#Bad knife technique

[new-philosopher]

Source: GMM 2639

I was so worried when Link decided to cut the fruit on the knife, so I decided to gif it.

[dewwinchester]

next. | d.w.

request: @rustic-guitar-notes: "can u write a little cutesy piece basically about reader and dean living a very normal life and leaving hunting?? like they have a whole house together and sam visits sometimes and it’s all just soft and NORMAL."

synopsis: this is written as a sequel to done, however, it can also be read as a standalone fic.

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

word count: 2.6k+

warnings: fluff - she/her pronouns used - no use of 'y/n' - a smidge of angst if you squint - a surprise Sam appearance - Eileen mention! - pet names used (sweetheart)

a/n: this took me FOREVER i'm so sorry!! but I hope this makes up for it <3333 (also eileen is blurry wife confirmed by me)

Why did cooking have to be so difficult?

The instructions stared up at you from your phone screen, mocking your efforts. You had no trouble following directions and were confident you had done everything perfectly. Yet, your kitchen was beginning to fill with smoke, and the burger patties on the stove—the patties you had spent hours putting together—were starting to fall apart and burn.

There was stuff everywhere. Herbs were all over the counter, white flour-handprints covered your shirt, and you were certain some of it was in your hair. Flecks of ground beef were on your tiled walls and floor (which, thankfully, your dog Miracle cleaned up right away). Salad ingredients littered your bench space, leaving you little to no room to move.

You were beginning to feel claustrophobic. This kitchen was a lot smaller than the one you were used to.

You were accustomed to the bunker, with its vast countertop space, where anything you needed was within arm's reach and easily spotted. Currently, what little kitchenware you had was hidden behind cabinet doors, and you were still getting used to the setup.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you felt your heart rate begin to accelerate. You felt stupid. All you wanted to do was make a nice meal, and cooking was simply reading and following instructions—why couldn't you just do that?

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, a shrill beeping rang through your house.

The smoke alarm.

Panicked, you fumbled to turn off the stove and wave away the smoke, desperately trying to silence the alarm before one of your nosy neighbours came knocking at the door. When the beeping finally stopped, you returned to the stove, sighing at the blackened mess that was left.

It didn't look too bad. You were sure that you could fix it simply by scraping off the burnt bits; no one would even know just how badly you messed everything up.

You decided to turn your attention to something that only an idiot could mess up—chopping. You were once quite skilled with a blade—a year ago you would have been using it for something entirely different, like chopping off the heads of vampires or other various creatures that went bump in the night. Today, however, you swapped a machete for a chef's knife. Most of your weapons were carefully packed away, with only a few small trinkets and books to remind you of your old life as a hunter.

You sliced lettuce, tomato, and cucumber, being sure to tuck your fingers away and allow the knife to rock against your knuckles, just like the professionals did on television.

You were so focused on perfecting your chopping technique that you barely noticed the sound of keys turning in the lock or the front door swinging open. The sound of footsteps behind you went unnoticed until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Out of pure instinct, you spun around, knife gripped tightly in your hand as a surge of adrenaline washed over you. You raised the blade towards the potential assailant, holding it a breath's distance away from their neck, your knuckles turning white. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears and your breath hitched in your throat at the sudden movement. Your brain was telling you to strike, to move on the enemy before it was too late, but the gentle hand that curled around your wrist caused your defensive stance to falter.

“You gonna stab me, sweetheart?”

"Dean?" you breathed, immediately pulling the knife away from his throat. Your heart was still thundering away, but the buzz of energy in your system had subsided to a gentle hum. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, I thought I would come home early and surprise you," he said, taking the knife from your hand and placing it on the countertop. "I didn't think you were gonna Long-Kiss-Goodnight-me."

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, anxiety and embarrassment quickly replacing the adrenaline. “Old habits…”

Dean took you by the shoulder and pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He placed a firm kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin there. You melted into him and snaked your arms around his middle, feeling every worry melt away. He smelled like work: fuel, oil, and metal, and despite washing his hands copious times, there were still motor oil stains on his skin. Normally, the smell would have had you scrunching your nose up and ordering Dean into the shower, but for the first time, you couldn’t find yourself caring.

“How was work?” you asked, pulling back to look up at him. His hair was scruffy, the ends standing up in a hundred different directions. It was longer than Dean usually allowed it to get, but he told you he wanted to “experiment with the length” (you weren’t going to admit that the thought made you ever so slightly giddy).

"Pretty good," he replied, furrowing his brows for a moment as he wiped a patch of flour off your forehead with his thumb. "Some guy brought in an old Mustang. Got to—"

His eyes tore off you, looking towards the mess you left on the stove.

"What the hell—"

"Don't ask," you grumbled.

"What did you—what even—"

"I thought I said don't ask."

Dean picked the frypan up off the stove, inspecting the charred contents, and you felt like shrinking inside yourself. He looked over to the chopped ingredients on the counter before turning back to you.

"Dinner…?"

"I tried," you gave up. "I really did. I thought I would do something nice and surprise you, but apparently, I'm the world's worst cook."

Dean wasn't going to admit it, but you were right. You could make a mean bowl of cereal and a damn good cup of coffee, but when it came to toasting, baking, or frying, it usually ended with someone needing to get the fire extinguisher.

Your face fell into your hands—the tears were back, and you tried your best to hide them, but your shaky breaths immediately alerted Dean.

"Hey," he said with a light chuckle. He pulled you back towards him, one hand on your back, the other holding the back of your head. "It's all good."

"No it's not," you said, voice muffled by Dean's embrace. "I used to be good at something. Now I'm not good at anything."

"What d'you mean?"

"I used to be good at—at hunting. I used to wake up every day knowing exactly what to do and when. Now I can't even make a meal without messing up. At least you're good at something."

Dean nodded, fully understanding. It had been roughly six months since your last hunt, since you'd both hung up your hats and said goodbye to the life forever.

Surprisingly enough, Dean settled into your new life faster than you both had thought. He had gotten the mechanic job right off the bat and quickly fell into a routine. It was good for him. He had something to look forward to every day. He had new skills that he was able to put to use.

You, on the other hand, were finding things a little more difficult. You had no experience doing anything, making finding a job damn near impossible. You found yourself itching to check for the latest missing persons case or some kind of sign of the next apocalypse. You busied yourself by walking the dog, by cleaning the little house you rented in Kansas, by reading dozens of books.

Dean never pushed you. Instead, he let you adjust at your own pace.

Sure, there were still nights where one of you would wake up from a nightmare a sobbing, shaky mess, where visions of blood, death, and monsters flashed behind your eyelids. But you were always there for each other with comforting touches and words—you were each other's beacons of light when things began to grow dark again.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, hands moving to your shoulders. “You are gonna head out, grab a pizza from down the street. I am gonna stay here and tidy up.”

“But—”

“Then,” he continued, “We’re gonna settle in for the night. Couch. Beer. Movie.”

“Fine,” you sighed, a smile creeping back onto your lips.

Your car smelled like pizza as you pulled into the little cul-de-sac where your house was. Three boxes sat on your passenger seat, and you had to refrain from reaching over and snagging a piece before getting home. Dean would have your head if you started without him.

You passed several houses on your block that looked somewhat similar to your own before your little house came into view. It was smaller than the others, but it made up for it with a massive front and back yard. It had a brown roof, beige-yellow walls, and a wooden door. For most people, it wasn’t much to look at—many of the people who inspected it had turned their noses up and laughed at it.

It wasn’t much, but it was home.

Upon pulling into the driveway, you noticed another car parked on the side of the road up ahead. The sight of it brought a wide smile to your face.

Sam.

It had been days since you last saw him. After spending all day every day in the Winchesters’ pockets, you had felt strange not seeing Sam constantly. After everything, Sam had become one of your closest and dearest friends—he was like an older brother to you. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him. You could talk to each other freely without judgment—he just got you.

You quickly parked your car, grabbed the pizza boxes, and headed inside.

You could hear Sam and Dean before seeing them. After years of hunting, stakeouts, and sneaking around, you were surprised the brothers weren't a little more subtle. Six months ago, you would have assumed they were arguing about something, but as you approached the front door, you actually heard them laugh.

You pushed the door open and headed inside, immediately greeted by Miracle. He sniffed around your feet and tried his best to investigate the pizza boxes in your hand, his tail wagging profusely. Dean took the pizza boxes from your hands, shot you a wink, and took them into the kitchen. Miracle quickly turned his attention away from you and followed the smell of the pizza. Traitor.

"Hey, stranger," Sam said, standing at the end of the entryway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

You threw your keys on the small bench near the front door and practically ran over to Sam, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach him.

"This is a nice surprise! Long time no see," you said, pulling back to take a look at him. He looked well-rested—happy—and there was a glint in his eye that you couldn't quite put your finger on. "How's Eileen?"

"Good," he lowered his head, the look in his eye now spreading to the rest of his face. A smile crept across his lips, the kind that had your brows furrowing in interest. "Yeah, she's real good."

You made a mental note to ask about it later.

"Pizza's gettin' cold!" Dean called, which caused you and Sam to roll your eyes in unison.

After indulging in five slices of pizza and three beers, you were completely stuffed. The boys had spent at least forty-five minutes arguing over which movie to watch, so the film—which should have ended by now—had only just started playing on your TV. You teetered on the edge of post-meal drowsiness, your eyes drooping. You fought hard against it; you wanted to stay awake and catch up with Sam, to hear more about how domestic life was finally treating him.

You felt content in your surroundings, and the knowledge that both your boys were here safe made you feel warm. The couch beneath you was soft, and with your head resting in Dean's lap, you felt even more comfortable. His thumb rubbed against your shoulder in small circles, and the rhythm of his touch eventually sent you off to sleep entirely. You had lost the fight.

“She asleep?” Sam asked in a whisper, gesturing with a nod towards you.

Dean shifted ever so slightly and cast his eyes down to you before nodding. "She wouldn't stop askin' me to invite you over. Thought the surprise would keep her buzzed for hours."

Sam chuckled, "Y'know, she can invite me over whenever she wants?"

"Man, if she had it her way, you'd never leave."

Sam smiled, and the two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until his eyes grew concerned. He sat forward and grabbed the TV remote, turning down the volume until the film playing was barely audible.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

Dean shrugged, "Can't tell. Sometimes she seems okay. Then… I don't know…"

"What do you mean?"

"Came home today and found her in the kitchen. She was freaking out about dinner—"

"She's never been the best cook."

"I know," Dean said, "but she started tellin' me she wasn't good at anythin' anymore."

Sam's brows furrowed, "It'll take her some time to adjust. I mean, we aren’t exactly the best examples of settling into the real world."

“I keep tellin’ her that, but I don’t think she believes me.”

At that moment, Sam wished for nothing more than for you to wake up. He wanted to tell you about the several times he’d attempted a normal life and failed, how the hunting life had an iron-grip hold on him for years until he finally felt the time was right to cut free. But he decided to leave it for another time. You looked too peaceful.

But he knew that you would be fine. You always were. Aside from his brother, you were one of the strongest people Sam knew.

"How're things going with you and Eileen?" Dean asked. "Honeymoon phase over yet?"

A smile tugged on Sam's lips, "Yeah… I uh—I guess it kinda is."

"Dude, already? What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sam defended. "We've just found a routine. Settled in…"

"And…?"

Sam's hands swiped down his face as he sat back on the couch with a huff. His foot bounced against the floor, his eyes drifting from his brother to you and then back again.

"I wanted to tell you guys together."

Confusion flashed across Dean’s face as he sat up, careful not to jostle you around too much. “Wanted to tell us what?”

Sam let out a breath, “Eileen’s pregnant.”

Silence fell over the lounge room—the only sound being that of the soft dialogue coming from the television. The confusion on Dean’s face slowly morphed into shock, then confusion again, before a grin broke out.

“Are you serious?”

Sam nodded.

“You’re—you’re serious?”

Sam chuckled, nodding again.

There was something about it that Dean couldn’t believe. His brother—his baby brother—was having his own baby. It felt like just yesterday that he was picking him up from Stanford. The man next to him was no longer that college kid; he was starting his own family.

The thought made Dean look down at you. He wondered what it would be like to do all of that with you. Sure, the two of you had spoken about it here and there—marriage, family, the whole nine—but it never really went any further than that.

Dean’s brows furrowed as he looked up from you and back to his brother.

“She’s gonna kill you if she finds out she missed this.”

