#I need to say I’m not caught up on his full arc

[danvssomethingorother]

I hate Endeavor with my entire heart for what he did to Shoto and his wife and will never feel sorry for him.

But me not liking him and hoping canon kills him doesn’t stop me from thinking him and Hawk have sex behind dumpsters together.

Hawk is my new boy and I think he is into garbage men and is fine with being the other partner.

He just really seems like the type to see the worst most vile man and say “I’d hit that” and then does.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 008 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

c/w. modern royal au. infidelity. angst. gaslighting. toxic characters. toxic relationships. mentions of neglect and abuse. hurt and comfort. unedited.

notes. thank you to everyone who waited patiently, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3 this will be the beginning of kiyoomi arc!

wc. 11k

series masterlist | next

[ EIGHT ] all they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride – the only kind of girl they see is a one-night or a wife

The Kingdom of Inarizaki was at a loss whether to celebrate the early return of the latest married couple from their honeymoon. The couple seemed to be doing great – according to the tabloids, anyway. When they arrived, the Princes and their wives waved to the people, all eager for a glimpse of the infamous couple who had married for love. For two years, society had their eyes on you – the shy, reserved noblewoman who caught the eye and heart of their one and only Crown Prince Suna Rintaro. And oh, what a wedding it was, broadcasted all over the world and celebrated like a holiday.

What the world didn’t know was that it was an entirely different story behind the Palace walls.

You may share a bedroom, but never the bed. You’d been acquainted with the couch for the next few nights, only seeing your husband once in the mornings before he left to do his duties, and every now and then when the Queen wanted to have dinner. Not that you were complaining – the space was most appreciated. Without Suna lingering, there’d be less reminders of how much of a fool he took you. A naïve, young woman who really deluded herself into believing a Prince could want her. Although…

Suna didn’t not want you, either.

In the few spaces in between, he would look for you. He would make small talk and ask if you’ve eaten. If you liked breakfast, which was a silly question, since it was always tea and waffles. If you enjoyed yourself while he was away, this, again, was a silly question. You spent the mind–numbing hours blaming yourself for being in this predicament. That, perhaps, if you had just been brave to walk away that night you found out the truth, then you wouldn’t be out here wondering if the maids’ whispers were true – that Suna spent most of his nights at Belleview Manor, because quote unquote, “he was unwelcome in his own quarters.”

As if somehow it was your fault he did not feel comfortable to sleep under the same roof with you.

Sighing, you flipped your novel closed. No one had given you official duties yet, other than the blatantly obvious one of giving the Crown Prince an heir. ‘They will have such sleepless nights!’, the Queen’s goons crooned. ‘So young and virile, they are, we’ll have a new Crown Prince in no time!’ Oh, if only it were that easy. If there were to be a Prince, Iris would most likely be the mother, considering he saw her more often than you did. And how funny of a thought that was – you wanted distance from him, yet something died inside you little by little the colder your room got.

“Since we have returned, my schedule will be full.”

You glanced up from where you sat. Suna had sauntered back into the room, his tie loosened; hair messed up like he ran his fingers through it several times. Already, a servant stood beside him to comb his hair back neatly. You couldn’t help but stare. How long had it been since you combed his hair for him? You knew he hated it when they gelled it back. He preferred it messy and unkempt, saying his bedroom hair felt most natural. The bedroom hair he’s shown only to you in the quiet breaks of the night when he was in your bed.

The bedroom hair Iris had seen, as well.

Just the thought of it forces a smile on your face. Standing up, you brushed off the imaginary dust off your skirt. Less than a week in the Palace, and you were already so miserable. You could at least try to look less bothered by his unrequited affections.

“Do what you must.”

Once his hair had been brushed to perfection, Suna gestured for his servant to step away. The man politely bowed down before exiting the room. “I mean to say,” he continued, stepping closer now that there was no one else around. Your breath hitched the closer he got, but you dared not move, not even when his warm, familiar hand cups the curve of your cheek. “The meetings I must attend and people to deal with will take up most of my time.”

You knew what he was trying to say – that he wouldn’t be around, and you had to entertain yourself in his absence. Gently, you take a step back from his touch, watching as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

“And as I have said, do what you must. I have my own duties to fulfill as well.”

“You do not sound bothered by this.”

