#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.

[emyyxy]

..murderous side?

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

billy and stu’s reactions to finding out reader is actually a murder like them!

mentions of knives/knifeplay, mild smut headcanons

billy 🔪

you actually came to billy and stu first about wanting to join them in their murderous ways. “what the hell?! no. absolutely not.” billy shut it down real quick because he didn’t want that life for you.

with endless amounts of begging, billy gave in. you joined on a fairly easy plan and got the job done more efficiently than they would’ve. seeing you in that ghostface costume turned him on BAAAADDDD

your knife work and technique turned billy on-now he won’t admit that to anybody but stu and even then he was skeptical of telling him. the way you would fiddle with the knife in between your fingers-like gyatttt!

he asked an insane amount of questions, mostly because he never wanted you to go down that path. “why did you wanna start this?!”“who showed you those knife techniques?” “can you show me a knife trick or two?” his questions would slowly form to fan girling but he’ll always deny deny deny.

billy would start to feel a little competitive..even though it was never a competition, he’d make it one. “sooo how many have you taken out? i bet i have much more..not to brag..but to brag yeah im sure i have a lot more.”

he would randomly try your abilities to defend yourself. just laying on the couch watching a movie? he’d fake come at you, try to jab you in your stomach or your side to test how quick your reflexes are. “oh i could’ve just totally killed you now.” “gotta work on your reflexes y/n!!!”

wants you to wear the ghostface costume when he fucks you

stu 🔪

stu was ecstatic that you wanted to join him and billy in their murders! he thought it would be fun bonding time! “oh cmon, bill! it could be fun! please please pleasseeeeee”

your knife techniques made him realize he has a knife kink…like real bad. after watching you just toy with your knife, he had to excuse himself to the bathroom and tug one out

also wants you to wear the ghostface costume when he fucks you

stu would be such a supportive fangirl and actually show his fangirlyness unlike billy. “i know you can take them down! i believe in you, y/n! here- i’ll even help you, i’ll hold them down!”

the first time the both of you killed together, his adrenaline rush was so high, he almost fainted. watching you get splattered in your victim’s blood, all over your face and your hair..the way you licked your blood-stained lips. the insane smile, holding the knife above your head before the last stab…it was way too much for him. his eyes were filled with big red hearts.

after your first official kill, he got you your own personalized knife, your name carved into the handle of it. he carved it himself

he offered to help train you, to help you get used to the costume and go through fake scenarios to survive. he ended up tackling you down, pinning you and having a steamy makeout session in his garage. the only thing you still had on was the mask.

seeing you take some of his gestures while murdering seriously makes him rock hard. the way you hold up the knife above your head with two hands has him growing a boner with another boner! the way as you manically laugh and smile while brutally stabbing sends him to another planet. of course after the job is done, you both use that adrenaline to good use 😉😉

[writinginatree]

Paul x reader - Vampires Will Never Hurt You

Summary: Paul reveals his true nature to you when he has to save you from an attacker, and immediately panics about how you'll react.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood & murder

Santa Carla is not a safe place to walk alone at night, everyone knows that. You have never felt particularly unsafe being out late despite that, used to the night life thanks to your boyfriend and his brothers, who have the worst sleeping rhythm imaginable and a bad enough reputation to scare off any possible threats, but now, as you walk along the beach to where you're supposed to meet Paul, a chill creeps down your spine.

You fight the urge to look back over your shoulder again. The surf nazi that has been following you since the boardwalk will still be there if you look, you're sure, and you're not willing to let him see how much he's scaring you.

You've almost reached the meeting spot, and the sun is just disappearing into the ocean, which means you're right on time. Paul will be there any moment.

You cling to that thought, walking faster.

Only a small rise of the ground separates you from where you hope Paul is already waiting, when the sound of footsteps alerts you to the fact that the distance to your pursuer is growing ever smaller.

No amount of telling yourself you'll be safe with Paul in just a minute can help against the feeling that a hand will close around the back of your neck any moment. You try to just keep walking, but the tension becomes too much. You need to know what to expect, what your pursuer is up to, so you whirl around to face him, wishing you had some kind of weapon in case you have to defend yourself.

The shock of just how close he is has you staggering a step backwards, your own galloping heartbeat drowning out all other sounds as a glinting switchblade appears in his hand. In the falling darkness, you can just barely make out the surfer's cruel features, crazed hatred shining in his eyes. The conflict between Paul's group and these people is nothing new — anyone who spends enough time on the boardwalk can witness it — but now you realize with growing terror that you may have underestimated just how far it goes. This guy is fully prepared to kill you just to get to Paul.

