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#done projecting onto the fictional characters for now

nekropsii · 1 month

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Do you have any thoughts on Equius

Equius is a fucked up kid who has done a lot wrong, but he is still a kid. He reads as a startlingly real portrayal of a pubescent autistic boy with an unhealthy and shaky grasp of his budding, overwhelming sexuality, with a concerning amount of influence from the internet. He is the result of adults failing him, and exposing him to hardcore fetish porn at an age too early. This is a real kind of guy that exists. A very common one, who I have met, like, at least 40 of.

Like Eridan, he feels like a kid stuck in a pipeline — except instead of the alt-right pipeline, it’s fetishism and hypersexuality. He feels like a pretty solid example of how getting involved in NSFW spaces online as a child can both deeply fuck up your sexuality and completely destroy your perception of what consent is, and what is and is not okay. He doesn’t have a grasp on boundaries whatsoever, and while this manifests in ways that are quite honestly horrifying and uncomfortable — like constantly projecting his Caste-Play BDSM fetishes onto nonconsenting, unsuspecting individuals, and… The things he did to Aradia — I cannot help but view him as an autistic boy having a rough time of puberty who got groomed through the internet over-exposing him to pornography at an early age. He’s deeply sympathetic to me from that angle. Again, I have met this kid. Homestuck is fantastic at presenting characters that are exact archetypes of real people you have known, be it personally or not. People you would have either been close friends with in middle school, or terrorized by in a random chat room on the internet. Maybe they were even you! There’s a complete nonzero chance someone is reading this who has played the role of Equius in their youth, who is totally fine and healthy now. And if that’s true, and this describes you… I’m proud of your growth!

Back to Analysis- His ardent Hemoloyalty is fascinating, also. I’ve written about this before, but there’s something compelling and very realistic about how his bigotry comes from a place of deep insecurity, rather than pride. I find bigotry coming from insecurity to be more common than it coming from overt pride. Many fictional bigots have such a genuine ego to them, a fine layer of paint labeled Badassery, when for the most part real life bigots are total losers with nothing better to do than worry about… Where someone was born, or how much melanin they have, or what’s in their pants, or whatever.

I get why people don’t tend to be fond of him, but the disquieting parts of his character are both very deliberate choices and also shockingly… Earnest, in a weird, Hussian fashion. I’ve never quite seen a character with his traits get portrayed before. He’s easy to work with, analytically speaking, you just have to be willing to stick your hands in the uncomfortable muck that is messy teenage sexuality. Many aren’t willing to, which is fair! But many also mislabel his uncomfortable traits as not intentionally uncomfortable, or simply a product of Hussie being weird and wrong and having bad opinions. This… Just blatantly isn’t the case. Sometimes fiction isn’t comfortable on purpose. Big whoop.

I think Equius could’ve been quite a fine person, had he been given the room to grow up. He’s like Jake to me in the sense that he’s one of the only characters I genuinely wouldn’t mind seeing expanded upon more, provided he be taken seriously, and not completely sanded down.

Alas.

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #equius zahhak #cw child harm #equius.pdf #nekro.sms

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jedi-enthusiast · 4 months

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Genuine question as to why you feel so passionate about being pro-jedi? I definitely wouldn't say I'm anti-jedi, but I think there are some decent criticisms that can be made about them. But overall I'm just interested to understand the dedication to being pro-jedi, cause it is a fictional organisation at the end of the day. Isn't it more fulfilling to look at them from different perspectives so we can get the most out of the story as possible?

Before I answer, I'm going to ask you a question in turn, would you ever ask this question to someone who was anti-Jedi? Would you ever imply that they need to change their view on the Jedi because they're "not getting the most out of the story?"

Now, I'm going to preface this answer by saying that I'm not angry with you, I'm just very passionate about this topic---so don't take any of this personally. You seem like you're genuinely asking, and I appreciate that.

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Personally, for me, there aren't really any criticisms that can be made about the Jedi- (keep in mind, I primarily adhere to Lucas Canon, everything else is just an add on depending whether I like it or not). Everything that people criticize the Jedi for or accuse them of falls into one of three categories:

Not true- (the Jedi are a cult, the Jedi repress their emotions, the Jedi were mean to Anakin, etc.)

Done for a reason because the other option would be worse/it was their only real option in a bad situation- (the Jedi shouldn't have fought in the war, the Jedi should've defended Ahsoka, the Jedi are slavers because of the clones, etc.)

Or it's something that's an Eastern concept/practice but people refuse to look at it as such and instead project their Western viewpoint/religious trauma onto them- (literally the entire thing about attachment)

I've never seen any criticism of the Jedi that doesn't fall into one of these categories, so why should I be inclined to "hear people out" or "look at the Jedi from other perspectives" when there's...really nothing else to look at?

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Another thing to consider is that, while the Jedi are fictional characters, George Lucas based them heavily on very real religions and groups---particularly Jews and Buddhists.

So when people say things like- "the Jedi weren't allowed to care/love/have emotions because of Attachment™️" -they're spreading harmful misinformation and basically saying that Buddhists can't love/care/have emotions because of their rule against attachment, since the philosophy of non-attachment is literally taken verbatim from Buddhism.

And when people usually pair the above rhetoric with- "-and that's why the Jedi deserved what they got/caused their own downfall" -it's...a very concerning mindset for people to perpetuate---especially when George Lucas based the genocide of the Jedi and the rise of the Empire off of the Holocaust and Nazi Germany.

When you strip away the fictional aspects of it, a lot of what people say about the Jedi is literally Nazi/antisemitic/Holocaust denial rhetoric. To take an example of something that has actually been said on one of my posts:

"The destruction of the Jedi Order was less a genocide and more of a religious conflict that the Jedi lost. The Jedi Order is a sect of the collective religious culture of 'Force Users,' and their destruction cannot really be considered genocide as the cultural group of 'Force Users' still exists albeit heavily restricted and controlled by the Sith during the Empire Era." - @/ironwoodarl01

And, as @zarohk pointed out:

It’s depressing how so many “Jedi critical” talking points are pretty much antisemitism and Holocaust denial/justification: The destruction of the Jedi Order was less a genocide and more of a religious conflict that the Jedi lost. "The Jedi Order religion of Judaism is a sect of the collective religious culture of 'Force Users Abrahamic faiths, and their destruction cannot really be considered genocide as the cultural group of Force Users Abrahamic faiths still exists…" Similar thinly-veiled antisemitism in the Star Wars fandom also frequently includes supersessionism, the Christian idea that during the (Roman) Republic era, the Jedi Jews had become corrupt and lost their way, and and so finally a divinely created person was sent to show them new path. This is why attempts to read Star Wars where Anakin is a Christ figure or correct where the Jedi have failed (ignoring the fact that he wrecked the lives of most people he was involved with, including himself, and the Darth Vader was never happy) are not just incorrect, but generally have a thick underlayer of antisemitism.

So, while Star Wars is fictional, it's important for people to analyze why they feel the way they do about the Jedi and be critical of the ways in which they talk about/criticize the Jedi---because, like it or not, the Jedi and their genocide are based on real people/things and so your reaction to them/what happened to them can be very telling.

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Finally, being critical of the good guys or trying to view everything through a morally grey lens doesn't make the story inherently more interesting, nor does it inherently add anything to the story---so I'm not "missing" anything.

If believing that no one can actually just be good, and everyone has to have some agenda, and "the good guys were the REAL bad guys all along" adds something to Star Wars for you...by all means, go ahead and believe what you want.

But my view of Star Wars isn't "lesser" or "missing something" just because I don't share that view and actually like the good guys and believe in what they taught/did.

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I'm passionate about being pro-Jedi because of everything I outlined above and because they were truly good people who tried their best to help the galaxy---they were brought down, not because of anything they did, but because of one man's selfish stupid actions.

There might've been a time when I was willing to hear people out when they criticized the Jedi---because hey! maybe I was wrong---but that time has long passed because nothing anyone has ever criticized the Jedi for has held up to scrutiny, and anti-Jedi people won't just keep the fuck off my page and leave me alone.

So, frankly, this is my blog and I'm allowed to be as passionate as I want to be---and I'm not gonna stop, or start viewing the Jedi as "wrong" or "bad" or whatever, just because you- (and other people, I'm sure) -think I'm missing something by being strictly pro-Jedi

#star wars #sw prequels #pro jedi #pro jedi order #pro jedi council #in defense of the jedi council #in defense of the jedi #jedi appreciation

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ohnonononononono567 · 2 months

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Carry me - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (angst)

Games

Bit by Bit

(This was made after 1am and I projected my OCD onto a fictional character so that's on me guys, my bad. Any bad writing can be blamed on the fact I was watching chernobyl with my cat and eating the saltiest fried chicken sandwich known as i wrote this)

"Simon-"

"Don't." He grunted, leaving his position in your bed. Never his.

The day he admits it's his bed as well, is the day he has the ability to sleep peacefully. And God knows when he'll be granted that right.

He awoke to the sound of screams, his ears ringing. The feeling of water and blood rapidly running under his skin, as if his flesh begged to be free.

You had rolled over to hold his midriff, and Lord help him with how much he's grown attached to you, with how much he wanted to pin you down as if you were nothing more than another enemy in his eyes.

He shot up, just to feel the familiar sting of a hook in his rib as he had sat on the bed.

Stepping out onto the patio with a grunt, a tank top and some joggers on with slippers. The apartment's patio serving as the perfect place to have a smoke, the dog yawning to join. Big fella, she was, nudging snout onto Simons leg.

Sitting down, he grabs a light, lighting the cigarette he had hiding cheekily in his pocket, when he had swore up and down he wasn't smoking anymore less than 8 hours ago.

Burn your wrist.

Shut up Riley, you know better than to act on that.

Do it now.

No.

He leaned back, allowing the nicotine to enter his system, and the tobacco to leave a lasting smell on the rough pads of his fingers. He watched you from the corner of your eye. Silent panic. Wanting to help him. But you can't. All he can do is lie to a therapist and come home to you.

He made this worse. Leave him. You're nothing, but he's worse.

Stop.

He saw you at your worst. Why stay?

Because he saw me at my worst. And he stayed.

He shouldn't have.

Stop.

He knows nothing about you and he goes to sleep saying bull crap about loving you.

"STOP!"

He yells, grabbing his hair in two fists on the side of his head, the cigarette between his fingers, lingering in the night air as the sound of the city stand beneath him.

He looks at you, and you seem to just be staring. Frozen.

It spitballs, as he meets your gaze;

"Stop fucking staring at me like that yeah? You can't fucking help me! You deal with me, or you kick me out. Should've done that by now if you've ever known what's good for you!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air out of exasperation, the dog yelping a bit as she backs away. He heads back inside, putting out the cigarette, and snatching his blanket, heading towards the couch.

You gave him a look as he left. He knew that look. You've set boundaries, he was trying to be healthy for you. Honest. You wouldn't stand for verbal abuse, nor disrespect. But he was weak. Useless in the presence of a man like you.

He knew better than to immediately go to you. He left earlier for the gym that morning, called off work, went to one of those shitty manmade parks with more dog piss than a fire hydrant, and sat himself down. Right in the grass, watching a single dandelion. It was weak. But it still stood in the grass. It moved with the wind, even when it lost it's soft white petals.

And when it was stripped naked, bare, with nothing left to offer, there was another dandelion there. Planted from the wind carrying it. Ready to repeat the cycle.

Why is he doing this? He'll repeat what his father did. He was the end of it. No relatives to fall back on. God knows how much he's begged to bring his brother, Tommy back.

But that's just it. He's the end of the cycle.

Get up. Nobody is coming to save you.

He stands before you now, with nothing to offer, but the willingness to move with you if you'd allow him. If you'd allow a weak man like him to remain with you. He'll continue to lose his petals, but you'll help him plant new flowers. To utter the words,

"I can never truly tell you how sorry I am, love. You are the man I want. You are everything. And it's not enough. But I am trying."

Looking up at you, his bones brittle, his eyes heavy.

He wants to sleep. To feel his flesh settle, his mind quiet.

And as you embrace him, he can feel every molecule in his skin burning.

And if you ever let reality hit that you deserve someone who could think like a bloody normal human for once, would he continue to survive for as long as he could without you to carry him. Until he allowed the world to end what it started.

You are everything.

Laying in bed, your hands hesitantly rubbing his back in soft circular motions as he keeps his head in your tummy, soft breathing as the dog nuzzled into the crook between you two, soft kisses lingering on his tongue, it leaves him before he can chase after it;

"...Would you ever marry me?"

@tabloid-junki3 i dont think i cooked but i did heat it up in the microwave so

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darkcircles4lyfe · 3 months

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Behind the locked door

In honor of Izuku’s mask disintegrating into rubble, I think it’s finally time for me to really dig deep into his character. I’ve been keeping this one in my back pocket for a while. Amid all the talk about Izuku’s fading narration, the “control your heart” subplot, I’ve been trying to find the words to articulate how I know exactly where this is going, at least on a certain level. Most recently, I read this meta from pika who brings up how the word “control” alone can be misconstrued (by us). And then I thought about how a while back I made a similar point, although I said Izuku was the one who got it wrong. At that time, I was holding back a huge piece of evidence because it was external to the story and I wasn’t sure it would be received well. As a result, my argument fell a little flat. Well, now—after 411, right before leaks for 412—it might be my last chance to play this card.

So about that external evidence. I struggle to bring it up because it’s gonna sound an awful lot like I’m projecting onto Izuku if I don’t do it justice. But… I look at the way his storyline has been going lately and I see a pattern emerging that I’m very familiar with. Fortunately, I don’t have to dump a bunch of personal junk on you in order to illustrate this pattern, because a certain personality typing system already has it all figured out: the Enneagram.

Now, hang on. I’m not one to put people in boxes. My trans ass? I managed to get a different result every time I retook the P0ttermore quiz. MBTI, zodiacs—not my thing. But the Enneagram comes the closest I’ve ever seen to covering all the bases and revealing actually meaningful insight, at least for myself. On top of that, I find it extremely useful for fleshing out fictional characters, hence this post will be taking advantage of that.

For those who aren’t familiar with it, here’s a quick overview: The Enneagram consists of 9 individual personality types, each arranged carefully in a sequential, circular manner. They are also simply named 1 through 9. While this might seem kinda basic, there is actually a surprising amount of nuance and fluidity involved. Typing is done largely through personal introspection (you don’t really have to take a test). Adjacent numbers share some core themes with each other, and according to a web of arrows between them, one type can take on either positive or negative traits associated with other types depending on how emotionally ‘healthy’ they are, causing a lengthy spectrum of different ways each type can manifest. That part gets kinda complicated to explain here, so for more info, the Enneagram Institute website is a decent place to start. I also highly recommend the Enneagram album by Sleeping At Last (and if you really want to dedicate some time, the accompanying podcast) to really get inside the heads of the types on a deeper level.

My interest in applying the Enneagram to Izuku comes from observing how differently one can interpret his character based on whether you read him as a 2 or a 9. And even though no one uses this language to talk about him, the distinction accounts for a bunch of different rifts in the fandom: whether you appreciate bkdk’s relationship, whether you can acknowledge Izuku’s flaws and weaknesses, the severity of his vigilante/rogue phase, and most importantly the gravity of his concealed heart, his rage, and what it all means—what he needs in order to grow and triumph.