“Why should I be?” you shrugged, “If I am to be stuck with you for the rest of my life, surely I can enjoy what little time left I have for myself.”

Suna’s lips thinned. “You could act a little less eager to get rid of me.”

“On the contrary, I have no intention of leaving.”

“So I will see you tonight?”

“If we run into each other at the palace, yes, yes you will.”

If he seemed discontent with your half–hearted response, he did not show it. Must be the practiced regality and composure befitting for a Crown Prince like him – all lazy, yet wary, watching eyes. He, too, must know the true meaning behind your words. There was no need to pretend.

You both knew Suna would run into Belleview Manor as soon as the night ends, and his duties for the day had been tended to. Meanwhile, his wife would stay up all night in her couch.

Not quite waiting for him, but not quite imagining if he slept better at her side, either.

It was an unspoken deal between you two already. So he leaves without another word, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding when the door finally slams shut.

Tears prick at your eyes for the umpteenth time. You were tired of this. Tired of not knowing where you truly were in his life – were you his wife, his friend? After you’d heard of his passion and dedication to Iris, you weren’t so evil to stop him from seeing her. He loved her first. And you of all people should know the pain of not having the one person you wanted most. To him, she was his unattainable treasure. She was already making him smile before you even came to his life. She was already offering companionship and the comfort he desperately needed in this tiresome world of politics and power. She was his solace in all this chaos.

And you… you were just his wife. And without a baby in your belly, you might as well be just another useless figure in the Palace.

You refused to be so.

You may be worthless to him as his wife, for you truly couldn’t have his heart, but you refused to be a worthless person. Deep down, you knew you weren’t. It was just the title of ‘Princess’ that made you feel incapable and short. Did that mean you weren’t meant to be Princess, then? Should you go back to your manor, learning how to handle the household and managing the family business like your parents taught?

If you were not for Suna, did that mean you were not for the Crown, as well?

You bit your lip in contemplation. There was only one person who could provide you a solution to this.

“It is not every day I am summoned by a Princess,” a smooth, deep voice filtered through the garden. Smiling, you stood up to greet the Third Prince. A curtsy, a bow, and soon you two were sipping tea – the momentary peace a guise of what was to come. Kita must have sensed it, too, his gaze flitting over your pinched face with understanding and patience. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely we are not here to discuss the pleasantries of your honeymoon.”

You grimaced. “Definitely not. There were no pleasantries to begin with.”

His face fell.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you… My apologies. I’m not sure how to proceed with this.”

Nodding, you set your tea town. You had a feeling he truly meant his apology, which felt good, seeing as most of the Princes had too much pride to know the word ‘sorry.’ But you hd always known that Prince Kita was unlike the other Princes – he had more honor, and a stronger sense of morality compared to his brothers. Maybe it was due to his being raised by his mother, who was a lawyer, and therefore was not so exposed to the greed and competition experienced by the other Princes.

Whatever it was, he was just different. And you could rely on him to be truthful, too.

“Have you always known about them?” you muttered, refusing to look at the Prince’s face in fear of being met with pity. That was the last thing you wanted – to be seen as the poor, unwanted wife. “Iris and Rintaro?”

“I have.”

“I see.”

Kita sighed. “Please don’t misunderstand, Princess. I never meant to keep it from you. None of us did – except for those truly involved. It was just… I grew up with them, too. Keiji and I were only a year ahead of Rintaro and Iris. When I heard the Crown Prince had become acquainted with a foreign royal scholar, we didn’t think too much of it. Her sudden marriage with Kiyoomi surprised us all, and none of us would’ve thought that her friendship with Rintaro would turn into something more.”

“You don’t need to explain all of this to me, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps, but…” reaching over the table, the Prince squeezed your knuckle. You chuckled, not having realized you’d balled up your hands into a fist. It turned out you couldn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, to act like you didn’t care how much it all hurt. “I do not want you to think I am not on your side.”

“You do not need to be on my side. He is your brother.”

“Blood means little to me when my own kind is cruel to others,” he retorted, looking offended you would suggest otherwise. “I have always been against it, Princess. I told him from the beginning that to covet one’s brother’s wife is one thing, but to involve someone else, all for his selfish reason of ascending a throne that was always rightfully his just seemed heartless.”

Heartless. Gods. To know that your husband was capable of being cruel was one thing, but to hear it coming from his own brother’s lips was another.

