to help you get ready for ‘the big day’. The other servant didn’t question the looks of your room either and stayed quiet as they helped you into the outfit that had been selected for you to wear to the wedding. You almost wanted to chuckle, you had no choice on who’d be there at the altar by your side and it seemed like you had no choice in what you’d be wearing either.

To anyone who’d seen you walk down the halls of the castle would’ve easily mistaken your frown for nothing more than being nervous at the thought of getting married. Hell, Damiano had even told you that a rumor had spread around the castle quickly after everyone found out about you being engaged. 

It was, apparently, no secret to any of the servants that you were seeing someone. Anyone who didn’t know any better had thought it had been the other royal you were set to marry. That you’d spend blissful hours sneaking around the castle, eager to finally unite and live together forever. They weren’t exactly wrong. You did wish for that with everything you had, but not for the person who was already anxiously waiting at the altar for you to walk in.

No. You wanted all that with the blond-haired girl that sat at the very back, with her hair neatly braided back and a few flowers adding a pop of color to her head. You almost wanted to chuckle when you saw she wasn’t wearing a dress. Ever since you were little kids and she’d started working around the castle, she’d begged your father to let her wear a pair of jeans instead of the skirts maids would wear. He hadn’t seen it as a huge deal and ever since he allowed her to do so, you’d never seen her in a skirt, ever, much less a dress. 

As you stood at the altar, you often looked for her in the crowd. Thankfully enough, she’d stayed with her eyes glued to the floor for most of the ceremony and hadn’t caught you staring, not once. Everything that followed seemed to happen so quickly you spaced out over most of it. It hurt, but Damiano’s reassuring smiles and just looking at Victoria gave you enough strength to keep the tears in.

You never thought that’s how your life would go, but you were thankful because at least she’d be safe. She’d have the chance to find someone else and fall in love one day. You only hoped that eventually, when many years had passed, Damiano would tell her all of the truth and maybe, just maybe, she’d find it in herself to forgive you for it all. 

#victoria de angelis x reader #victoria de angelis x you #victoria de angelis x y/n #victoria de angelis fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

Let’s talk about a major problem RWBY has with forgiveness: BEING TOO FORGIVING. CRWBY, since day one, seems to think forgiveness=good. Weiss and Cordovin being racist? Ilia’s hand in the assassination attempt? Emerald and Hazel’s atrocities? All forgiven! None of these people suffer any sort of consequences for their actions, and like every single problem in RWBY, it gets worse, because now other characters (Oz/Whitley) have to jump through hoops to get forgiveness and poor Ironwood got none.

Honestly? Being too forgiving isn’t NECESSARILY and issue and I must emphasize the necessarily portion because it can be an issue and in RWBY how they handle it is an issue because not only can they be too forgiving but they also are often not forgiving enough and for me that is the core issue. If we didn’t have the James’s and the Whitley and Ozpin’s I wouldn’t care that the mains are extremely forgiving. The issue lies entirely in the fact that the girls can seemingly forgive with zero issues murdering and working with Salem to destroy the world meanwhile the thing they cannot forgive under any circumstances is evacuating half the kingdom that he knew he could save without risking the lives of everyone else. Whitley and Ozpin had to grovel and beg for forgiveness despite the mains doing so much harm to them and James not being even given a chance to ask for forgiveness. The mains immediately attack him on sight after disarming him. Their is a painful double standard and fans are left struggling to figure out why and what the rules are. 

The rules don’t make sense because they are honestly non existent. The “rules” on who can or cannot be forgiven are based on who the show decides is allowed to be forgiven. It’s not based on which characters are most sympathetic and should realistically be able to be talked down and saved. Again, media that has the option to forgive everyone can be really really good (Undertale) but they do have to be executed properly. And having only certain characters who do far far far worse then characters who are denied forgiveness (James, Whitley, Ozpin) have to grovel and beg for forgiveness and are only reluctantly allowed back into the circle if they manage to grovel. Worse, the mains refuse to apologize for any harms they cause and actively blame the person they harmed for their actions like with Cordovin and somewhat James even if they don’t say it to his face. The mains never have to be wrong or apologize which makes them feel like uncaring and cruel at times people. It’s another slap in the face when you realize the mains have done all the things they demonize the people they refuse to hand out forgiveness for (Ozpin and RWBY both lying, James and RWBY not being able to save everyone and a lot of people dying, The White Fang and RWBY stealing military equipment, ect.) I don’t want RWBY to suffer for the sake of suffering for the shit they pulled, I want them to face consequences which is different. They should realize they caused a lot of people to do, realize they betrayed and backstabbed an ally, realize they handed Salem 2 of the 4 relics she needs to destroy the world. I don’t need them punished for these things but to realize they caused these things and to realize they screwed up. 

I don’t think the issue is the bad people (Emerald and Hazel) not suffering to gain forgiveness because that is not how forgiveness or a redemption arc should work. Redemption should come from expressing remorse for your actions and vowing to do better. Emerald doesn’t do either of those things and Ilia’s is so rushed it doesn’t feel realistic. It’s not about the suffering the person seeking forgiveness has to well suffer through and more about them wanting to be better and feeling bad about what they had done.

Suffering isn't the key here because arguably Hazel suffers greatly by dying what I imagine is a very painful death and his “redemption” still feels hollow because he never apologizes and does nothing to try and better himself. I can’t think of a single redemption arc really that I liked because no one who should be apologizing did and the people who really didn’t need to apologize where forced to. Again its this weird double standard that mostly seems to be centered around woman are allowed to be redeemed and men are not. It’s all about who the writers can jerk off to and nothing else leaving an extremely harmful arc being portrayed as morally correct and it hurts. We’re left with a triple amputee suffering from PTSD who is dealing with a crippling triggering event being left to drown for no other reason then he isn’t a woman and he dared to question the mains. That is a dangerous and horrific message to send out. Allowing James, Whitley and Ozpin to have forgiveness and to be saved without having to bed wouldn’t make the redemption arcs good but it would certainly make them less harmful and honestly at this point I would take it. 

#RWDE #Pro James Ironwood #James Ironwood #Ironwood Protection Squad #general ironwood #General Dadmiral #Pro Ironwood #I am tired so #IDK if this makes sense.

[pianomanblaine]

Down Once More

This story was written for the Potober prompts “Down Once More” and “And Now, How You Betray Me”, particularly with the words “taken hostage” and “betrayal” in mind. It resulted in an alternative version of the final lair. Fair warning: this one does not have a happy ending. 

AO3 FFN

He dragged her along the dark and damp corridors beneath the opera house at a frantic pace, his grip on her arm harsh and unrelenting, not even sparing her a backward glance as she stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up with him. Her head was still reeling from the events leading up to this moment. It had all happened so fast, yet here and now, time seemed to lose all meaning. Every separate moment seemed to fade into the next one, forming one big hazy blur. It might have been several hours or merely a few minutes before they reached the shore of the underground lake and Erik was steering the little boat across the water towards his house.

Once inside, he pushed her into the bedroom which she had come to think of as hers, and roughly thrust the wedding dress he had so painstakingly crafted for her into her arms. He did not leave the room, did not even turn around to give her the smallest bit of privacy as he forced her to change into it. He immediately started yanking at the fastenings of the dress she was wearing, undressing her with great urgency, letting the garment pool around her feet, and for a moment she feared that he had gone completely mad and would try to violate her. But he only barked out an order for her to put on the wedding gown as he began to agitatedly pace the floor, only occasionally glancing in her direction while she got dressed again.

When she was finished, Erik retrieved a veil – she did not see where from, he might as well have pulled it out of thin air – and forcefully pushed it onto her head. Under any other circumstances, she might have been able to appreciate how delicate and beautiful it was, with its wreath of white and pale pink flowers that contrasted so nicely against her dark brown hair. It hardly weighed anything, but to Christine it felt incredibly heavy, carrying with it the full weight of Erik’s expectations.

Now that her wedding attire was complete, Erik finally stood still long enough to fully look at her. She wondered if he was happy with what he saw. He must have imagined her in that very dress so many times. Was he satisfied now that he had what he wanted, even knowing that it was against her will? Was it all really worth it?

Before she got the chance to ask him, he turned his back on her and walked away without saying a word. She followed him into the sitting room, where a fire was burning brightly in the hearth, its warm glow a striking contrast to the icy atmosphere in the room.

“So what now?” Christine asked, breaking the tense silence between them. “Are you planning to keep me hostage here, hoping I will suddenly change my mind and agree to marry you after all? Or will you just drag me in front of a priest and threaten me until I say ‘I do’?”

“This is not exactly how I had imagined it to go either, Christine,” he snapped as he stood by the fire with his back turned towards her. “I had a plan, and it would have worked if your precious little Vicomte didn’t have to ruin it all.”

“Raoul was only trying to protect me.”

“And look where his protection got you,” Erik sneered, turning to face her with a grotesque grin on his bare face as he gestured around the room, “in the Phantom’s lair, captured by the madman!”

“I never believed you to be mad, Erik,” she replied, “but I have come to understand how dangerous you can be.”

Christine’s heart twisted painfully as she recalled the early days of their acquaintance, when she still believed he was the Angel of Music. How kind he had always been to her, how gently he had treated her. But that had changed drastically when she learned of his deception and discovered his true identity. He had continued to act as her tutor, coaxing her voice to unknown heights, and although he was never harsh or violent towards her, he had grown defensive and suspicious, always on his guard around her, as if he could not believe that she could still feel any genuine kindness towards him now that she had seen his face.

“Well yes, I suppose I am like a wild animal in that regard. When feeling threatened, I can be extremely dangerous indeed,” Erik agreed. He took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them, his tall frame towering over her. He seemed to be challenging her, daring her to look at the face of the monster.

“Should I be afraid then?” she asked, rising to the challenge and looking straight into his strange yellow eyes.

At first he merely seemed surprised, maybe even impressed, by her bravery as she stood her ground and faced him without flinching, but by the way his face fell only a moment later, she could tell when the meaning of her words hit him. He turned away as he spoke.

“Of course not. I never meant for you to be scared of me. I never intended you any harm.” He took a few steps back, as if to prove his point, as if he hoped to seem less threatening if he stood a little further away from her.

“Kidnapping me is a strange way of showing it,” Christine huffed.