Sam laughed quietly, which caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “Well then, how ‘bout I stay the night? I’ll tell you guys in the morning… Just—try to act surprised. For our sake.”

“Deal.”

[felikatze]

ISAT and Ludonarrative Harmony: Combat is a Storytelling Tool

Or: How Siffrin is stuck in the endgame grind, forever

Please Note: This is primarily aimed at an audience that already played In Stars and Time, because I am bad at explaining things, and it's good to already know what the fuck I'm talking about. I tend to only bring up game elements as I want to talk about them.

Spoilers for.... all of ISAT! Especially Act 5!

(image to show how i feel posting this and as an attention grabber over my wall of text)

To pull a definition of ludonarrative harmony out of a hat, game writer Lauryn Ash defines it as follows:

Ludonarrative harmony is when gameplay and story work together to create a meaningful and immersive experience. From a design implementation perspective, it is the synchronized interactions between in-game actions (mechanics) and in-world context (story).

It is, generally speaking, how well game mechanics work hand in hand with the story. I, personally, think ISAT is an absolute masterclass of it, so I want to take a look at how ISAT specifically uses its battle system to emphasize Siffrin's character arc and create organic story moments. I want you to keep this in mind when I talk here.

So, skills, right? If you've played any turn-based RPG, you know your Fire spells, your "BACKSLASH! AIRSLASH! BACKSLASH!" and the many ways to style those.

Well, what does casting "Fire" say about your character? Not all that much, does it? Perhaps you'll have typical divisions. The smart one is the mage, the big brawny one is your tank, the petite one's the healer. And that's the barebones of ISAT's main party, but it's much more than that.

Every character's style of combat tells you something about them. Odile, the Researcher, is the most well-travelled and knowledgable of the bunch. She's the one with the expertise to keep a cool head and analyze the enemy, yet also able to use all three of the Rock-Paper-Scissors craft types.

To reflect her analytical view of things, all her skill names are just descriptive, the closest to your most bog-standard RPG. "Slow IV" or "Paper III" serve well to describe their purpose. The high number of the skills gives the impression there were three other Slow skills beforehand - fitting, considering the party starts at level 45, about to head into the final dungeon. She's also the oldest, so she's the slowest of the bunch.

Isabea, the Fighter, has all his skills in exclamation points. "YOUR TURN!!!" "SO WEAK!!!" "SMASH!!!" they're straightforward, but excited. He's a purposefully cheerfull guy, so his skills revolve around cheering on his allies. He's absolutely pumped to be here, and you see that from his skill names alone.

Mirabelle, the Housemaiden, is an interesting case. She's by all means the true protagonist of this tale - She's the one "Chosen by the Change God," the only one who survived the King's first attack, the only one immune to his ability to freeze time, the only dual-craft type of the game - just a lot of things. And her skill names reflect that facade she puts on herself - she can do this, she can win! She has to believe it, or else she starts doubting. This is how you get "Jolly Round Rondo" and "Mega Sparkle Heal" or "Adorable Moving Cure." She's styled every bit a sailor scout shojo heroine, and her moveset replicates the naming conventions of "In the name of the moon, I'll punish you!"

Even Bonnie, the Kid, who can't be controlled in combat, has named craft skills. And they very much reflect that Bonnie is, well, a kid. "Wolf Speed Technique" or "Thousand Blows Technique" are very much the phrasings of a child who learned one complicated word and now wants to use it in everything to seem cooler than they are, which is none, because they're twelve.

Siffrin's skills are all puns.

You have an IMMEDIATE feel for personality here. Between "Knife to Meet You!" and "Too Cleaver by Half," you know Siffrin's the type to always crack a joke no matter the situation, slinging witticisms around to put Sonic the Hedgehog to shame. It's just such a clever way to establish character using a game mechanic as old as the entire history of RPGs.

This is only the baseline of the way the combat system feeds into the story, though.

The timeloop, of course, feeds into it. Siffrin is the only character who retains experience upon looping, whereas all other characters are reset to their base level and skills. And it sucks (affectionate).

You're extremely likely to battle more often the earlier in the game you are - after all, you need the experience (for now.) Every party member contributes, and Siffrin isn't all that strong on their own, since they focus on raw scissor type damage with the addition of one speed buff. (Of course it's a speed buff. They're a speedy fucker. Just look at him).

At first, the difference in level between Siffrin and the rest of the group is rather negligible. Just a level or two. Just a bit more speed and attack. And then Siffrin grows further and further apart. Siffrin keeps learning new skills. He gets a healing skill that doubles as an attack boost, taking away from both Mirabelle's and Isabeau's usefullness. He gets Craft skills of every type that even give you two jackpot points instead of one - thus obliterating Odile's niche. Siffrin turns into a one-person army capable of clearing most encounters all on their own.

Siffrin's combat progression is an exact mirror of story progression - as their experience inside the loops grows, they also grow further and further away from their party. The party seems... weaker, slower, clumsier. Always back at their starting point, just as all of their character arcs are reset each loop. Never advancing, always stagnant. And you have Siffrin as the comparison post right next to them.

I also want to point out here a change from Act 2 to Act 3 - Siffrin's battle portrait. He stops smiling.

Battles keep getting easier. This is true both for the reason that Siffrin keeps growing stronger even when all enemies stay the same, but also for the reason that you, the player, learn more about the battle system and the various encounters, until you've learned perfect boss clear strategies just from repetition. Have you ever watched a speedrunner play Pokemon? They've played this game so many times, they could do it blindfolded and sleeping. Your own knowledge and Siffrin's new strength work in tandem to trivialize the game's entire combat system as the game progresses.

(Is it still fun? Playing it over, and over, and over again? Is it?)

You and Siffrin are in sync, your experience making everything trivial.

As time goes on, Siffrin grows to care less and less about performing right for their party and more and more about going fast. A huge moment in his character is marked by the end of Act 3; because of story events I won't delve too deeply into, Siffrin has grown afraid of trying something new. And his options of escape are closing in. They need an answer, and they need it fast. He doesn't have the time or patience to dumb himself down, so you unlock one new skill.

It doesn't occur with level up, or with a quest, or anything at all. At the start of Act 4, it simply appears in Siffrin's Craft skills.

(Just attack.)

No pun. No joke. Just attack. Once you notice, the effect is immediate - here you have it, a clear sign of how jaded Siffrin has become, right at every encounter. And it's a damn good attack, too! The only available attack in the game that deals "massive" damage against all enemies. Because it doesn't add any jackpot points (at least, it's not supposed to), you set up a combo with everybody else, but Siffrin simply tears away at the enemy with wild abandon. Seperated from the rest of the party by the virtue of no longer needing to contribute to team attacks (most of the time. It's still useful if they do, though).

Once again, an aspect of the battle system enhances the degree of separation between Siffrin and the static characters of his play. You're incentivized to separate him, even.

Additionally, there are two more skills to learn. They're the only skills that replace previous skills. You only get them at extremely high levels, the latter of which I didn't even reach on both of my playthroughs.

The first, somewhere in the level 70 range, Rose Printed Glasses, a paper type craft skill, is replaced by Tear You Apart. It's still a pun about paper, but remarkedly more vicious.

The second is even more on the nose. At level 80, In A While, Rockodile!, a rock type craft skill, is replaced by the more powerful Rock Bottom.

I didn't get to level 80. If you do, you pretty much have to do it on purpose. You have to keep going much longer than necessary, as Siffrin is just done. And the last skill he learns is literally called Rock Bottom.

What do I even need to say, really.

Your party doesn't stay static forever, though.

By doing their hangout quests, side quests throughout the loops that result in Siffrin and the character having a heart to heart, all of them unlock what I'd call an "ultimate" skill. You know the type - the character achieved self-fulfillment, hit rank 10 on their confidant, maxed out their skill tree, and received a reward for their trouble.

These skills are massively useful. My favorite is Odile's - it makes one enemy weak to all Craft types for several turns, which basically allows you to invalidate the first and third boss, as well as just clown on the King, especially once Siffrin starts racking up damage.

But the thing is. In Act 3, when you first get them, yeah, they're useful. But... do you need them? After all, they're such a hassle to get. You need to do the whole character quest again, you can't loop forward in the House or you'll lose them. If you want to take these skills to the King, you need to commit. Go the full nine-yards and be nice to your friends and not die and not skip forward or skip back. Which is annoying, right?

Well, I sure did think so during Act 4. After all, a base level party can still defeat the King, just with a few more tricky pieces involved. Siffrin can oneshot almost all basic enemies by the time of Act 4. It's this exact evalutation that you, the player, go through everytime you return to Dormont. Do I want this skill, still? Would it not be faster to go on without it? I'm repeating myself, but that's the thing! That's what Siffrin is thinking, too!

I also want to take a quick moment to note, here - all skills gained from hangouts have art associated with them, which no other skills do. This feature, the nifty art, hammers home these as "special" skills, besides just how they're unlocked.

Siffrin also has one skill with associated art.

Yeah, you guessed it, it's (Just attack.)

At first, helping the characters is tied to a hefty in-game reward, but that reward loses its value, and in return devalues helping Siffrin's friends every loop. It's too tedious for a skill that'll make a boss go by one turn faster. You, the player, grow jaded with the battle system. Grinding experience isn't worth it, everybody's highest levels are already recorded. Fighting bosses isn't worth it, it's much faster to loop forward.

Isn't this what all endgame in video games looks like? You already beat the final boss, and now... what challenge is left? Is there a point to keep playing? Most games will have some post-game content. A superboss to test your skills against, but ISAT doesn't have any of that. You're forever left chasing to the post-game. That's the whole point - to escape the game.

As most games get more difficult as time passes, ISAT only gets easier. The game becomes disinterested in expanding its own mechanics just as I ran out of new things to fight after 100%-ing Kingdom Hearts 3. Every encounter becomes a simple game of "press button to win."

The final boss just takes that one up a notch.

Spoilers for Act 5 ahead boys!

In Act 5, Siffrin utterly loses it. His last possible hope for escape failed him, told him there's nothing she can do, and Siffrin is trapped for eternity. So of course, they go insane and run up the entire House without their party.

This just proves what you already knew - you dont need the party to proceed. Siffrin alone is strong enough. And here, Siffrin has entirely shed the facade of the jokester they used to be. Every single skill now follows the (Just attack.) naming conventions. Your skills are: (Paper.) (Rock.) (Scissors.) (Breathe.)

To the point. Not a moment wasted, because Siffrin can't take a moment longer of any of this. Additionally, his level is set to 99 and his equipment becomes fixed. You can't even pick up items anymore! Not that you needed them at this point anyway, right? Honestly, I never used any items besides the Salty Broth since Act 2, so I stopped picking items up a long time ago. Now you just literally can't.

Something I've not talked about until now - one of the main equipment types in this game are Memories, gained for completing subquests or specific interactions and events. They all by and large have little effects - make Odile's tonics heal more, or have Mirabelle cast a shield at the start of combat. For the hangout events, you also gain an associated memory that boosts the characters' stats by 30. It lets them keep up with Siffrin again! A fresh wind! Finally, your party members feel on par with you again!

...For a time. And just like that, they're irrelevant again, just as helping them gave Siffrin a brief moment of hope that the power of friendship could fix everything.

In Act 5, your memory is set to "Memory of Emptiness." It allows you to loop back in the middle of combat. You literally can't die anymore. Not that Siffrin could've died by this point in the first place, unless you forgot about the King's instant-kill attack. This one memory takes away the false pretense that combat ever had any stakes. Siffrin's level being set to 99 means even the scant exp you get is completely wasted on them. All stakes and benefits from combat have been removed. It has become utterly pointless.

Frustrating, right? It's an artistic frustration, though. It traps you right here in Siffrin's shoes, because he hates that all these blinding Sadnesses are still walking around just as much. It all inspires just a tiny fraction of that deep rolling anger Siffrin experiences here in the player.

And listen, it was cathartic, that one time Siffrin snapped and stabbed the tutorial Sadness, wasn't it? Because who enjoys sitting through the tutorial that often? Siffrin doesn't. I don't, either.

So, since combat is an useless obstacle now meant to inspire frustration, what do you do for a boss? You can't well make it a gameplay challenge now, no. The bosses of Act 5 are an emotional challenge: a painful wait.

First, Siffrin fights the King, alone. This is already nervewracking because of one factor - in every other run, you need Mirabelle's shield skill, or else you're scripted to die. You're actually forced to fight the King multiple times in Act 3, and have to do it at least once in Act 4, though you'll likely do it more. Point is: you know how this fight works.

