I Know I’m Late To The Party, But I’ve Been Staying Off Tumblr For A While.

Why won’t you speak?

“Even dead they ignore you, huh?”

This is the second part. If you want to read the first part, the link is at the end. Sorry, it took me a while :,)

Warnings: character death, mental issues, grief, child neglect (?), disability (m/n is using crutches because of the injury he got from an accident in his younger years). Canon divergence … ? Regardless, I’ve changed things. also, the addition of Roy Harper ;)

“Close your eyes for a second, won’t you?”

M/n chuckles, “What do you want, Roy? Don’t we have anything better to do?” He closes his eyes nonetheless. Wouldn’t hear him say it out loud, but M/n will probably do anything if it was Roy who asked. That’s how the two of them are.

“Just…,” there is some shuffling. What is that man doing? “Just bear with me for a sec.”

“Fine, I’ll indulge you. But it better be worth it.” M/n added as more of a joke at the end. It wouldn’t even matter if it was worth it or not, if Roy considered it so.

Roy sighs and touches M/n’s shoulder, slides his fingers down to his hand and holds it, squeezing it softly. Then the touch is no more and M/n is left feeling cold.

“You can open your eyes now.”

“I’m married now, by the way.”

“What?!” Jason stands up in shock. He clears his throat because some heads turn his way. They are in a public place, after all. A dingy bar, but still public.

“Yeah. Who would’ve thought, huh?” Roy plays with a small lock of his hair as Jason sits back down. 

“It’s… something.” Jason coughs.

Roy pushes his friend slightly, no ill intention there. Jason laughs that laugh of his that leaves Roy stunned. An almost fragile smile graces the redhead’s lips and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

Jason swirls his drink, a low quality beer that doesn’t even get the job done, but it’s cheap and it’s alcohol so whatever, “She’s one lucky girl.” He looks straight at the queasy liquid and feels a lump forming in his throat. A tiny one, the one he gets from time to time, at the thought of what his life could have been. He can’t even comfort himself with the idea of another Jason in another world living happily in his stead. He doesn’t believe he is that lucky. Entertaining the thought only brings something close to nostalgia for what has never happened and… well, how would he even begin to explain?

He gets another push from Roy, one that pulls him out of his thoughts. “Hey!” Jason exclaims.

“Look at you assuming!” Roy ruffles Jason’s hair.

Jason pushes Roy’s hands away from his freshly washed hair.

“Who ever said they were a girl? I’ll let you know that I’m the lucky one to have my hubby.” Roy is presenting the most disgustingly precious heart eyes, almost making Jason visibly shudder.

Once Jason gets Roy off him he fixes his hair (not really doing much, but whatever) and downs the rest of his drink. He leaves some money on the table, nodding to the bartender (poor guy was trying to wipe away some stain that was probably never gonna leave that sorry excuse of a bar), who nods back.

“Let’s get out of this shithole.”

“Uh-Uh, okay.” Roy quickly downs his apple juice, cringes, then leaves his own payment on the greasy table.

As they walk down the dark streets of Gotham, Jason looks at the smogged up sky, can almost see the clear moon if he squints.

“How’s he like?”

Roy sighs dreamily, “My life’s been pretty shitty after you ‘died’, but he helped me get better. He is… I wouldn’t know how to explain it, but there is no need for you to worry, Jason. I’m finally at peace, I would say.” Jason’s friend ends on a sadder note and Jason thinks that, perhaps, he thinks of it too, what could have been.

Jason clasps a hand on Roy’s strong arm, “You’re good. That’s what I need to know.” He smiles at the redhead who looks close to genuinely crying. Tears gather in the no longer child’s eyes too, but Jason doesn’t let them fall. Memories are blurred, but some spring up now that he looks Roy in the eyes. If they hug it out and some tears slip, it’s for only them to know.

M/n cooks breakfast for Bruce, Tim and Alfred, as he does every now and again, whenever he stops by the manor. Roy doesn’t complain and, of course, he joins, aiding his hubby with the help he needs. When Bruce tries to keep him at the door, Roy can always use the I’m part of the family now argument.