His posture stiffened at the accusation. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice, did you?” he said through clenched teeth. “You betrayed me!”

“I betrayed you?” she gasped in disbelief, her hands balling into fists by her sides. “Do you want to talk about betrayal, Erik? Do you want to discuss how you lied to me for years, pretending to be an angel sent by my dead father to watch over me? How you blackmailed the managers into doing your bidding, how you terrorized Carlotta and God knows how many others?”

“Don’t you understand? I did it all for you! Because I love you!” he roared.

“Don’t you dare blame this all on me! You killed two innocent people, Erik! How does that have anything to do with love?”

“Buquet was not innocent,” he snorted. “He was a vile lecher, a pervert preying on young defenceless ballerinas in the dark behind the stage. He got what was coming to him.”

The man was certainly no saint, Erik was right about that and Christine knew it, but how could he not see that that did not justify his murder? Even so, she might have been able to forgive him for it eventually, if it had not been for Piangi.

“Piangi never hurt anyone.”

“Piangi was in the way!” he exclaimed. “I did not mean to kill him, merely to incapacitate him long enough to take his place on the stage, but I ran out of time and I became careless. He was the only thing standing between us and I was not about to let him ruin my plan, no matter the cost.”

“You are delusional if you truly believe he was the only obstacle standing in your way. What did you expect to happen tonight, Erik? You would take Piangi’s place, sing with me in an opera of your own creation in front of a full theatre, and then what? I’d fall into your arms and we’d live happily ever after?” She tore the veil out of her hair in frustration, throwing it at his feet. If he thought that after all the times he had tried to force her hand, had tried to manipulate her into choosing him, she would now willingly become his bride, he was sorely mistaken.

“I cannot deny the truth of that, although it now becomes painfully clear how foolish I was to entertain such hopes.” Although his words seemed to imply that he blamed himself for having such unrealistic expectations, the glare he directed at Christine made it clear that he also faulted her for his disappointment. “I was ready to lay my heart at your feet tonight, Christine, and how did you repay me? By tearing off my mask and revealing my monstrous shame for all of Paris to see! I trusted you!”

His angry shouting turned into a sob of betrayal and despair, and for the briefest of moments, Christine’s anger was overshadowed by compassion for the man in front of her. She was well aware of how badly she must have hurt him by doing what she did, but she had no other options. If she hadn’t done something drastic that would enrage him enough to take action, the gendarmes waiting behind the stage would have closed in on him and captured him, or worse.

Raoul must have thought she was in her dressing room or somewhere else out of earshot as he gave his instructions to shoot Erik when the time came, but she had been too nervous to sit still for long, choosing instead to wander the hallways and eventually finding her way behind the stage, pacing back and forth in the dark as she waited for the inevitable tragedy of the night to unfold. She had heard every word. If she hadn’t acted when she did, Erik might have been dead by now.

“I understand that my actions hurt you too, Erik, truly, I do, but you gave me no choice. Can’t you see it was wrong to pin all your hopes and dreams on me? You’ve told me you love me, and I believe that in your own way you really do, but I cannot be held responsible for your feelings, Erik. I do not owe you anything simply because you love me.”

At the crestfallen, heartbroken look on his face, she almost went to him, almost closed the distance between them and embraced him in a futile attempt to offer him some comfort, a silent apology for having shattered his dreams in a few sentences. Almost. Whatever she had to offer him, it would not be enough now. He would always want what she could not give him.

“I know that I cannot make you love me,” Erik began after a long, heavy silence. “God knows I have tried long enough.” His voice sounded softer now, his bitter and accusatory tone completely gone. “But do you not care for me even a little bit? That could be enough for me. We could start over somewhere new, where no one knows who we are. I could still tutor you and you could still sing.” He was pleading now, with his eyes as well as his words, hoping against all odds that he could still convince her to share her future with him.

“I would expect nothing from you, Christine. I’d do anything to make you happy, I’d give you anything you want. You would only have to ask and it would be yours, and you would not have to do anything in return other than stay by my side. Dammit Christine, I am beyond pride. I’ll fall to my knees and beg if I must. Stay with me. Please.”

And for a moment, Christine was truly tempted to throw caution to the wind and go with him. She did care for him, how could she not? Despite everything, he was still her Angel of Music. She could not deny he had been an integral part of her life since the first moment she met him. Erik had been her sole companion during those terrifying first few years after her father’s passing. Through music he had brought her soul back to life. The connection between them was irrefutable, and she could hardly imagine a world where she would never see him again.

Yet she knew that what he asked of her was impossible. Even if he claimed that he had no expectations from her, she knew that he would never be truly happy until she returned his affections, that he would always continue to hope, and she could not bear to disappoint him. Besides, she already had a fiancé. Raoul. Her childhood sweetheart. Sweet, protective, kind-hearted Raoul, who was probably trying desperately to find a way to save her, even if he had to risk his own life to do so, at this very moment.

Where Erik’s love for her was obsessive and at times almost frightening, being with Raoul would be as easy as breathing. He might not be able to give her a life of music, but she would be safe and cared for. She would not want for anything, and unlike Erik, Raoul was not a wanted man. Choosing a life on the run with Erik over a comfortable and uncomplicated one with Raoul might be romantic, but it would also be foolish.

“I do care for you Erik,” she finally replied, “but I cannot stay.”

He did not try to convince her after that. He merely nodded in resignation, as if he had always known this would be the final outcome.

“Go then,” he said. “You can choose a change of clothes from the wardrobe in your – in the spare room. You would draw too much unwanted attention if you returned dressed the way you are now.”

Christine wondered if that was his true reasoning, or if he simply wanted to keep the wedding dress as a memento to torment himself with.

She obeyed his instructions for the last time, selecting a simple yet elegant dark blue day dress out of the assortment of clothes Erik had kept on hand for her since the first time she had spent the night in his home.

When she re-entered the sitting room to say her final goodbyes, Erik was kneeling on the floor, desperately clutching the veil she had so carelessly discarded earlier, a look of terrible sorrow etched across his distorted face. He brought the fabric to his misshapen nose, trying to inhale the little bit of her perfume that might cling to it.

His eyes flew open and he looked up at her in surprise when he heard her footsteps. He clearly had not expected her to come back.

Erik stood up slowly, wiping invisible dust from his trousers, straightening his jacket, as if after all that had transpired, it was still of the utmost importance that he look presentable to her. Maybe his habit of dressing so nicely was an attempt to compensate for the imperfection of his face, she suddenly realized.

A tentative smile formed on his lips as he watched her, silently waiting for whatever last scrap of kindness she would offer him before stepping out of his life for good. Christine could almost feel her heart breaking as she removed the ring he had thrust on her finger earlier that night, holding it out towards him. The ring was supposed to be a promise, a physical sign that their lives would forever be entwined. It did not feel right to keep it.

Erik’s smile disappeared as he reached for the ring, holding her hand in his for a moment while he looked into her eyes, silently begging her to change her mind. She gave a minute shake of her head before letting go of the ring and withdrawing her hand, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

Christine did not say goodbye, her voice unable to get the word out. She turned around and walked away, forcing herself to set one foot in front of the other until she had reached the door. If she did not leave now, she never would, and she knew she had to.

At the door, she stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. One last glance at the man who had taught her voice to soar. He was still watching her, and when he noticed her looking at him he nodded once, as if to say: “It’s alright. Go. I understand.”

Trying to keep her tears at bay, she stepped over the threshold and made her way to the jetty, where the boat lay waiting for her. She knew she was making the right decision by leaving. But then why did it feel as if she was leaving a part of her heart behind?

As Christine steered the boat to the other side and removed herself from his life forever, Erik’s almost inhuman scream of loss and despair echoed across the underground lake. It was a sound that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

#potober #potober 2021 #phantom of the opera #poto fanfiction #poto fanfic #phanfiction #phanfic #eline writes #my writing

[stozkpile]

@ that anon just now ty for the heads up i suspected as much

Let me clear the air and address this because this stuff is exaggerated and most people don't have the time to cross-check anything that's been said here (and also bc I had a lot of people I respect break mutuals/block me which is obviously their right but I assume there was some unawareness of the circumstances that led to this):

1. Yes, I drew that. Was it meant to be fetishtic? No; if the issue is of the depiction of a trans man, I am a trans man. If the issue is because the kin are involved and the whole thing is trope-y in a way that isn't classy, I am east-asian and a fan of tacky erotica but my intent in drawing it was not racial in the first place (I am not, however, indigenous, so if any of my indigenous friends/acquaintances have a problem with the drawing, I would be happy to take it down for them. I understand any potential criticisms would be more nuanced then). The dubious consent thing is entirely made up because you cannot glean that from an image where all parties appear to be enjoying themselves. Obviously me saying that every depiction of sexual acts I draw as pornography are consensual only means anything to people that would take my word for it but that's how it goes.

2. I was in somewhat of a "don't talk about me and I won't talk about you" agreement with the person I called "functionally white" that I assume is now annulled. But unsurprisingly this is a huge oversimplification that makes it sound like they were just complaining about a character on their own terms and I swooped in to invalidate their heritage. I am also mixed and half white. This was about them making several posts about how racist Dankovsky is and that you suck if you like him (past just finding his character well-written and while making affectionate fan-content of characters who are arguably way more racist) which I eventually got annoyed enough by that I decided to complain on my twitter/get into a slapfight over it. Because they were white-passing (they said so in one of their posts) I found issue with someone having white privilege and complaining about what a made-up guy did and clogging up the tag with it. "Functionally white" was over the white privilege thing. Also, calling someone white is not actually an insult. I admit that I am embarrassed at having that argument at all because it was a waste of my time and theirs as well, I'm sure, and I should've just blocked and moved on. I will definitely stand by the fact that white-passing wasians should examine their sensitivity to being told that they are speaking from a position of whiteness, however. Also, OP is white.

3. The "pseudoincest" thing is delusional. At this point this argument is over denying the literal text and subtext as well as reality itself. If you are convinced that Rubin has any serious familial relation to the Burakhs, that is your problem. The fact you need to call it "pseudoincest" rather than just incest should say enough. The example shown lends absolutely no nuance to the text that any of you can go on the pathologic github script page for and check out for yourselves. If you view their relationship as more sibling-like, that's fine and that's up to you, but acting like I'm just denying that they're related so I can ship them is intellectually dishonest. I do not ship incest nor will I ever because it is gross to me.