You know Siffrin's fight is doomed from the outset, but all you can do is keep slinging attacks. Siffrin is enough of a powerhouse to take the King's HP down, what with the healing and buff skills they have now, not to even mention you can just go all in on damage and then loop back.

(And no matter which way you play it, whether you just loop or use strategically, it reflects on Siffrin, too. Has he grown callous enough not even death will stop their mission? Or does he still avoid pain, as much as he can?)

This fight still allows you the artifice of even that much choice, not that it matters. The other shoe drops eventually - Siffrin becomes slower, and slower. Unsettling, considering this game works on an Action Gauge system. You barely get turns anymore. The screen gets darker, and darker. Until Siffrin is frozen in time, just as you knew he had to be, because you know how this encounter works, know it can't be cleared without Mirabelle.

And, then, a void.

Siffrin awakens to nothingness. The only way to tell you've hit a wall is if Siffrin has no walking animation to match your button inputs. You walk, and walk, until you're approached by.... you. The next enemy encounter of the game, and Siffrin's absolute lowest point: Mal Du Pays.

Or, "Homesickness," in english. If you know the game, you know why it's named this, but that's not the point at the moment.

Thing is, where you could damage the King and are damaged in turn, giving you at least a proper combat experience, even if its doomed to fail, Mal Du Pays has no such thing.

You can attack. You can defend. But it is immune to all attacks. And in return, it does nothing. It's common, at least, for undefeatable enemies to be a "survive" challenge, but nope. The entire fight is "press button and wait." Except, remember the previous fight against the King? The entire time, you were waiting for the big instant death attack to drop. That feeling, at least for me, carried forward. I was incredibly on edge just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, as is a pattern, Siffrin is, too. As Siffrin's attacks fail to connect, they start talking to Mal Du Pays.

But he gets no response, as you get no attacks to strategize around. The wait for anything to happen is utterly agonizing. You and Siffrin are both waiting for something to happen. This isn't a fight. It just pretends to be. It's an utter rugpull, because Siffrin was so undefeatable for most of Act 4 and all of Act 5 so far. It's kind of terrifying!

and it does. It finally does something. Ma Du Pays speaks, in the voice of Siffrin's friends, listing out their deepest fears. I think it's honestly fantastic. You're forced to just sit here and listen to Siffrin's deepest doubts, things you know the characters could not say because it references the timeloops they're all utterly unaware of. This is all Siffrin, talking to himself. And all you, all Siffrin, can do, is keep wailing away on the enemy to no effect whatsoever.

So of course this ends with Siffrin giving up. What else can you do?

And then Siffrin's friends show up and unfreeze them and it's all very cool yay. The pure narrative scenes aren't really the main focus but I want to point out here:

A) Mirabelle is in the first party slot here, referencing how she's the de facto protagonist, and Bonnie fills in the fourth slot left empty, which shows all characters uniting to save Siffrin

B) this is the only instance of the other party members having act specific battle icons: they're all smiling brightly, further pushed by the upbeat music

C) the reflecting shield Mirabelle uses to freeze the King uses a variation of her hangout skill cut in, marking it as her true "final" skill and giving the whole fight a more climatic feeling.

It's also a short gameplay sequence with Siffrin utterly uninvolved in the battle. You can't even see them onscreen. But... it feels warm, doesn't it? Everybody coming together. Siffrin doesn't have to fight anymore.

At last, the King is defeated. Siffrin and co. make for the Head Housemaiden, to have her look at Siffrin's sudden illness. Siffrin is utterly exhausted, famished, running a fever. And this isn't unexpected - after all, their skills in Act 5 had no cooldown. For context, instead of featuring any sort of MP system, all skills work on a cooldown basis, where a character can't use it for a certain number of turns. The lowest cooldown is actually Siffrin's Knife to Meet You, which has a cooldown of 1. In universe, this is reasoned as the characters needing a break from spamming craft in order to not exhaust themselves.

Siffrin's skills in Act 5 having no cooldown/being infinitely spammable isn't a sign of their strength - it's a sign that he refuses to let himself rest in order to rush through as fast as possible.

Moving on, Siffrin panics when seeing the Head Housemaiden, because seeing her means one thing: the end. Prior to this in the game, every single time you beat the King, the loop ends when you talk to the Head Housemaiden.

Reality breaks down, the whole shebang. It's here that Siffrin realizes - they don't want the loops to end, because the end of their journey means their family will leave, and he'll be alone again. The happiest time of his life will be over.

Siffrin goes totally ballistic, to say the least.

As it turns out (and was heavily foreshadowed narratively), Siffrin has been using Wish Craft to subconciously cause the timeloop because of their abandonment issues. It's rather predictable if you paid attention to literally anything, but it's extremely notable how heavily Siffrin is paralleled to the King, the antagonist they swore to kill by themself at the start of Act 5. The King wants to freeze Vaugarde in time because it is, in his mind, "perfect," for accepting him after he lost his home - a backstory he shares with Siffrin.

Siffrin has become the exact antagonist he swore to kill, and it's shown by how the next fight utterly flips everything on its head.

Siffrin is the final boss.

In a towering form made of stars, Siffrin looks down at their friends. His face is terrified, because of his internal conflict; he can't hurt his friends, but he can't let them go, either. The combat prompt is simply changed to "END IT!"

This fight is similar to the previous, in that you just need to wait a certain number of turns until its over. However, this time, it's not dreadful suspense. It's... confusion, and hesitance.

You have two options for combat: Attack your friends, or attack yourself.

And... you don't really want to do either, I think. I certainly don't. But what else can you do? It's Siffrin's desires clashing in full force. Attack your friends, and force them to stay? Or attack yourself, and let them go safely without you?

Worth noting, here - when you attack Siffrin's friends, you can't harm them. Isabeau will shield all attacks. And when you attack yourself, Mirabelle will heal you back to full. And the friends don't... do anything, either. How could they? Occasionally, Mirabelle heals you and Isabeau shouts words of motivation, but the main thing is...

(Your friends don't know what to do.)

None of them want to harm Siffrin. Both sides simply stare at each other, resolute in their conviction but unwilling to end it with violence. It's of note that this loop, the last one, is the only loop where the King isn't killed. Just frozen. And now here is Siffrin, clamoring for the same eternity the King was. Of course everything ends in a tearfilled conversation as Siffrin sees their friends won't leave him, even after the journey ends, but I still have to appreciate this moment.

Siffrin is directly put in the position with their friends as his enemies, forced to physically reckon that keeping them in this loop is an act of violence, against both their friends, and against himself.

It's a happy ending. But... what does it mean?

Of course, ISAT is obviously about the fear of change. Siffrin is afraid of the journey ending, and of being alone. However, ISAT is also a game about games. Siffrin is playing the same game, over and over, because it's comforting. It's familiar. It's nice, to know exactly what happens next. These characters might just be predictable lines of dialogue, but... they feel like friends. Have you ever played a game, loved it, put countless hours into it, but you never finished it? Because you just couldn't bear to see it end? For the characters to leave your life, for there to be a void in your heart where the game used to be?

After all, maybe it became part of your routine! You play the game every day, slowly chipping away at it for weeks at a time. For me, I beat ISAT in four days. It utterly consumed me during this time. I had 36 hours of playtime by the end. Yeah, in that week, I did not do much more than play ISAT.

And once i beat it, i beat it, again. I restarted the game to see the few scenes I missed, most specifically the secret boss I won't talk about here. I... couldn't let go of the game yet. I wanted to see every scrap I could. I still do. I'm writing this, in part because I still do. It's scary to let go.

Ever heard the joke term of "Postgame Depression?" It's when you just beat a game, and you're suddenly sad. Maybe because the ending affected you emotionally and you need to process the feelings it invoked, or you search for something that can now fill your time with it gone.

The game ends, for real this time, the last time you talk to the Head Housemaiden. But Siffrin gets... scared. What if everything loops back again? And so, his family offers to hold his hand. They face the end, together.

For all loops, including the ending, you never see what happens after. After they leave the loop for good. Because the loop is the game itself. It's asking you to trust that life goes on for these characters, and it holds your hand as it asks you to let go. There's a reason for Siffrin's theater metaphors. He is the actor, and the director, asking everyone to do it over one more time. He's a character within the game, and its player.

There's a reason I talked about endgame content. This, the way it all repeats, there's nothing new, difficulty and stakes bleed away as you snap the game over your knee - it's my copy of White 2 with two hundred hours in it. It's me playing Fire Emblem Awakening in under 3 hours while skipping every cutscene. Are you playing for the sake of play, for the sake of indulging in your memories, because you're afraid of the hole it'll leave when you stop?

Of note: the narrative never condemns Siffrin for unwittingly causing their own suffering. He's a victim of circumstance. It's seen as endearing, even, that Siffrin loves their friends to the point of rather seeing the world destroyed than them gone. But Siffrin is also told: we'll stay with you for now, but we'll part ways eventually. And one day, you'll have to be okay with it.

Stop draining the things you love of every ounce of enjoyment just because you're afraid of what happens next. I'm not saying to never play your favorite games again. Playing ISAT a second time, I still had a lot of fun! I saw so many new things I didn't before, and I enjoyed myself immensely, reading the same dialogue over and over. But... it makes me look at other games I love and still play, and makes me ask... is this still fun? Do I still need to play this game to enjoy it? Even writing this is an afterimage of my enjoyment, but it's a new way to interact with the game, to analyze it through this lens. Fuck, man, I write fanfiction. Look at me.

All of this, fanart, fanfic, analysis, is a way to prolong that enjoyment without making yourself suffer for it. Without just going through the motions of enjoyment without actually experiencing any. But one day, the thing you love won't be fun to talk and write and draw about. And it's okay. You'll have new things to love. I promise.

In the end.... I'm certain I'll replay ISAT one day. Between great writing, art, puzzles and unresolved mysteries, it's my shoe-in for game of the year.

But I won't replay it for quite some time. I've had enough, for now, so I let my love take other forms.

Siffrin is never condemned, because love is no evil. Be it love for another person, or for a game. And please, if you're overempathetic - it's still a game, at the end of the day. The great thing about games is that you can always boot them up again, no matter how long its been.

A circle within a circle indeed.

To summarize:

The repetitiveness of ISAT's combat, lack of new enemies, and Siffrin's ever increasing strength eventually allows you to snap the combat over your knee, rendering it irrelevant and boring. Though this may seem counterproductive at first, it perfectly mirrors how Siffrin has also grown bored with these repeated encounters and views them only as an obstacle to get past. The reflection of Siffrin's own tiredness with the player's annoyance increases the compassion the player has for Siffrin as a character.

Additionally, the endgame state of the combat system serves as commentary on the state of a favorite game played too often, much like how Siffrin has unwittingly trapped themself in the loop. Despite the game having no more challenge or content left to over, a player might return to their favorite game anyway, solely to try and recreate the early experience of actually having fun with it. This ties into ISAT's metanarrative about the fear of change and refusal to let go of comfort even when the object (here, your favorite video game) offering that comfort has become utterly bereft of any substance to actually engage with. Playing for the sake of playing, with no actual investment to keep going besides your own memories.

Later on, stripping away even the pretense of strategy for a "press button and wait" format of final bosses highlights the lack of options at Siffrin's disposal and truly forces the player into their shoes. Truly, the only way to win is to stop playing.

