#Cowardly writes

[cowardlybean]

MP100 Writing Scraps!!

all Reigen and Mob related, NOT ship. if you’re curious about context just shoot me an ask :3

[Context: Mob is speaking to a doppelgänger of Reigen.]

Shigeo watches passively as Reigen lights a cigarette, cupping his hand around the lighter’s flame as if to keep it out of Shigeo’s sight. Between two fingers he brings the cigarette to his lips with practiced mundanity—Shigeo knows that shishou used to smoke, and he’s well aware of the consequences of addiction, yet the sight creates a shiver that skitters up the boy’s spine and curls around his brain stem. It’s wrong, to put it plainly. Wrong.

“You don’t smoke, Reigen-shishou.” The words escape his mouth pushed out by the invasive scent of smog. A part of him—the rightful part of him, he’s sure—hates to correct its behavior. It—what’s imitating Reigen-shishou—has learned so much more from him, now only tripping over the intricacies of Reigen’s behavior. Shigeo would ignore the longer pause inbetween each blink, the way in which he’s lost his characteristic fluidity similar to cutting a video’s frame rate. Knowing it would improve with time brings no comfort.

“Noted,” it, he, Reigen-shishou—one of the three applies—responds simply. He takes another drag and the conversation is left at that.

It was impulsive to begin with, anyway, successful only in reminding Shigeo of who—what, maybe—he’d lost. He can build it back with the time and effort. Time and effort are what Shigeo’s relationships are made of, each and every one.

——————————

[Context: amnesia]

Arataka is well aware he’s lost a larger chunk of his mind than just his memories. His dreams meld with his waking mind, grand tales of spirits and inexplicable creatures expelled by bright colors blooming forth from some childish part of his mind, no doubt exposed and leaking out in viscous, syrupy waves after the fracture in his skull. For a short, short while he’d regale the nurse assigned to him with these tales, gesturing with his hands for detail despite pleas to stop, else he rip out his IV. Only in the early stages of his consciousness, of course, before the common sense had come to him that normal people don’t start conversations talking about their playfully imaginative dreams.

Instead, like an old man on the path to expiry, Arataka spins his tales to his one frequent visitor.

Mob is somewhat of an enigma himself. Only able to visit so frequently on the technicality that, while he was not related to Arataka by blood, the man was his legal guardian at the time of the accident. Arataka came up with the name “Mob” on the third day—the boy looked bland enough to deserve it—and much to his surprise it was met with some sort of hopeful enthusiasm that Arataka had remembered something. He didn’t care enough at the time to let the boy down gently, drugged up to hell and back on pain meds, and even still he was met with patient kindness.

It was frustrating at times, to be coddled like a child at the lack of his cognitive ability—especially regarding his vivid daydreams that were solely chalked up to brain damage.

Mob would listen, though. Leaning forward in his seat to listen as Arataka spun colorful stories with his tongue, it felt akin to story time in primary school. Mob would ask questions, smile at the jokes Arataka cracked, and return with stories of his day shoddily scrawled out in his own style of storytelling, easily taken off track. There’s a plethora of reoccurring names only a few of which Arataka can recall the significance of in Mob’s stories, the fault of disjointed retellings—though, Arataka supposes he’s not much better, with a severe lack of namable characters and a large variety of dramatic descriptions instead. It’s quite the contrast between the two.

“There was a boy—around your age, little younger, some school uniform that changed every time I glanced at it like I couldn’t remember the details—and he had a green balloon with him. No, wait, less like a balloon and more like a- an orb or something… not completely round but more whispy, yknow? And on it was a pretty jolly face, rosy cheeks, pinkish lips and smile lines—but he didn’t put that jolly face to good use no, no he’d sneer and frown and say all these snarky comments—now this all sounded like I was 60 feet underwater, mind you. But the kid, y’see, he was more gentle, he actually used honorifics unlike his companion, and just like his suit his voice would change too, every time he spoke it was a new kind of pitch or tone,” he’d explained once before, describing the image of two figures that had lingered in the doorway to his room—early one morning as he had still been scrubbing the sleep of his eyes, so he’d said.

——————————

[Context: it’s implied that Shigeo has just read a suicide letter. however unbeknownst to him, it’s been forged. Reigen’s alive]

“…ah?”

A small little noise, unintentionally having leapt from Shigeo’s throat, so inconceivably meek—it’s all that his feeble mind can produce from the moment his eyes begin to scan the paper thrust into his hands. A purely physical reaction, his head hasn’t quite caught up with the words on the page.

Outside of the confines of his psyche spinning down the drain, an endless carousel, Shigeo dimly registers the voices of his companions as they all begin to spiral as well. Arguing, voices choked with tears, some withdrawn, some reacting brashly, all in response to a reality that this paper seems to solidify. A reality written in Reigen-shishou’s handwriting.

A realty that Shigeo instantly wants to deny.

Shishou wouldn’t resort to such a fate, not alone, never alone. Company is where Reigen-shishou flourished—he had more than ever before, more people who loved him in each their own ways. The fact came without the man’s admission: Reigen-shishou had been lonely for a very long time. It seemed so unlike him, so unnatural to imagine a man who practically glowed in the light of the sun to go lie down in the shadows to die.

Shigeo finds himself hit with a vengeful wave of guilt at his denial, disruptive to his remembrance of Reigen in life. Who is he to deny such a sorrowful death? There must have been a deep, deep sadness in his Shishou’s heart, the likes of which buried too far down for Shigeo to uncover.

But… out of anyone, hadn’t Shigeo known Reigen-shishou the most?

There were things shishou was hesitant to share, even after years of having known each other. Not to mention the lies that Reigen-shishou had built by hand, serving to protect him irrationally. How much of what Shigeo knew as Arataka Reigen was truly him?

They never were on a first name basis. Out of respect on Shigeo’s part, quite obviously, despite claiming to no longer be a mentor he still very much so played that role. But Reigen had never called him “Shigeo”, it was all Mob and Kageyama in the early days, never “Shigeo”.

Had he wrongfully interpreted their relationship as closer than “shishou” and “deshi”?

All those times he had fallen asleep in the man’s office space, referred to Reigen as a family member for lack of time to explain to a stranger, called on the man for something as mundane as help with homework—was it all a misunderstanding?

“Get a clue.”

Having learned to speak the man’s colorful language fluently—though, not quite able to replicate it—shouldn’t he know better than to take this message at face value? It was written in shishou’s tongue, but would the man really do this?

Did Shigeo really even know him at all?

——————————

[Context: Reigen’s cursed. Like really bad. sick fic but worse. TW for sickness symptoms, blood, rotting, overall just gross. Don’t worry this one is sweet at the end.]

The door protests as it opens with a long and drawn out creak, more like a whine, opening its gaping maw that led into Reigen’s apartment. Shigeo stood still in the entrance, his shadow interrupting the beam of light that blanketed only a small part of the room. His eyes strained to catch any semblance of movement, but to no avail.

