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misscammiedawn · 1 month

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Ange Ushiromiya's Recontextualized Memory and Unprocessed Trauma in Umineko No Naku Kori Ni

CW: Full spoilers for Umineko, a mystery visual novel game which is best enjoyed without knowing spoilers in advance. The game and thus this essay will feature discussion of child abuse and suicide.

For those unfamiliar with my blog I have a tag called Media, Myself and I where I talk about positive/accurate representation of dissociative disorders in media.

Today I want to talk about Umineko No Naku Kori Ni the third and fourth titles in 07th Expansion's "When They Cry" franchise. The game is a multi-layered fiction that starts off as an Agatha Christie inspired closed circle murder mystery taking place during the weekend of October 4th 1986. The murder mystery displayed has no more than 18 humans stranded on an island in the middle of a storm and the audience is invited to try to work out the mystery of what happened.

As the story progresses the audience are presented with a number of different possibilities, each an in-universe attempt to rationalize the tragedy that took place and killed all but two members of the Ushiromiya family.

It is eventually revealed that to the eyes of the world, no more than 18 humans were on the island that weekend and only one returned to their life afterwards. Some in the world have been quite focused on working out what happened during that weekend.

It's a complicated narrative that has multiple layers and each layer communicates not only with the audience reading the game but an audience of people in-universe trying to solve the mystery as well. When we first experienced the game we had joked that it was sold to us as Anime Homestuck but it ended up being Anime House of Leaves.

The easiest way to describe the narrative structure is that the first 7 episodes of the game, each containing about 20 hours of narrative, have within them a fictionalized version of events written in-universe by people who may or may not have been present at the event with episode 8 is mostly its own thing. To explain in further detail would distract. The point is Umineko is a complicated narrative and there is too much to cover a play-by-play.

The narrative is intentionally convoluted and contradictory with part of the fun of playing the game being to work out what events are true and what the rules are for discerning "magic" from "truth".

Even with a concept as seemingly opaque as Truth, there is the often quoted "Without love it cannot be seen" motif, that our emotional connection to events will always color how we interpret events.

The story is remarkably long. How Long To Beat puts each half of the game up at about 60 hours. So that's 120 hours of pure reading with very little gameplay.

There are multiple plural characters ("Oh, I am one yet many", indeed) and we shall discuss them in due course, but for clarity I wish to focus my discussion today upon the relationship between a survivor and their histories. The novel has much to say on the topic.

The above image discussing the nature of truth is from Episode 4, the chapter where the protagonist is Ange Ushiromiya. Younger sister of the protagonist of the first Episodes, Battler Ushiromiya.

Ange, 6 years old at the time, was sick on the weekend of October 4th 1986 and was not present on the island for the massacre. One weekend she had a full and lively family and then in the span of a single week everyone she had a connection to was killed in unknowable circumstances, she was whisked away to live with her aunt, the sole survivor of the tragedy, and would live the life of a cursed child, forever haunted by the tragedy that stole away her life.

Ange's story takes place in "The World of 1998" where she seeks The Truth. She states multiple times how she is incapable of going on with her life until she knows The Truth.

The events of 1986 are presented via "forgeries", published stories which tell the story of the 1986 tragedy utilizing facts that are known about the family. Ange pours through them, attempting to uncover the truth. She suspects her aunt may be responsible. Why wouldn't she harbor suspicions? Aunt Eva was the only one of the no more than 18 humans to leave the island and became the sole inheritor of the Ushiromiya family fortune.

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is formed when an individual endures long-lasting and repeated bouts of ongoing trauma, typically in childhood. Survivors often find themselves caught in an inescapable cycle of grieving that lasts months and years beyond the loss and remains fresh and raw in spite of the time and changes that have occurred since the event. The individual is tethered to the past by an inability to move on from their loss. In psychology this is referred to as Complicated Grief and though it is most commonly discussed with death, it can present itself for grieving lost time, stolen youth and lives unlived.

Ange is riddled with Complicated Grief. Her story takes place 12 years after the events on the island of Rokkenjima and yet she constantly tells those around her that she is unable to live without knowing the truth. Ange's unprocessed grief is unearthed when her aunt, the only survivor of the massacre, passes away while maliciously refusing to give Ange any insight into the truth that she alone knew, twisting the knife as she turned over the family fortune to a child that was not her own beloved George.

Ange's sole reason for existing is to make peace with the tragedy of her past and Eva's final act was to tell her she would never have it and would instead live a cursed life of a victim in the public's eye. Eternally scrutinized and criticized.

Ange, now knowing that the only chance she had to be given the truth and still feeling that she needs it in order to live her life, runs away and starts a journey to either make peace with her tortured past or end her own life.

Ange's suicidal tendencies are played up dramatically and much of the final episode is the conflict between Ange's inability to live with her grief being played out in hyperbolic fiction. The stakes of the story amounting to "will she be able to live after learning The Truth."

But what is Truth? Would learning who is responsible for her family's death truly give her peace or would it only serve to trap her further in her endless cycle of grief?

Trauma therapy tends not to focus on Talk Therapy for the most part as such therapy indulges a survivor to dwell on their unprocessed traumas and will only serve to retraumatize the client. In many cases it is detrimental to perform Motivational Interviewing (reflective statements designed to display to a client that the clinician is listening and interpreting their words without offering direct guidance or intervention) or Rogerian "person centered" (a similar tactic designed to keep a client talking without engaging in a back-and-forth, every reply should be a prompt that inspires the client to continue sharing without boundaries and reach their own conclusions) techniques.

The reason why is that these forms of therapy have a belief that "the client holds all of the answers" and the clinician's job is to let the client get out of their own way and walk towards the answer. It is a solutions based therapy where the client is trusted to clear cognitive distortions and navigate around mental blocks between themselves and what they need.

Ange's stated goals are far from healthy.

In survivors their Core Beliefs are informed by their trauma. Those who were raised in a house of neglect may have an unresolved core belief that they are unworthy of love, those who feel shame and guilt for what happened/how they were treated may have a belief that "I should have..." - A helpful list of common negative core beliefs and positive beliefs that can be instilled, click here.

Trauma therapy contains an element of identifying these beliefs and where they originated and working to overcome them. There are many different therapies in the world that attempt to do this but they all include some element of processing trauma, accepting trauma and committing to the future.

In Ange's case she does not need to know what happened in order to live. She has to accept what happened and live.

To make this clear, should Ange learn what is presented to be The Truth it will break her and she will be unable to accept it and in doing so ends up unable to live.

All of this is a prologue to talk about acceptance and our emotional connection to memory.

Prior to Eva's death, Ange was raised in a boarding school where she was ruthlessly bullied by the other students. Both Ange and her aunt are in the public eye for the scandal associated with the Rokkenjima massacre and Eva actively despises Ange and refuses to give her the care, nurture and privilege that the other students of the rich academy enjoy.

She lives a lonely and cursed life. Her one solace is getting to find time alone to sit and read her cousin Maria's "Grimoire", her journal. When she reads the journal she can clearly picture her cousin in her mind and interact with her. A form of "magic" that Maria taught Ange back when the two of them were friends, prior to the massacre in which Maria lost her life. In the past Maria had created a magical society called Mariage Sorciere and Ange was one of the members before being excommunicated.

We'll discuss it further in a while however while introducing Maria I wish to note that she was most likely forming a dissociative disorder prior to the massacre. The series writer Ryukishi07 was a social worker prior to his career in visual novels. He does a remarkably good job of displaying how abusive and neglectful family dynamics can impact a young mind. Maria, despite being 9 years old, has speech patterns linked to an infant's maturity, she often switches into a "witch" persona and she will hold up her stuffed animals and voice out their speech, treating them like separate individuals. She is bullied at school and her mother hits her when she does this but she is incapable of acting any other way. It's who she is.

A small portion of the second chapter even having some of the cousins stop to discuss the possibility that her overactive imagination and play-acting may contain elements of dissociative identity disorder. It's never fully confirmed and she dies at age 9, but Ryukishi07 displays a convincing depiction of extreme childhood neglect that would lead to a severe dissociative disorder had she have grown up.

We learn throughout the story that her journal contains sketches of many magical entities impressed upon the servants of the island and toys that Maria has. These entities becoming the magical cast of the "Gameboard".

Though not the focus of this particular essay, each episode of the game is depicted as a chess match between a game master (representing the author of a murder mystery) and an opponent (representing the reader trying to solve the mystery) and these matches take place in a world of purgatory. This world is populated by a magical cast of characters each of whom is paired with a member of the mundane cast on the island.

The game often repeats that it takes "two to create a universe". There needs to be one to imagine it and one to perceive it and mark it as real. This is displayed on the gameboard but it is also displayed with the way that for every imagined character who exists as part of the magical cast, there is the one who imagines and then there is one who their imagination is displayed onto.

Maria is a child of extreme neglect, as we will discuss soon, she had no one to displace her imagination upon (spare for her mother who she imagined as being possessed by an evil witch when she became violently abusive) and so she imbued life into her toys. Bringing Sakutarou, her stuffed lion doll, and her band of toy rabbits to life. This earned her the title "Witch of origins".

The magic in the game's universe operates on a rule that "it takes two to create a universe" logic. The concepts of Magic and Love being intertwined. "Without love it cannot be seen" has many meanings but in terms of creation it means that anyone can apply "the anti-magic toxin" of mistrust/disbelief by simply rejecting another person's reality.

So much of the magic and love in this world is built on trust and being able to believe in that which is shared. The concept is explored from many angles throughout the game, Episode 6 focusing on love in the form of trust between a writer and a reader and the contract between them requiring a murder mystery to be solvable and for a reader to earnestly engage with the fiction and accept it as it is written.

Within Mariage Sorciere, this love is to accept that the characters and imaginings of its members. To be a member is to accept all as it is presented. Sakutarou is a magical lion boy who speaks. To doubt this is to be excommunicated from the order, which is why Ange was kicked out of the witches alliance. To say Sakutarou wasn't real was tantamount to trying to kill him.

Maria's love is without doubt. In Episode 7 we learn that she is not capable of viewing people as anything more than how they present to the world. Her imagination paints how she perceives the world. When her mother's behavior drastically shifts when she enters a violent and abusive rage she firmly believes that her mother has been possessed by a cruel witch.

When a familiar adult approaches her speaking as the Golden Witch Beatrice, she does not see the adult. She only sees Beato. This is vital to her testimony throughout the game regarding the murder mysteries.

One last thing I wish to go over during this analysis of Ange and Maria and their relationship to their traumatic childhoods. That is the title of witch.

By now I hope it's been made clear that magic is imagination and love is trust. Whether it be testimony being believed, the contract between author and reader or the inner reality of one being seen and regarded and acknowledged by another.

As someone with DID, I like this concept a lot. It would be so easy to simply dismiss our condition and the presentations. But with love it can be seen.

The game shows a number of different types of witch. From the witch of origins who can make new imaginings that do not require another person to validate them to the Golden witch who has enough money to make reality via sheer financial coercion or the witch of truth who can make reality by asserting it to be so or witch of resurrection who can keep those who died alive in their memory.

Each witch is using their magical ability to "create" by taking their imagination and moving it out into the world. The Witch of Truth is a detective whose deductions are believed to be fact even if the accused disagrees. The Golden Witch can take any scheme or desire and pay people to make it a reality.

And Ange, the Witch of Resurrections, can bring back the dead by remembering them and keeping their voices in her heart. They live on in her writing. In her words. In her memory. So when she reads Maria's journal she can bring the Maria of 1986 into the world of 1998. When she reads of Maria's magical companions they can accompany her.

With this context, we return to Ange in her teen years.

Lonely and consumed by grief she is only able to find solace in imagining Maria with her, imagining Maria having forgiven her for saying Sakutarou wasn't real.

As she accepts the role of apprentice witch she is allowed to perceive Maria and her menagerie of imaginary friends.

Though there's a certain amount of strain and physical discomfort in maintaining the thought process of so many at once. Maria is able to do it remarkably easy but Ange has to struggle.

It's okay, Ange, dissociation headaches are an absolute bitch. They get better after a certain amount of stabilizing and communication work.

All the while she reads about Maria's home life.