[bountycancelled]

ANTIFRAGILE

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

opla zoro x reader

in which, even though it doesn't seem like it, zoro cares (alot, about you, specifically)

genre: one shot, gn! reader, short

requested: yes! tysm (reqs are still open for anyone<3)

a/n: idk, enjoy I guess? (unedited)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"need any help, darling?" Sanji's flirtatious voice rang out from behind you, disturbing your damn near embarrassing attempts at lifting a box.

you huffed as you dropped it once again, turning to face Sanji as you shrugged him off with a wave of your hand. "no no, I wouldn't want you using your hands for something that isn't in the kitchen. I can manage."

an unconvinced Sanji nodded before walking off, leaving you and your own stubbornness to deal with the heavy lifting. the truth of the matter was, that you definitely did need help, but you'd be dammed to hell before accepting any.

it seemed as if you had some sort of problem accepting yourself for who you were.

you were by far the most stealthy individual anyone had ever met, most people didn't even know you were in the room until you had a knife to their throat. you were the resident idea person in high pressure situations, and what you lacked in strength, you made up for in technique.

ah yes, strength. if there was one thing that you could not accept that you didn't have, it was physical strength. you were never the type to brute force your way out of a situation zoro-style, bit it would still be nice to have the option of doing so.

it wasn’t as if anybody in the crew made you feel bad for your lack of strength, it was more so an internal issue within your own psyche.

what could you say? you were tired of having to ask your fellow crew mates to help you do something as simple as carrying something from point A to point B. you were tired of feeling useless every time more hands on approach was needed. but that all ended today. (well, you hoped that it all ended today anyway)

after what felt like and probably was an eternity you could finally lift the box that you had set your eyes on, sure you had taken so long that Luffy had forgotten that he even wanted it but you had done it nonetheless and you were proud of yourself. that pride however was short lived with your body ache in a way that you never thought possible.

you knew, or at the very least, you thought that you knew how much your body could take, but said body had no problem humbling you the second you had gotten a little too confident in skills that you didn't have.

you weakly limped towards your room, ignoring the sympathetic look from Sanji, the "you shouldn't have done that but I still feel bad" look from Nami, the soft pat on your back from usopp, Luffy not even noticing your current state, and Zoro's blank cold stare with what you could only hope bubbled with a bit of concern.

you would be lying if you said that you weren't trying to impress a certain green haired individual on the crew with a knack for using swords in unconventional ways. but your little schoolgirl crush was getting to the point where it was causing you physical pain, and you needed to get your mind out of its delusion.

Zoro was not going to give you attention just because you lifted a heavy bo–

your self chastising session was ended prematurely by a knock in the door, that kind of sounded like an alien life form trying to imitate a human custom. you let out a small 'come in', not being entirely suprised to see Zoro on the other side. (after all, he's the only in the crew who would care or even think to knock.)

what you were suprised to see however, was the plate of food in his hand. it was your favourite dinner which he had threatened Sanji to make which he placed on your desk, walking out just as quickly as he came.

before he left, he looked at you over his shoulder, seemingly contemplating if he should say what he wanted to say.

"you shouldn't push yourself to do something that's dangerous for you body. you're... more talented than you give yourself credit for."

you smiled to yourself, unable to not feel the butterflies floating around in your stomach, but his last words sent you over the edge.

"I don't want to see you hurting. ever."

[stellocchia]

Random headcanons for Nightmare's gang:

Nightmare sometimes forgets Dust's, Horror's, and Cross' names. In those situations, he either calls them 'you' or just gives the order to Killer so he can pass it on

His forgetfulness isn't because his memory is bad, it's just because he doesn't care enough

Nightmare spends most of his time at the castle locked away in his office. The others think he's gotta be working, but he's mostly napping in there because the corruption expends a lot of his energies

Dust is a nerd. He's got excellent memory, so he's great at card games where you have to count cards or things like Memory. The others don't get to find this out for a while, but, when they do, Killer steals some games that they stash away where Nightmare won't check

Horror would prefer to be a vegetarian, but they don't have enough resources at the castle to get a choice

Horror's most prized possession is a picture of him and his brother that he luckily had on him when he got kidnapped

Horror and Dust are not the first versions of themselves that worked for Nightmare. Every version had a different nickname, (Murder, Axe, Skull, whatever you can think of) which does partially contribute to Nightmare's forgetfulness because to him they were all interchangeable

Killer would start using he/they/it pronouns if he had enough free time to figure itself out. Unfortunately, that will have to wait until after their escape

Killer's most prized possession is an onyx knife Horror, Dust, and Cross made for him a day they selected as his birthday since he couldn't remember when that was

Cross hides XChara's existence for a good while at first because he's afraid of the others' reaction to him since he looks so similar to one of the beings that tormented them. The introduction ends up still with just as much yelling as he feared, but at least no weapons were summoned

Cross is the strongest among the henchmen and has the best technique. But because he's so rigidly set on fighting like he was taught, he often ends up losing to the other three who have never fought fair a day in their lives

As Nightmare perceives affection and comfort as weaknesses, Cross, Killer, Horror, and Dust aren't really allowed to cuddle or hug in the castle. So they tend to get whatever affection they can sneak in with each other while on missions

Cross is actually the best cook among them. He knows how to make filling rations that don't taste exceedingly bland

Conversely, Killer is the worst cook, because it's really hard to keep his goop from dripping into the food while cooking. And it tastes absolutely horrid

Dust's most prized possession, after his scarf, it's a small collection of funnily shaped rocks that Killer and Horror keep picking up in various AUs and gifting to him

Cross' most prized possession, after the heart pendant, it's an apron that the others embroidered for the day he chose as his birthday (since he also couldn't remember when that was) that says: 'This chef is a real grate guy!"

[pippin-katz]

Charles: Resilience Over Strength

You know, we all joke about Charles getting knocked around by everything they fight, and him being the brawn because he takes all the hits rather than being a skilled fighter, but I'd like to point something out!

The ghost that they're dealing with at the very beginning of the show, that gives them a hard time and chokes Charles, is a World War I veteran with decades of military training and combat experience.

Based on how Charles fights, I'd say he taught himself, and that he's not exactly great at it. He's definitely not bad at it! But he doesn't seem to have actual training or skilled technique.

That being said, Charles, a ghost of a sixteen-year-old boy who taught himself how to fight, manages to hold off and defend himself and Edwin from a ghost of a literal military veteran on a curse-induced rampage.

He's disadvantaged in basically every category. 1. Physical Strength: dude's a WWI soldier and Charles is a sixteen-year-old kid 2. Skill: already established that Charles likely taught himself how to fight while the other guy has literal war combat experience 3. Size: Charles is smaller than him, so even if he was physically stronger, it might not matter due to the leverage the other would have by using his weight 4. Focus: this ghost dude is literally single-mindedly attacking Charles driven by a cursed gas mask, while Charles is trying not to hurt him, keep him from getting to Edwin, and buy him enough time to get his book and cast the spell, and not get too hurt himself; attention matters a lot in a fight, and you're far more likely to make mistakes if you're distracted 5. Weapon: the military ghost has a bigger knife that he knows how to use skillfully, while Charles loses his knife completely for some of the fight

And despite all of that, he wins. In this case, winning is holding him off until the curse it broken rather than physically besting his opponent, but the point remains. I gotta hand it to Charles; that's seriously impressive.

(ko-fi)

[devoutekuna]

Cooking with him.

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

He can cook but chooses not to, why would he cook if he has a personal chef to himself. Stood in the kitchen as he searched for some fruit, daughter tracing the markings he had on his legs. "Daddy lets cook for mama" the thought of spending time with her father was the only reason she wanted to cook. "No" a straight no, she knew that he'd need some convincing though.

"But, I've seen mummy and Uraume cook, I can do it!" Grabbing onto his leg as he tried to walk off, acting as if she was too heavy to kick off. "No you can't! Your incapable of cooking" Looking down at the pink haired girl staring so profusely up at him, doing her puppy eyes which would win anyone over.

Cutting up a few onions from the dish, sat ontop of the counter as she placed the onion in her lap, knife inches away from her thigh. "Don't do that, it's stupid" putting the onion and knife on the table so that he could place her on the stool. "Don't be stupid" stood right beside her as she cut it up, it was going so painfully slow,he was starting to get tired especially since she had two more to go. Having the dismantle technique, of course he's gonna use it to his advantage, throwing the onion up in the air as it sliced, leaving diced cubes along the counter top. "Awe, you got it all over the counter daddy" trying to brush the vegetable into a pile. "Shut up, you were going to slow."

Nanami-

An expert as he cooks most nights, especially when your too tired to prepare meals for the week, it was a simple task to him. "Lemme help you papa!" Hands making it onto the counter as he kneaded the dough, eyes sticking up from behind the counter. Glancing down and the blonde realising she was on a stool, no wonder she got so tall, already got her hair tied back into a ponytail and apron on. "I'm almost done darling" he felt a bit bad but he was so busy so he wanted to finish this quickly.

"Please!" Her crys, only convincing him that she should help him, all he had to do was cook the rice after washing it and cook the chicken. "I mean, you can do the rice?" He didn't trust her much with food since he knew that she was just a toddler and would make a mess.

"Uh oh" seeing the rice poured down the drain, all of it in the sink rather than the bowl. Atleast half of it going through the drain pipe already. "What happened here?" It was bound to happen, he tried not to act annoyed but he definitely was.

Gojo-

He doesn't know anything about cooking since he rarely cooked for himself, if he did it would just be a precooked meal.

"Right, how small am I cutting this?" Glancing at you for some guidance here, a look of distraught and confusion on his face as she saw what he would be cutting up next. He was tasked with all the vegetables since you thought it would be easier for him rather than the meat which you tasked your son with. "Dice it Satoru" looking over his shoulder as you inspected how small it should be.

"Hurry up! Mum says the vegetables go in before the chicken!" He clearly took his father's personality when it came to patience. "I'm trying my best here!" Though he says that he's good at everything, he was horrible when it came to food. Grabbing another knife from the drawer as you helped him out, you were hungry and wanted food already.

Geto-

He was smart about it, giving her an easy task like stirring the pot, somehow she messed that up, hearing the clutter of a pot hitting the floor, body in the fetal position as she looked at the mess. "Uh oh" the sound of his daughter's voice made him respond quickly, hands on his hips as he scanned the mess on the ground, food spilled all over the floor, boiling water all over his new tiles too. "Sorry papa" feeling a bit bad for the mess. "It's fine" it clearly wasn't as that was one of the main dishes. "As long as you aren't hurt then we're good" nodding her head in response.

Toji-

"Your lucky I can't find my wallet" stuck cutting up some potatoes into long rectangular shapes. His daughter clearly was enjoying this, pouring a bottle full of oil into the pan. "No! That's too much baby" taking the bottle from her hands as she giggled, watching as the oil started to splatter up into his face, throwing a lid onto the pan.

"Turn it down!" Shouting at him, she had seen you do this multiple times, so she acted like the boss when it came to cooking. "It's on the lowest heat!" Going back to the cutting of the potatoes. "Hurry up daddy!" Slapping his leg as she jumped up and down, it was her first time being allowed in the kitchen whilst someone was cooking, let alone helping them.

It was a few minutes after he poured the potatoes into the pan, he didn't know anything about making chips so it was a new experience for him. "You took too long! Mummy woke up" she wanted to surprise you with her cooking skills, making you a plate of chips before you woke up.

[trueebeauty]

omg i love your lookism content ◉‿◉ can i have a scenario with Gun Park, like him & us enjoy quality time together on a day off during the storm in Seoul? thank you in advance ♡

It’s a stormy afternoon in Seoul, with rain pouring down against the windows. Inside Gun’s apartment, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, a cozy refuge from the gray, wet world outside.

The kitchen is brightly lit, filled with the fresh ingredients laid out on the counter: vibrant slices of fish, crisp vegetables, seasoned rice, and nori sheets—all ready for your lunch.

Today, Gun has decided to teach you how to make sushi, blending his Japanese heritage with your Korean roots.

Gun stands beside you, his sleeves rolled up and his demeanor as calm and stoic as ever.

His serious exterior rarely cracks, but his actions have an understated warmth as he carefully arranges everything. “We’re making sushi today,” he announces, his tone steady and authoritative, as always.

“Sushi?” you ask, a playful smile spreading across your face. “You mean kimbap, right?”

Gun’s eyes meet yours, his gaze steady and patient. “No,” he corrects gently, his tone serious yet instructional.

“Kimbap and sushi may look similar, but they’re different. Kimbap uses cooked ingredients and is seasoned with sesame oil, while sushi uses raw fish and is seasoned with vinegar. It’s all about the balance and the subtlety of flavors.”

You nod, absorbing his explanation. “Got it. Sushi, not kimbap.”

“Good,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Let’s get started.”

The lesson begins with preparing the sushi rice. Gun’s hands move with practiced precision, gently mixing the rice with seasoned vinegar.

You watch closely, captivated by his skill. “The rice is the foundation,” he explains in his usual serious tone. “It has to be just right. Not too sticky, not too dry.” He offers you a taste on his finger, and you lean in to sample it, savoring the tangy flavor.

“Perfect,” you declare, your eyes lighting up. He nods slightly, a glimmer of satisfaction in his expression.

Next, Gun shows you how to slice the fish. His movements are exact, each cut clean and precise.