4. I really do not understand the stuff about t/hrei and how they're notorious for anything. I obviously could've missed something but we've been mutuals for a while and the art of theirs that I've seen never read as racist. Other mutuals of mine who are POC/indigenous don't have an issue with them either. If someone wants to bring specific tidbits to my attention I will look at them but the previous criticisms of this user that I've seen felt very uncharitable and had bad evidence, and that's all I know of thus far.

If you read all this and still have a problem with me, that's your business. I don't mind if people think I'm annoying or disagree with me and want to unfollow/softblock/block accordingly, but I just wanted to make sure that we are all informed. I don't have it out for anyone and any online fights I got into in the past were very much me being in a bad place IRL and blowing off steam directed at strangers, which I'm not proud of. I want to make posts, look at posts and the posts of my mutuals, and nothing more these days. So yeah.

#dont rb #and dont harangue OP if you know who it is bc they'd just blame me for sending my followers out to get them or something #long post #i'll leave this pinned for a little while in case anyone is checking back in to see if i've made a statement on the matter

[tofeartheunknown]

Back to December

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Request by @caritobbg

Not edited.

I only made the call because I had no other choice. I was relieved to hear Sam's voice on the other end of the line. After all, it's been three years since I've spoken to either of the Winchester boys.

"Hello?" Sam's groggy voice caused an involuntary smile.

"Hey, Sam. It's Y/N." I heard shuffling and assumed, along with the groggy greeting, I woke him up. "Sorry for calling at..." I looked at the alarm clock, "four in the morning. Oh God, sorry, I should call back later." I apologized. I lost track of time after midnight.

"No, no. It's really great to hear from you." I could hear the surprise in his voice. "What- ah, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

I cannot deny that I've missed the brothers. In particular, the one I wanted to avoid calling at all costs. I'm not sure I could have had this conversation with him, if he would have answered the phone, that it.

"Everything's fine. Well, not completely. Listen, I'm in Denver, and there's a Demon in town. I've been here for two weeks and I can't seem to catch him. Bodies keep dropping. I've narrowed down his hunting ground, but I think I need some help here." I bit my lip, awaiting his response. I mean, come on. I was with them for five years before leaving, no phone call, text, email, or letter, then all of a sudden call and ask for help.

"Why didn't you call Dean?" Seriously? That's his response. I couldn't stop the sigh that escaped.

"You know why. Besides, he probably wouldn't pick up the phone." His grunt told me he agreed.

"Alright, tell you what. Text me what motel your staying at and I'll talk to Dean." He sounds more awake now. I hear water running and assume he's making coffee.

I couldn't hold back my shock. "Really?! That's great, thank you!" I stood from the small couch.

Sam let out a small laugh. "Yeah, no problem. We'll be there tomorrow."

"See you then." I hung up after that, hoping to finally get some sleep.

I remember that night as if it just happened. Sam, Dean, and I just finished a hunt the night before. Dean and I decided to celebrate by getting a motel room for just the two of us. Sam understood out need to be alone and assured us he would be fine by himself for the night.

"This is amazing." I mumbled, cuddling closer to Dean on the motel bed. Porky's, Dean and, coincidentally my, favorite movie was playing on the TV.

"Yeah, we haven't had time for this in months." Dean agreed, his hand rubbing my arm that laid across his torso. "Too bad we have to pack up tomorrow."

This was news to me. I didn't think there was already another case. I hoped to spend at least a few more days like this with Dean.

I sat up at looked at him "Why so soon? We just finished here." He didn't seem to notice my disappointment.

"Well, Babe, monster don't take days off." Dean said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know that. You grew up in this life, just like Sam and me."

My disappointment turned to anger. "Dean, you said it yourself, we haven't had any time to ourselves in months. We can afford to take some time off and relaxe." I stood from the bed, my tank top and jeans lay beside my feet.

"No, we really can't." Dean's raised his voice, not enough to disturbed the rooms next to us, but enough for me to realize an argument is starting.

"Five years, Dean. That's how long we've been together, and nothing's changed! It's the same thing year after year! Is this all I'm gonna get?" I was fuming. He doesn't understand that I want more than he seems to want out of our relationship.

This isn't the first time we've had this argument. But this is the first time I lay it all out.

"What are you talking about?!" Dean asked, now sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I mean, it was fun for a while. Hunting all the time together. But that's all it is now! Sure we get these little nights, but... I need more." It's the first time I've admitted to him. "Let's be honest here, we're falling apart, Dean."

Dean scoffed, clearly oblivious to the issues we've had recently. We've drifted apart, mostly due to the fact that we haven't been on the same page in a while.

"So, what? You wanna get married now?" He asked, his arms spread and an eyebrow raised. It was my turn to scoff while pulling on my jeans.

"No, smartass! I want an actual relationship with you!" I shout, pulling my tank top over my head. I sat on the edge of the bed and shoved my shows on, not bothering with socks or tying them. I was far to upset to care.

"What do you think we've been doing all this time?!" Dean yelled, putting his jeans on, knowing I'm about to leave. " What do you want from me? I got you flowers, got us a room, and took you to dinner? I don't know what else to do!" He sounded utterly desperate for answers, watching me pack my duffle bag.

"I want to feel like I'm not the only one holding us together!" I spun around as I yelled. "It's always one hunt after the other with you! I get that it's what we do, but I can't do just that anymore!" I felt the tears fall before I felt the stinging in my eyes.

Dean followed me out the door, my bag on my shoulder. I didn't even notice Sam step out from him room next to ours.

"Where are you going?" Dean's voice was slightly panicked, our fights have never gone this far before.

"Anywhere but here." I turned back to him. His glossy eyes almost too much to handle. "I love you, but I can't live this life with you anymore. I need more than this, but it seems like you don't. I'm sorry..."

Dean, shaking his head, let his tears fall freely. "Don't do this, Y/N, please." He whispered. His hand came up to cup my cheek. I grabbed it and moved away.

"Goodbye, Dean."

I never spoke to or saw either brother after that night. Walking away has been my biggest regret. But, now I have to get ready to meet them at a diner in town.

The butterflies in my stomach are raging as I parked a few spaced down from the all too familiar impala and the two bodies leaning against it. It's now or never, and though never sounds like a much better choice, I know this has to happen.

I stepped out of my car and pulled my bag over my shoulder. Sam, unsurprisingly, was the first to greet me, walking up with a large smile. Dean wouldn't look up from the ground, knowing it was me. I can't blame him, I could hardly look at him myself.

"Y/N." Sam opened his arms, a bit hesitant, not really knowing where we stood. But I walked right into his arms fully returning this much needed hug. I really did miss this. Sam was like a brother to me, and it hurt walking away from him too. "It's good to see you." He said, pulling away.

"It's good to see you too." I smiled up at him before looking over at Dean. I do my best to control my breathing, ignoring the tightening in my chest. "Both of you." I finished, hoping the green eyes would finally catch mine. Unfortunately, it was a false hope.

"We should get inside" Dean grumbled, then he began making his way to the diner entrance. I frown, pushing against the moisture threatening to gloss over my eyes.

A hand landing on the middle of my back, I looked over to Sam who gave me a sympathetic smile. "Give him time, trust me." He assured me, guiding me through the doors Dean went through.

"The Lexicon bar" I handed Sam my notes while we waited for our food. Dean still hasn't said a word to me, and even though I expected nothing more from him, it still feels like a dumbell is sitting on my chest. Dean glanced over the papers as well, so at least he's taking this seriously. That hasn't seemed to change.

Sam handed the papers back and I slid them in my bag. "OK, so what's the plan?" He asked, shooting the waiter a short nod and thanks when he sat our food in front of us. He picked up his veggie burger, while I picked at a few of my fries and Dean didn't even touch his. If this was under any other circumstance I would be shocked.

"I was thinking I play bait." Sam opened his mouth to object, but I quickly continued speaking. "You two can keep watch and catch us as we leave. All victims were found in the back ally. All female, no specific type. All victims participated in the bars open mic, starting from ten p.m. to one a.m.. I'll go one tonight while you stake out the crowd."

"How are you sure he'll choose you?" It is the first time Dean has actually acknowledged me since they got here. My palms begin to sweat any throat grew dry. I took a gulp of my drink.

"Well I don't exactly, but I do know how I could appeal to him more." I picked at my food more, avoiding eye contact.

Sam and Dean glaced at each other. "After we finish we'll go to the motel and start preping." Sam said before biting into his burger, starting off a very awkward lunch.

"There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about Dean. I messed up. I walked away and it's the biggest mistake I have ever made. Now, seeing him, it brings everything back. I never stopped loving him, and I honestly believe that I will love him for the rest of my life. After the hunt, do you think you can take my room tonight. I need to get him alone, I need to apologize. I need to at least try to get him back. I don't want him to leave without knowing how I feel." I explained to Sam as we waited for Dean to gather the rest of what we needed for the hunt. I'm wearing a knee length (color) dress, my Demon knife strapped in it holster on my thigh.

"He hasn't been the same since you left." Sam started. "You thought he was obsessed before, he's constantly seeking out hunts now." Sam sighed, leaning against Baby's passenger seat. "He won't admit it, but these three years have been absolute he'll for him. I hear him say you name in his sleep at night." He looked at the open motel room door, watching Dean assemble his gun with devil's trap bullets, just in case. "He'd still go to the ends of the earth for you." Sam has absolutely no idea how much that crushes me, but also gives me hope that Dean will hear me out.

I wiped a fallen tear from my cheek just as Dean walked out, closing the door behind him. I've noticed the looks he's given me since I've changed clothes. "Let's get this over with." Dean mumbled while taking off his jacket. He handed it to me, knowing I was getting cold in the fall weather. I stared at it on my hands for a few seconds before pulling it on. Sam was right, he does still care. Before I could thank him he was already in the car. I got in after Sam, who shot me a knowing smile. Dean started the engine and we were on our way to the Lexicon.

Once we stepped inside our plan went into motion. I gave Dean his jacket back and made my way to the open mic sign-in sheet. There was only one other person on the list so far. I put down an alias and the name of the song I was going to perform. I've been thinking about it since we got to the motel earlier. I Taylor Swift's back to December came on the alarm clock radio as I got ready in my room. I realized how insanely similar out situation is to the song lyrics and decided it would be best to portray my feelings to Dean disguised in a song. It felt like it would be easier.