To break the essay structure and be real for a moment. This segment hit me hard. I choked up crying and needed to take a break from the game for a while. The depiction of child neglect and abuse was too real and I feel it serves the fiction to depict it as such but it is a hard read. Please be kind to yourself as you read on.

Rosa Ushiromiya is the youngest of the Ushiromiya children, furthest from the inheritance and least respected of Kinzo's progeny. She likely suffered a large amount of abuse and neglect in her own childhood both physical from the eldest sibling, Kraus, emotional/psychological from her sister Eva and a combination of both from her other brother Rudolf.

Children raised in abusive households are more likely to develop personality disorders born from attachment trauma. A typical display of this is dichotomous thinking, praising and devaluing the same subject in waves based on stimulus. Within Borderline Personality Disorder, for instance, this is where the concept of Splitting and Black and White Thinking come from.

For Rosa, this manifests with her mood swings that have her violently scream and hit her daughter before lavishing her with apologies, affection and attention.

Every character in Umineko is burdened with a painful past. Each character feels the need to displace that pain outwards and project it onto other people. For instance Rosa displaces her pain onto Maria. Both of Ange's aunts displace theirs onto her. Kyrie displaces hers onto Battler.

Generational trauma is a heavy theme of this game.

Rosa makes her way as the head of a small fashion design label though she does not see a lot of success in her role. Early in adulthood she had a relationship that ended with her pregnant with Maria. Maria's father, upon learning of the pregnancy, left.

Rosa is young, lonely and feels that having a child makes it difficult for her to find love; in the time and culture of 1980s Japan being a single mother was seen as shameful. She finds that the best way she is able to date is to act like she does not have a daughter and take extended vacations across the country on weekends with her dates.

Leaving her daughter home alone.

Rosa has a number of hang-ups about the optics of leaving Maria in someone else's care, she is shown on multiple occasions in the story to fly into a rage when her ability to be a parent is put into question and she has massive cognitive dissonance in that she cannot bare to be seen as a bad mother and so she acts like a horrible mother to avoid looking bad.

I have seen a lot of debate on the logic here and first off, anyone who approaches this story with a view of "it does not make sense that a character acted this way" lacks the Love required to enjoy this story in full. The author enters a firm agreement with the audience to work within the confines of the fiction and not to disrespect the fiction by rejecting that which is offered. He will deceive us but never lie. In that we have to believe in the story.

But it's also a sign of those who have grown up with a proud optics obsessed parent and those who did not. Sad to say, I have experienced a few of the things which happen in this chapter and I have no doubt that Ryukishi07 saw some of it in his social worker career.

When Rosa leaves Maria alone at home, for days at a time, she orders her to never make anyone aware of her situation. More important than anything else never speak to the police about what goes on in this house.

That. I have lived that one.

What Ange reads and what Maria shows us in this episode is a weekend where Maria is home alone, her mother having forgotten a promise that was made to her and Maria is locked out of her house. She spends an entire evening searching for the lost key and eventually needs to seek a friendly store worker who recognizes her to get help.

This leads to police intervention, a social worker showing up at Rosa's house and...

I glossed over a lot. This is a dense book and this story takes up much of Episode 4. Suffice to say, Maria's friend Sakutarou was murdered in retaliation for Maria summoning attention of Rosa's bad parenting. Rosa abandoned her daughter for a full weekend after breaking a promise and when she was locked out and defenseless she asked for help and was violently punished for doing so.

Another function of the witch of origins is the ability to break the cycle of generational abuse. She does not take her pain and push it into someone else, she creates an imagined evil mother to hate and fear while continuing to love her 'real' mother. This way she never has to doubt the love she has for the mother who she has happy memories of and who custom crafted a lovely plush lion just for her.

Which leads to the discussion of trauma, memory and processing.

Ange, upon reading this story is crestfallen. She views Maria as a pitiable child, only to be confronted by MARIA who defends Rosa. Arguing that she legitimately forgot her promise, rather than deciding that her daughter was not worth the time or effort.

She claims constantly that Rosa is a good mother and that she is happy.

Maria, a being who can only view the world with love, despite being abused and hurt; chose to be happy and so through her magic it was so. She was happy.

There's a misconception I have seen and I will admit I held for myself upon reading Episode 4 that Maria was preaching to deceive ones own self in order to be happy. That it was enabling and accepting of her own abuse.

But this is actually one of the deepest things Umineko has to say about generational trauma...

Chapter 8 revisits the idea with a version of the gameboard where the Ange of 1986 is allowed to be on the island, something which was impossible because in truth she was not. Not even the witch of miracles could change that which is certain.

In this game, set by Ange's older brother BATTLER, the 6 year old Ange is treated to a fun halloween party with her aunt Eva run by her loving family. Throughout the entire story Grandfather Kinzo was made out to be the source of all evil and in this episode he is displayed as a kind and loving grandfather.

The entire reason I wanted to write this post and include it in my Media, Myself and I series (in lieu of discussing the overt plurality in the game, even) was due to a conversation Ange has with Battler about this deception.

Source: LP Archives - The full conversation can be found on this page for anyone who wants the full breakdown.

The entire story of Umineko is a struggle for those who experienced horrors to be able to come to terms with their memories and process them. This is true for Ange, it is true for Maria and it is true for the other members of the cast also.

Memory is malleable and uncertain and can and does become distorted due to understandings and contexts gained at a later stage, particularly when bias is in play.

For a graphic of how this works please look at this:

Source

The more a memory is reactivated the more it is eroded of its initial context and additional contexts bleed in. For Ange's circumstance she remembers her parents through the lens of knowing that her father was embroiled in legal troubles from his womanizing behavior. It is unlikely a 6 year old Ange remembers Rudolf in this light but her view of her father is painted through this lens and thus when she retrieves these memories the present context forces itself into the past.

This is just how the human mind works.

EMDR and other trauma treatments are focused on hijacking this system. When a traumatic memory plays out the amygdala processes the emotions and sense of danger which activates the nervous system. This process does not even require a conscious recollection; should a trauma memory be associated with a certain scent the nervous system will activate upon smelling it even if the survivor does not recall the event attached to the stimulus, the amygdala most certainly does.

I have spent too much of my life considering which of our memories had lavender scenting…

For EMDR the process involves retrieving the traumatic memory without allowing the client to reexperience it while ensuring they do so within the context of the present while highlighting safety and security. This allows the memory to be filtered through without the activating the nervous system. In some therapies this can be a process of re-parenting in which the emotional absence is provided either by the self or via a proxy. The idea is to allow the memory to break association with the trauma and be decontextualize until the memory no longer has negative associations.

Where I had assumed Maria's choice to be happy and think the best of her abuser was an act of enabling and self-deception, I now see was an attempt to stop dwelling on the negatives of the situation and allowing the past trauma to become a defining point within the present.

Maria cannot choose what happened to her. She can choose how she intends to live with what happened with her. She cannot know for certain what Rosa's motivation was in her actions. In fact as we go through the game the audience comes to be given some sympathetic information which though can never redeem Rosa's terrible parenting, can allow one inclined to feel sympathy for her. Like everyone else in the game, she's a victim too. Quite literally in 1986.

There's no way of knowing if she maliciously lied to her child and went off on vacation abandoning her or if she legitimately forgot her promise. No one is arguing that what Rosa did was forgivable. But it helps Maria continue living a happy existence knowing that she was loved and that the good memories she has of her mother are true, even if the bad ones are also true.

Maria, filled with love as she is, elected to see The Good Mommy and The Bad Mommy. Is this right or wrong? It's unimportant. What matters is if Maria can be happy.

Sakutarou was a stuffed lion said to be handcrafted by Rosa. Given as a gift and beloved above all things for Maria. When Rosa destroyed the Sakutarou doll the lion cub boy died and could not be resurrected by Beatrice because it was a unique item created by Rosa.

In Chapter 4's conclusion, Ange does the impossible and resurrects Sakutarou. She does this because Sakutarou was never a custom made doll crafed with love. He was a mass produced toy sold in travel gift stores that Rosa happened to pick up on her way home. She lied. Ange never tells Maria this. The miracle of Sakutarou's rebirth is enough. Knowing that the beloved handmade toy was not hand-crafted would not make Maria's life any better. Sometimes believing in magic is the best thing for someone living in a world painted by despair.

Funny that Ange understood that much for Maria and yet still sought after the One Truth up until the very end.

The finale of the game comes down to presenting this option to the player and by proxy Ange herself.

In a world where you cannot change the past and you cannot fully accept what happened, is it better to continue digging up the past and re-experiencing the trauma in hopes that there lays a truth that will make it all finally make sense or to try to make peace with the past and find moments of peace to hold onto. Holding to hate and pain only serves to bring the pain of the past into the present.

Ange, the witch of resurrection, has the ability to keep her family with her long after their death. Should she be haunted by the family that she was deprived or be happy for the limited memories she had and not be tethered to a world of the past she could never have possibly been part of.

Healing in Umineko is accepting love and making peace with loss. It is learning to live unburdened by tragedy and do the best with what was done to us.

If we cannot let go then we'll continue living in the world of the past turning over the events over and over trying to make sense of it and even if we are somehow granted the magical context, the one and only shining truth... it will only serve to make things worse. You can keep the past alive without letting the past control your future.

And Umineko does a remarkably good job of showing that.

Gosh... that took far longer than I'd hoped. Umineko is a difficult piece of fiction to type about because so much of it is subjective and hard to present to a broad audience without providing ample context.

I'd hoped to talk about Yasu's DID but I suppose that shall have to await another update. My original draft for this discussion was to discuss the different forms of dissociative amnesia with Ange's story serving as an example of how recontextualizing memory works. I may yet go back and do a full amnesia based ramble in the coming months. I just needed to get at least one aspect of Umineko drafted as it's been living rent free in my brain since December.

If you enjoyed this breakdown and found it interesting, please check out some of my other Media, Myself and I essays.

Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal gear Solid 2 - Describing the sensation of derealization where the brain stops connecting associations between the self and the things one perceives in their surroundings. One example displaying how this impacts a person living with DPDR and the other showing an example of a game attempting to make a player share the experience with the player character.

DID and the healing process in Mr. Robot - A run down of the experiences of discovery, exploration, rejection and healing within DID as displayed in each season of Mr. Robot, along with a disappointed rundown of why the final episode fumbled the ball.

Bruce Banner and the roles of his alters - A breakdown of the formation of The Incredible Hulk's DID and what roles his many alters play.

Romantic relationships with systems - A look at the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot-Ross Banner in Hulk comics and a frank discussion between Betty and one of Bruce's alters about how relationships function in a system.

Personality Play in Penlight - A review of one of the routes for a hypnokink visual novel called Penlight in which the protagonist hypnotizes a woman to have an alter personality, along with some descriptions of how dangerous play like that works in real life and what the consequences could be.

#dawn posting #umineko #ange ushiromiya #maria ushiromiya #ahaha.wav #media myself and i #media essays

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imaginejamesandsirius · 6 months

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Fat Slytherin Sirius ate away his frustration over his crush on Gryffindor James?

He’s a loner (his only friend is Regulus), he thinks he’s huge and gross and no one would fancy him (especially someone as gorgeous as James), but James has secretly crushed on him hard all these years.

Maybe it’s Valentines Day and Sirius always gets a huge box of Honeydukes every year from a secret admirer? This year, however, the receipt is accidentally left in, and James’s name is on it.

((A/N: Warnings for eating disorders and fatphobia! I try to go light on both of them, but they are present so tread carefully))

Sirius eats when he’s frustrated. He's always been this way. When he was a kid, he could run and play and his parents never bothered to stop him. Ever since Hogwarts though, he started putting on weight. He was sat in class for countless hours. The most exercise he got was walking up and down the staircases since he didn't care for flying and there was no other sport at the school.

At the start, being chubby didn't bother him. He looked just like his dad when Orion was a kid, and it stood to reason that Sirius would look like him as an adult, as well-- and while he has many issues with his father, looking like him isn't one of them.

But Hogwarts is different. People's gazes don't interact with him the way they do others. He learns to be self-conscious, and there's no escape-- not with everything else going on in his life. It doesn't help that he doesn't have any friends. The only person in Slytherin that he can stand is his own brother (and Regulus has the same problem as him that manifests in the opposite way: refusing to eat).