He guides your hands on the knife, his touch firm and steady. “Even slices,” he says, his voice a low, steady guide. “You need consistency.”

You mimic his technique, concentrating on each slice. “Even slices,” you repeat, focused on getting it right.

“Good,” he murmurs, watching you closely. “You’re doing well.”

With the ingredients ready, it’s time to assemble the sushi rolls. Gun places a nori sheet on the bamboo mat and spreads the rice evenly. “Now, choose your fillings,” he instructs. 

You pick out a variety of colorful vegetables and fresh fish, laying them on the rice. Gun demonstrates how to roll the sushi, his hands moving with the same precise grace. “It’s all about balance,” he says. “Too tight and it bursts. Too loose and it falls apart.”

You attempt your first roll, carefully following his example. It’s not perfect, but it holds together. “Not bad,” Gun comments, his voice devoid of the typical praise but with a subtle note of approval that you recognize.

As he decides to roll the rest, you can’t resist stealing kisses from him. He remains unbothered, his focus unwavering, but each time you kiss his cheek or the corner of his mouth, there’s a slight softening around his eyes. “You’re distracting me,” he says quietly, though there’s no real reproach in his voice.

“Good,” you reply with a smile, feeling a rush of affection for him. Despite his stoic facade and limited words, you know he enjoys these moments.

After what feels like both a long time and no time at all, you both sit down to enjoy your sushi. The rain outside has softened to a gentle drizzle, and the city lights shimmer through the wet glass.

You take a bite of your creation, savoring the blend of flavors. “This is amazing,” you say, your voice filled with genuine delight.

Gun watches you, his gaze steady and calm. “You did well,” he replies simply, his approval a quiet but powerful affirmation.

“Thanks to you,” you respond, your gratitude evident. You reach across the table, your hand finding his. He doesn’t pull away, his grip firm and reassuring.

As the meal ends, you linger at the table, the cozy atmosphere wrapping around you both. Gun stands and moves to your side, his presence a solid comfort.

He leans down, brushing a soft, fleeting kiss against your forehead. “You should make them by yourself next time,” he murmurs, his voice low and close to your ear.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “Thanks, Gun,” you say softly, your eyes meeting his. “But you’re way better at this than I am.”

He cups your cheek with his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “It tastes better when you make it,” he says simply, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity.

His words, delivered in his usual matter-of-fact tone, make your heart flutter.

Feeling a surge of adoration, you rise on your toes and press a tender kiss to his lips. Gun remains still, but his eyes soften slightly. “Maybe next time, I’ll surprise you,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his steady breath against your skin.

He nods slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to it.” 

[zvdvdlvr]

Where Were You? Where Were You?

🩻 - Synopsis. Aaron realizes how badly he messed up, but doesn’t know if he has the strength to mend the wounds he gave himself and you.

🩻 - Warnings. Angst. No happy ending. Self isolating!Aaron. Boo hoo we’re all pitiful clowns here. Part one HERE! NOT EDITED!

🩻 - Author’s note. Part one got so much love!!! Thank you all for reading and commenting. I hop you enjoy the second part, but I’m bringing in the big guns for part three! :)

You stayed to get your psych evaluation. It took two tries. The first time around took a toll on you: reliving everything that happened, talking about it in explicit detail, and acting like everything was fine. But you knew you failed before it even began.

You took it again a couple weeks after. Even though you were officially benched from any cases, you didn’t complain.

All the time the team spent away gave you the opportunity to job surf. In reality, quitting the BAU was much harder than you initially imagined. Of course you would still be able to see them and talk to the team, it just… wouldn’t be the same. You would miss J.J.’s round of ‘good mornings’ as she swept by you all, eyes locked on the coffee pot a few feet away. You would miss Derek perched on Emily’s desk, teasing you, Spencer, and Emily like he was getting paid for it. You would miss Spencer looking over at you every couple of minutes to see of you were paying attention or not; making faces at you or mouthing words if you weren’t. You would also miss Emily spinning stories about her past, telling you the good and the bad, letting you closer into her heart. You would obviously miss Penelope’s hugs whenever she could tell if something was off, trying to cheer you up. And Rossi. Rossi buying the coffee at expensive places after begging him too, Rossi giving you advice during a case, Rossi being the father of the team he was meant to be. But… most of all you would miss Aaron.

Aaron speeding to his desk in the morning, desperate for something to wake him up. Aaron walking into casual Friday in a pair of tight-fitting jeans you didn’t know he had. Aaron stepping out of a hotel room in a quarter-zip, unaware of you ogling him. Aaron letting Jack go straight to you whenever the little guy swung by. Aaron’s smell when he hugged you. Aaron. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.

No. You physically shook your head. Get rid of him, you thought, he’s just going to make it harder for you to leave. The computer screen was giving you a headache now. You finally decided to get up and stretch your legs.

As you moseyed over to Penelope’s cave, you noticed the time: 11:49.

“Hey Pen,” you greeted. “You eat anything? I’ll go grab lunch for us,” you offered.

“Hey mamas!” Derek greeted. You saw his face of the screen, smiling.

“Hey, you. How’s the case?” You asked, immediately happy to talk to the man.

Derek shrugged and looked at someone behind the camera. “Reid! C’mere. It’s y/n/n.”

You heard a couple gasps over the quiet chatter in the precinct and suddenly Emily and Spencer’s face showed up on the screen.

“Hi y/n!” Spencer greeted excitedly. You came to stand behind Penelope, poking her in the cheek as you greeted the both of them.

“Hey Spence! Hey Em!” You were happy to see the pair. Though you had seen them only four days ago, you missed them. A pang of guilt stabbed at your heart: how were you supposed to quit your job if you couldn’t stand four days away from them?

“-ffee shop you’d love. I got that mocha stuff you normally get to try, and it was alright. I guess I see why you like ‘em,” Emily shrugged.

“I’ve been telling you! Anyway, how’s the case?” You asked.

“Close. I can feel it,” the black haired woman said plainly.

Spencer nodded and started talking about the case. The unsub’s main slaughter technique consisted of an electrical wire- of all things- and a Swiss army knife, a different knife each kill. You nodded along, listening to what your friend said. Eventually, you heard “Reid!” and Spencer said a quick goodbye and he was out of frame.

“That’s our cue, baby girl,” Derek said. “I’ll talk to you two ladies later.”

You heard Emily’s ‘bye!’ and the screen turned black.

“Sweetness, I would love some food,” Penelope groaned. “I’ll eat anything you get, but I need a pink lemonade! I need it, y/n, or I may perish.”

You laughed. “Yes ma’am.” With that, you poked her other cheek gently and left.

— 🔥

Aaron heard your conversation. He heard your sweet laugh, how easily you fell into conversation with Derek, Spencer, and Emily. He thought of the few months before you were taken. You were excited about a stray kitten you had found, claiming that the little creature followed you from your apartment to the bookstore you swung by regularly. You hadn’t even realized the calico until you sat down and felt his little paws tugging on your pants, tiny mews trying for your attention.

You were overjoyed to have been- in your words- ‘decided worthy enough for the system to choose you’. Penelope had been buzzing about it too, especially after showing her numerous different pictures of the little fella.

Spencer had asked what you did with him, knowing you didn’t have the time to take care lf a kitten when you were gone so much. You told the team that you had given it to a cousin’s daughter, who was immediately taken with the kitten.

The joy in your tone as you gushed about the kitten was palpable. Aaron loved- liked so many things about you, and how passionate you are was definitely one of those qualities. But he felt his own smile fade off of his face as his eyes fell back on crime scene photos: he had a job to do. And you were unimportant.

— 🔥

You picked up Chinese food, ordering inside the restaurant because the line wrapped around the whole building.

After ordering, you paid and gave the cashier a smile. You kept smiling until you turned away, still feeling her wandering gaze drag harshly down your cheek, eyebrows furrowing as she tore herself away from the scar as dipped below your shirt.

As you stood back and waited, you felt like everyone’s eyes were on you. What an idiot, you thought: a government agent who doesn’t even have the confidence to buy some food. Your jaw tightened and you kept your eyes down, waiting until your last name was called. You saw a little girl look at you as you walked out. She held her hand up to wave and you smiled at her, the chubby cheeks of her face lifting into a bright smile. You looked away when her mother pulled her forward, sharp eyes glaring at you.

The little girl’s toothy smile filled your head as you drove back to the office. The ice in Penelope’s pink lemonade clinked around in the plastic cup as you drove. You drove in silence, thinking of the mother pulling her daughter away. Were you… really that bad? Ugly? Your heart sank into your stomach: a feeling you were starting to get used to. You saw your vision blur, but refused to cry. Maybe that’s why Aaron doesn’t want to see your face anymore. Because you were a monster. MacMillian had done his job- successfully.

— 🔥

Aaron stared at the text on his phone.

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: u need to talk to y/n. ASAP. i  don’t think she’s okay and i think it has to do with the macmillian case

It had been three weeks since the case and you still hadn’t spoken to Aaron since before you were kidnapped. Well, you had talked to him, but it was stiff and professional. He looked over at Rossi who was speaking with a few officers. Aaron felt like an idiot.

He wanted bothing more than to drag you into his office and sit you down to talk. Talk about what happened, what he did, how you felt, how you’re feeling now. Aaron just wanted to help you heal but he knew he can’t. He can’t jeapordize your relationship or his job. Aaron felt a lump grow in his throat. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore- other than you.

To Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: How is she? What happened?

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: she went to get food for us and came back all upset. i think the poor girl was about to cry :(

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: and i think there’s something else i need to tell you

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: but it has to be in person.

Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Damn it.”

— 🔥 

A day later the team came home. There was an arrest and the case was closed. There was a lighthearted conversation on the way home, Reid and Rossi playing a card game as Derek, Emily, and J.J. bickered over something (Aaron doesn’t know anything when they get together and scheme). But Hotch was looking out the window and thinking of Penelope’s texts. What had happened to make you shut down? What news did Penelope have for him? How were you doing mentally? How are you at home?

Hotch knew you had nightmares. Hell, everyone could tell. You had growing purple splotches under your eyes, a larger coffee cup every morning, and you zones out consistently during the day. You wore turtlenecks- that Hotch personally thought you looked amazing in- even in 85 degree weather. Not to mention how jumpy you are whenever someone touches you.

Reid had nudged you one day to get your attention; you were staring at nothing and it was time to leave. Derek watched you, a frown on his face after saying your name thrice. Spencer nudged your shoulder with a knuckle and you flew backwards, stumbling out of your chair, a hand coming to your cheek (where The Scar ran down your face). You played it off quickly after seeing Derek, Emily, Rossi, and even Hotch’s looks. But the fear in your eyes… Spencer knew you thought he would hurt you.

After landing, Hotch gave the team the day. As they all cheered and left to get their stuff, Hotch walked into the bullpen where he knew you were still working.

“Y/n.”

God, Aaron missed you. Missed seeing you, being in the same room as you- hell, breathing the same air as you.

You looked up from your computer, eyes falling on an exhausted looking SSA Aaron Hotchner. “Sir?”

“You may have the rest of the day off.” Aaron swallowed, holding your eye contact. Your eyes were one of his weaknesses. After a second of silence, you nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” 

Hotch turned on his heel and made his way to see Penelope. He felt his head spin: your blank stare and emotionless eyes felt like a knife to the gut. Aaron really fucked up, hadn’t he? Fucked up so bad you called him ‘sir’ and acted like you hadn’t bonded over your love for Phil Collins and old action movies. And how to looked away from him like you hadn’t slept in Aaron’s house clad in a pair of his sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, Jack lying on top of you after falling asleep to a cartoon. And especially the way your voice was monotone, completely different from the way you held up a quiet conversation after being sent home because you had a concussion.

“Garcia-“

Penelope stood up the second she heard Hotch’s voice. Tears welled in her eyes, shining brightly against the different colored lights in her cave. “Sir, it’s about y/n. I- I didn’t mean to snoop, but she’s just been so distant lately and ever since that case, she hasn’t gone out with me, Emily, J.J., or even Spencer! I’m really sorry-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Garcia. Slow down. What happened?” Aaron asked. He felt bile rise in his throat. He had a gut feeling that whatever the bubbly blonde woman had to say wouldn’t be good. He swallowed.

Penelope harshly wiped the tears off her face. She looked down and then back up, clearly distraught about the news. “Y/n applied to another job… and got accepted.”