“But Rintaro is Rintaro. Of course he is stubborn.”

“Indeed, he is,” Prince Kita sighed in defeat, leaning back against his seat as he stroked his chin in thought. “Princess, while I cannot guarantee I can take all of your woes away, I want you to know you can trust me. If there is anything you need, let me know and I will do it for you. It’s the least I can do to make your stay here in the Palace tolerable.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do, and I am a man of my word.”

“Then I suppose there’s no point beating around the bush,” you gritted your teeth, forcing the words to come out.

It had always been a lingering thought at the back of your mind – to leave Rintaro – but there was this prideful, equally stubborn voice at the back of your head telling you it was too early to give up. That you needed to fight. But what was there to fight for? It wasn’t like Rintaro would learn to love you. And neither do you plan on wooing him. So, instead, you swallowed up your pride and called for Kita, knowing he would never judge you for the choices you were about to make.

“I actually called for you today because I wish to discuss royal marital laws, possibly with your mother. She would know about it best.”

“You need legal counsel,” he caught on, and you nod, “I can arrange that. I assume you want it discreetly, too. That is no problem at all. But if I may be bold, I wish to ask something from you in return.”

“Name your price.”

“It is about this maid that I am fond of. Airi,” her name came out breathily from his mouth, almost like a whisper. You noticed the Prince glancing around the empty garden almost warily, though you already took measures to ensure no one would be around to witness this conversation. Reassured, Kita sat up straighter and looked you in the eye, nothing but sincerity and determination in his expression. “I will do anything you ask of me, as long as it is within legal reasons, if you take her in as your personal maid.”

“I’ve heard rumors about you having affections for a maid in your quarters,” you mumbled, feeling almost sorry for the kind–hearted Prince. It seemed he, too, did not escape the heartbreaking torment for falling for a person you could never have. “So it is true, after all.”

“It is. You seem surprised about it. Is it so shocking to learn of a Prince having genuine feelings for another?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I think I should know best that passion is something you brothers certainly have,” you snort, and Kita fights back a grin. “Very well, then. I will take care of your lovely maid, although I do wish to know – why are you assigning her to me? Have you… done anything to stain her honor?”

The color seeped out of the Prince’s face.

“I would never do such a thing.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.”

Kita’s shoulders squared before he exhaled. “Airi is… Ever since I set my sights on her, she has been in danger. People have been very unkind towards her, especially with the staff in my quarters. And as much as I would love having her by my side in my every waking hour, it would break my heart to know that she is being looked down upon simply because I admire her. But I figure with her at your side, with a new assignment, she will have some peace.”

Your heart ached for him. You could tell this was not an easy decision to make, but a necessary one if he wanted to ensure his lover’s well-being.

“You can still see her, Your Highness. It’s not like I will take her away from you.”

“I wouldn’t let you, either, but these are very difficult times for everyone in the Palace. The security of the throne weakens every day. The Parliament is restless, and there is only so little I can do with all these failed unions,” he rattled on, eyes widening when he realized it too late. Bowing his head, the Prince’s brows furrowed. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to–”

“Our marriage is not a failed union. Not yet. I will make certain it will not be a failure.”

It couldn’t be a failure. There was only one way out of this dreadful marriage, and as much as you hated it, that exit only existed in a path where you had no choice but to let him be a great King. This is why you need Kita’s mother’s counsel. Surely there could be a loophole in the clause that would invalidate the marriage. But until that opportunity presents itself, you were stuck here in this Castle, surrounded by everyone but your husband.

You had to make it work.

“With all due respect, Princess,” sighs the Prince, looking more remorseful than irritated. “Why is it that you try so hard? You do not need to stay with him, you know. It may be against the law for royal marriages to be annulled, but surely we can find a way. You do not need to torture yourself by spending one more day with your husband.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because,” you croaked out, feeling a lump grow in your throat. “Because loving him is all I had known, and perhaps it is time I learn to despise him, as well.”

Silence stretches. The prince sat there, unmoving, as your words hang in the thick air between you two. You knew he would understand; he wouldn’t judge. But there is still concern in his handsome features that made you realize how pitiful you really are. And maybe there was no one else to blame but yourself, because you were foolish, and in love. But you were trying – by the Gods, you really were doing your best – to just be in love and not have to be foolish anymore.