Discussion of Enneagram types in the fandom is pretty scarce, but where it exists, I have only seen him labeled as a 2. Type 9 and type 2 can be similar at a glance in a lot of ways (actually, 9s can be mistaken for any type because they are like all of them combined). It’s easy to see Izuku as a 2 because he is the helping hero archetype. He puts others’ needs above his own and he is always ready and eager to help. If you listen to Sleeping At Last’s song for 2, you’ll notice that it’s all about care and noble sacrifice with the underlying theme of neglecting or even harming oneself: “I just want to build you up, until your good as new, and maybe one day I will get around to fixing myself too.” Sounds pretty obvious, right? Well, here’s the thing. You really get to know what your type is by how it hits you where it hurts, so I like to focus on each type’s basic fear and basic desire, first and foremost, as a tell. A 2′s basic fear is of being worthless and unloved. Consequently, their most basic desire is to be loved. And 2s have been taught through their negative experiences that love is conditional, something they have to earn from others. They need to be needed. So let’s say you think Izuku is a 2. This means you consider his heroic, self-sacrificing tendencies to be a result of his growing up quirkless and being told he is worthless and powerless because of it. Through this lens, he is trying to prove himself to the world by being useful. Along these lines, you may also assume he is trying to prove himself to Katsuki. Taking this train of thought even further, you may interpret Izuku’s relationship with Katsuki as an obsession of his, where he is either blind to Katsuki’s more negative traits in favor of gaining his love and praise, or else bitterly determined to prove him wrong. This is how a 2 might behave in an unhealthy relationship with an 8, which, yes, I do think Katsuki is an 8. That’s a tangent for another time, though.

But does Izuku ever “need to be needed?” It’s worth noting that while 2s’ search for validation might seem insincere, it is actually motivated by a deep, heartbreaking insecurity. They think they don’t even deserve love unless they are useful to someone, so they do everything they can to be worthy. Does Izuku show signs of this motivation?

If I stop to think about it, I can’t exactly see this in Izuku’s character. Yeah, his dream is to be a hero, and in his childhood, he was denied that dream. However I think we need to take a step back from that for a second if we want to dig deep. I mean, a lot of the other characters also behave heroically, act selflessly, and strive to help. Does that mean all of them are 2s as well? Of course not. So let’s instead turn to observe how Izuku acts with his loved ones, friends, and peers in other/adjacent contexts:

Inko: He is committed to protecting his mother from fearing for his safety. He wants to be good enough to not cause her to worry, rather than good enough to make her proud or make her love him. Idk about his father but at this point I think it’s safe to assume he is deeply unimportant.

All Might: I would describe their relationship as one of mutual responsibility. Izuku feels a responsibility to uphold All Might’s legacy, All Might feels a responsibility to teach him well. Because of this mutuality, I don’t think it quite makes sense to say Izuku deliberately seeks approval for its own sake. You know what I mean? They may be a mentor and a pupil but in practice they are almost more like co-conspirators. They don’t really have a power dynamic going on.

Shouto, Tenya, other friends: Izuku seems to take an interest in what makes his friends tick, and he sets himself aside in order to both analytically and intuitively determine what’s wrong and how to solve it. Examples include his fight against Shouto in the sports festival, and his stubborn concern for Tenya’s reaction to his brother’s forced retirement. He will put himself in the line of fire specifically when confronted with another person’s inner demons. This is not a labor that is asked of professional heroes, it’s just who Izuku is. You can also extend this observation to how he sees through Tomura to Tenko, but I’ll get to that later. Basically, while 2s seek to help in all kinds of ways, a 9’s strategy is always centered on the realm of the mind.

Kota: Adjacent to the paragraph above, before Izuku literally gets into a position where he needs to save Kota, he becomes interested in the boy’s point of view out of genuine curiosity. He doesn’t go “oh no, this kid doesn’t like heroes, I better get him to like heroes.” Instead he seeks out information as to why he thinks that way, and patiently listens. He’s sorry about what happened to Kota, and he understands. Twice (ch 71 and 72), he recognizes the fact that everyone has their own point of view on quirks, and he can’t really do anything about that.

Mirio: This might be one of the most telling examples. Mirio is the platonic ideal of an All Might successor. He’s “perfect.” He even looks the part. While this initially makes Izuku uncomfortable, he doesn’t become insecure and defensive over it. On the contrary, he easily comes to the conclusion that actually, Mirio should have One for All. Just like that (ch 172). If Mirio hadn’t dismissed the “hypothetical,” he probably would have gone through with giving it to him. That’s not how a 2 would respond. A 2 would double down and aim to be better than Mirio by trying to establish some relationship of need, fueled by the insecurity. Their shared subplot with Eri would have looked pretty different, I think.

Katsuki: I’ve mentioned before that I believe their rivalry only exists because Katsuki put it there. First of all, we can see that after the sludge villain incident, Izuku weirdly takes Katsuki’s dismissal of Izuku’s help as practical advice. Like, “oh yeah, I guess what I did was pretty stupid and dangerous, and I’m not cut out for this hero stuff. Now I can move on and find a realistic career.” Hello?? He accepted that so easily. So Izuku clearly isn’t motivated by a desire to prove himself to Katsuki. Even when he proclaims he’s going to surpass him, it’s like he’s happily mimicking Katsuki, not reacting based on insecurity or pride. Izuku is content to meet Katsuki wherever he is, and he’s satisfied with whatever kind of relationship they are able to have, including a rivalry, so he isn’t vying for his affection either. We can observe this when he gives up the role of reaching out a hand to save Katsuki to Kirishima, and also when he thinks about how “blessed” he is to even have a normal conversation with Katsuki. He doesn’t push things. It’s also stated in Deku vs. Kacchan 2 that Izuku doesn’t excuse or overlook Katsuki’s “bad side” but still admires him for his other traits. This is not at all characteristic of a toxic 2x8 relationship.

When 2s are at their very worst or pushed into unhealthy situations, they tend to become more needy and self-centered, even downright manipulative. But at Izuku’s worst, when he went rogue, he pushed everyone away to avoid being a burden. When the refugees at UA tried to prevent him from returning, he was like, “you’re right” and would have turned back immediately if not for his friends, loved ones, and other people who care about him telling him it was all okay. Meanwhile, Katsuki, in true 8 fashion, was pissed off at being rejected and having to deal with Izuku’s stubborn and evasive side (oh yeah, have I mentioned 9s are actually stubborn as hell?), but he made sure to establish that they are (he is) here to step in when Izuku can’t handle things by himself. Katsuki even opened up and admitted to his own weaknesses to show why mutual support is so important. Tbh, a lot of the above can be construed as just super healthy type 2 behavior, but not this. The way Izuku acts at his lowest, and his dynamic with Katsuki? Totally different. Dead giveaway for a 9.

Let’s get into the type 9 itself in more detail to show how it applies to Izuku more deeply—seriously, it’s beat for beat. One of the key differences is, while 2s seek validation, 9s are actually resigned to the belief that they aren’t important. Similar to 2s, a 9′s basic fear is of separation, but their basic desire is actually just peace or harmony rather than love. Notice how these motivations are just like a 2’s, except they have the “self” part taken out. With that in mind, they “achieve” their basic desire through selflessness in and of itself, without the need for recognition. That’s not to say that 9s are better than 2s. In fact, a 9 can be worse, in a way. If unhealthy, they will seek peace at almost any cost to themselves. In other words, they can be more self-destructive while still under the impression that they are doing just fine. “Peace” may refer to the expression of empathy, fulfilling the needs of others, sheltering someone, or mediating a fight—but also to repressing their own opinions and needs, not “rocking the boat,” ignoring negative emotions, or becoming a vessel for someone else to vent to.

What about inner peace? 9s value serenity, and thus they have a complicated relationship with the most tumultuous of emotions: anger. On the surface, 9s look like the type that is extremely slow to anger and highly tolerant. However, as much as they would like to believe this about themselves too, deep down, 9s are afraid of what might happen if they lose control. My phrase for it is this: I feel like a bottled tornado. Personally, I also think of anger as a basic desire to make others feel your pain—not necessarily sadistically, but in an effort to be known, to be understood. The difficult thing to grasp, especially for a 9, is that this is NOT inherently a bad thing. It isn’t wrong to seek sympathy. On the contrary, it is harmful to tell yourself that getting angry is wrong, because it’s like telling yourself that your pain is wrong, your pain doesn’t matter.

The problem is it doesn’t stop there. A 9, in shutting down their anger, ends up with such a low opinion of their own heart, their other emotions dull along with it. They cry less, laugh less, love less. It’s often said that they “fall asleep” to themselves. It all starts with anger. It’s interesting to note how different this whole mindset is from toxic masculinity—where men only feel allowed/able to express emotions through anger. This is sorta like the opposite. Anger becomes the dam rather than the river. For Izuku, I want us to consider that his suppression of anger carries with it the implication that he is hiding other things, too. It’s a given. There’s a whole sea of feelings out there, and we can only see the waves hitting the shore. This brings me to the whole “control your heart” thing. I do think it is worth mentioning that Banjou didn’t just tell Izuku to exercise control. He also told him that his anger could be useful if it is harnessed. With this added context, “control” here means “to master.” And Izuku seemed to grasp this concept… sorta. I think that if Izuku is like a 9, we can assume he has trouble understanding how anger could be a worthy source of strength. His emotions in relation to Katsuki feel more like a weakness to him, a character flaw in a hero, who is supposed to be detached and selfless. But he’s trying to understand, even though he’s afraid of it. He essentially applied the same strategy he used for mastering OFA itself: incremental strength training. Which, okay. Take a moment to absorb how odd that is, in relation to emotions, specifically. Does one learn to cry incrementally? Does one learn to use anger by bottling a fucking tornado?? Like, what, you think you’re gonna be able to let out juuust the right amount of air to avoid an explosion??? No, man… if you want to be the master of your emotions you have to be willing to sit with them. Confront them. Listen to them. Take them in completely and accept them as a part of yourself.

For someone like Izuku, though, it is very difficult to imagine how this is even possible. Tomura, as with every villain, can be used to reflect his hero counterpart’s greatest fear about himself. Tomura literally touches everyone and everything with his rage, and as a physical manifestation of that desire to pass his own pain onto others, destruction radiates from his fingertips. Thus, losing control in this manner must be Izuku’s worst nightmare, as if he would be completely unable to stop the collateral damage like an infinite line of dominoes. But his anger is not something he can overcome, as such.

An overarching theme in this heroes vs. villains conflict is that the villains are not merely obstacles to be overcome. Just think back to Himiko’s bitter rejection of the heroic sense of superiority. She demanded not to be pitied, condescended to, or lied to. Likewise, the answer cannot be that Izuku needs to restrain himself where Tomura doesn’t. What purpose would it serve to show that Izuku is better than him? Certainly not saving Tomura. If this was a battle against AFO, it might have been a different story. In that case, Izuku would have to overcome his emotional manipulation tactics. Tomura, on the other hand, is not so strategic. With his strangely childlike tendencies, he must relish making Izuku mad because it brings them closer to the same wavelength. It’s his own twisted way or seeking sympathy, or at least, the closest thing to sympathy he can get anymore, because he believes he is beyond saving. With that in mind, Izuku isn’t going to get anywhere unless he rises to meet him. Izuku has to match Tomura’s hatred with equally strong emotions of his own, whatever they may be, or else face the loss of OFA (as established in 305). This is not an easy thing to ask of a 9, once they have started to pull the blood from their extremities, become cold and numb. Bringing back circulation is painful and makes the skin crawl.

In case you’re worried about the focus on anger here, I want to reiterate that concealed anger in a 9 is just one sign of so much more. Back when everyone started fretting about Izuku’s habit of self-sacrifice, which would have been the only thing we need to worry about if he were a 2, I was freaking out because Izuku was also starting to look like a person who has too many secrets. You don’t even have to acknowledge the possibility that he lied about what triggered blackwhip. It’s written all over his face all the time these days. It’s especially noticeable when you contrast him with Katsuki after all his own growth. Katsuki confides in people. He acknowledges his weaknesses. He enjoys being himself. He asserts his place. He thinks about Izuku all the damn time and now he even lets himself be soft about it. All this warmth while Izuku is distant, muted, and blank. I know all too well what this state of mind is like. Man, I hate secrets. You get to the point where you don’t know how to talk about even the simplest most inconsequential shit. And the bigger things? They’re like a growing snowball of words in your throat that cannot possibly fit out of your mouth. The “easiest” way to cope is to simply fade into the rhythm of life. Go with the flow.

Since 9s have a natural curiosity about the interiority of other people, they may choose to focus on that in order to divert their own attention away from themselves. Taken to the extreme, they will lose track of their sense of self. Like I said, you can see Izuku doing this as he fights, analyzing the psyche of his opponent, and his match against Shouto in the sports festival was a fantastic early example. They became friends because of how observant Izuku is. His emotional intelligence and intuition are very strong, but gradually, as he has taken on greater responsibilities and experienced more trauma, he has gotten worse at applying these skills to himself. You know, we go on and on about how his narration has been reduced to nearly nothing, and it’s not just an absence of introspection, it’s an absence of self. It creates a lack of ownership over the narrative—what should be his narrative.

Right now, he’s focusing on trying to see Tomura as a person, figuring him out. I think it would be really satisfyingly ironic if in the process, he ends up uncovering insights about himself instead. It’s about time we learn what Izuku’s secrets are. I don’t actually think that Izuku mastering anger will constitute the emotion that is strong enough to keep Tomura from taking OFA. Moreover, he can’t expect to reach Tomura’s core, Tenko, unless he exposes his own. Rather, anger is the conduit for Izuku to unlock something else. Think of the way he described how Katsuki is his image of victory. The feeling manifests when he asserts a stronger sense of self (the urge to win) and he becomes more free with his words. I have no doubt that Tomura has the power to make unfiltered honesty spill out of him. He knows how to bring out his selfish needs, his pain, his pressure points, his fears, his insecurities. Hell, maybe Mt. Fuji erupting is a metaphor. I want to see Izuku explode while Tomura watches with mad glee. But then I want Izuku to Realize Things such that it finally sets him free. Then, instead of Tomura witnessing yet another person he touches fall apart, he gets to see someone become whole.

"I let the scale tip, feel all of it. It's uncomfortable but right. And we were born to try to see each other through. To know and love ourselves and others well is the most difficult and meaningful work we'll ever do." --Sleeping At Last, 'Nine'

#you are very much welcome to send me asks about this and the enneagram etc because it's very fun to talk about!#bnha meta #bnha manga #bnha 411 #bnha 412 #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #character analysis #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #bakudeku #bkdk #dekubaku #dkbk #lin speaks

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picaroroboto · 26 days

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When someone does a terrible thing, in both real life and in fiction, we as onlookers find ourselves immediately asking "Why?". In real life even an understandable or relatable motive rarely justifies most crimes, while in fiction, we may actually judge evil actions less harshly if they were done with good intentions (or if the perpetrator is hot, but that's another issue)

(forgive me for interrupting my scheduled Fateposting for Zenosposting. again.)

From the moment he first appears on-screen, Zenos is just so dang weird that I think most players' reactions to him, whether they like him or not, is to wonder "Why?" - "Who is this guy, why is he like this, why does he do what he does, why is he obsessed with my player character?" and so on. What's interesting about this urge to know what's up with him is that understanding/not understanding others is a key theme of Zenos's character. He doesn't understand other people or care about their motives, doesn't even really care to try because he treats others as if they're a different species of animal than him, and doesn't even care to explain or justify his own motives until confronted. To him any motive is as good as any other, he's just chosen to live for his own hedonism. Even on a meta-level he resists being understood - which is to say that it's very possible to get a shallow reading of him, "Oh, he's just crazy.", and run with that without ever looking at the deeper level because you've already decided that this perceived insanity doesn't justify his crimes.