He says as much, crossing the remaining distance between you with two huge steps as you stand frozen in fear.

Scream. You should scream. If Paul is already close-by — and he should be, if he's on time — he'll hear and come help you. But you can't seem to make a sound, or move at all.

Your eyes are glued to the knife. That's your mistake, because he doesn't use it yet. Instead his free hand grabs for your throat.

Finally breaking from your stupor, you jump back with a yelp.

Now he does lift the knife, and as you lift your arms in a weak attempt to protect yourself, you promise yourself to learn some self-defense techniques if you live to see the morning.

He's almost upon you when a blur of movement behind the attacker catches your eye. Looking over his shoulder, you recognize the blond mess of your boyfriend's hair, but his face is different — all glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He rips the surfer away from you, moving so fast your eyes can barely follow the movement. All you can see is flailing limbs and spurting blood, and the next thing you know, there's a body laying at your feet, the whole thing over before you can even begin to comprehend what happened.

When Paul turns around to you, his face looks just like always. If it wasn't for the blood smeared all over his face and the disfigured corpse sprawled on the sand, you might be inclined to think you had only imagined it.

Shock keeps you frozen in place, too stunned to say anything — not that you have to, what with Paul rushing to your side, his hands digging into your shoulders as his panicked gaze roams your form for any injuries. His voice trembles as he asks if you're alright, at which you manage a silent nod.

By the time Paul has assured himself you're unharmed, you have finally regained enough of your composure to ask him what the fuck just happened. He only now seems to realize what he just let you witness, that he revealed what you assume was supposed to remain a well-protected secret. Fresh panic flares in his eyes, and for a moment you wonder if he'll kill you now. Whatever just went on with him, can he risk letting you get away and potentially giving him away to others? Ha! As if anyone would believe you if you told them what you just saw. Besides, he went berserk to protect you.

That thought gives you the courage to touch Paul — who is staring at you with that look that you know means there's a hundred thoughts racing through his head at once — on his arm, and ask again. "Paul, what was that? You— You killed that guy. And your face—"

You're not sure what else to say.

Neither is Paul, it seems. He winces, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. Twice he starts a sentence and breaks off after the first word, frustratedly shaking his head. "I'm a vampire," he finally blurts out, words coming out so fast he stumbles over them. "Me and the boys all are. This— this isn't how I wanted you to find out but I— that guy— I just had to protect you."

For a moment, you can only stare at him, wide-eyed and unmoving as your brain tries to process that information. Vampire. A fucking vampire?

"You... are a vampire," you repeat. It's not really a question — you understood his words perfectly well, and you know what you saw. After that, it's easy enough to believe, also explaining why you only ever get to see Paul and his brothers at night. Even so, the word gives you the unreasonable urge to laugh as you can't help but imagine Paul as one of the little bloodsuckers from a cartoon you used to watch. As you just witnessed, real vampires are nothing like the ones they show on the TV for children, and the lingering smell of blood in the air makes it easy to bite down the threatening laugh, but a feeling of unreality remains. The fact that vampires exist would have been enough of a shock on it's own, but that Paul of all people is one... You're not really sure how to cope with that.

How the hell is one supposed to react when finding out one's boyfriend is secretly a vampire?! Should you be scared? You suppose any sane person would be, when faced with such a bloodthirsty killer. But... bloodsucker or not, it's still Paul. Your sweet, dorky, chaotic and extremely loving Paulie. You just can't bring yourself to see him as a monster, even as you watch the blood continue to drip from his chin. He killed the surfer, sure, but he did that to save you. He wouldn't hurt you, right?

While all these thoughts race through your head, Paul nods and rushes to explain that he doesn't pose any danger to you. You barely listen. You aren't scared of him, you realize. A little disturbed, sure. The events of the last few minutes are too strange and horrifying to really think about without losing your mind, but you know in your bones that Paul would never harm you.

Coming to this realization, you take his bloodstained hand in yours and interrupt his rambling. "I know. I know you're not dangerous to me. I love you, even if you're a vampire — which I'll definitely need some time to wrap my head around, but—"

You're interrupted as Paul breathes a huge sigh of relief and pulls you into his arms, which you're pretty sure he's only held back from doing before because he was scared of scaring you. You hug back, bringing one hand up to pet his hair when you feel him trembling.

"It's okay, Paul. I'm okay. Everything's okay."

When he can finally bring himself to pull away from the hug, Paul tries to give you a kiss, but you quickly take a step back, immediately feeling bad about the hurt look on his face.

"Nuh-uh, I'm sorry, but I'm not kissing you when you have blood on your mouth," you say nonetheless, putting a hand on his chest to keep him at distance.