Kita could see this as well. Your strength, your grit. He could see everything from where he sat, and that was why he simply nodded. “Are you getting there yet?”

“I will get there someday.”

Before the Prince could say anything else, a servant appeared from the bushes. He looked sheepish upon the intrusion, an apologetic smile on his face directed to the Prince. “Your Highness. It is time for your lessons.”

The Prince sent you a knowing look. This was not to be the last time you see each other, and you smiled up at him, grateful. It felt good to have at least one person you could lean on in the Palace. You stood up, too, shaking his hand just as his servant excused himself. If your memory did not fail you, the Third Prince studied law outside of the Palace and had to attend university, unlike his brothers who had chosen to indulge in their promised wealth after graduating high school.

“Excuse me, Your Highness. I have matters to attend to, but my words still ring true – I am only a call away should you need me.”

“Thank you so much for your time, my Prince.”

“It was my pleasure. I will inform you right away of my mother’s availability.”

“Oh, and Princess,” piped up the servant from somewhere around the bushes, “Princess Maiko is looking for you. She is waiting for you in her drawing room.”

You should’ve expected that Princess Maiko would come looking for you. The whole ordeal she witnessed back at your rest house must have come as a shock for her. Sure, her marriage didn’t go so well, either, but at least Tooru hadn’t gone around sleeping with someone else. For a man who didn’t want to get married, he kept to his vow of loyalty to his wife. Still, you didn’t want this to be a competition on who had it worse – Maiko was simply worried, and you had to explain yourself for your untoward behavior on everyone’s getaway.

“Princess! Oh my gosh – how are you?! I was worried sick!”

“Princess,” you return her hug, smiling despite the fact the smaller Princess had a bone–crushing grip. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I am well.”

“Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be,” she pulled back with tears in her eyes. You almost apologized on the spot now that you remembered demanding to return to the City without informing the others why. Especially not Maiko, who seemed to be clueless. “I… I heard from Tooru about everything. The entire situation with Iris and the Crown Prince – truly, I did not know a single thing. If I had, I would have told you right away.”

“I know, and I’m thankful for your support.”

You squeeze her hand in reassurance, and the Princess leads you to sit on the couch. She slumps on it rather ungracefully, her innocent, wide eyes moist as she shakes her head.

“I had no idea Iris could do that. I just… the moment she arrived in the palace, she was so lovely, you know? She was always a little reserved, and liked to keep to herself, but I never would’ve guessed. I truly thought she was a good friend of mine, and now I have no idea who she really is.”

“Neither did I.”

“How are you, though? And please, tell me the truth. You do not need to pretend all is well.”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I am the Crown Prince’s wife. I must learn to be strong.”

“You mustn’t torture yourself any longer,” she licks her lips, chuckling without a trace of humor in it. “Although I do not blame you for staying in a marriage without love,” she smiled sadly, holding your hand firmer where it sat on her lap. “What do you plan to do?”

“I will divorce him,” you announced, and finally saying it loud felt different than just having the thought float in your head. It now felt like a reality. A choice you had to be firm in making. Licking your lips, you couldn’t help but glance at the beautiful wedding ring sitting on your finger – how just like your marriage, it is sparkling yet meaningless.

Leaving him would be the right choice. It would not mean you were weak.

“Once I meet with Kita’s mother and work our way around the law… I’m going to leave him. If it is a proper marriage he wants, then it is the one thing he will not get,” braving to look her in the eyes, you force a determined smile. “I believe it is the right thing to do, Your Highness. I must pick my battles wisely.”

“I understand, and I support you if this is what you want to do.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Although…”

“Although?”

“I still find it hard to believe,” she quipped, momentarily letting go of your hand as she stood up, pacing around the room. Her dark hair, neatly braided and adorned with headpieces, slowly started falling into curled pieces around her delicate face with how fast she’d been pacing. Almost as if her feet couldn’t quite keep up with her thoughts. “Iris and Kiyoomi had been married for five years, and Tooru told me they’d loved each other long before then. I am aware I am not the best at reading the room, but surely I am not so foolish to miss the love in their eyes. I would have known, Your Highness, I swear.”

You smile, confused. “I… am not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I mean Iris never looked in love,” she reiterated. “Granted, she was never affectionate with Kiyoomi, so that much is clear, but with the Crown Prince? They barely even speak to each other.”