He likes people in other Houses, but he doesn't know how to make any of them friends. He doesn't know if any of them would even be interested in it as a possibility, what with him being in Slytherin and a Black, to boot. With the world the way it is right now, well, he can understand why they'd keep him at a distance even if he managed to give it a try. And he doesn't really have anything in common with most other students, does he? The number of fat students at Hogwarts can be counted on one hand.

He's... disgusting. His parents can say all day long that he doesn't need to concern himself with how others think of his body, but considering their other views, he doesn't believe it. When he manages to have a sense of humour about it-- something that is happening less frequently-- he jokes that between him and Regulus, they do manage to eat enough for two people; Sirius eats enough for one and three quarters, and Regulus eats enough for one quarter. It's enough to get a smile from his brother, weak and too pale though he is.

Sirius wears layers, keeps his eyes to himself, and... okay, he mostly keeps his eyes to himself. One student caught his attention back in first year, and he’s being pining from afar ever since.

James Potter. Gryffindor. Quidditch Captain. Head Boy. Confident, fit, popular.

They're in the same year. They take the same electives, so they share a fair bit of lessons. The occasional partnered assignment during class has pushed them together.

So it's not like James has no idea who he is. It's more like he doesn't care. And why would he? He's everything Sirius isn't. Back in fifth year, Sirius had thought there was something there, but it hadn't taken long for reality to slap his hopes down. James got detention for snogging McCool in the corridor two days after Sirius thought he had a chance.

James was-- and is-- perfect.

Across the Great Hall, James laughs, loud and bright. He looks so bloody happy all the time, Sirius has no idea how he does it.

James is off the wall gorgeous. Simply calling him 'attractive' doesn't feel like enough, for the way his image haunts Sirius's every step. He dreams about him more often than not, and it's never a disappointment. No one should be that handsome. His smile looks like it stole a piece of the sun, how ridiculous is that? It's absurd.

And it's not just his face and his smile and his sodding laugh that does Sirius in. No, his body had to be fucking perfect too. He plans to play Quidditch professionally-- it's no secret-- so he exercises more than anyone else on his team does. He puts in so much work and the results are obvious. Robes are good for hiding the finer details, but an accident in Herbology made his chest bare for a few glorious minutes that Sirius would never forget.

Sirius sighs, taking a few more bites of his mashed potatoes. Excellent dish, that. Regulus isn't eating it-- too heavy, probably. Sirius grabs another roll for himself and tosses one on Regulus's plate while he's at it-- bread is 'easier', he once said.

Regulus gingerly picks up the roll and takes a small bite. He chews for a long time, but he manages to swallow it. "What's got you in a mood?"

He shrugs, unwilling to disclose the details. He's pretty sure that Regulus knows he has a crush on someone, but Sirius doesn't want him to know the details, and even if he was willing to tell, he isn't going to do it during a meal, with plenty of people around to overhear.

Regulus takes another bite of the roll, larger than this time. "Tomorrow's Valentine's Day, maybe that'll perk you up."

"Why should it? I'm not dating anyone; I'm sure you've noticed." His heart gnaws against his chest and he switches to the roast that has-- until now-- been neglected on his plate.

"Someone sends you a box of chocolates each year," Regulus says. His voice picks up at the end; he's trying to cheer him up despite his own questionable mood.

"Yeah." His chest doesn't hurt as much. "I guess there's that to look forward to. Assuming they bother to send one this year."

"I'm sure they will," Regulus says, but he isn't.

Sirius isn't sure it'll happen either, despite trends that point the opposite. This 'secret admirer' has sent him a box of chocolates each Valentine's Day since first year. It would feel rather strange if they didn't tomorrow. Whoever it is also sent him a sodding present for his birthday the last three years. He only knows that it's the same person because each gift tag reads 'I hope you like it'. Sirius has a collection of 'I hope you like it' cards tucked among his belongings, a reminder he needs that someone out there likes him even though they don't have to. He's going to miss it when he graduates Hogwarts.

His eyes wander back to James at the Gryffindor table, an easy smile on his face as he talks to his friends and the gaggle of admirers that follow him.

Valentine's Day dawns, and Sirius is munching on plain toast and pumpkin juice, not feeling overly hungry, for once. He wonders if he can keep this up. Even if it's just breakfast, surely that will have some sort of impact on how his body looks? A nice, light meal to start the day and keep him energized instead of feeling bogged down the way he usually does in the morning.

Regulus doesn't show up to breakfast before the post arrives for the day.

An owl carrying a large, rectangular box approaches Sirius, swooping down to leave the package and flying away again without so much as waiting for a treat-- standard fare for this delivery.

The package is wrapped in simple brown paper, but it's tied together with a silky black ribbon to hold the note in place.

I hope you like it, your secret admirer

Sirius unties it and carefully sets the note aside. The ribbon is magically tethered to the package to keep it safe, so he cuts through it with a simple spell and rips at the paper. Part of the box is revealed through the hole, and mmm, it's Honeydukes, as usual. Why this person insists on buying the biggest box available, Sirius has no idea, but he's appreciative.

He works on getting the rest of the wrapping paper off so he can Vanish the lot of it, and something white flutters down. Sirius grabs it, curious about what it is and why it's in his present when there never has been in the past, and reads it.

Then he freezes, a cold chill working down his spine.

It's a receipt for the chocolates, signed by one James Potter. The paper crumples in his hand as a humiliated flush rises in his cheeks. James likes his pranks, and he's no stranger to cruelty, but that cruelty had always been contained to the mini-Death Eaters in Slytherin while everyone else handled the harmless ones that came to the Gryffindor's mind.

Sirius shrinks the box and shoves it-- and the crumpled receipt-- into his bag.

Maybe a bigger breakfast would do him some good. He eats until he's full, then just a little bit more so he has something to make him feel better when he confronts James about this. Regulus comes up to breakfast with dark circles under his eyes and chokes down some eggs before they're off for class.

His first class of the day is History of Magic. Dull rubbish, and they share it with Gryffindor-- something that usually enhances his mood, but not today. He listens to Binns lecture, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in the chair, and ignores the occasional glance James sends his way. Normally, James doesn't look at him-- Sirius is all-too aware of this because he spends so much time looking. Of course, Sirius is usually in a good mood on Valentine's Day, despite him being single; the gift from his secret admirer never failed to make him happy. It makes sense that James is confused by the change today.

He sits there, miserable, and wants to eat all the chocolates because he deserves them for putting up with such abuse, damn it. They are a gift, he should be able to enjoy them no matter the motives behind the person giving it.

Throughout the course of class, he notices that James doesn't really have the look of someone waiting for a joke to land. He seems nervous, almost-- like he's thinking 'maybe the package wasn't delivered'.

If James did mean the gifts in the way all his notes said, then Sirius should thank him. If he didn't mean it that way, then Sirius should thank him anyways. If he does like Sirius (doubtful), then talking about it might lead somewhere. If he doesn't, then Sirius wants to call him out and see what he has to say for himself. James won't be ashamed because he never has been for any of the tricks he's pulled, but Sirius is confident in his ability to talk him into a corner, should it become necessary.

Despite all his reasoning telling him that this must have been a terrible joke, he can't help the nugget of hope in his belly, wishing it to be true. He's spent so many years dreaming about James Potter. Thinking that maybe those feelings are returned makes him feel better than he has in ages. It's worth a shot.

Class lets out. James usually lags behind, not in a hurry to get to his next class because it's so close. It's easy for Sirius to take his time putting away his unused parchment and quill. He grabs the receipt from where he shoved it and straightens it a bit-- it's not a good look to have destroyed it in anger. When he walks out, James isn't far behind.

"Hey, James?"

The Gryffindor perks up, turning to face him. His mates all have a different class for the next block, so they're already gone, and nobody else is close enough to pay attention.

"You left this in the package," Sirius says, holding it out to him.

James takes the receipt with a confused frown, clearly not recognising it for what it is until a second later when he gives it a closer look. "Ah." His face doesn't transform into a cruel smirk or condescending pity. His expression is rather blank, as a matter of fact, as if he's trying to think of what to say-- which Sirius takes as a good sign.

"I know you didn't mean for me to find out, but thanks. I don't know why you did it, but I guess that's got nothing to do with me. See you around." He starts to leave but stops when he feels a touch on his shoulder. He faces James once more. "Hm?"

"What do you mean 'why I did it'? I left notes."

"Ha, yeah, but that's what people write on notes, innit? It's easier to say 'from a secret admirer' than come up with something else."

"I do admire you," James says, eyes honest.

Sirius shifts his weight uncomfortably; he can't possibly mean that. "Look, we don't need to do this. I just wanted to say thanks."

"I know I'm not your favourite person in the world, but would letting me talk you into a date be the worst thing?"

"...What?" No really, what? A date? Where the hell did that come from? If he didn't know better, he'd be thinking that James fancies him.

"I think you might like me a little if you gave me a chance, is all. I mean, we get on alright when we get partnered together in class-- you never seem annoyed with me, at least, and that's a step up from how you treat most people."

Sirius blinks at him. "Do you think I don't like you?"

"You don't like anyone," James shrugs, as if it's obvious. And, well, it is.

"That's because people don't like me."

"I really don't see how that's true-" what the fuck planet is James living on? "-but whatever. Does that mean you'll think about it?"

"Think about what?" Talking to James has never been so confusing, and that's including every interaction stretched out over their six and a half years of shared classes. It's like they're having two different conversations right now.

"Going on a date with me."

"You want that?" Sirius asks incredulously, unable to keep a matching expression from his face. He doesn't mean to sound so surprised by it, but he can't help it. The idea that James, the most fit bloke in Hogwarts, wants to go on a date with him, is ludicrous.

"Yeah." He shrugs one shoulder with a sheepish smile that makes Sirius's heart skip a beat. "I thought all the gifts had sort of given it away."

"I mean, yeah, I did think that might be the case, before I figured out it was you sending them."

"Why would it be different if it's me?"

"Have you seen you? And-" he doesn't want to say it, but he feels he has to "-have you seen me? It doesn't really match up, does it?"

"Who gives a shit if it matches up? I fancy you. It should be that easy, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

"But that's not how it works," Sirius finishes with a sigh. He readjusts the strap of his bag for something to do. He doesn't like thinking of it in these terms-- 'I look like this and you look like that, so we can't be together'. He doesn't like feeling terrible about how he looks, but ignoring it altogether in this conversation wouldn't have done him any favours. It is good that he said it, rather than accept James's offer and let the topic fester. "So maybe we should forget about this." That's where they'd end up anyways, right?

James is silent for a moment. Then, looking at Sirius like he's seeing through his eyes and right into the depths of his soul, he says, "You didn't strike me as the type to accept that. If you don't want to date me, then- y'know, say it and I'll leave you alone, I swear. But don't stand there and tell me that we're not going to just because people will think it's weird."

"Of course I want to date you," Sirius sighs, because really, doubting that is ridiculous, "but you can't possibly like me."

"Do you really think of me like that?"

"I mean... no?"

James makes a face at how thoroughly uncertain Sirius sounds. "I think you're cute, but- you know what, if you don't want to believe me on that, that's up to you, but I think you're brilliant and funny."

"What?"

"It's why I noticed you back in first year. Gryffindor and Slytherin had Charms together then, I don't know if you-"

"Yeah, I remember," Sirius says. He'd noticed James in that class too. His laugh, specifically, had been what made Sirius look over and take real notice of him amongst all of their yearmates. Then he’d looked a little longer, seen his spellwork, and that was that.

James looks, for a moment, as if he's not seeing anything in front of him. Whatever memory he has of the first time he noticed Sirius, he's lost in it. "Look, I want to date you. I like how you look, and I fancy you. I'll say it every day if that's what you need to believe it, but if you're not willing to meet me halfway, then there's nothing I can do about that."

If Sirius wants to date him, he'll have to take the next step-- and it's a simple step. All he has to say is 'yes', and that will be it. Once he gives James his answer, he'll take care of it.

"So?" James asks hopefully.