It’s per the lack of light that he does not close the door behind him, something he would normally do if not so engrossed in the moment. There’s no sign of Reigen-shishou apart from discarded take-out boxes left on the coffee table, though Shigeo cannot tell how old they are. The sour smell that strikes his senses next tells him that he does not want to know. It’s sickly, thick, and ruddy, dripping down his throat like a nosebleed.

“Reigen-shishou?” He calls out into what seems more of an abyss than a home at the moment. For a second, he’s under the assumption that there will be no answer, that silence will echo off the walls and envelop him in dread, that Reigen simply wasn’t present. But that isn’t the case.

Instead, there’s the shift of fabric, a lethargic movement accompanied by the snap of joints. On the floor, between the coffee table and the couch, as though it had rolled off and hadn’t moved since, rotting in that spot and melting into the floorboards. Shigeo can recognize a human shape, a human presence, living, in some sense of the word. He feels as though the term hardly applies as he reaches out to feel its aura with his own, frozen to the spot where he stands.

At contact, there’s familiarity, familiarity that is followed shortly after by some foreign, cancerous mass of an aura, comparable to bloodstained phlegm in the way that it pulsates sluggishly—and it’s as Shigeo recoils in horror that he finds himself hoping desperately that this is not his shishou.

It rears its head, thinning blonde hair atop it uncomfortably similar in color to that of Reigen’s. Each wheezing breath it takes seems to wrack its body with a shudder, the only sound that can be heard apart from Shigeo’s own heartbeat in his ears. There’s something viscous about the way it moves, slowly and weakly, that makes him take a step back. Dread sits like spoiled milk in his stomach.

There’s a multitude of moments he could have used to get another word in, all of which pass by like sand between his trembling fingers. The thing with a face horribly similar to Reigen-shishou’s turns, facing him with not quite focused eyes. Shigeo bristles at the sight, instinctively coiling his aura around himself tightly as if it will do anything to protect himself from the presence of something so sickening.

Mouth slack-jawed and eyes half lidded, skin sagging from the bone and blistered numerously, the thing with Reigen-shishou’s mutilated face meets his eyes. The worst of it was the rotting hole in his face, the lack of a nose and the chunks of flesh where it had stood—Shigeo gags at the sight.

He’s seen worse, worse spirits for certain, and worse corpses if he were to consider 6 months of a world that did not exist. But mimicry is what dismays him, unable to comprehend this what he’s seeing is truly Reigen and not a sinister presence in the man’s home. As such he raises a hand swathed in energy, though it shakes and he stumbles backwards in his shock and terror, falling to the floor with a hollow thud.

There comes a heavy breath from the thing before him, outlined with phlegm and ooze. Shigeo reaches from his place on the ground, level with the being, stretches his palm, and lets the energy build and build—god forbid the exorcism take more than one blow.

But he stops, breath caught in his throat, as a sound breaks his terrified stupor.

“M-o-b…” Reigen-shishou strains, the name melting thickly from his lips as would blood—but its him all the same, the cadence drenched in suffering but still his. And in that moment, Shigeo wishes to cry, guilt snuffing out his energy like candlelight and the sting of tears the residual smoke. He’d denied it in his fear, denied the notion that Reigen-shishou was sick out of nothing but his own fear of what he couldn’t—wouldn’t comprehend.

“Shishou,” he breathes, and this time the name is not a question. Reigen’s response is a weak smile, one that doesn’t quite suit him, though relief makes Shigeo’s heart ache anyway. “I’m s-sorry shishou.”

Hiccups break apart his words as hot tears begin to roll down his face, the taste of salt on his lips only reminding him of blood. Reigen’s face contorts into worry, though the expression makes him look pained, and yet he gestures to Mob despite it. On his hands and knees Shigeo drags himself over to his shishou—empathy is no gift when face to face with pain, he realizes, biting back a wince with every movement Reigen makes.

Yet despite everything, Reigen opens his arms. A slow movement, drastically contrasting the way he would usually pull Shigeo into a squeezing hug, and the boy doesn’t quite know how to react just yet.

“It’s okay,” shishou mouths, voice absent. “I’ll be alright.”

And despite the lie, Shigeo buries himself into the man’s arms, sobs now shaking both of their bodies. Comfort is a two-way street, it always has been for them. Shigeo doesn’t miss the tears that fall on his back, most surely from Reigen, wetting the fabric of his shirt—but that’s never mattered less.

——————————

[Context: double death scare!! don’t worry, this is just the comfort part.]

Small, shaking hands grasp the fabric of Reigen’s suit jacket, a welcome sign of life. Reigen grasps on just the same, once-deft hands stumbling through the simplicity of an embrace. He can feel each hiccup, each sob that wracks Mob’s body— and Reigen knows, he can feel that Mob is not frail, the boy has grown so very much over the years, yet the thought of another tragedy nags at the back of the mind. Reigen presses his hands firmly onto Mob’s back, words of care he’d surely stumble over translated into physicality. He’s thankful for his verbosity in gestures, when at times like these words fail him.

A guttural wail, so jarring against his own subdued sobs and piercing through the haze of grief. The limp body in his arms sagging in his grasp, melting, a face that could so easily be mistaken as one of peaceful rest deformed beyond recognition. Panic, fear tightening in his chest as the boy in Reigens arms melted into sticky black tar.

A hitched breath catches in Reigens throat. Its sharp exhale gently blows the hair atop his (alive) student's head, brushing Reigen’s chin where it rests upon the boy's head. It’s not uncomfortable, nor is the heat that Mob radiates in the embrace, because life breathes beneath the surface. Reigen shifts his hand upon the boy's back, rubbing small circles ever so gently.

With what Reigen had seen, had experienced, he can only hope that his heartbeat where Mob lays his head upon Reigen’ chest, and the gentle rub on the kid’s back are welcome solace. That wail, he’d come quickly to recognize, was so painfully young. Hell, Mob was so painfully young. Too young to hold the weight of such powerful psychic abilities, too young to bear witness to horrors far beyond what Reigen had seen in movies at that age, too young to…

Reigen swallowed thickly, as though the thought would go down with it. As if beckoned by his train of thought, Mob shuffled in his master's embrace. He realized shortly, that his hand had fallen still, faintly shaking in its position upon Mob's back.

Mob tilted his head, ear pressed firmly against Reigen’s heart— his tears had left a damp spot in Reigen’s suit, but he didn't mind. Reigen sighs from deep in his lungs, the weight of his student welcome against his chest— truly, it was no wonder why some people loved weighted blankets.

Much to the man’s surprise, it’s Mob who speaks first and not Reigen, a reversal of their usual dynamic. His voice is small and hoarse, laced with grief Reigen wishes he’d never have to hear from his boy.

“I thought it was my fault.”

Such a simple statement, yet sharp enough to pierce Reigen’s heart. The implications speak more than either master or student could ever— Mob, ever the kind soul he was, didn’t deserve the guilt he was burdened with. Especially not the burden of a crime (or, quite possibly, the death of someone Mob could consider family, though Reigen dares not to overstep).

