I wish I was still blissfully unaware of all of this, I was much happier and hour ago when I didn’t know all this stuff and now I can never look at this man the same rip

Todays rip: 04/03/2024

Willievan Afton Polkka

Season 8 No Album Release (Read More) Ievan Polkka (In-Game Version) - Hatsune Miku: Project DIVA

Ripped by KnightOfGames

Requested by realchickenmanny! @realchickenmanny

One of the most fun parts of keeping up to date with SiIvaGunner is getting to see the rise of new jokes being used on the channel - which weird sources are trying to become mainstay running gags, which feel as if they're failing to really catch on, and so on. I talked about this in relation to Season 8 in particular back with Joke-Explainer™ 7000 Fusion Collab, back when the Season had just kicked into gear a few weeks ago, and even in that short time since there's been a few rising star jokes worth considering. One of the most surprising newcomers to me, then, is the very subject of Willievan Afton Polkka: the Five Nights at Freddy's fan song Stuck Inside, by Black Grpyh0n ft. The Living Tombstone.

Five Nights at Freddy's has of course always had a pretty prominent presence on the channel since back in Season 1 with the Circus rips a la Goodbye To Love, where the entire gag was built on how FNAF games lack much of any real music to make rips of. But there's another way this gag has been utilized in rips of the games - by instead using the rips to cover The Living Tombstone's immensely popular FNAF fan songs as if they were official theme songs of the games. The cultural impact these songs have had on many an internet dweller is undeniable: back with Five Dreams at Night 1.16, I covered an example of these using the song It's Been So Long, which currently sits at 312 MILLION views on YouTube. (and, of course, The Living Tombstone's first ever FNAF song was used as the credits theme for the feature film last year!)

All that is to say, that I find the usage of FNAF fan songs - old and new - to be a fantastic fit for SiIvaGunner, as influential nuggets of pure pop culture self-expression on YouTube. Stuck Inside, used by Willievan Afton Polkka and six other rips all released after the start Season 8, is a far more recent song than the nostalgic FNAF songs of old, themed around the story depicted in the FNAF movie - yet even without that nostalgia, it's got an absolutely fantastic melodic hook and creepy, yet ominously cheerful tone to it. After hearing it for three or so rips, I was sold - the team had clearly taken a liking to the song, and I was now amidst the various other commenters noting how fun of a listen it was.

That was, of course, before I went to look up which rippers were behind which of these eight rips. Eight rips using Stuck Inside, made in the span of two weeks - and they were ALL made by KnightOfGames.

And look, KnightOfGames is already one of my favorite rippers, I've admired the earnestness and quality in his output since I first began listening to the albums and connected the dots of who was behind what (plus, in his own words on mlp racism anthem (comix zone arrange - every MLP rip specifically goes through him for approval to ensure peak pony quality!). But this sheer commitment to rendering Stuck Inside in these SUPER distinct styles, making a one-man effort appear like the work of multiple contributors through sheer variety and rate of uploads - it genuinely did make my jaw drop when I found out! All of these are bangers in their own way, but I felt the need to single out Willievan Afton Polkka in particular for how much of a fun escalation it proved to be SO early into the meme's life - it's the kind of rip that I wouldn't have expected to see uploaded until several weeks from now.

Ievan Polkka is of course a very sillycore banger in its own right no matter what you do with it, but the idea to have Stuck Inside's vocals be sung by Miku herself over the former song's backing beat is such a genuinely inspired idea, this clash of old and new internet fandom music that, on the surface appear, like oil and water. Yet the somewhat uncanny cheeriness to Stuck Inside's melody that I mentioned earlier ends up fitting in perfectly, appearing far more sincere and lighthearted in the arrangement as a result - and all topped off perfectly by the use of Moonbase Alpha-like Text-To-Speech clips to match Stuck Inside's occasional squeals. Just for good measure, the rip lastly explores juxtaposing the tonal differences of the two songs, by using the original vocals for a small segment in the middle of the rip, before returning to the good-fun Miku vocals.

Willievan Afton Polkka is, above all else, another release in the long line of excellent vocaloid rips on the channel, much like Rolling Start and As Miku Collides. And much like those two rips in particular, there's a sort of personal feeling to the rip - in part due to how exclusive Stuck Inside as a SiIva joke still is to KnightOfGames himself, but also due to how much fun the guy clearly had in arranging it in a seemingly-bizarre style such as this. There are some mashups and edits that you think of just from hearing songs for the first time, the "surprised this hasn't been done yet"-type of rips, but Willievan Afton Polkka feels like the complete opposite: the kind of out-there rip idea that could only be done by someone who knows Stuck Inside like the back of their hand. That's a level of commitment that I just have to respect - and I hope with my whole heart that Stuck Inside eventually becomes picked up by other members of the team as Season 8 progresses.

There is something so deranged about seeing a former acquaintance of mine claim that I used to be enbyphobic, when I was maybe 14 at best and had no understanding of gender like I do now, there is in fact something so deeply fucked up about someone still talking about you, sharing your issues anonymously on the web, kind of like a "fuck you for being a bad friend when you were in an incredibly dark place, when you were 14, later 17" and now seeing that person in the same fandom you are in. I don't even know what to say. For a long time I was afraid to even go online, because I truly, honestly believed I was the devil for calling someone out IRL when they used to shit talk me, my work, my characters on their old Tumblr, gaining pity and sympathy from their friends.

Funnily enough, the only reason I contacted them was because I was worried, as they were vague posting about potentially hurting themselves, or at least feeling the urge to, so I approached them. They then, in turn, maybe to make themselves feel stronger, threatened that their friends would rip out my throat, maybe they would do it themselves. I don't even know what to say to this. They then abandoned their old account, claiming their safe space had been breached, and made a new one, it seems.

I found it now because I saw some of their TMA art, thought it looked familiar, and it turns out it is the same person. I don't even know what to think, I just have a headache.

To be clear: Between the ages of 14 to 18ish, I was not a good person, but I wasn't the devil either. I grew up in an abusive household, struggled with depression, eds and many undiagnosed issues. I did not take rejection well, I did not understand how to put out boundaries for myself in a proper manner and I did not understand how to handle mental episodes. I thought this person was my friend, they claimed to be, but when I read on their account how they thought I might be exaggerating my issues, how they only stayed with me because they felt pity and how they did not view me as a friend at all I was heartbroken, furious and just overall spiraled.

Furthermore, I became a very passive-aggressive person, and just overall drew away from them, hoping I could hurt them the same way I was hurt by their actions.

Since then, I have had episodes where my brain does this thing, being a chameleon and trying to copy people, sometimes I tried to copy them, in order to maybe become someone they would like again, before extensive therapy on my part.

Additionally, I now moved out of my parent's place and after a year of homelessness had the time I needed to heal, I can now confidently say I am not the person I used to be, I just wish they would accept that too, and stop calling me their abuser, or still spread weird things about me, it is so tiring. I know tagging them would not help, they would simply block me and feel confirmed in their emotions, this is just me, getting something off my chest, so I can breathe and live on.

hii hi uhm 5, 9, 16, and/or 27 for the ask game?

hiiiii, ty 🧡🧡

5) Do you recommend the show to your IRLs?

sadly i have only one irl friend who likes fantasy/supernatural fiction, and she was the one who recommended it to me 😭. i still talk about it anyways, and my mom did watch one episode to try and understand what i was going on about so much even though she hates horror stuff lol.

9) Have you rewatched the first season?

i've watched the first season like two and half times, which frankly is a low number in my opinion. i paused bc i decided i wanted to read the books and then come back and to see how that shaped my viewing (well, at first i was planning to just read the first book, but then i kept going bc i have no self control rip). it's long series and even skipping some of the crossover books or speed reading some of the barely comprehensible ones like memnoch, i still had to take breaks and read other stuff for my own sanity... which is all to say it did end up taking a while. but i did finish finally and i got the blu-ray as a christmas present, so i definitely plan to do another watch before s2 airs.

16) Do you have a favorite piece of art (book, movie, painting) that’s referenced or featured in the show?

this is so hard, i love all of the references they've done, they're all so well thought out. the first one that springs to mind is i love all the references to the grand guignol with the threatres des vampires. obviously, that's just from the set pics so we don't quite know how it will play out in the show, but i think it's such a cool idea and it gives the troupe a lot more character than was present in the books where not too much time was spent on the plays themselves (sad for me, as a former theater kid). i also love all the artwork, particularly in the the dubai penthouse like "slave auction" or "three studies for figures at the base of a crucifixion" - they add so much character to the dubai scenes even without calling attention to themselves.

27) Do you have an ideal endgame?

i would like for the show to have the planned 7 or so seasons rolin jones and co have referenced as their plan... i know some people are leery of shows that go on that long, and i get it, but i think when a show is strong - something like the sopranos (6 seasons) or mad men (7 seasons) - that length can work really well for the long-form story-telling of tv. (on the other hand, i shudder to think about what fandom will look like at that point slfljf. but going purely off of the merits of the show i think it could be great.)

plot-wise... not really? the book series really peters out and has an anti-climatic ending, so i'm not sure exactly what you could rework to make a satisfying conclusion. there are some elements of the prince lestat era i enjoyed (i adored fareed and seth, i'm hopeful they will have more to do with the tv series since they brought fareed in so early), but the actual plot of like creating a vampire aristocracy and lestat being in charge was so goofy and nonsensical idk how you'd make that into a compelling storyline... so i really think it'd have to be pretty much all original material (maybe we find something more interesting for amel than aliens). but after 7 seasons idk where the characters would even be emotionally and all that so it's hard for me to think of what new endings might be fitting. so i'm pretty open to the possibilities, i think! i do think tonally something more bittersweet or ambiguous that the happily ever after anne rice tried to go with would be more fitting.

I have a question for Harry Potter fans- current and former.

Please don't take this wrong and respond hatefully because this is a genuine, good-faith question about something I've been wondering.

Ok so- JK Rowling is a terf; The Harry Potter fandom is huge; There's a ton of controversy on whether you can separate art from the artist or carry on liking HP without supporting her views.

On one hand, you can say people fell in love with the world she created, not her. On the other, she's come out saying she believes anyone still buying HP merch supports her, and she doesn't seem to care that she's lost a whole audience that used to love her books, saying that "I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly."

My question is, since the Harry Potter fandom is/was so huge, had created so many of their own works within the fandom- both in fic and in art, and hell I know a lot of you guys likely even created your own fan merch- why wouldn't just cutting her completely away from the story be an option? Why wouldn't that be a bigger "Fuck you"?

I mean, yeah I used to like the books too, though I was never super involved in the fandom and honestly thinking about the series anymore makes me sad because what she's done is just so disappointing, and obviously I totally support anyone else who just can't look at the books the same way again and would prefer to leave it behind.

But for the rest of you, instead of fighting with yourselves about which is correct why not just... reclaim the story from her for yourselves? You don't need her. What you all fell in love with was the story you (the fandom) created in your heads around her words. Her words were only the scaffold for the world you all built on your own, and you even created new stories and art based on that world. Your world. Not hers.

You don't need to buy more books or movies from her. You already wrote your own.

You don't need to buy her posters, or her merch, or her toys. You already made your own.

Not one dime needs to go to her as long as she holds her hateful beliefs, especially when you (the fandom) just always made stuff on your own and shared it because you loved to, so why not just... do that? Want more story? Someone's written fic. Want some art? Someone made that too. Want some merch? A scarf? A wand? Mug? (idk) Like I said, one of you is out there making it if it hasn't been done already. Fandom is a conversation, you don't need to include her in it when she now only says hateful things.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying everyone shouldn't branch out to other, better, stories- absolutely do that- but it does seem sad that she just gets to rip away from all of you what isn't even hers.

I don't know if I'm even making sense, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that you all built this community around a story she might have written, but you all built it better. You made it bigger, you gave it it's "muchness." I saw you all "fix-it" to parts that were problematic even before she became this bad. I remember reading posts over the years about how people in the LGBT communities related to the characters and found comfort in the community and even more recently I've seen people in the trans communities creating their own representation in HP universe- for the world you all created. Not JKR.

I ask because I've seen on here similar suggestions like with Amazon's Rings Of Power- to not watch (because Amazon/ exploitation), and how if you want more LOTR content fandom already made it and can always make more. And I read how any mention of Minecraft's shitty creator was completely wiped from the game so people could still enjoy without being exposed to/promoting his shittiness. Would doing the same with JKR be possible? Cutting her out of HP and reclaiming it for yourselves? I know I've seen some people say that having fandom still keeps her relevant, but wouldn't this be more like a Morbius situation? They see "oh everyone's talking about this online!" but then everything they put out flops because no one actually went to see the movie/buy the merch/etc?

And idk, but this just seems more effective/sends more of a message of disappointment in what she's become and how she hurt everyone who used to love her story. Like a, "Yeah, we're still doing HP, but the one we built. No, you can't sit with us."

(I'm going to say again because I know people are going to have some strong feelings surrounding HP and JKR. This a question I feel like we can have a good-faith discussion about. I'm not interested in anyone starting fights over this post and I won't be interacting with anyone coming at this in bad faith or screaming at me or others because they've chosen to take a question as somehow an endorsement of JKR's hateful behavior.)

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Gen?? Sickfic?? mild H/C??? you got me, man

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Boyd Cooper, Gloria Von Gouton, Fred Bonaparte, Crispin Whytehead, Sheegor

Warnings: Vomit, blood, depictions of sickness... (SPOILERS: implied torture + amputation)

Description: Loboto is having a very bad night. The inmates are not helping.

Beta Readers: @jaywings​ and Rocket

Notes: This fic is based on a theory that comes from a few figments in Loboto’s mental world in the demo footage of Psychonauts 2. ...also I wrote this while sick with a fever, edited it while still sick, and illustrated the cover while recovering from said sickness. have fun

—~~~—

He did not remember arriving back at the tower.

Partially because he wasn't even back in the tower, instead standing on the frosty shoreline, the chilly waves lapping at his boot heels.

Loboto stared dumbly out at the cliffside for a long moment before frustration simmered beneath his fogged mind. Yes! Of course, they wouldn't send him back to his lab. No! He could do with a good climb, especially on a frigid night like this! His chest heaved with quiet, dazed laughter before he took a gasp of cold air that grated against his sore throat.

The wind, though not harsh, cut through every part of him that wasn't covered by his shower cap or lab coat like a fine knife, as cold as it was painful. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went white as his mechanical eyes flashed. But even with the blasted optics glitching, he could still see. His imagination ran wild with absurd visions of ridiculous things that had never happened.