"Oh c'mon," he whines. "Please, babe!"

The little pout on his lips and the puppy-eyes he's giving you make it almost impossible to resist, and so with a sigh you pull your sleeve down over your hand and use it to wipe away the worst of the blood on his face. Then you allow him to kiss you — and almost immediately regret it, when the taste of blood still clinging to his lips hits you.

You suppose you'll have to get used to it. Now that you know about Paul's true nature, seeing — and kissing — him while he's covered in blood will probably become a common occurrence, whether you like it or not.

[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."

[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.

[mxtxfanatic]

Who Killed Wei Wuxian? the Politics of Culpability in MDZS

The title is kind of a misnomer because we know how Wei Wuxian died and we know who is responsible, so let's get those quotes out the way:

“To be honest though, if it weren’t for young Chief Jiang’s knowledge of the Yiling Laozu’s weaknesses, the siege of the Burial Mounds might not have succeeded. Don’t forget what kinds of things Wei Wuxian has at his disposal. Don’t you remember when he annihilated more than 3,000 high level cultivators?”

—Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

[Wei Wuxian] “I have to clarify this. [Jiang Cheng] didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.”

—Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian died from the backlash of attempting to destroy the second yin tiger tally while the first siege of the Burial Mounds took place. Jiang Cheng and the rest of the cultivation world is directly responsible for his death, thus are to blame. However, this meta isn't about who we are "meant to" blame for Wei Wuxian's death but about the conversation that the novel has about culpability. Contrary to the bad faith engagement that happens around this topic within the fandom, mxtx actually brings up this culpability problem many times in the novel:

After a moment of silence, Wei Wuxian said, “What else have you heard?” “Jiang Cheng, Clan Chief Jiang, brought people to encircle and besiege the Burial Mounds. He killed you, sir.” “I have to clarify this. He didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.” Wen Ning finally lifted his eyes and looked at him directly. “But, Clan Chief Jiang, he clearly—" “It’s impossible for someone to walk on a lonely, single-log bridge safely and soundly for an entire lifetime. It couldn’t be helped.” Wen Ning seemed to want to sigh, though he had no breath to sigh with.

—Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

Wen Qing waited quietly for him to finish cursing, “And so, you see? There’s no use. With the way things are, the identity of the one who placed the curse of Hundred Holes is no longer important. What’s important is the fact that the hundreds of people at Qiongqi path and... Jin ZiXuan were indeed killed by A-Ning.” Wei WuXian, “... But, but...” But what? He himself didn’t even know what to put after ‘but’. He couldn’t think of a reason to give, an excuse to use. He spoke, “... But even then, I should be the one going. I was the one who made the corpses kill the people. Why would the knife go instead of the murderer?”

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

Wen Ning says that Jiang Cheng is to blame for Wei Wuxian's death while Wei Wuxian says that it was an inevitability that could only be blamed on the circumstances rather than any individual. The Wen siblings say that Wen Ning is the one who killed Jin Zixuan, but Wei Wuxian argues that he is the one who turned Wen Ning into a weapon, thus absolving Wen Ning of the crime and placing it solely on Wei Wuxian's shoulders as the weapon's wielder. Who's side does the novel take? Well to answer that, let's take a look at another character who has caused many deaths throughout the novel: Jin Guangyao:

Jin GuangYao saw through the worries in his eyes instantly, and became so enraged that he actually started to laugh, “Lan XiChen! All my life, I’ve lied to countless people and have destroyed countless more. Just as you’ve said, murdering my father, my brother, my wife, my son, my master, my friends—There’s not a single sin left in this world that I haven’t committed!”

—Chapt. 108: Concealment Part 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Of all the characters Jin Guangyao lists, he personally, with his own hands, verifiably killed two. Jin Guangshan was raped to death. Qin Su committed suicide. Jin Zixuan was killed in the Qionqi Path ambush. The details of Jin Rusong's death are unknown. Jin Guangyao didn't even personally kill any of the clans the Jin used as experiments nor did he murder the sex workers with his own hands. Only Wen Ruohan and Nie Mingjue were directly killed by Jin Guangyao—the former by being literally stabbed in the back and the latter through poisoning—so why does Jin Guangyao claim responsibility? It's because he planned these death. Without his direct manipulations and explicit intention to kill, none of those characters would have died as they did. Thus, despite not taking a knife to each of them individually, the blood of all of these characters is on Jin Guangyao's hands.

Here's another example:

It had taken the Four Great Sects three full months of recuperation, reorganization and planning before they’d finally become ready to take seize upon Burial Mound in retaliation; at last “exterminating” the last remnants of the Wen Sect along with the deranged Yiling Patriarch himself.