“You couldn’t have known if they did spend time together,” you told her as softly as you could, “I heard they often hid in Belleview Manor, away from the eyes of the public.”

“But I live here,” she argued, and you stopped trying to butt in. For such a small thing, you had already learned once Maiko had her head set on something, almost nothing could stop her. “I live in Honor Hall, just five minutes away from them! I could have heard something. And on the few times I do see them together, Iris had always seemed… walled off. If Rintaro was able to display his affections openly, Iris was not the same. That night you weren’t at the house, they did not seem like a happy couple to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Maiko shook her head again, causing more curls to loosen. “They seemed familiar with each other, but not intimate. It was almost as if they were lovers purely in the bedroom, but they couldn’t have known each other’s heart,” her eyes lit up, before it dimmed again when she took in your somber expression. “I do not mean to give you false hope, Princess, but believe me. I know a man in love when I see one, and it is not the Crown Prince with Iris. But… but when you were not married yet, everyone could tell the Crown Prince smiled more. He laughed often, too, and he even spent more time with his brothers.”

“Well, that is only natural. He has a lot of siblings. Of course he would enjoy their company.”

“No, no, you do not understand, Princess. The Crown Prince… didn’t grow up that way,” she bit her lip, and then scooted next to you. “As the only son of the King and Queen, he was already more important than the rest. Because of that, he was raised differently – away and isolated from his brothers. He was always tutored alone, and never played with the other Princes. He spent his childhood locked up in his study, but then the Queen allowed him to attend regular school, and when he graduated… he met you. And I swear, he was different then.”

“Because he already met her,” you remarked, hoping she would stop already. Rintaro does not love you. “He’d become happier because Iris was already in his life.”

“I went to the same school with them; grew up with them. I had crushed on Prince Tooru for so long that I followed wherever he went, and where Tooru was, the Crown Prince would follow. They were born just months apart. And Iris never made the Crown Prince look… look…”

“Look what?”

“Look content,” she finally supplied. “But when the Crown Prince introduced you to us, he had this look on his face. When you spoke to others, he would always be looking at you, listening to your every word. Even when you were not in the same room, he would speak fondly of you. And he even once told me he still could not believe someone as precious as you had been attending the same lousy balls he’d been enduring all his life. He said that if he had met you earlier, he might have never skipped out attending the dances.”

“I don’t know,” your lips trembled, “I do not know what to do, Princess. Hearing of this does not make it any better.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you must understand,” she squeezed your hand, desperation evident in her tone. “Your husband looks at you the way I wished mine would at me. He may say otherwise, but his eyes cannot lie. He softens when you are around, Princess. That night you did not return home at Greenville, the Crown Prince could not sleep at all. And these past few days…”

“I believe that is enough. I do not wish to hear how he spent his nights at Belleview.”

“He didn’t, Your Highness. The Crown Prince has never even spoken to Iris ever since we returned from your honeymoon.”

Rintaro could count the number of things pissing him off with one hand.

One: You had barely acknowledged his existence the past few days.

Two: Iris wouldn’t stop pulling him into dark, secluded corners in the Castle each time she chanced upon him. Two-point-five: She couldn’t understand he was not in the mood for another one of their trysts.

Three: Kiyoomi skipped another meeting concerning Itachiyama again.

Seriously, Rintaro understood being a Prince was tiresome work. It was not as grandiose as the tabloids made it out to be. Even in his sleep, he sometimes dreamt of paperwork, or he would wake up in the middle of the night with his hands signing off imaginary papers. The pressure was tougher on Kiyoomi, too, because he was expected to be ready to take after Wakatoshi at any time he even faltered – note: the First Prince never did – and to also act as representative for the other territory thanks to his birthright. But his brother was an hermit, and seemed to fear the sunlight, considering he never left his quarters. Or on the rare occasions he did, he would be hiding away in other countries doing who knows what.

He had just finished a meeting with some of the territory leaders regarding a public complaint that the price of goods had gone up, and some daily necessities were now ridiculously overpriced. One of the main suppliers of good livestock and coconuts, Itachiyama, made it even more expensive – not for any good reason, just that their leader loved to remind Inarizaki constantly that they needed him more than he needed the monarchy.