On top of that, the slice of pain brought with it a violent realization that it was not the only pain he was in. The numb shock he’d been in gave way to an agony that tore through him, ripping up and down his side, nearly bringing him to his knees. No, no, no, that pain could not be real, just like the horrific visions of red and yellow that flashed through his mind. It was all a trick—all a stupid trick from his malfunctioning eyes and his brain. Pah!

He found himself clawing at his shower cap, occasionally stopping to smack his mechanical eyes a few times until they flickered back into focus, the desolate beach snapping back into view. "Enough of this!" he growled hoarsely at the sand beneath him. "That little army man will be back any day now, and we can't keep him waiting."

With a grunt, Loboto marched forward and heaved himself up onto the first narrow ledge, already finding his body shuddering with the effort and his mind struggling to push back the imaginary waves of pain. "Ridiculous!" he blurted into the rock he leaned against for balance. "A child can climb a mountain ten times this height!" And it wasn't like he'd never done it, either. Muscle memory helped him get from one step to the other, but keeping his balance was harder than normal, especially as his mind repeatedly dipped back into brain fog.

His eyes flickered in a blink when he found himself on the ladder, his boot slipping on the frosty wood and one hand losing its grip. Realizing he was about to fall, he flung his weight back against the ladder, biting down on the nearest rung to keep himself in place. A frantic giggle worked its way through his clenched teeth—ah, teeth! Useful for so many things! They would never let him down.

If you let us down one more time—

Ripping himself away from the rung and leaving rough teeth-marks behind, he let out a snarl and heaved himself the rest of the way up the ladder and onto the ledge. He sat on his knees for the moment, his mechanical eyes pulling back as he tried to make sense of the gate that seemed to be spinning around him. No, not just the gate—the entire cliffside spun beneath him like some wild carnival ride. He couldn't remember it doing that before, but the absurdity of it made him laugh, the action tearing through his sore throat. Yet he continued to laugh until his stomach lurched and a cascade of vomit silenced him.

He managed to scoot himself away, spitting and coughing as the world slowly came to a halt. At the same time, a figure that had been sleeping against the opposite wall snapped alert with a panicked gasp.

"Ah—ah!" Boyd stammered, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around until he spotted Loboto on the ground. "Who are you working for?"

"That fool Oleander," Loboto grumbled under his breath, his eyes swiveling to glare at him.

Boyd's eyes blinked separately before recognition dawned upon him. "Y-yes! Of course!" Fumbling with his keys, he got to work unlocking the gate. "It's said he knows the milkman..."

Gritting his teeth, Loboto shakily began to push himself back upright. A large hand suddenly clapped against his shoulder, and he gave a yell as he was heaved to his feet. Without turning to look, he struck at the one who'd grabbed him. "Tricky terrible traitors try to trap—"

"AH—no, I am no traitor, I am the guard!" Boyd cried, stumbling back and holding up his hands as Loboto found his balance.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, Loboto's eyes glowing harshly as Boyd trembled beneath his gaze. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his subordinate cower.

"Th... the milk is not ready yet!" Boyd said, wincing away as he eyed the doctor's clenched fist.

Loboto stared.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

Boyd glanced at something on the ground. "I-I noticed."

With a growl, Loboto finally marched past the guard, who frantically closed the gate behind him.

Now that that mess was over, he could finally get back up to his lab and get back to—

He paused.

"SHEEGOR!"

His voice boomed through the empty grounds. It was empty of people, now empty of crows, and empty of elevators.

When his assistant did not spontaneously appear, he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. "Yes! Wonderful!" he proclaimed to no one as he stamped toward the withered garden with a harsh laugh. "I can scale this dilapidated tower myself then. Fine night for some exercise!"

He knew his way through his asylum, of course, so it wouldn't be overly difficult, but he would have much preferred the express elevator so he could get back to work immediately. But as it was, he ducked through the entrance to the greenhouse, fighting to keep steady as the action made his head spin, his back ache (no it didn’t, he was fine), and his shower cap to catch against the branches overhead. Turning his optics up, he pressed a hand down into the cap, pulling it away from the plants. He'd hoped to avoid the woman who occupied this corner of the asylum, but as he straightened his back, he bumped into one of the flowerpots, knocking it to the ground with a dull clunk.

"My, you need to buy seats in advance if you want to come to my shows!" Gloria said, turning to him with a patient, hazy smile. "No need to be harassing the paying customers."

"What do they pay you in? Leaves? Seeds?" Loboto asked, the frantic giggle that followed clashing with his strained smile.

Gloria ignored the comment, glancing him over and waving him off. "Please see yourself out. I'm not an usher, but since they seem to be ignoring their duties, I'll have to tell you you cannot bring food or drink into the theater."

Swiveling his optics in an approximation of an eye roll, Loboto turned away to head out the other side of the greenhouse. "I don't have any."

"Not anymore, but anyone can see that wine you've sloshed onto your nice suit."

Loboto froze.

"It's a wonder it didn't get onto the carpet—"

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at an entire line of flower pots that lay in pieces on the floor of the greenhouse.

"Oh!" Gloria cried. "I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure the ushers will attend to this ruffian, and the play can resume..."

He left her to continue rambling to her imaginary audience as he tried to rid the imaginary nonsense (visions, pain, glowing yellow eyes) from his mind. "Fickle fumbling females feeling faint for fading flowers..." he mumbled as he stepped into the lower floor of the asylum. It brought its usual sights and sounds of one of the former orderlies dozing over a makeshift game board (with stolen game pieces, he noted), the artist in the room overhead scraping old brushes furiously against a canvas, and finally Crispin standing dutifully in front of the asylum's only other elevator.

"Crispin!" Loboto said, and the man turned to face somewhere slightly to his left. "Let me up, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Loboto." Crispin turned toward the elevator controls, only to pause, his dull eyes squinting as he turned back. "Wait..."

"Wait for what?" Loboto threw out his arm in a wide gesture. "Do you want to hear that army man ranting at us again? Or perhaps you find it funny! Though it is, isn't it? Shouting about sneezing powder and tanks! HAH!"

While he'd been talking, Crispin had been leaning forward, eyeing him up and down. He frowned. "You're not Doctor Loboto," he said at length.

"WHAT?!"

Behind him, Fred sprang to his feet. "Sacré bleu! We have fallen asleep on ze battlefield!"

Ignoring the man and his terrible French accent, Loboto stepped closer to Crispin, finding himself trembling—in rage or in suppressed laughter or something else, he wasn't sure. "Of course I'm Doctor Loboto! I was, last I checked. Highly trained and professional!"

"Yes, well," Crispin began, leaning back and raising a brow, "the real Doctor Loboto does not wear an actual straitjacket. It's merely a strappy jacket fashioned from one."

"This is my jacket, you milky-eyed moron!" Loboto cried, tugging on the front of his coat in demonstration. "It doesn't have my arms tied up!" He lunged toward Crispin to grab him by the collar, but stumbled as the world spun once more. He struggled to keep his stomach from flipping again.

"Well, that's because you're wearing it poorly. But you are certainly not Doctor Loboto. I can tell. You don't have the right jacket, or the right complexion." He tipped his head. "The real Doctor Loboto is blue, not sickly gray. As you can see, you can't fool me. Now go back to wherever you came from and—"

"He has returned from ze war!" Fred blurted behind him. He blinked, then shook his head, hunching in on himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, we really shouldn't—" He straightened again. "Yes, shut up! We are in ze presence of a great war hero!"

Crispin rolled his eyes. "What are you going on about now, Fred?"

"Do you not see? He bears ze blood of his enemies upon his robes, and ze scars of victory—"

Loboto whirled on him faster than he could think, managing a swift kick to Fred's shin.

With a yelp, the man crashed to the ground, curling up on himself and whining. "Ohhh... can we just postpone the battle until morning?" He twitched. "NON! Ze enemy never sleeps, so neither shall we!"

"Well, Fred's down for the count again," Cripsin remarked. "So if you're done, kindly step away from my elevator and off the nearest cliff, thanks."

Loboto wanted nothing more than to knock Crispin to the ground and find a few bad teeth to remove, but his vision was blurring and flickering, and he found it hard to think.

"No, really, we can't fight in the dark, and the enemy can't either, can they?" "Rrrrrghhh, I suppose you are right, for once. We shall camp here for now, but come sunrise, we fight!"

A weak laugh made its way past his lips as he stared down at the former orderly settling on the cobblestone. Yes, that crazy man had a point. There was no point in fighting tonight—he'd get his work done in the morning. And that work would have to include getting back into his lab in the first place.

After a brief moment, he snatched an item from the floor before stumbling back through the greenhouse and toward the entrance.

A nice night for sleeping under the stars, he supposed.

---~~~---

Judging by how bright the world was by the time his mechanical eyes flickered back on, the sun was starting to rise. But he couldn't tell for sure when there was a large metal cage blocking his view, with something else within—

"He said he would be back by nightfall, but he hasn't come!" a high pitched voice cried as a familiar form stepped out of the elevator, her back to him. "Oh Mr. Pokeylope, do you think he's gone for good this time?"

The corner of Loboto's mouth twitched.

"Oops!" She clapped an oven mitt over her mouth. "I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that," she said as she began to turn. "If he was, he'd be—EEK!"

Sheegor jumped back at the sight of Loboto laying sprawled out at the foot of the fountain, having slept (or passed out) there the remainder of the night. He clutched his worn teddy close to his chest and stared her in the eyes.

"Oh—I—I—!" Sheegor held her pet turtle close to herself. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Doctor Loboto, I didn't mean any of that, I—"

"Yes, well it's a nice morning, isn't it?" Loboto grumbled, tucking the teddy bear under his arm so he could push himself to his feet. His entire body ached (from sleeping on the ground, not from anything else). "A nice morning to get some work done after you left me stranded here all night!" He took a threatening—but wobbling—step forward, fist clenched.

Oddly, Sheegor didn't seem as intimidated as usual. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes darted between his face and his right side.

"What are you looking at?"

"Y... you..." A trembling mitt was covering her open mouth. "D-Doctor! What happened to you?!"

His eyes flickered. "I slept out here with a rock for a pillow."

"N-no, it's—it's—!" Her whole body was shaking now, but not, he sensed, in fear of him. It should have made him angry, but exhaustion pulled at him instead, making his frame droop.

"Yes? Well, spit it out."

Sheegor held out one hand, pointed toward his right side. "Y-your arm!"

Loboto's optics slowly angled down to his right. For the first time he noticed the enormous, darkened bloodstains on his jacket, and a torn, empty sleeve hanging limply at his side.

"Oh," he said dully, feeling himself wobble as the pain finally worked its way to the forefront of his mind. "How did that happen?"

At once the world tipped to the side, and Sheegor caught him, straining to keep him from fully collapsing to the ground.

Wordlessly she helped him into the elevator, letting him lean onto her while he bit back the urge to scream. He wanted to protest, to berate her for touching him, but everything felt distant, even the upper floor of the asylum as they rapidly ascended toward it. And anyway, once they reached the top, anything he would have said was held back by his rolling stomach ejecting whatever bile still occupied it.

As he gagged, he could hear Sheegor whispering to the turtle in her mitts: "I know, I know, but I-I can't leave him like that—th-the asylum wouldn't... w-we were supposed to..."

"Just... get back to work... Sheegor," he managed to slur around the acrid taste in his mouth. Bitter bile breaks brittle bones of the mouth.

Sheegor looked from him to her turtle a few times, her mouth wobbling, and carefully eased his arm over her hunched back again. Instead of leading him to his lab, however, she led him down into the asylum, into the usual room he slept in: a mostly-intact bedroom with a mattress and blankets over a broken bed frame shoved into one corner, a chair and a desk with papers scattered across it, and a meticulously crafted and framed (and official) DDS license on the wall.

After easing him down into the bed, Sheegor stepped back, looking away. "Um... I-if you want, Doctor, I can clean that robe..."

His initial thought was that the blood stains made a wonderful addition to his ensemble, but glancing down at them again caused his brain to supply him with more awful, made-up nonsense. No, he wouldn't have that any longer.

With some amount of struggling he managed to get the thing off, unceremoniously tossing it in Sheegor's general direction. She managed to catch it and quickly scurried out. "I'll get this back to you as soon as I can Doctor bye!" she squeaked before the door slammed behind her, leaving Loboto sitting in the empty room.

Everything felt surreal, being in familiar surroundings after spending an entire night on freezing cobblestone. The sight when his gaze turned downward, however, was less familiar: there was new stitching across his chest, and on his right shoulder where his arm had been. It was cleanly done—they hadn't wanted him too much worse for wear, since he still had a job to do for—

Oleander. He had a job to do for Oleander right now. The sneezing powder, yes. His mind drifted over the things they'd discussed in their last meeting.

They'd both figured out a way for it to be made, more or less. The remaining issue was how to properly dispense the stuff. Oleander had suggested keeping it in a bag, but that was easily-spilled, and it may lose potency if pre-ground. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a grinder with him on-hand at all times—

A shock of brilliance bolted through him, and he stumbled to his desk with renewed energy. He grabbed a well-chewed pencil and began to write, his non-dominant hand shaking badly as he forced it into motions it was not used to.

But that was fine. It wouldn't have that job for long.

A manic giggle bubbled out of his throat as he worked out the notes and rough sketches, detailing a jointed pepper grinder with claws and a strap to secure it to his now-unoccupied side.

This loss of a limb, baffling as it was, was exactly what he needed.

Bruh I'm glad you deleted the comments and everything but damm lol I really miss seeing the angry brats. Personally liked the one who commented that College Dib looks like a 16 year old teen

I think you mean this one lol

This one was my favorite. Like the first part of it can be easily debunked with 3 points:

1 - They're fictional, Karen. Shut the fuck up

2 - If someone ages up a child character then the child form is not what interests them. The point of attraction for p*dos is the child form, and by aging up, you remove the child form lmao

3 - Again, these bitches are fictional, and you can't claim a person is a p*do just because of what they draw.

But what I liked the most was the second part of it. It showed a very child like view of the world and showed how little maturity they have. They think that College Dib doesn't look like a college student because he looks younger, about highschool age....