"Well," Sirius replies, smiling awkwardly, "anyone that gives me chocolate this good deserves a chance."

James beams at him.

Sirius blushes with the full force of that expression trained on him. He wishes that he'll stop blushing, but his face pinks and stays that way.

"We're both free this block. Did you want to do something?"

"Sure."

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #regulus black #hogwarts time #slytherin sirius #filled #getting together #siriuslystarbucks

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theomnicode · 2 years

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Saitama and Genos are just hopelessly baffling to me

As someone who has had a Significant other for 12+ years going or longer now, it is absolutely baffling to me how Saitama and Genos are somehow MORE involved than WE ARE in this intimate way that they're always joined at the hip, yet not physically or romantically involved somehow. And just as domestic and domestically intimate as actually involved, married couples.

Genos literally fetches Saitama's heart underwear boxers and puts them outside the bathroom so he can dress up after a bath. Genos would probably jump into the bath if it had room in it. Genos legit stared at Saitama wearing a tiny towel getting a massage from massage chair.

Genos has expressed in meta that he 100% thinks Saitama's consciousness and his body are beautiful, ergo he's about as attracted as cyborg who thinks his sensei is not interested and who's still figuring out his own emotions can be.

The only problem seems to be that Saitama and his emotions need a light switch put into ON position.

I can also count like minimum 4 dick jokes made about Saitama eating phallus shaped food objects and awakening libido joke in which Genos gut headbutts to boot, from the top of my head. Fucking bananas and popsicles man, one being anime-only addition. I can't believe it took me this long. Screw Metal bat making dick jokes, Saitama eating them is where it's at.

And the longest fry too. Saitama, not inside a family restaurant damnit!

Oh wait, Genos stole the fry, I guess he's the inside joke. The latex glove examination on the fry does not escape me either. Nor does the OVA episode theme.

And how come Saitama is comfortable lounging around in pyjama bottoms 5 days after Genos moved in when Genos is obviously drawing him reading manga? He's self-conscious about his bald head and self-image otherwise but not this?

Something shifted though, because Saitama actually held Genos physically close for the majority of 169.

Progress!

ONE is writing the slowest of slow burns in all of fiction. Within the time duration of mere 6 months in universe. It's gonna take another 7 years isn't it?

Come on man.

I can't make this shit up even if I tried.

How obvious can a parallel get?

Like how the other brown bear protects the smaller, white coloured and more vulnerable bear from the rain. Like how Genos rushed to Saitama's aid and protects his vulnerable emotions, his love for other beings (like his love for pets) from melancholy.

To his beloved's aid.

And he will find him before the stars do. Stars is the universe, ergo it's OPM God, who is also trying to prey on his emotional vulnerabilities. Long as Saitama only shows his emotional weakness to him and comes back home to him, his safe haven, he'll be fine.

It's not a coincidence that in the OVA, Bang had been thinking about 200 different ways how to take down Saitama when his guard was down. When Bang is one of the identities God has assumed to lure in emotionally vulnerable Garou.

Even without a map to the place where I'll return The heat of your heartbeat is guiding me The arrow of that thought is flying straight ahead Even if it's far away.. When we reach our hands out, the bond teaches us that kindness is strength That is what's important to have for living That's why I'll be back I'll be back to right here

Saitama: That’s not the point... I have the feeling that things like a heart to heart interaction, sharing an umbrella, warmth, are all things broken away in my life. Other people can have things like big events and circumstances happening, romances and such bringing happiness in their daily lives. I have the feeling something broke and that sweet-like fluffy, nice stuff just fell right off from me. That's what I meant.

Saitama: Genos, look, have you ever seen a hero anime without a love interest in it? Genos: I don't remember watching a lot of anime in the past.. Why do you ask? Saitama: Well, we're heroes, right? We're working and living as such. And yet, why are we indifferent towards things like love interests or girlfriends? In some way it seems obvious and logical, but is it really ok? Are you ok with reality being so much harder than fiction?

I can't make this shit up man.

I will be forever malding if ONE is writing some kind of unrequited love scenario. That would just be cruel. I just want them to be wholesome together like fate intended. ;_;

(Genos gets so jealous on the cd drama lmao)

(awakening libido is from rush of hormones and neurotransmitters like dopamine and his instinctive drives and desires jumpstarting on his younger body when his future self regained homestasis and connected the psyche)

#opm #one punch man #saitama #genos #saigenos #genosai #dick jokes #libido #opm meta #slow burn

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agirlattea · 2 months

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The True Meaning of Iron in the Blood of the Fallen:

Part 3:

(Location: Central Kingdom, Magic Manor, Common Room, Night Time)

Faust: So you’re already familiar with it, Sage. Shino also seems to have done a great job preparing.

At that time, the Valcy had spread its roots underneath the entire city, and was on the verge of annihilating it.

The person who stopped that was the Bernard Family’s head.

Mitile: Then, was he a wizard?

Shino: No, he was a human.

Mitile and Akira: What?!

Akira: Is it possible for humans to hunt monsters…?

Shino: Who knows. But that’s what the book says, anyways.

Arthur: The history books I have studied say the same.

I’d thought perhaps he had aquired the help of a Wizard or used some other means to gain an advantage, but there are no records of such events.

Faust: Not all history is recorded accurately: especially during times of chaos.

Humans cannot wield magic. Even if they chant words that appeal to the spirits, they will not respond.

In the end those words are just spells. Facing fierce magical beasts alone is beyond human capacity.

Akira: I see… has the story changed over time, then?

Shino: It’s a pretty common legend anyways. Actually it looks like he didn’t actually defeat the beast, just sealed it away.

This is what they used to cast it.

Shino traced the pages of the book in his hands.

In the page, there was a picture of a large object shaped like spread wings on a single solemn alter.

Mitile: is this where the Valcy is sealed?

Shino: Yeah. This is “The Medal of Sincerity”. The jewel in the middle is where the Vlacy is sealed.

It has a complicated structure with several layers of barriers and seals to stop it from breaking.

Apparently the duty of gaurding it has been passed down through generations of Bernard Family Heads.

Shino spoke quietly, like a child talking about their heroes.

He looked up at Faust, still standing behind him, with eyes full of anticipation.

Shino: Hey, Faust. If I ask that guy, do you think I can see the real thing?

Faust: That guy…? You mean the boy you caught earlier?

Mitile: The person who stole Murr’s wallet…?

I wouldn’t go out of my way to meet someone who does bad things like that.

Shino: I don’t think so.

Mitile: Why?

Shino: In order to survive, there are times when you can’t keep pretending. I was the same way.

Mitile was stunned speechless.

Shino’s back was straight and his eyes were clear. The pride of having survived all alone was reflected in his stance.

Shino: My dirty past won’t ever change, but I’m not the same person I was back then.

I want to see how impressive the medals handed down through the Bernard family are.

Someday, I want one that’s even cooler than all of them.

Mitile: Shino, I…

Shino: If you’re going to apologize, I won’t listen. You and I just have different ways of living.

Though his words sounded like they were pushing others away, they were clear, as if he was making a joke.

The air surrounding the two boys relaxed. The image of a boy in torn clothes standing among them came to mind.

Akira and Arthur: About that boy… ah.

Akira: I apologize for speaking over you. You were going to say something?

Arthur: Yes… he seemed quite concerned about the incidents in that city.

Faust: The serial attacks? Didn’t he mention that several incidents happened in quick succession?

Arthur: Yes. Somehow though… from the way he spoke, I think he might know something more about those incidents.

Shino: …? Does that mean he’s involved?

Arthur: It is not that I wish to doubt him, but he was the one who warned us not to stay in the city for fear of more casualties.

As a member of an esteemed family, it is possible he said this out of concern for the public good, but… as the victim in the situation, his phrasing struck me as odd.

Akira: That’s right…

Mitile: …In the first place, why is someone like him living like that?

If he was born to a family like that, shouldn’t he have a mansion and be admired by everyone…?

Shylock: It isn’t particularly uncommon for noble families to fall.

Just as there is no flower that does not wither, so too does glory never last.

Murr: Shylock is eloquent as always!

Akira: Shylock! And Murr too.

Shino: You guys sure like appearing out of nowhere.

Shylock: Fufu, I enjoy spending my time as I please.

Rather, it seems this is the perfect place to enjoy dessert after dinner.

Would you like some tea to go along with your sweets?

Murr: I want a drink! I’ve been upside down for so long I’m starting to get thirsty!

Shylock: have you tried turning around and pointing your head towards the ceiling? It’s likely because of the blood rushing to your head.

And Murr, you are the one offering the tea. We came here to apologize for the commotion the other day.

Murr: That’s right! Let’s have fun giving it out and have fun drinking it too!

Murr waved his finger and the tea poured out into several cups.

Faust: You’re not just here to apologize, Shylock. You were worried about the boy too, weren’t you?

Shylock: My, perceptive aren’t you?

The Bennet family is one family whose status slowly declined but… in that boy’s case, it seems something more dramatic has occurred.

When Shylock raised his hand up, a delicate, colorful plate appeared.

On top of it, colorful sablés appeared, overlapping with one another. He placed it on the table and sat down on the sofa.

Shylock: When life changes, people usually adjust in stages.

But… that boy didn’t seem used to his lifestyle at all.

People rarely lose everything overnight.

Murr: Also, we heard your story! The monster House Bernard sealed was the Valcy, right?

That’s an extremely high-level monster, you know. You’d need a ton of spirit* to fight off something like that!

Shino: Spirit?

Faust: The key is a strong will. You’ll need it in most situations.

Arthur and Mitile: Spirit…

Akira: Wow, it suddenly became a matter of willpower.

Faust: It makes sense. If one firmly believes that they are a servant of justice who must not give in to evil…

By utilizing the correct strategies and affirming his will, he manipulated both his body and his mind to confront and overcome the Valcy.

Shino: Cool. Faust, say that one more time, I wanna try too.

Faust: You never listen seriously. I’m serious: if you fall prey to a Valcy without the right convictions, you’ll lose both your mind and your body.

When that happens, you’ll become a blood-feeding monster, just like it.

Akira: Ah…

My voice raises in horror at his words.

Murr, who was lounging in the air beside me, raised his index finger, and poked my temple.

Murr: Valcy are famous for luring humans out with sweet scents and mysterious sounds before pouncing and sucking their blood.

When that happens, the Valcy’s poison enters the body and the human is overcome with the urge to drink blood.

Akira: People… drink other’s blood?

Murr: Yep! It’s only a matter of time before the extremely abnormal drives the victim mad.

When that happens, the Valcy calls the victim back to its cocoon and sucks all their blood. That’s how it grows.

Mitile: It keeps getting creepier and creepier…

Shino: What a freaky story, it must’ve been some monster.

Arthur: Even if it is a magical beast, the idea of attacking people and changing their very being…

Akira: (To have your blood feasted on and even be cursed to become just like the monster that attacked you… the Valcy really are like the legendary Vampires of my world…)

Shylock: After securing some history books, it became clear that is exactly the reason why the achievements of the Bernard Family’s former head are so glorious.

For a legendary creature like the Valcy… to remain sealed to this day is no small feat.

Murr: But no sealing technique can last forever. Maybe the secret passed down through the family heads is the key to maintaining it?

Shino: A secret technique… like what?

Murr: I dunno! But there are a lot of weird things about that town: The Valcy, the street attacks, and the wallet got fuller too!

Everyone: …What?

Murr: When I got my wallet back from the boy, there was a little more inside!

I wonder if his funds got mixed with mine when it dropped on the road?

Akira: That’s terrible… we should go find him and give it back.

Shylock: This must be causing him some trouble.

Shino: That’s fine with me, I wanted to go back and get lemon pie anyways.

Let’s ask him to show us his medals too, if you’re curious maybe you can even check on the seal while where there.

Arthur: I’d also like to accompany everyone.

I’d love to hear more about him of course, but I’d also like to ask about the incidents.

Murr: Yay~! We’re all going out again!

Mitile: U-um… is it alright if I go too?

Shino: Why? Do you also want lemon pie?

Mitile: Well, there’s that too but… if his situation is like everyone says it is, like Shino’s was, then he may not be such a bad person right?