His goading affected his people, and Rintaro has had enough. Kiyoomi could at least try to pretend to be interested in the meetings. Out of all the nine princes, Kiyoomi was the most influential for being a half-blood. The Itachiyama president adored him. He wouldn’t have had to struggle negotiating for prices had he been doing his work. He was the damned mediator between the two countries, for goodness’ sake!

And to make it all worse, his life did not get any better outside the meeting rooms.

No, because his wife was intent on acting like he did not exist. And on the few times he did manage to be in the same space as you without you running off, you always looked through him. Like he wasn’t even a real person. As if he was just an apparition, a ghost in your mind that you could overlook if you tried hard enough.

He already knew you wouldn’t be in your quarters once he returned, but Rintaro still couldn’t help the pang of disappointment washing over him. He chose you to be his future Queen for many reasons, one of them being your wisdom in these kinds of things. You just needed a little encouragement to speak up, but Rintaro was confident you would make a great leader. You had genuine care for your people. You would have been able to help him make the best decisions for everybody – if you would just listen to him. Wasn’t that how marriages work? To share the burden of the Crown together? The Crown was too heavy for one person alone, which is why Kings cannot be crowned without their Queens.

Rintaro couldn’t do it alone. Each day was becoming more challenging for him, and he so desperately wished he could discuss the country’s future with you. He would feel more confident in his choices. He would be more reassured that he was doing the right thing, but it seemed that all he knew how to do lately was fuck everything up.

On his way back, Rintaro stopped trying to look regal. He let his shoulders slump and ran his fingers through his hair again. The gel be damned. Loosening his tie, he rolled his shoulders back and winced at how stiff his back was. Sitting on his ass all day long, having to listen to old men argue back and forth over money, and simultaneously having to deal with a marriage he’d already screwed over – Rintaro just wanted to disappear.

He wanted to return to Greenville.

It was peaceful there. People minded their own business, everyone had their own purpose and reason for waking up each day and there, he could just be himself. Not the Crown Prince, not a young man who had to hurt you for the sake of the throne. He could just… be free.

“Your Highness,” a servant bowed in front of him, keeping a respectful distance but enough to let him know he needed his attention.

“Good evening,” he greeted back, “Have you seen my wife?”

“Her Highness was with Princess Maiko this morning. Last I heard, she has not left the Palace, at all.”

“I see,” Rintaro was already moving towards Honor Hall before his feet could register it. It was a good twenty minute walk, and the chances of running into Iris weren’t miniscule, but it would be worth it. He could use some fresh air, anyway. And he figured with Maiko around, you would be less opposed to spending the evening with him – until he realized Maiko must have known everything, too. How he manipulated you, and left you in the middle of nowhere.

On second thought, having two Princesses who clearly did not welcome him would not make for a great night.

“My Prince!”

Rintaro stopped on his tracks. He had a split second to school his expression to surprise – the good kind – when he came face to face with the last woman he wanted to see.

“Mother,” he greeted, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles whilst she fanned herself. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting.”

She waved her fan around. “Oh, I had to nearly knock down the guards when they wouldn’t let me in, but I had to see my daughter. I heard from the news that you came home too early. Well, what is wrong? Is she sick? Does she not like the countryside? Or perhaps there was an emergency you had to attend to?” fanning herself harder, Rintaro’s hand wound at the small of her back to guide the older woman into a nearby seat. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls, and I am worried, my son.”

“Your concern for her will put her at ease, I’m certain,” he reassured, swallowing the uncomfortable lump growing in his throat. “This is just… a difficult time for us, Mother. I fear Her Highness is having doubts about our marriage once she saw how overwhelming the Crown could be. She simply wished to return home because she felt there were things to be done here.”

Your mother sighed and shook her head. “My poor daughter. She always felt the need to prove her worth by working herself to death,” spinning to face him, she pointed her fan in his direction – which would be considered a threat to the Crown Prince, but she was his mother–in–law. Her presence itself was a threat to his life. “Promise me you won’t let her exhaust herself, son. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“She is in good hands, Mother, I promise you this.”

Pleased with him, your mother beamed. “I was also… Well, I may be crossing the line, but now that you tell me my poor daughter is anxious about her royal duties, I was planning to hold a ball in her honor. A welcoming ball for the new Princess, of sorts. It should help her integrate into your world better, but still with the comfort of our support.”

“A ball sounds lovely. We can hold it anytime as we are still in our honeymoon period and she will be free for quite some time.”