Once I got back to the boys we begin to briefly go over the plan. "Okay, Dean, when open mic starts keep an eye out for anyone talking to the participants after they sing. I'm second on the list." I explained. "Sam your on stand by at the front of the alley way out front. Dean or I will send a text when it's go time." I finished, taking a drink of the water Dean bought me, remembering that I don't like drinking on the job.

"Good luck." Sam advised, patting me on the shoulder before walking out of the bar.

"So, how are you so sure the demon will target you- and why can't we just let wait to see if he walks out to the ally with some else? Dean implored, he seemed concerned cause hope to swell some more in my chest.

"Every victim sang a heart break song of some sort." I answered, avoiding eye contact. Silence falls between us for what feels like forever, although it was about a minute. "Look, can we talk after-" Dean cut me off.

"We probably should be seen talking. It needs to look like you're here alone." Dean proceeded to take a sip of his beer before nodding over to the bar. "I'll be keeping watch at the bar." He stated, turning away and leaving me to watch him walk away. The same thing I did to him three years ago.

"Next up we have Diana Troy." The bar owner announced into the mic, holding out hit hand and helping me onto the right five by seven foot stage. I've spoken to him many times using this alias for the investigation. However, I'm not surprised he doesn't remember me he tends to take his ownership of the bar for granted most nights.

I muttered out a small "thank you," before adjusting the mic stand a bit. I tried not to think of the seventy or so eyes on me as the music started.

"I'm so glad you made time to see me

How's life? Tell me, how's your family?

I haven't seen them in a while

You've been good, busier than ever

We small talk, work and the weather

Your guard is up and I know why"

I see that night replaying in my head exactly how it has almost every night since I left.

"Because the last time you saw me

Is still burned in the back of your mind

You gave me roses and I left them there to die"

I could feel Dean's eyes without even looking for them. When mine found his the power of the chorus hit me hard.

"So this is me swallowin' my pride

Standin' in front of you sayin' I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright

I go back to December all the time."

My eyes never left him until the song ended. I didn't even know I was crying until a tear fell onto my arm. As people clapped I made my way off stage and to the bar. As I was almost to the bar, some one grabbed my arm and spun me towards them. Bingo. We found out guy. Or, rather, out guy found me. Though there is no proof that he is the demon, I just knew it had to be him.

He wore a white dress shirt and black pants, his eye hung a bit loose on his neck. He looked like a working man, and had trusting, kind blue eyes. His short black hair slicked back with a little gel. He had olive skin and a lean figure. He looked harmless. It took restraint for me to not pull my knife on him now. I have to wait to get him outside.

"That was absolutely beautiful." He praised, his hand still on my arm. I sniffled, wiping away the remaining tears.

"Th-thank you." I mumbled, itching to remove his hand.

"My name's Gerard. What's your story?" The Demon asks with a charming smile. My brows furrowed at that.

"What do you mean?" I thought for a moment and decided to guess before he has time to answer. "With the song?"

'Gerard' nodded, leaning against the bar. "I don't mean to pry, but you seem really upset. I can only assume the sing meant something to you." He explained, finally removing his hand from my skin.

"I-uh..." I looked at the floor indecisive of what answer to give him. I could lie and make something up, or I could just tell him the truth. It's not like I'll see him again after tonight, so what harm could it do. "I messed up. A while ago. I left the one person I loved most in my life during a stupid argument." I took a shaky breath. "I don't think I can ever find someone who made me feel as alive as he did." I knew Dean could hear every word I said. He's standing a few feet behind us and it's not like this is a whispered conversation. I need to talk to him, so I need to speed this up. "I should just go." I moved past 'Gerard' only for him to grab my hand.

"Let me at least walk you to your car." His insisted in an innocent, concerned voice. "You never know who could be out there waiting for a vulnerable women to walk past them all alone. There are some real monsters out there" He pushed, the irony gave me chills. I nodded, letting him lead me towards the side exit. I stuck to my naive role and let his guide me without protest.

As soon as the door shut behind us, I was pushed against a wall and 'Gerard's' eyes went black. "Do I look stupid?" He glared at me. I just shrugged the best I could.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" I question with a raised brow. I didn't try to reach for my demon blade yet. I'm just waiting for the distraction.

The Demon put his hand up and made a fist. My throat tightened and my oxygen is cut off. I quickly brought my hands up to my throat, because that's what people do when they can't breath, even though it does absolutely nothing to help. I was beginning to panic until I heard someone yell.

"Let her go!" I was Dean's voice. I looked aver the the demon did and felt relief as oxygen began pouring back into my lungs. Dean's gun pointed towards the demon distracted him enough to let me go.

"Now, it that anyway to treat a lady?" Sam asks, standing next to Dean with his arms folded. I slowly pull the knife from my thigh holster and creep up behind the demon.

"Oh, so it's three humans against one demon I'm so-" I plunge the knife through his back watching it slice through to the other side. He lit up like a Christmas tree for second before going limp. I pulled the knife out and watched him fall onto his side. I quickly rolled him over and opened his shirt. There are four bullet holes in his chest surrounding the stab wound.

"How did you know?" Dean asks from above me. I look up to see him and Sam standing there and looking at the corpse.

"I had a feeling." I mumbled, I've learned to trust my guy over the many years of hunting; I tend to be right. "Let's clean this up." I muttered before helping Sam picked up the body and take it to Baby when Dean pulled up to the curb.

I slipped into the boys' room right after Sam left to get dinner. Dean glanced over, putting down the gun he was cleaning and standing from his chair. "Can we talk, please?" I stared down at the floor, my hands in my pockets.

"Did you mean it?" Dean's question caused me to look up. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes because before I could even respond he continued. "The song you chose. Did you choose it for me?"

I hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Yes. Just hear me out!" I was quick to stop any protests that may come out of his mouth. "I hate myself for walking out on you. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. An-and if I could go back to that night I would have stayed. Since I left I haven't been sleeping well, I see you when I close my eyes and some night I still cry myself to sleep." I took a shaky breath, not caring to wipe my tears away.

Dean's eyes grew glossy with his own tears. "I wanted to hate you for leaving. But all I could do was hurt. People say it gets easier, but it never did for me. I've tought about you every day for three year, Y/N." His voice cracks and sobs break through my lips.

"I'm so sorry." I cried, covering my face with my hands. I was so distracted by my own pain that I couldn't here Dean making his way over to me. When I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders I just fell into him. I could tell he was crying by the way hid chest shook. I latched my arms around him tight. I never want to let go of him again.

We stood in each other's embrace for a while, feeling as thought we're the only thing keeping each other stable and upright. We we finally pulled apart we sat next to each other on the bed.

Things can't go back to the way they were, but at least now we can start picking up the pieces of one another, one day at a time. I'm never letting Dean Winchester go again.

Note- Not the best ending, I apologize , but I haven't written anything in forever, and this took me such a long time because of that.

#supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural one shot #spn imagine #spn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural imagines #supernatural x reader

[butwhatifidothis]

Sacrifice for the Three Lords

So. Got curious about something.

Curious thing got long lol, under the cut

The word sacrifice has a very loaded, very intentional feel to it. For something to be sacrificed, it must be considered less than whatever it is being sacrificed for, whether in the moment or in the long term - it’s the logical conclusion to the act itself. Even if regret for that choice can come later, at the time you are sacrificing whatever is being sacrificed, it is considered less (for example, spending an hour of your time for a stupid meme post you spent too much time on, for a light-hearted start. In hindsight you might think it was stupid or not worth it, but at the time of bungling around in photoshop you considered the time lost as a worthwhile sacrifice to your end product).

With that in mind, how do the three lords view sacrifice? When is it mentioned in their routes? When do they themselves mention it, and what are they pertaining to when they do? I want to focus on the word “sacrifice” specifically, due to the already mentioned connotations and meaning attached to this word in particular

We’ll start with Claude, with his route’s first mention of the word sacrifice being, and I’m not kidding, post ts, at Ailell

What is being sacrificed here is Claude’s independence from Judith. He is expressing a want to not rely on Judith’s help once again but needing to give up that want in order to move on with his goals of winning the war. This is something that he alone is sacrificing with no involvement or need of sacrifice from anyone else - he is the only one losing something from this sacrifice.

The next mention is from Hubert’s letter

The sacrifice being mentioned belongs to Edelgard. Hubert is stating that Edelgard has made sacrifices that must be honored, heavily implying that they were necessary for her goals if they hold such importance as to keep that importance beyond the grave to be passed by those who have defeated her. Claude himself is not sacrificing anything, nor does he state any agreeance to the phrasing used here, but he has said earlier that her methods use too much bloodshed for people to rally behind, implying a disagreeance. 

This is the last time the word sacrifice is used in direct relation to Claude. When it comes to all that has happened to others, Claude specifically does not refer to it as something like a sacrifice that he is making.

Though that does not the word is not used further in VW. Dorothea, in VW:

The sacrifice being made here is deliberate and willing on the part of Count Bergliez. He is making the consenting, thoughtful decision to sacrifice himself because he views his men’s lives as more important than his own, and it is implied that his doing so achieved the desired outcome (the safety of his men). He came to this decision by himself, with no outside force making him do this (outside of the circumstances that prompted it - no one person made him do this). The act of sacrificing yourself for the lives of others is portrayed in a explicitly “positive” light coated in tragedy and even then only if it achieved its goal 

Lastly, for unique mentions on VW, Annette:

Forced sacrifice is seen as something painful. The making of circumstances where sacrifices must be made outside of the will of those making it is portrayed in a explicitly negative light that is sought to be rid of. 