I judged him too fast without knowing anything, but… if there’s something I can do to help him, then I’d like to do that!

Shino: …Is that so? Then you come too.

Mitile: Thank you!

Arthur: Master Sage, I look forward to working with you!

Akira: I am as well! It’s better to go as soon as we can so…

Faust: Wait.

Shino: What?

Faust: If you’re planning on visiting that town and the boy’s mansion, you’ll need to prepare.

Can you give me some time?

Translator’s note:

*気概 translates to will or fighting spirit, not to be confused with the magical spirits that allow wizards to cast magic.

#the true meaning of iron in the blood of #mahoyaku translation #mahoutsukai no yakusoku #mahoyaku #mhyktl #shino sherwood #arthur granvelle #faust lavinia #oz #white #shylock bennett #murr hart #mitile flores #akira masaki

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aceopmari · 1 year

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🚨UPDATE ON THE TOKYO SENPAI FANFIC STEALING SITUATION! PLEASE REBLOG AND SHARE TO SPREAD AWARENESS!🚨

DISCLAIMER: I do not believe in bullying. I do believe in exposing thieves and showcasing their true colors. Please DO NOT send any hate towards Tokyo-senpai on Wattpad.

Long story short in case if you don’t wanna read it all: this user posted stolen works, I called them out, they deleted the works, they lie and start acting manipulative, I tell them off, the end.

Uploading this in the parts because Tumblr has a 10 image limit per post rule.

So as many of you have been made aware, the Wattpad user @/Tokyo-senpai posted a series of stolen works including some of my own. Me along with many others have been commenting on their page all day and it seemed as if nothing was getting done since she would ignore and delete comments.

I was able to reach out to her via discord where I immediately called her out. (The RED is her and the BLUE is me. Blocking out our names for privacy reasons)

Both screenshots are my fic on tumblr and then the same story on her Wattpad.

She’s shaken up (I guess she thought I was one of her followers when she accepted my request on discord…)

So as I’m messaging her and inquiring why she stole, she proceeds to delete the evidence(first half of many chapters including my own) and says she had already taken it down prior. Little did she realize I had taken the screenshot of the stolen fics early in the morning(I’m currently overseas so the time difference looks off). I also circled the specific ones she took from me.(Theres also one more further down but I didn’t take that screencap.)

Even deleting my work she stole, I still wanted her to delete everyone else’s.

So after questioning why she would do such a thing, her answer? “IT WAS A JOKE! A PRANK!” I guess stealing hard work from people is funny. “ I wanted it to be a prank until I got caught and then I would take it down!” She says.

So she WANTED this all to happen I guess…?

LINK TO PART 2

#plagerism #Naruto x reader #Naruto imagines #Naruto smut #naruto headcanons #Naruto scenarios #akatsuki x you #akatsuki x reader #suigetsu x you #suigetsu x y/n #Akatsuki headcanons

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anadiasmount · 2 years

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maybe moving on is better? -- mason mount x reader.

first part above!!!

You chuckle to yourself and face him. His brown eyes are soft, nothing similar or exact to that night. “I was just heading inside to help Debbie!” you quickly excused yourself, rushing to get out of there. His girlfriend is here… wow, well super unexpected…

A gorgeous blonde with ripped jeans, and a turtleneck walks in, not even bothering to say hello to his family, well what a surprise huh? Although she stops and stares directly at you. You chose to ignore her, not bothering her presence.

Mason comes inside and as soon as she sees him she jumps on him, kissing him hard and passionately. His eyes remain open looking directly over at me, at least I think so. She rests her hands on his neck, “Masey, I missed you..” Jaz and I internally cringe at her tone of voice.

You look over and walk towards Jaz, pretending their conversation is non-existent. “She's come over a couple of times to dinner but has never made an effort to get to know us,” Jaz admits. “Is she always that touchy and cringe?” you can’t help it but your jealousy gets over you. You shouldn't feel this way, he was never yours…

Jaz shrugs shaking her head side to side thinking, “Almost all the time, he gets annoyed fast and then they argue. Rumor has it-” Jaz clears her throat as the blonde walks over to you, a fake smile plastered over her face.

She crosses her arms and stands in front of you, “Hi I’m Allison, I haven't seen you around here before, are you new here or?” she cocks her head to the side, her diamond earring shining. “No I'm an old family friend, nice to meet you I’m y/n” you point out.

She hums before looking around the room, no sign of Mason anywhere. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, the infamous y/n. Really it's such an honor,” your cheeks burn red at her words, what does she mean? Did Mason tell her about “Us”?

“Listen I-” you begin to speak but she raises her hand quieting you down, “Save it. I don’t care. Just stay away from him, or else we will have issues.” I laugh at her words, “It's quite amusing if you tell me, you can have him, he’s all your’s sweetie,” you smile and wink at her.

The reaction she was looking for was the opposite, she scoffs and turns back. You have to face it and now comprehend Mason wasn’t coming back into your life anymore, he was taken and moved on from whatever you two had.

Throughout the evening Mason stole glances from you, looking at you in deep thought. Sure it might have been in a couple of months but to him, you looked more beautiful than ever. The shorter hair, slimmer waist, or maybe it was the top you wore that brought dirty images to his head.

To your relief, Allison left early, claiming she needed to do something in her workplace. You sat along next to Jaz, your parents to your right, his brother and parents around the table, leaving Mason sitting right in front of you.

You stayed quiet, not in the mood for conversation unless asked a question. “So y/n, you mentioned living in London, how is that going for you?” His dad asked, you swallowed your food, under everyone’s gazes you felt slightly shy and flushed.

“Well, it's very different, so much traffic and lousy streets. I’m working at an architecture firm, finishing my degree a bit up north. I got a small job where I’ll be designing blueprints for homes. Most of all, it's going well, having my dog as company helps when it thunderstorms,” you joke, receiving a small laugh from everyone.

“You got a dog?” Mason asked, slightly surprised, instead of looking up you pick at your food and respond, “Yes! A german shepherd, he’s 5 months, his name is Luka.” Mason smiled to himself, even though you weren't looking it seemed to him you were doing just fine.

“In what area are you making models for?” He wants to hear you speak, his inner thoughts and feelings wanting to rush out and tell you how he feels despite his family being there. “Kensington and near Brentford,” you rush out finally making the long-awaited eye contact.

“And when are you graduating?” he knows this stuff, he's just finding a reason to speak to you, “The first week of June,” you reply sending him a small smile. Satisfied for now you continue your meal, speaking then and there.

As the night approaches you to decide to head home, not wanting to catch the strong rain and winds while driving. You hug everyone goodbye, promising to get coffee with Jaz and come over more. Mason disappears, your heart aches a bit as you put on your coat.

A strong grip on your wrist startles you, looking up to see him. His intense gaze brings butterflies inside you, spreading across your chest. He guides you to an abandoned room, pinning you against the wall. The closeness of your bodies makes your skin hot, the familiar feeling of being close again.

“We didn't finish our conversation outside,” he mentions. “Didn't see why we needed to, we resolved everything that night. I'm keeping my distance after you said to stay away from you.” he chuckles slightly annoyed. “There are still things I haven't cleared up with you,” his voice is more serious and deep now.

“Oh please, enlighten me! Would you like me to sign a contract, and keep this between us? Or mention how your girlfriend knows so much about me? Please, Mason, go ahead” you manage to get away from his grip, crossing your arms across your chest.

He stood there dumbfounded not knowing what to say, “Forget Allison, it's just me and you. I-I-I…” he stutters, “You what Mason?” urging him to continue. “Fucking hell! I missed you dammit!” the air in your lungs disappears as you take a breath. “These months I’ve been going crazy trying to look for you, any sign of you, wanting to know what you're doing, how have you’ve been-”

“How I’ve been? Funny, you're funny. I haven't been okay Mason, constantly blaming myself for what happened, you made it seem we were done, no more texts, calls, coming over, completely done. What happened to staying away from you? Or the fact I was “pathetic” trying to save our friendship?” your eyes fog up, tears wanting to slide down.

“It’s not fair. What changed Mason? This hurts, you being here hurts. I don’t understand-” Mason strides over cupping your face with his hands as he kisses you. He deepens the kiss grabbing your waist, his tongue licking over your bottom lip. You tried to resist at first, but you found yourself mixing your salty tears with his.

“Stop, stop, you have a girlfriend, she doesn't deserve this,” he scoffs tugging his hair, “tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me you don’t miss me-” he begins to blurt out, you shook your head as it became too hard to hear.

“I was patient with you, gave you time, comfort, and even love when you needed it. That didn't mean anything to you in the end. All those years of our friendship to result in this? Of course, I miss you,” you admit. “But it's not the same. How do I know you're not lying to me, only saying it to bring you satisfaction?” you wait for his answer afraid of what he might say.

“It was you all along. I still have that stupid Winnie the Pooh blanket you used to wrap yourself in, still wear our friendship bracelet, your favorite movies on the bookshelf, hell, I haven't even taken down the picture frames of us in my gaming room. It was a mistake, I never meant any of that-”

“Then why did you say it?” you throw your hands in the air beginning to break down, “I don't know! I don't know y/n, but I love you, I always have. I regret everything I said before, you're not pathetic or anything like that. Just please… please give me another chance for us,” he begged.

Silence takes over the room, “How do I know you won't leave again, or lash out?” you sniffle your voice softer and delicate. He walked over to you bringing your hands to his lips, kissing over your knuckles, one by one. “Because I lost you once, I don't plan on doing it again,” he looks up with glossy eyes.

“What's it gonna be?” he whispers. Is it worth it to let him back in after trying to move on? Can you really take his word to heart, once again? Does he actually love you the way he claims to? With much courage and bravery, you look deep into his eyes, you brush your hand along his jawline, seeing his eyes flutter.

“I'm going to need some time…”

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x reader #mason mount fic #mason mount blurb #mason mount fanfic #money mase #mm19 #chelsea fc #chelsea #cfc #mason mount one shot

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panzershrike-pretz · 6 months

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Lanterns

Part 3

Disclaimer: i'm well aware that some of the characters mentioned (namely the peculiar bunch) are originally from another work, Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. When I "made" them, I was only a child who didn't know how to do much besides very poorly made fanfic - but with time, I grew more attached to them and as I understood how to create characters, i just couldn't bring myself to abandon them; so I kept them. I changed a lot since then and they did too as mine. Please, do keep it in mind if you're familiar with the MPHFPC series - if I decided to put this as a disclaimer it's because I care. I won't stand being accused of stealing characters.

Summary: A Goddess who lost her faith, trying to get back to her senses so her family doesn't fall apart.

Warning: death threats and I think it's about it??

Taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @bucky32557038ww2, @xxluckystrike (if you want in or out, just tell me!)

-> Image below found here.

The chit chat tha filled Blithe was soothing. It was home, after all, with all it's peculiarity and strange inhabitants. The ship was old; when Athena first stole her, she was a decrept little thing, abandoned in a port somewhere along the Portuguese coast - and the Goddess made it her own.

She was the one who found every member of the crew. The one who kept them together in the beginning, before everyone truly got along - instead of wanting to kill each other.

The first members of her crew were Sirius, Hydra and Rodion. The three of them lived together in a small house; two siblings and their cousin. She didn't have a hard time convincing them to join - they eagerly wanted to leave their old lives behind. Just like that, Athena found herself with an extremely talented navigator, Sirius; a loyal boatswain, Rodion; and a good wanna-be doctor and potion expert, Hydra.

Somewhere along the line, she found Michael, a sweet Lycanthrope eager to be accepted somewhere, for once in his life. He wasn't able to turn down the position of cook.

After him, came Darty. They were a massive sight to behold; with long wavy hair and pretty eyes, a beautiful smile. They liked to sit around and play music, to keep spirits up during long days lost at sea, under the scorching sun. At night, the crew likes to sit around them, hearing their songs and dancing about, to pass time.

After that, Athena came across an interesting bunch; they called themselves Peculiars. She remembered how her crew was captured and schedule to meet the gallows - and then those kids came out of nowhere, causing a rockus that let them escape the hands (and guns) of the Royal Navy. She gadly took them in; cabin boys and girls that would bring Blithe even more life with their energy - it was different from how the Gods acted, they were mortal after all and wouldn't mind living each day to their fullest.