—————————————————

WHEW ALL DONE. if you made it this far i’m impressed!!!! i left out a couple things that may make it into fics one day but here’s the majority :3

also. i should have mentioned these are not in recent order. or any order for that matter. the last one is the oldest though

[familyagrestefanblog]

You know, the moment where Emonette wipes away some of Badrien's make up, revealing the same black vains she has hidden away underneath her scarf and then after she tries making a wish they reach her face

That actually has some massive implications the narrative just glosses over, huh?

Emonette only looked like this AFTER she tried making the wish but the black vains already reach far into Adrien's face BEFORE that.

And the thing is, we don't even see ALL of Adrien's face underneath the make up. Just this little part.

The black vains could be all over his face and neck by now and we wouldn't know because the scene literally shows us that he's wearing very good make up covering it up. Something Marinette didn't saw the need of doing before bc it wasn't bad enough yet to go to these measures. In her case a scarf was enough.

Something that for Adrien apparently stopped being an option for quite some time before the special even started. That sure explains why Griffe Noire took the cataclysm like a champ, his body was already much more damaged than Toxinelle's and he got alarmingly used to the pain.

*sigh*

I really hate being a bitch about this because Marinette's shot here is simply beautiful and such a heartbreaking piece of story-telling. I hate that the show can't let me enjoy something like this for Marinette anymore. Man, I REALLY love that shot of hers...

But for the love of God, Miraculous. If you want to give Marinette the special treatment with the striking visuals that show how bad she's got it, PLEASE just write it accordingly.

Why are you here, giving Marinette this extremely striking visual alongside the message of "it's just a little broken, we can fix it again" after the unique event of her having tried making the wish and then only letting Toxinelle openly run around with all her black vains visible?

You just admitted in the same damn scene that Adrien has long started wearing make up to cover up his own damage marks and from what little we can see his marks at least reach as far as hers. Not to mention that Marinette looked like this after she tried making the wish, the special SHOWS that this created a big leap in how big her damage got.

Adrien already long reached that level only through using his powers. That was equivalent to her getting punished for releasing the wish-making energy.

Miraculous, why are you out here visually manipulating the viewers into thinking Emonette/ Toxinelle had it "so much worse" again than Badrien / Griffe Noire, when what you actually did was cowardly hiding Adrien's damage marks underneath make up so Marinette can get the cool and deep shots?

I'm not against Marinette getting these cinematic and striking visuals, she's the main character, I KNOW.

But would it hurt you to then actually write the story accordingly? If you want her to be the one who has it worse here then actually write it being HER who has it clear-cut worse and don't just hide away Adrien's damage and seriously implied to be bigger problems AGAIN so Marinette can get the spotlight instead.

Why is this ALWAYS happening? JUST WRITE IT, DAMN IT!

[kaiserouo]

sometimes its weird to think of ordis as ordan karris

[sciderman]

Have you watched Love Lies Bleeding, and if not I think you should

i tried watching this. on a plane. where other people can glance over and see my screen.

advice: don't do this

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Pirate (Dad Squad)

EVERYBODY COME GET YOUR LINEBECK SOUP!!

Abel shook the strange feeling off of himself as they stepped through the gate created by the item. If it had led them here, that likely meant its twin had opened a portal to this land as well.

Blinking a few times to reorient after the brief kaleidoscope of light, Abel took in the sight of a bright sun, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of crashing waves. They were obviously by the ocean, though he had no idea where in particular, or what sea. He only knew of the Lanayru Sea, but tales spoke of other bodies of water that rivaled it.

Rusl walked ahead first, adapting quickly, eyes alert but face placid. Abel watched the Fierce Deity walk after him, unreadable as usual.

Something clearly caught their attention as they stood at the edge of the dock, staring. Abel peeked around them, wondering what it was, when he caught sight of the scene.

A ship was sinking. But it was moving towards them. Its deck had just been submerged, and its mast was all that was remaining. A man stood atop it, glaring ahead fiercely as if willing the boat to make it to the dock in time, but his posture was proud as if this had been planned all along.

What in the world...?

The mast managed to reach the dock in the nick of time, allowing the man to step off. He blew out a sigh, looking like his knees were about to buckle, when he caught sight of the group of men. He sized them up quickly, eyes widening a little at the sight of the deity, and then waved sharply. "How's it going? I'm just passing through. Gotta go now. Important things to do."

"Wait," Rusl interrupted, stepping into his way. "Can you tell us where we are?"

The man blinked, hackles less raised, confusion evident. "Where you--this is Mercay Island. How do you not know that? What, you get clocked by those red spandex wearing freakshows too?"

Abel immediately stiffened. "The Yiga were here?!"

"The who?" the man bounced back, looking even more confused as the wind whipped through his dark brown hair.

"It's a group of demon worshippers," Rusl explained. "They've taken our sons. We're tracking them. Where did you see them?"

The man's face flushed, eyebrows coming together in outrage. "They took someone of mine as well! And he's my best crewmate! Well, he's my only crewmate, but that isn't the point! I came here in search of a new ship to track them down since they--they sunk--"

Here the man sniffled, glancing away in seeming anguish at the lost of his boat.

"I'm sorry about your ship," Rusl said appeasingly. "But perhaps we can help each other."

The man hummed, crossing his arms and squinting at them as if he were debating the matter.

Abel started to grow impatient. "Do you want to find your crewmate or not?"

"Don't get short with me!" the man snapped. "I am Linebeck, captain of the seas, and I know this place better than anyone, especially you guys. I'm your only chance to find those freaks, so you're going to take orders from me now!"

The Fierce Deity picked the greasy looking man by the back of his coat, bringing him to eye level. The man, in turn, squealed, flailing his arms and legs in a desperate maneuver to get out of the hold, yelling, "LET ME GO, YOU BEACHED WHALE!"

Abel glanced at the deity, tempted to tell him to toss the man into the sea, but if he truly had seen the Yiga, then they unfortunately needed his help. Rusl just sighed, seeming to grow a little tired of being the sole negotiator of the group.

"How do you propose we find the Yiga if your ship has been damaged?" Fierce asked, silencing the man's squeals. "If I retrieve it, will you be able to repair it expediently?"

"Retrieve--it's sinking into the sea, you small brained land mass!"

Abel did have to almost laugh at that one. Rusl looked unimpressed by the man's impolite demeanor, but at least his insults were entertaining. Nevertheless, they needed to move.

Fierce seemed to sense Abel's impatience and Rusl's disapproval, casually tossing the sailor aside as he walked up to the mast. The man spluttered, shakily trying to get to his feet before promptly falling back on to his backside as he watched the deity singlehandedly start to pull the ship out of the water with a firm grasp at its mast. Abel heard the wood start to give, though, not tolerating the force it took to fight the water crushing the rest of the ship, and he put a hand on Fierce's shoulder. "Let it go. We'll have to find another way."

Rusl turned to Linebeck. "We'll work with you, friend, but not for you. Understood?"