....Gee it's almost as if college students just left highschool or somethin. Your body doesn't automatically change to that of a full grown ass adult the moment you get accepted into a college. Your ripped jeans and Minecraft shirts don't turn into formal clothes like a Sailor Moon transformation

I know some of my followers are still in highschool or preparing for college, so I'll just drop some knowledge for you all about my own experience as a former student:

Most people there look and act like teens because... Well... They are still teens! Most people start college at their 18-19 years of age, a good majority of them still have the same interests that they had when they left highschool. You're not obligated to stop liking the stuff you liked as a teen just because you entered college or because you turned 18-19. Plus! Most people face college as their last opportunity to express themselves creatively, because the moment they graduate they'll have to go and face the real world to look for a job and start their own lives. So most people in college will dye their hair, wear their favorite clothes, do piercings and tattoos, engage more in fandoms and events, because they finally got the time and money to do all of that before they have to go and look for a job, make money, etc. The same thing happens in Japan! College students there go wild because they just left highschool and the strict dressing code and now they wanna do everything they can before going back to a strict dress and social code in order to get a job

So... Yeah. College students still look like highschoolers lmao that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. But it is a surprise to children because they have a child-like mentality and view of the world

Hi, what do you say to the people who claim Regulus is the real Slytherin hero, and not Snape? To me RAB always seemed like a plot device and nothing more so I don't get why he's being worshipped... He's just another rich pureblood kid...

I say this is a very bad take, and it is disrespectful (that's a strong word for something that isn't really important but I cannot think of a softer version) of the actual people who enjoy his character. I'm going to write down some thoughts, but there's more to it than just what I would reply to them - allow me to ramble a little on the roots of this claim and on the thought process embraced by Snaters and Marauders apologists (I've seen that some people don't like this term, so I mean people who erase the Marauders' flaws and make them morally superior to Snape, justifying them being abusers and him being abused.)

The nonsense of comparing a plot device to a complex, layered character: Comparing Severus and Regulus is ludicrous. You are comparing one of the most (I would argue the most well-written and complex, but Dumbledore is quite something as well) well-written, accomplished character of the books to a plot device. It is indeed what Regulus is, no matter if his character could have been really interesting/seems to be interesting: we know very little of him, and he exists solely for the Slytherin locket plot. The very little we know of him certainly isn't enough to express any critical judgment of his character; he is mostly made out of white pages which are filled out by his fans, which is great, and by the people making this kind of argument, which is unfortunate.

The interest in the character only stems in his usefulness: I would argue that the vast majority of people making this claim do not care at all for the character himself, despite using him as a moral high ground. It is not his character which interests them, but how useful he can be to fuel their hate and biased claims. His personality? Having being sorted in Slytherin. His merits? Being a Slytherin. This is the only fact that matters, because it allows them to 'prove' that Snape wasn't a hero (being a hero does not mean being a good person, by the way) and diminishes Severus' merits. Using a character solely for the purpose of depreciating, downgrading another is not appreciating them: it's just completely hypocritical. This is often the kind of flat argument used by people opposed to social justice movements, if you will allow the broad comparison: using something you have never cared for before (often minority populations) in an attempt to depreciate something, even though the very fact you are using them for this purpose shows how little concerned you are with the actual people you are talking about. Well, it reminds me of this a bit. The true purpose is to try and impose your own views, and here they try to legitimise them by filling an almost inexistent character with their views to carry on with their agenda.

The sudden leniency toward privileged characters: Making such a claim in fact once again proves that Snaters have an extremely biased, subjective and elitist vision of what being good means, an opinion on what is moral integrity (and superiority because they keep comparing people), which they also apply to James and Sirius. I think Regulus is loved because he is a Black, respected by the fandom because he comes from a pureblood, rich family. It is very easy to prove: look at how much love Draco and Lucius get, despite being supporters of blood supremacy, active members of a terrorist group, using discriminatory insults on a daily basis, being actively supportive of the murders of muggle borns/participating in these murders [do not misinterpret this - I'm pointing out double standards, not saying they should not be loved. One's interest in a character does not depend on the character's morals]. Look at how respected Snape was in the fandom before book 6, when people thought he was a rich pureblood from an ancient family. Social hierarchy has a great impact on how people view characters, and they tend to be much more lenient toward privileged characters, because prestige is attractive, even in fiction. Similarly - but it is more concealed - there is the usual refusal to acknowledge that social inequalities do impact one's life, choices, and opportunities to be or do good. The quote "You didn't make good choices! You had good choices" (Little Fires Everywhere) works quite well in this context, especially regarding James and Severus, but also regarding the Blacks versus Severus. Severus' survival was completely, utterly dependent on his adherence to blood supremacist values. This must be taken into account - but weirdly, this is an argument that is often used to prove Sirius' moral superiority, because his family required him to share their beliefs. This is ignoring that despite his difficulties, he still beneficiated from a support system and privileges that others did not have access to. Similarly, you cannot compare Regulus' and Severus' choices. And in my opinion, both are tragic; but if we had to take part in Snaters' silly arguments, then I would remind them that Regulus effectively had no obligation to join Voldemort, his parents were not death eaters. The pressure both characters experienced certainly wasn't of the same nature - even perhaps not of the same intensity. But does comparing them makes any sense, again...

The social biases: While Snape is blamed for his decision to join the death Eaters (rightly), Regulus is praised for his decision to leave them. While Regulus is pitied because he came from a family who brought him up with this ideology (just like Draco is), which apparently takes off all responsibility from him, Severus' background is never considered as a factor which pushed him right into extremists' opened arms. Regulus' privilege is used as an excuse; Snape's social disadvantage and familial issues are, at best, ignored, at worst, interpreted as proof of his inherently bad nature. Some people associate his upbringing with him being bad, whether they want to acknowledge it or not. While Regulus is headcanonned as handsome, Snape is constantly described as 'greasy' and 'ugly' by these same people, and you can see exactly how important appearances are to them. I'm even going to argue that worshipping a rich, handsome, privileged pureblood must sound better to them than being fond of the 'greasy git', and I am also saying these are mostly internalised biases. When you read these claims carefully, it sounds like in the mind of these people, Regulus is more legitimate as Slytherin's hero because he is better - inherently. And it is easy to see why.

The double-standards and their disturbing roots: This is also plainly ignoring the fact that Regulus and Snape defected for the same reasons, if we must make comparisons. Voldemort was targeting one of their loved ones, Kreatur for the former and Lily for the later, which made them realise, because they are humans and thus not selfless, how wrong his methods were when they turned against them. However, in Snape's case, turning against Voldemort in an attempt to save Lily is often held as proof of his selfishness/absence of morality: he wanted her for himself, he only deflected because someone he liked was in danger. In Regulus' case however, his gesture is seen as heroic and compassionate. Why? Well, there are a variety of reasons apart from Snaters' double standards, but I have noticed that most of them seem to think of Lily as 'belonging' to either James or Snape, and think Snape unworthy of having ever had Lily as a friend because of some kind of deep rooted flaws he had even as a child ('He tried to hurt Petunia with accidental magic when he was 11, he was always bad'. In fact I should make a post about how horrible this claim is.) In Regulus' case however, wanting to save Kreatur is seen as an act of compassion. Why? Not only because they want to make Regulus look better than Snape. I think it is also because Kreatur is a house-elf, an inferior being: Regulus' wish to protect him becomes praiseworthy, laudable, because house-elves do not really deserve consideration. So wanting to save him becomes an act of generosity. Even when you're not thinking of the double standards, this way of thinking is disturbing. Snape also turned against Voldemort at the age of 20, 21? Like Regulus did if I recall? They weren't death Eaters for very long. They both actively fought to bring Voldemort down. It would be tremendously hypocritical, wrong and plain bad faith to think of Regulus' action as superior to Snape's 20 years of hard work to bring Voldemort down.

So why can't Snape be a hero? I think this claim is a confession. To me it shows a very simplistic vision of heroism, of good and bad, of models, and a complete refusal to consider the grey, sometimes praise the grey- it's a failure to accept the complexity of the human functioning. Thinking that the people we praise for certain actions, or consider to be examples must be flawless is vain, simply because it is unrealistic, and we could not admire them/relate to them/like or dislike them/learn from them if they were not like us, layered and flawed - but this is exactly what this claim desperately wants us to believe. Or rather, what Snaters want to believe, while imposing their very biased views of good and bad, themselves rooted in prejudices. This is why they are using a character that is mostly inexistent: an empty, one dimensional character can fulfil this aim. This is also why so many people fail to appreciate characters such as James, Sirius and Remus without completely ripping off their flaws, and thus complexness - they cannot be loved if you can find fault in them.

PINK + WHITE.

— chapter ten ; stained glass window.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing + smoking

[ chapter index ]

A/N: I am sooooo sorry for the long hiatus! </3

This story is getting more views on Wattpad than here on Tumblr. I still love the show and Luca's my favourite villain, but as much as I want to discontinue this story, I want to get it out of the way because I have drafted a timeline of this story, including Teresa's and Luca's closure on their relationship. So I'm stuck in the middle on what to do???

BTW, I've come up with a headcanon for Luca's full name as Luca LaPaglia Changretta! His middle name is never revealed in the show, I just did this for the fic.

RIP Helen McCrory. You were one of my favourite stars of the show. Fly high <3. The Peaky fandom will miss you so much.

///

TERESA wasn't as religious as the next person, but she kept her respect as her heels echoed down the aisle, immediately spotting the tall man kneeling on one of the pues. His hands were folded in prayer, and he murmured what the Welsh could make out to be Italian tongue.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asks.

Luca pauses, his eyes still shut and hands still in folds. "No. I want you here."

Teresa slides over and sits next to her lover, staring at the giant crucifix behind the front podium. "How often do you pray, amore?"

Luca pauses his prayer again. "Almost every day. God and I keep in touch, y'know."

"What does he say to you?"

"He tells me to tell you to quit interrupting until I'm done talking to Him." Teresa chuckles, prompting her to let him finish. As it took another good minute for Luca to conclude his prayer, Teresa gazed at the stained glass windows on each side, casting a good light from the clouds that allowed a bit of sun for England, some of it casted its light onto Luca, like an angel on an opera stage.

Luca makes a sign of the cross, sitting back on the pue and grunting a bit from kneeling for a while. "How was lunch with Mamma?"

Teresa nodded. "It was lovely."

"Just lovely?"

"Mhm." She holds his hand. "She says your middle name is LaPaglia."

Luca hums, kissing her hand that curled with his. "C'mon, I wanna take you out with me for wine."

"Hmm... Luca LaPaglia Changretta," She said out loud, admiring the beauty of his full name slipping from her lips. "And I had wine with your mother."

"I meant wine shopping. I'm doing most of the taste tests, it's my cousin's birthday soon."

"Then shouldn't he be the one shopping for wine?" she asks.

The Italian pulls the heavy door, escorting Teresa out of the church and into the chauffeur. "He counts on me, I'm better at choosing wine and gin these days."

"ARTHUR, quit pacing. You'll burn your legs out."

"Where the fuck is she?" Arthur grunts. "Eh? Tom, you're really in it for this one. The fuckin' Welsh is not gonna live up to a fuckin' promise."

"You stop that, she's on her way," Tommy takes a sip of his drink.

A split-second passes as the maid knocks on the heavy office door. "Mr. Shelby?" the feminine voice calls softly. "Miss Griffith is here to see you."

Tommy gives a smug look to Arthur and Polly. "Yes. Send her in," he says. They waited for the woman to walk in, kind of wishing for Tommy to immediately scold her once she stepped foot into his office, but Tommy wasn't up to waste that much energy.

Arthur was the one to step in and do so, otherwise. "What? Did you stroll around Manchester or something?"

"Sorry," Teresa frowns, her face reading she wasn't holding any joy from her day so far. "I was with Luca."

"We're all ears," Polly walked around Tommy's desk. "What's happened? Did he fuck you until you forgot how to tell time?"

"I'm assuming Finn told you?" she asks.

"That's Finn for you, Teresa," Arthur points out.

Teresa rolls her eyes. No point of getting back at him this time. Rat or not, he would never hold back a word from the family. She remembered seeing him appear at the gallery, and he wasn't going to keep a secret from Tommy.

"I invited him for a meeting at a bar...then he took me to the theatre..." Teresa trails off.

Tommy opens his cigarette pack. "Go on."

"That's all, Mr. Shelby."

"You slept with Luca Changretta, just say it."

Teresa folded her arms. "Actually, yes. But earlier events prove what I'm about to propose; I'm in."

The members of the Peaky Blinders all raised a brow, mostly Tommy's.

"You slept with Luca Changretta, I didn't expect you to actually follow up with that, I don't recall telling you to do so, either."

"I wanted to discuss his plans on taking the Penarth gallery. It's not for his dirty hands to touch."

"You wish to join because your heart was too broken to hold back?" Polly says. "Is that where we're getting at, Teresa?" The Welsh woman stared at her. This was probably the first time they had seen each other after all those years that followed from her resignation. Since the last time they spoke, Polly didn't have anything held against her, and here she is, quite disappointed that Teresa shared her heart with a man like Luca. She did quite enjoy her company and her contribution to the Peaky Blinders, even when she chose to depart from Tommy and their relationship, then came Grace Burgess. Polly just didn't want to deal with another afterwards unless it was Lizzie.

"You're doing this just to get even? Luca could care less about your feelings now."

"Teresa," Tommy sighs, nodding at his old friend. "Come back here tomorrow."

Teresa nodded and made her exit out the foot of her door.

"And come on time, please." Teresa wished she could slam the door on him, but Arthur shut it as soon as Teresa's foot took a centimeter away. She presses her ear against the wood to hear them muffling.

"Tom?" She hears Arthur speak. "We can't trust her."

Tommy clears his throat, setting down a scrap of an article he read on his desk. "She'll go back to Penarth, but we can't let her stay there. I know what's going to happen."

"What do you know?"

"Italian men will show up to the gallery."

"It's certain Teresa Griffith keeps a firearm in her drawers," Polly says.

"No," Tommy shook his head. "Not enough to take down at least five men. Luca keeps count of who he orders - who he sends. We're more careful of that, we know of that."

"We're not morons, Tommy. Now we hear from Finn that Luca and Teresa were together?"

"Teresa should give us what we need to know from Luca Changretta. She knows too much about him."

"And Luca knows too much about us," Polly slowly walks over to Tommy. "If Teresa forms an alliance, what will she do? She's already slept with him, but I doubt she got anything out of it. She's not here for the sake of helping. She wants in because she's a woman with a broken heart."

Teresa detaches herself from the door, having heard enough. One of the maids returns, noticing the guest hadn't left yet and was suspiciously eavesdropping their boss. Teresa was pulled back by the shoulder like a child, escorting her out of the foyer.