Hugh and Fiona where inseparable; the bee boy and flower girl. They were always together, like shadows; he was the only person with whom she'd speak, in german, and he'd gladly translate it out. Nothing could stand between them.

Then Emma, a withy, red-headed pyrocinetic girl, full of stupid courage and a big ego. She was a leader and it showed; the person who kept them together and pushed them forward during hard times.

Brownyn was like a mom. She had strenght - no, really, that was her whole thing. She prided herself in helping or protecting others and keeping her eyes on the two youngest: Claire and Olive.

Then Millard, the invisible boy, who initially followed Hydra's every step. He was a joke, really, being a walking Encyclopedia of knowledge. Sometimes, he could be found near Natasha, the light-eater, and Juni, who had an amazing hearing.

After then, came Seamus, Dean and Pangey (who dragged Peggy along, much for the dogs delight). They were somewhere in the army during World War 2 - but Athena couldn't care less for what they did.

The two last of that bunch where Horace and Enoch. Two boys who would not stop bitchin' about everything; especially cranky ol' En, who found himself adopting Olive as a younger sister and then being both adopted by Rodion as his children.

There was Wolfgang, a quiet man who ran away from prison and made his home in the middle of that strange bunch. The crew met him around the same tine they met Theodore, Archie and Toby - the trio almost never came along with the ship, but they were a part of Blithe all the same.

She only knew that when Sam stepped away from his Captain deal, he immediately found himself being the ship's Master Gunner - no one would be better suited to take care of Blithe's artillery anyway. Sometimes the crew fells like he's the one truly in charge.

Dean, Sam's own personal shadow, prided himself on his vision and precision; the man was a sniper and kept his own title when he became part of the crew. Athena felt like if the man had enough beers and guns, he could rip through basically everything - courage and dumbassery were two things he had too much of.

Last of the three, Pangey or Pangea. She kept to herself, most of the time, rarely comming out of her shell - but always there to help. When she came, Hydra wasn't all that happy to share her medical position, but the two quickly got along, like mother and daughter.

Finally, Jeremy. The Captain. The man that once tried to hang Athena was now the one who leaded her ship. She lived for the drama. Which was all she was about to get.

"ENOCH JAMES O'CONNOR, MAKE THAT THING PUT MY DOG DOWN, WILL YA?", Pangey snapped, making the First Mate look down from her crow's nest, curious, both wings open at her side; if things got out of hand, she could just sweep down and shove one of them into the icy water.

Peggy was hanging in the air, smilling and wagging her whole body, not smart enough to get that she was dangling just above the ocean. In the mouth of a monster, no less.

"Wha'? They're playin'! Look at 'er, she's lovin' it!"

"Don't you make me shove your face down a barrell of rum! Make your... thing... get off of her!" The woman was angry. Actually, it looked like it was the angrier she's ever been. And it amused Enoch. "Lis'en here, ye bri'ish shmuck, release my fucking dog or I'll gadly put a hole through your brain!"

"He doesn't have one!", Hugh laughed, getting a death glare from the boy. "What? Am I lying, Enoch?"

Enoch scoffed, trying to make it look like he wasn't offended. The thing Pangey was mad about was Pax, his not-so-little companion. It was a big monster, to be fair, whith dozens of tongues and sharp teeth, loads of eyes and a not really friendly face either - he resembled somewhat a two-headed calf. And, to make things worse, he was invisible to most people aboard Blithe, safe from Enoch himself and Athena.

It was typically a monster that'd gladly kill everyone on that ship, but Enoch was certain he had that thing under control; looking at it now, with Peggy dangling in the air, Pangey couldn't bring herself to believe him.

"Speak to it. Make it put my dog back on the ship."

"Whyyyy? He isn't hurting her!"

"ENOCH, I WILL HURT YOU!" And she was yelling again, fighting the thought of grabbing her pistol and ending him here and now. She usually hated using firearms, but carried one anyway for self-defense since the war. And she usually refrained from hirting people, but Enoch was getting on her nerves and playing with her precious baby. She was about to go ballistic.

"Enoch, listen to Pangea", Seamus said, standing against the main mast. "Don't you think you got enough threats by now, emo bitch?"

He looked over at the man, startled. He didn't think he was watching and, well, Enoch usually kept his annoyance to himself near the guy. Seamus frightened him. Finally, he decided to stop Pax's plan of maybe dumping Peggy in the ocean.

Stop. Down., was really all he needed to do for the beast to let go of Pegs, who looked very happy to be on her feet again. She looked behind her, to where she knew was her big and scary friend. Why am I back? Weren't we playing?

Pax growled, sitting and letting his tongues wander off again, messing with the dogs fur. She quickly got in a playfull stance and both of them ran off - obviously, every one of Pax's steps felt like the ship was gonna break in two.

Pangey crossed her arms, staring down at Enoch. "Don't you have anything to tell me?"

"Like what?", he shook his shoulders. "I'm not sorry for anything, it's not my fault they were playing!"

"Oh, really? Because I think that not doin' anything about my dog being held up above the icy ocean by a killing machine that only you can give instructions to is something you should be really sorry for!"

"Cut it, you two", Sam interveined again, putting himself between the two. "Enoch, fuck off, please?"

"Ugh... fine!", he stomped his way onto one of the lower decks, fumming as he went. Like a spoilled little brat.

"I can't stand him anymore", Pan let out, now focused on her friend. "We've been stuck together for too long."

"No one can stand him", corrected Sam, a little more playful. "Cheer up, it's almost Holiday season. Maybe we can light him on fire."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

---------------------------

It didn't take more than one or two days for Dean, sitting on watch, to yell about land. No one besides him could see it yet, but Sirius was happy to keep Blithe's course. She creaked as the waves hit her side, being compelled forward by the wind on her sails. She was a good ship - or, and everyone would die on this hill, the best one to ever set sail.

The bay in which she sled to was awfully familiar and as she anchored beside some small fishing boats, her crew made all the needed preparations to step on land and finally acess the damage on her side, which slowly but surely was letting enough water in that she was even more tilted to the side.

"Hmmm, this place smells so good!", Hydra was jumping up and down in place, looking at the town in front of her. It was a fishing village somewhere along the state of Amapá, just south of the French Guiana. Hydra was right about the smell; it came from the foodstands along the shore - and she was happily one of the first to make her way towards it when the gangplank was lowered.

"Alright, there's a hole on the bow and it'll need fixing. Rodion, you come with me so we can find some locals and get materials. Athena, you'll come too; we need a good enough translator", Jeremy was firm, eyeing her up so she wouldn't sneak away. "Sam, you're in charge. Get these guys working on gathering more food and water. Remember, no stealing this time; or the locals won't be of any help."

"Yes, sir!", Seamus was quick and went right to work as the three went in search of some help. He gathered the crew, assigning each of them with their tasks for the day - some would get food, others water, medicine, new blankets and cloth. He figured Fiona would be of use gathering fruits and vegetables, seeing as they were on land.

With everything sorted, he turned to supervising the deeds - apart from going up the mast to see if Brownyn was doing alright with the sails. He wasn't exactly fond of the altitude.

Lady Blithe was enormous in comparision to the other ships in the bay - and her black sails and pirate flag, with a crow's skull engraved on it, made a lot of heads turn her way, curious. That village was probably never visited by pirates, as they didn't sound any church bells to warn the people of incoming danger. Still, whatever authorities in the town where alert; it could be a trap, for all they knew.

Blithe and her crew didn't mind the stares. They were indeed strangers who didn't speak the native language, for Gods' sake. The stories told talk of bloodthirsty monsters firing cannonballs all over, burning whole cities to the ground in search of goods soon-to-be stolen. What the locals found was nothing like that.

Hydra couldn't help but notice the small little decorations here and there as she walked, not knowing anymore what was her original task. The houses had vases filled with red roses, orchids, horehounds, fire lilies and arum lilies. She smiled. Those were her flowers.

A few years ago she came to conclude that most people didn't really believe in her anymore - or on the other Gods, for that matter. They had newer, better ones. She spent so long drifting away on the sea that she was disconnected from the mortals; it was with it in mind that she made her way inside a little temple made for her.

Hydra hated her role when she was a kid. She always wanted to be normal, like her cousins - which child would like to have their career all planned out? She cursed Imbatwa, Ozymandias and all the Gods she could muster the name off. She didn't want to be know, to be important or to be some kind of role model.

What kind of Family Goddess she would be, if hers was a comically large mess? What kind of Marriage Goddess was she, if every one of her relationships ended badly? Her own child didn't really like her, so how could she be the symbol of motherhood and childbirth? It was only right for her to run away from all that and live amongst a crew of other people just as broken as her.

Some of them were also Gods who had rotten in their own minds. That was the thing that got them together in the first place. If the Goddess of Death and Feeedom, of all things, wasn't cursed to be forever chained to the ocean, nothing would be the same.

"Your Highness came to pay us a visit...? Give us your blessing...?", some old woman stood beside one of the back doors, wearing the garments of a priest. She didn't seem impressed in seeing the Goddess herself stand in the middle of her church.

She felt strange staring at the depiction of herself at the back of the temple. It was a scarlet ibis with open wings, to gladly take in those in need.

Some people would go all their lives without a single bit of recognition, while she had temples and statues and holidays made for her just because... she was born. It always felt wrong. The Godhood thing. Like it was a piece of clothing that didn't quite fit.

"Oh. I didn't see you there..." Hydra was saying, ready to go away, but she simply couldn't bring herself to.

"You are a troubled one, child"

Child? Granted that woman looked like she had some good 70 years, but Hydra was older. Why was she being called a child?

"I heard your steps and thought it was one of the villagers, not the One for whom this temple was built". She still stood there, curious as to what in the world was Hydra doing. "People usually come to me for help. What can I do for you, my Goddess?"

"Hydra. My name is Hydra. Please... please, use it."

"As you wish."

Both of them stared into each others eyes. Hydra felt compelled to start talking, but she didn't. Originally, when she was in a temple, it was to listen to others and not herself.

"We missed you, dear", the elder said as she got closer, leaning on a cane to help her stand. "We've been having a couple of rough years since you left".

Since I left to sea and started ignoring you, Hydra couldn't stop that train of thought, feeling some kind of guilt. She couldn't lie to anyone: she ran away so she didn't need to heed to her responsabilities.

"We won't blame you", the elder added, as if reading Hydra's mind. "Gods are trapped in their jobs, liking it or not. The ship in the harbor is what brings peace to you lot, isn't it?"

"Hum... yeah. She does."

"Then you shouldn't feel guilty for how us, mortals, handle ourselves."

"Are you giving me a life lesson?", Hydra inclined her head a bit.

"It depends. Do you need one?"

She didn't immediately answer, caught off guard by that priest. "How may I call you?"

"Maria de Lurdes", was the answer. "But I won't mind anything you desire to call me, my Godde- uh... Hydra."

Hydra made her way to the stained glass, depicting amazing stories that run wild. She could only make up Blithe's blurry sillouete from afar. "Why didn't you ring the bells?"

"You weren't gonna hurt us."

"How could you be so sure?" Hydra turned her head a bit, just enough to see the woman from the side of her eye. "We had sails full dressed and the flag blowing."

"Yes. The black flag, not a red one." Maria sat on one of the benches, tired. "The black Jolly Roger means lives will be spared if there's surrender... the red one, well..."

She was right. And both of them also knew that a ship so tilted it was almost rolling over was not exactly a good enough vessel to raid a village.

"Anyway, I just felt you wouldn't attack."

"What?"

"I could feel it. I'm a old woman, Miss Hydra, my gut doesn't lie." Maria smiled. "You aren't like normal pirates, are you? I can see it on your face. You guys are just like Robin Hood, right?"

Hydra liked the woman; she was quick to guess things and was almost always right. The Goddess nodded. "Yeah... just like Robin Hood... mostly."

"What will you be doing during your Holiday?"

Hydra stopped. It's been years since she last took part on any celebrations; her friends usually stayed alone partying while she took refuge anywhere quiet. This year she thought would be the same - yes, she celebrated with them the other Holidays, but her own? It was off her schedule.