In VW, Claude himself never refers to the loss of life as a sacrifice, and only ever refers to something as a sacrifice when it is him making it in a way that does not affect others. Sacrifice of life is only referred to as “positive” when either 1) Hubert, an amoral character who cannot be part of VW, makes mention of it, or 2) it is the singular sacrifice of one person’s life that they made of their own volition in order to save others, and even then it is portrayed in its context and in later contexts as a tragic event nonetheless

Next: AM

The first mention of the word sacrifice for AM - or in this case, BL - is after Lonato: 

The word sacrifice is not brought up by Dimitri. Byleth says that the loss of life must be accepted, the result of which is explicit denial from Dimitri of the supposed importance of sacrificing civilians. Sacrifice of life -and the direct phrasing of it as a sacrifice - is explicitly portrayed as bad in the eyes of Dimitri; he does not believe that life ought to be sacrificed to achieve one’s goals

Next time, post ts:

The sacrifice of lives is directly, verbatim described as needless. The concept of the idea of lives being less worthy than a cause is explicitly called wrong. Human life is given more value than any goal.

Note how this is a direct reference to his behavior in VW, where he sacrifices his life as well as those around him - save for Dedue, whom Dimitri not sacrificing is what allows VW’s story to continue (due to Dedue providing the blueprints to the throne room for the Alliance army to navigate through). Dimitri’s choice to deliberately not have Dedue sacrifice his life is a positive to the overarching story of VW, while his indifference to the now explicitly needless sacrifice others’ make of their own lives for his personal cause is portrayed in a negative light

And while we’re talking of Gronder (note, this also appears in VW and thus also applies to VW):

Ignatz’s further implies that the sacrifice made at Gronder does not mean anything - it is senseless, and without purpose. It must be given meaning after the fact; it holds nothing in and of itself, as it did not bring about its desired outcome

Next, Catherine:

Sacrifice of the self is seen in an understanding light while simultaneously being seen as something that ought to be avoided. It is also something that is shown to be something that must be up to the individual to decide for themselves, though is regardless seen as something that likely should be talked out of doing

Last for AM, Felix:

The voluntary, willing sacrifice of one’s own life, for the betterment of others, is portrayed as something “positive” that must be repaid by those which the sacrifice was made for. It is not something that can be morally justified in forgetting after the fact - the repayment needs to be made in order for the sacrifice to be “positive.” The intended outcome of the sacrifice must be fulfilled in order for it to be seen as good.

In AM, sacrifice is continuously referred to negatively. Dimitri outright denies the possibility of necessary sacrifices, and the only way sacrifices are seen in a “positive” is if they are 1) willing made by the person sacrificing themselves and/or 2) the desired outcome of the sacrifice is definitively achieved, with the latter stipulation still having caveats that prevent it from ever truly being seen as positive (Count Rowe)

Lastly: CF

Edelgard mention the word sacrifice the same time as Dimitri first does, after Lonato:

Sacrifice of life is seen as a necessity. Edelgard views sacrifice as something that cannot be avoided, and as such, she has no qualms in sacrificing her people’s lives to achieve her goals. She views her cause as having an inherit superiority over the lives of the people. 

Next, during the invasion of Garreg Mach (once you’ve settled on CF as a route):

Sacrifice of human life is once again seen as a necessity for Edelgard to achieve her goals. She states that she will not stop no matter how much blood she spills for her cause. The sacrifice of life is involuntary to those making the sacrifice, and yet it is seen as something that will lead to a positive outcome. The cause is given greater importance over human life.

Next, post ts, before Claude is fought:

The want to not sacrifice own’s life for their cause is seen as a negative. The idea of attempting to save one’s own life at the prospect of certain defeat is questioned in its rationality. There is a lack of understanding in the idea of not sacrificing one’s self to the cause - this is further shown in Edelgard’s death in all other routes, which is caused directly due to her unwillingness to give up her greater cause. She views her own human life as having less importance than her goals, which is consistent with her ideology of sacrificing everything for the greater good.

Notice the other two mentions of the word sacrifice in CF

Linhardt, at the final chapter (which appears in all routes, mind, but since he does default as a BE I feel it pertinent to include within the CF section):

Sacrifice is seen as a sign of desperation. The idea of sacrificing human lives for a greater cause is no longer comforting or a good enough justification. It being described as “depend[ent] on a throw of the dice” directly implies no control from the one(s) sacrificing their lives. 

And the last mention is from Rhea, during the last battle, referring to Rhea burning down Fhirdiad:

Sacrifice is being actively questioned. Edelgard’s reaction to Rhea forcibly sacrificing lives showcases the act as negative. Rhea, in all other routes, is one of Edelgard’s sacrifices she makes for her cause, and now Rhea’s mirroring of sacrificing the people’s lives for what she believes is right is being shown in a explicitly negative light. This is not Edelgard growing to realize that sacrificing human life is wrong as she does not reflect on her own doing so when she criticizes Rhea for the same thing.

In CF, when it is Edelgard speaking of sacrifice, it is always seen as a necessity - something that must be done in order to achieve change. Edelgard actively forces sacrifice on the people due to her believing that her desired outcome cannot be made without it, and so she makes little effort to mitigate this involuntary, large-scale sacrifice. 

But, when similar ideals of the value of human life against one’s own cause is applied to those which oppose her, she no longer sees it as morally justifiable to sacrifice the lives of the people, despite her own willingness to do the same. When sacrifice is seen through the lens of someone other than Edelgard, the idea of sacrificing lives for the greater cause is no longer enough to justify it. 

In contrast to Claude and Dimitri, who do not view such sacrifice as a necessity and thus do not attempt to justify it/force it upon others (except when Dimitri explicitly is doing something wrong, as directly stated by the game), Edelgard cannot fathom the possibility of being unable to sacrifice human life and achieving her goals at the same time. In contrast to Claude and Dimitri, who hold human life above their goals (except when Dimitri explicitly is in the wrong), Edelgard holds her goals above human life. Human life - including her own - has less worth than her goals, thus making it acceptable to sacrifice.

And, well. Considering that people are still being killed in most of Hubert’s endings due to all of the revolts and rebellions against Edelgard’s abrupt, violent, bloody rule rising up, the commonfolk are still not able to receive titles/military credits unless they marry into families which already have that (save for one character, who was previously noble already), and that freedom of choice is not guaranteed as shown by Bernadetta’s endings, along with the slew of other problematic elements in CF’s endings (especially when compared to VW and AM, whose endings portray a far more peaceful Fodlan)... yeah, the sacrifices absolutely did not achieve their stated desired outcome. And that’s when they were voluntary

#anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard discourse #Edelgard critical #just to be safe #and to be clear - Dimitri did not force sacrifice on his men on Gronder #but more that he only explicitly tries to save Dedue by telling only him to retreat if he's in danger (falls in battle) #he - in that moment and in specifically VW which is his lowest point character wise - has little care for the safety of his friends #Dimitri states that it's him sacrificing his friends when it's more accurate to say he was indifferent to their safety (barring Dedue) #hence the phrasing in that part #but uh like #overall #ignore my ass if this seems too reachy lmao #i just thought it was interesting to look into how each lord uses the word sacrifice specifically #since it holds such a dramatic and intense feeling to it #but i can see how it can sound kinda meh as a premise for analysis lmaooo #feel free to tear it to shreds lol

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson Characters: Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon (momentarily), Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned) - Character Additional Tags: Stephanie Brown POV, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Chocolate Milk, post mission talks, Damian Wayne is a brat with a heart of gold, Stitches, Canon Typical Violence, but not for long, because i like fluff better, Fluff, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Sneezing, Coughing, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's almost parent, Stephanie Brown is Damian Wayne's almost big sister, And kind of Dick's little sister Summary:

Steph hasn't worked with the new Batman and Robin duo long, but she doesn't hesitate to come when they call for backup. Their family's a little rough around the edges, but she'll do what she can to smooth things out.

“C’mon, faster!” Stephanie hated when Barbara seemed anxious, when she was anxious, generally something was about to go wrong. Really, really, wrong.

 “I’m homing in on the coordinates.” Barbara was driving on autopilot, but she couldn’t resist saying the line. Damian’s tracker blinked closer and closer. The kid had run off earlier that night, Dick, however, was getting better at predicting when it would happen and followed. She’d been on call for backup, Damian needed space, but he was also a magnet for trouble and unfortunately for them-

“Robin retreat! Retreat! Get out of here!” Dick screamed over the comms. The kid shouldn’t be out in the first place, still recovering from a concussion. She rounded the corner. Victor Zsasz was pushing forward aggressively trying to circumvent Batman to get a stab at Robin. Dick was holding his own but kept taking hits for a dazed looking Damian.

“Get Robin and get out! Maneuver 23.” Barbara commanded. She was seconds away, Zsasz was too close, she wasn’t going to make it, not going to make it-

 “CATCH!” She complied, automatically responding to Barbara’s harsh tone, spreading her arms as the bike swerved right.

 “JUMP!” Damian appeared to do the same with Dick, who tackled Zsasz out of range.

 “FUCK!” She yelled, because Damian jumped right into the path of her oncoming bike and-

 They grasped each other’s wrists in a practiced motion, using momentum to swing Damian onto the backseat of the bike.

 “Holy fuck.” She whispered. Hadn’t expected that to work. Sure, they’d done it a billion times practicing, but like… damn. That was freaking awesome. But also-

 “Are you okay?” She turned to look back at a pale Damian, blood staining the right side of his uniform. He nodded curtly, she could see a sheen of sweat glistening under the streetlights. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts.

 “We cannot retreat, Batman needs backup! Turn around at once!” He demanded, swaying in his spot. On a motorcycle. She might die for this, but she turned around, pulled him closer (surprisingly without argument) and started applying pressure to his side. One hand on the wound, the other keeping him propped upright. Maybe she would die, but Damian would fall off over her dead body.

 “Yeah no, I’m just gonna try to keep your blood on the inside till we get to the Bunker.” She felt a raindrop plop on her forehead, all the more reason to keep on course. Damian was already injured and tired, she would not be the one responsible for making his situation worse. “Then you can bleed out in peace.”

   Stephanie sighed as she swirled milk and cocoa together on the stove, rain pattering steadily outside. Where would she be if she’d had a normal father, or a normal life? She had a standing invite to some party; she could be out with friends. But some little gremlin child would have been murdered by Zsasz blocks away and no. She wouldn’t trade Damian’s life for normality. She was Stephanie Brown after all, abnormal was her middle name, and she accepted it with pride.

 Sure, she wasn’t mixing alcoholic drinks right now, but she was mixing chocolate milk and that was close enough. Damian clomped up the stairs, and angrily settled at the table. Think of the gremlin, and he shall appear.