“That is perfect! I will make the arrangements, then.”

Wearing his best Prince Charming smile, even if he was anything but, Rintaro found himself mindlessly agreeing to everything your mother wanted. He would have to squeeze all these events in his already hectic schedule, but he was not complaining. She was right. You deserved to relax and enjoy yourself. He should know best that having royal titles did not promise a life of gallivanting and endless tea parties. Once your mother had exhausted herself from all the planning, Rintaro escorted her out to the palace entrance, stopping only when your figure appeared from the corner.

Finally, you were looking at him.

But with a glare.

Well, he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“You are a far better actor than I give you credit for – lying to my mother like that.”

“I did not mean to.”

You rolled your eyes, and Rintaro bit his lip. Cute, he thought, but he would never say it out loud. He would simply enjoy the fact you did not push him away, or walk away as if you were scalded when he started walking next to you. For a moment, everything almost seemed normal. Minus the extreme glaring, of course.

“Surely. It’s not like telling her you manipulated me for the past two years was on your to-do list.”

“Do not use that tone on me.”

“I will speak with you however I wish. You do not get to tell me what to do.”

“You are right; I cannot tell you what to do, so do as you please, then,” he surrendered, and you must be surprised by how he easily gave in from the way you froze. Glaring harder, Rintaro bit his cheek, tilting his head to the side as he gazed upon your pretty face. And oh, how badly he wanted to smooth that frown you’re wearing. “I missed you. I have not seen you all day long.”

“Must have been a lovely day for you, then.”

It was hell, actually, was what he wanted to say, but even that did not seem enough to articulate what he truly felt. I missed you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. Please sleep on the same bed with me again. I want to hold you all night long, and your scent calms me. But instead, all that comes out of his mouth was, “It was not lovely at all.”

“Hmm. I’m not Iris.”

“No, you aren’t.”

He agreed wholeheartedly – you were not his lover. Iris would not argue with him like this; in fact, they never argued at all. Whenever they had misunderstandings, they resolved it by taking out their frustrations on the bedroom, and the next day, all would be forgiven and forgotten. It was easier with Iris, in some ways, because with you he actually had to use his words, and he had to say the right ones. Both of which he wasn’t good at, but would try his very best anyway.

“I heard you spent the day with Maiko. How was it? Did you two have fun?”

“As fun as two women suffering at the hands of men who despise them could have.”

Rintaro took a larger step to stand in front of you, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I do not despise you.”

“Really? You made me feel otherwise.”

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair again, feeling much more exhausted than he did after the meetings ended. “You do not have to make this so difficult, you know. I am trying to fix this.”

The laugh you let out is sardonic, teetering on the edges of borderline angry. But he would take it – because arguments with you were better than having you ignore him, and he would take a thousand more arguments if it meant you talked. He would consume your wrath over your coldness every other day. Even when you cross your arms and look at him like he was the most vile creature to ever walk the Earth – because your eyes are on him, and in that moment, in the middle of another of a hundred hallways in his Palace, there was no one else but you and him. A husband and his wife. A Prince and his Princess.

“Oh, are you now? Because last time I checked, you were still in love with someone else, and I’m still nothing but a pawn in your silly game.”

“I may be in love with someone else, but it was you who I couldn’t get off my mind.”

“Is that supposed to make my heart flutter?”

You reel back as if burnt, and Rintarou couldn’t fathom why your expression hurt him so much. As if his declaration, his vulnerability, of being putty in your hands repulsed you instead of excited you. However, he refused to show he hung desperately to your every word, refused to admit that you held all the power in your hands, not him. So, he plays it off, and flirtingly lifts a brow just to get you even more riled up.

“I was hoping it would.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, Rintaro, you won’t win.”

His eyes darkened. Suddenly, all self-restraint he previously had had been thrown out the window. The urge to press his lips to you – yes, those same lips scowling at him – becomes all too consuming. He fools himself into taking the heat in your eyes as desire instead of anger. And he takes one step forward, two, then three, until your back hits the wall and his large frame prevents you from escaping. He liked you best here, he realized, under his mercy and staring up at him with your soft lips, pliant and open to release a gasp when he leans in. Closer, closer, only for his lips to meet the skin of your cheek.

Rintaro stifled a disappointed groan.