This is why it feels like such a huge and meaningful change that his character development in Endwalker is marked by him asking the WoL so many questions - genuinely trying to understand them instead of projecting himself onto them, genuinely trying to connect with another person for the first time.

Now that I reach the end of this post I realize that there's not really any major points here that I haven't made in other posts. When I played Endwalker, I approached the idea of the final confrontation with Zenos with my WoL wanting to ask "Why?" - not that he's looking for a justification, because he finds Zenos's actions unforgivable, but because he's the type of hero who wants to understand even his enemies. Ironically, or fittingly, that need to understand is what keeps him human, from being like the mindless beast Zenos thought he was.

I don't really ship ZenosWoL because I can't see the feelings as being mutual for my WoL, but the desire to understand one another counts for something. His pursuit of the WoL might be what constitutes "love" in Zenos's mind, but as far as I'm concerned, "wanting to understand" another person is what I consider "love".

#ff14 #ffxiv #zenos yae galvus #zenos viator galvus #zenoswol #endwalker #endwalker spoilers #meta posting on my art blog

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 4 months

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I liked Kieran, maybe only because he reminded me of myself as a kid. Constantly feeling left out and being both harassed for everything you do do and never being trusted with anything to even proof yourself capable, like the knowledge about the truth about ogerpon. I still am, working on that, but was way more jealous of other people hanging out with my friends simply because I had so precious few. Idk how much it would have fucked with me if my verbally abusive older sister (I do also have one of those) simply decided that one of my friends was now one of hers instead and kicking me out while my friend isn't saying or doing anything to be like "no, actually I want to spend time with [anon] too".

Obviously his obsession with ogerpon and the following Drive to get stronger is pretty hyperbolic but I did also have a bit of that. Just rejecting everything, throwing everything back at everyone since it was, or at least felt, like its always my family and the people around me just throwing shit at me too. Did I overreact a bunch of times? Oh yeah for sure. Teenage tantrums will get ya, but I really did need that. Without it I don't think I would have ever learned to call out my family's abuse and other people treating me poorly. Since as a kid that just radiates low self esteem you seem to get treated like shit from just about everyone.

Anyway all that is to say, throwing around things like "I think this kid would shoot up a school if only he had access to guns" isn't, imho, great. And I don't even really particularly care about your instance rn, like it's a fictional character in a Pokémon game who cares. So sorry for being the one who got my rant lol. It's just something I've been seeing more of lately, people throwing "they'd shoot up a school" not only at fictional characters but actual human beings. Which I think is fucked. Thankfully no one ever said that to me, but I cannot imagine how hurtful that must be, like if we ignore all the other negative effects it has for a second, when your actual school life was hell enough to make you consider ending your own life, like it was for me, to just get thrown another brick at your head that people think you would be monster enough to murder people.

...well there's a lot to unpack here.

So first up, you have my genuine condolences for your extraordinarily shitty school life. You clearly had the very rough end of the stick, and it's clearly still hurting, and that sucks.

However. I am not thrilled that you just trauma dumped in my inbox because you over-projected onto a fictional character, and I'll ask you not to do that again. Particularly when your "rant" is explicitly aimed at trying to make me feel bad for criticising a fictional character that you, once again, have over-projected onto.

Like listen, I too had an extraordinarily shitty school life, and I also had very few friends (and at three separate extended points, a combination of Literally No Friends At All, AND Being Actively Targeted For Bullying; the first time around, the bullying was led by the class teacher, even.) I have very much been there, done that and got an entire t-shirt shop. But I still didn't come away from that feeling that I was entitled to other people liking me or wanting to be friends with me, because no one is obliged to like or be friends with anyone else. I may have occasionally felt jealous, but I didn't throw tantrums and demand perfect loyalty from the few friends I did make, because that would have been abusive as all hell and would have justly made them want nothing to do with me. And, crucially and relevantly to the fictional character in the fictional world that we are discussing, I did not fixate on someone I wanted to be my friend, see that they were afraid of me and wanted to be friends with someone else, and then throw such a tantrum about it that I physically fought that someone else for the 'rights' to that friend regardless of their consent in that matter, apparently with the intention of abducting them if I won. And on losing that fight, I did not storm off and start amassing a collection of stronger and stronger weapons so I could take over my school and prove my dominance over them, emotionally abusing anyone who couldn't keep up with me because of family problems along the way. I presume you did not either!

And if I had, then the trauma and loneliness I received would be irrelevant - actions borne of trauma are still actions, with real world consequences, and you are still responsible for them regardless of how bad you felt.

(I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but school shooters are people who are also lonely and often bullied. It's very interesting therefore that you dismiss them as "monsters" while demanding that all behaviour from such people up to the shooting be excused. But the issue with such people is the entitlement they feel and the abuse they therefore dish out. Shootings are just the most extreme symptom of that - they're far from the only symptom.)

I cannot stress this enough - you are not the fictional character of Kieran in the game Pokémon Scarlet and Violet. You did not make his choices, or perform his actions (I assume). Criticism of him is not criticism of you. No one is accusing you of being about to shoot up a school. You state that you don't care that he's a fictional character, but I'm afraid you very much should, because that is the crucial difference. I am sorry that you're seeing a lot of people accusing real life people of being school shooters, but that is not what has happened here, is it?

You're welcome to write back. But I'll warn you very clearly - I am absolutely not at home to you trauma dumping further, or trying to make me feel guilty for talking about a fictional character because you have over-projected and therefore are taking it personally. That is a You Problem, and I will block you without reading if you do.

However, I am going to finish by reiterating my very genuine sympathies for your school experience. It truly was an appalling time for me, and it seems like it was for you, too. I hope you can process that trauma now, and find peace.

#asks #yikes

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 3 months

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tumblr.com/emdeerm insert-that-spiderman-meme

based on this prompt and the amazing fanfic "Wait I'm a Cartoon Over Here?!"

Ahem Damian flopped onto his bed, exhausted after having had to clean the bat litter once more, as per Alfred's instruction. However, that exhaustion was punctuated by an underlying satisfaction. Despite everything, he and Richard had succeeded. They made contact with Team Phantom (part of him felt dizzy and giddy at the notion, but he'd impale anyone who'd suggest it) and managed to keep Father and the others from combusting at the notion of their existence. Phantom had sworn up and down to never expose their identities, knowing just how important they are. ("You were my hero since I was 7, I'd rather eat Dash's underwear again than betray your trust!") If only he knew...

Speaking of whom, Damian clamped his hands of his ears as the girlish squealing in this room entered a fever pitch. He was starting to regret allowing Kent to enter the Manor while team Phantom were visiting.

"DANNY DANNY DANNY DANNY DANNY I'M SUCH A HUGE FAN OF YOU CAN YOU PLEASE SIGN THIS AND THIS AND THIS AND-" Damian could've sworn that's the spiel Jonathan had opened with about twenty minutes ago. Fenton, for his part, was doing his best to withstand the onslaught of super-powered pre-teen fandom.

He'd never be caught dead doing something so... debased. So petty and pointless as to gawk at a fictional character. He, the blood son of the Bat and his future successor.

"Come on Damian, aren't you excited too?" His heart rate spiked. Blast. How quickly could he break into Father's kryptonite vault...

"You sure you wanna mess him with right now? He really looks like he could kill you, and I read the issue where he tried to murder Tim."

Damian prickled, even felt a hint of shame knowing that Fenton knew just as much about him as he did, how shameful. No not shameful at all, why would he care about someone who probably wasn't even real. Damian moved to sit up and shot Jonathan the deadliest glare he could muster, an expression copy-pasted right off his Father's Batglare.

Jonathan, for his part, cowered behind Fenton. "You'd do well to keep remain silent, Kent, before I remind you that your life is as fragile as a dying rat." He all but spat out. However, instead of cowering further, Jonathan's lips curled into a devious expression.

Fenton's head bounced between the two. "Maybe this personal arc hasn't been published yet..." He muttered.

"Hey Danny..." Jonathan began, hesitantly. This could not be happening. Damian grabbed the nearest katana and lunged. However, his efforts were made fruitless as he passed through the duo like they weren't there. Dammit! "I know this is kind of embarassing, but we put in a lot of work and you're like my number two inspiration after my dad and we don't know how long you'll be here so., but you gotta keep this a total secret, like a total secret, you can't tell anyone."

Jonathan reached into his backpack. Damian swung his sword again. Anything, anything to prevent the inevitable. If this were allowed to happen, his life would be forfeit. Curse his hero this hero for being so overpowered. Where was the lipstick laser when you needed it? Or the fenton thermos? or the anti-creep stick, or anything?!