🏷️: @zaddyhotch @jazzimac1967 @polireader @magical-spit @angelmather1 @pettydonuts @aremuslupinsimp

[tozettastone]

I've been looking at cuts of various Akatsuki related episodes for fic writing reasons and my takeaways — novel to me, but perhaps you already knew them — are as follows:

Kakuzu is way more stable than we as a fandom give him credit for being. He listens to Hidan. He stays out as requested. He steps in when necessary. He is impatient, cranky, and done with Hidan's shit, but he mostly treats him with the attitude of a 15 year old cat faced with a yowling kitten. Honestly I have become more confident in my maddieverse!Kakuzu characterisation, even though I was worried it was too even-tempered and friendly. Kakuzu actually isn't that volatile in canon. I think a lot of his characterisation is inferred from things we don't actually see on-screen, and so his murderous rages are mostly an informed character trait — he really only gets blindly angry, on screen, at Naruto, who has the main character vibes that make everyone act weird anyway.

CONVERSELY. Deidara is way LESS stable than we as a fandom give him credit for being. We looked at him being cute, blond, young, and relatably annoyed with Tobi and decided that meant he was relatively emotionally normal, for a mass murderer. He is not. (I may be a bad Deidara writer. I've been doing him so wrong.) When we write Deidara we need to write him eating clay and trembling like a chihuahua.

HE thinks he's normal though. Like very clearly. And he's judging everyone around him. He's the normal one in his own mind.

Still Deidara: he dodged Gai AND Lee AND Neji. At the same time. With no arms. With a knife in his mouth. (Tenten was there too but in true Naruto tradition she did very little.) Food for thought?? Might need to revise my "Hidan could probably beat Deidara under specific circumstances in close quarters," assessment. If Gai can't catch him, Hidan can't catch him! RIP Hidan I love you but you might be smithereens.

Hidan IS ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag, though. We are RIGHT about Hidan. We as a fandom might need a reminder to write more of the mid-combat whooping and giddy laughter though. Also he is super athletic. I think we are all so focused on his weird sadomasochistic murder technique (he does roll his eyes back in his head and sigh about how good it feels to get 6 inches through his chest cavity, yes, that's still Hidan) that we've forgotten that, actually, absurd acrobatics are like 45% of his taijutsu style. He is so, so athletic. No, more than that. No, more.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Okay, consider, König is having a really bad day. Shit totally hit the fan at work, he got more scrapes and bruises than he’d like to admit (the biggest being his ego for doing garbage out on the field, naturally,) he lost a good knife, and he got stuck in a post mission brief that took 5 hours. Just, god, that sucks doesn’t it? He makes his way home and as much as he doesn’t want to be a douchebag to his sweet girly, and usually he’d really wanna see you, but at the moment he’s beyond himself with anxiety and just general negativity from such an awful day he doesn’t want to bother you (even though that’s his most usual “relaxing” technique…) He’s walking up to the apartment/house and he hears the washing machine on, nothing unusual. He’s ready to seclude himself in a bathroom and lock the door and just clean all of his guns and knives to calm down but-

You’re there in the living room, casually hanging out on the couch, nothing special, except…

You’re wearing his shirt. And thigh high fuzzy socks.

And that’s all.

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh! You’re home!! Sorry, I spilled some coffee on my clothes, and it was laundry day so-“

You’re cut off as he slings you onto his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Number one way to cheer this guy up. His day just turned fucking fantastic.

Please 😫 he lost one of his good knives...?? I bet all the other stuff was just the icing on the cake!

Can you even imagine how upset he must be? This man treasures his knives more than anything. Everyone else treats them like they're accessories, but to König, the guns are the accessories. He never goes anywhere without a knife on his belt.

And this guy wants to come home as a celebrated hero, he wants to greet his woman with victory in his eyes. No man wants to wade to their girl fatigued and pissed off after a series of petty fuck ups and boring debriefs and say they even lost a good knife (& say it with a voice that's on the verge of breaking)

König has suffered so many blows that of course he wants to seclude himself somewhere and just sulk it out. He kinda sorta would love it if his girl came to him and hugged him tight... dangled from his neck and told him what a big boy he is and how happy she is that he's finally home… But he's afraid it's going to take more than that to get him out of the slump.

To his horror, not even the prospect of a dinner and a blowjob is making him feel better, so the situation is more than just dire.

But…

Is there anything better in this world than coming home to his girl and noticing she's wearing thigh high fuzzy socks?

(And just for the record: König is a firm supporter of t-shirt no undies, yes sir, but those socks?? They will destroy him, especially if they're pastel color or white.)

He forgets all the bullshit he's suffered in an instant when he sees her jump from the sofa, peeping her apologies and trying to cover her bare thighs with one of his black tees. As if he could ever be mad at her for wearing his shirt.

By the time they make it to the bedroom, König has forgotten he even owned a black little switchblade that had a handy opening mechanism.

How can he think about knives when the cutest girl in the world giggles as he goes under the shirt (ach, his shirt), when the light of his life squirms and squeals as he gives her smooches and little nibs all over? She's ticklish, and König is going to pry every delightful little noise out of her before going further down.

And those thigh high socks?

They stay on during sex.

[anonymous-dentist]

From the Doctor Who au I keep meaning to write:

-

Roier’s husband disappeared into the midst of the Time War just over 350 years ago.

Today, Cellbit wants to meet Jack the Ripper, so he and Roier are pushing their ways through the foggy, smelly London streets, and it’s fine. It’s just Jack the Ripper, it’s fine. It’s the British, it’s fine.

Roier can take care of himself. He’s a veteran! He’s one of the few Time Lords to actually have made it out of the war with more than one regeneration cycle to spare.

But Cellbit? He might have a very solid build and some very nice biceps, but he’s also kind of a nerd. He claims to be able to take care of himself in a fight, but Roier’s been the one saving him from all the aliens (and humans) he’s been pissing off, sooooo…

“We could have gone to the beach,” Roier grumbles.

“The beach is boring,” Cellbit huffs. “Jack the Ripper isn’t at the beach.”

“You don’t know that. Nobody knows who that guy is.”

“Not yet.”

Because that’s what they’re here: Cellbit- strange, beautiful Cellbit- has decided that he’s going to solve the mystery of who Jack the Ripper is even though, really, it doesn’t even matter.

(But what else is new?)

Roier rolls his eyes.

Once upon a time, his husband went by the title of ‘the Captain’. He was a police captain in one of Gallifrey’s smaller towns, and his sister worked by his side as the Detective.

Cellbit is a conspiracy theorist who throws bricks at police cars and criticizes serial killers not because they’re evil but because their “knife techniques” are “wrong”.

The irony is not lost on Roier, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Cellbit, despite having an entire time machine at his disposal now, wants to find Jack the Ripper, and he wants to kick him in the balls and throw him into the Thames and watch him drown.

Roier agrees. Fuck that guy.

“Fuck that guy,” Roier declares.

Cellbit nods in agreement. “Fuck him. He had so much potential.”

Roier blinks. “What?”

“Uh, I mean. He had so much potential… to get arrested and die in jail?”

Uh-huh, sure.

Roier rolls his eyes. “I think they still do public executions here, actually.”

“What, don’t you know? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of alien super genius?”

Cellbit’s smile is sharp as a knife. (He’s soooo proud of himself. Dumbass.)

He elbows Roier in the side.

Roier elbows him back. “Not everybody can be an ‘alien super genius’. Some of us are just guys who slept through Earth Class in school.”

Cellbit shoots him a look, his smile and eyes softening disgustingly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, man,” he says. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

He goes quiet for a second before quickly adding on: “Especially compared to us humans!”

He coughs into his fist and looks to the side, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

Oh, Cellbit…

Roier elbows Cellbit again. “Hey, be nice to humans! They can be smart as hell sometimes!”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Cellbit says, still turned away. “We can be really dumb sometimes, though. Like, with cars. And TikTok.”

“Fuck you, I love TikTok!”

“You would.”

Mildly outraged and somewhat offended, Roier gasps, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that you look like a TikTok guy.”

“What happened to calling me a genius?”

Cellbit bites back a laugh, not answering. Asshole.

Pouting only a little, Roier crosses his arms and kicks a pebble and tries not to step in a river of alcohol and mud going down the side of the street. Ewwwww….

Once upon a time, Roier used to go on trips with his Captain all the time. They’d hop into the Captain’s TARDIS and set the destination to random and go on at least a dozen dates a week. They’d hold hands walking down the streets, and they would kiss quite literally whenever possible.

Cellbit doesn’t hold Roier’s hand. Their fingers brush, but that’s it.

(Roier misses him so bad…)

Roier’s wedding ring feels so cold. He can only imagine how freezing the chain necklace around Cellbit’s neck is.

But they keep walking, and they keep talking, and Roier can almost pretend it’s the same as it was before the war. He wasn’t on the last of his set of 12 lives, his husband wasn’t… a fucking idiot.

Cellbit trips over a loose paving stone and almost falls, but Roier catches him by the arm and pulls him back upright- their first real physical contact since Roier picked Cellbit up for that first trip away from Earth.

Just for a second, Cellbit looks like he’s going to break. His eyes water, and his mouth thins, and his lip threatens to start wobbling pathetically.

But he pulls himself together, and he pulls his arm away.

“Thank you,” he quietly says.

He holds his body close to himself and looks anywhere but at Roier.

Roier sighs, but he smiles, anyway. Of course he does. He’s Cellbit, how could Roier not smile at him?

(This, at least, has stayed the same.)

___

If you liked this little excerpt, please reblog and comment/ask/Whatever! It really does mean a lot to me, and it lets me know that people want to read more!!

[leonas-herbivore]

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Summary: A blooming romance between you and Leona gets cut short when you start having nightmares over the recent overblots. You don't know how you'll be able to move on from it when something unexpected happens.

MC is written in the second POV, gender neutral. 2644 word count

Hi! I'm bad at summaries and titles. But here's an angsty (maybe) fic for ya. Enjoy :)

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

The murder of crows flying above, turning the blue sky into an inky abyss, would unnerve the person you used to be. You couldn’t remember when, but a numbness had crept into your heart. A numbness that took away most of the fear and most of the pain. A numbness… that took away most of your happiness, too. The ringing of the school bell drowned out the croaks and caws of the crows. Classes were over for the day. 

You tucked your sandwich under your arm and quickened your pace. In a world like this one, you were defenseless. A non-magic person in a magical world. You knew some basic self-defense techniques and could escape a sticky situation. But against magic? As the saying goes, you don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. The students here at Night Raven College weren’t bad people. Well, maybe.

Does controlling a crowd to secure victory by trampling an opposing team make someone bad? Would someone be a terrible person if they tricked others into indentured servitude? If someone used hypnosis to control and betray someone, would that person be evil? Of course, there was much more to it than that. You knew that. 

But these weren’t hypothetical scenarios. These were real-life events. They happened. And recently, too. The headmage assured you that you were safe here at the school. He expressed how generous and kind he was to ensure your safety. His words left you with little comfort.

You finally reached your dorm and stumbled inside. With your back against the door, you breathed a sigh of relief. Ramshackle dorm, even though it was a bit dingy, provided a much-needed sense of comfort and relief. I’m safe here, you thought to yourself. A knock at the door made your sense of peace vanish instantly.

“Yuu? You in there?” a voice rang out. Ruggie! Your heart raced. His unique magic, Laugh with Me, allowed him to control people’s bodies like a puppeteer. But instead of puppets… 

If he wanted, he could make you do whatever he wished. He could make you open this door, take your lunch, and steal your money. But he wouldn’t do something like that to you, would he? Would he?

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. Just give me a sec.” You took a deep breath. With your thoughts collected, you opened the door. Ruggie stood on the doorstep looking as casual and unbothered as ever. 

“Um, did-did you need something?” You hated how timid you sounded. But you couldn’t help it. The idea of magic used to be so cool and, well, magical. But now that you’ve seen how ugly it could be, all the whimsy and wonder in magic no longer existed. Ruggie’s gray eyes betrayed no emotion as he looked you over.

“You’ve got a funny look on your face. Did something happen?” he asked. Did something happen? Ugh, the nerve. Yeah, a lot of things happened.

A shiver ran down your spine. The memories were still so vivid. Ruggie was Leona's vice dorm leader. Was he close by? Memories swirled in your mind. Leona and his overblot. An inky silhouette emerged from his body, a former shadow of himself. The ink spilled over him, threatening to swallow him whole. His rage, his pain, and his sadness all seemed to manifest into something truly horrifying. He was so big and strong; it was a miracle he was defeated. There were injuries but no casualties, thank the Great Seven. 