 “You shouldn’t have retreated.” He muttered, slumping in the seat. His cheeks were already flush from the exertion of walking up the steps.

 “And you should go to bed.” He glared at her, looking utterly nonthreatening in his pajamas. He was wearing one of Dick’s old t-shirts, oversized, draping down past his elbows. He must have his own clothes, but she’d never seen him sleep in anything else.

 “Then why are you preparing two mugs of hot chocolate?” He asked smugly. Well, as smugly as he could with twelve stitches in his side.

 “Because I know you won’t listen to me.” The grin was replaced with a frown. “But I don’t mind, that’s why I made enough for two.” She quickly continued. Damian stared ahead at a place on the table. She weighed her next words. They both knew fully well that he wouldn’t sleep until Dick made it home in one piece, and for that matter that she would either. Leaving Damian alone with his thoughts seemed cruel under the circumstances.

“You didn’t listen to me earlier.” He accused agitatedly, breaking the silence.

 “I don’t make a habit of listening to Robins.” She said with a smirk, attempting to lighten the mood. She carefully poured the steaming cocoa into the mugs, keenly aware of Damian’s eyes following her every move.

 “You listen to Gordon.” He pouted. She placed a mug in front of him and sat down across from him.

 “Most of the time, and she’s not a Robin. I don’t listen to you, Tim, or Dick, and certainly not Jason.”

 “Why not?” He challenged, not making a move to touch his mug, still glaring at her with a dark expression on his face. “You were a Robin, were you not? You think you’re above us-”

 “No, Dames, you gotta read the situation you know?” She took a long sip of cocoa. Damian crossed his arms. She sighed. “Look, if we always listened to Dick, he’d be dead already.” He nodded carefully. “Same thing with you and Tim.” His nose scrunched at the mention of Tim.

 “Don’t compare me to-”

 “Whatever it is, I’m not, I’m just saying, I’d be a lot happier if you weren’t shish kabobbed by Zsasz.” His brow furrowed. “Okay fine, I messed up, you probably would have been fine. We shouldn’t have retreated. But you were down, and we made a judgement call – not just me, Dick would rather die than-” Damian’s eyes went wide. “Poor choice of words, I take it back. He’s not going to die, he just…” God, what was she doing? What was she even trying to say?

 “I know you’re not worried, because you’re you, but if I was you, I would be worried, but I shouldn’t be worried, because Dick’s a badass, so he’ll be fine, and knowing that you’re safe will help him stay focused on the fight. So you’re helping by staying right here, yeah?” She leaned back against the seat. Smooth, real smooth.

 Damian’s lips were pursed by the end of her rambling. “I’m not worried.” She heard him mumble under his breath. He took a sip of cocoa. “Grayson is a competent fighter; he would not be so easily defeated.” She pretended not to hear his voice wobble slightly at the end. The poor kid.

 “He’ll be home any minute now.” She assured.

 “And he’ll yell at you for not making enough for him.” He added sagely.

 “Then he’ll yell at you for not being in bed.” Damian rolled his eyes.

 “I shall already be in bed by the time he makes it up the stairs.” So confident in his abilities. Dick probably let him think he got away with it.

 “Well, then he’ll anxiously pace outside of your room, and peak in to fuss over your stiches.” She predicted. Damian snorted, and took another sip of cocoa.

 “Damian, you could have been seriously hurt, you’ve got to be more careful!” He perfectly imitated Dick’s voice. Steph had to fight back laughter and swallow her cocoa. “Why did you give him sugar, it’s his bedtime?” He directed at her.

 “Robin, cease with the hot chocolate immediately.” She croaked out in a gravelly Batman impression.

 “Holy hot chocolate Batman!” Stephanie lost it as he did a perfect impression of Dick’s normal voice. Damian allowed himself a small smile.

 “Oh my God, you have to teach me how to do that.”

 “Are you sure you have the talent for it?” He asked smugly. She brushed off the comment. Smug Damian was better than sad and worried Damian.

 “Sure, also can you do Scooby-Doo?” Damian’s brow furrowed.

 “Who?”

 “What do you mean who!?” She half yelled. Damian flinched. “Okay, since we’re already up, you’re getting an education tonight, we’re moving to the couch, let’s go, move it people.”

   Two episodes later, Damian’s wide eyes still looked through the screen rather than at it. Not all things, she supposed, could be fixed with dumb cartoons and hot chocolate.

 “Brown?” He softly spoke, as the credits played.

 “Mm?” Silence resounded through the room. Whatever question Damian had died in his throat. “I’m sure he’ll be back any minute, he’s probably overseeing the trip to Arkham.” She guessed.

 “Yes.” Another pause. “He’ll be upset when he arrives home.”

 “He won’t be too upset.” Damian tucked his knees to his chest. “Everyone made it home safe.”

 “Father would have been angry.” She couldn’t deny that. Bruce was, well, Bruce.

 “But Dick isn’t Bruce.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. “He was Robin too once, you know?” Dick got mad, heck, he killed the Joker like three days after she first met him. He’d been upset with her, for being Batgirl, but his anger wasn’t like Bruce’s, and it hadn’t lasted for long.

 “I know.” He turned to face her on the couch. “He’ll say he’s disappointed.”

 “Ah.” Her heart melted. “That’s always worse.” Damian rolled his eyes.

 “I’ve had worse punishments.” He paused. Damn the League. “But it’s… different.” Steph could sympathize.

 “My dad used to lock me in closets when he was mad.” Damian nodded.

 “I would too.” She groaned. Sometimes she was trying to have meaningful heartfelt conversations with a ten-year-old.

 “Brat. I’m trying to have a moment.” She complained. He fell silent, shrugging his shoulders, possibly as an attempt at an apology. “The point being my mom was always disappointed. And just because one sucked more than the other, didn’t mean both didn’t suck.”

 “Hmm.” Damian leaned back against the pillows. “But I had to do something, he was,” he paled slightly, his eyes widening, “Zsasz was going to kill children again.” He looked at her earnestly. “I couldn’t let him-”

 “Look, no one’s mad at you for trying to do something good. It’s just like… we worry about you, okay?” Damian rolled his eyes again.

 “No need I’m-”

 “You’re staying up until Dick gets back, want to remind me why that is?” He turned to face the rain smeared window. “It’s the same for him, and the same for me. We worry about you too, okay?”

 “You shouldn’t.” Damian muttered. “I’m perfectly capable on my own, I’m trained in twenty-”

 “Doesn’t matter how trained you are if you’re concussed.” She pointed out.

 “It didn’t matter if I was concussed in the League.” Assholes.

 “Well, this isn’t the League, and we care if you’re concussed.”

 “Whatever.” He fell silent after, gluing his eyes back to the screen in an attempt to block her out.

 “Just, let me know next time, and I’ll come with you.” Maybe she was imagining it, but she caught a minute nod.

 Carefully, she reached out, projecting her moves, and ruffled his hair. He didn’t seem much happier, some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing, but whatever mediocre amount of comfort she could supply would have to be enough. She leaned back into her end of the couch, content to sit in silent companionship and let her mind wander off, no longer focused on the cartoon, but on a family forged in chaos.

   “M’ere bud, time for bed.” Someone whispered to her right. Cracking open her eyes slowly, the time on the television box read 3:28. Damian groggily groaned in protest next to her. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the vague outline of Dick sweeping a tired Damian (who was clearly feigning sleep) into his arms. “You should get some sleep too.” He hissed at her, as his footsteps padded away.

 She stretched out on the couch, four hours of sleep, that wasn’t too bad, but her neck was definitely stiff after that. She groaned, turning on the lamp next to her, shutting her eyes again and slowly allowing them to adjust to the light. Dick popped his head back into the doorway.

 “You need anything? The guest room has some spare clothes in your size, we have extra toothbrushes, you can use my shampoo if you want.” He rambled off. It was strange, she could never tell if he was being nice to make up for his initial rejection, or if that was just how he was.

 “Don’t be too hard on Damian.” She curled into her spot on the couch. Dick stepped forward into view, leaning against the doorframe. A pink bathrobe was draped over his shoulder, his wet hair dripping. He tiredly sunk against the wall.

 “I won’t be.” He slid into a squat, then all the way down to the floor. “Was he mad I followed him?”

 “Probably. I think he was more worried you wouldn’t come home.” Damian’s last experience with Zsasz had been… unpleasant. And the villain had carried a grudge ever since.

 “Oh. Sorry it took so long, Alfred kick you guys to bed or something?” She nodded. They’d been whisked out of the command room before she’d hardly tugged off her cape. No doubt Damian would have tried to leave again if they’d been listening on the comms.

 “You’re okay?” It was so weird. She was sitting on a couch, talking down to a cowl-less Batman in a pink bathrobe, sitting on the floor.

 “Fit as a fiddle.” He sneezed, as if on cue.

 “It’s raining pretty hard.” Her eyes flicked towards the window.

 “You don’t say.” He deadpanned, following her gaze. “It let up about an hour ago. Zsasz is back and Arkham, we found the kids he grabbed, I was trying to track down any relatives.” She nodded, Gotham’s foster care system was abysmal, and the social workers overbooked. Finding relatives could save a kid from ending up in a supervillain’s lair.

 “All’s well that ends well.” Dick sneezed again. “I could have helped.”

 “Babs and I had it under control.” She rolled her eyes, typical of the ‘big kids’ to leave her in the kiddies room. “Thank you for watching him.” He nodded at the empty mugs. “It was sweet of you to stick around.” Warmth swelled in her chest at the remark, she didn’t need his approval of course, but it was nice to have it.

 “Yeah well, cut him some slack for me yeah?” He opened his mouth to reply, then paused to cough for a bit.

 “I won’t be hard on him, but no patrol until his stiches heal.” He assured, regaining his composure.

 “I’m sure you won’t patrol until your cold’s passed.” She commented sarcastically. It would do the boys good to spend some time together anyways.

 “Did Babs put you up to this? I-”, sneeze, “told her I was fine. You guys are worse than Alfred.”

 “Nope.” She popped the p. “But I think your kid might feel a little bit guilty about tonight, and it wouldn’t hurt to stay in with him.”

 “He’s not my…” Dick stared up at the ceiling. Tucking his knees up to his chin, just the same as Damian, he went silent.

 “He’s your kid.” She said after a moment. Dick smiled ruefully.