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER, Teresa woke from the blinding sun. The silky bed sheets that covered hers and Luca's nude bodies were unmade - ruffled around. If you left the curtains open, you're more alerted. Luca never intended on waking Teresa up that way. In fact, he wasn't even lying next to her in the bed.

Luca's white dress shirt casted more brightness but his trousers were half done. He stared outside, holding his China cup of tea in one hand before looking back down at the papers sprawled across his desk.

Teresa sat up to clip on her brassiere, her accent thinned to greet in basic Italian. "Buongiorno."

He didn't respond.

She slides out of bed and approaches the desk. "Do you need me to leave soon? Though, you don't look like you're in a rush for an important meeting."

Still nothing.

"What, Luca?" This wasn't new for Luca to strangely switch up his mood. He wasn't an easy man, it's hard to impress him or to even study his emotions at times. Teresa had the feeling that Luca didn't enjoy what they had done. "Was this a mistake?"

"This was unprofessional." Luca sets his cup and coaster on his desk. "If you think something will come from this, then think again. I never should have taken you to the theatre. You were trying to let my guard down, were you?"

"No," Teresa shook her head. "I wasn't surprised that this was going to happen."

"Such a mind you carry in that blonde head of yours."

"Seeing you again felt good, Luca. I seized the opportunity to share another moment with you. I was thinking you were going to plan on coming back to Penarth indefinitely."

"Miss Griffith, did it ever occur to you that I wasn't supposed to stay here?" Luca frowns. "I'm no citizen here. America is where my heart belongs, if not America; Sicily."

"You fled to America. That was your last ditch effort to get away from the police," Teresa murmured. She folds her arms. "I understand why you had to do it."

"Then why do you hold it against me?" he asks, exhausted.

"Because I never heard from you ever since."

"I was fairly active in New York, you know?"

"I didn't know."

Luca stared at her. "That's your own problem, Miss Griffith."

"Christ, Luca. Enough with the formalities!" Teresa snaps. "I'm standing at your desk, half nude. We fucked in that bed right there!"

"Which was something we shouldn't have done," Luca began rubbing his temples. "I didn't come back here for you, all right? Porca miseria-" he cuts himself off to heave in a deep sigh. "I have to ask. All this time... you're still hung up on me?"

"Yes," Teresa says, her face paling. "Because I missed you, you bloody bastard. I couldn't reach out to you or your mother, not even the American press, to see how you were doing, or if you were kissing another woman's lips."

Luca slid his hand over to pick up the dress and shawl he placed on the side of the desk. "You need to leave now."

There was no point of convincing him anymore. All was said. Teresa knew not to vex a mafioso unarmed. If she had her handgun with her, she would have tried to pull something in a spite of anger. Would that do her a favour? Probably not. The rest of whoever's left of the Changretta family would go after her without question.

There was Tommy, though, and he's still waiting for her response back in Small Heath.

Grabbing her clothes, Teresa marches back to the bed, gets dressed and leaves the hotel room without saying a word to her former lover. Not even a curse.

🚬   title, type: karasuno old boys: the setter and the cheerleader, chapter one fic, +2k word count.

🚬  short summary:  y/n was a miyagi girl, born and raised, until she decided to move to the states after graduation. after several years, y/n is back in miyagi after unexpected unemployment. now she is running her parents old dumpling shop where runs into old friends from her alma mater: karasuno high.

in this chapter, y/n is invited to karasuno’s practice game by shimada and takinoue. they decide to have some fun and sneak into the stock room where they find their old uniforms. on a dare, you try on your old cheer-leading uniform (now a size too small) and run into your old friend, the coach, keishin ukai.

🚬   character, fandom, type of reader: keishin ukai, haikyuu!!, woman reader.

🚬   genre, rating: angst, eventual smut. 

🚬   themes, triggers: cursing, smoking, slight body image. 

🚬   author’s note:  hey everyone this is a fic that’s been on my brain for a while. i have to admit that coach ukai is just ... everything to me and i’m curious to know more about him. i hope you enjoy this chapter and possibly look forward to the next. your thoughts and feedback is always appreciated. 

Miyagi has always been your home, born and raised. The love you had for Miyagi ran deep but you knew you were destined for more. The second the high school diploma hit your palm and the farewell pictures were taken, you were gone. Instead of seeking refuge in Tokyo, you took it a step further and entered university in the U.S and while that was a temporary settlement for academics; you ended up spending time there longer than intended. It resulted in you loosing contact with the people closest to you in Miyagi including your own parents. So the phone call that you’d been laid off from a seemingly cozy job didn’t sit well with your parents. But with no other choice, you returned home.

Your parents had owned and ran a dumpling shop in Miyagi. It was a staple of the small town and it hosted memories you cherished. With you back in town, your parents decided to consider an early retirement in order for you to became responsible for the shop. For the first few weeks of your arrival back home went to work and went back home. It was to deflect from running into familiar faces, you were too big for Miyagi, remember? After a good few weeks of deflecting your parents encouraged you to find independence. So you leased a home only a mile or two from your parents and in close enough distance to the dumpling shop. Your new home was empty of groceries so you decided to swing by the local market at an odd hour at night. Entering the grocery store you immediately were overwhelmed. Despite its small size it was difficult to navigate. You approached an employee from behind and as he turned to greet you the memory of an old friend resurfaced, “Shimada?” You let out a breathy chuckle. “Y/N!” His throat filled up with such joy. You hugged immediately and it caused a few stares from the other patrons, neither of you payed it any mind. Shimada adjusted his glasses, “you should come to Karasuno tomorrow—-“ You cut him off and said you’re not so sure. Shimada sighed, “relax. Takinoue will be there, Keishin is coaching the new team. It really is a sight. They have this kid that can jump crazy heights.” He continued to gush over the team but you’re fixated on one detail, Keishin Ukai is a coach. “So you’re coming?” Shimada asked and you agree without realizing you did. The night prior to returning to Karusuno, you swung by your parents place and found your old yearbook. You took it back to your place and poured yourself a glass of wine. You flipped through the old pages, finger tracing down the signatures and heartfelt notes. Leaving Miyagi wasn’t something you regretted but it wasn’t because you had resentment against it. You loved the small town but your ambition the future outweighed your nostalgia for the past. The next day Shimada and Takinoue picked you up around 3 PM. Your outfit, much like theirs is casual. It was weird pulling up to Karasuno not in uniform. Skipping the main building, Shimada and Takinoue lead you to the club room. From outside you can hear the squeaking of shoes, the sound of volleyballs hitting the hard wood, the cheers and screams. You’re filled with nostalgia that burns into anxiety, you’re nervous. You stared at the pillars in front of the club room. You remembered standing there while Keishin leaned against one of the pillars. Sometimes his hand would reach out towards you to move a strand of hair from your cheek. He took breaks from practice not to eat or relax like the other boys, but to see you. Keishin and you never dated but you were known to be good friends. You regretted never doing anything more with that title and you weren’t sure if he felt the same. You were opposites anyways. Your dreams to be big extended to your studies. You’d always been top of your class while Keishin struggled to keep up. He had his passions, you had yours. You we’re brought back to life when Shimada dragged you inside. You stepped in and the smell of salon pas filled your nostrils. Oddly enough, it made you smile. Everyone was too caught up in their actions to give any attention to you three. Takinoue called for Keishin’s name but it was met with a dismissive wave of his hand. You couldn’t help but to stare at Keishin even if he couldn’t give you the decency of eye contact. As you observed him your voice was empty. You can’t believe his new look. Bleached hair? Hair? He had a buzz cut last time you saw him. Shimada spoke in hopes to introduce your presence but Keishin is caught up in the play. His eyes are fixed on the players, “we’re training for the inter-high premlis. Take a seat upstairs. I’ll catch up later.” His tone is harsh. Neither of you three wish to argue. As you made way to the upper seating, you’re greeted with a younger girl. She’s beautiful you think. She introduced herself as Kiyoko and you greeted her with the same kindness she shared. Takinoue then asked permission to look in the stock room, to which Kiyoko agreed. Knowing Takinoue was up to something, you followed through anyways. Feeling mischievous the three of you rummage through the stock room and shared memories of your time at Karasuno. The stock room was dimly lit but you could easily navigate through the old boxes. It was like going through time capsules; each box held so much history of Karasuno’s glory days. You ripped open another box and inside it you found the old volleyball uniforms. Jokingly you dared the two boys to change but they had found something for you too, your old cheering uniform. “Absolutely not.” You say before they even suggest you wear it. “Come on,” Shimada started “we’ll wear the uniforms if you wear yours.” Takinoue agreed but you can sense his hesitance. “I got taller, so these shorts will fit like booty shorts.” Takinoue complained. You felt that was a fair enough punishment. So the three you you agreed.  Takinoue and Shimada changed in the other room. After they did, they informed you and stood guard outside the stock room while you changed. The cheer-leading uniform fit but it didn’t slip onto your figure perfectly; it awakened your insecurities. The top of the uniform fit tight and your breasts seemed to push up as a result of your improper bra. Your thighs had grown wider forcing the skirt to look smaller than you remember it being. While you analyzed your suit, you hear Takinoue call for you. “Guys, I’m not sure about this.” You complain. To which Takinoue and Shimada groan. You then walk out with your arms covering your chest. The two of them step back. Both their cheeks flushed red, just as yours are. “Keishin is gonna jizz his pants.” Takinoue jokes. You slap his arm but a part of you hope he’s right. You always wanted Keishin to view you as more than just a friend. You saw how he looked at your former classmates back in the day, the girls he had crushes on. His eyes sparkled at the sight of them and you wished he looked at you the same. The three of you step back onto the court Shimada reinforces your confidence with a “you look great” Takinoue agreed and you smile. “Yeah unlike us.”  Takinoue followed. The three of you laughed. Now on the sidelines of the court, the players are scattered this time. It looks like they are on break and you silently curse because each of their eyes is on you three. The boys gleam at Takinoue and Shimada. An orange-haired boy let out an excited shout. You were surprised how such a tiny frame could fit such a loud voice. “Wow! You guys can so pass as 3rd years!” The orange-haired boy encouraged. Takinoue and Shimada were full of themselves now: wrapped up in their missed youth. You felt a set of eyes on you. In particular you notice two players. One has a buzz cut and looked very similar to how Keishin did when you were kids, the other was much shorter with a bleached strand of hair in the middle of his head. Both of their jaws were unhinged as they stared at you. It caused the other boys to stare as well. The once loud orange-haired boy is now silent. You can hear a faint “who’s that? She’s hot!” But can’t put a face to the voice. The whispers are interrupted with a hurdling volleyball bouncing off buzzcut and bleached strand’s heads. You wince knowing it hurt. “What are you boys gawking at, huh? Breaks over!” Keishin howled at them. It was a teacher, you assumed, beside him that tugged at his sleeve. Finally Keishin looks at you three. But you? You’re now standing behind T you fit perfectly behind his tall stature. You hear Keishin’s rough chuckle and it fills you with so much joy. “You boys look dumb as hell.” “Same as you did when you bleach-dyed your hair.” Takinoue clapped back which earned a laugh from you. Shimada took your arm and pulled you forward. You protest but to no avail. And now there you were standing a few inches from Ukai Keishin in a slutty version of your old cheerleading uniform. Keishin coughed, loudly. On the brink of choking the smaller teacher had brought him water. The teacher had introduced himself while Keishin collected himself, it fed your ego. “It’s nice to meet you Takkeda. I’m Y/N. I was a student here with Shimada, Takinoue and Keishin.” The boys seem to gather around in a group not too far. They were curious and you couldn’t blame them. You continue, “sorry for the distraction. We were in the stockroom and we found these and decided to try them on.” Your cheeks flushed and you hoped your voice sounded as confident as you presented it to be. “Don’t be sorry.” You heard one of the boys say, to which Keishin greeted with a scoff. Takkeda cleared the air by asking the boys to continue their practices. Despite their collective groan they complied and returned to their practice. The awkwardness of your actions settled in completely and you didn’t say a word. You watch Keishin as he removed his jacket. Unexpectedly he handed the jacket to you, “here.” “Thank you.” You bowed to him slightly and took the jacket. You slipped the larger fabric onto your figure and it consumed you. The smell of his cologne was mixed with cigarettes lingered on the fabric. “Just like old times.” Shimada said in a weak attempt to cut the tension in the room. Keishin’s expression was hard to decipher. He looked upset but flustered, excited even. You mustered up the courage to speak. “We’re sorry if we caused any trouble.” Shimada and  Takinoue spoke over you in order to take the blame. Keishin isn’t even looking at you at this point. “Takkeda, take over practice while we talk outside.” Keishin asked to which Takkeda agreed. You walked in front of Keishin and you could feel his eyes on you. Instinctively you pulled the jacket down farther to cover your behind. Now outside you, Shimada, Takinoue, and Keishin stood in a circle. It was oddly reminiscent of the old days but the energy between you four wasn’t nostalgic or happy. It was brutally awkward and you wanted to run. “It’s my fault, Keishin.” Shimada broke the silence and you looked up at him. Keishin fiddled around his pockets and cursed. He looked at you and you looked back at him. Your eyes were wide and your mouth was sealed shut. “My cigarettes and lighter are in my jacket pocket. Left side.” You nod your head and reach to grab them. While you hand them to Keishin you gave a warning, “smoking isn’t good for you.” Keishin shook the cigarette box with a scoff. “I don’t think someone who left without a trace is in a position to tell me what’s good for me. — Shimada,  Takinoue give us some privacy. Yeah?” He pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. The lighter switched and lit his cigarette. He inhaled a heavy swig before exhaling the smoke in the other direction, it spared you from directly inhaling the fumes. Shimada and Takinoue leave. No, you think. Don’t leave. The two men were your safety net. You can’t bring yourself to protest against Keishin’s request. He was already upset and there was no joy in exploiting his anger. The men returned to the gym leaving you and Keishin alone. The silence between you is prolonged he’s occupied with his cigarette and looking across the horizon. You break the silence, “So—“ He grunted in disdain. He doesn’t want you to speak but you don’t take the hint. “Ukai, I understand that you’re upset.” You have more to say but Keishin interrupted. “You have time to meet up with those two dumbasses but not for me?” He clicked his tongue. You rolled your eyes and a scoff left your lips while doing so. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I ran into Shimada yesterday when I was picking up groceries. I moved back not to long ago. I’m still settling in.” “Okay then.” He started. You took a step backward upset that he was greeting you with such hostility. “Okay then?” You breathed out. Annoyance riddled in your voice. “Ukai. I wanted — you know? No. I’m not. I’m not going to do this with you.” “What exactly? You left. You showed no interest of staying here and now you’re back? What do you want me to do Y/N? Throw you a parade?” You must have misread his jealousy or maybe he was upset about something else. You felt your chest tighten and confused as to where this conversation may lead. The frustration that build up inside of you was beginning to rush to the surface. You were happy to back in your hometown, but it wasn’t intentional. You hadn’t accepted your failure yet until now. In front of him. You looked off someplace anywhere except looking at him. You choked as you battled not to cry but you succumbed to your tears. You began to cry. Ukai shifted and you heard his feet shuffle. It was quiet now. “Y/N...” he broke the silence by saying your name. His voice was soft and filled with so much heart. It made you choke out another cry. Completely clueless on what to do Ukai stood there and as much as you appreciated the space he was giving you. You wanted him to wrap you in his arms you felt deprived of his touch. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of his jacket you turned to him. Your eyes were swollen and red. “Are you alright?” Ukai’s expression was filled with concern mixed with a twinge of guilt. Unknown to you, Ukai missed you and each time he entered the gym to coach he was reminded of you. To see you again after all these years—- after that heartbreak he didn’t know how to process it. With both your feelings lost in translation the two of you stood there. Before finally, you spoke: “I came back because my plan to be this great thing fell apart. I was supposed to come back here successful. I was supposed to be that girl who made it big from a small shitty village.” Your confession was honest and true much like how it always was around Ukai. Though the moment was sad it was reminiscent of the past when the two of you confided your thoughts and hopes for the future. “So I’m sorry” there’s anger in your voice. “ that I didn’t give you a fucking phone call. Announcing my great return.” “God I feel so fucking stupid!” You turned on your heels and buried your face into your hands. Still in uniform the humiliation of your confession hit ten times harder. Ukai stepped toward you. You felt his hand on your back. It had such familiarity you could crumble. Despite how humiliated you felt, there was an odd sense of comfort that Ukai brought you. Even after all this time of no contact you could trust him. The hand he had on your back finds itself on your arm. He uses it to turn you around. You’re facing him now but unable to look up at his expression your eyes bore into the middle of his chest. He hugs you and you muffle yet another cry. “I’m sorry.” He whispered gently. He holds you tighter. “Get changed. I’ll end practice early, we could go for some drinks.” You tear yourself away from Ukai. “Okay.” You agreed weakly. You had nothing to loose from accepting the invitation. PART TWO HERE.