—Chapt. 108: Concealment Part 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Around 3,000 cultivators gathered to kill 50 individuals. Logically, there is no way that 3,000 people literally had a direct hand in killing a few dozen people. However, they all came with the explicit intent to massacre, and they all take pride and credit in having participated in the first siege. Even though not nobody took turns personally smashing Granny Wen's head in, they are each still culpable for her and the other Wen remnants' deaths.

But what about the people who were "only following orders" (the Nuremberg defense, for people who haven't yet released how many of villain stan defenses sound like Nazi arguments) or "didn't mean" their actions? Should they be blamed just for being followers of bad people, whether be it because they genuinely believed in the mastermind's lies or wanted to personally benefit from the chaos? Should they be considered blameless for murderous intent that makes a victim of the "wrong" person? Mdzs addresses that, too:

One of them shouted from afar, “Wei... Wei Ying! If you’re really that strong, why don’t you go find those sect leaders participating in the pledge conference? What could you prove by picking on us low-level cultivators with no power to fight back?” Wei WuXian let out another short whistle. The cultivator who shouted felt as a hand suddenly tugged him down. He fell off the city gate, breaking both of his legs, and began to scream. Amid the wails, Wei WuXian’s expression didn’t change at all, “Low-level cultivators? Do I have to tolerate you, just because you’re low-level cultivators? If you dared say those things, you had to dare shoulder the consequences. If you knew that you were insignificant pieces of scum as filthy as ants, how come you didn’t know to think before you speak?!”

—Chapt. 77: Nightfall, exr

Wei WuXian could tell the arrow tip was originally aiming for his heart, his vital region. Yet, because the archer wasn’t skilled, the force of the arrow tip dwindled by midair to have missed the heart and shot into the ribcage. Everyone around the person who shot the arrow had eyes wide open, staring with shock and even fear at the disciple who had done such a thing. Wei WuXian looked up. Darkness veiled his face. He pulled out the arrow and tossed it back hard. With a wail, the young cultivator who snuck an attack at him was hit right in the chest with the arrow he tossed back! A boy next to him threw himself on top of him, “Brother! Brother!” The sect’s array was immediately thrown into chaos. The sect leader pointed at Wei WuXian with one shaking finger, “You... You... You are so cruel!” With his right hand, Wei WuXian unhurriedly pressed the wound at his chest, temporarily ceasing the blood flow. His voice was indifferent, “What does cruel mean? If he dared shoot the arrow at me when I was off guard, he should’ve known what would be facing him if he failed. They call me the cultivator of the crooked path, anyways, so you can’t possibly count on me to be generous and not bother with him, can you?”

...

Wei WuXian was pushed onto the ground again by the force. The next time he looked up, he saw the gleaming blade of a sword pierce through her throat. The boy holding the sword was the young cultivator who cried over the disciple who had shot the arrow. He was still crying, eyes covered in tears, “You thief! This is for my brother!” Sitting on the dirty ground, Wei WuXian stared with disbelief at Jiang YanLi, whose head had already dipped, blood trickling ceaselessly from her neck. ... The boy finally realized that he killed the wrong person. He pulled out the sword, along with a series of bloody spurts. With fright, he staggered back, mumbling, “... I-It wasn’t me, it wasn’t... I was going to kill Wei WuXian, I was going to avenge my brother... She was the one who threw herself over on her own!”

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

The cultivators both at Nightless City and those who didn't go choose to provoke Wei Wuxian based on the slander spread by the cultivation clan leaders. Those at Nightless City are gathered specifically to pledge to kill him. However, the moment Wei Wuxian turns his sights on them, then it's "But we're just baby 🥺 why not pick on someone your own size?" Wei Wuxian's response is masterful in that he calls them out for what they are: opportunistic cowards who prey on the weak but fear the strong. They wanted to attack him without consequences, but the moment consequences happened, they wanted to shift responsibility. The clan of the boy who attempted to kill Wei Wuxian is the same, as well as that boy's brother who killed Jiang Yanli. You chose to be here, you chose to participate, so just as you wanted to share in the spoils, you must also share in the responsibility, whether you were able to achieve your goal or not.

Now with all of this context in mind, let's circle back to Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian's convos: who are the killers? In the case of the first siege, the answer is Jiang Cheng... as well as the rest of the cultivation world. While the responsibility may vary in degrees (Jiang Cheng owed a debt to the Wen siblings and Wei Wuxian that the other participants did not), it is still a shared one. In the case of the Qionqi Path ambush, Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning, too, share and accept responsibility despite only one person getting their hands dirty while the other person (subconsciously) gave the orders. Wei Wuxian may have turned Wen Ning into a fierce corpse, but Wen Ning had the consciousness to refuse and chose not to in service of defending the man who saved his family.