 “He’s your kid too.” She snorted. He was like the little brother she’d never had, not that she’d admit it.

 “Not a chance, he’s all yours and Alfred’s. Babs and I don’t work with minors.” Aside from the times she had.

 “Mmmhmm. So that’s why you were drinking hot chocolate and watching cartoons with him, because he’s not your kid. I guess you don’t think of him as family” He sighed. “And to think, I was going to bring you to the aquarium with us tomorrow, but if we aren’t your family then why even-”

 “Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not go that far, I want to see him next to penguins-er I mean, I want to see the uhh... You know what nope, not ashamed, I want to see the look on his face at the touch tank.” She paused. “Aren’t you rewarding bad behavior with that though?”

 “Well, don’t worry about it, he’s my kid after all.” He chided smugly. “In all seriousness, I just want to distract him long enough he doesn’t go out again.” Another sneeze. “Jeez, stupid rain. Also, Babs is coming, it’s a party.”

 “You’re sure he won’t see it as a reward?” She wasn’t taking children’s psychology for nothing after all.

 “Nah, knowing him, he might take it as a punishment.” He closed his eyes, leaning back into the frame. “But, I try to keep capes and normal life separate, he’ll be grounded from patrol, but I won’t ground him during the day for stuff he pulls at night.” That seemed reasonable. “He’s been doing really well with homeschool.” He opened his eyes again, looking fondly at the opposite doorframe. “I think he’ll really like the aquarium, he’s been studying aquatic life recently and-”

 Dick mumbled on for a while, listing all Damian’s accomplishments, how he was multiple grade levels ahead, and scoring well in all the classes they made for him. How he could go on to do anything he wanted, was on track to take college courses by the time he was in high school, and how bright his future was. Again, she was glad her life wasn’t normal, as he rambled on and on, pride shining on his face.

 “He’s so your kid.” She interrupted after a coughing fit, having lost track of the conversation. Dick blinked at her. “Bedtime.” He nodded, sneezing halfway through.

 “Bedtime.”

  They didn’t make it to the aquarium, as predictably, Dick was running a fever by the morning. But that didn’t stop the party. Barbara brought soup, Alfred made cookies, and Steph settled on the couch next to Damian, picking up where they left off, marathoning Scooby Doo.

 Dick picked apart the episodes from his isolated recliner (they quarantined him three feet away), Damian chiming in to predict the villain’s identity. Barbara grumbled about normal people being easier to watch TV with, and Alfred settled in a chair by the door. If Cass were here, she’d bounce off the walls, and Tim would lie on the floor. Pieces were broken and missing, but as the remaining members of her pseudo-family chattered away, she had hope that things, eventually, would work out.

#stephanie brown #damian wayne #dick grayson #my writing #batfam #Dick!bats era #some fluff for a friday #i want to do a bad things happen bingo soon but the blog is on hiatus so here's some practice that could possibly fill a few prompts #if you have suggestions for other prompts lmk! #tw sewaring #tw blood

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

��Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #fave #self indulgence #happy birthday to meeee

[maxwell-grant]

So, any thoughts on The Green Lama (who unexpectedly became one of my faves), the Pulp Hero who is also a Superhero?

Much like other pulp heroes of the time, The Green Lama had multiple secret identities and a massive supporting cast aiding him in his quest for justice. Unlike his contemporaries, The Green Lama eschewed guns in favor of radioactive salts, magic, and sleight of hand. He rarely, if ever, killed his enemies. His tales also had an advanced sense of continuity, with characters growing and changing over time, plot points introduced in one story paying off several tales later. The Green Lama is a character of contradictions, driven forward by a faith he is forced to betray. It makes him flawed and imperfect, and in that way, one of the most human of all pulp heroes - The Green Lama: Scions

While not the "only" example of a pulp hero who is a superhero, The Green Lama is arguably the one who leans the most into the superhero aspect out of all the classic 30s pulp heroes that usually get brought up. I would argue that The Green Lama is the most direct answer to the question "what happens when you combine The Shadow and Superman together", considering he was modeled extensively after both in his forays into pulp, radio and comic books, and has also grown into his own character.

He's got the unique skills bordering on superpowers (that eventually became outright superpowers). He's got pretty much The Spectre's costume, except of course he came first. He's an urban costumed crimefighter wh deals with gangsters and criminal masterminds, and yet has an extremely strong stance against killing and carrying guns under any circumstance, even saying they would make him no better than the criminals he fights, which makes him by default the pulp hero that Batman would get along best with. The comics took it way further even turning the “Om Ma-ne Pad-me Hum” chant into a Shazam! transformation cry (Shazam came first, although the two debuted in the same year).

He's got a suitably punchy and dramatic origin: guy spends 10 years in Tibet and returns to America intend on spreading Buddhism's pacifist doutrine, only to witness the murder of children at the hands of mobsters the literal second he steps off the boat, and after spending restless days in the police station to see if they would find the culprit, he sees the killer walk out of the commissioner's office free, which convinces him he needs to take up crimefighting because the police are useless, and he outright calls the police "incompetent" in a letter to the papers that he uses to introduce himself to the world, which is not something you find often in 30s/40s fiction even if's an implicit part of the pulp hero/superhero fantasy.

He had a stronger sense of continuity than most pulp heroes were usually afforded. He has a lot of the pulp hero stock and trade like the assistants and the pseudo-science and the odd radio gadgets and of course the Orientalism that we'll get into, but remixed in a pretty cool way that allows him to stand out from his inspiration. He's got incredibly weird aspects to him like the fact that he gets enhanced abilities from crystallized salt or even becoming radioactive (which could be interesting to explore considering "radiation" became the go-to origin for superpowers in the 60s). He's got an allright supporting cast and Magga, while ultimately a deus ex machina, is a very interesting addition to it and I wish her mystery was played up more often in subsequent stories past the original run. There's a lot about The Green Lama that really works, he was incredibly successful at the time and he's managed to thrive over the years lot more than most of his contemporaries

Despite all the powers he wielded he felt impotent, nothing more than a rich boy playing the games of gods. He had chosen the path of the Bodhisattva, sacrificing himself for the good of all sentient beings, but even so the weight of responsibility, the lives of so many in his hands, threatened to crush him. It was tempting to turn away, to deny his calling, but the life of a Bodhisattva demanded more; and it was only recently that he had begun to realize how much it truly required.

The main problem with The Green Lama, and by problem I mean "the character works fine for his time but this is seriously holding him back from becoming sustainable again", is the fact that he's a white rich man who fights crime by going as hard into Orientalism tropes as possible, which is inescapably baked into the premise.

Now, I will argue that The Green Lama was, for his time, a progressive character. The Buddhist aspects of his character weren't just backstory fodder or an excuse for his superpowers as they were to pretty much every other character at the time, Jethro was a practicing Buddhist, who fought crime informed by his beliefs, trying to respect them (and not exactly succeeding) and offering a wholly positive perspective of Buddhism. Nowadays, it creates a problem, but at the time, it made the character stand out from every other hero who had "traveled to Tibet" checked out, because Tibet and Buddhism were heavily incorporated into the character. The Lama may have been born merely out of a desire to cash in on The Shadow's newfound radio popularity, but Crossen took it much more seriously than his contemporaries and made it an effort to instill admiration in his readers towards what he was referencing, which he was pulling from books about the subject and the Pali language. Is research the bare minimum? Yes. But it’s a bare minimum that even today’s writers don’t do even having an infinitely bigger wealth of information at their disposal. 

To further cement my point: There's a particular Green Lama comic story called The Four Freedoms, which is about the Lama receiving a letter from a fan in the army who's worried about a racist private who keeps insulting the black privates while crowing about racial superiority, and so the Lama kidnaps the private and takes him on a tour through Germany so he can witness firsthand how his talk aligns with Nazi ideology, even specifically referring to Jim Crow's laws, criticizing how easily Americans fall for racial war rhetoric, and pointing out the idea of racism as a tool of tyrants to divide and conquer. It's not my place to champion this as some great representation and that's not what I'm doing, but if this all seems passe or simplistic or even problematic to you, trust me, this was still the era of Slap-A-Jap Superman, stories like this were absolutely not the norm at the time, even in other stories where superheroes dealt with racial discrimination.

He even caps off the story by stating that punching or ending Hitler is not the solution (although he lets Jones take a couple of swings) because Hitler is just one part of a much bigger problem that needs to be fought on all of it's forms. It's all very much afterschool special/anti-racism PSA, sure, but it's easier to mock those in our time. You find me a Golden Age superhero comic that shits on Jim Crow specifically while the hero tells the reader that Hitler is not the ultimate evil but merely "a cog in the wheel", part of a problem that's deeply entrenched in America's own shores (really, do, I'm genuinely curious if more of them did anything like this).

Does any part of what I said negates the fact that, at the end of the day, he's still a white man using Orientalism mysticism to fight crime? No, it doesn't. And if Iron Fist can't get away with it, if Dr Strange only just barely does, the Green Lama sure as hell can't. And you cannot downplay those aspects either lest you end up with a completely different character. It's a bit of a conundrum that makes the character tricky to approach from a revival perspective.

I completely agree with what you said here, Green Lama would benefit from a Legacy Hero approach very strongly. And Green Lama: Scions opens up an interesting possibility of Jethro Dumont not being quite what he seems, backed up by the fact that he wore disguise make-up in the original stories:

They had a lot of names for him in the papers—the Verdant Avenger, the Mysterious Man of Strength—but Reynolds had always been partial to “Buddhist Bastard.” No one had ever seen his face or, at the very least, the same face. Seemed like everyone had a different story. The Green Lama was white, he was black, he was asian, he was old, and he was young. You could fill a room of witnesses and no two would describe the same person.

Really I think if you just got rid of that one thing that holds the Lama back the most from catching on in modern times, I think he's the kind of character that lends itself a lot to long-term sustainability. He's already fairly popular as is, definitely an indispensable inclusion of any shared pulp hero or Golden Age superhero universe and definitely one of my favorites among the 30s American pulp heroes. And there’s ways to make the concept more interesting and workable.