Speaking of Roy, he’s been behaving strange as of lately. He comes in late and he leaves at the first sign of daylight. If he were anybody else, M/n would suspect cheating or growing back into old habits, but that simply isn’t his Roy. M/n is pretty sure his husband will say something pretty soon. He always slips up. Can’t keep a secret from M/n to save his life.

M/n picks up the plates, balancing them on one hand, the other holding onto his crutch for dear life, and takes six instead of five. He stares for the longest time at the extra plate, then places it back. With the five plates in hand, he heads towards the enormous table (it always seemed bigger than the world when he was younger, just like Bruce), stumbling here and there on the carpet (it’s not that the carpet isn’t neatly placed every time, courtesy of Alfred, but handling everything with one hand is harder than you’d think), and sets it nicely. He has developed a sense of dexterity around the house, even with the setbacks. Alfred smiles proudly at him as the older man brings the pancakes from the kitchen.

“I’ll go get the honey.” Dick and Alfred used to look at M/n with concern when he first started eating honey with his pancakes. After all, Jason expressly used to talk about how it was ‘ultimately the only way he likes pancakes’.

“It’s alright, I got it.” Bruce appears from the kitchen as well, making M/n jump.

“Don’t just sneak up on people, dad!”

Bruce scratches the back of his head, “Sorry, can’t really turn the stealth mode off.” Tim snorts from his spot at the table. The brooding bat is trying to be better, M/n knows this. He can’t help, however, the lingering loneliness he feels whenever he looks at his father too long. It’s not something he can control, really. But dark thoughts must be kept at bay.

Roy makes his way into the room, hands wet from washing them. He walks to M/n and places a kiss on his husband’s cheek, using the diversion as a chance to wipe his wet hands on M/n’s hoodie (that, actually, belongs to Roy). M/n gasps in faux shock, but Roy only laughs and pecks him on the lips.

“Love you.” Roy says cheerily, loud enough for the whole room to hear. Bruce clears his throat, eyes narrowed, hand squeezing on the honey jar.

“Careful not to break that, Master Bruce.” Alfred speaks with an amused glint in his eyes. “How about we all get to the table? Master M/n has made us quite the nice breakfast.” Alfred ushers all of them in their respective places. All on one side of the big table. Bruce at the head, to his right Tim, to his left M/n. Roy is to the left of M/n, and Alfred to the right of Tim. M/n doesn’t escape the images flashing before his mind’s eye: a boy in front of him, not Tim, and he talks like he has the whole world to fill with words and not nearly enough time. Right after, M/n couldn’t bare to see the spot empty and when, two years later, Tim came and filled it himself, M/n couldn’t bear to see it filled by somebody else. M/n swallows hard, yet the lump is still there, pressure in his chest growing steadily. It happens from time to time, the feeling of the world falling around him, the feeling of helplessness from within in regards to the falling. Tears sting his eyes, yet he doesn’t let them fall. He tries to take a bite of his pancakes, oozed in honey, but they get stuck in his throat, choking him. He bends forward for the water glass in front of him. The cold liquid clears his throat and eases the constricted passage.

“Do you ever think of going back?”

Jason stares at the resting figure belonging to a life so far away. The sun is too bright and the flowers pale in comparison to the now man laying in the grass. The manor is as imposing as Jason remembers it — as if through a dream. It’s unreal. And so is the sight of his brother. He looks almost… peaceful. It makes Jason’s stomach churn and twist with he doesn’t know what. Maybe it’s pain or some itch he can’t scratch that goes as deep as his soul. Or maybe it’s longing? His hands shake (they always do, like what the fuck? can’t he just do something without thinking he’s going to fucking burst? get destroyed more than he already is? what even is his fucking life. it’s not even a question anymore. there is no life left. there is nothing. he is nothing. just a pile of bones covered in flesh that should’ve long rotten to dust) and he feels too little on the outside, too much on the inside. He wants to fucking scream! He wants to yell to RAGE AT THE WORLD AND AT THE NEANT and he wants to whisper about everything (about nothing at all) and he wants to have a vanishing act, finally catch up with his end. That is his brother! His brother? Ever since he was able to remember anything at all about his old life, M/n has been there, nagging and pocking and there always there (GOD IF YOU ARE REAL make his un-life make some sort of sense), being the brother he had never been seen as. Conversations that could have been. Conversations that never will be. Jason’s mind is a scrambled mess of scorched and festered brain. He can’t make up half the things he thinks. But, somehow, M/n shines through and it hurts.