However, just as Jonathan was about to retrieve the forbidden contraband, a fist flew out and blew him away. "Woah what is this?" Exclaimed one Danielle Phantom. It was at that moment that Damian knew, there was nothing more that could be done.

~~~~~

Danielle rifled through the pages of the comic book that Jon was about to pull out (which, btw, was amazing! Danny might be into Nightwing and Martian Manhunter, but she could not count the number of nights she'd dreamt of flying with the Super Sons. Basically she was never gonna wash that fist again anyway) and was shocked to find the contents. "Yo Danny, have you seen this??"

Her template/brother/cousin/dad (his status is in a weird gray area at the moment) leaned over, eyes widening too.

For within her hands was the latest issue of the celebrated fancomic, the Secret Adventures of Danny Phantom, which circulated around this universe's social media forums and the schoolyards of Metropolis and Gotham. Danielle flipped through pages upon pages of lovingly hand-drawn panels.

"I didn't know we were a comic, too! I've never looked that cool before." Danny said, nothing the cover art.

"I dont think this is official, i mean, whatever official canon means these days. Look, there's no logo from the channel our cartoon's on."

"I can't believe I have fans who know enough about me to make a fancomic." Danny groaned.

"Oh shut up, Danny. you don't see me getting any fanart." Dani teased, until she reached the beautiful two-page spread of her, Robin and Superboy swooping in to save Danny from the GiW. Special attention was placed by the artist on her hair, and the unnatural glow of her ghostly eyes. Overall it was a very flattering picture. the real Dani's jaw dropped.

Danny turned to the gaping Jon, and the limp Damian, both of whose faces were drained of colour, looking even more dead than himself on a cold day. Realisation dawned inside of him. "Wait, did you guys make this?"

His interoogation could not continue furhter before Dani squealed with excitement. She phased out of the bedroom door in an instant before anyone could react, yelling in excitement about this amazing fancomic that Damian and Jon had made, like it was fate... Her voice was followed by one Dick Grayon's comment on Damian's evolving artstyle, before more joined the chorus. As for Damian? He rolled for 60d6 psychic damage, took 300, and lost the wlil to live. Jon was not far behind.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #based on another prompt #each universe exists in the other as a fictional series #How do i tag others???#im new to tumblr plz hepl

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youthereader · 3 months

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Near Zero part 7

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.4k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; barebacking, oral (f receiving), infidelity, age gap (10+ years), secret relationship

A/N: Although based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character, and does not intend to be accurate. This is merely for entertainment. This is the second of two parts in Santa Fe. Essentially filler. Also shoutout to @goldcoastsunset for being such a sweetie about this fic, it helped a lot.

masterlist

You wake, short bursts of light over several seconds – your eyelids fluttering in a sunbeam – sensing Robert beside you. He absently puffs at the lit cigarette between his lips as he reads the newspaper.

You draw in a breath and he glances down at you, small smile forming. He’s naked like you, his bare legs crossed at the ankles under the thin sheet that covers you both.

You sit up, eyeing the newspaper.

“Reading about Naples,” he murmurs.

“Anything good?” you reply, snatching up a matchbook from the side table. You turn it over, snapping off a match to light a cigarette you retrieve from your pack.

“Uprisings.”

You nod, thinking of Mussolini. Then Churchill, then Roosevelt. You suddenly wish you were back in Los Alamos working, but shut your eyes against it, attempting to squash it.

“We can talk about it here,” he adds, and you meet his eye again. “To an extent.”

You hesitate, chewing your lip, cigarette smoke rising. You take a puff, exhaling roughly.

“It would help me sleep at night if we knew how close Heisenberg was to building a bomb.”

Robert gives a single knowing nod. The silence that descends between you is not uncommon, and in this case, not unwelcome. You muse, smoking away until he’s finished reading and folds his newspaper. He taps your bare arm with it, a corner of it brushing your nipple.

“You slept quite peacefully just now,” he murmurs.

“I wonder why.” You twist slightly to put your cigarette out, moving back to give him your full attention, shifting to lie on your side.

His eyes dip to your topless upper half once more, and you love that mischievous streak of his. He brings it out of you, too, with so little effort.

“Robert.”

“Yes, darling?” he says.

“May we fuck again?”

He laughs, looking down, and then puts his own cigarette out. He moves closer to you, hand brushing your bare stomach. He feigns a seriousness.

“Yes, I suppose we could…”

You kiss him for once, not wanting to wait a second longer. He smiles into it, your lip between his two, and then he takes over, his hands deep in your hair as he rolls you onto your back. Your legs spread and you sigh, your hands on his sides, rubbing up and down. Your nails sink into his back when he kisses your neck, warmth spreading to your toes.

You glance down at your naked bodies, the way his cock stands to attention already, so eager. It’s the third time you’ve done this today. You experiment with your nails, digging in, and he grunts, retaliating with a nip to your shoulder.

“Please,” you whisper.

He kisses you hard, kisses you until you pull away to breathe, and he shuffles down your chest, his fingers splayed on your stomach. You meant to beg him to fuck you, but he hasn’t done this today yet, moving down to kiss your mound, thumb you open to lick up the cut of you.

You gasp at the first contact of his mouth, heels digging into the mattress. You think you might combust if you look at him for too long, his eyes swinging up to meet yours. Your plea dies on your lips as he buries his face in your cunt, tongue spearing you as he wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping them open.

“Oh…”

Your hand finds the back of his head, attempting to anchor yourself to the Earth, unable to keep the sounds inside anymore. You moan, remembering to shut your mouth, which seems to only encourage Robert’s talented mouth.

The pleasure rolls over you, a cresting wave, and you come, hips lifting off the bed as your back arches. The sound you make is strangled and muffled behind your hand but undeniable.

He pulls back with slow kisses to your inner thighs, mouth glistening when he ascends to meet you in a rough kiss. The filthiness of it emboldens you, makes you push against him to shove him onto his back, your leg over him in a second.

You pant together, your hand on his cock, pumping him as you share another hasty kiss.

“Darling—”

His words are cut off when you take him to the hilt, his eyes rolling back for a beat before he regains control, his hands vices on your thighs as you begin to ride. He stares up at you as you take everything from him, your hands on his chest, feeling his hammering heart beneath your fingers.

You wish you could do this forever. Heartbreakingly, this might be the last time for a while before you can have this time alone. You lean over him, sharing a breath as your mouths don’t quite shut in filthy kiss after filthy kiss.

You’re hurting yourself, loving this with him. The damage you have done is too much.

You sense his end, sweat on your skin, unsure of whose it is. You pull back enough for him to slip out of you and wrap your hand around him, bringing him off, his arms curled around you. You think of the mess, smelling your shared arousal, knowing it will be there for hours.

Yet it’s not enough. It may never be enough. Your throat tightens at the thought, and you attempt to pull away, but his arms lock you in.

“Stay there,” he whispers. “Stay.”

For the first time, your eyes sting with emotion. What stirs inside you can’t be let free, not now. It would ruin this weekend with him. You shake your head, before melting back into a kiss you share.

Robert plays with his empty pipe on the tablecloth, nodding every so often as a fellow scientist talks. Your own conversation with Feynman is quite alike. You are both struggling to concentrate.

You cut Feynman off suddenly, glancing up at a waiter that passes by the table.

“Excuse me, may I have another drink?”

The waiter nods at your empty martini glass and then departs, your focus back on Feynman.

He snorts. “They’re weak.”

“Compared to Los Alamos, of course,” you reply with a smirk. “One day someone’s going to go blind in that town from all the homemade gin.”

Feynman gives a shrug, before resuming his long-winded tale. You half listen, watching Robert. He pauses and looks your way, your eyes meeting.

“Yes,” he says absently. “But it’s getting quite late. I should head off soon.”

He only elaborates once your martini arrives, and the waiter is out of earshot. You pick up your drink, taking a steady gulp.

“Have another one, Oppie,” Feynman says.

Robert gives a little shake of his head, eyes on you again. He gives the table a short tap with his pipe.

“I’m off to Chicago in the morning.”

Your whole night has been like this, dreading the end, though it hadn’t been that entertaining. Everyone was sluggish at dinner, despite there being such a fuss about it, leading up to this visit. Santa Fe is wonderful, but your mind is elsewhere.

“May I walk you back to the hotel?” Robert asks, pulling you back from your reverie.

“Yes,” you say, and pick up your drink, draining it.

You’re past caring about whether or not there’s an excuse for Robert walking you back to the hotel. Feynman and the others near your part of the table seem to have moved on as well, by how they settle back into conversations. You rise from your chair, following Robert out.

Being invisible, being less than to some of these men, works out for you.

Robert takes your hand when you’re on your floor. He walks you back to your room, only letting you go when you unlock the door, both of you slipping inside. He doesn’t remove his coat, lingering by the door.

There’s a mirror beside you, above the dish you place your hotel key in with a clatter. Your eyes meet Robert’s mirror self and he looks sadder.

He moves to your side, so you face the mirror together. He then takes off his hat, placing it on your head, his arm around your shoulders.

“Look at us,” he says.

You both smile at one another. You know you miss one another already by the way his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He is somewhere else, like you, endlessly thinking.

“Look at us,” you whisper, an echo.

It is easy to be busy once you return to Los Alamos. You bristle when Teller argues with someone with abandon and you hunch over your desk with a perpetual cigarette, jittery with too much bad coffee.

You’re lonely, but you’re often too tired to notice it. A couple days after Santa Fe, you tear open a letter marked from your mother, but recognise the writing easily as Robert’s.

You are in my dreams.

Ooh boy. I'm gearing you up for future angst. It obviously gets much worse. But hopefully you still stick with this story! Let me know if you enjoyed it. Reblogs and replies really encourage me. 🥺❤️

Taglist: @indulgence-be-thy-name @forgottenpeakywriter (hmu if you'd like to be added)

#j robert oppenheimer #near zero #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #fem reader #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer x y/n

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dduane · 1 year

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Diane, I am wondering something about writing and you are very wise and very kind.

For context, I've been seeing a therapist for a few months and just saw a psychiatrist Sunday night and they both used the phrase "dissociative daydreaming". It started when I was about 13 and I'm 28 now and it is getting in the way of my life. I'll be having a one-on-one conversation with someone alone in a quiet room and completely miss a few seconds of what they say, and I zone out a lot when eating at restaurants and it creeps people out. The psychiatrist says we are going to work on getting this under control in the next couple months.

The thing is, I like writing fiction and I do a lot of my imagining while I'm in this "zoned out" state. You know, that being a major part of dissociative daydreaming. So I'm wondering, sorry for assuming (assuming makes an ass out of you and me), but if you do not also dissociative daydream, or any other fiction writers here do, how do you think about your stories? Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself "I shall write a story now" without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?

First of all: my apologies for having taken so long to get to this... my ask box is so piled up with overdue stuff right now. (sigh) And thanks for the nice words. I don't know about the "wise", and sometimes I screw up the "kind", but I do what I can with what I've got.

Anyway, re: "Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself 'I shall write a story now' without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?"

...Yeah, pretty much. Here's how the story-building process usually goes for me.

First I outline. (As detailed here.) The outlining is for me the equivalent of drawing a blueprint, or doing the measure-twice work that comes before taking a saw to the materials you're going to use to build a bookshelf. For this part of the process, as I assemble the underlying framework of the story, I've found it vital to be as completely present, alert and aware as possible. This is where the order of physical action gets laid out, errors of reasoning get caught, blind alleys get erased from the blueprint, useless character transactions get identified and thrown away, and hunches / incomplete ideas get incorporated.

While assembling the outline, if I find my concentration drifting or somehow compromised, I stop work as quickly as possible and put it aside until I can find time to deal with it when I won't be distracted by other stuff. Much experience has taught me that if I get sloppy about this, I may well wind up being really annoyed about it later on... secondary to having missed something vital about character interactions, or screwed up some important sequence of physical action. The writing time lost in fixing careless errors of this kind infuriates me... so I take my time with the outlining.

It's after the framework of the story is in place that the vaguing-out stages of both writing and thinking about the writing come into play. Over many years I've found that the shower, in the morning, is one of the best places for this. Usually when I'm in active writing mode on a project, the first thing I'll do after waking up (while still in bed) will be to look over the writing done the previous day, and—if there's need—check the outline to see what I was planning to do next. Then I hit the showers.

That's where the ideas really start to flow while I'm unfocused: scene descriptions and action sequences in particular. I don't know what it is, but running water really seems to do it for me. (One time I was up at this place for a writing trip, and plotted about six novels one after the other, over a week. Those tubes in the picture dump a liter of hot water per second onto your head. Very, very effective for me.)

...I'm also absolutely horrified to have to admit that one of the very best places for me to be in order to have dialogue arrive is at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. Possibly because there are few other situations in my day to day life where I more desperately want to have my mind be somewhere else. Anywhere else. (But also: running water again...)

In between these two modes of composition lies a hybrid "full-spectrum" writing mode in which I can switch pretty much seamlessly from total immersion in the scene presently unfolding to a more analytical examination of what's going on: a constant realtime adjustment of format issues, timing, pacing, and a lot of other things. When in this mode I can vague out when necessary, inventing new stuff as needed or refining material that was already there, and then snap back into the mode where I'm keeping an eye on paragraph lengths or whether there are too many em-dashes popping up. :)

...Anyway, that''s how it goes for me. The usual caveat applies here: other people's (entirely successful!) processes will not necessarily look anything like this. ...Meanwhile, I absolutely wish you good results in your upcoming brainwork, and the better management of your own process.

#writing #writing process #also #hot water #LOTS OF HOT WATER

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months

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I have this problem that finally showed up after many years, I'm a few chapters away from completing my book. After almost 5 years writing this through happy times and sad times, I'm finally done! Yet, I can't move on. Instead of being happy to finally complete my passion project, I feel myself grieving the eventuality. I spent years building my world, story, characters etc... and now I don't want it to end, I don't want to complete it. Suffering from success if you will.

Do you have any tips on this fear of completion? My book is set up as a stand-alone, so making a sequel wouldn't work.

Have you ever had this "completion grief" and if so, how did you move on from it?

Thank you

Dealing with Creative Grief When Story is Done

It's normal to feel grief upon completion of a story, especially one that you've been working on a long time and/or has been emotionally demanding. Here are some things you can do to help work through this feeling:

1 - Be Proud of Your "Baby Bird" - Your baby bird has flown your now empty nest, but take a moment to recognize the beauty of this moment... this project you've worked so hard on is now complete and ready to fly away. You've done everything you can for it, so now it's time to let it spread its wings and live a life of its own. As much as it's sad, it's exciting, too. And it's a huge accomplishment!

2 - Find Closure with Celebration - Many creatives find celebration a helpful way to find closure when a project is finished. This can be something small, like ordering pizza or enjoying a glass of champagne, or it could be something bigger, like having a nice dinner out with friends, or even throwing a little party. Having any sort of event to mark the occasion can help it to feel more final, but in a way that is happy and comforting.

3 - Start a New Project - With one project finished and out in the world, you may find it helpful to start planning a new project, or at least start thinking about one. Throwing that leftover creative energy into something new helps with that sense of emptiness, distracts you from creative grief due to the finished project, and heals your heart with enthusiasm for a new world, new characters, and new plot.

4 - Schedule a Future Visit - Sometimes it helps to plan to revisit the completed project in some way at a future date. That could be reading it at some point, if you're able to read through finished projects and enjoy them. It could be creating a collection of mood boards for the story and characters and sharing them with your readers. It might be doing a reading of the first chapter on an Instagram live, or--hear me out on this--writing a companion story. Now, I don't mean writing a sequel or even a story that you'd share necessarily, but more something for yourself, kind of like fan-fiction of your own work, just as a way to get into your story and revisit the characters and world. And truth be told, if you plan to do this--say on the six-month anniversary of when your story was finished--it will give you a sense of the story living on that will help you get through your grief now, but by the time you get to that point, you probably won't need to do it anymore.