Chapters: ¼ Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown Additional Tags: Found Family, Fluff, Light Angst, Homelessness, Cass knows like 8 words rip, slight crime, Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain meet earlier, Cassandra Cain and Jason Todd are Siblings, but not blood siblings in this just two kids who adopted each other, street siblings au Summary:

Professional street urchin Jason Todd is struck by an uneasy feeling and suspects someone is following him. That someone is former child assassin Cassandra Cain, who, with nowhere else to go, is taking a leap of faith.

—

This is my take on the Street Siblings AU by @a-sketchy-character​!  I told them earlier that I’d write something for it, so here I am owning up! Of course, you can read their comic based on this au @streetsiblings.  Of course, @greytoiletpaper also wrote one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100699/chapters/66175306) and Experimental_Muse wrote this one (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037882).  Go check them out!  Since this is such a popular concept, I hope I do a good job.

—

Jason pops another M&M into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue instead of chewing it. He has no idea why someone would throw away a perfectly good bag of candy, but he’s not going to think too hard about it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he can feel the strength coming back into his limbs. He feels less sleepy, too.

He tucks the empty bag into the pocket of his frayed jeans, already regretting finishing them. Now that he’s eaten something, what else is he going to do with his day? He hasn’t found any cigarettes, which is a pain, since it’s so cold that his nose feels numb and he could really use some warm smoke to fill up his aching lungs.

Maybe he’ll go to the library. He’s still too small to kick out for loitering, right? Just as he turns to leave the alley, Jason feels a shiver run up his spine. He whips around, raising his fists defensively. Nobody’s there. This doesn’t calm him down. Jason squints as he peers into the dark, wet alley, looking for any sign of movement.

“Hey,” he says in the deepest, roughest voice he can muster. “Think good and hard about what you’re about to do, buddy.”

What is the invisible person about to do? Jason isn’t sure, but he wants them to think good and hard about it. He hears a scuffle and nearly jumps out of his skin only to realize that it’s just a rat migrating from beneath the dumpster to a pile of cardboard boxes.

“What are you playing?” Jason asks. This voice is making his throat hurt. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Nobody answers. Jason weighs his options and decides that the best choice is to make a run for it. He nearly slips on a patch of slush in his haste to get out of the alley. Even when he’s a safe two blocks away he still has an uneasy feeling.

—

A couple of hours later, Jason has shaken off that gross feeling and has settled down outside the 7-11. He used to go here a lot– when his mom was around, it was where they got their groceries. Sometimes she’d splurge and they would split a can of Yoohoo. Even though he doesn’t have any money to go in with, something about the worn bricks and the smoky smell is comforting.

A gaunt man with dark circles under his eyes and a scraggly gray beard joins him, sitting gingerly on the damp ground.

“Afternoon,” he says cordially.

“It’s dark out,” Jason says. He’s not sure what time it actually is. Days and nights tend to blur together. They’re basically the same, though nights tend to be more dangerous.

“Damned if it isn’t,” the man says. “What’s a kid doing out this late?”

“Anywhere else I’m supposed to be?” Jason asks, scowling.

“Just askin’, just askin’,” the man says, raising his palms. “I’d just get somewhere safe if I was you. Some guy’s been– what?”

“What?” Jason repeats after him. “What’s going on?”

“Just thought I… It’s not safe for kids out there lately, is all I’m sayin’.”

Jason sighs and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, dragging down the edge of his hoodie. “Is it that big a deal?” It’s never really safe out there, but he’s always gotten by fine. “You’re not a kid, so you’re fine.”

“Nothin’ wrong with a little empathy,” the man says.

Jason rolls his eyes and walks off to find another place to lurk.

—

It happens the next day, too. Jason has the unpleasant feeling of eyes on his back when he covertly removes a woman’s wallet from her purse and he’s certain someone is about to yell “Stop! Thief!” but nobody does.

When he walks proudly out of McDonald’s with a bag of french fries bought will ill-gotten money, he expects someone to ask for one. Of course, he would have said “no,” but it’s almost disappointing when there’s nobody to answer. He’s not disappointed enough to be really put-off, though. He still stuffs his face wholeheartedly.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid.

—

Jason has been sleeping rough lately. The condemned buildings are already full of squatters, and he knows better than to accept “help” from people who offer couches to young boys. With nowhere inside to sleep, he’s been hiding from the sleet in a cardboard shelter he built in an out-of-view area between buildings and lined with newspaper.

Of course, it’s not usually safe to build a fire when your whole house is so flammable, but he’s risking it tonight. He has a pile of yet more cardboard and newspaper on the other side of the alley, but it’s damp and he’s having a rough time getting it to set alight.

“Come on,” he mutters as he clicks the lighter yet again. It’s a nice one (his mother had liked it a lot) but it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. Jason curses under his breath as the edge of the funnies page smolders and blackens without actually catching fire. Garfield stares at him judgmentally. That’s when he hears it.

A light “thump,” soft but unmistakable. Jason’s head snaps up. He’s afraid to turn and look. At best, it’s another bum looking to share his fire. At worst, it’s…

“What are you looking at?” he says harshly, still not turning his head. “Go find somewhere else.”

The presence at his back doesn’t go away. He feels frozen in place– he’ll admit it, he’s afraid. He knows someone has been following him. He doesn’t know who or why. He hasn’t had a moment where it’s not on his mind, and now his mysterious pursuer is right behind him. His only option is to protect himself.

Jason very slowly reaches into his pocket for the worn switchblade he’s carried since he was nine. His hand trembles as he wraps his fingers around the cold handle.

A hand is laid on his shoulder. He shoots up, pulling the knife out of his pocket and spinning around to face the person behind him.

Before he’s able to do anything a small, strong hand wraps around his wrist, stopping the freed knife in its path. His arm is yanked forward and a palm is shoved under his chin, forcing his face up. He just stands that way for a second, too shocked to move. His opponent doesn’t try to do anything else; they just keep him stuck with his chin pushed up and his arm stretched out, knife useless.

Slowly, cautiously, the hand under his chin lowers, though the grip on his wrist is still tight. He gets a good look at the person who’s apparently decided to hold him hostage.

They’re a kid. They’re (she’s) a little girl, much shorter than him, with big, serious eyes and a mouth covered by a heavy scarf.

“You’re really small,” he says through the hand that’s still partly covering his mouth. “What the fuck.”

She assesses him, eyes darting from his face to his free hand to his battered shoes. Slowly, she loosens her grip and lets go of his chin, releasing him. She takes a step back, body tense and ready to attack or dart away at any second.

Jason clicks his blade back into its case and slides the knife back into his pocket, not looking away from the girl’s face. She has dirty black hair that hangs in her eyes and thick brows. Her nose is delicate and rounded. If she hadn’t just had him in a painful hold, he would have assumed she was harmless.

“Why have you been following me around?” he asks. She doesn’t answer. “What do you want from me?” Again, no answer. Jason sighs (a puff of mist from his mouth). “I’m Jason.” He holds out his hand. Hesitantly, she grips it. Her hand is cold and thin. She still doesn’t say anything.

The girl lets go of his hand and points to the lighter on the ground. It glints at him in greeting.

“What?” Jason asks.

The girl squats on the ground and retrieves the lighter. She hands it to him and points at the pile of cardboard and newspaper.

“Wanna make a fire?” he asks. “There’s garbage in there, so it’ll stink.”

She doesn’t nod. She just points again expectantly.

“'Kay,” Jason says. “Can you talk at all?”

The girl doesn’t respond. Jason shrugs and crouches by his fire heap. The girl plops back on her bottom and crosses her legs.

It takes a while to get it to light. It’s a little embarrassing failing again and again with someone there to watch. Finally, one of the dryer pieces of paper goes alight and spreads to one of the bigger pieces of cardboard.

“See? It does work!” Jason says. Does he sound defensive? “It usually works fine,” he adds. This doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. He puts the lighter in his pocket with the switchblade and holds his hands out, taking in the heat. The girl pulls down her scarf. In the flickering light, he can see she’s smiling at him. She holds out her hands too, and they sit in silence for some time.

—

Jason realizes he’s awake before his eyes open. He’s aware again that his nose and fingers are cold and the back of his hair is wet from the damp concrete. His eyes flicker open and he sees that it’s daytime, pale gray and foggy. He rolls over, realizing with some consternation that he’s not even in his box hut. Anybody could have come and gotten him while he was asleep. He’s lucky they didn’t. He shouldn’t be so– what.

Someone is a few feet away from him, sitting up with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, looking at him thoughtfully.

Jason scrambles backward, scraping his hands on the rough concrete. He bumps his head on the brick wall behind him. It seems that the bricks knock some sense into him because suddenly the events of last night come back to him and he feels like an idiot.

“What are you doing?” he asks, rubbing his head.

The girl scoots over to him and pats his shoulder. Ah. She’s still not talking. Jason sits up straight. He pats her shoulder back. She smiles.

“So, do you just want to hang around here?” Jason asks, even though he knows she won’t answer. “In this alley?”

The girl just looks at him. This is starting to get frustrating.

“Just– just stay, I guess,” Jason says, standing. He points at the ground. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get something to eat.”

He backs out of the alleyway, raising his palms as though he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He turns around when he’s certain that she’s staying. He puts his hands in his pockets and releases a breath of relief. Something about that girl makes him nervous. What’s her game? Is she just stupid? He wraps his fingers around the lighter and somehow feels a little more secure.

Jason settles outside a coffee shop and crosses his legs. Dozens of people walk right past him, ignoring his grubby face as they head to work.

“Hey, miss,” Jason says, making eye contact with a woman in a blue pantsuit. An almost fearful look falls on her face as she realizes she’s been wrangled into an interaction with him. “Got a dollar?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I don’t carry change.” She scurries off, nearly slipping in her high heels on the icy sidewalk.

“'Scuse me,” Jason says to the lady with the corgi on a leash. “That’s a cute dog you have there.”

“Thank you,” the lady says apprehensively. She walks a little faster.

“Wait!” Jason says. “Can I pet him?”

“S-sure,” the lady says. She turns and walks the dog up to Jason. It smiles stupidly at him. Jason stretches his hand out and it sniffs him with its wet nose. Jason rubs it between the ears. Even though this is for selfish reasons, he appreciates its attention.

“Can you spare seventy cents?” Jason asks. “For a bottle of water?”

The lady, with nowhere to escape to, reaches into her purse, takes out a dollar, and drops it into Jason’s open hand. Jason thanks her sweetly. When she walks away, he can’t hide his shit-eating grin.

Jason manages to gather up seven dollars before the coffee shop’s manager comes out and says “scram.” Jason smiles appeasingly as he leaves. He knows better than to get in a fight with someone without holes in their shoes.

At the convenience store, Jason buys an energy drink and a hot dog, like usual. Then he remembers someone is waiting for him and adds a plastic-wrapped breakfast sandwich. He’s wondering whether the stupid girl is a coffee person when the cashier starts giving him suspicious looks, so he grabs another Red Bull and pays quickly.

It’s kind of nice shopping for someone else. Even if it’s a little sad to think about the last time he was shopping for two. He whistles quietly as he walks through the glass door when– oops.

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps.

The girl steps back and smiles apologetically.

“Oh… It’s you.” The door swings shut behind Jason. “I’d ask you to stop following me, but I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

The girl tilts her head. Maybe she does understand? Whatever.

He gestures for her to follow him. The convenience store people don’t like it when he hangs out right by the door. It creeps out the customers.

There aren’t as many people on the sidewalk anymore; they’ve all gone on with their days. Jason notices that the girl skips a little on her shorter legs to keep up with him. She isn’t wearing socks, he realizes. That can’t be good in this weather.

They stop to sit on the front steps of the law office. Jason pulls the food out of his plastic grocery bag and hands the sandwich to the girl. She takes it gratefully. He takes out his hot dog and realizes that the jostling while he was walking has deconstructed it. He shrugs.

“I’m guessing you’re new around here,” Jason says. “You’re not supposed to just latch on to people.”