Linebeck gulped, still trying to process what he just saw, and then he huffed, rising. "F-fine. Whatever. But I'm still in charge."

Abel felt his eyebrows pinch together. "That's not--"

"Let's go!" Linebeck announced, twirling around and marching towards the island. "I know just the ship we can acquire."

The three trudged behind him somewhat reluctantly. Abel bristled at being given orders from someone like this, but he kept his mouth shut for now. Instead, it was the sea captain who spoke first.

"So... what are all your names?" he asked as he continued to stride ahead.

The Ordonian answered first. "I'm Rusl. This is Abel, and Fierce."

"Fierce?" Linebeck repeated, glancing back at him. "Weird name."

"It is my title," Fierce clarified.

"Title? Who calls you Fierce? Fierce what, Fierce Breaker of Personal Boundaries?"

This man talked entirely too much.

"What's the plan?" Abel asked before the conversation could continue.

"That ship," Linebeck said, pointing towards a relatively large ship sitting in the harbor. "We can use that to track those scum."

"If you already had another ship, why were you perturbed at the loss of your other one?" Fierce questioned.

"It's not his," Abel surmised quickly.

Rusl smiled, rolling his shoulders. "All right, then. Who owns it?"

Abel glanced over at the Ordonian, a little baffled. He still hadn't entirely wrapped his head around what kind of work this man did - he was the most polite and kind of the group, easy with people, yet he condoned stealing in a heartbeat.

Not that Abel wouldn't steal if he had to, but... he had to. Rusl was... he didn't know. This just certainly was not the first time the man had done it, that was for sure.

And clearly, this sailor was more akin to a pirate.

Sighing heavily, Abel listened as Linebeck prattled on about some women "who won't be a problem," and the three men started moving steadily towards the boat.

Surprisingly, it only seemed to have two women aboard - Linebeck claimed that the rest of the crew was at the market. That at least made things simpler.

The four moved quickly. Rusl crouched low, leading the way and pulling out a dagger he hid in his belt. Despite being quite the swordsman, Abel had observed that Rusl often resorted to a dagger in close combat, and the more he saw it, the more he questioned the blacksmith's occupation. Fierce, on the other hand, left his hands open, likely not wanting to use his powerful blade on a couple women guarding a ship. Linebeck was also unarmed, curiously.

Sighing, Abel unsheathed his sword. He caught up to Rusl, and the two rushed up the gangway, picking a target and quickly overpowering them. Rusl never unsheathed his dagger, only using its small hilt to smack the woman across the temple, knocing her unconscious and covering her mouth as she fell. Her companion caught sight of him before Abel could get to her, yelling, but Abel easily tossed her overboard while Rusl pushed the other down the ramp.

Fierce walked aboard next, glancing around, while Linebeck sauntered aboard. The pirate's face was tight, as if he hadn't quite expected the ferocity the men had displayed, but he tried to cover it with a quick little, "Well done. Now we can depart."

"Not yet," Fierce said quietly, his voice in that low tone he used when stalking prey. Abel immediately went alert, whirling to find what he was looking at, when--

"Intruders!!"

Turning sharply, Abel saw a woman pointing from a door leading below deck. Within an instant, at least ten other women appeared, all armed and snarling.

"You said they were in the market!" Abel yelled as he readied for a fight.

Linebeck didn't reply, seemingly vanishing into thin air, and Abel only caught sight of his blue tailcoats slipping under a barrel.

"Did--did he just--"

"Not now!" Rusl snapped as their enemies charged on them.

Abel focused quickly, dodging a strike from a nearby fighter before parrying her blade and kicking her away to create some distance. Thankfully, he still had at least one functional shield left, and he quickly used it to block a jab from another enemy. Before he could retaliate, the two women were swept away by a... screaming woman?

Abel glanced to his right to see Fierce holding one of the fighters by her wrist and using her as a weapon to ram into the others. At his questioning glance, the deity explained, "The little hero usually does not approve of killing mortals. If these women prove problematic, I'll eliminate them, but for now--"

"Behind you!" Abel interrupted, pointing as another fighter tried to leap off the rail of the deck and stab Fierce in the head. The deity swatted her like a fly, and she rammed into the opposite end of the ship.

"Jolene!" some of the others shouted. Abel immediately perked up at the reaction - clearly this woman was important, maybe even the leader.

"Toss her off!" Abel ordered the deity, moving to intercept a few other enemies. He glanced to his left to check on Rusl and found the Ordonian starting to accumulate a pile of enemies who were on the ground writhing or motionless.

The former knight felt a swell of pride for his friend before looking back to see Fierce easily throwing the leader off the ship. As predicted, the others followed to check on her, leaving the men in peace temporarily. Abel put his sword and shield away to pull out his bow and arrows while Rusl pulled the gangway up to prevent them from returning. Moving to the edge of the ship, Abel nocked the arrow, aiming for a second before letting it fly. It sank into the woman's shoulder, making her scream in pain.

He nocked another arrow.

"Abel," Rusl interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The fight is over."

Abel continued to stare at his target. Killing her would put the rest of her crew into chaos. It would prevent them from following them.

Rusl's hand tightened a little, reassuring but firm. "Abel."

Sighing, Abel slowly lowered the bow and arrow. His focus was interrupted as he heard splashing, glancing over to see Fierce throwing the bodies overboard.

There was a scrape of wood on wood, catching the men's attention, and they all drew their weapons to see--

Linebeck, peeking out from under the barrel. "Oh, are they all gone?"

I'm going to kill him. Abel marched forward, eyes alight with rage, when he was held back by Fierce, who pinched the back of his tunic to prevent him from moving ahead. He turned to snap at the deity, but his words were quickly overrun by the pirate, who dusted himself off and continued, "Well done, then! We're ready to set sail! I'll man the helm."

As he moved forward on the deck, he scurried all of a sudden, filled with seemingly feral energy, and stood on his tiptoes at the railing, shouting, "THAT'S FOR ALMOST BLOWING UP MY SHIP TWO WEEKS AGO, JOLENE!"

Before anyone could comment, he rushed to set sail as if his life depended on it, guiding the ship out to sea.

Abel blew out a frustrated breath, and he felt Fierce release him. He kicked the barrel under which the pirate had been hiding, taking little satisfaction from it but having to get his anger out somehow.

Rusl took a moment to calm himself as well, though far less noticeably, before he walked over to the wheel. "So where are we going?"

"Bannan Island," Linebeck answered, eyes on the horizon. "That was the direction they went, towards the north sea. They also claimed to be going to a Banana Island, so I think they heard the place's name wrong."

Banana Island. Goddess. Sometimes Abel was almost embarrassed that these were his enemies. Though it simply proved that sheer numbers could cause enough of a threat, despite how idiotic they were.

There was silence for a while as Marcay Island grew steadily smaller. The adrenaline of the fight wore off, and Abel slowly slid to the ground, feeling his stomach grow steadily more upset at the tossing of the waves.

"Who are these people, anyway?" Linebeck eventually asked, glancing at Rusl. "What do they want?"