He hasn’t seen his home in what feels like an eternity. He has been, in fact, putting it off. It doesn’t even feel like home, just a memory slowly melting into a void in his mind. It’s no lie that Jason half expect his brain to drip out of his ears in his sleep at some point.

“It’s useless, pathetic even, to think of something I can never have. So, yes. I do. I am, in fact, quite useless and pathetic.”

M/n doesn’t notice anything wrong at first, nothing out of common or eye catching. In fact, he would say he doesn’t feel as much of the pressure as he usually does. The world is so big and, really, today it feels like he might be in it too. And it doesn’t occur to him in this moment (perhaps it is that M/n stops it from occurring) that he hasn’t been in it for far too long for that to be true.

Tears don’t—tears don’t exist. They are not real as they fall down his cheeks and he moves his arm to try and stop them. He tries to keep the raptures of his soul from reaping further, he really tries. You have to believe him. M/n really tries to see the world as it is. He just can’t stop himself from seeing it as it should be.

Because he should be here too, seeing the flowers bloom and the sun shining just right, happy and God without those lifeless eyes he sees in his dreams every night (yet in some of his dreams they are so full of life it’s overwhelming; in those dreams Jason is back and he is laughing again and M/n apologizes for everything and things are good; reality often disappoints).

He doesn’t notice the figure creeping up on him, not with his trembling fingers rubbing at his eyes as he slowly and rustily sits up on the grass.

“Get it together, M/n. It’s been over for too long, there is no going back.” M/n sighs his tears away, eventually wiping them with his shirt.

It’s too quite in the garden, even with the occasional chirping of the birds or the buzzing of the busy bees, thus he hears the voice well enough to know it’s not the wind.

“What’s been over?”

M/n’ head snaps up so fast he gets a bit dizzy. The sun casts the man in front of his eyes in a gentle light, and he is so tall as he approaches that he casts M/n in a slight shadow. M/n stares at the man, confused. How did he get here?

“E-Excuse me…?” M/n squints up at the man and can barely distinguish some of his features. Dark hair with a white streak that softens his face. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

The man… smiles?

“Yeah… I’m not.” There is a certain nuance to his voice, a note of… sadness.

M/n doesn’t no why, but he feels warm in the presence of this person, and it’s not just the sun, “Do I know you?” M/n asks before he can stop himself.

M/n have the chance to say anything more as the man slowly crouches to his eye level, a cace illuminated in the sun, blue eyes with specs of green.

It’s immediate, instant and shattering— the recognition. It doesn’t take anything more than looking into those eyes, the eyes he sees in his sleep, the eyes that haunt the corners of his mind and hide in the shadow of every memory.

M/n makes a sharp intake of breath, involuntary and too sudden. He doesn’t what he is doing, his actions uncontrolled. He raises his hands to the cheeks of the man in front of him, the man who seems as stuck in place as M/n. M/n rubs softly at the skin, not sure if it belongs to the physical world.

“…Jason?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, quite to his own ears. He smiles through the stinging in his eyes, then shakes his head, “No… this is my dream… always my dream.”

There is conflict in his Jason’s eyes, something M/n can’t figure out, something he’ll never know.

It is a dream because reality is never this kind. He spends moments staring at his Jason’s features, taking them in, admiring the handsome face that could have been if the little boy from back then had been give a chance. When M/n speaks again, he’s already lived a thousand realities in his mind.

“Why do I wake up every time? It’s always better here, with you, than back there where everybody expects me to be real…” A lone tear drips down M/n’s cheek. “You are always quiet in my dreams. So strange…”

“What’s been over?” His Jason repeats, slightly startling him, and he looks at M/n with the same lack of resolve M/n feels. His Jason looks as close to the end as M/n feels. His Jason looks like a requiem to M/n’s final dream of life.

“I always try to tell you, but I never quite get the chance… How,” He looks deep into the apparition’s eyes, the windows to his Jason’s soul, “How much I regret not listening to you.”