After that, things returned to normal, and Leona seemed to change for the better. Sort of. He and Ruggie were back to being buds, not that there was any bad blood to begin with. But it was still a relief that they sorted things out. 

You and Leona worked things out between the two of you, too. You grew closer and closer as friends until something unspoken began to bloom between you. Longing glances and knowing smiles became a common occurrence. Things were going well until-

“Uh, helloooo? Anybody home?” Ruggie waved his hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I spaced out for a second there. But I’m fine. What’s up?”

“We’re having a barbecue later at Savanaclaw—Leona’s idea. I caught Grim after class, and he said he was going. Almost started drooling and everything. I was surprised you weren’t with him.”

You gave Ruggie a sheepish smile.ou skipped the last class of the day. Nothing wrong with being rebellious now and then. Technically, it wasn’t even a class. It was a boring seminar. You didn’t need to be there, especially since Leona AND Jamil were there. Facing two former overblot boys at once? No thanks.

“Thanks for the invite, but can I take a raincheck? I’m super busy with homework and stuff. You know how it is. But tell Leona I said thanks for the invite.” you forced a smile. You started to backpedal into the hallway. “Anyway, see you later. Bye!” You slammed the door shut before Ruggie could open his mouth again.

Back against the door, you closed your eyes and took slow, deep breaths. Ruggie was pretty smart, so he probably knew you were lying. Hopefully, he was smart enough to take the hint, too. You weren’t interested in stepping foot in Savanaclaw at the moment. Not after last time. 

You unwrapped your sandwich and took a bite. There's nothing like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich to help calm your nerves. The overblots were such haunting memories. But there was no point in dwelling on the past. What was done was done. The best thing for everyone would be to move on.

You weren’t alone either. You had friends that would help you in a time of need. Even good old Grimmy would come to the rescue if needed. You chuckled to yourself, imagining your friends as a rescue squad. Everything that could go wrong would probably happen. They would fight amongst themselves, deciding on a strategy for rescue. Grim would set things on fire. Deuce would summon a legion of cauldrons. They’re all thickheaded, but they were good guys. Things would work out in the end. You felt comforted thinking of your friends. Speaking of, where was Grim, anyway? 

Ruggie said he ran into him after class. He should’ve been back by now. You shrugged. He would be fine. You yawned and rubbed your eyes. While you were waiting for him, a nap would be good. You stumbled to your bed and plopped onto it. 

Another yawn escaped your mouth. All of these sleepless nights were catching up to you. Staring at the ceiling, you thought of Leona. It was kind of him to invite you to the dorm barbecue. If things were different, you would have loved to go. The two of you could’ve walked around together, holding hands. Maybe you could’ve found the courage to voice your feelings to him. Handsome Leona, I have a crush on you! Please be my boyfriend. I’ll be the Nap Queen to your Nap King, haha. Ugh. That is so cringe. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would it be wild and passionate or gentle and soft?

For now, none of those things could happen. Your fear was getting the better of you. It was still painful to look at Leona, let alone be near him. He wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. You knew he wouldn’t. He liked you. At least, you thought he did… Your thoughts trailed off as their eyes closed.

A loud knock made them jolt upright. You rubbed your eyes. What time is it? You rubbed your eyes again and stumbled towards the door. The obnoxious knocking continued.

“Hang on! “I’m coming, I’m coming! Geez,” you grumbled. You reached the door and pulled it open. “What’s your- huh?”

Instead of the front yard to the Ramshackle dorm, an endless savanna stretched out in front of you. Trees and shrubs dotted the horizon. There wasn’t a building or a soul in sight. The sky was the bluest and brightest you had ever seen. 

“How did I… get here?” you turned around and yelped in surprise. The dorm was gone. Nothing but savanna stood in its place. Lush green scenery spread out for miles. Maybe you were still sleeping. Ok, deep breaths. You closed their eyes and rubbed them so hard that colorful dots swam behind your eyelids. 

You felt a sinking feeling in your feet. Wait. Your feet? Your eyes flew open. Quicksand! Your heart began to beat faster. You were sinking at an alarming rate, and no one was around to hear your cries for help. You struggled against your might against the sand but to no avail. 

A growl ripped through the air and shook the earth. As if on cue, a sandstorm formed before your eyes. You spotted a figure through the sand. A figure that looked all too familiar. 

A strangled scream escaped your throat. Leona Kingscholar. In all of his overblot glory. Black ink swirled in the air, threatening to swallow everything whole. His eyes, oh, his eyes. His green eyes glowed with unrelenting rage and pain. He reached out his hand, a claw covered in black goo. Slowly, he made his way to you, sinking into the sand.

You squeezed your eyes shut. No! No! No! Someone, please help me! I’m going to die! Help! Please- 

“Oi! Wake up!” a deep voice called to you.

Your eyes shot open. You came face to face with the last person you wanted to see. You pushed him away with all your might.

“No! Get away from me!” you shouted. You whipped your head around to take in your surroundings. The savanna was gone, and you were back in your bedroom. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Cold sweat covered your body. Another nightmare. When will it end?

“Hey.” a deep voice pulled you from your daze. You snapped your head in the direction of the doorway. Leona was standing there, hand on his hip. He looked so cool and relaxed, as usual. But the shadow clouding his face said otherwise.

“What do you want?” you snapped at him. You winced. It wasn’t his fault. But you were so tired. Honestly, things were going well after the last overblot. Everyone was friends again. It was as if nothing happened until that fateful night. 

The first nightmare was almost identical to the one you had just awakened. It felt so real. The sounds, the sands, and that dreadful, all-consuming ink. You couldn’t get it out of your mind. If you felt so terrible about it, you couldn’t even imagine how Leona felt. Maybe he was having nightmares, too. Leona furrowed his brow.

“You declined my gracious invitation. I came to set things straight. But, I wasn’t expectin’ to find you like this.” he said in a low voice. Were your eyes deceiving you, or did he look… worried?

“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m a little busy. I got lots going on,” you said.

“Heh, you’re real bold for an herbivore. Lyin’ to my face like that.” Leona said. He sighed as you avoided his gaze. His shoes clicked on the ground as he walked over to your bed. The old mattress creaked under his weight as he sat next to you. You scooted away from him and crossed your arms. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke up.

“How long?” he asked. You glanced at him.

“How long what?”

“The nightmares. How long have you had them?”

You thought for a moment before answering with a whisper. “I can’t remember.”

Leona nodded. Silence fell over them again. You glanced in his direction. For the first time, you noticed dark circles under his eyes. Oh no. Poor Leona. Your heart ached for him. But what could you do? You sighed. 

Fatigue was starting to set in. You wondered what to say to Leona. He was hurting just as much as you were. Probably worse. What could you say? He came to see why you didn’t go to the barbecue. But you couldn’t tell him the truth. It would hurt him if you told the truth. I didn’t want to see you. I’m not ready. Being around you hurts. It scares me. Even though I know it wasn’t your fault, a part of me still blames you. And it makes me feel so horrible. I don’t- 

You stifled a gasp as a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and squeezed you tight. Leona rested his head on top of yours.

“L-Leona?” you whispered. Silence. You heard him take a shaky breath before answering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

At first, you were too stunned to speak. And then the floodgates opened. Hot tears streamed down your face as you sobbed into Leona’s shoulder. He tightened his grip around your shuddering body. You cried for what felt like an eternity. 

Leona didn’t loosen his grip even after your tears stopped. You could feel his slow and steady heartbeat like ocean waves coursing through your body. You wondered if he fell asleep.

“Leona?” your voice cracked. 

“Mmm?” he mumbled. You pulled away from him, far enough to see his face. His eyes were red, and his ears were down. A sullen expression darkened his face. You had never seen him like this. Your chest tightened.

“Leona, I-”

Leona put a finger on your lips. “I know what you’re gonna say, but you don’t have to say it. Just-” he sighed. “If you need me, let me know. Alright?”

“What if I need you in the middle of the night?”

“Whenever. I’ll show up. For you,” Leona said. He reached up to your face and stroked your cheek.

“What if I need you first thing in the morning?”

“I’ll show up.”

“What about- hey!” you whined as Leona pinched your cheek.

“I told you whenever, so quit askin’,” he grumbled. You smiled at him. Same old Leona. It was so good to see his scowl again. You hugged him tight and nuzzled his shoulder. Leona hugged you back.

“Are we good, Leo?”

Leona hesitated before answering. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

“Well, I asked you first.”

Leona pressed his forehead against yours and looked deeply into your eyes. Heat rose to your cheeks under his gaze. He ran his thumb along your chin before tilting it upward. 

“This may not be the right time, but can I kiss you?” he asked. Without hesitating, you whispered, “Yes.” Your lips met, setting off fireworks in your heart. Leona wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair as the kiss deepened. So many words you’d left unsaid passed between you, spilling over your lips, dancing on your tongues. You kissed each other like your lives depended on it. Like you would never be able to do it again.

You peppered Leona’s face with kisses before finally pulling away. A small smile graced his face. That moment made you realize that everything was going to be ok. You would be there for him, and he would be there for you. Together, you could overcome the past, no matter how much it scared you both. “So, how about that barbecue, hmm?” you winked at him. Your heart skipped a beat as his usual smug smile crossed his lips.

“Nah. Let’s stay here. We’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”

“But what about-” your words were interrupted as Leona kissed you.

“You talk too much, herbivore.”

You smiled against his lips as he kissed you again and again. Oh, my sweet carnivore. How lovely your kisses are. I will walk with you on this healing journey together. No matter where our lives take us. 

[ravennaortiz]

The guys reaction to accidently hurting you- Mayans version

Angel- He feels awful. He had been playing around fighting EZ with the pool cues in the clubhouse. Bishop had already warned them to chill but they had disregarded him. Now he was holding you close as you cried and blood ran down your face. Shhing you as you yelled at him for being an idiot and if your nose was broken you would break his. Your threats of shocking the stick up his ass and making him your puppet quieted as he tried to kiss you into silence.

Bishop- "Its a small burn, it barely hurts" you tell him again. He hears you but is too lost in his mind. "Its doesn't matter. I should have been more careful. These things kill" continued Bishop as he frantically tossed all his cigarettes and cigars into the trash. "You hate the smell anyway. I should have stopped years ago" he continued before looking around the clubhouse at all the others smoking as if he hadn't almost caught his wife on fire. "Effective immediately no smoking!" he bellowed as he grabbed the fire extinguisher as you shook your head.

Bottles- He had been trying to impress you. You made him nervous and he had no idea how to tell you he liked you. Which is what led him to trying to show you a magic trick. Unfortunately he had messed up when he saw you smiling at him and he had squirted tequila and lemon directly into your eyes instead of into the cup you were holding. He was barely keeping himself from crying as he watched EZ help you flush your eyes out.

Coco- He had just been trying out a different technique in the bed room. He hadn't meant to make you guys into a sex sent me to the er episode. The nurse and doctor certainly had not won him any points when they said going forward more tongue and less teeth would be best. Glancing over at you on the couch with an ice pack on your lady parts he tried again to apologize. "My bad-" . "Tell it to my clit you almost ripped off" you snapped cutting him off . "Alright then" replied Coco with a shrug before moving to the floor between your legs. "Yo my apologies" he said staring diirectly at your crotch.

Creeper- He's worried you will leave him. The whole time its all he can think about as Angel drives you guys to the hospital. He can't even plead his case, he knows he's guilty. Accident or not. He should not be forgiven for harming his woman. "Guess its safe to say I wont be running away from you anytime soon" you manage to croak out as you try not to look at your swollen and wrongly turned ankle. Creeper frowns as Angel hits a bump in the road jolting you. "Careful" he snaps. Angel scoffs and mutters something only you hear making you laugh. "What was that?" demands Creeper. "I said next time you want to be kinky maybe play were wolf coming through the bedroom window and not the damn woods" replied Angel as he sent Creeper a grin.

EZ- He busies himself. Trying to keep his mind off how your broken hand is his fault. You had been on him about how the trailer needed repairs. The door swung shut to fast and the steps were getting rusty. He had agreed and said he would fix them.... he just never seemed to have time between the club, you and his pops. Now though as you sat in an inflatable pool drinking a margarita with your hand in a bright pink cast he had time.