5 - Wait for It To Pass - Of course the hard thing about any kind of grief is there's not a whole lot you can do to make it go away. For the most part, you just have to acknowledge that it's there and give yourself the grace needed to get through it. Most of the time, it passes more quickly than you might expect, and you'll be onto something new in now time.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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hyuuukais · 5 months

Text

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general, mention of stabbing someone kind of?

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER NINE • TROUBLING CONDITIONS (1.4k)

Sun peeking through the curtains and over your eyelids wakes you. It's warm, from both the sun and the body next to you that you are suddenly aware of. Opening your eyes you see him; Chan is still asleep. His mouth is parted ever so slightly, cheeks tinged pink in the light. You're certain you've never seen someone quite as beautiful.

An arm is splayed beneath your head, the other resting on his stomach as he's on his back. You cling onto his right side, tracing circles on the back of his hand. Part of you never wants this moment to end; to just stay here in the safety of him and not have to face the demons of your past. Because that's what this is, isn't it?

After Chan had fallen asleep, long after you settled in, you did some thinking. There's a root cause to everything that's happened- and it's you, your past, your fears. Why it's happening now and this way, you can't seem to figure out, but it had to have done with getting close to the end of your novel. Thousands of hours of free therapy diving into a world that didn't exist, projecting onto the main character and building a love story so perfect; everything you desired.

So the universe gave it to you.

It gave you Chan.

But with one condition- you have to figure your shit out, or it's taking him back.

Knowing you can't lay here forever despite craving it, you pull yourself carefully from Chan's arms, exiting the room silently. Entering the living room, you spot Jeongin wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, still asleep, and Minho standing by the window looking out on the town.

You stand beside him, observing the now busy streets. "Such a difference from yesterday."

"It is." He's not startled by your sudden presence. "Lot of people for a small town."

"You'd be surprised. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," he says, eyes still focused outside. "Did you sleep?"

"What's that supposed to me- hey." You smack him lightly on the arm. "Nothing happened. We went to bed, that's all."

"Suuuure, I totally believe that."

You give up, heading to Chan's kitchen to find some food. There are some leftover sandwiches from Lily that you take out, prepping them for the others. As much as you don't want to, you nudge Jeongin awake. The poor kid looks exhausted, dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

"Shit." He sits up suddenly, legs swinging over the edge of the couch, taking in his surroundings. "I need to get home."

"Eat first-"

"No, Y/n," Jeongin snaps, then realizes the tone he's used with regret. "I'm sorry, I just, I really need to go."

Without another word, he rushed out of the apartment using the fire escape. Minho gives you a confused look before going back to the window, watching Jeongin cross the road. You stand next to him.

Observing Jeongin from up here he looks scared, pulling his sweater close to his body and shrinking into himself. His eyes are on the ground, maneuvering through bodies expertly. Soon enough he disappears from your view.

"Weird kid," Minho leaves your side, more interested in the sandwiches.

Why was he in such a rush; did he not text Mrs. Yang? Why was he so scared?

This is your fault, a voice whispers in your mind, vivid enough you can almost feel breath on your ear, it's all your fault.

What do you think will happen when he gets home? It continues. Mrs. Yang is not as pleasant as she seems.

"Leave him out of this, he's just a kid," your breath is coming out uneven.

He knows too much.

"He's not apart of this. Neither is Minho," you swallow thickly. "You never should have brought him here."

You should have seen the look on your face, it laughs, priceless. I can't wait to see it when you face him.

"Face him?" Your head snaps around, following the voice, but of course nothing's there.

Late in the day, Chan finally emerges from his cocoon of blankets. He woke without you by his side, whining to himself at the loss of warmth, however, you'd already been gone awhile. The room was quiet, and he could hear you and Minho talking and laughing in the next room. Your laugh, he realizes, he's never heard it so loud.

The door to Chan's bedroom opens suddenly, startling you. Minho rests a hand on yours, seeing you flinch from the sound.

"Good morning," Chan greets sleepily, sitting on the couch across from you. "May I?" He's pointing at the sandwiches and you nod. "Lily made them extra good this time I swear. Probably because she knew I had guests."

You make small talk as he eats, asking how he slept, what he dreamt, discussing the day ahead, and explaining where Jeongin went.

"Huh," Chan cocks his head. "Didn't he tell his grandmother he was staying over somewhere?"

"That's what we thought, but I guess he was still expected home by a certain time. It was pretty early though, so I don't know." You stand, bringing the empty plates to the kitchen sink. When you speak next, you raise your voice for the others to hear over the running water. "When he left, I heard a voice. It sounded threatening, especially to Jeongin. Something about his grandma not being who she seems."

"Is that all it said?" Minho questions. "Did you recognize the voice?"

"No," you answer both questions in one go. "It also taunted me." You turn the tap off, looking down into the sink, wet hands hovering. "I think it wants me to see Yeonjun."

"Not fucking happening," Minho hisses.

Overprotective was an understatement, you thought. "I could handle it, if it means all this being over."

"Nuh-uh, no way." Minho is at your side now, hand gently moving your head to look him in the eyes. "You should never have to see that asshole again."

It's hard to keep your face neutral, eyes watering ever so slightly. You swore to never see your ex again, but you can't help but think it's the right thing to do. If you don't, that will doom Chan. That will doom his sister. That will doom you.

"We should go." You look away, flicking water off your hands and wiping them on your- Chan's- sweats. "I have a stray cat to feed."

"Y/n." You don't meet his eyes. "Don't tell me you're seriously thinking about this? If you thought he was bad before, imagine how angry he'll be with you now. Running away on your wedding night probably felt like a knife to the heart."

"Good. I hope it fucking was. Let him bleed out for all I care," you say, voice low. "I'll go and twist the damn knife."

Leaving Chan's was hard, scared something would happen to him again, whether it be a missing limb or another vision. Part of you was almost relieved to be leaving, knowing you were becoming too comfortable. You're forgetting to guard your heart around him, and soon enough he'll make his way through your bloodstream, delivering the killing blow personally.

Yes, he's literally your dream man. Yes, you literally wrote him yourself. Yes, you're scared of falling in love with him despite having already been in love with the idea of him.

But that's just it- you were in love with the idea of him, of someone like him. His name is not the same, but similar enough to the character you had written; Chris. His café doesn't serve quite the same food. The character hadn't lived above the café, but down the street from the main character. All these slight differences.

However, his warmth is the same. The way he loves is the same. The way he cares for you when he still barely knows you is the same. And for you, the way you fall so easily is the same as your main character.

He tries to kiss you when you leave, but you turn your head, lips meeting your cheek instead. When you shy away from his touch, he lets you go. You want to scream. You want to shout that it's not him. Everything in you wants to claw away from your past and let him hold you, let him tell you it'll all be okay.

But you have a stray cat to feed, and a heart to protect, so you leave without looking back.

●

notes • friday chapters have resumed!! saying now idk if there will be an update next week since i'll be pretty busy with work again aldkjf but we shall see!! i know not a whole ton happened this chapter, but i hope u enjoyed regardless! also i feel like i need to say i love yeonjun (not him in this fic but actual him)

taglist • @yongbbokkie @chaeryred @tenebrisirae @toplinelix @chansdoll @amaranth-writing @3rachachoo @linosjureumi @thebrownemo @tfshouldidohere @channie-143 @frogieeheart @kangaracharacha @skzswife

TAGLIST CLOSED ^^^blue means i can't tag you

#.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-#bang chan x reader #bang chan x fem reader #skz #stray kids #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #non idol au #bang chan #bang chan series #skz series

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seeingteacupsindragons · 11 months

Text

So…several…weeks ago…now, I was talking with a friend (@user-needs-new-hyperfixation) about creating characters. Because while she wants to try original fiction, all her ideas for characters start feeling too close to her Favorite Blorbos, and that’s not what she wants from original fiction characters.

And I get that. But if you can’t get your blorbos out of your head but you want to write an OC, here’s what you do:

Make a few intentional choices to take them away from that character. Oh, I know that sounds like it wouldn’t work. I promise you it can and does. You just gotta commit.

Here’s an example. The example I used with Hyper was Liam, but he’s sort of niche, so I wanted to think of a more Popular character to use as an example that still had the depth I needed to explore this.

(Very sorry to everyone who wants the Liam example. You can request it if you want, I guess)

I’ve settled on Dean Winchester. Very sorry about this. But he’s a character from a very well-known and well-watched show and frankly he’s around for long enough to have a lot going on with him.

Dean Winchester is, among other things, a very protective family man, a silly geek who wasn’t very academic in school and makes corny jokes, a sex-motivated man, a nomad, a Mama’s Boy, a devoted mechanic, a guy trying maybe a little too hard to espouse the 80s vibe.

And if you change just one of those things, his whole character can shift. Let’s take one that gets changed a lot in fanfic for Supernatural: Dean is no longer nomadic. He lives somewhere reliably and regularly.

If you’ve seen the show (I’m very sorry), you know that Dean is deeply protective of his car. But he’s protective of his car because it’s the closest thing to a home he’s ever had. If you actually give him a home and make him a kid who didn’t have to move every week or so growing up, he has a whole community, neighborhood, and city to project all that protective obsession onto.

Which means: he's not obsessed with his car. Or any car. He never learned how to to put it back together over and over and isn't a mechanic or a restoration specialist. And if he doesn’t want to preserve that car and his home so bad, maybe he’s not obsessed with classic rock and leather jackets and outdated references, either.

(And once you’ve done that with him, very few people would probably even mistake them, lol)

And maybe that protective nature led him to becoming a cop. And maybe once he realized they don’t really Protect or Serve, he becomes deeply disillusioned by them entirely. Canon Dean has problems with the cops, too, but that’s because he’s an actual criminal, not because he’s just disillusioned about what they’re doing (the series is really pretty pro-cop with characters like Jodie).

And if our “Dean” is no longer a drifter, then he’s not just going to leave when he’s solved one problem extremely messily. He’s going to have to stick around, attend school board meetings or something. Bail protesters out of jail, IDK.

And once you’ve gotten to that point, you might have a Mama’s Boy who loves his family too much and makes silly jokes while playing silly games with his friends, but you don’t really have Dean Winchester. You have your fun blorbo vibes, and you have some of your favorite traits about them. But the longer you write this character on this entirely new path and give them new experiences and see them react in ways Dean never would…

Well, now you have an OC.

You’re probably going to have to go back to the beginning and edit the first part of the character to keep them in character with what you realize about them later. But that’s honestly not a big deal and you’ll probably have to do that no matter how you write it anyway.

#writing #writing advice #writing help

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evelhak · 3 months

Note

Feeling daring today - Haizaki for the character and ship bingo ;)

Your takes are much more interesting, so there may not be anything illuminating here but I tried. xD

*Non-sarcastically normal. Haizaki is a pretty neutral character when I think about him by myself, I just don't have that special connection to him.

*However I love him when you talk about him and I'm sure I would love him more if I just had an incentive to write about him. But I don't feel anything like that because you're already giving him justice. My brain doesn't really work unless I feel like I have something substantial to contribute, which I don't.

*Haizaki definitely still gets a lot of unjustified hate, because he was framed as a villain and people then interpreted his every action as coming from the worst place imaginable, while other characters' actions get understanding just because they can see those characters' sides but can't see Haizaki's since he wasn't written in a sympathetic way. On one hand, that's fair to me, if your fic needs a villain it makes sense to pick a character whose motivations were not discussed deeply, so you can turn him into as much of a villain as you want, because you have no need to think about that particular character so deeply. However, the rate at which this happens to Haizaki perfectly exemplifies how the same dynamic happens in real life, especially at schools. He has the outward characteristics of the person who is always the easiest to blame. Not that there isn't stuff to blame him for, it's just that when he gets blamed for more than his share, it becomes a vicious cycle. Not to say it would affect his likability to me even if he never grew less violent or got his shit together, because my like and dislike for fictional characters is not based on morality or whether or not I would like that character in real life. 😂 I didn't pay that much attention to him solely because I just overlooked his story as pretty been there done that. Any character depth he has is implied at best, because he's a side character. I would much rather see an actual depiction of the dynamics that get projected onto him. And you are doing that, so, I'm not complaining.

*I do think Haizaki is pretty silly, he's so macho but he's also kind of wishy-washy about it. Like, one minute he can be thundering on like any of the other macho characters but then his line for changing his mind and going like "you know what, not worth it, actually" is much lower. And somehow he gets depicted as pathetic for that, even though it may actually just be common sense and self-preservation.

*Honestly I need to remind myself that Haizaki exists, sometimes. I'm sorry. He just wasn't that compelling to me initially. I didn't demonise him (I'd like to think that I don't demonise anyone) I just wasn't interested enough. I knew there were reasons he acts the way he does but I didn't make actual effort to find out. You've done some good to me, reminding me that my perception is more limited than I would like, because I tend to pride myself for considering everyone's viewpoints. (Not 100% possible, but I try.)

*Well you said it, Haizadick is not an inaccurate term, no matter what way you look at it.

I didn't ship anyone with Haizaki because I didn't think about his life much before talking to you, so...

*Congrats, your Haizaki and his relationships are now basically canon to me. : D

*I just put that second tier text there because I imagine it's where the relationships that last a bit longer would go, and I think Haizaki just has many short relationships before maybe ending up with his end game.

*I mean I assume he has had fun short relationships with many girls.

*And probably many one-night stands.

*I literally just got it in my head that maybe he experimented with a guy once, while I was making this. He seems like a curious type even though I'm kind of assuming he's straight.

*Yeah, I theoretically get why these are ships but no I don't really get it, I would be lying if I said I truly deeply understood it.

I know my shipping tiers are a mix of "I actually root for it" and "I just sort of think it would happen" but that's what you get from me. : D

#knb #character bingo #ship tier #haizaki

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 1 year

Text

Without a Trace [Ch. 9]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Mentions of Falsified Suicide, Descriptions of Murder Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Not Specified Word Count: 10.0K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(9/11) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: Breaking my hiatus for a bit to finally post this monster of a chapter AHAHAHAHAHAHA Have fun lovelies Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

“Shit, shit,” you cursed more under your breath as you and San ran out of the building. San more of limping, to be exact, but still able to keep up with you easily. You turned over to the corner where Mingi was originally parked at, the car he’d been inside turned into a complete mess of bullet holes through the windshield and splashes of red. “Oh god, oh no,” you shook your head, running over to it and pulling open the already broken door. There was no sign of Mingi or whoever was in there with him. Just as you were about to run off, three patrol cars blast past you. Hongjoong must have finally heard from Yeosang.

Yeosang, what the hell happened to the signals? Could it really have been Radiohead? She was a total sweetheart, though, you’d worked with her a number of times. Unless the Charlatan got to her, that is. You shook the thought out.

“Spades!” Seonghwa pulls over next to you, tossing you your keys. He revs the engine on your motorcycle. “Yeosang texted us the car, we’ll get to him first before anyone else,” he says. “Just get me close enough to the van, we’ll get him back,” he taps the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, got it,” you climbed on in front of him.

“Hey! What about me?” San winces.

“Rendezvous with Cheshire and Broker!” And you took off, speeding between other cars and narrowly avoiding obstacles. Seonghwa looked at his watch and, with the press of a button, a holographic screen projected from it, showing the vehicle that Mingi had been shoved into.

“Got it?” You asked.

“Got it, just focus on driving!” Seonghwa stood up on the bike, just enough to see over your head as you moved faster. Then, speeding nearly as fast as the two of you, was a van matching the exact description from Yeosang.

“It’s on our right,” you shout and speed up, weaving through traffic like you’d done many times before. As you started to gain on the van, you felt Seonghwa steady with the rifle just inches above your head, and you tried to keep the motorcycle as still as it could be just as Seonghwa took the shot. The bullet whizzed above you and into the van, causing it to crash onto the sidewalk. You skid to a stop and Seonghwa jumped off, practically throwing the door open and…

“Empty,” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. You ran next to him and, true to his words, the only thing in the van was its driver, who had a blossoming bullet wound on his shoulder now. Then another van sped behind you.

“That one!” You pointed after it and, in seconds, another car comes barreling down the street with three of your teammates inside and keeping their eye on it. “Damn, let’s catch up,” you and Seonghwa were quick to follow after the rev of your engine.