The girl starts tearing greedily into her sandwich.

“I do pretty well on my own. I’m not gonna babysit you, you know.”

She nods. Again, Jason isn’t sure she’s taking in what he’s saying.

“Seriously. You can’t hang out with me. I’m busy.”

She smiles. Jason rolls his eyes.

“I like being alone.”

The sandwich is gone. She points to his hot dog.

“I mean, I guess,” he says, handing it to her. She looks at it for a second. A guilty expression falls on her face and she hands it back. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Cassandra,” she says.

“Wait, you can talk?”

“Jason,” she says, patting his shoulder.

The snow is dirty, but the sun glints off it prettily. Jason hates to admit it, but he’s in a pretty good mood right now.

Do you have any fav ships?

Here are the canon (ish?) ships I really like! I add the ish because I interpret charas differently because I Own Hetalia, actually 

India x China: MY RIDE OR DIE SHIP- idk man, it’s about the endless centuries, the drama, the pettiness, the historic parallels, the horniness!!!!! I wrote something actually deep about this

“Despite our squabbling, he is the true mirror image of me, and I cannot look away. Blessed in blood, shaped by steel, but with different tongues, different siblings, different gods. We’ve been so many things, like it has been with all my neighbors who’ve survived the ache of time, that no label could ever do justice describing what he is to me. But it is he who just knows me in such a way nobody else could ever, and vice versa.”

And even with the current state of Sino-Indian relations there’s such an interesting history of Indian cultural exchange with China and historic parallels that is just begging to be explored!!!!

China x Iran/Persia x India: ancient asia ot3 baby! (vietnam and the other old feckers are prbly doing something actually productive) Iran has a long history of interaction with both India and China and the latter two prbly view Iran as “China/India but with less drama” lol

Thailand x Vietnam: I love this one because the dynamic between stoic serious Vietnam and sunshine boy Thailand makes me soft but also their geopolitical rivalry adds an absolutely fascinating lens to their relationship!! While I do adore the former, I wish more thaiviet content would also take into consideration the complicated history and geopolitical mess these two have with each other! (rip cambodia and laos tho)

Spain x Austria: hapsburg fuckery lets gooooooooo- love it because spain and austria are both garbage and their marriage was a mess and I revel in the chaos (AND ALSO THEY HAD A EUROPE’S TOP POWER COUPLE COMPETITION AGAINST FRANCE AND OTTOMAN EMPIRE WHEEZES)

Denmark x Sweden: I generally like rivalry ships lol and I’ve enjoyed a lot of the content created for this ship! Generally have trouble getting into a lot of nordic content because I disagree so strongly with most of the canon personalities, but I like this one because I love trash man x trash man :’’’) 

Egypt x Greece: Ancient momma’s boys! I’m pretty sure this one was mostly because of ask-the-ottomans shdfkhskfkjs- and also long suffering lads under Torkey’s nonsense :’^)

Tibet x Mongolia: GHSHDJFJS ADDING THIS ONE IN BECAUSE I FORGOT BUT I LOVE IT TOO as @flyingsassysaddles once said “Tibet is Mongolia’s emotional support vassal”

Ships I enjoy but don’t rly feel like creating content for-

Rusame, FRUK, SPUK, PruAusHun, and Romechu are all ships I enjoy but imo there’s already enough content and I must spread my rare pair propaganda 

CuCan and Nedcan is also nice but I do feel like that for Canada and especially Cuba their characterization is limited by whoever they’re being paired up with, and that’s just a shame tbh- I really wish we got to see deeper fandom characterizations of Cuba, which is a nation (along with the rest of the caribe) I have a lot of interest in!

Platonic/Familial-

Vietnam & China: I enjoy their platonic dynamic a lot because 1) two bickering senior citizens angrily waving their canes at each other and 2) I think that if you were to ignore the history, they can and do bond over a lot of things- being ancient in an age where life was cheap and you stood constant, unchanging, and they both have rather wry senses of humor (even if China is more outwardly cheerful/energetic than Viet)! it also makes me laugh at the thought of Vietnam 2,000 years ago hearing word about this fearsome warrior, the nation who made all submit before his very feet, proclaiming his right to rule over all under heaven, and upon actually meeting him, she finds out he’s actually a 5’6 dweeb

Taiwan & Hong Kong: POOH BEAR COMRADES IN ARMS who also bully Macau for being a square

Cameroon & Seychelles: I really love to see them having a sibling-esque relationship and I wanna see more interactions among aph africa!!!! I imagine that they got to know each other from both being under French colonial rule in the past (albeit different time periods), and cameroon is a big brother figure to sey :’’’ )

Spain & Portugal: I love dumb sibling dynamics :’’’ ) 

Home

Part of a shortfic challenge list posted by ao3commentoftheday, the fifth of five fics. Takes place after 5.3 (Reflections in Crystal) but has very little spoilers regarding 5.3.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV/Final Fantasy Online Characters: F!Viera!Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel, mentioned Lucia Junius Tags: @nimnox

Summary: For a year, Aymeric has held out hope that the Warrior of Light would return home. His hopes are answered.

Sunlight peered into the halls of The Vault, half government building for the Houses of Lords and Commons, half museum for the recently revealed and ratified history of Ishgard (specifically, the seat of the former archbishop, now empty for all time if the gods were good).

And Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel was trapped in his office, with piles and piles of paperwork he had to sift through. The sun seeped into his bones, trying and failing to pull him into a nap he had no time for. His mind drifted between his business and to his beloved, the Warrior of Light Lily Wisteriale. It had been a year since her departure, a year since that fateful evening in the Cathedral of Saint Reymanaud, where she bid him goodbye…

“So...is this goodbye?” He asked her, his hand gently cupping her cheek and wiping away the tears. The viera shook her head, a hand reaching up to wipe away the tears herself.

“N-No, well, not forever at least.” She explained with a sniffle. “It’s just that you can’t come with me on this adventure. Not that you could, given your duties to Ishgard, I would never be so selfish as to rip you away from the people who need you.” As much as she wanted to, the unsaid words that Aymeric knew she wanted to say. But this matter, this Call, was something else entirely. Aymeric lowered his head, his hand moving up to stroke her golden hair.

“Do you believe you’ll return?”

“Of course.” Lily nodded. “I just want to bring back the Scions as well.” She paused and looked up to him, a newfound determination in her eyes. “When I return, and it is a matter of when, not if, I will send a messenger from here to retrieve you. We’ll reunite back here...if that’s acceptable with you.”

“Always, my dear.” He said with a smile. Lily chuckled a little.

“You always say that.” She leaned forward, her hands moving to embrace him. His arm wrapped around her torso, the hand on her cheek threading through her hair to cradle her head.

“Ishgard can handle affairs on her own for a day.”

“A day?” Lily asked with a playful smile. “You’re quite generous. I was expecting a week.”

“If my lady insists, I shall gladly oblige.” Aymeric replied, a smile gracing his own lips. The Viera sorceress laughed before leaning forward to kiss him.

Aymeric vowed to cherish the moment.

“It is imperative I meet with the Lord Commander!” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Aymeric glanced up, realizing that there was a commotion outside his door. He frowned and stood up, walking around his desk and towards the door. Opening it, he frowned at the sight of a visibly exhausted member of the cloth arguing with one of his knights.

“Speak.” He ordered, causing both knight and clergyman to jump in surprise. In the hallway, he spotted a flushed Lucia running down the hall.

“I-I was ordered not to speak much of the specifics but the lady was insistent that you come to the Cathedral of Saint Reymanaud-” Aymeric’s eyes widened before his shaking hands shut the door behind him.

“Lead the way. Now.” The clergyman was caught off guard by the intensity in his voice.

“Y-Yes, Lord Commander!” He yelped before running off. Aymeric followed after him as fast as he could, ignoring Lucia’s call for him.

Fury forgive him, taking this one moment of selfishness just for her: his beloved Lily Wisteriale.

As his feet led him up to the Pillars, past rebuilt edifices and buildings healed from the scars of the Dragonsong War, his heart was racing with hope. It had only been a year since her departure, when he had resigned himself to waiting decades for her return, if at all in his lifetime. Dreams did little to soothe the worries and the longing in his heart, reminding him that she wasn’t with him in Ishgard, much less in Eorzea. He glanced up as the cathedral came into view, framed by a perfectly cloudless sky. He noticed the air felt...happier, more uplifted, like hope had finally come back to this part of Ishgard. As he entered the cathedral, the clergyman led him down a too-familiar hall. He stopped at a door, to a chapel that he had not visited in a year. Aymeric’s shaking hand took the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open.

Standing at the altar, exactly as he last remembered her, was the Viera sorceress. She turned back, illuminated by the stained glass behind her. Despite not appearing to age a year since their last meeting, Aymeric noticed how she had changed. The blues of her eyes were lighter, aged with wisdom and knowledge of where her journey took her. She had the aura of a woman who had learned new things, things that changed her perspective on Eorzea itself.

“Aymeric...I...you haven’t changed…” Lily whispered, her voice cracking with joy unable to be restrained. Aymeric smiled before crossing the chapel, immediately pulling her into an embrace.

“I’m just glad you’re home.” He murmured, burying his face into her shoulder. Lily wrapped her arms around him, the two collapsing onto the floor, entwined in tearful embrace.

She was home.

More Fire Force Opinions That Literally Nobody Asked For (pt.2)

Guess who finished the manga~ Guess who finished the manga~ This gal~ I’m surprised that my Fire Force rant/essay meta was so well received by the fandom, thank you guys so much!!! Anyways, today I’ll be discussing some a lot of my ideas, opinions, thoughts, future predictions, and commentary on moments from the Fire Force manga.

Warnings: Spoilers for future Fire Force Season Two arcs, and for the Fire Force manga. Read at your own discretion! Now that the warnings are over, onwards! ヽ(ヅ)ノ

(I’m actually trying to order my opinions via arcs, but I feel that this is really important, so I’m putting it first.) 

1. There are no iPhones in the Fire Force. 

This is so sad? My favourite characters don’t know the joy that is staying up late, scrolling through social media, watching YOUTUBE, having MEMES, KNOWING👏THE👏GREATNESS👏THAT👏IS👏VINES!!!

I’m slightly disappointed that Vulcan, who is literally named after the god of forging himself, who can make frickin’ HOLOGRAMS, didn’t bring back any of the pre-Catalysm technology to recreate, improve, or experiment with. As an expert engineer (I say this 0.2% seriously, with the two years of high school engineering course experience under my belt), I would’ve been interested to see what kind of gadgets Vulcan could whip up. *insert ‘Inspector Gadget theme song*

Please have this very sad Jigglypuff to show how sad this is.

2. Sister Iris and Religion in the Fire Force Storyline

In the beginning of the Fire Force series, I’ve accepted the fact that Iris' role as noncombatant, meant to act as the religious and public face of the Eighth Company. I think it is a fascinating role, because it allows the story to explore the idea of religion and belief in depth, which I was really looking forward to. I was excited how the author would handle Iris’ character, but I’m somewhat disappointed that it took so long for us to see Iris and other side characters like Maki and Tamaki become more fleshed out (I’m not counting Iris’ and Hibana’s backstory in Season 1. I felt that was more backstory to flesh out Hibana’s character rather than Iris’).

Throughout Fire Force’s story, some of the things I looked forward to the most were the religious elements, motifs, themes, and questions that are sprinkled throughout the story, one of my favourites being the portrayal of the dichotomy of religion. In Joker’s backstory, we see the darkness of the Holy Sol faith, and what happens when any religious belief is taken TOO far, without any regard for human life or rights. This idea of viewing humans as a collective, no regard for the individuality and feelings of a single person in the pursuit of faith is embodied by the captain of the Shadow of the Holy Sun, Joker’s former captain and abuser. However, we also get to see the goodness religion and belief can achieve in Iris’ mini arc, which focuses on Iris’ internal struggle as she struggles with her faith after being informed of the Evangelist’s part in the founding of the Holy Sol’s religion. Shinra and Huo Yan Li, the bucket hat 1st Brigade lieutenant (Seriously, which is the correct way to pronounce this guy’s name? Huo Yan Li?? Foien Li???) interaction in the Iris arc really summed up the arc and Iris’ character beautifully. Religion and belief gives people closure, hope, and strength to keep on moving forward. Seeing the anime adaption was an amazing experience. Fire Force’s animation was the reason I decided to watch it in the first place (before staying for the intriguing plot and religious side plot), but this particular episode?? Pure art. The colouring, ambience, storytelling? So good＼\ ٩( ᐛ )و /／

Like, the little detail of the burning nun in Iris’ eyes? (lmao sorry for the extra trauma, sweet child) *chef’s kiss*

The importance of belief is also hinted in the Asakusa arc, where all the district’s inhabitants believe in Benimaru, and expanded upon in later manga chapters, when we learn that Adolla is linked to humanity’s perception and beliefs about the world around them.

I would’ve liked Iris a lot more if we got to further explore her character and the affects of religion on others more deeply, perhaps see Iris visiting the Infernals’ families and loved ones, trying to help give closure through the nation’s (mostly) shared faith in Sol. They mentioned offhandedly in both anime and manga that Iris visits the deceased’s families, and I felt it would’ve given the deaths more significance and depth if we get screentime of how families are affected by the death of their loved ones. It would have also given the Holy Sol’s religion more depth and meaning if we saw believers of Sol’s actions due to their religion, (also giving more impact when we learn surprise surprise! The Holy Sol temple is founded by the Evangelist!) since belief without actions is just lip-service.

I would have also liked to see how Iris’ prayers affect others in the Eighth company. We do get to see this, 140+ CHAPTERS LATER in the mini Iris arc does Shinra (finally) mentions how Iris’ prayers helps him not lose sight of why he serves as a firefighter and kills Infernal. I’m glad that we got this scene, because better later than never, especially since Iris’ and Shinra’s discussion and overall the entire Iris mini arcs shows the power of prayer, but I would’ve like to have this topic discussed sooner.

2. Obi’s Sole Flaw

I think that Obi was an okay character, but they kind of pushed the boundary of his “normalcy” when we saw him topple pillars and rip railways out of the ground with “brute strength”. There are limits to the human body, it is fragile, and it doesn’t matter how much conditioning or “going beyond your limits” you do. People do experience boost of adrenaline, which is probably what the very anime-like titled “Pressure of Death” is based on, since life or death situations can heighten your performance and strength. However, I do understand that this IS shonen, and it isn’t meant to be realistic.