Gilly- He feels so much shame. You always called him your big teddy bear. Told him how much you loved being wrapped in his arms especially when he gave you surprise hugs from the back. He didn't realize you had a knife. The morning had started off like any other in your household. Your daughter was set at the table eating her cereal as you worked on cutting open a pack of bacon. One minute you were struggling to cut through the packaging as your daughter talked about going to the park and the next you were watching blood pour onto your kitchen floor as your daughter screamed and Gilly yelled.

Guero-He is furious with himself. Honestly if he could he would sprout a second him just to beat the shit out of it. He's snappy as everyone tells him it was an accident and to not be so hard on himself. Even your words can't soothe him. He vows never to play around with you again as the little old lady at the grocery store glares at him. "Its not my first black eye" you state as you toss candy bars into the cart. "Barely felt it, like being punched by a sad cloud" you continue as you watch him roll his eyes. "Yeah that why you were crying so much?" he dead panned making you laugh.

Manny-He's silent and methodical as he checks you over. His eyes and brow furrowed in worry as he notes the flinch as his fingers trace over a sore spot on your back. You whine and his heart feels like you stabbed him. He's about to apologize again but you cut him off with a joke. "You know when I said I wanted you to break my back I meant it as a metaphor for sex not for you to literally break my back". Manny closes his eyes as he chuckles quietly. "Guess I gotta be a Doctor Manny now huh mami?". "Only if you give me an injection" you reply tossing him a glance over your shoulder.

Return to Headcanon Masterlist Page

[daisygirlwrites]

Rookie Mistake

Summary: Alternative title, How You Got Your Call Sign

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, minor character death

Pairing(s): Task Force 141 x fem!Reader (Platonic)

Note: No use of (Y/N). Only description of the reader is that she’s short

a/n: hey there! first and foremost, big thanks to @einno-arko​ for editing it! please check out her page! it has been a long time since i’ve written a fanfic so do forgive me for how rough this is. it is also 3 in the morning as im typing, woops. also, would love to hear feedback so i can make improvements in future works. thank y’all!

Being short has its advantages at times. For your job as a sniper, you could be placed anywhere without being seen. During your basic and special forces training, where most people are at least a head taller than you, you were taught techniques for someone only your size can pull off. 

The man in front of you is probably the tallest person you’ve seen on the field. At least two feet taller than you and all muscle. ‘Tank’, his teammates call him. Truly matches the description.  You try not to think about how one of his hands can wrap around your neck and squeeze the life out of you.

Instead, you pull out your knife and charge towards him. He runs towards you, arms up and ready to take a swing. Expecting a punch, you lean your upper body forward, keeping your head low. On your last step, you push upwards with your foot. Tank misses you, his stance uneven and his legs still wide open.

For a millisecond, you thought about slicing the area between his thighs, making things easier for you in the long run. Instead, you stick with the training that’s been engraved into your head. Diving in the open space between his legs, you run your knife through his inner thigh, hoping it’s deep enough to at least damage the femoral artery.

Tank lets out a scream and staggers forward as you slide down on the floor. With his back to you, you push your body up and sprint towards him. The ideal situation is for you to get to him and pull his head back enough to slice his throat. But life isn’t always ideal.

To your shock, he quickly gets up onto his feet and turns around, facing you. As if his strength doubled, he knocks the knife out of your hand and, for a split second, your eyes follow the knife as it flies across the room. That was all Tank needed, grabbing both of your arms and lifting you up. Yeah, you should have just sliced his dick.

It was at this time that the rest of the team entered the room. The sight was almost comical; you being held up, legs dangling like a rag doll. Tank casts a quick glance from the corner of his eye. All four men with their rifles up, pointing towards the two of you, but it was the one with a skull mask that made his body break out into a cold sweat. Four against one are really bad odds, especially with an injured leg.

Tank still has you held out, practically using you as a human shield for the upper half of his body. But with your insistent wiggling and attempts at kicking him, it becomes more difficult for him to keep a grip on you.

He knows that he probably won’t leave this room alive, and he’d rather die than to surrender. Tank goes through his options, looking at the small soldier in his hands. ‘Should have grabbed them by the neck.’ As soon as he makes a move, the men in front of him will too.

“Just drop them mate!” A heavy Scottish accent is heard throughout the room.

Tank stays silent, eyes darting around the room, trying to find the means of escape. His train of thought became illogical. As he looks around his environment, he tries to avoid meeting the eyes of the man with the skull mask. ‘Ghost’ is his name. His dark eyes never leave Tank’s.

If he’s going to Hell, he won’t be going alone. Spotting the window to his right, his body moved before his brain could process what was happening. Tank twists his upper body and, with the last of his strength, he hurls you through the glass

During your time with the team, which was about six months when you first joined, you’ve kept quiet. Never raising your voice and only talking when you’re addressed. So, when they hear you yelp and let out a high-pitched scream as they watch your body crash through the window, they would have laughed if the circumstances were different.

As soon as your body stopped shielding him, Ghost took the shot. He watched as the large man slammed down to his knees, blood running down his face from the bullet hole on his head, before finally falling forward.

Getting thrown out the window sounds fun, besides landing on the glass and the very high chance of death. Any other person would have a couple of broken bones, but it seems like you had lady luck on your side today. For one, the warehouse is only one story high, and you’re all padded up. Without your gear and helmet, there would have been more puncture points from the shards. But the impact from hitting the ground doesn’t leave you unscathed. Something is probably broken, sprained, if not bruised. You don’t feel it now but it’s going to suck ass later. Laying on your side, you look around, trying to not move your body in the process. There are probably hundreds, maybe even thousands, of glass shards surrounding you.

“ROOKIE!” Soap comes running towards you.

You open your mouth, wanting to tell him to be careful but Ghost’s rough voice cuts you off. “Dammnit Johnny, watch out for the fuckin’ glass!”

Soap slows his movements, making calculated hops to avoid the sharp shards. “Heya lassie, how ya feeling?”

Not having the energy for a filter, you responded. “Felt like I got thrown out a window. Fuckin’ hell, Soap, what do you think?!”

Seeing his eyes widen, you immediately regret the words that came out of your mouth. “Holy shit, Soap. I am so sorry.”

He lets out a hearty laugh as he stops before you. He gives you a look over, trying to find any visibly large shards of glass embedded in your body. Seeing as there isn’t any visible, Soap sticks his hand out. Surprised to find how badly your arm is shaking, he gently grabs your forearm and pulls you up.

“You really are Ghost’s mini-me,” he chuckles.

“Huh?”

“Already picking up his humor and stealing his catchphrase.”

“Oh!” You look down, thanking your balaclava for hiding your flushed face.

With his arm under yours, you lean on him, slowly limping your way towards the rest of the team. Price took another look at you, spotting at least a dozen little glass shards that punctured your jacket and pants. “Best to have the med team take them out of you. The heli will be here in five.”

You can feel Ghost’s eyes burning holes into your head. You realize that during your next training sessions, he’s going to roast the ever living fuck out of you about what happened today. Dread begins to sink in.

—

 With your left arm bare and the interior of the heli cold, you try to minimize your shivering so that the medic can properly do their job. You guessed that the guys would at least wait until you get back to base before they made jokes, but you were very wrong.

“Rookie, you literally got yeeted out the window.” Gaz was the first to break the silence.

“Yes, Gaz, I know.”

“We should have a contest to see how far each of us can throw her.” Soap barked out, joining in on the teasing.

“I would prefer not, Soap.”

And it went on for a little while longer, and you, again, were thankful for having your balaclava on so they wouldn’t see that you’re dying on the inside.

“Probably gonna stop calling you Rookie now.” Much to everyone’s surprise, they turn to Ghost.

You tilt your head, confused, before he continues. He stares at you, the heli quiet besides the hum of the wings. A beat later he speaks up again, “I think I’ll call you Crash.”

You follow with an immediate, “Oh hell no.”

At this point, Soap and Gaz are giggling like schoolgirls. Price turns away, lips pulled tight but his shoulders shaking up and down in muffled laughter. Ghost’s eyes narrow, but you can tell he has a smug grin under his mask.

“Crash it is then!”

“Don’t encourage him, Soap!”

“Sorry lassie, it’s law now, we outrank you.” He smiles at you.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you let out a quiet chuckle. Lifting your head up from your hand, you quietly say, “Fine. Just don’t tell anyone about this”

You watch Soap nod and Gaz give you a thumbs up before you pull down your balaclava, giving them a smile.

[majeoeje]

Start over

Megumi x reader (male implied reader)

I wished we were two other people more times than everytime you had forgotten about me

"You have really pretty lashes"

Megumi has heard you uttered these words countless of times before, at first he didn't harbor a lot of opinion on this, but now it serves as a painful reminder that he had to start over with you once again. But even now he can't comprehend how to respond other than a simple thank you

"You're Fushiguro right?"

"That's correct"

here we go again, he thought

"It's nice to meet you, i hope we can get along" you gave a lazy smile before entering your shared dorm room, all beat up from your previous fight as if it was just another day.. well you pretend that it was everytime because what else can you do? You once had told him

"Yeah...it's nice to meet you too" he told you. As if he was in a same play for who knows how many times

Megumi had lost count on how many times you had introduced yourself to him, he knew everything about you. Yet you're here asking about his name once again. Your cursed technique is the one to blame for this strange dynamic

That being said, your curse technique transfers memories into curse energy and a technique which grant their wielder the power to imbue a weapon of their choice with curse energy and a guarantee that it would cut anything as if it wasn't there

A cheap cost to pay for power, some would say. But he always watches the fear in your eyes everytime it has to come down to it, afraid you might use it too much to the point you'll forget how to breath.

Afraid...yes you were always afraid. Afraid that your life would succumb to nothing but blank pages of nothing. To the point you'd write every last detail of your day until late at night so that at least your days could amount to something. Even if it were as simple as you went outside and train like how you usually do.

"I'm kind of hungry, you got anything to eat?" You said perking up your head from the non-fiction book you curiously skimmed up from Megumi's bookshelve trying to gather information from the stranger in front of you

"Gojo-sensei dropped some apples earlier, suit yourself" he said pointing to a basket from the corner of his desk remembering how the unusual white haired man hasn't change over the years

"Well don't mind me" you say, picking one up before looking for a something on your side of the room

You didn't have to go through a lot before Megumi tapped you on the shoulder making you face him

"Looking for this?" He pointed to a small knife on his hand

"Oh thanks a lo-"

you didn't even finished your sentence before he took the apple from your hand

"Your hand's fractured, Miss shoko said you shouldn't try to move it a lot in the mean time"

He said, pulling a nearby chair before he started to peel the apple for you. Just how you liked it.. a prefrence that has never changed no matter how many times you've erased your memories

"Aye you did it in one peel, impressive" you commented "How'd you know that i like my apples peeled?"

"You made me do it for you for months when you broke 7 bones on your body" he said handing you the peeled fresh fruit

"Eh, really? Tell me about it" you rested your hand on your desk as you sat comfortably on your chair as if you were getting ready to catch up to an old friend after not meeting them for years. And despite how bad he think his storytelling abilities was, Megumi couldn't disappoint that glimmer in your eyes, never.

"That day you saved me from a first grade curse" he started, as you bit into your freshly peeled apple

"you used up your curse technique to the point you forgot how to wield your weapon"

Megumi was not one to run his mouth, he preferred to listen most of the times. But in times like this, he feels the need to encapture every detail about that period of time as much as possible. And in turn, you'd listen to his voice, tuning in his gentle tone. Perhaps you got distracted at some point but that is surely not your fault

"We must've been pretty close" you grinned, hearing him finished his story

"We were"

You were practically attached to the hip from middle school, so it'd be a lie to say you weren't. But on the darkest pit of his heart he still wished you two was so much more even after knowing you like the back of his hand. How you'd swing your weapon in such way as if you were a dancer, how you'd give a lame excuse on how you peeled too much orange or apples just to get him to eat , how you purposely talk to him to keep him out just to watch a horror movie program in the middle of the night, how you'd play your music loud enough to cause hearing problems when he's not at the dorm, how he knew that you were just assigned a roomate to exploit your Curse technique, how disconnected you truly are from the world, how you'd laugh, how you'd cry, how your skin would make him shiver everytime it touches his

There was never enough of you for him really. Yet he'd wished for the impossible everytime

"So..what's your curse technique?" You asked and he would always answer

Just what was one more start?