“No, no,” Yeosang stood up fast and his chair clattered to the ground behind him. His eyes darted between all screens and one hand tangled into his hair. “This is all wrong, it’s all screwed up…” he pulls on the strands now, pulling a few out in the process. He looks at the loose hairs hanging off of his fingers and takes a deep breath. Then there were rapid knocks at his door, causing his head to whip toward it. His breathing, although labored, rang loud in his ears, second only to the loud bangs at his door. He picks up the pistol under his desk before approaching the door and threw it open, training the barrel at the intruder.

“Just me,” Hongjoong held his hands up.

“And me,” Jongho walks into view. “Let’s go, no time for questions.” Yeosang could only nod, they were working against time now.

No doubt, this will be the first time they face the real Charlatan.

It didn’t take long for them to catch up, though.

Yeosang was quick to run up to the other five who were at the door to the complex, trying different ways to get in. Hongjoong was next to follow, and finally Jongho.

“What’s the situation?” Hongjoong asks.

“We just got here too,” you tried the keypad once again and with blinking red lights, you stopped. “Been trying to get in. We already surveilled the place and this is the only entrance. Even the vents are welded shut.”

“They’re clever,” Hongjoong grumbles. You all cleared for him to stare at the keypad. A sticky note was placed above it, with the simple message ‘To the smartest A.’

“I already tried it, but it didn’t work,” San scoffs.

“Who the hell said you’re the smartest?” You snarked.

“It didn’t work for you either!” He fought back.

“Alright, alright, I got this,” Wooyoung stepped forward, skimming over the message under the sticky note, and punching in a code. The red light laughed at him. “It’s broken. Yunho, you’re good with numbers, you try,” Wooyoung invites him.

“Don’t look at me, I’m too dumb for that contraption,” Yunho shrugs.

“I already know I won’t get it,” Seonghwa leans against the door.

“Haa…” Hongjoong sighs and grabs the note. “There are how many of me a day, there are how many suits, there are how many As, and there are how many of me,” he recites the hint carefully. His hand hovers over the keypad and presses on the first code that came to mind: Four, Four, Nine, One. Four parts of a day, Dawn, Day, Dusk, Night. Four suits, Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades. Nine members of their team. And one Charlatan. The green light is like a beacon as the doors slid open.

“Well, that was expected,” Seonghwa led the group in. The complex was as big as it was empty, with their footsteps seemingly bouncing off of the walls. There was another floor early accessible by the ladder against the wall, and to make the task harder there were four doors that Mingi could be in, each sporting a different sticky note. The door shut behind them, a simple sticky note stating ‘Good luck!’ written on it.

“How childish… Looks like we’re going to have to split up to be efficient,” Hongjoong says. “Read the notes, what do they say?” He looks at the closest one to him. To the most agile and the most watchful.

“This one says to the smartest and to the most cautious,” you called out across from him.

“This one says to the most confident and the most greedy,” Seonghwa announces on the top floor.

“And this one says to the most secretive and the most deceived,” San crumples the note in his hand.

“We know one, at least. Mastermind’s the smartest,” you crossed your arms once everyone had regrouped.

“The most cautious, then, who would we say that is?” Hongjoong asks.

“Huntsman?” Wooyoung nudges his head toward Seonghwa.

“Safe bet, I’d assume any hunter would have to be cautious,” Yeosang adds.

“But if we follow that line of reasoning, then I’d nominate you too,” you cut in. “Who can be more cautious than the one who avoids conflict?” You reasoned.

“Possible but now you have to consider the other positions. I’d argue that Huntsman is the most confident, considering that you know every shot hits their target,” he says.

“And with Cypher, I’d argue that you’re either the most watchful or the most secretive,” Yunho chimes.

“For most cautious then…” Hongjoong hummed and looked around the group. “Timekeeper.” Jongho, pointed to himself, a curious look on his face. “Who is more cautious than the one who meticulously picks out their targets?”

“I guess,” Jongho shrugged.

“The most confident has to be Huntsman!” Wooyoung volunteered Seonghwa for him.

“I never miss,” Seonghwa confirms and Wooyoung grins.

“I rest my case,” he rests his hands on his hips. “As for the most greedy…” everyone’s eyes settle on Yunho.

“Wow, you’re not even going to debate it?” Yunho’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but ouch.”

“Can I take the most agile?” Wooyoung points at himself. “I was known for my quick attacks, you know!”

“We know!” The group resounded.

“I can’t think of anyone faster anyway,” you hummed. “We all agree that Cypher’s the most watchful then, right?”

“Has to be, I know you’ve been spying on me, creep,” San glowers at Yeosang, who responds by rolling his eyes.

“And by process of elimination that leaves you two,” Hongjoong looks at you and San, standing side by side. “The most secretive and the most deceived, huh?” He hums.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what it means either,” you shrugged. “Blackguard?” You looked next to you, but San just shrugged too.

“Well, that settles it then, Blackguard and Spades, take the left top door, Cheshire and Cypher you take the right, Huntsman and Broker will take the left bottom door, while Timekeeper and I take the right, am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Wooyoung was the only one to respond while everyone else broke off. Wooyoung followed Yeosang into the door and the two stopped as soon as they saw themselves through a mirror. The door slammed shut behind them and they steadied themselves. “Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Wooyoung mutters. The room was dark except for the light under the mirror. Then the sound of others lighting up filled the room.

“Great, my worst enemy,” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “Myself,” he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Is it really just a mirror though?” Wooyoung knocks on it and looks around. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a maze,” he points out. “Oh, look, this one’s a trick mirror,” Wooyoung chuckles and pointed to the mirror that made them look longer.

“Hm… there has to be some kind of gimmick,” Yeosang looked behind him, the door they had entered from was now replaced with a mirror. Then, he turned to his side and, thankfully, it was an opening. “Let’s go this way,” he waves Wooyoung over to follow him and they both walk through cautiously, their peripherals occupied by their own reflections. Wooyoung rolls his shoulders enough that his uniform’s sleeves become looser around his joints and he rolls his neck after. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” He throws a few air punches to test his mobility.

“You only do that when you know something bad’s going to happen, it’s like an instinct,” Yeosang shudders.

“Oh, relax, we’ll be fi—” Before Wooyoung could finish his sentence, the mirror next to them shattered. “Fuck, what the hell?!” Wooyoung stumbles back, steadied only by the arm Yeosang threw out to catch him before he could fall completely. Wooyoung froze in Yeosang’s arms now, core strength just barely holding him up otherwise while the two stared at each other. “When did you…?” Wooyoung stutters, not fully grasping his friend’s newfound strength until now that he stared at his arms. “Oh…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Yeosang drops him and straightens himself before offering Wooyoung his hand, which the latter politely obliged. The two stared at the now shattered mirror pieces before them.

“That’s bad luck.”

“Hmm… it’s weird too,” Yeosang lowers himself to observe the shards.

“What’s weird?” Wooyoung follows suit.

“The shards… why are they on the other side of the mirror?” Yeosang asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If the shards were on both sides, which would make more sense, then the force of impact would have been above the mirror. If they were on our side then that means something behind the mirror broke it. But they’re on the opposite side so that means one of us must have hit it,” Yeosang explains. Wooyoung hums and grabs one of the shards.

“Wait… yeah, you’re right,” Wooyoung mumbles and twists the shard in his gloved hands. Then, on the shard's reflection, Wooyoung saw it and was quick on his feet to hurl the shard towards the figure behind them.

“Shit,” Yeosang bounces up just as the masked figure fires a warning shot between the two, shoulder impeded by the mirror shard Wooyoung had embedded into them.

“Run!” Wooyoung pushed Yeosang forward through the opening and the two took off.

“Who do you think this one is?” Yeosang asks just as he moved out of the way of the red aim light.

“Uh… can’t tell under that godawful uniform,” Wooyoung pulls Yeosang down the corridor. "One thing’s for sure though, it’s not Mingi,” Wooyoung ducks under the shot and makes a sharp turn, Yeosang just barely running into the mirror before he turned too.

“What are we supposed to do in here?! Survive?!”

“Maybe find the exit? Mingi in the middle? Who knows?!” Wooyoung shouts and turns quickly again, only this time smashing into a mirror. “Ow, fuck,” Wooyoung winces and Yeosang tugs him along.

“We don’t have time for this!” Yeosang skids to a stop just as the mirror in front of them shatters. On the other side of the mirror is yet another masked figure, only this time, a glint of red shone beneath the mask and Yeosang swallowed harshly. There was only one vigilante who was crazy enough to indulge in that kind of bodily modification. Lee Sangyeon, or better known, as “Crosshair,” he shudders.

“If only we had Huntsman,” Wooyoung looks around for another way out, but the mention of the vigilante seemed to have triggered something in their second pursuer, enough to make him pissed.

“Why’d you have to go and mention Huntsman?! You pissed him off! You…” Yeosang stops.

This was new. This revealed something very important.

Though under control, the Charlatan’s henchmen were still somewhat conscious underneath the brainwashing.

“Cypher! Focus!” Wooyoung pulled Yeosang back to reality and they began to run again.

“Wait, I think we can reason with them! If Crosshair’s upset over the mere mention of the Huntsman then that means they still have some autonomy in there somewhere, and I think we can tap into that somehow,” Yeosang looks over his shoulder, only one of the henchmen was following them, Crosshairto be specific.

“Sangyeon! Come on, listen to me! I know we were never the closest friends, but you gotta come back,” Yeosang kept a reasonable distance while shouting toward their attacker. But Crosshair instead trained his gun on him.

“Leave it, Cypher, they can’t be reasoned with! The brainwashing is too strong while that mask is on!” Wooyoung insists, then, right as they turned the corner, their second pursuer blocked the way. They raised the butt of their rifle and swung it down on Yeosang’s leg.

“Fuck!” Yeosang’s pained voice rang out in the room, the only thing louder than the sound of his leg snapping in half, leaving Wooyoung to look around him for any possible solution. They were cornered, and there wasn’t an opening in sight. Anything, Wooyoung would take anything right now. He pulled Yeosang up and slung his arm over his shoulders.

“Sorry, buddy, this is going to get crazy,” Wooyoung pivoted on his heel and broke the mirror with his elbow before running through the new opening with Yeosang essentially dragging behind.

“Just drop me off here, you need to tell Mastermind that the henchmen are still somewhat in control, it could change everything,” Yeosang insists.

“No way, I’m not leaving you, Yeo,” Wooyoung adjusts him over his shoulder and continues running down the corridor while keeping an eye out for the openings. “We’ll get out of here together or not at all,” Wooyoung taps on the comm in his ear but is met with dead static. Wooyoung could barely make out the faint outline of a staircase just ahead, but how he was going to get there he wasn’t sure. “Come on,” Wooyoung takes a deep breath and continues to run.

“This looks… eerie,” Yunho’s comment bounced off the walls of the empty room. Though his hands were in his pockets, it was clear that he was ready to defend at a moment’s notice. His eyes scanned the empty room, his discerning eye was one that he had long prided himself on, and for good reason. Being in the business that he is his instincts had never been wrong, he couldn’t afford to let them be wrong, he had to be able to see any threats before they could even be considered one.

And it is those same instincts that flared inside of him now. Something was horribly wrong about this wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. What was it that put him on edge like this? The room was empty except for the two of them, it was so empty that he could hear their footsteps echoing behind them. There wasn’t a single camera in sight, either, no windows, and two sets of doors, the one they entered in from and the one before them now. It was a large and foreboding thing too, at that, ready to slide open once it was ready.

“Empty room, nowhere to hide, no vantage points, almost like an arena,” Seonghwa hummed.

“An arena, huh?” Yunho’s voice was tense.

“What are you sensing?” Seonghwa asks with a narrowed glance.

“I’m not sure yet,” Yunho followed Seonghwa around the room. There were no signs of any trap tiles or loose sections of the wall. “You feel it too, right?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa walks over to the large door now and knocks on it lightly. The clang of metal filled the room and Seonghwa turned away from it. “That’s not opening until we finish something, that’s for sure,” he says.

“You think Mingi’s back there?” Yunho asks.

“Who knows?” Seonghwa and Yunho approach the middle of the room now. Yunho throws his arm out now, stopping Seonghwa from proceeding any further. Yunho takes a deep breath and, he was certain, he still heard it. He still heard it echoing, the footsteps. Yunho looks around, then, right before they could take a step further, Seonghwa is somehow shoved aside right as a knife grazes Yunho.

“What the hell?!” Yunho stumbles back, trying to figure out where the attack came from, all the while Seonghwa rolled to the side and grabbed his rifle, aiming it at particularly nothing. Then, when his rifle is shoved out of his hands, he realized what was happening.

“They’re invisible!” Seonghwa called to Yunho.

“Yeah, I kind of got that!” Yunho barked back. Seonghwa grabbed his rifle just as the doors opposite to them slid open. Another one of the Charlatan’s henchmen stomped out, one of a noticeably larger build, and the doors behind him shut quickly after. “Well… safe to say that that is not Mingi.” Yunho pulled his revolvers out of his pockets and trained them on the larger henchman before firing a few incapacitating shots, which unsurprisingly did very little to stop him. Yunho twists his head toward Seonghwa, who’d gained a considerable distance from the large henchman and was now training his rifle on him. “Huntsman, stop! Remember who we’re fighting, we can’t take reckless shots!”

“Speak for yourself,” Seonghwa fires his rifle and the bullet pierced through the large henchman’s arm. Then, right before he could reload, the rifle is once again pulled from his hands. “Got a way to deal with the invisible one?!” He shouts.

“Maybe!” Yunho ducks under the heavy swing of his opponent and falls back while digging through his pockets again. Knives, lighters, bullets, and playing cards all toppled from his hands before he finally found what he was looking for. “Aha!” Yunho pulled out a pair of large goggles and pulled them over his head.

“You look ridiculous, man,” Seonghwa groans while swinging the end of his rifle aimlessly, hoping to hit the invisible henchman somewhere. Yunho turned on the goggles, his vision filled with a technological interface for a brief moment before activating its true purpose, heat-seeking. Then, just like that, the heat traces of everything in the room was visible. And, to his curiosity, he noticed the large heat traces concealed in the walls. Ignoring the tank of a man heading his way, Yunho trained his sights on Seonghwa, spotting the two figures close enough to each other.

“He’s on your left!” Yunho shouts. Seonghwa pivoted on his heel and swung his rifle again, and he heard the crunch of bones after. “He’s on the ground, you got his arm! Don’t shoot to kill!” Yunho commands.

“I heard you the first time,” Seonghwa slams the rifle down one last time, hitting the invisible henchman’s abdomen hard enough that the invisibility device strapped to the henchman’s chest ceased to function, rendering them passed out on the floor. Seonghwa wiped the sweat from the side of his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

“Geez… pretentious mu—” before Yunho could finish his thought, the last henchman swung at him, sending Yunho tumbling across the ground. He winced and groaned loudly and clawed beneath him to get up, but it was hard with his sudden blurred vision and ringing ears. He could barely make out the heavy footsteps, let alone the way Seonghwa grappled for a bullet to reload. Yunho’s hands moved beneath him quickly, all of the contents of his pockets had been for the most part emptied in his search for the goggles, if he could find even one thing to use he’d be set. Luckily enough for him, that one thing was all he needed, the cold steel of a knife, a recent buy of his and one he spent both a pretty penny and a select few lives for, but nevertheless it was meant as a gift for none other than you. The one reason why he hadn’t given it to you yet is the lack of testing, but it should be fine. He grabbed at it, wincing again as he felt the flesh under the blade slice open, and flung it forth before passing out.

“Shit,” Seonghwa slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran toward Yunho just in time for the large henchman to fall backward with a loud thud. Seonghwa eyed the one knife that had embedded itself into the henchman’s chest before refocusing on his teammate. “Yunho, wake up,” Seonghwa shook him awake, but Yunho didn’t stir. “Get up! We don’t have time for this!” Seonghwa said it louder. The door once again started to open, painstakingly slow at this rate. Seonghwa shook his head in frustration and smacked Yunho across the face, waking him up in an instant. Yunho touched his stinging face and glared and Seonghwa.

“The hell was that for?!”

“Pull yourself together! There’s more coming!”

“Fine!” Yunho looked down at his right hand, the thing frozen in the same way it was when he flung the knife.

“What happened?” The doors are fully open now.

“Cut my hand with Mono’s prized weapon,” Yunho glanced behind Seonghwa, seeing two new henchmen enter, “paralysis tonic, great.” Yunho grips one of his revolvers in his good hand.

“You don’t have an antidote?!”

“Not on me, but it should wear off in a few… hours,” he lets Seonghwa pull him up.

“Talk about timing,” Seonghwa takes a couple of steps back, watching one of the henchmen taunt him with their mace. “You can tap out at any time, of course, I can handle things.”

“Don’t praise yourself too much,” Yunho shoves him forward and the next round begins

“What do you think this room is?” Jongho looks down at all the cables running through the floors.

“Hard to say, let’s find a light switch,” Hongjoong starts feeling around the walls while Jongho minds the floor. The only light source at the moment came from the open door behind them, but aside from that, they were working in the dark. Finally, Hongjoong flips the light on and the room illuminates with a bright light. Jongho shut his eyes and allowed them to readjust before he opened them again and saw that the room’s purpose was apparent.

“Looks like we found where he brainwashes them, huh?” Jongho mumbles. The cables led to various machines, and in between those machines was “Mingi!” Jongho, who in his concern and excitement could care less about code names, ran forward and pulled the mask off of him. Mingi’s eyes slowly opened before looking around before he groaned and hung his head low.