What made Obi’s sole flaw (and a physical flaw, at that!) was his “normalcy” while surrounded by more powerful individuals then he, and having to make up for something he can’t help by working twice as hard as everybody else. Now, although I was disappointed that Obi didn’t have any character/moral flaws, what made Obi’s character mediocre to me wasn’t the choice of Obi’s sole flaw. In fact, I could see how this could be an interesting character narrative IF WE LEARN MORE ABOUT OBI’S BACKSTORY, THEREFORE EXPLORING HIS CHARACTER MORE!!! (We only know Obi was a regular firefighter, being decorated twice, and then having his titles revoked for prioritizing the lives of citizens before becoming the captain of the Eighth.) No, what I didn’t like about Obi’s character is that we never see him STRUGGLE with his flaw, how others were born “superior” to him thanks to there invulnerability to flames, how he lives knowing one day he could just burst into flames. There’s SO many interesting things about Obi’s character, that could explained further, making him so much more interesting!!!

On the other hand, Obi’s character is a great role model for what a “normal” person can do (while jacked up on adrenaline, and when they manage to overcome flight reaction in fight or flight). He works hard, training to the best of his ability, doing what he CAN do, pushing his limits so that he can go above and beyond, overcoming the “Pressure of Death”, and staying true to his ideals, something very hard to do in a world where you might burst into flames at any given moment. I know that if I were to wake in a world where I could die any second (I mean, I could die tomorrow in Real Life™, but what are the chances of that?), I would definitely find myself struggling with my faith, and staying true to the morals I admire and was taught by my parents, especially if I was putting myself in danger despite of this weakness.

3. Asakusa Showdown Arc and Shinmon Hibachi

The Asakusa Showdown arc. Yes. Just yes. I-

It was amazing, periodt. The art, the overall aesthetic, the storytelling. *Cue violent fangirling* I took SOOOO many screenshots of the fight between Benimaru and Hibachi, I’m pretty sure my camera roll is 95% manga caps now. I love how the author actually gave a (fairly) valid reason for the cool Japanese aesthetic of this arc, in that Adolla is slowly gradually colliding with the Fire Force universe, causing people’s perception of the fight to seep into the universe. Overall? It. Was. Amazing. Albeit not my favourite arc, (that honour goes to the mini-Iris arc) I think that the Asakusa Showdown arc is easily in my Top 5 Fire Force arcs.

The Asakusa Showdown Arc mirroring and showing the ideals taught in the Mini Iris Arc was quite clever, though I’m not sure if this was purposefully done Okubo, or if I’m just scrabbling at crumbs.

In the Mini Iris arc, we see how religion and belief gives closure; a stark contrast to Asakusa with its proto-nationalist/atheist values. In THIS arc, centering around Asakusa and it’s proto-nationalist inhabitants, we see what happens when there isn’t enough effort to emphasize or give closure in what happened to Hibachi, and his subsequent death. 

Shinmon Hibachi, as the leader of the neighbourhood fire watch, understood the significance of killing Infernals; of taking somebody’s life. But because of the unwillingness to let others (i.e. the inhabitants of Asakusa, that one kid who stabs him) understand the weight of killing Infernals and gain closure through understanding the reasons behind his harsh actions, Hibachi shoulders the consequences of both his and the actions of his predecessors’ ALONE, therefore leading to his demise. 

The kid who stabbed Hibachi was still a CHILD, and children don’t always have a comprehensive understanding of death and the consequences of responsibility (no matter how much that kid believes he was ready to be an adult and support his mother).

3.5 Extra Worldbuilding Questions About Asakusa

I also have so many questions about Asakusa in general! How is Asakusa powered without being supported by Amaterasu, which is the country’s (and isn’t that mind boggling, that a whole country is supported by one power source with no backup source or other forms of energy/electricity, because of patriotic pride in a machine that might one day shut down, cough manga readers where u at?) I’m assuming that Asakusa mainly use coal, candles, and lamps for energy and lighting, since we did see one example of lighting in Asakusa (an ancient oil lamp), but I’m not sure if that would be sufficient to support a whole district of people. People were able to do that in the olden days, but back then there was a smaller concentration of people, and power necessary to support them.

Is Asakusa a district that is mostly atheist or polytheist? Do the inhabitants believe in no gods, not just the Sun god brought by the White Clads and Raffles I, including the Shinto or Buddhist gods from before the Catalysm, or do they believe in multiple gods/ancestor worship and they just don’t want to worship the Sun God like the rest of the Tokyo Empire because they’re unwilling to accept the new culture, immigrants and religion caused by Amaterasu, wanting to keep up the old Japanese traditions?

4. Arthur Deserves Better Parents 2k20 (Hint of Arthur’s Secret Ability?)

When Team Vulcan + Arthur found Arthur’s parents in the sewers Nether... Honestly, I don’t want to touch on them much, since I want to be (fairly) logical in my opinions on them, not letting my personal feelings twist my hypotheses for what may happen in the future of the Fire Force storyline.

Putting aside Arthur’s parents obvious neglect and bad parenting, I’m curious if Arthur's dad is actually a prophet or did he just get lucky with his delusions. Is this related to how Arthur can notice the difference between dopplegangers and real people? Perhaps because Arthur’s delusions of knighthood are so different from how he truly is (an abandoned child who deluded himself as a knight), therefore allowing him to notice the difference between dopplegangers and Adolla, as they are created by people’s perception of a subject.

5. Let Sho Be a Normal Kid at the End of the Show 2k20

Please let the small child be happy at the end of the manga. I mean, being raised by a cult underground isn’t exactly a Hallmarks childhood. For example, in the beginning of chapter 231, look at how Sho looks longingly at those kids on scooters and was so happy when he got a balloon from the firefighter mascots! (bruh, same balloons bring me so much joy)

I hope that in the end of the manga Okubo lets Sho, Shinra, and Eighth have some quality time. In one of the early arcs (with the first speaking demon, Minamoto?) Shinra saw some kids going to school wearing school uniforms, mentioning that if Sho was still alive, he’d be old enough to go to school. I’d be so sweet if at the end of the manga, Sho would have the chance to go to school, maybe the Fire Force academy (if it’s still running if by the end of the manga they’ve discovered the reason behind Human Combustion), makes friends and beat up anybody who badmouths the Eighth.

6. Cool Combat Medics!

I’d love to see more of the cool combat medics from the Sixth! We only saw the captain, Kayoko Huang, in action with her Asclepius staff pyrokinesis, which, might I add is a fascinating and terrifying ability. Think about it, she’s controlling CELLULAR DIVISION!!! She could start creating tumors in the bodies of her enemies! Could disintegrate people cellularly and no one would know, because fire snake, so no fingerprints!

Anyways, that is all I have right now. Thank you for reading my opinions about “Fire Force”, and for the nice response I got when I published my first opinion piece! Bruh, it took so long for me to edit this... 😔 I’m thinking of doing another meta going more in depth with my theory on Arthur and how he’s able to distinguish the difference between people and their dopplegangers, but that’s for another day. Feel free to discuss about your own ideas or thoughts in the chat, or tell me what you think! I promise I don’t bite. Have a wonderful day!

I pretty much never do these 30 day challenge questionnaire things, but, I’ll make an exception for this one.

Jak and Daxter 30 Day Challenge:

Question 1: How did you discover Jak and Daxter?

I remember when the TPL first came out it was advertised out of the ass. It was the commercials and ads in video game magazines I saw first, and the Disney and anime esque art style and character designs immediately appealed to me. Also, my former tween self thought Jak was kind of hot.

I didn’t have a PS2 when it was first released, though, because I was obviously not old enough to get a job at the time, and my family was kind of on the low income end of things. The first time I actually got to play it was in the summer of 2002, when I was at a Circuit City(RIP). They had a PS2 on display and one of the games you could play was Jak and Daxter. During the time I played it while waiting for my mom to look at computers, I got stuck on Misty Island because I kept trying to catch that damn muse.

In early 2003, my mom surprised the family with a PS2 because Costco had special bundles on sale while she was there. Two of the games that came with our PS2 was Gran Turismo 3 and Jak and Daxter: The Precursor Legacy.

It took me some time to get used to the game play, and to find all of the items and secrets, but once I did I was not only able to beat the game, but also %100 it no problem. I ended up loving the game. I loved it’s art direction, the environments, the character designs, and the characters. I wished the game was longer because I really wanted more- turns out I wasn’t going to have to wait much longer, learning that a sequel was on it’s way later that year.

I was very skeptical when I first saw previews of Jak II. With it’s whole shift to a darker and gritty tone, it’s setting changing to a futuristic dystopia, the heavier emphasis on vehicles and now gun combat, and then eventually learning that Jak would longer be a silent protagonist. When the game finally came out and I rented it first thing; I also ended loving it, much to my relief. I still stand by what I say about Jak II being one of the better examples of taking a more light hearted series in a more dark and gritty direction. It probably also helped that it came out just at the right time- when I was entering into my edgy teen phase, so I ate that kind of shit up. And if I thought Jak was kind of hot in TPL, oh boy, it was Simpy City for my former edgy teen self the moment the second game was released.

The Jak and Daxter series was also one of the very first fandoms I became active in, instead of just lurking around, during my super early internet fandom days. So this series in general is very near and dear to me.

Question 2: Which game is your favorite?

I guess it’s a tie between The Precursor Legacy and Jak II?

I really like the gameplay, the art direction, and the setting in general in TPL. Even now I think the areas are fun to explore and find neat details in them. The whole game feels like an action/adventure cartoon. Still waiting for an animated adaption that I think this series deserves.

When it comes to Jak II, it’s my favorite in terms of story and characters. Aside from the whole attempt at some love triangle/conflict that’s immediately dropped and never brought back up as soon as it’s introduced, I think this game nails the three act story structure. Every character you meet are not only likeable or interesting, but are all relevant to the plot. Nearly everything you do or encounter has a purpose to the narrative. Everything in the game’s story eventually comes together in the game’s third act and climax. The attention to detail is something I also really like, making you view things in a different light when playing through again.

Then there’s Jak and Daxter themselves in the second game. I think having Jak no longer being a mute protagonist was a good move. I think it really helped give him more of a personality and character, while at the same time you can still look at him and see that he is the same boy we saw in the previous game- he’s just older and traumatized, now. Where I think it was most beneficial is when it came to him and Daxter’s dynamic, especially now that Daxter was no longer the one having to carry everything.

Question 3: Which is your least favorite game?

I haven’t played Daxter’s spin-off game yet, along with The Lost Frontier, and I have yet to finish Jak X because it’s a game that requires more time to dedicate to(which I’ve recently not have had much of). So I’m going to have to say, Jak 3.

Now before anyone says anything, I don’t hate or dislike Jak 3, and I definitely don’t think it’s a bad game. I still enjoy picking it up and playing it. But it’s pretty obvious this game was made within a year, unlike the previous two games, with how shorter it is compared to Jak II, and some questionable writing decisions.

Despite this being the game where I enjoy it’s cutscenes the most, and I love the whole story surrounding Jak and Damas, there’s some stuff in the game’s story that’s either janky or it’s because I’m sure the developers didn’t have enough time.

For example, there’s this cutscene later on in the game where Sig is all, “Well fuck everybody in Haven City and their fight in some war they’re wasting their time on. You gotta watch your own back cause everyone fucked me over or something.” But then near the end of game he’s like suddenly helping Torn, Ashelin, and friends, with the war in Haven City. There’s no explanation or anything that would even hint why he may have eventually had a change of heart, or why he changed his mind in general. He just shows up and is suddenly helping in the war now.

Also, Jak II did much better in terms of story progression and build-up. In the previous game there was a gradual build up leading up to the climax, especially when the third act starts. There is a steady increase in tension as things are revealed and progress, until shit officially hits the fan with the Metal Heads infiltrating Haven City, and from there it doesn’t let off on the gas peddle.

In Jak 3 there is some build up with things like the Dark Makers coming to destroy the planet. But the climax just kind of happens when you get to the final areas of the game? I don’t exactly know how to describe it, but hopefully people get what I’m trying to convey.

Again, Jak 3 is not a bad game at all. But the things I just described in the game could have easily been ironed out if they were given at least one more year to work on it.

Late Night Work {Dragatha}

Fandom: Dracula (2020) Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Word Count: 3796 Notes: Yeah, it’s Vampire!Agatha related, leave me ALONE.   Gifted to: R (for always being the inspiration I need to keep going)

[READ ON AO3]

or read below;;

Agatha, having closed her book on succubi found throughout southern European nations, looked to her husband with silent amusement. His dark brows were drawn together in annoyance as he focused on the papers in his hands. They twitched slightly when his foul mood slipped between the cracks of his collected facade. It had been some time since she had found him in such a state. The last having been one caused by a very unpleasant run-in with the law and resulted in more bribe money and dead bodies than she cared for.

Dracula brought a hand to his face and rested his two forefingers against his temple, rubbing the spot as though it would help settle his despondency. Agatha admired the way the light painted shadows across his visage, outlining his jaw and nose, giving him a sharper, more severe, profile. He gave a sigh through his nostrils, quiet enough not to disturb his wife, despite not knowing that she was focused entirely on him. His torso moved enough to draw her attention downward to explore more of him.

The column of his throat looked particularly appetizing as he swallowed and flipped a page, behaving surprisingly human in his focus. Her tongue ran along the inside of her lips, peeking between them enough to part them and let out a breath. From there, Agatha turned her attention south to his clavicle, remembering how it felt beneath her lips the days before.

She paused, closed her mouth, as her gaze settled on his torso. His chest was exposed beneath his red wine button up, the first three undone, and gave her a view of the deep onyx curls that resided there. How wonderful his fur felt between her fingers, the still of his chest faltering as she would trace patterns through it. Her fingertips flexed involuntarily at the still-fresh memory.

Continuing her journey as a silent voyeur, Agatha looked down to his thighs and noticed the frustrated rigidity of his posture ran entirely to his feet. For a vampire, he was far too tense. Even more so for a man of his standing. Without a sound, she placed her novel onto the stand beside the sofa, an idea coming to mind.

An unsettling flip of a page was paired with his finger meeting his brow in frustration. He could do with a break. A mountain of paperwork, even for a vampire, crammed into one night because they couldn't keep their hands to themselves when Agatha returned, proved to be a challenge. She had been away for a month, off exploring ancient ruins and studying the mythology related thereto, and he had been busy making investments in both businesses and properties, securing more funds than necessary. His hubris was always at work, especially in her absence.