Apart from her and Sirius' birthday, which she always took part - even if against her will, just for her brother -, the Night of Libero Sanctis was the only other Holiday in her name and she couldn't bring herself to participate. She had lied to herself just enough so she believed that it was a waste of her time. The New Year was better anyway and it was only some days later.

December 28th could be absolutely scrapped off of her calendar.

"I'll stay in bed. Probably reading, I don't have anything else to do", she finally said, the words hung heavy in her tongue.

"Pardon me, but that's bullshit."

"Excuse me?", Hydra turned to Maria, confused. "How so?"

"Not hoving anything else to do. That is bullshit."

The Goddess simply waited, perplexed. That woman had some guts, she had to admit. And, to be fair, Hydra really needed to be beaten with a dead cat 'till it started meowing, so she could come to her senses.

"What about your family?" Maria asked.

"I don't really think they appreciate me being alive, if I may be honest", she spoke carefully, still processing. "Actually, I believe they would be more than happy to receive a letter declaring my death on the 28th."

"Not your blood family, darling. The ship's one."

"Oh."

Hydra felt her wings become tense. Right. Maria was talking about Blithe. She felt so stupid.

"Won't you stay with them?", the elder asked. "My grandkids will come visit me. We'll have a whole celebration here in the temple... what about you?"

"Uh... I guess... it doesn't really matter...?"

"Matters, yes. It should, at the very least."

Hydra kept still as the old woman stood and very slowly made her way to the back of the temple, just to come back some time later holding something.

It was a lantern. One of those that floats when you light it on fire. It had little flame engravings on the side, along with a pretty depiction of a flower. Hydra felt a chill down her spine as she understood - Maria was giving that to her.

"My Goddess, would you be so kind as to light this lantern on your night..?", she asked, bowing her head. "If not for you, then maybe for us?"

Hydra was left speechless for a moment. Then accepted the gift.

"I'll think about it, miss Lurdes."

She turned to go, feeling like it was already late - and soon enough someone would be at her tail nagging her about not doing her assigned tasks. As she went, she heard the woman pray:

"May all the Gods stand by you."

Hydra smiled a little. They already stood - or at least the ones that really mattered to her did.

"Same for you, lady."

---------------------------

#meet Blithe's crew!#and Peggy getting herself into situations xD #oc #original story #🥨🪶

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trendywaifus · 7 days

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DADDY LONG STICK 💀💀💀 i'm making that my non-existent onlyfans name

also random but thank you so much for that one vegeta image 🙏 i think i've used it for like five different jokes over the past week, i am constantly on the lookout for ways i can shoehorn it into any conversation

-🫐

y u saying thank you and you stole it from me LMAOO (real) but you’re welcome! memes is always the best way in sliding into a convo 🙏🏽 you’re doing god’s work

#trendy #🫐 anon

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lordtraco · 12 days

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Giants are hot

Tw: mild emetophobia warning, depressive episode, angst with sorta happy ending

(@somerandomdudelmao took my writers block and suplexed it. I just have SO MANY thoughts on what's going on in Oscar's mind that it became a tiny fic. If I get it wrong, that just means I get to write another that's more right later!)

Oscar curled up in his bed, trying not to think about the slightly-different gravity this cool spaceship created. It wasn't obvious if he kept moving, and he could forget about it right up until he laid down on something soft. Different gravity meant a different planet size, right? Ward could probably crunch the numbers and piece together the exact size of the Marmor home planet if he wanted to based on some funky science.

Ah, Ward, he was glad the guy was safe now, snoring away just like he had aboard their last, far less cool ship. “We humans need to be around other humans…” he muttered to himself.

It wasn't fair. He and Ward barely knew each other, and for all he played up their “friend” status to others, it was a joke at best and a lie at worst. They were opposites in so many ways.

It wasn't fair. Oscar clenched his fist and tried to will the tears away. It was only supposed to be a fun trip. Harass the big, gorgeous nerd so that when their social circles inevitably tore them apart back on Earth, it wouldn't hurt Ward. Oscar knew better than to think it wouldn't hurt himself, but he knew he could manage. He'd gotten over these things before. These crushes.

It wasn't FAIR! Oscar rolled out of his bed, deciding to go for a walk. “It's not fair.” He muttered as he left, playing as if he hadn't noticed the lack of snores. So what if Ward heard? The guy just thought he was a heartless killer with blood on his hands now.

Not a fool who'd went and fallen for the unattainable nerdy giant. Not a scared man just trying to make use of his only skill to keep them all alive. Not a dude hiding his tears over the image of Ward restrained and terrified and oh, so much like the flying-

It wasn't fair, Ward didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be lightyears away from those he would call friends. He didn't deserve to be stuck with someone like Oscar. He should have been safe at home, fuming that some dumb rich kid stole the chance to go into space and disappeared.

But those were always the options, weren't they? Be hated for stealing the show, or be despised for failing to be useful. So, he stole the show, made friends with the dangerous, and indulged in whatever joy he could find at any moment.

Ecliptica was beautiful and powerful, conniving and sweet. She was someone who would eat him alive for the slightest infraction. It reminded him of home, just a bit less metaphorical. The blatant honesty of that was intoxicating.

Giants were hot. He had a crush on one who would never hug him, and one who would. The alien crush should supersede his failed crush, but it only worsened things both ways. He wished that Ecliptica could care about him more than just a useful pet. And he wished that Ward could look that happy to see him.

Oscar pressed a hand against the wall, letting himself break. Tears welled in his eyes and he saw Ward’s hard stare, unforgiving of the cost the “birds” had paid for their current freedom. The girl screaming for help. The masses torn skillfully from living, breathing, speaking people into just. Meat.

His stomach revolted, and he breathed heavily through the wave of nausea. It didn't help that his tears clogged up his nose. It was like his whole body wanted to punish him.

Ecliptica found him. Of course she did. Her pet was sick.

It wasn't fair.

Where was this comfort for Ward? For the guy with a heart of gold beneath the wary sarcasm? Where was the care and tenderness for him?

Oscar could only hope that it would come from their newest roommate. He wasn't sure how much alone time he could offer them now that he knew how quickly the loneliness and guilt could strike. He couldn't afford to be useless to the Marmor. They all couldn't afford Oscar being useless to the Marmor.

Ecliptica tutted softly as Oscar emptied his stomach again. She would have to be more careful not to let bird blood splash on him in the future and said as much.

“Yeah, I guess I won't get to know the difference between the normal and the tasty ones.”

“We’ll help you grow a stronger stomach.”

Oscar was glad he was too drained to panic from that statement. He simply passed out to the feeling of being held close and tenderly carried somewhere. In his fleeting consciousness, his heart won out and he imagined it was Ward carrying him back home. Safe, nothing asked of him, nothing caused by him, just held like a precious living thing.

#marble sky fanfic #angst #fanfic #*slaps the post button and runs away*

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dyed-red · 2 years

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I know it's the brainworms talking but prev reblog made me want to write a fic about kisses Dean has stolen over the years.

(y'know that ao3 tag that goes something like "Dean Winchester is obsessed with Sam Winchester"? Yeah, like that)

It would start cute like the forehead kiss to baby Sammy in the opening scene of the pilot, a goodbye just for the night, a promise of protection (turned, we know, fast to ash).

Flash forward fast to disturbing territory of Sam blackout drunk as a teen and Dean dropping him in bed, dodging all Sam's octopus limbs trying to attach themselves to dean until he's just - out. And maybe Dean doesn't go for the kiss this time, or maybe he does, but either way he stares at Sam's lips an unsettling length of time, and the scene bleeds into Playthings and there is this distinct undercurrent of 'how often has this exact same thing played out this way over the years'.

We move from there to AHBL and Dean kissing Sam's corpse as if in goodbye, as if seeking atonement, as if that alone could revive it (sense memory still on his lips when he makes his demon deal).

After Sam's wall breaks, comatose, and Balthazar's joke to Dean about not stealing any kisses while he stands vigil over Sam's sleeping form uncomfortably apt, and Dean knows the angels know too much but could he at least keep his goddamn trap shut in front of Bobby, who's looking stiff and away and it figures. It figures he knows too. Figures the whole goddamn world does. (But not Sam, not Sam who is never conscious for these transgressions, these offerings.)

During the trials when Sam is fevered and ill and dips in and out of consciousness, and Dean feeds him and wraps him in blankets and while Sam shakes out the fever, Dean is wrapped around him, presses kisses to Sam's hairline, his forehead, his temples, chin (lips) catching on the grain of stubble dusting Sam's cheeks, thumb grazing his lips until Sam, unconscious and open, sucks it in like a pacifier, like an infant once again.

And maybe if we are going for a 5+1 format, 5 kisses Sam was unaware of and 1 he was let in on, we twist the knife in just a bit?

Possession, we know, involves an open mouth. And how Gadreel entered Sam with Dean's help is a little speculative. If Dean, holding hands with Gadreel, pressed his lips to Sam's mouth and pried it open, stayed there the duration of the trickery he pulled with Gadreel in Sam's brain, so that Gadreel could flow through Dean like a conduit into Sam's open mouth... One wonders if it would be Gadreel or Crowley who would rustle up the image in Sam's mind for him, the strangely familiar sensation of Dean's lips on his.

Of course we could also reject the 5+1 format or subvert it with a happier follow-up, as if two distinct +1s?

Or we could do short snippets of post!finding out Sam (make a whole different 5+1 sequel? 5 kisses Sam let Dean steal, and one that he stole himself?)

We could frame an awake, eyes wide open kiss with demon!Dean that's filthier than all the rest, tongue and suction and bodies pressed firm to each other, Sam's back to a wall, the perfect opportunity to jab Dean with a needle or to get the cuffs on him but only if he's adequately distracted.

After the bmol, after they save Sam, before he's washed, Dean following him to the showers, restless and desperate to touch, to confirm the solidness of Sam's skin away from their mother's prying eyes, but Sam's awake and Dean's never -- never had permission, never stolen one like this, not except as a demon, and between that and Gadreel... But Sam doesn't argue when Dean helps him to the showers, lets Dean help him pry his shirt off when he hisses at the movement and how it strain his limbs, his belt, his jeans, doesn't argue when Dean helps him into the shower itself while maintaining a quiet freeflow ramble about Sam's back needing someone to wash it and not falling over on his still-sore foot and giving himself a concussion. Devolves into Dean kissing Sam's shoulders and hugging him, Sam twisting eventually to look at him, quiet promise of "it's okay" and then Dean takes what he needs and sets his lips on Sam's.

From there, a quiet, not-quite-stolen one of comfort after Sam marches into camp in Apocalypse world with Lucifer behind him, away from the others and Sam melting into the now-familiar, now-comforting sensation.

Dean pulling Sam in after Michael's possession to ground himself, shirtless in his room, out of place in his own skin. His hands on Sam's jaw, his head, more demanding and less feather-light than most times before. Sam's fingers delicately finding a place along Dean's waist, the warm skin there, finding a sense of comfort in feeling how solid Dean is, a sense of fresh understanding as he slides his hands up Dean's back. Dean telling him the beard has to go after he pulls back.

Then after Nick brains Sam and he's dying or dead on the pavement for a moment before he's healed, who cares who sees, this is understood between them, this helps place their jagged pieces together in ways he's not apologizing for anymore - Sam waking up breathing in the air from Dean's lungs on a gasp, lips tingling, mouth opening under Dean to accept him before he even has oxygen in his blood.

The +1 here is either the barn scene (if we're masochistic) or more likely in heaven on the bridge, both of them seeking it together at the same moment, a kiss that means the same as all the last -- I'm here, I'm not letting you go -- but this time untinged by pain or separation, finally together forever, safe.

#tumblr fic #tumblr ficlets #5+1 times #wincest #phyn vs. writing #phyn rambles #fics inspired by social media #i now have two entries for that series that i haven't posted to ao3 yet 😩😂#oh also: consent issues be here #these are stolen kisses at least for some of them #consider yourself warned and all that #weirdcest #i forgot to tag weirdcest and yet this is more weirdest than not #or like halfway unrequited but also kind of requited wincest #it's weird is the point

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blue-kyber · 8 months

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I don't think AI is going to replace us completely.