“Hold on, friend, I’ll help you out of this,” Hongjoong pulled out his pocket knife and sawed at the ropes before Mingi was free. Without standing up, Mingi rubbed his wrists and pulled at the white jumpsuit he now wore. “That was a close one, we almost lost you,” Hongjoong shakes his head while Jongho examined the mask.

“Mastermind, come over here,” Jongho waved him over while taking steps away from the machines.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Jongho insisted. Once Hongjoong was close enough, Jongho turned the mask around and showed him the inside. Unlike the mask they had already, this one was completely empty, it was just like a mask from a costume store, and behind them Mingi stood up and grabbed the back of the chair, the metal screeching against the floors. Hongjoong pulled the sticky note off of the mask.

‘You found your treasure! But now you must earn it. You must face the opponent no one sees coming, the opponent who is as swift as he is efficient, the one who moves just like a Shadow,’ is all it read before Jongho pulled Hongjoong out of the way in time for the chair to slam against the wall and leaving a large dent in its attack.

“Shit,” Hongjoong turns around quickly just in time for Mingi to slide a Charlatan mask over his head.”

“They actually got him,” Jongho slides on his brass knuckles before rolling his head.

“Pull your punches.”

“I know.”

“We can’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

“We can’t save him.”

“I know.” Jongho’s answers were short, he knew what he had to do. They had to break Mingi out of whatever hypnotism he was under first. Jongho toyed with his wristwatch before stepping forward and blocking every hit that Mingi threw at him. Hongjoong, meanwhile, looked around the room for something, anything, to use. They were able to break Juyeon out of his trance by breaking the mask, but would it be the same for Mingi? He wasn’t wearing one earlier, so there was no telling. “Aim for the mask!”

“Right!” Hongjoong pulled his pistol out. “Sorry for this, Mingi, I don’t have a choice,” Hongjoong pointed the gun at Mingi’s leg and fired, a shot that missed only by a thread. Mingi stopped in his tracks and reached behind one of the machines before pulling out a pair of gauntlets, heavy-set ones at that. But Hongjoong could’ve sworn up and down that he recognized them, he had to, and every weapon the Charlatan used was stolen.

“Mastermind! Don’t let him hit you under any circumstance!” Jongho pushed Hongjoong toward the door and Mingi started to follow. “Run!” Jongho ushered him forward, but the door slammed shut. Then, the ceiling above them slid open just as the floor beneath them started to rise.

“Talk about avant-garde,” Hongjoong keeps his pistol trained on Mingi, who slammed the knuckles of the gauntlets together. Then, the dust settled, and Hongjoong and Jongho found themselves standing in the middle of a large room.

“Mastermind! Timekeeper! Thank fucking god,” Yunho runs up to them, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, but notably dragging a worn-out Seonghwa with him.

“The hell happened to you two?!” Hongjoong exclaimed. He looked around and saw the scattered bodies of henchmen around him and, to say the least, he was a little impressed.

“Too much,” Seonghwa used his rifle to support him.

“How about this one, then?” Yunho flipped the knife in his hands, having grown used to using it after being paralyzed at least once.

“Don’t hurt him,” Hongjoong says quickly.

“They got him, we were too late,” Jongho stretches his arms.

“No…” Yunho looks over just when the doors behind Mingi slid open again. “No!” Yunho wailed.

“Did we lose them?!” Wooyoung shouts with Yeosang slumped on his back.

“Yes!” Yunho shouts. Then, when a bullet grazed his face, leaving a shallow cut in its path, he exclaimed again. “No!” Wooyoung and Yeosang ran out of the double doors, past Mingi, and toward them.

“The whole gang’s here!” Wooyoung looked relieved and Yeosang waved weakly. “Wait, where are Blackguard and Spades?” He asks. “Did we find Mingi?” The other members pointed behind them and Wooyoung turned quickly. “No!”

“Yeah,” Jongho sighed. Yeosang climbed off of Wooyoung’s back carefully and fell on the floor.

“Nothing is going well,” he mutters. Again, Mingi slammed his fists together and the click of a bullet sliding into place is heard.

“Fuck, where did he get that?” Seonghwa’s voice wavered.

“What is that?” Wooyoung asks.

“You don’t recognize them?” Seonghwa fights to hold his rifle up. “Those are the Ace of Diamonds’ gauntlets,” he takes a stabilizing step back.

“Oh shit,” Yeosang frowns. Where was Spades when they needed them?

“Huh… two roads diverged in a wood,” you looked at the two doors, each with their respective sticky note written on it. “How’s your leg?” Your hand naturally brushed against the shallow wound.

“I’ve been through worse,” San tightened the cloth around it. You and San naturally went to either side and ripped the note from their place. “The Seeker,” you read it aloud. San remained silent.

“This room is mine,” he says. “Guaranteed,” he put his hand on the doorknob and, as soon as he turned it, iron bars rose from the middle of the room and San was quick to run toward you. “What the hell?!” San gripped one of the bars and you approached it slowly while observing the floor beneath you.

“Oh they’re good, I’ll give them that,” you muttered. “Whatever is in our doors… we’re on our own,” your voice trailed off as you wondered what could be awaiting you on either side. “I’m guessing that once we’ve both completed what we had to in our rooms we’d be able to regroup,” you theorized.

“Probably, but then again I really can’t think of anything else it could be,” San leans against the bars and closer to you. “Don’t die, (Y/N),” he says just barely above a whisper.

“I should say that to you,” you responded. You tapped your finger against his enclosed fist and turned away from him. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You heard him reply behind you before you entered the room. San pushed away from the bars and toward his own door, staring down at the note in his hand.

The Liar.

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it? San could only shake his head as he pushed his way into the room. It was small, no larger than a bedroom, and at the end was another door. But, most noticeable, was the collage of news articles splayed against the wall.

The Newest Vigilante on the Block: Aegis!

Capital Bank Stormed! New Vigilante Saves the Day!

A Breath of Vitality Into a Dying Movement: Aegis!

Who is Aegis?

Aegis: The Shield of Zeus Personified

Aegis’ Debut at the Capital Bank!

Aegis.

San tore the news articles down and crumpled them in his hands. The ones he didn’t crumple he ripped. And the ones he didn’t rip he ground beneath his boot. Aegis, Aegis, Aegis! What did the world see in him anyway?! All he was was a coward with a shield. San hesitated before pulling the last article from the wall.

Who Could Aegis Be?

The headline was simple, but it was the first paragraph that somehow caught his attention.

Who is Aegis? We decided to ask a group of students who seem to be excited about the emergence of the new vigilante. (L/N) (Y/N) comments that “it’s nice to see a younger vigilante, he even looks like he’s around our age! The older vigilantes will always be cool, but at one point we have to look forward to the younger wave!”

It’s always going to follow him, isn’t it?

San shook his head and went for the next room. It was nearly identical to the one he had just left, even down to the collage of news articles on the wall next to him

Aegis Saves the Day Again!

Aegis Becomes a Ray of Hope.

Aegis in the Center of Action.

Aegis Throws Himself into Danger to Save Everyone!

Aegis Has Gotten More Active!

Aegis Sighted in Further Zones from the City.

Aegis.

Aegis!

San found himself tearing the articles again. But, once his frustration had quelled, he stopped. He stopped and he took steps back until his back hit the wall. Aegis. The name loomed over him like an untouchable monster. Then, just under the articles, San made out the faint hint of writing on the wall, and again San found himself tearing the papers off until the sentence was visible.

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

San stared at the writing, an undefinable ringing starting in his ears as his head started to feel heavier. He looked back at the door he entered and backtracked to pull the rest of the articles from the wall and, just as he had expected, there was writing there too.

In the beginning, was the myth.

San walked back to the next room.

The myth is the beginning of Aegis, the impenetrable shield wielded by Zeus and Athena. And as for the second quote, San would rather not dwell on it. He knew what he was signing up for when he became a vigilante.

The next room, as expected, was just like the last two.

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of Vigilantes.

The Dawn of a New Age: Aegis.

The Shield of Light Aegis!

Aegis Spotted Running Toward the Scene of the Altercation. Mass Casualties Avoided!

Aegis vs. TNT: An Explosive Battle with Few Injuries

Aegis Becomes the Forerunner of the Dawn of a New Age for Vigilantes!

Aegis!

Aegis.

San ripped the papers off again to reveal the message underneath.

The truth is often one’s best shield.

The shield strapped to his back weighed heavier now. Or had it always been heavy? If it was so great then how the hell did he break it so easily? San looked at one of the now torn articles. Aegis stood proud with the senator, hands locked in a strong handshake. It’s clear to everyone, Aegis was never the shield, it was always the person. Against all possible odds, Aegis stood strong, and it was that strength that would later become Aegis’ downfall. An impossible standard to herald, it was a fool’s errand to begin with. San continued forth. The next room was different. Each wall had a door on it except for the one directly in front of him with a single news article taped to the wall.

College Student Eric Son Found Dead in Rose Haven Apartments.

Eyewitness (Y/N) (L/N) reports that after checking in on a neighbor, they found their partner dead in their shared apartment. Officers on the scene ruled it as a suicide with a single gunshot to the head. (L/N) was cleared from suspicion after confirmation of their alibi, but the residents around the area remain on red alert. Everyone has commented that Son didn’t seem the type to die in such a tragic way. Some sources share that Son was wrapped up with shady figures and events. Who knows? Is it really the case that you can’t run from the past? We will update the story as it continues.

Eric Son, his greatest failure. There was no writing on the wall this time, there didn’t need to be. No, instead, there was a passage highlighted. You can’t run from the past. San tore it off and ripped the article to shreds. He destroyed it to the point that no one would be able to tell that it was a news article to begin with. The Son case was a turning point in the career of Aegis. It was a turning point in the creation of Blackguard. It was a turning point in the founding of the Aces. It was a turning point in the Vigilante Ban. Everything revolved around this one case.

And it was his fault.

The doors slid open next to him.

“Blackguard!” Wooyoung called him over. San turned around just in time to dodge the knife that lodged into the wall behind him. San pulled the shield from his back and secured it to his arm. “Don’t be too harsh! It’s Mingi!” Wooyoung shouts after.

“Mingi?” San looks at the Charlatan in front of him. He looked at the gauntlets around his hands. Then, Mingi turned away from San and started to walk toward Yunho, who was still paralyzed from moments before.

“Shit, shit… I have to think of something,” Yeosang looks around the room, but there was nothing to work with, nothing they could use to distract Mingi long enough to get the mask off of him.

And of course, came his aha moment.

“Blackguard! That’s still Mingi! He’s brainwashed, but it’s still him! Talk to him and he’ll respond!” Yeosang, though nursing his leg, was able to stagger up somehow.

“The hell’s wrong with the rest of you?!” San shouts.

“Yeosang’s leg’s busted and Yunho’s shooting hand’s paralyzed!” Hongjoong explains. “Plus, you were the one who broke Juyeon out of his brainwashing! You’re the best person to do this!”

“Ugh,” San charges toward Mingi, shield in front of him and ready for impact, and finally he smashed the shield against Mingi’s side, effectively sending Mingi staggering back. “Fuck… I forgot this dude was built like a goddamn tank,” San ducks behind his shield just as Mingi throws a right hook, the gauntlet collided with the shield and the firearm inside of it went off, leaving the loud clang of a bullet hitting metal resounding in the room. The bullet ricocheted off the shield and around the room before it embedded into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Argh, fuck,” Seonghwa gripped his shoulder but half his rifle up regardless.

“Don’t shoot!” Jongho stopped him. “We can’t afford it!”

“I won’t hit anywhere vital!”

“That’s Mingi!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Seonghwa squeezed the trigger and Hongjoong pointed the rifle up. The bullet hit a ceiling tile and sent it crashing against the floor.

“Where’s Spades? They should be able to do something!” Wooyoung pleads.

“No time,” Yunho dug through his pockets and pulled out a first aid kit, “Mingi’s preoccupied with Blackguard, we have to use this opportunity now.” San looked over to the group. Realistically, Seonghwa was his best bet but he won’t be much if Hongjoong is holding him back. Then he tossed a hopeful glance to Jongho, who just adjusted his wristwatch and shook his head. Wooyoung wasn’t even an option, with Yeosang out of commission then Wooyoung’s first thought would be to keep him safe.

Yup, he’s on his own. As usual.

“Mingi! Hey, buddy,” San took careful steps around Mingi, who seemed to follow him with his gaze. “Remember me? Blackguard?” He asks. No response, instead, Mingi loaded his gauntlets again and San took steps to distance himself away from him. “Come on, big guy, how about Bobby? Remember him?” Mingi seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Gotcha.” San’s excitement was clear, he found his way in and all he had to do was pull that sentiment out.

The door shut behind you as soon as you cleared it, but you were too busy staring at the scene before you paid much mind to the sudden slam. The room you were in was small enough with a large control console in front of you with six large monitors behind a simple setup consisting of a keyboard and mouse. But it wasn’t this that caught your attention, no, it was the display on the bottom center screen.

For the eyes of (Y/N) (L/N), the Ace of Spades, only.

Just how much did he know about you?

“Take a seat, (Y/N).” The Charlatan’s voice filled the room. You did so, you had no reason not to oblige. Whatever was going on, it was clear, he had the upper hand in this already dangerous gamble. As soon as you were situated, the screen changed to a singular man hidden by the darkness. “Hello, Vigilante.”

“Charlatan, I assume? The real one,” you asked. The figure nodded.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“I have plenty.”

“Ask away then, we have time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“All will be revealed, the Mastermind isn’t the only chess master in this game.”

“And I can ask anything? Anything at all?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you then?”

“Everything except that.”

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes. “Why then? Why do all of this?”

“Mm… I’ve always hated vigilantes,” he says bluntly, “it was through their reckless behavior many times that I lost something or someone important to me, and many others share my sentiment. So, now, I wish to rid the world of them completely.”

Talk about textbook answer. You didn’t expect anything else from someone who despised vigilantes, but you did expect a little more. The way he spoke, you wondered, which vigilante ruined him?

“If you hate them so much, why bring other vigilantes into it?”

“I alone cannot execute my plan, but I have a way to make others do it for me.”

“The masks.”

“Yes. Your friend, Cypher, he got very close to decoding it.”

“What is it then?” You pressed.

“Rhythmic flashes and certain sounds.”

“So nothing more than common hypnosis?”

“Common, sure, but effective. But, (Y/N), you must remember that the fundamentals of hypnosis still apply. I can’t force someone to do something they wouldn’t want to do already. And, with that, you realize what point I’m getting at, don’t you?”

“What can I say? Vigilantes crave action.”

“You’re all destructive. And here you are, cracking jokes.”

“It can’t be possible that every vigilante is that bloodthirsty though.”

“Of course not. That’s why I killed them.” You didn’t know why, but that statement did send chills down your spine.

“So you killed him then?”

“Your friend?”

“Yes.” The Charlatan didn’t answer, instead, the screen next to you turned on to show CCTV. You recognized San’s shield from anywhere, and it wasn’t long before you noticed the others.

He got him.

You watched Mingi thrust his fists together and your throat ran dry.

“They’re a magnificent weapon.”

“You shouldn’t have those.”

“I apologize, I know they’re something of a sentiment to you.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Where do you think? You only put it in one place.”

“How did you get there?”

“Obviously, I had access.”

“Who are you?!” You repeated your question from earlier, but the Charlatan didn’t respond, so instead you took a deep breath. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Hell no.”

“You haven’t even heard what I had to offer yet.”

“Why would I work with you? All you’ve done is kill people I’ve cared about.”

“I’m just offering an exchange,” his voice was uncomfortably calm. Then you saw the panel next to you open up, revealing the Charlatan’s signature mask next to you.

“I’m not putting that shit on,”

“It’s just there for insurance, if I do this correctly, you won’t even need it.”

“Fuck you, I won’t agree to any deal you offer me.”

“Do you mean that? Even if I can provide you with the answer you’ve been looking for since the beginning?”

“Likely story, I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you stood up from your seat now, ready to turn around and leave.

“Shame. I thought you were still interested in the Eric Son case, but it appears that I was wrong.” That’s one way to stop you. “What do you think about it, (Y/N)? The foundation of your career, the Eric Son case. It’s fascinating.”

“What do you want me to say about it? What more than the facts?” You sat back down on the chair and the screen in front of you changed showing a basic profile of Eric. “He killed himself, that’s all there is to it.”

“But he didn’t though, you know that.”

“I don’t have proof.”

“You had plenty, you had enough to found the Aces with your group, right?” You stayed silent. “A fantastic group you all were, the five of you were all friends, right? How sweet.” Still, you stayed silent. “I must applaud your sentiment, did you ever find out who killed him?”

“No.”

“Would you like to know?” You swallowed harshly. It had been years already, though that was the original cause of the Aces, your purpose grew, you all grew. You all grieved, you all moved on, and you all left. “You’re the last active Ace, you owe it to them to find out what they fought for. What he died for.” You could feel the cold sweat run down your neck. “I will ask you one last time, Ace of Spades. Would you like to know what happened to Eric Son?”

“…” You took slow and deep breaths. After all these years, were you really going to find out your life’s work from a villain of all things? “Yes, tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.” Then the screen in front of you went black. After a few moments, it sparked to life once again and you felt your heart stop.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