"They essentially want to see the world burn," Rusl answered, crossing his arms. "Somehow that involves taking our sons hostage."

Linebeck pursed his lips, debating some issue, and sighed. "Well, that's rotten luck. Good thing you have me."

"Oh yes," Abel huffed. "Where would we be without you?"

Linebeck didn't seem to catch his quip, or if he did, his rebuttal was interrupted by Fierce asking, "Why did they take your crewmate?"

Linebeck's face soured, and he glared ahead of him at nothing in particular. "Whatever the reason, Link can probably get himself of out of it. But... I need a crew. So I'm finding the kid."

Link?!

No. Surely not. There was no way this disgrace of a man had a Hero in his crew, and--

Oh goddess he did, didn't he? That would be why the Yiga targeted him.

"Our boys are named Link too," Rusl said, eyes widening a little as he came to the same conclusion. "Heroes of Hyrule, spread across time. I think they must be targeting them because they know they'd stop them otherwise."

"Heroes? Hyrule?" Linebeck repeated, staring at him. "My kid isn't a--I mean, he's--look, he's my crew, and... he's a good kid, but..."

The pirate bit his lip, staring at the wheel a moment, still and silent. Worry etched every feature before he shook his head.

"The Yiga will perish," Fierce assured him. "We'll find your child."

Linebeck flushed. "H-he's not my child!!"

"Right," Rusl chuckled, patting the man on the back.

Abel sighed, ignoring the pirate temporarily and looking at at sea. The horizon bounced up and down along with the ship, giving him a headache, and he closed his eyes. He wondered if they'd actually have any luck this time - all they'd found were scraps of information and cold leads. This attack seemed fairly fresh, so hopefully they could make it in time.

Ugh. Closing his eyes made the seasickness worse.

Thunder rumbled, catching Abel's attention, and he hastily opened his eyes to see dark clouds ahead. "Uh..."

"Are we going to sail through the storm?" Fierce questioned, staring at the abysmal weather.

"No sailor goes through a storm on purpose," Linebeck immediately said. "That's just suicide. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent sailor. We'll skirt around it - I don't want to lose too much time."

At least Abel could agree with the man on that. But still... even he, someone who did not navigate the ocean, knew not to get near a storm out in the open sea. "Are we sure about this? We should probably try to avoid it altogether."

"And give those sea vipers time to get away?" Linebeck growled, glaring at the clouds. "Ha! I, Linebeck, master of the seas, can handle this just fine! I'm getting my crew back, blast it!"

Well... he couldn't fault him for his determination, at least. But still... Abel sighed, hugging the wooden support rung under the railing, lightly bouncing his forehead against it. "We're going to die."

Abel's relatively mild quip felt more and more like a promise the closer they got. The winds picked up, the sea turning a sickly green, and Abel nearly threw up with how much they were being tossed around. Rusl nearly flew across the ship as one wave almost overturned them, and Fierce had to grab him by his shirt to save him. The three men clung to the rail desperately, occasionally getting beaten by walls of water spilling overtop them.

Abel looked to the helm worriedly, feeling completely out of control and petrified, only to see Linebeck standing firmly, holding the wheel with a steel grip. He glared defiantly at the sea, almost daring it to try its worst, confident and firm in his stance.

At the sight, the former knight had to admit he felt almost a little reassured.

Another wave crashed into them, and Abel watched Linebeck release the wheel a moment, letting it turn sharply, guiding the ship to ride with the wave. Then he grasped it, guiding the mast with gritted teeth as he fought against the whipping winds. Fierce pulled Abel close, shielding both him and Rusl with an iron grip to the railing so the waves wouldn't knock them off.

Honestly, with the way they were getting tossed, Abel would be surprised if they didn't capsize. He clung desperately to both the rail and the Fierce Deity, feeling the mythical being's strong arm pressing him and Rusl closer together. Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, some kind of finality or certainty in each other's eyes as they nearly flew over another wave, facing it head on.

They still had to find their boys. Abel had to get back to Tilieth. He'd survived a damn apocalypse, he wasn't letting this be what killed him.

Glancing up at the pirate again, Abel saw the same fierce determination on his face. It was a promise, and despite how Abel's entire world was trying to kill him, he took comfort in it.

Abel closed his eyes, his forehead touching Fierce's sleeve, his hand brushing against Rusl's as they both held on to the deity for dear life, shivering and trusting and letting go.

Hylia... I leave this up to you. Don't let me down.

He lost track of time. All he heard was the crashing of waves, like claps of thunder, roaring in his ears, making his heart pound. But slowly, surely, the boat jostled them less, the wind didn't howl as it had, and the ship rocked and bounced up and down like a hammock instead of feeling like an earthquake.

Abel opened his eyes, dripping wet, tasting salt and bile, and saw sunlight.

Linebeck smiled down at them, hands on his hips, looking triumphant. "Told you I was the best."

Rusl barked out a laugh, slowly rising while Abel continued to shiver in Fierce's hold. "Well, I'm certainly impressed."

"Are you alright?" Fierce whispered softly, his arm shifting to rest his hand on Abel's back.

Hesitantly, Abel rose, testing his legs, though his knees certainly felt like they could give out at any moment.

It was official. He despised sailing.

But he could recognize and admire skill when he saw it. "Well done, Linebeck."

The pirate beamed, postiively preening at the praise, and Abel found he couldn't hold himself together any longer, leaning over the rail and vomiting.

Linebeck cackled quietly, heading back to his original spot. "Well, it isn't for everyone, I guess. But I promise the rest of the way is less rough."

Rusl helped Abel sink back to the floor while Fierce grabbed some water at the Ordonian's request.

"You good?" Rusl asked. He was shivering too, just as soaked to the bone as Abel, but he seemed far better put together.

"Nothing fazes you, does it?" Abel asked hoarsely, somewhat annoyed and jealous.

Rusl smirked. "We all have our strengths. You're certainly a better fighter than me."

If you say so. Abel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a little less nauseous, and accepted the water Fierce offered him.

The sun slowly dried everyone off as they continued to make their way to their destination. Eventually, Rusl, being the talkative man that he was, starting gently interrogating their captain while Abel leaned against Fierce with his eyes closed. The deity didn't mind, letting himself be a pillow, but Abel could hear fabric shift as he turned to listen in to the other two.

"How did Link become part of your crew?"

"Well, I was hunting treasure," Linebeck explained. "Link wanted to find the ship I was looking for. His friend, uh, needed some help. So we worked together. I figured the kid worked so well it only made sense that he stick around. He..."

Here the pirate paused, and Abel looked over at him. His eyes were cast downward, and though shadows pulled at the dark circles under his eyes, he had a gentle smile on his face.

"He's a good kid."

Fierce sighed quietly, barely audible over the breeze. "I must figure out why these Yiga are after our children."

Linebeck grew flustered. "I said he wasn't my kid!! Look, he's just a useful member of the crew, okay? Honestly, I'm not that soft!"

Fierce blinked, the slightest crinkle to his nose, a dead giveaway that he was bemused. "You speak of love and affection as if they are weaknesses."