When she stepped off the airplane, he had been waiting in broad daylight for her. Once, that would have sent a surge of consternation through her. Once, her mortality would have been threatened. But she could not help but return the toothy smile he granted her, both relieved to see one another after their brief separation.

The drive home had been awash with clear intent for what the near future would hold, despite Agatha regaling tales of her adventures. His hands were on her before her key entered the lock, gripping tightly at her thighs. He had muttered enough filth in her ear to make her squirm in his hold as she felt her juices soak the fabric of her undergarments.

For the days that followed, he fucked her to oblivion, made love to her, and worshiped every inch of her body. Knowing that he still had work to do, she had cautioned him to complete the paperwork and transcribe it to his laptop, but ever true to himself, he was persistent. He wanted only her, focused only on her, her needs and her comforts. Not that she had complained.

Deftly, she stood from the sofa and crossed the room to where he sat. She squeezed at his shoulders and gently massaged them with her thumbs. Only then did he withdraw his attention from his work. The hand that had been placed at his temple moved to grab at hers as his tension eased under her touch.

“Finished already?” he inquired as he craned his neck to look up at her. “At this rate, I’ll have to purchase encyclopedias for you to read, though they are rather boring.”

Her free arm dropped lower, her hand slipping under his shirt to tease at his chest hair as she slowly spun him around in the chair. Before he could protest, she grabbed the documents from his hand and rested it on the desk. With her breathing steady, she straddled him, a hand resting at his cheek.

“A vampire has no business turning to stone,” she started, the wicked smirk on her lips growing as her face moved closer to his. “Count Dracula, I advise you to take a break before finishing your work.”

"Agatha, darling, I know when I’ve reached my limits," he paused and caught what was gleaming in her eyes. Dracula shifted and grabbed at her hips, returning her smile with one of his own. "But you make a rather compelling argument."

With a tantalizingly tender kiss, she disarmed him entirely, a hum in the back of his throat signifying her victory. He deepened it, sliding his tongue between her lips as he leaned forward in his seat. Agatha could taste his meal from hours before, the particular song of blood seeping into her taste buds as he held tight to her. When they broke the kiss, Dracula shifted to place his lips against her throat, grazing his teeth against the flesh and drawing a sigh of approval from his wife.

“Gorgeous sound, that,” he purred before pricking the skin below her jaw with his fangs. Agatha drew in a hiss and tightened her grip on him as she felt her own feral urges begin to sweep through her frame. The former nun rocked forward, thinking purely now of her body, and moaned ever so softly as he ran his tongue over the fast-healing wounds. “Ooo, I enjoyed that one, too.”

“Mm, perhaps you should continue. It is late and you must have this finished by morning, yes?” Her sharp nails dug into his shoulders as she held to him, trying to keep her bearings as he toyed with her. Another, more productive, thought was forming in her head as he pulled her tight against hard mass in his trousers.

Before he could act any further, she was sliding down to her knees before him. Agatha looked up at him with her grin firmly in place and pulled him closer before resting her hands on his upper thighs.

“Tsk, tsk. You’ve played on my hedonistic tendencies and you know better than anyone I simply can’t resist,” Dracula returned after clicking his tongue. He placed his hands over hers and slowly guided them to his belt. “Just as you know I cannot refuse my Countess.”

Agatha made intentionally slow work of his belt and went even slower as she unzipped his trousers. The boxer briefs beneath were the same shade as his pants and pooled in an onyx void around his ankles as Agatha tugged them down. When his cock sprung free, she felt her interest grow and reached for it.

Never had she thought she would find any genitalia attractive, especially not a man’s member, but when she saw his dick, something in her was drawn to it. Sex was not something that had ever been high on her priority list. That changed when he came barrelling into her life, naked and covered in blood at the convent. It had called to a darker part of her, perhaps the part that knew her fate. Perhaps, her soul had known his throughout the ages, finding him and connecting whenever Fate found it fitting.

Dracula moved forward in the seat, his gaze honed in on Agatha. Her hair fell to one side as she shifted closer and swept it over her shoulder so as to make what came next easier. Without another moment’s hesitation, Agatha pressed her lips to his cockhead, her tongue coming out to coat it in saliva. She brought him slowly into her mouth as her jaw accommodated for the girth of his cock, shifting as she took him deeper.

Above, she heard a warm sigh of approval and took that as permission to continue, pulling her head up as her tongue worked along his shaft, suctioned loosely to him. Her mouth dripped over him, making him slick and easier to tighten her lips around as she worked the base of his cock with her hand.

She glanced up to take in the sight of him. Agatha watched with a sense of pride as his eyes slipped shut as she took him as deep as she could into her mouth. Only when he hit the back of her throat once, twice, thrice, did she release his cock from her mouth and worked him with her hand alone. His eyes opened to reveal a mixture of pleasure and confusion as his hips rocked up to chase the warm wetness of her mouth.

“Why did y--” He cut himself off when he caught sight of her. Her lips fixed in a smile and long brunette tresses messily tucked away as she twisted her wrist and pumped him. Even in his lust-hazed mind, she could see the adoration behind those infinitely dark eyes of his. “How beautiful you are.”

To her surprise, Dracula reached down, grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand away from his cock, and brought her up to meet his lips all in one fluid movement. He kissed her hard, stealing whatever saliva and breath was left as he swept his tongue into her mouth. Her hand returned to his erection as she returned the kiss, matching him as they set a rhythm.

“Wicked little thing,” he chuckled against her mouth as she pumped him in time with their kiss. Her hand didn’t remain there long, however, as he lifted her into the air, kicking off his shoes and trousers in the process.

“Only as wicked as I see appropriate,” she remarked as he sat her on the table and away from his papers.

“Appropriateness has no place here, Agatha.” Dracula all but ripped her slacks from her body, tearing at the underwear as he pulled the clothing from her body. Her blouse came next, her bra easily unclipped from the front. Her breasts fell from the cups and were quickly received by his eager mouth. “When I fuck you, I want it to be as inappropriate as possible and entirely wicked.”

Her fingers carded through short onyx locks as he teased her nipple, the sensation at the small point enough to make her sway forward. She pressed herself against his mouth, relishing the way his tongue rolled around the nub and teeth pricked gently as he sucked before pulling away. A clawed finger sank between her legs, running the length of her inner thigh and she spread them on instinct. With her ankles against the backs of his legs, she pulled him closer. Agatha did not want to feel his fingers toy with her entrance. She wanted him, his perfectly hard and dripping cock, inside of her without mercy. Enough, surely, to relieve the tension the papers beside her brought upon him.

He took her meaning and aligned himself, rubbing himself against her entrance and coating himself in her slick juices. She stifled a groan behind a bit lip as his erection ground against her clit.

“Now darling, that won’t do. Not in our own home,” he growled and yanked her hips to the end of the table. Her head hit the mahogany with a thud and she kicked at his ass with her heel. “I want to hear it all.”

Without another word, he plunged into her, giving no time for adjustment. A startled gasp ripped through her and he swept a hand under her back, drawing her up and kissing her as he slammed into her again. Agatha found hers nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, bunching and tearing it as he set a punishing pace. The table groaned beneath the force of his thrusts as it moved incrementally away from him.

She found her bearings as he took to shallow thrusts, fucking her with tip of his cock, and tore his shirt from his chest. The buttons clattered against the floor as the shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, lost to the growl sounding in his throat as he drove himself to the hilt inside of her.

He kissed her as he filled her to the brim and Agatha did her best to maintain focus. It shattered instantly as he moaned against her mouth. The warm rumble was stolen into her breath as she deepened the kiss all the while holding him tightly to her with her legs. He rocked inside of her as best he could with the position in which she had him locked, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her hips shaking and pushing onto him. Whatever he gave her, she wanted more, more sensation, more of him. Everything was simultaneously enough and too much.

A symphony of praises and curses alike fell from her lips as he struck the final chord, as though pushing her from a mountain top and throwing her to the heavens. Agatha felt herself tear apart as she came hard around him, walls clenching to hold him in place as her hips writhed against him. Her legs broke their hold of him as her back arched against him, breaking the kiss and leaving him to play voyeur to her undoing.

She felt her orgasm spill from her as he pulled out and heard the breath of admiration come from above her. He loved to watch her lose herself to him, she knew, and felt no shame as her body twitched in the rush following her orgasm, every nerve feeling as though it were pure electricity.

When she opened her eyes, Agatha saw Dracula above her, a toothy and satisfied grin spread wide across his face. He leaned down, kissed her once upon her lips before drawing back. The lust had not left his eyes, and as he gently rolled her onto her stomach, Agatha understood why. However, she would not feel hardwood against her abdomen for long.

He sank back into her aching heat, even wetter than before, and pushed a few gentle thrusts into her, his grip firm at her hips as her legs supported her. Agatha refused to be fucked like a dog, refused to let the only contact be his hips against her ass. She pushed herself up, grabbed behind her and wrapped her hand into his hair. The other found his hip and dug into his flesh as he thrust hard into her.

With one hand over her abdomen, Dracula let the other wander to her breast and played with her nipple. Her head fell against his chest as he tugged the flesh between his fingers and found a steady pace. His hand traveled from her breast to her neck and Agatha rocked her hips backwards, sending him deeper into her as he kissed the side of her head.

“You’ll be my undoing, Agatha Van Helsing,” he groaned against her temple as he shifted and slipped out from her. Dracula turned her in his hold, lifted her into the air, and sank her onto his erection. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and kissed him as she raised and lowered herself on him.

His teeth gnashed against her bottom lip as she rolled down over and over, trying to break his restraint. Blood dripped from her mouth and he swept his tongue along the wound, swiftly taking it in like a starved wolf.  

“Would you not prefer to call me Countess Dracula?” The question caused him to falter beneath her, a thick swallow in his throat before he pressed her tightly against him and dropped them to the table below. His back landed against the surface with a thud and her hair fell around him, framing his face in waves of brunette.

“Always, my dear,” he breathed in return and reached for her face. “And as your Count, I have but one request.”

Agatha shifted into his touch as she freed herself from around his body and realigned herself with his cock. “Only one? A small number for such a gluttonous man.”

“Mm, selective, exclusive with such a unique beauty,” he chuckled and teased at her entrance. She shivered as she sank his head into her, telling herself that was as far as she could go. He moved his free hand to her hip and savagely thrust into her. “Never be gentle.”

Her claws dug into his chest as she cried out and exposed her fangs. They quickly set a rhythm of viciously slapping skin as Agatha rode him, bouncing on his dick with her head tossed back. Every groan, every breath fell into the air of his study, ringing against the walls until she could no longer hear herself. Dracula’s nails held her hips, secured loosely in the flesh, the sting at her sides drawing her back from ecstasy.

“Let,” she breathed out and looked at him. “Let me.”

Confusion had no place between them and Dracula silently obeyed instead of questioning her. Satisfied with his silence, Agatha grabbed his hands and removed them from her body and pushed them to the table on either side of him. He lifted his head and planted a kiss at her lips and she hovered atop him, so close to him, she could smell the combination of amber and blood along his skin.

His cock pulsed inside of her, constricting and twitching with each passing second she had not moved. She could feel he was close, knew he could not wait much longer for his release, and as she pressed her breasts against his furred torso, she felt him physically restrain himself from fucking into her.

“Good boy,” she hummed and placed a kiss on his neck. “Until I tell you otherwise, you are to remain still.”

Without another word, Agatha began to raise and lower herself on him. She went slowly at first, savored the heat pulsing against her walls, until she could no longer hold back. Something within her snapped as she rode him, quicker and harder with each motion, and Agatha found herself unable to regain control. Every motion of her hips sent him deeper, closer. She heard something cracking beneath them, but ignored the sound entirely, able only to hear their discordant claims of love and lust, voices thick and heady with the fire of their passion.

“Hold to me,” Agatha groaned quietly against the side of his head without breaking her increasingly haphazard motions.

He obeyed. A hand twined tightly into her hair and another wrapped over the small of her back to press her tightly to him. His cock shot into her like a piston as he took the liberty of fucking into her. Agatha’s head fell against the table and her teeth sank into his neck to keep herself from falling off some invisible plane. Her mind left her as she drank him in, another orgasm washing over her.

He rolled them, then, her teeth ripped from his neck as he drove into her. Each thrust proved less gentle than its predecessor, the wood beneath her creaking, and his hips stuttered as his orgasm came at last. Agatha shook and groaned as he emptied his seed into her, panting beneath him as though she needed air. Another push into her and he came again until he couldn’t help but slide out of her. His cum spilled from her entrance and he was quick to lap it up, fucking her now with his tongue to keep it in.

She ached terribly, but the feeling of his tongue delving into her and rubbing against her clit sent her over the edge one final time. His name burst from her lips as though he were God himself. She wrapped her thighs around his head as she writhed against him, nails digging into the wood and carving out animalistic marks deep enough to render it useless.

Once the shockwaves left her body, Agatha unwound her legs and looked down to see him already on the way up to kiss her. She met him in time and could taste the result of their sex on her tongue as she moaned softly into the kiss.

When he pulled away, Dracula’s eyes settled on the tablet. As he inspected the new marks a smile washed over him and his gaze flickered to Agatha then back to the damage. He removed himself entirely from the tabletop and Agatha joined him. He grabbed at the trim and rocked the table easily back and forth on now wobbly legs. The former nun could sympathize as her legs were no steadier.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close to his side, and gave a sigh. “I do think it might be time for a new table. After all, this one could hardly withstand one go.”

Agatha hummed in agreement before looking to him, ignoring the various fluids and woodchips atop the table. While there rested amusement and relief in his eyes, she could tell he had, at one point, had some hopes for the table. She could also discern that he was considering commissioning a new one at that very moment.

“Surely you can finish your work in another room and leave your materialistic nature alone for the moment,” Agatha noted as she moved from him and gathered his trousers and undergarment.

She handed them to him and looked for the tattered remains of her own outfit, finding only her bra and blouse still intact. His bestial nature had cost her quite a number of clothes, but he always replaced them.

He took them from her and planted a kiss to her forehead. “I suppose work does often come before play, though I did rather enjoy our little break. I should put off my work more often.”

Agatha ran her tongue between her lips and shook her head disapprovingly. “That is not what you were to take away from this. Now, go finish before you lose contracts.”

“As my Countess commands,” he remarked with exaggeration before dressing. He quickly gathered the documents, swiping off any splinters that had appeared, and turned back to her. “Thank you, Agatha.”

“My pleasure.”