“How do you have this?” You asked aloud. The Charlatan didn’t answer. Instead, the image flipped off again and turned back on to show a different day and in a different position, the living room. You didn’t even have to look at the date stamp to know what day this was, you remembered that conversation verbatim. It haunted you in your nightmares as much as it did your waking hours. You watched your past self collapse on the couch with Eric following shortly after, the way his arms opened for you so naturally was like a habit to you and him at that point and the way you saw yourself melting into them was a common occurrence. How bittersweet this all was, and how tragically poet.

“Are you really sure you don’t want to have the others over?” Your voice sounded so different back then.

“Yeah, the worst case scenario is that our neighbors over there have hate sex while we’re playing Mario Kart,” Eric’s voice, just as it always had, warmed your heart. “Sorry, I know you really wanted to do it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You have a point too.”

“Yeah, it was nice just going out with them, even if it got so rudely interrupted.”

“Rude interruption is a nice way to put it! I thought you died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Christ, Eric, you can’t just rush into danger like that, you could get seriously hurt.” How ironic. This whole conversation. The feed was silent for a while and you remembered why, you remembered the way Eric looked at you when you said that, you could even catch a hint of that expression from this footage. You couldn’t hear it, but you remembered what he said next.

“You know I would never put you in that situation, right?” You watched him tighten his arms around you. You remembered that embrace being the most comforting thing in the world, you really were so scared for him that day the bank got robbed, you were so stressed about it that you could barely hold in whatever was inside of you.

“I know.”

“I love you, (Y/N), I would never want you to get caught up in danger.”

“I know, I love you too.” You felt your chest tightening. You knew what came next. That glass shatter must have been loud if you heard it through this footage. You saw the way Eric turned to the front door, followed by you.

“There goes Mr. Shin again,” Eric shook his head.

“I should go check on Yuna, I’m so worried about her.” You felt your breathing pick up now. This was it. The truth.

“Yeah, go ahead. Let me know if she’s okay, and if Mr. Shin tries something, you call for me right away.”

“I will, I’ll be quick.” You watched your past self stand up and leave the unit, all the while Eric watched you go. As soon as you heard the door shut, you saw Eric’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Hooo boy, I have got to figure out (Y/N)’s new schedule, that was close…” Eric ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, “it’s a good thing that I wasn’t in uniform.” He lifts one of the couch cushions and pulls out something, keeping it well concealed in his hand before getting up to leave.

“How do you have this footage?!” You asked it more forcefully this time, but the Charlatan still didn’t answer. Instead, the camera flipped to the bedroom, where you watched Eric walk to the closet and open it wide, then, after some clothes were removed, he pulled off the backboard of the closet and placed whatever he had taken inside. Suddenly, you saw Eric shut the closet quickly as he turned around faster than you would’ve thought possible from him.

Were you really ready to see what was next? You turned away from the screen and you heard the footage stop.

“Did you want to stop?” The Charlatan’s voice cut through your thoughts. You shook your head and steeled your nerves before turning back to the screen and allowing the footage to resume.

You watched Eric stare toward the window that slowly opened to allow for his murderer to walk in. Clad in black with lightning motifs you recognized this second person well.

“Blackout!” Eric’s voice was ecstatic, of course, it was what with how excited he always got about vigilantes. But when you saw Blackout load his gun you felt a stone in your stomach and, just as if a switch flipped, Eric grew serious, you could see it in the way his shoulders rolled back. “You know… a villain hiding under the guise of a vigilante, it’s not a good look. Let’s make this fast, my partner’s out helping one of our neighbors and I’d rather keep this between us.” His voice was steady, a tone he didn’t usually use and one you weren’t too used to hearing from him.

The fight was surprisingly evenly matched, Eric held his own well despite the odds, but with every punch and every block you knew what the end result was and it made the whole thing even more heartbreaking. You wondered why Blackout didn’t just shoot him there, you wondered why Blackout even let him fight, but then you realized why. You realized why he let Eric struggle when he finally pinned him to the ground, loaded gun held to the side of his head, and you heard Blackout laugh. He did this because he enjoyed it, the thrill of it, the inhumanity. A true villain.

“Senator Johnson sends his regards.” Blackout’s voice was gruff, maybe strained from the fight before, but it was the name that got you. Senator Johnson was the head senator who proposed the Vigilante Ban in the first place, and yet here he was working with one.

Bang.

You shut your eyes and the audio came to an abrupt stop. Why was he making you watch the whole thing? You opened the slowly and you could still hear the aftersound of the gunshot. You watched blood stain the floor under him and you tried to ignore the blood splatters against the wall. Blackout stepped over Eric now and he wiped the gun in his hands before placing it in Eric’s, curling his fingers over the handle carefully while he started to set the scene. You had to hand it to Blackout, he really did well in making it look like a suicide. You watched Blackout move things around the room and move some things back, then, he reaches the closet, which he opens without a care, but then he hesitates. You watched Blackout bring a fist to cover his mouth while he takes a few steps back from the closet. Then he turns around to look at Eric, and back at the closet, and back to Eric again, and back to the closet again.

Blackout takes a step forward and pulls something from the closet. Something you, no, everyone would recognize.

“Aegis…” the name slipped out of your mouth so naturally.

“No, no, no… this wasn’t what they told me,” Blackout’s voice shook and he walked back to Eric and fell on his knees, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there. “What have I done? It was just a job, it was just supposed to be a job, how could I have killed Aegis? I… oh god,” Blackout drops the shield and holds the side of his head, clearly thinking to himself and clearly trying to find out what to do.

“Oh fuck… I killed Aegis…” he repeats again. “I killed Aegis and I have to hide that…” his breathing grows labored and he grabs onto his mask, pulling it off quickly to breathe easier. It was like something clicked in his mind because his next move was to run back to the closet, taking a duffle bag from it and shoving the contents of the closet into it. Aegis’ uniform, Aegis’ mask, Aegis’ tools, and, of course, Aegis’ shield. He packed them tightly and headed toward the window, but he stops next to Eric, he stops for a moment before leaving the way he came. And when he turned to close the window?

You saw him.

You saw who murdered Eric Son.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” After who knows how long of fighting, San had finally pinned Mingi down. Mingi took labored breaths and San held the shield above his head before bringing it down on the mask, leaving a large fissure in it’s wake until it finally broke in half and slid down either side of Mingi’s face. Beneath him Mingi was winded, he gasped for air like he’d been drowning moments before, and he looked around like a madman who’d never seen light. He scrambles away from San and spots the others.

“Mingi?” Wooyoung asks shakily.

“Woo?” Mingi swallows nervously.

“Oh, he’s back!” Wooyoung cheered and started to run over, but San beat him to it and offered a hand to Mingi, who just stared at it. After some deliberation, he took it and San pulled him up.

“I still can’t forgive you for what you did,” Mingi says quietly.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I don’t care that I know the whole story now.”

“I figured.”

“But… I will work with you,” Mingi shakes San’s hand and pulls away from him.

“All’s well that ends well, right?” Wooyoung hugs Mingi and helps him to reach the others. “Let’s go find Spades, they went with you, right, San?”

“Yeah, there were two rooms, so Spades went in the other one while I came here, it was just through that door,” he point to the large doors in the back.

“So much shit came out of that door,” Seonghwa clicks his tongue.

“I know, right? No wonder Blackguard came running out of it,” Yeosang chides. The doors started to slide open again, and the group went quiet.

“Jokes aside… I don’t think we can handle another Charlatan in this state,” Hongjoong watches in tense silence, but then relaxes upon seeing who entered.

“Spades! You’re okay! We were just about to come check in on you!” Wooyoung was always the first to reach out, but your eyes were glued to the floor. You pulled your mask off and tossed it aside. “Spades?” Wooyoung’s voice grew uneasy.

“Shit, did they get you too?” Yunho’s voice wavered, but his gaze never broke away from you.

“Spades?” San approached you slowly. “Everything alright?” He really didn’t want to break another Charlatan mask, and knowing your skills, there’s no way he’s getting out with all four limbs intact.

“You…” your voice was shakier now.

“(Y/N)?” He said your name quietly, his hand reaching out to break you out of whatever trance you were in, then you snapped.

Everything moved so quickly. You wrapped your hands around his neck and shoved him to the ground, thumbs pressing down on his windpipe with strength that was fueled by adrenaline alone. San grabbed onto your wrists, trying to pull your hands off of him but struggling because of his exhaustion from the fight before. The shouts around you fell on deaf ears while you readjusted your grip to apply more force, letting go only to push off Mingi’s hand on your shoulder.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?!” San shouts despite the strain on his voice. “(Y/N)! Snap out of it!”

“Fuck the Charlatan, he couldn’t get me if he fucking tried,” you grabbed the knife strapped to your belt and held it up. “It was you! It was always you and I trusted you!” You brought the knife down and San just narrowly avoided it.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“It was you! You killed him!” You saw the realization in his eyes, the way they widened, and the way he shook his head. He knew. He knew what you saw in that room. All the tears you held back in that room came out now. It all made sense. The way you’d suddenly run into San so much more after Eric died, the way he treated you, and the way he took care of you. Was it some sort of twisted guilt he felt toward you? Guilt not just from killing Aegis but also from killing someone you loved? “How fucked is that, San?! You sick bastard! You killed Eric and you had the audacity to pretend that you had nothing to do with it!” San grabbed your wrist before you could bring the knife down on his neck.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t know!” You’d never heard a more genuine apology from him until now. Someone grabbed onto your shoulder, but you couldn’t care to see who it was. You couldn’t care to push them away, whatever they tried wouldn’t be fast enough anyway.

“I don’t care.” With your free hand, you grabbed another knife and plunged it first into San’s shoulder, causing him to release your other hand to allow you to

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ac1d6urn · 2 years

Text

How To Rite Gud [Fic]

aka fiction stages, a summary

A bit of introductions first: I am a writer in a now-obscure fandom (what can I say, I am boring and consistent). I have a perfectionist streak, therefore I take notes on how to be better and even try to follow them. I have been reading fan-fiction since the last century. I have even written a few since the beginning of this one. Let me summarise what I wish I’d known about writing back in the day. Namely: How To Rite Gud (Fanfic or not.)

To write well, first, we need to start somewhere and document the scene and the mood, no matter how brief or unpolished. (Because this is a fandom I know, I'm going to jump straight into an old school controversial tumblr ship as an example. Ready? Set? Go!) (Ohnoes!)

Harry slammed the door angrily. Snape's snide remarks were annoying as usual and oddly arousing. The other man exhaled and realised that he wanted Harry as well.

All right, so. Now we have a starting point. We have conflict. And we have some semblance of character progression. But wait, we're not done (I've read a lot of drafts as 'done', trust me! But how do we go beyond that?)

First things first. At the first pass-through at our rough draft, we will need to choose one protagonist, the one that will learn from the scene the most. Once we do so, we will stick to that point of view. In this case, we are choosing Harry, so that means he cannot see what's on the other side of the door or what is going on in Snape's mind. He can try to guess it or wish for it instead.

Harry slammed the door angrily. Snape's snide remarks were annoying as usual, and oddly arousing. Behind the door he heard a sigh. Perhaps Snape felt the same? That couldn't possibly be true.

All right then, all fixed! Easy enough. Onward.

The next step is to 'show not tell', in terms of emotion. The aim is to identify and remove every direct mention of how the protagonist is feeling (”angry”, “aroused”). We can show or hint at it instead, or we can project his feelings onto guessing how others feel, but Harry has to be the one doing the guessing or the admitting or the denying. In short, let's play a never-ending game of skirting around how the protagonist truly feels as described in one word, but show or hint at it instead with Harry's actions, urges, or dialogue. We'll leave the reader with the satisfaction of discovering the rest since that is one fun part of reading. Ready?

Harry slammed the door. He thought of kicking it for good measure. Snape's snide remarks were about as welcome as a blast-ended skrewt at a Sunday brunch, but there was something else, an odd and guilty visceral thrill, unimportant and untimely. Behind the door, he heard a sigh. Snape? What were the odds of Snape understanding how Harry felt: wrestling with being a freak? Impossible! No one would understand.

Now then. Better? A bit. We're still not done.

Afterwards, we're going to expand and put anything that can become dialogue, a sound, or direct thought in that format. (Begone, ‘guilty visceral thrill’!) Harry (in denial as an unreliable narrator) is quite a bit of fun to play around with. This is also a good stage to add detail: where are they during this scene? Let's say the dungeons. Snape's domain. Dramatic enough?

Bang!

Harry slammed the door so hard that the hinges squealed and the potion bottles rattled in the aftermath. Bloody things deserved it too, every single slimy jar and every single beetle. If he kicked the door, would they shatter right in that pompous sod's face? Fuck it! Fuck it all! His ears burned hot, even after the ominous ringing stopped. That lesson plan was fine as it was! Great! Bloody perfect! But like a blast-ended skrewt at a Sunday brunch, Snape just had to leave his mark. It's not like the arsehole was teaching the bloody class, not anymore, Harry was, and Snape had no reason to meddle! So of course Snape was just doing what he did best, lurking about, waiting to rile him up.

Prick!

He leaned forward against the door and pressed his forehead against the polished oak. The boards felt cool.

Someone sighed, right on the other side of the door.

Wait, what was that? Not Snape, surely, can't be. What were the odds?

What did Snape know about being a freak? Nothing! Not a thing. No one ever does.

All right, now we're onto something. But we're not done quite yet. Challenge accepted? (Y/Y? Of course!) What we're after now is parsing through the draft with a fine-tooth comb, leaving behind no script of the protagonist 'doing things'. This means: no movie script; it turns into a personal real-time diary instead. (The "I am/he was doing the dishes" becomes "the water is too hot; I have to get a new sponge soon"). We are after the direct stream of consciousness, which means precision and detail, no ambiguity. Dialogue works, direct quotes work, immediate thought, concrete detail in recollection of memories or in current setting, anything! Please be creative with 'accuracy' of dialogue or any turns of phrase if it’s true to the protagonist’s stream of thoughts. Grammar rules be damned. Misconceptions, misunderstandings, and lying to oneself or others, depending on the character, is a fact of life. This is the perfect time to inject that into the narrative.

"- of all the times to act like a child!"

"Wait a second, I am not the immature arsehole here!” You absolute twat!

"Oh? Isn't it past your bedtime, Professor Potter?"

Oh, so be it! I’ll bite. "Fine! So what if it is?"

"Mr Potter, for once in your perfect, predictable --"

What's that, you arse? It was so easy to let go. Simply let go of everything. Of the door as well.

Bang! The door slammed so perfect and so satisfying, right in the middle of Snape's smug tirade that the hinges squealed and the potion bottles rattled in the aftermath. Bloody things deserved it too, every single slimy jar and every single beetle. If he kicked the door, would they shatter right in that pompous sod's face? Fuck it! Fuck it all! His ears burned hot, even after the ominous ringing stopped. His lesson plan was fine as it was! Great! Bloody perfect. But like a blast-ended skrewt at a Sunday brunch, Snape just had to leave his mark by pointing out the missing bits. It's not like the meddling git was teaching the bloody class, not anymore, Harry was, and Snape had no reason to meddle! So of course Snape was just doing what he did best, lurking about, just waiting to stab him in the back and twist the paring knife for good measure.

Prick!

Pressing his forehead against something, anything, like the polished oak of the door, felt like a necessity, something to stave off the headache. The boards felt cool. Stable. Breathe in, breathe out. Right then.

Wait! What was that?

Someone sighed on the other side.

Not Snape, surely, can't be. What are the odds?

What did Snape know about being a freak? Nothing! Not a thing. He wouldn't even think twice about tonight, hell, he already forgot about it. Did Snape even care? Was it all for nothing then? Their stumbling, stammering, starlit walk back from Hogsmeade. The Astronomy Tower, that slow twist and turn of the telescope as Snape's fingers hovered over Harry's, just for a second, and withdrew, with a nervous twitch...

Screw this. I'm going home. I quit!

So, we're onto something now. The last task is to tweak a few bits. The 'Sunday brunch' may become an 'afternoon tea party'. Italics-as-direct-thought is still off. The class, a Defense class (since Harry is kicked out of what seems like Snape’s Potions classroom.) The pacing is on the right track, the details intrigue us, the conflict is still there. We are getting somewhere. The emotions, the decision, the character progression in this scene (Do you still think I’m a child? -> I am done with you!) is complete. Whew.

And now you know the process. One scene down, a few more to go! (Onward!)

Honestly, this is how 1K drafts become 100K novels. The winning formula seems to be: one protagonist -> in denial with hints at deeper emotion (no explaining feelings) -> with thoughts and dialogue and bias on glorious display -> stream of consciousness controls everything else and all the surroundings or all action is filtered through it. ("The hinges squeaked and the light within was blinding and warm" instead of "he opened the door".) Needless to say, ease up on the plot twists, since writing this way is about x10 word count of whatever you’re expecting right now.

P.S. I've been told to 'finish the fic' already. I don't know what to say, it's a product of three short sentences and one evening and I have way too many drafts. So I'm sharing something better: a formula for making any three sentences into a functional scene. May it unblock you in your next draft. Please write something wonderful.

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