"Wha--I--this is silly, I am a pirate, and--"

"And?" Rusl prompted, eyebrows raised, a mischievous, gentle smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. Fierce may not have understood the man's blustering, but Rusl clearly was just trying to mess with him now, seeing right through his bravado.

Personally, Abel was just a little exasperated by it. Men who pretended they were "tough" and nothing affected them all the time simply to show off annoyed him. He used to maintain a calm façade not because he was trying to prove a point, but because the last thing people needed was to see someone in charge panicking. This was different. This wasn't a way to keep others feeling safe and secure, this wasn't a means of protecting others, this was a pitiful attempt for Linebeck to protect himself.

Perhaps it wouldn't annoy him so much if he didn't suspect the man behaved this way in front of his kid too. He could act a fool to others, but if he denied his affection for his boy right in front of him, Abel did not approve of that.

But he didn't have to say anything. Fierce's innocent confusion would tear down his argument well enough.

Linebeck huffed, looking like he was scrambling for an argument, but Abel had to interrupt it when he caught sight of something. "Is that land?"

Everyone turned to look, seeing a small splotch of yellow and black andd green, and Linebeck laughed triumphantly. "There it is! Land ho! I told you I would get us there in record time! Now hold on, you sorry land slugs, we're coming in fast!"

He was true to his word as it seemed to take little time to reach their destination. For once, it was blessedly easy to find their target - a large ship with the Yiga symbol on its mast, painted sloppily as if it had just been done, was at the port. Linebeck worked to slow their approach, when Abel instead insisted, "Don't slow us down, just ram it - we'll take care of the rest!"

"There's a cannon on this ship," Rusl noted.

"We can't risk hurting the boys if they're aboard," Abel argued, shaking his head. "Just damage it enough to stop them from escaping, and we can board."

Linebeck nodded. "Just so you know... it's uh, all up to you once we get there. I'm a fantastic fighter, but I'm afraid my sword is on my own ship."

Rusl and Abel both stared at him dully. "Right."

The men prepared themselves, weapons at the ready. Fierce pulled out his double helix blade, making Linebeck's eyes double in size. "Geez, overkill much? Get ready, we'll hit them on the port side."

"The--the what side?"

"Port, on the port--ugh, on your left!!"

The three moved, and Linebeck snapped, "Your other left!! Left from facing the bow!"

Abel sighed heavily, positioning himself and bracing for impact alongside the other two. As the Yiga ship grew closer at an admittedly unnerving rate, he prepared to jump.

Their boat slammed the Yiga ship, impaling its hull slightly and causing it to rock so severely that they could hear some of the enemies screaming and falling into the sea.

Linebeck roared in satisfaction. "HAHA, TAKE THAT YOU BRAINLESS JELLYFISH!"

Abel let the momentum of the movement carry him, Rusl, and Fierce across as they leapt with the contact. The Yiga boat was still nearly on its side when they landed, causing them to slip a little, but Abel recovered quickly, decapitating the first Yiga in sight before moving on to the next. The team moved quickly, with Fierce taking out swathes of the enemy in one fell swoop while Rusl tore ahead. Abel scoured the area for signs of a leader, entering the underbelly of the ship as well.

When he reached the brig, he froze, breath stolen from his lungs. There was another gate there, its bright kaleidoscope dizzyingly swirling, and two Yiga stood before it, holding an unconscious boy.

Oh hell no! Charging ahead, Abel stabbed one Yiga quickly, kicking the other off the child before finishing him off. Rusl hastened in shortly thereafter, wiping blood of his sword.

"Anyone else?" Abel asked as he knelt down to check on the child.

Rusl shook his head, cheeks flushed, eyes aflame. He held up a booklet. "Found a journal log, though. Might be able to help us."

At this point, Abel honestly wasn't surprised, just exasperated. He supposed the Yiga's main purpose in being here was to take this boy. Theirs were still at large.

At least they'd spared this boy the same fate.

Fierce entered last. "The enemy has been eliminated."

Abel sighed, looking down. The boy in front of him was young, not even a teenager from the looks of it, though he was likely close. His hair was thick and wispy, golden as the sands and thick with mositure and sea salt. He wore a green tunic and undershirt, paired with white trousers.

"Link!"

Catching the men's attention, Linebeck rushed into the room, kneeling down beside the boy. His hands hovered over him hesitantly, face paling at the abrasions on the boy's face. At first his concern was genuine, but his eyes shifted to the dead Yiga around him and suddenly he looked woozy.

Abel fought the urge to roll his eyes. He motioned with his head to Fierce, who quietly removed the bodies. With the distraction gone, the pirate returned his attention to the child, considerably less pale but still oh so hesitant and gentle with Link.

The boy stirred, squeezing his eyes before slowly blinking them open. Abel could see the immediate sparkle of relief as the boy registered seeing Linebeck, and the former knight smiled a little.

Linebeck smiled in return, hands finally settling on the child, patting hsi cheek and helping him sit up. His grip settled on the boy's shoulders, and he took a steadying breath.

And then he started shaking him like a rag doll.

"You stupid sea monkey, what were you thinking do you have any idea how much trouble I had to go through just to get to you, they sank my ship, now we have to get a new one--!"

The other men stared, a little caught off guard, and then Rusl gently pointed out, "Easy, you're going to give the kid whiplash."

Linebeck paused, glancing at them, leaving Link nearly limp in his grip, eyes dazed and clearly dizzy. The pirate huffed, pulling the boy to his feet, and Link stumbled around a few paces before nearly collapsing against him.

Sighing, Linebeck settled an arm around the child to keep him from falling over, letting him lean against him. "Well. The job's done, at least. But... didn't you say your boys were missing too?"

Rusl smirked. "Ah, so he is your boy?"

Linebeck jumped, eyes widening. "W-wha--no, I--you're dodging the question!"

Rusl waved the booklet in response. "I'm sure this log will have valuable information for us. But you and your son should get out of here. We'll make sure the Yiga can't come back."

Linebeck was practically inflating with hot air to rebuke Rusl's claims about him and Link, but he instead stormed out. "Honestly, I rescue you ungrateful sea barnacles and you mock me. I'm leaving."

"You forgot your kid," Abel noted dully as the boy shook his head and steadied himself.

"Link, let's go, what are you waiting for!" Linebeck called from above deck.

Abel put a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder while Rusl smiled warmly at him. "Better get going, son."

The boy looked between them, adn then the Fierce Deity, and then he nodded, saying softly, "Thank you. Thank you for taking care Linebeck."

With that, the kid ran outside, and Rusl laughed. Abel had to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Let's get through this gate and seal it," Abel suggested. "We can read the journal after we get out of here. The less likely they can come back, the better."

Fierce's reply was cut off by voices from above.

"Linebeck, look! It's Jolene's ship!"

"Of course it is, I stole it!"

"But then why is your ship over there?"

"What?! My ship was--that's my ship!"

"Oh! I think I see Jolene on it!"