His Jason tenses under his hands. His eyes look conflicted again, shadowed by feelings M/n can hardly recognize as a reflection of his own soul. The man brings his hands up to M/n’s own and takes them away from his cheeks, envelops them in the soft skin that feels too real.

“You just wanted me to listen to you, to hear you, right?” M/n tries to keep his smile on his face, but his muscles are heavy with grief and it’s too hard, “I couldn’t see beyond the thought that you were there to replace me because I was defected.” He slips one of his hands from his Jason’s. M/n place it at the back of the man’s neck, running his fingers through the fluffy hair there. His Jason latches his now free hand to M/n’s forearm, holding it tight.

“I miss you.”

Tears gather in Jason’s eyes and his lower lip trembles. He hasn’t cried in so long and, so sudden, he cries twice in a week. He tries to keep it in by biting his lower lip, but the sob, however muffled, still escapes the confines of his soul.

He wants to scream ‘I’m real! I’m here, stop crying, please! You are my brother, even though I thought you’ve hated me when I was alive!’ But he can’t bring himself to talk, he can’t bring himself to say anything as more quiet sobs escape his bitten lips.

“You feels so real…” M/n looks up at him with bigger eyes than the world, with an inner peace one would only have in the happiest of dreams, pain seeping in at the edges. Is this a dream? It might be a dream. Jason always thinks he’ll wake up to stare at the inside of a coffin, six feet under. “But you always feel real. You always feel so real, and I always wish I weren’t. Maybe if I weren’t, you’d still be here.” A sob finally escapes his brother’s lips as well, pain winning over. “Maybe, then, everything would be alright again… You know, for the longest time dad couldn’t even look me in the eyes. You meant the world to him, you still do.”

Jason lets go of his lower lip and lets the sobs free, not able to hold back anymore. He feels like a child again. He didn’t get to be a child, didn’t get to cry and to be held and he feels rage because he wants it, he wants it so bad.

Jason wants to have the warmth of his childhood, not just some half assed memories of good for nothing parents who left him and closer memories—a big brother who has the biggest smile, another brother who looks at him like his world is smaller just for Jason’s existence (not knowing that, to Jason, M/n was the one who made the world bigger), a butler who always knows what to say and a father who gives him something his real parents could never.

All the rage he felt, all the rage he kept inside himself for years after being brought back to a world that he no longer belonged in was being brought forth and he felt like a child. His dad never avenged him, his killer is still out there, but how can he hate the man that loved him so much Jason felt like the whole world was his? How can he possibly understand what that man thought and felt? His brother, whom Jason always thought hated him with everything in his soul, is here in front of him, talking about Jason like Jason is M/n’s entire world, like he wishes he was dead instead.

Why did Jason die? Why did Jason have to die?

The little boy in him, the little boy that cries and cries and hasn’t stopped crying, needs Jason to let go of his rage. But how can he do that? How could he ever do that?

Jason looks down towards M/n’s hand that is still in his grasp and squeezes it to his cheek as Jason leans forward to M/n’s chest. He falls to the ground and, even with his body being larger than his brother’s, he feels so small and on the verge breaking.

“Why did I die?” M/n frees his arms and wraps them around Jason’s shivering form. “Why did I have to die?” Jason closes his eyes and feels the warmth of his brother’s body. His body is rotting around him and the world doesn’t feel real, but the brother who had never wanted him feels the realest anyone ever has.

Jason realizes M/n is shaking as well. “I don’t know. I’m sorry it had to be you,” M/n squeezes Jason tighter, leaning into him as if wanting to keep him away from the world. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was you.”

Why is M/n talking like Jason isn’t real? This is real life, right? If this is a dream and Jason has to wake up again after this, he doesn’t think he’ll live. He won’t make it.

“I’m real, M/n, please believe me, I’m real” Jason rubs his face into M/n’s shirt, staining it even more with his tears, “I’m real, I’m real, please I’m real” Jason repeats it like a prayer, he is praying to the God that has abandoned him, praying because he wants it so badly to be real. Because he doesn’t feel real. Not anymore.

“I’m scared that soon there might be nothing left for you to miss.”