Finally, I want to leave on this note: while Jiang Cheng is to blame for Wei Wuxian's death, Wei Wuxian, himself, does not wish to place that blame on his former shidi. One reason is that he acknowledges that his murder was a forgone conclusion—something anyone would have plotted towards, anyways, with or without Jiang Cheng's willing intervention—the moment the cultivation world turned on him as an enemy, and two, because of this:

Suddenly, [Jiang Cheng] said, “I’m sorry.” Wei WuXian froze, then said, “......You don’t have to say sorry.” After everything that had happened between them, it was impossible to tell who was the one most at fault.

—Chapt. 103: A Hatred for Life Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

There is so much bad blood between these two that to weigh their transgressions against each other—particularly in the wake of the golden core transfer reveal—would be petty and diminish them both as people. Wei Wuxian gave up his golden core for the man who later willingly and gleefully plotted his murder, but Jiang Cheng lost his only friend, his sister, and his reputation over all of those jealousy-clouded decisions. In a way, this entanglement made them both lose, so the best answer is to cut the loss and move on (Wei Wuxian's approach) rather than trying to forcefully maintain the connection of tangled debts at the threat of facing even bigger losses (Jiang Cheng's approach until the climax). There's nothing to be gained from trying to hold Jiang Cheng accountable for his crimes against Wei Wuxian, so it's best to simply let sleeping dogs lie and for Wei Wuxian to continue to live his life happily no longer tied in any way to the man who led to his death.

[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

[wassupmygays]

"we messed up dally, we messed up bad!"

no because thinking about Johnny Cade, the 16 yr old kid who jumps at his own shadow and wouldn't hurt a fly (ponyboy's words). the kid who everyone loved and looked out for. the kid who stayed and craved the love of his parents even though they beat him horribly. the kid who was just too damn good for growing old...

that boy. showing up to dally in the middle of the night covered in blood like this. shaking, scared, a murderer. a kid. its so heartbreaking to see the blood on his hands, all over him. that poor kid.

how heartbroken do you think dally felt, when he opened his door at Buck's to see Johnny and Pony shaking in the cold. to see his little brother covered in blood. blood that splattered from the knife that dally gave him

no wonder dally broke so much. the kid he let into his life, vowed to himself that hed protect, had just killed another boy with the knife he provided. with the technique that he showed him. and that eventually led to johnny himself dying. in dally's eyes, that was partly his fault. he blamed the world and their town and the socs and everything else, rightfully so, but i know he blamed himself as well.

"sorry i failed you..."

[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

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Some Wrecker headcanons for Wrecker Wednesday

Look, I know I talk about food a lot, but it's my true love, so I'm not sorry, and I'll probably definitely do it again.

Because this man can cook. He never really even considered cooking before the Batch got to Pabu, but after trying Shep's sushi, Wrecker and Omega begged Shep and Lyana to teach them how to make it. That was how it started.

And because Wrecker is intensely competitive and loves a challenge, he pushed himself to make the most perfect kriffin' sushi on the island. The most precise knife work for his sashimi, the most uniform nigiri, and when he perfected maki on the first day, he demanded a real challenge and immediately graduated to uramaki.

The Marauder was sticky for three days afterward.

After that, he wanted to learn it all. Every time he went to a new food cart on Pabu, he'd watch the vendor's techniques and try to replicate them exactly when he was practicing on his own. He scoured the holonet for new recipes and tutorials. He started testing new flavor combinations (some of them were so bad even Batcher wouldn't eat them, but mostly they were good to great), and combining different techniques, and experimenting with new ingredients that the Batch encountered on their travels. Sometimes it was a huge success, and sometimes it was a spectacular failure, but either way, he learned something new every single time.

Over time, he realized that the type of cooking he enjoyed most was the fiddly, delicate, precise work; he was good at it from all those years working with sensitive explosives, and he liked to keep his skills sharp. But what he loved most was when his family all sat down to eat a meal he'd painstakingly cooked for them, balancing Omega's endlessly curious palate with Hunter's sensitivity to overwhelming flavors and Crosshair's love of spicy and acidic food. When he found the perfect dish to satisfy all three? Well, that was a good day.