"She fixed my ship? SHE STOLE MY SHIP??"

Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, and then they both snickered.

Fierce glanced hesitantly above deck, but Abel shook his head. "Leave him to his fate. Clearly this is not their first encounter, and they've managed without us. We should go."

With that, the three men strode forward, preparing for another adventure.

[loopimay]

it will never not be funny that the entirety of full moon's cherub/dhorks subplot was pure filler. all of the villains in this show are so useless because they always lose. there are never any stakes. nothing a villain can do matters. if you're not invested in stolitz then what does helluva boss' writing have to offer?

[briarrolfe]

I keep thinking about that “would you suck x number of dicks for a billion dollars” tumblr post, mainly about how I would use that power to become the most powerful political lobbyist on earth.

The biggest individual donations to Australian political parties are in the low millions; I would be able to accumulate these numbers in a matter of days.

(Source)

Now, I hate billionaires… but ethically, I could not turn down the opportunity to suck dick and reshape our nation. This sort of money would buy unprecedented political cache! For example: I Could Own Senator Penny Wong. Currently her office is ignoring the phone calls of regular punters like me… but I could buy not being ignored and end Australia’s contribution to the genocide of Palestine. And I could outcompete mining company donations! If they tried to one-up me, I’d just need to increase my workload to a second dick a day, whereas they would have to open additional mines (I would by that point have the political cache to block new mines). Hell, I’d suck a lot more dick than that if it meant I could end our country’s contributions to climate change. I could spend entire days with the Health Minister (taking breaks, of course, for sucking dicks) talking about nothing but putting trans healthcare and dental on Medicare. I could threaten to withdraw my support from both parties until they raised Centrelink benefits. I could make us a republic. Do you understand! I would enter my villain arc! Clive Palmer would be constantly putting hits out on me!! I WOULD BRING ABOUT FULL SOCIALISM. And then. Then! I would graciously retire from politics, finally able to work full time on my book, knowing I would be supported into old age by the social system, still sucking dicks of course so that I could, as a hobby, systematically undermine the American gun lobby and the British Royal Family.

[gentil-minou]

If you still believe the "Israel has the right to defend itself" narrative you have to read this opinion piece by Gideon Levy, an Israeli journalist.

Link without paywall

[girlscience]

i am so goddamn tired of every single fantasy story being about men. i am so goddamn tired of women being side characters and love interests and set dressing and an afterthought. i am so goddamn tired of women who are powerful but feminine. women who are "dressed to kill" and they are wearing eyeliner and a dress and heels. i am so goddamn tired of women always being healers and having water magic. i am so goddamn tired of men going on adventures and dying nobly. i am so goddamn tired of never being able to find a story about women that i can fall in love with. i am so goddamn tired of all fandom being about men.

[cowardlybean]

Reigen misses his student, that much is obvious. Without any other outlets, he visits a new bar to drink his sorrows away. This is a mistake.

happy birthday reigen! I'm so cruel <3

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

[ranticore]

pern story chapters 4-8 get em while they're fresh

[cowardlyvoreo]

Happy Valentine's everyone here is the fanfic

DISCLAIMER I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN LIKE THIS BEFORE AND MADE IT PUBLIC SO THIS IS PROBABLY BAD

Midas is inside his yacht currently trying to find something to do… Despite having everything anyone could need on here he just doesn't see anything that catches his eye. With a sigh, he leaves the kitchen and walks back to the back of the yacht to see if someone is there, walking out onto the deck and towards the back he looks out at the ocean and the nearby land. It's quiet tonight or at least it feels like that if you ignore the distant gunshots from some Loopers. Other than that it's nice out here.

As Midas listened he could tell something was off. Assuming it was just a Looper, Midas quickly went to the side of the yacht and stared down into the water. There he saw a man who was no Looper (or at least this version of him wasn't.) Jonesy, or Agent John Jones clinging to the ladder on the side of the yacht. His eyebrow raises as Jonsey looks back with a scowl. Midas, a bit amused and a bit confused (HELL YEAH THAT RHYMES) decides to watch as Jonesy slowly climbs up onto the deck from the ladder. After climbing up Jonesy shakes himself off and takes a deep breath. He is completely soaked in water which makes him feel a bit cold against the cool night air. He looks at Midas and puts his hands on his hips. Midas copies him and shakes his head.

“What is it now? I thought the IO had more important business than bothering me…” He sounds annoyed at seeing Jonesy at such a late hour and when he's already irritated at the fact he has nothing to eat or at least nothing he wants to right now. Jonesy gives him a questioning look.

“This is important business! We caught onto the fact you have some device out there on the island that you're doing God knows what with…” Jonesy replies angrily at Midas. Despite his anger, he shivers from the cold air hitting him. Midas sighs and decides to see what exactly Jonesy knows about The Device.

“Sure… Well. What do you think I'm doing with this… device?” Midas questions. Jonesy gives him a confused look.

“You think that's something I would know? It's impossible to tell what plans you have with that thing…” Jonesy moves a bit closer to Midas causing Midas to back up, now concerned.

“Hey! I'm not planning anything horrible nor do I have some device or whatever you're talking about!” Midas replied, not enjoying how intrusive Jonesy was getting with him. He steps back so Jonesy isn't so close and doesn't attack him or whatever he may do. (Remember that video of that dude fucking jumping at the judge 😭). Jonesy didn't move forward again but he watched Midas closely. After a moment of just standing there, Midas sighed.

“You look cold.” He points out Jonesy is still dripping with water. Jonesy looks down at himself and sighs. He is cold and wet, though there's not much he can do about that right now.

“So? What about it?” Jonesy looks confused. This causes Midas to think for a moment. He then spoke up.

“You wanna come inside? It's warmer…” He asks, a bit hesitant but oddly it feels okay to ask that. It shouldn't but.. whatever. The question mostly leaves Jonesy surprised but he decides to agree.

“Fine… sure. I'll go in.” Jonesy replies before following Midas inside the yacht. Midas just ignores Jonesy and leads him into the yacht. It is a bit warmer here but Jonesy is still wet. Taking notice of the water dripping onto the ground, Midas goes to grab a towel from one of the bathrooms for Jonesy. Jonesy seems surprised to see Midas do something like that but he takes off his coat and wraps himself in the towel. He sighs as he feels a bit warmer, looking back at Midas he smiles a little.

“Thanks…” He looks down at the towel and wonders for a moment why he even accepted this. Feeling the softness of the towel he looks back at Midas who has picked up his jacket.

“Do you need me to wash this?” Midas holds up the jacket causing some water to drip on the ground. Jonesy sighs and nods.

“Uh- sure thanks…” Jones holds the towel closer as Midas nods and walks off to get the jacket to wash. Jonesy ends up following him. Seeing how nice Midas is being is a bit odd… he starts wondering if this could be a trap or something. As he worries more, Midas speaks again.

“I guess you know about The Device. I'm just gonna say it's not anything awful like you've been told..” Midas let out a sigh and put the jacket to wash. Jonesy looked confused.