@tkiesai

Part 1:

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Why won’t you speak?

“As I am standing over your dead, rotting body, I wonder: are you cold?” Story: between Dick and Jason, Bruce adopts another hurt boy. M/n

The end is here, my dear

"𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘓𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘐 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺."

“There’s no use in hiding now.” M/n turns around, looking at his husband hurting. “There is no use anymore, Bruce. Just say it.”

Bruce can’t comprehend what is happening.

He supposes it is his fault. It’s always him, but… How has it gotten to this? How did they come to this point?

“Say it, damn it!” M/n turns back to his husband with tears glistening in his eyes. His voice is strong, but Bruce recognizes the grief in his partner’s voice. M/n takes hurried steps towards him. They are in their bedroom. The lights are low. Night has fallen too long ago. They aren’t dressed for bed however. Bruce doesn’t think he can prepare for it. M/n falls to his knees in front of the man he sees as his best friend, his partner in crime, the only one. Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed. He catches M/n’s hands in his. “Please… Please, just do it. Because I can’t anymore…” M/n’s voice is cracked by something close to resignation.

Bruce’s head falls. He looks at their hands held close together and sighs. “What do you want me to say, M/n?”

M/n lets out a weak, humorless laugh, then pulls at his husband’s hands, “Look at me.” Bruce doesn’t look. “Look at me!” Bruce’s head snaps up in delay. There is rage in usually crystal clear eyes. There is pain. There is disbelief.

“I’m sorry—“

“What are you sorry for? What are you sorry for, Bruce? For asking me to stay? For getting me to stay? For marrying me? For giving me the family I could never dream about? Or for taking it all way?” More ironic laughter escapes M/n. “What are you sorry for, darling?” He says the last part through a sob. As if it hurts him to speak it.

Bruce can’t look into his husband’s eyes anymore.

M/n should’ve expected it. Bruce knows he should’ve expected it too. After all, he is Bruce self-destructive self-deprecating self-hating self-flagellating Wayne.

The divorce papers stand pristine on the bedside table. On the ground, the broken, lightless lamp of their life has shouted its last goodnight, in the warm embrace of their tainted shadows.

I want Goncharov 1973 back.

Can we like 😳🫣 get a revival, please?

I know it has passed for like a WHILE and that maybe it’s better to let a good thing ‘die’ because more is less, but I had a moment in which I wanted to read and write about it and wish it into existence. And I kind of hope there’s somebody else out there who would like to write more about it as well.

Goncharov never dies, I guess, not in my heart. It was a great time.

Just the facts

I do not hate Eddie, so please do not take this in a bad way. This has less to do with Eddie, and more to do with the show and fandom hypocrisy.

It bothers me that Eddie is allowed to be a hero, but Billy is not. Billy held back a monster 100 times his size. He died a horrible, painful death in order to save everyone. Eddie died for no narrative reason. I am sorry to say that, but the real reason The Duffers killed Eddie was because they couldn't envision a future for Eddie.

Eddie is allowed to be a hero in this fandom. His death is allowed to be deeply emotional. He is not treated well by his peers who villainize him still, but that's not whose perspective is valued in the story and that's not how the fandom feels. Billy, though, is continually villainized by the narrative and by the fans for failing to cope with his abuse.

How am I supposed to feel deeply moved by any other death on this show when the fans mocked every scene of suffering Billy went through. People mock Billy's traumatic death and spam scenes of it because they think it's funny. So any sadness I am supposed to feel for anyone else is marred by this fandom's utter disregard for Billy.

Eddie's allowed to be dysfunctional, too. The same things Billy is treated as a sociopath for, Eddie can do and it's fun and quirky. I have a really hard time dealing with the fact that people love Eddie so much but then treat Billy so horrifically by laughing about him being abused or saying he deserved it or just condemning this teenager to death because there was no way he could get better.

All I hear when people say Billy was incapable of getting better is The Duffers essentially saying the same thing about Eddie. So even if you criticize them for how they handled Eddie's death, some of you are so unwilling to confront the way you think about traumatized and abused teenagers like Billy, too. It really sours my interactions with this fandom and makes me uncomfortable.