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 75: Vivian's Gambit

tw: mind control, drugging, cutting as part of a blood ritual, kidnapping

Previous > Masterlist > Next

October 1925

It wasn't that difficult for Vivian to find the vampire's house, based on the clue that it was only a block away from Jessica's former home. All she really had to do was case the area for a few nights until she was lucky and spotted him -- a tall, pale vampire with a mess of hair, carrying a sack of groceries from one of those all-night food stores that catered to their kind. From there, all she had to do was trail him until he returned to his home. It looked like any other of the mansions on the street; the only indication of its inhabitant's nature was the fact that all of the windows were covered with curtains and shutters.

Now that she knew where she lived, she just had to make a plan.

Emily had told her everything she could remember. That night, the vampires had been discussing Vivian and her resistance to enthrallment, and her target vampire had apparently taken the threat seriously. It was unfortunate that this news was getting around, because it mean that her favorite trick -- pretending to be enthralled to get close to the vampire -- likely wouldn't work. Still, it wasn't as if that were the only technique she had up her sleeve for dealing with vampires.

So here she was, just after sunset, preparing her tools and steeling her resolve to break into a vampire's manor while the night was still young.

She had briefly considered breaking in during the day, but that was largely regarded as bad luck among hunters. Many hunters had thought they could easily take a sleeping vampire unaware, only to find that the vampire would wake and respond to the threat the moment they had a sniff of human, leaving the hunter to battle the vampire right in the vampire's inner sanctum. Vivian preferred the early evening, when the vampire would likely be awake but still groggy.

The brick wall was frigid against her back as Vivian completed her preparations. First, before entering, she had to double check her kit. Silver knife at the ready. Two stakes. Holy water, doctored up with spells. Her most useful spell components -- healing salve, dazing sands, portable fire, and more. Poisons and sleeping draughts. And one important, modern addition: her trusty flashlight.

Next, she had to ensure her scent was hidden from the vampire as much as possible. Before leaving on her mission, she had thoroughly scrubbed herself to remove any trace of sweat that could alert a vampire to her presence, but she liked to go the extra mile by applying an anti-odor balm commonly used among hunters. It was designed to mask the scent of blood, making the human's smell blend in with the dust and stagnant air of a typical vampire lair. The unpleasant scent had been a part of Vivian's world since as far back as she knew. It reminded her of her mother returning home.

The final and most crucial step was to protect herself against enthrallment. Like all rituals having to do with vampires, it required blood. She pulled down her sleeve, revealing the old scars in the shape of a rune, the place where she'd made the cuts so many times. She barely even felt it as the silver knife dug into the discolored skin, chanting the words of the ritual under her breath. She could feel the magic taking, its protection sealing around her, as she dipped one finger into the blood and drew the same rune on her forehead.

With her main line of defense in place, she wrapped the reopened wound with clean bandages from her pack, and daubed it all over with the deodorant balm. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

Vivian pulled out a thin knife and slid it under the window as quietly as possible, undoing the old latch and allowing her to open it. There was not a sound or any hint of inhabitants in the pitch black room she entered, so she chanced flicking on her flashlight for a moment. She was in a music room, an especially elaborate one filled with many different sorts of instruments, with a luxurious piano in the center. One of the vampire's hobbies, no doubt, although there was a strong chance that he didn't even play, and his hobby was actually making his thralls entertain him.

She clicked the flashlight off and let her eyes adjust to the dark, the moonlight streaming in through the spot where she pushed the curtains aside giving her just enough light to see. Despite how many times she'd broken into vampire lairs, her heart was still hammering in her chest.

After all, every vampire hunter, no matter how experienced, had one last, unlucky night. Death was a mercy in those cases -- being turned into a thrall to feed the very monster they were hunting would be the ultimate punishment for many.

That was an additional layer of protection her ritual gave her. If a vampire couldn't enthrall her, it would likely just opt to kill her. She wouldn't have her mind taken, to be sold at an auction house like so much cattle. She'd die, but she'd die free.

With that sobering thought, Vivian crept out into the foyer, which was barely lit with a gas lamp. The space was lined with shelves, each crammed with old and dusty books. Another hobby, she supposed -- immortality certainly would give one plenty of time to read. She heard some faint noises from another room, and cautiously peeked in.

It was a kitchen, a clean and well-appointed one. A kitchen for preparing human food was a common sight in the manors of wealthy vampires. Vivian remembered, early on in her career, being shocked to find an icebox filled with good quality meat and produce. Apparently, many vampires believed the quality of a thrall's diet influenced the quality of their blood, like feeding one's dairy cow premium sweet clover.