Maybe The Green Lama is just a title that's been going on for generations, with Jethro being one of many to fill in. Maybe Magga used to be it, maybe the tulku that instructed Jethro did, maybe there's a new character with it. Maybe Jethro is just an identity used by an Asian-American adventurer to operate safely in the US, or maybe Jethro has a sort of Lamont Cranston arrangement going on. Maybe he's part of the reason why Tibet was the superpower capital of the world in the 30s or 40s, or part of the reason why radiation started granting so many heroes superpowers in the 60s.

The character's skillset has been fairly "anything goes" ever since his author made him a flying superman for the comics, and really he already started out being able to deliver electric shocks through his fingers by guzzling radioactive salts. He's a very weird character, and I will always argue that weird is what works best for the pulp heroes.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #comic books #comics #the green lama #jethro dumont #alex ross

[aomineavenue]

MEET THE MAIN CHARACTERS OF SHARK TANK

Interviewer: Hello, fellow fans of aomineavenue productions! Today we’re here with the main cast of the upcoming production “SHARK TANK” and have prepared a few sets of questions that will give you a little insight of what it’s about. ━━ direct yourself to the masterlist of shark tank here.

━━ Akaashi Keiji; “I will never love you the way you want me to.”

[I]: Hello there, Akaashi-san! We’re so glad you’re able to make it to today’s interview.

[A]: I’m happy to be here. 

[I]: Let’s get down to business, shall we? Your line for the promo of Shark Tank practically screams angst, can you give us a little clue on what it’s about?

[A]: Well I can’t really disclose on such an important information but I can say that particular part in the production does indeed scream angst but I do think the fans will be able to love that scene. 

[I]: Do you love the role that was given to you?

[A]: It certainly is something I’ve yet to portray as in aomineavenue’s works and I think it might confuse the fans as to why such a role was given to me but I’m really happy with what the team has made so far. I can’t wait for everyone to see this.

[I]: As we know so far, Y/N will be choosing out of the three male leads in the production. Can you tell us more about the relationship between your role and hers?

[A]: Without disclosing too much, I think the relationship between the two based on the timeline of the story is pretty much on edge or rather rocky due to their current situation. They have mutual feelings for each other but the circumstances around them keeps tearing them apart.

[I]: Yikes. We can’t wait to see that. 

[A]: And I can’t wait for everyone to see it. I hope I don’t disappoint the fans who will be viewing this story. 

━━ Daishou F/N; “Why can’t I live the life I want to?” 

[I]: The huge star of every show is here everyone! Welcome L/N F/N! It’s an honour to have you here with us today. 

[Y]: Thank you so much, I’m really happy I could be here today. I’ve been so excited for everyone to see this. 

[I]: This time around, based from what was given to us, you’ll be portraying as Daishou Suguru’s little sister. How is it like working with Daishou-san?

[Y]: Ah! Yes, well, he’s literally a burst of energy to be around with. Though we may not be actually siblings, working with him in this project, i can definitely say that we treat each other like siblings now. 

[I]: Was the cast in this project easy to work with? 

[Y]: Oh, definitely. Everyone is such a sweetheart and so welcoming. I’m really happy with the cast. Everyday has been a blast, to reading lines to filming episodes. 

[I]: Tell us more about the character you’re portraying. 

[Y]: Well, my character is someone who has been through a lot of hardships with her family. Due to the family environment, she had to step down from what she loves doing best to avoid the scandals. It really took a toll on her, so instead of doing something she really loved, she stayed away to avoid any unnecessary drama. She just wanted a peaceful life. 

[I]: Tell us more about the love interests of your character. Who do you ship your character more?

[Y]: Oh, I don’t kiss and tell. Let’s just say that even I have a hard time choosing myself. 

[K]: She obviously chooses me. 

[O]: My character was obviously better.

[A]: Keep dreaming. 

[Y]: Excuse me? This is my interview.

━━ Kuroo Tetsurou “I only came back for you, what more do you need?”

[I]: My, Kuroo-san, welcome! How is your first project with aomineavenue productions? 

[K]: Ah, it was honestly very intimidating at first but you know, you get used to it along the way. Especially with such a great team. 

[I]: Can you tell us more about the character you’ll be portraying?

[K]: Ah, my character is someone who followed his dreams and left someone he dearly loved. He actually regrets after awhile and never really got over things. 

[I]: Wow, such a spoiler! I’m sure the fans will love it. Is that how your character’s relationship is with the main character?

[K]: I cannot confirm or deny anything. I guess that’s up to everyone to figure out along the way. 

[I]: What a complete tease! What should the fans look forward to?

[K]: I’d say the very dramatic scenes between each love interest. Though, I must do so say myself, the relationship between my character and the main character is pretty tamed compared to the other two. 

[I]: Somehow, I have this feeling that I should doubt that.

━━ Miya Osamu “You were the only woman I’ve ever wanted.”

[I]: It’s a pleasure to have you here with us, Osamu-san. How has working with aomineavenue productions going so far? 

[O]: It’s a blast, honestly. I’ve had other projects with aomineavenue and it’s been great. Working with Y/N, too, has been a wonderful experience. 

[I]: I’m so glad to hear that. Based on our survey, you were highly voted on by the fans. What does that feel like?

[O]: Ah, really? I ddin’t expect that. That’s truly an honor, I hope I’ll be able to live up to everyone’s expectations. I can’t wait to rub it in ‘Tsumu’s face that I was picked for this current project. 

[I]: Tell us more of the character you’ll be portaying in Shark Tank. 

[O]: The character I’ll be portraying is extremely loyal, as you can see from the line given from the promo. Based on the timeline where the story will go, my character will be going through certain lengths to help certain people. 

[I]: Your character will be portraying as a heir to a big entertainment company, am I correct?

[O]: Yes, that’s correct. Basically, he has a lot of resources to help the other characters in their sticky circumstances. 

[I]: Would that mean that your character will probably be the knight in shining armor for our main character?

[O]: That’s for everyone to wait and find out. Either way, I can’t wait for everyone to see this upcoming series. We’re pretty excited ourselves. 

━━ aomineavenue “I’m sleep deprived, please.”

[I]: Hello, Mia! It’s great to finally have you back here with us. 

[M]: Ah, I’m pretty excited myself. It’s been awhile so, please be nice to me as I’ve yet to write something good lately.

[I]: So do tell us, what is the inspiration with Shark Tank?

[M]: Honestly speaking, it was a different story when i first posted about Shark Tank. It was going to be more complicated and angsty but I didn’t think it would fit well for a SMAU setup, so i rearranged a few things and hopefully this will be better. The previous points from my original story idea, will also be migrated to the new plot idea for Shark Tank but it’ll be on a totally different setting. 

[I]: When should we expect the first release of Shark Tank?

[M]: I would say about next week. I haven’t been around much lately due to personal reasons, so I’m still settling back in and rearranging my thoughts. Hopefully, I’ll be able to follow through. I expect weekly updates with this one. My goal is to update at least every Saturday. 

[I]: Will we be getting more romance than angst in this work?

[M]: I can’t really say. The current start of the story mostly revolves around getting to know each character and start of a dramatic arc. But I would like to confirm that romance is indeed in the cards for this story, whether it may be between main characters or side characters that will be present in the story as well.

━━ do you have any questions for the author? send them here. To be added to the taglist for Shark Tank, fill up a form here. 

#akaashi keiji x reader #osamu miya x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #akaashi x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #akaashi smau #osamu smau #kuroo smau #shark tank

[simplysummers]

I just had to fight with somebody over the legitimacy of Alexander’s wrongdoings during his affair with Maria. It’s not even 8am guys. Save me.

Someone’s out here trying to tell me “it wasn’t Alex’s fault 🥺👉👈 uwu it was James and even Maria’s a little bit! Why do you hate Alex so much?” (I’m not even exaggerating, I was literally called an ‘Alex hater’. Okay, I have a pin of that bitch’s face that I wear on my jeans, but call me an Alex hater all you want)

Skedjhdu. Shut. Up.

I ironically stan Alexander in the amrev, a lot of us do in fact! But we can all take on board to the truth that he was still a bit of an asshole, and this was long before the political scandals and adultery (well, debatable with Laurens but that was not publicised for obvious reasons, not saying that it was right but it certainly wasn’t over the level of the Reynolds affair). The dude was disrespectful, cocky, said some shitty things, did some shitty things, but overall a much more likeable person than he was while he was treasury secretary (in my opinion anyway).

Yes, James was very much at fault, he did an absolutely terrible, terrible thing, the guy was trash and I’m not trying to deny that at all, but are we really going to put aside the fact that Hamilton (a known gentlemen with a decent reputation) WILLINGLY committed adultery???? Like?????? He wasn’t forced into anything, being the male and the stronger participant it would be VERY unlikely that Maria could’ve made him do anything he didn’t want too, especially in those times. (I’m not saying men can’t be sexually harassed, because of course they can! But I’m judging the circumstances here, not the general act as a whole.) I’m not even getting into why Maria wasn’t at fault, I can’t believe that’s even a debatable topic to be honest, leave the poor woman alone.

I know the majority of people can asses this and completely understand that Alexander was a shitty human, and I hate having to bitch on the main, but this really got to me. I cannot stand people who try and defend these trash people without much regard for the history. I mean, I know she’s dead, but this is hella disrespectful to Maria also, but that’s a can of worms I’m not getting into right now.

Stan these guys all you like, I do too, to some extent. The first president of the United States being fatherly towards his stepchildren and treasury secretary is my fucking guilty pleasure when it comes to fanfics, but please don’t try and deny true history either, they 👏 were 👏 still 👏 shit 👏

Pardon that, guys, I got heated for a moment

#to be honest I might end up deleting this later because I really don’t want to bitch on the main #but I felt safe enough in this fandom to just let out that pent up rage because I am really mad #I know there will always be those Hamilton stans who only see Lin up there and never the true Hamilton but I don’t think it’s excusable #alexander hamilton #hamilton an american musical #James Reynolds #maria reynolds #reynolds pamphlet #this isn’t a Bea’s digression. this is a bea’s rant lmao #also. to my new followers as there’s been quite a lot of you recently; #this isn’t my usual type of content lmao. I usually just shitpost on the amrev and Washington’s associations #but like. I’m freaking fuming and it’s only 8:13am now #ITS TOO EARLY FOR THIS #I mean this is more personal than anything but I’m usually very non confrontational. I absolutely hate it #but I just couldn’t let this go. lmao. that’s how mad I am #bea things ™️