The beginning of an unlikely duo

Part 1

It’s like really late (or should I say early) right now and I should definitely be sleeping because tomorrow I’m supposed to hang out with some friends, but here I am. I guess I’ll finally write something as it appears that I’ve got a sudden burst of courage (what’s up with that?).

Anywayyy this is just something I’m writing in the heat of the moment. Whatever happens shall happen and all that (☆▽☆)

what this is about (sort of) : male!reader in the world of my hero academia; there will be romance, not bromance 👯‍♂️

warnings : this kid is kind of sad, brief mentions of family problems, he has them ups and downs, brief mention of friends not doing a good job at being friends, I think that’s it though (if there’s anything else worth mentioning, please tell me :))) thanks); btw they’re gay if you didn’t know ;)

When has it started? The endless cycle of nothing and everything that is taking over (m/n)’s life? If he were to ever answer such a question — which he isn’t — he’d probably say when he was born because damn did it feel like it. Everything was chaos. Emotions all over the place, grades going up and down like they’re on a swing, family a mess, friends nowhere in sight.

Whatever the case, there is always time for some really good tea with his neighbor, miss Bakugo. She is a though lady no doubt about that and she always has something to tell (m/n) that will make him question whether it is actually helpful or not. Regardless, she is good company when he’s got nothing else to do — even though it is summer and theoretically he should be having some fun with his friends. (M/n)’s friends stopped being relevant a while ago when they gave him the cold shoulder for some reason, then ghosting him when summer break came around. They weren’t the best of friends, but they were something at least. Now he feels really lonely because those idiots ditched him.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I should introduce you to my son, shouldn’t I? He could really use someone like you.” Mitsuki sighs with a thin layer of annoyance in her voice, shaking her head. Not this again. (M/n) really doesn’t want to talk to Katsuki. It would ruin what opinions he already has on the guy and he isn’t sure if he wants that.

(M/n) averts his eyes awkwardly, knowing fully well that this time he might not get away with just leaving early, “Oh, you don’t need to do that, madam.” His grip on his own fingers tightens considerably.

Mitsuki gasps, “Stop it! How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Mitsuki! And I do need to do that. Katsuki’s so called friends are such little assholes.” Mitsuki sighs once again and, with how often she does it, it might as well be her character trait.

She dropped it after a while, as she always does, with the promise that (m/n) at least says hi to Katsuki when he gets home from wherever he is.

So he waits for the firecracker in his room where he shouldn’t be here Mitsuki told him to stay a while ago. Since (m/n) has a hard time saying no, he is now staring at the suspiciously not so secret lair looking room of one Katsuki Bakugo.

The room is clean, not a surprise considering who the inhabitant was. There isn’t too much stuff that could make it messy either. There’s the desk with some books — it’s not pretense and Katsuki actually does work from the words of Mitsuki, and that earns him (m/n)’s respect. The bed is made, a soft looking teddy bear resting on the blanket. That’s definitely not cute. (M/n) approaches the desk and lets his fingers travel along the cover of a biology book. It looks old, but there are no torn or bended corners. His eyes slip from it to glance again at the room as a whole. It shouldn’t feel relaxing to be here, but it does. It’s probably the smell of vanilla. It reminds (m/n) of his big sister.

The door opens with no warning. The one who opened it is, of course, the blonde firecracker who (m/n) is certainly not attracted to.

They don’t really talk. In fact, they’ve met like once. But Mitsuki talks and (m/n) clings to whatever he can to get his mind off of his own life. Sometimes, if a story is well told, it appears characters can actually spring up to life in one’s heart. (M/n) has an intriguing version of Katsuki in his mind, but a more intimate version of him in his heart. Hurts that Katsuki probably doesn’t know him.

“(M/n), what are you doing in my room?”

Spoke too soon.

The reason Goncharov (1973) is such a hit is because it allows Tumblr to unironically participate in its national sport:

Lying

character: how was I created?

author: well, you see, when two characters love each other... the author decides love does not conquer all, thus one (or both) of those characters dies, is heavily injured or suffers greatly impacting traumatic experiences. Hence, a new character is created to fill the whole left in the hearts of the readers. This is how you came to be, dear character.