“So, if it's supposedly not for anything bad then what are you using it for?” He questions causing Midas to look around.

“You know The Storm right? I can push it back and stop The Loop. I know I can.” Midas looks back at Jonesy to see his reaction. Jonesy looks confused.

“What? You can??” He moves closer to Midas and speaks again

“You know you could probably disrupt The Loop, make The Storm worse… right?” He seemed worried now that he knew what Midas had planned. Midas nods.

“I know, I know it sounds bad or awful but please just trust me..” He looks at Jonesy who doesn't seem impressed with whatever Midas has planned. His concern for the entire Zero Point and Midas grows.

“How can I even trust you when you go behind everyone's backs, leave the IO, and do all this?!” Jonesy steps towards him but Midas just stands there not threatened by him.

“Well, you can trust Geno but not me?! What kind of logic is that, don't you hate that he gave you immortality?? I feel like I'm trying to help someone other than myself!” Midas argues back, causing Jonesy to scowl.

“Stop getting into my private business!”

“Well, I'm gonna get into it when you are getting into mine!”

“Whatever. I'm taking you back to the IO..... don't feel like fighting.” Jonesy huffed and tried to drag Midas away. Midas pulled away.

“I'm not going with you. Just leave it and I'll leave you alone...” He backs up from Jonesy. Jonesy growls

“Just come with me damnit!” Jonesy yells. Midas sighs and puts his hands over Jonesy's, noticing he looks very angry at Midas bringing that up.

“Calm down. Please..” Midas tries to be comforting as he'd rather nothing happen between the both of them causing more issues between them and most likely gegeturt. Jonesy tries to back up and calm down as he doesn't want to be violent with Midas either. He looks at Midas and suddenly gets an idea of how to calm himself. He sighs and looks at Midas.

“Okay… just come here.” He looks at him expectantly. This causes Midas to look confused but he follows. Jonesy hugs him tightly without much warning at all, his arms squeezing around Midas's back. A hug is not what Midas expected at all. His eyes widened and he looked up at Jonesy. For a moment the two sat still in this position before Midas wrapped his arms around Jonesy as well.

Jonesy soon let go and sighed.

“Can we both agree to not bring that up again…?” He questions

“Yeah, just as long as you don't try to kidnap me or whatever again…” Midas laughs a bit causing Jonesy to sigh.

“Well, this is my job! I dunno what else to do..” Jonesy crosses his arms and turns away from Midas to look back out at the water. Midas thinks for a moment before an idea comes to him.

“Hey, why don't you come inside? I can let you stay and relax. It would be better than going back to the IO..” Midas looks at Jonesy as he speaks hoping he agrees.

After a bit of thinking Jonesy agrees.

“Alright, sounds better than going back to work without getting my job done..... maybe I'll think of an excuse while I'm here.” Jonesy followed him inside the yacht which was decorated with a lot of golden items. Most of it was accidentally turned into gold. Midas eventually gets to the living room on the yacht. He sat down and Jonesy followed sitting next to him on the couch. Jonesy kept messing with his hands, seemingly nervous or thinking about something. Midas, just assuming it was work-related, decided not to ask. Jonesy meanwhile was looking at the TV trying to distract himself but he couldn't get his mind off something.....

Looking back at Midas he looked worried. So Jonesy let out a sigh and decided to speak.

“Can you let me eat you?” He let out the question so quickly Midas hardly understood but after a moment of thinking he realized what Jonesy said and just stared at him. Jonesy panicked.

“I'm sorry that was weird to ask…” Jonesy moves away from Midas.

“No….Uh- I'll do it if you want to. I think it would help you calm down and get your mind off things as Midas gets up so this can be easier. Jonesy is shocked Midas acted.

“Wait. You really wanna do this?” He stands up as well. Midas nods. After a bit of hesitation, Jonesy lifts Midas by his waist making sure he is comfortable while being lifted. Midas looks surprised Jonesy easily lifted him but not really. He assumed he was strong. (Stop being gay before I get in a fist fight in the parking lot of the local Durrr Burger.)

“You're okay with this??” He tilts his head a bit still surprised and confused because Midas even agreed to this in the first place.

“Of course I am. Just do it Jonesy…” He smiles, causing Jonesy's entire face to go red.

“Okay, well let's just do this…” Jonesy mutters before opening up his mouth. He hesitates a bit before he shoves Midas inside. Midas is immediately hit with how warm and humid it is. Though he doesn't mind that. It's so comfy. Midas is pushed back towards Jonesy's throat where he is eventually squished through. It's much warmer but still comfortable enough that Midas doesn't mind it at all. Being shoved deeper and deeper into Jonesy Midas allowed him to relax. Meanwhile, Jonesy was just as happy to swallow Midas. He wasn't too worried about him as he's done this plenty of times before. (NOT SAYING WHO JONESY ATE DO NOT ASK ME OR HIM OR ANYONE 🤫🤫)

With a few more swallows Jonesy gets Midas down his throat completely. He sighs as he can finally get his breath in after swallowing him. He sat back down on the couch as his stomach filled with Midas who was being squished inside there.

Midas feeling himself entirely inside immediately began trying to get comfortable. He eventually finds a good enough position and curls up. He doesn't mind the saliva inside here or how warm it is, it feels safe.

Jonesy sighs and puts his hands over his stomach feeling better with a full stomach. He lies back and allows himself to just enjoy this feeling of Midas as close and safe as possible with him. Both of them felt so safe and close like this it was all that mattered right now. Just both of them together.

And then they start kissing and being gay after this HOORAY!!!

Take G/e/no before I go away forever bye!!!

[lyril]

lumpus is a fascinating specimen glad theres other people also fond of him

HE SURE IS i will be honest i almost like him a Little Too Much because i Also live in my fantasy world of make believe where camp lazlo is a little more than a 6.4/10 show (I STILL LOVE YOU SWEETHEART!) and instead also includes all my insane 20k spiels of backstory stringing and talks about character writing but

(also. i do think it's funny how popular slinkman is in comparison, i love him just as much, but i actually see people mention really liking slinkman pretty frequently if someone happens to posts about camp lazlo which is GOOD because he DESERVES IT MAJORLY but the lumpus bug has Also caught me something awful even though i hate him and he sucks so i'm alone adrift in the world out here...)

edited this just for him

[indigitalembrace]

[This arc is just pure evil and you being like nooo guys dont be niceys to kinito don't you want him angry and to suffer]

[ooc: me to everyone: aren't you tired of being nice? don't you just wanna go apeshit?]

[faenaussa]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Bleach (Anime & Manga) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/You, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Reader Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Kyouraku Shunsui, Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Abarai Renji, Kuchiki Rukia Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Porn With Plot Summary:

In the years after the Quincy invasion wraps up, a new threat lurks in the Soul Society. You, a Visored, set out to unravel the mystery with your untrustworthy companion, Grimmjow. Along the way, you work through confusing emotions around your attraction to each other.

An atypical "and you" fic insofar as it is not really about the smut, and more about enjoying being in universe.