What caught Vivian's attention, though, was the person cheerfully making breakfast. His complexion was warm and he was taking pleasure in the smell of frying bacon, marking him as human. This could very well be Oliver, the thrall Emily had described to her. He was healthy and in apparent good spirits. He must have been fortunate enough to have a vampire master who cared for him well. Vivian had seen some true horror shows in her time, dungeons filled with mind-wiped humans covered in blood and moaning in pain, the sorts of thralls that could never recover and needed to be put out of their misery. It was always a relief to find a better situation than that.

Oliver was using a complicated contraption to make some coffee, and interestingly enough, he poured it for two. A second thrall in the manor, perhaps -- or it might be for his master. Vampires as a rule rarely ate human food, but many retained their fondness for alcohol and coffee. If it was for his master, she may be able to use that to her advantage.

For now, she retreated from the kitchen lest she be spotted, and slipped into another darkened room. Even in the darkness, she could tell that this room was very large, and it smelled even more strongly of old books. With hands outstretched, she felt more bookcases lining the walls. A library, perhaps. A library of this size indicated an avid reader, although they said that vampires did often lose interest in their human hobbies, mindlessly hoarding the objects that once gave them pleasure in a vain attempt to feel human.

Vivian hid in the stacks as she heard footsteps entering the room and smelled coffee. It was the thrall Oliver, carrying a mug in one hand and a candle in the other. She heard scraping and scrabbling, and soon a fire roared to life in the hearth, providing an oddly cheerful illumination to the room. Once the fire had been started, he settled down in an overstuffed couch, pulled a blanket over his lap, and began to read from a thick tome. He looked for all the world like one of the idle rich enjoying a book by the fire, and not a hypnotized slave.

It was a very pretty cage that Oliver had for himself, but it was still a cage. He'd still been mesmerized and pressed to service by a vampire, unable to ever leave this place under his own volition, or pursue his own ambitions. After everything she'd seen, Vivian could never be sympathetic to a vampire, no matter how kind they pretended to be. Even the kindest vampire was still a slaver.

With that thought hardening her resolve, she crept back out of the library and to the kitchen. The second mug of coffee remained on the counter, and Vivian hoped her guess was right. She reached into her pack and uncapped one of her vials of sleeping draught, strong enough to affect even a vampire, flavorless except for a mild sweetness. She stirred it into the coffee and returned to her hiding place in the library, as Oliver read on, unaware.

"Good evening, Oliver."

It was the vampire, standing by the hearth with the doctored cup of coffee, just as Vivian had hoped. He was unkept, his clothes and hair rumpled, but Oliver was looking at him as though he were the most beautiful creature on the planet.

"Good evening, master! How is your coffee?"

"Excellent as usual. Are you feeling well tonight?"

"Much better, thank you, sir. I think the worst of the sickness has finally passed."

"What are you reading?" His voice was deep and had an oddly musical quality, easy to listen to.

"I'm reading one of your vampire histories, sir, the ones you say are so dreadfully dull. They are a bit dry, but I want to learn more about this world I never knew existed."

The vampire chuckled. "At least they're getting some good use instead of collecting dust."

Vivian couldn't help her surprise. Most vampires wouldn't encourage their thralls to be educated or to have interests beyond what was convenient to them.

"What are you reading tonight, sir?"

"I'm still researching the ways of witches, hoping that magic might offer some answers to my troubles and yours." The vampire sat on the couch near Oliver, taking a deep drink of his coffee, as Vivian watched his face for signs that the potion was working.

"May I help, sir? I'm very interested in magic."

"That's not surprising. There's witch blood in your veins for sure. You'd likely have an aptitude for magic if you tried," said the vampire thoughtfully. "But I'd prefer you didn't. I won't have my library burned or flooded by novice attempts at spells. I hope you understand." He yawned wide, and Vivian tensed.

"I understand, sir."

The vampire nodded, then rubbed at his eyes, blinking slowly.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"I thought I had slept well last night, thanks in part to your presence, but I'm still just so tired…" He sat up straight. "No. There's something wrong."

"What's wrong, sir?"

"Shhh." The vampire began to hum, his voice lovely and clear.

The brand on Vivian's arm seared into her skin, burning with the effort of absorbing the spell of enthrallment. It was strong, terrifyingly so, and even with her protection, she could feel it pulling at her. The commands buried in the music wanted to put her mind to sleep, to make her reveal herself, to obey this vampire, and she fought the urge to sleepwalk towards him. If she didn't have her protective ritual, she'd have been consumed in a moment.

It would be her trapped in this library forever, content in her comfortable cage.

Vivian gripped her arm hard, focusing on the pain and snapping herself out of it. She had to make her move before her defenses failed her. Her rune was only good for an hour or so at best, and this much power could drain it much more quickly.