(essay incoming under the break. Not a rant, but it's long. There is no TL;DR)

I've used AI image generators to get ideas, because NONE of them have been able to replicate what I see in my head, no matter how much I vary the description of what I want. Not once had I received an image that made me go, "That's it! Perfect. Cut. Print. Time to moving on." ("Time to moving on" is an inside voice acting joke. :) )

The closest was with Artbreeder. Even then, you take a base image, and then spend time as an amateur geneticist splicing genes together to create a specific, unique face. I've even had to take those images and tweak them slightly in photoshop to get what I want that none of the AI options could give me - eye color, hair color, complection, jaw shape, skin markings, minute details, ect. It could get close, but never exact.

What I'll do for locations is search through AI images until I find some that can work in the context that I want, collect a ton of them, and then spend hours in photoshop morphing, recoloring, splitting, cutting, altering, and then gluing the shredded bits together to create what I see in my head.

The two projects that I did this past year both consist of 90+ layers. A lot of those layers are my lighting and art from scratch - from my hand (mouse) - to fill in the blanks of what I couldn't find. I can't draw. This is the only visual art tool I have.

In the end, AI is a tool to help artists create what they could otherwise not achieve. For those of us who can't draw, Artbreeder became the only way we were able to look into the eyes of our original characters. Without it, their faces exactly as we imagine them would remain locked in our minds. We can hire artists (and should), but an external source can't see exactly what we see. They will get close, but it won't be a reproduction of what we see.

Yes, AI will take over some aspects of creative jobs - and that is scary - but it will also give artists the ability to create more with their talent, skills, and training that AI can never replace.

What scares the sh*t out of me is how corporations will use it to get what they want without paying a human for the work. They can use AI to skip to the end product. At this point in AI development, it shows.

It's what happened with the WGA, and with the Christopher Paolini incident.

I was on the picket lines for a while until my restaurant job made me work during strike hours. While I was there, I heard the fears of the writers, directors, and actors. One of the writers said there is a real possibility that production companies will hire writers to write 3 scripts or so, train an AI to study the writing style, then fire the writers and have the AI "write" scripts from then on.

It's when corporations think they can erase a human from their ledger books for an AI that only needs to be maintained by a programmer.

They are willingly taking food from people's mouths. They are negatively impacting the livelihoods of living beings. They are shamefully throwing away the years of training these artists went through as though they were used sugar packets - drained of everything they have to offer, then tossed into the trash, never to be thought of again. They disregard the thousands of dollars in debt artists put themselves in to hone their skills.

Yes, even writers. This sh*ts not easy. And living with ADHD makes it harder.

In the case of Christopher Paolini's latest book, he used AI to create his cover art. That's fine if the AI isn't stealing from an artist. In this case, it did. The AI stole the image from a real artist, and recolored it with some slight changes. Put side by side, you can clearly see the altered image isn't much different from the original. What makes this even worse is that Paolini didn't credit the original artist whos work he blatantly stole. AND he's defending his actions.

I am a writer. I'll admit that I'll probably use AI to create my cover art. HOWEVER... I will not use existing art. If I do, the original artist will be credited, and paid with the same respect as if I'd hired them personally. I'd actually prefer to hire them personally rather than go through an AI and spend time fixing the AI problems in photoshop. You can collaborate with a person. You can't do that with an AI.

Being seen, being validated, and knowing your work has value is an INSANELY IMPORTANT aspect of the mental health of an artist. We create for ourselves, but no matter how much we say "my art is for me," we want our efforts to be noticed, shared, and to be told, "You're good. This is great! I love it." It makes us feel like we've used our gifts to contribute to society. It makes us feel like we've affected people. We've made them feel, we've taken them on adventures, we've given them something that they can hold onto as a life raft to get them through hard times when they can find nothing else. Art has kept people's souls alive.

Yes, we will also learn from our mistakes through feedback (not bullying or canceling) to better ourselves.

Artists are so integral to the mental health of humanity, it's nuts. When peoples lives were thrown into chaos by the pandemic, where did they turn to for relief?

Art.

In all forms.

We devoured videos on YT.

We took up painting, or drawing, or writing.

We buried ourselves in fan fiction, original works, movies, and sometimes just stared at a piece of art to let it absorb us away from everything for a while.

We sang musicals from our balconies when a lot of people had to stay at home.

We sang along to music by musicians we found on Spotify, or YT sharing their original works - songs we otherwise may not never heard.

We learned to dance to those songs, and made tiktok videos of it.

We latched onto sea shanties for a while.

We laughed at comedians who made us happy, and escaped into the world through sports using clothing and equipment designed...by artists.

That busker you passed by playing the guitar healed you a little with their chords.

For those of us who had to risk our lives everyday and still work - who didn't get quarantined because were were "essential workers" - escaping into someone's creation, and also creating art kept US sane.

Me, I worked in a restaurant. To stay sane, I started writing a book. I'm editing it now, and it's free to read until I publish it...maybe. I also took up roller skating for my physical health, which affects my mental health.

I probably wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for the lifeline of art. Even before the pandemic.

Artists are far more necessary than society wants to admit. We are far more important and essential than society wants to admit. We should be celebrated and given chances to succeed in what we are born to do, instead of having our natural gifts insulted, belittled by people calling it 'easy,' or 'hobbies,' and constantly telling us we've failed at life if we can't get "A Real Job."

For artists, society's idea of a "real job" is a soul-killer.

If scientists are the brain of humanity, tradesmen are the blood, and those in the medical field are the heart, then artists are humanity's soul.

Take away the soul, and you're left with a zombie shell.

AI can keep the shell going, but not matter how much it advances, it will never replace its heart, its brain, its blood, or it's Light.

What the production companies tried to do in the name of Greed, and what Paolini did to avoid paying an artist by stealing from them and insulting them at the same time is what makes the advancement of AI so terrifying.

AI in itself is not bad. In the end, it's just a tool.

It's how a consumer-based world will exploit it with their sights glued to a bottom line, and the cost being human life.

#AI #artists #the AI battle #long post #In this essay I actually WILL...

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joelhasaschoolalt · 8 months

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Fan Autoethnography, Final Draft

Many such tweets have been made seeking to get to the bottom of this whole “furry” thing. I happen to be partial to this one.

Fandom, as I understand it, is a lot like faith: a means of understanding my experience in the world. I first received salvation when I was thirteen years old.

Imagine this: It is 12/21/12, the night the world is supposed to end. Your friend showed you a movie a few weeks before, which has since been echoing through you like a song stuck in your head. Your family goes to a Christmas market in Dade City, and looking around at the string lights everywhere and the decorations and the old friends running into each other by chance—you think of the Christmas song which describes the holiday as “that time of year when the world falls in love”—you feel as though you’re in the world of the movie. It wasn’t that it echoes through you; you echo through it. The world isbeautiful, you realize, as beautiful as your favorite movie, and you feel lucky to have found a place in it.

Fanart of two characters from the visual novel “The Smoke Room.” Artist unknown.

So you get involved. You don’t just look up fanfiction on an iPad you stole from your mother and feel as if your heart were exploding with excitement and sudden purpose until early in the morning (and no, the world does not end that night, but something inside you blossoms and you think maybe a world began); you do your best to live that sudden purpose. You get involved. You get into writing because you want to make other people feel the way the fanfiction makes you feel; you stand up straighter, laugh more at jokes, and settle into a new persona that might make others see you with the same awe with which you see the characters you love so much. You get involved.

The word hyperfixation is thrown around a lot in anecdotes like these, these days; though probably accurate, the word feels limiting. It feels more like what Didion wrote: we tell ourselves stories in order to live. In the fandom experience, one doesn't simply tell a story, or consume it; the story becomes like a hot tub, golden bubbling water into which you lower your body and are yourself consumed. And then you’re at peace.

A meme made by a friend, featuring one of our favorite characters, Ranzo LeVant from the visual novel “Dawntide.” The image is now my Twitter banner.

As an adolescent, I remember being awestruck at how welcoming this new side of the Internet seemed. I’d only known nerd culture in stereotype: fedora-clad men with greasy ponytails arguing which of them were “real” fans and which weren’t. I know now that division still exists in fandom circles, which are far from utopian—the role of capital-d Discourse in furry fandom, I’ve found, is like the electrical charge inside a thundercloud that might at any time explode into occasional lightning—but it did, admittedly, seem like a utopia, then. Fandom to me was a genuinely thriving literary and art economy in which everyone was making work for everyone else with little boundaries, assumptions, or requirements; and a space in which, with no entry requirements, people could simply gather to celebrate.

These were years I spent in conversion therapy; years during which I watched the openly-gay senior at my homeschool co-op be barred from graduation; years which, as a pastor’s kid, I spent in the panopticon, surrounded by people who felt close to me though I didn’t feel close to them, keenly aware that there was some invisible difference in me. I dreamt all the time of kissing boys. Fandom was psychological compensation for a kid who just couldn’t come of age in a safe or “normal” way in his environment and was pushed into the worlds he enjoyed in his head. It meant more to me than I could have known, then, to read a fanfic in which two men kissed who I felt I knew, and to be surrounded by people similarly overjoyed. I lowered myself into the hot tub and let the narratives, fan content, and art that sustained me render me weightless. I was only an observer in adolescence, but fandom then taught me everything I’m passionate about today.

A drawover of a friend’s fursona on Discord.

These days, I’m no longer an observer. In fact, I’ve grown to participate as a hobbyist more intensely than I ever thought I would: for example, I thought in high school that fursonas (fursonae?) were for people who genuinely believed they were non-human on some metaphysical level—people I now know as “Therians.” But these days, mine are a great joy of my life. I’ve found the fursona is whatever you want it to be, nothing more than a character you create for yourself. According to Jung, the persona is a mask; furry or not, we all don masks online. What’s the harm in giving yours a tail?

In time, what you pay attention to, you eventually emulate. Having spent my thought-forming years online, inundated by images, I and other Gen Z-ers tend to think in categories of images rather than in images themselves; the phenomenology of the image is such that you, in your own diffuse and intangible way, become the image through emulation. This is self-actualization. (Egregious oversimplification, I know, but I’m no psych major.) As a furry—dwelling upon anthropomorphic images and aesthetics—I self-actualize in different ways, now. Which affects how I experience the world, what I want out of life, or how I want to be perceived. I find writing is more fun when in my head there’s a limber raccoon-guy doing it in my place; cooking food and joyfully tasting my creations is more fulfilling when, holding the spoon I am holding, is a badger.

Myself and a badge of one of my fursonas, which I commissioned to wear at conventions.

And then there is the convention. If the fandom experience is lowering oneself into a narrative as into a hot tub, the convention is the literal lowering oneself down. Word made Flesh. The etymology of “convene” is, simply, “to come together”; I’ve spent my whole life convening around kitchen tables, car rides, restaurants, and airport gates. So have you. But there’s something more beautiful in it that can’t quite be put into words when everyone who’s in the room shares the same tender, intimate secret. I mentioned before growing up feeling invisibly different; only on the convention floor, I’ve found, am I really myself.

People in general, I feel, are starved of spaces devoted to celebration. We seem to have deluded ourselves into thinking that joy has to be earned. I find a lot of value in faith communities of any stripe for this reason. Fandom, as previously mentioned, is to me a means of understanding my experience of the world, and a reason to celebrate it; faith, I’ve found, is no different.

Stickers on the stop sign outside the Rosemont Hyatt on the third day of Midwest Furfest 2022, the largest furry convention in history.

At Furry Weekend Atlanta 2022, the main hotel had a soaring atrium nearly 50 floors up. The dashingly cute-in-a-nerdy-way boy who would eventually become my beloved and I raced to the top, and as we looked down from heaven to earth, a group of fursuiters on the ground floor began to howl as if calling to us. Their joyful cries echoed about the building. I remember thinking if I’d stepped off the forty-seventh floor balcony then I’d float the whole way down.

Art on a window at a room party during Furry Weekend Atlanta. Our dancing would soon generate enough heat to fog up the windows again; new artists would draw new art, and new writers new words. The condensation dripped in long, slow lines from our handiwork. We do these things in order to live.

@officeofdocmalone

#com255

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