She pulled the silver knife in one hand and a pinch of dazing sands in the other, and rushed the vampire. She was fast, more than fast enough for many vampires, but this vampire had already been put on alert and managed to jump up and catch her hand before the knife could find its target. His arm trembled as he held her off -- he was stronger than her, of course, but weak by vampire standards.

And the sleeping draught was putting him at a disadvantage. He managed to push her off and away, but stumbled backwards, his frame drooping. She raised the knife once more, only to feel something grab her elbow. It was the thrall, pulling at her arm.

The momentary distraction was enough to allow the vampire to collect himself and push her over in an attempt to pin her to the floor. She rolled away in time, dodging his hands, and they both scrambled back to their feet. The vampire swayed unsteadily, singing his wordless control. Vivian knew that they were both operating under a time limit -- he was losing the battle against the sleeping potion, and her rune might start to falter at any time.

The vampire gripped the arm of a chair, trying to stay upright, and Vivian gripped her knife and came at him again. This time, however, the thrall threw himself in front of the vampire. "No, don't!" he cried, clinging to his master.

Vivian roughly pulled Oliver off of her quarry, grabbing him by his arms as he squirmed and struggled. Unlike the vampire, he was weaker than her, but he was persistent and fully awake. It would be difficult for her to fight even a half-dazed vampire with this frustrating interference, but she couldn't bring herself to harm him, knowing he had no choice in his loyalty.

The vampire glared at her with piercing blue eyes. "Drop him," he said, his voice filled with hypnotic command. "Sleep, now. You will sleep."

An unwelcome drowsiness stole over Vivian.

"That's right," he intoned. "Go to sleep."

Her brand burned and flickered. If this continued, she'd be overcome by his spell. She'd be just another mindless vampire thrall, brainless and humiliated. Her only hope would be a mortifying rescue by one of her fellow hunters, followed by an excruciatingly slow recovery -- or else, she'd be a meal and a slave forever.

She thought of her mother, her mother who had left home one night to kill a monster and had never returned. She thought of what one of the new hunters had told her when she was only fifteen: that her mother had been spotted, thin and empty and broken, fawning at the knees of a vampire in the box of the opera house.

No matter what, she couldn't let that happen to her.

She raised her silver knife to Oliver's neck. "Stay still, both of you, and be quiet, or the thrall dies."

Vivian hoped it wouldn't come to that, but she'd rather slit this thrall's throat than condemn them both. She hoped the vampire couldn't see how her hand shook, couldn't call her out for a bluff.

Thankfully, the vampire froze in horror. Oliver froze as well, although tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Please don't hurt him," he said. "Please don't kill my master. He hasn't hurt me."

She wanted to explain to this poor soul that she had only been trying to help him, but she knew it wouldn't work. Having felt the sheer power of this vampire's enthrallment herself, Vivian knew that nothing she could say to Oliver would break his misplaced loyalty. "Don't resist," she said. "Come with me, and I won't kill either of you."

It was a desperate gambit, taking a thrall as a hostage to secure an escape route from a fight she might not be able to win. Many vampires would laugh off her threat. She was gambling that this vampire would not want to lose his well-kept thrall.

And she was right. "Oliver, do what she says," said the vampire, straining to keep his eyes open.

"But sir --"

"I'll come for you. Just don't die."

Oliver's eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at his master. "I won't resist," he whispered.

That was all Vivian needed. She grabbed Oliver firmly and began to drag him away, knife at the ready, as the vampire finally collapsed onto the floor, his song still burning into her. He was too sluggish to follow as she pulled Oliver towards the door.

She should go back, she knew. The vampire was all but incapacitated. She could finish off a powerful vampire so easily. Taking his thrall and leaving him behind was a risk.

But she couldn't do it, couldn't get her feet to move back in his direction. Her protections were weakening, and she wasn't sure how much more she could withstand. If she drew close, if the wrong command hit her mind in the right way, she'd be rendered helpless, her worst nightmare come true.

No, she'd rather die.

Instead, she wrenched open the passenger door of her car and shoved Oliver inside.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, as she fumbled with her pack to pull out another vial of sleeping draught. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, she splashed some of it onto a cloth and pressed it to the thrall's face. "What are you --?" he said, muffled, as his eyelids already began to flutter from the strong potion. He slumped over, succumbing to sleep. Vivian tossed the rag out and began to drive, hoping he'd be unconscious for the trip.

As she sped through city streets, she thought about her next move. She'd stolen thralls before, but never one from so dangerous a vampire, and never one who had so much of his mind intact while still being unfailingly loyal. He was dangerous through no fault of his own, and she would have to be careful, lest she invite disaster.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Oliver's reaction!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly

[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.