Masking it with a chuckle, he trailed his lips down your cheek and to your jawline, all the way until he’s inhaling your intoxicating scent – he wants your damned perfume to stick to his skin for days to come so everyone in the Palace knows he is yours. And like a flower, you bloom only to him. Craning your neck and pushing your chest upwards to his despite your resistance, breathing hard and heavy to let him know he wasn’t the only one affected by this.

And by the Gods, he wanted nothing more than to take you in this wall right here and then.

Brushing his lips just above your pulse point, Rintaro smiled. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and he was certain his was, too, when you began to crumple his shirt in your hands. “I never knew my name could sound so important without the titles attached to it.”

“Wh–what?” your query came out breathily. Not that he could blame you, for his words have also begun to sound more like a whisper.

“Rintaro,” he echoed, nosing your neck to greedily take in more of your scent. If not on his skin, then he will settle for the evidence of you all over his clothes – and damned the servants who dared wash his dress shirt. “Not Prince, not Your Highness. Just Rintaro. It makes me feel like… it is just you and I, husband and wife, as simple as that,” you draw in another gasp just as his fingers start ghosting over your waist, fighting the urge to pin you in place, or to just hold you delicately because he knew he’d broken you enough. Rintaro felt weak, his head dropping in the column of your shoulder. “I truly did miss you. And I do not like how I spent many nights, in our bed, alone.”

“You do not deserve to share a bed with me.”

“I know,” he lamented, and that firm resolve of keeping him at a distance was enough to wake him up. Pushing himself off of you, Rintaro took a solid minute to admire you like this – lips parted, expectant for a kiss, and skin flushed with a thin layer of sweat, with eyes so bewildered he could see himself clearly in the reflection – that he was just a man now, and not really the husband you wanted him to be. Once he had his fill, Rintaro smoothed down the wrinkles you fisted in his shirt and took a step back. “But you do not deserve to sleep in just a couch. Take the bed tonight. I will sleep outside.”

“But that’s–”

“I’m the one who fucked up,” he smirked, sarcasm dripping from his face, “So I should be the one sleeping uncomfortably. I know I cannot tell you what to do, and neither do I plan on ordering you around, but this is the one thing you cannot argue with me on. You will take the bed. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Back to titles. Back to formality. Back to reality.

“Good girl,” he murmured absentmindedly, nodding in the direction of your bedroom. “Let us head back to our quarters. I’m buying you a new dress for the ball first thing in the morning.”

To say Rintaro had changed would be an understatement.

He was a completely different person than your husband in the honeymoon. It was as if… last night’s intimate encounter had brought him back to the Rintaro you fell in love with, but this time it felt different. He felt more intense. Maybe it was the fact that his secrets were now laid out in the open, which could mean his attentive actions toward you no longer held the purpose of winning you over. Maybe now he truly just wanted to spend time with you because he could.

Cancelling his plans for the day, he’d told the servants you were going out shopping, and oh, what a cunning, devilish Prince he is. He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of him out in public. With so many eyes watching, you spent nearly every second of the day with your arms looped around his, laughing and smiling at every word he said, and not daring to keep your eyes off him lest someone took a photographed and headlined it ‘Newly Married Royal Couple Having Their First Lovers’ Spat In Public.’ No. No, that would be catastrophic. The Queen would be furious.

Here, in public, you were forced to act sweet and touchy with him, to which the stupid Crown Prince basked in as he led you from boutique to boutique. He complimented you on everything, even when you wore a hideous bright orange gown that made even the designer flinch. But in Rintaro’s eyes, you were simply mesmerizing. He even got a suit that matched all of your dresses, claiming that everyone should know he was married to you. Everyone already knew that – the whole world knew – but you didn’t want to burst his bubble.

Aside from having a day off, your husband genuinely did seem to be doing things other than paperwork.

You stopped being kind once you entered the car, however, when the windows had rolled up and you had both stopped waving to the people. Here, it was just the driver and the both of you, and the driver knew better than to comment on whatever happened, anyway. Sighing, you scooted to the other end of the seat, prying yourself off of Rintaro’s tight grip around your waist.

“Drop the act.”

“What act?”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, taking off your gloves and folding them neatly in your lap. “We are in the privacy of our car. You needn’t pretend any longer.”

“Who said I was pretending?”

You looked at him dead in the eye. “You are not fooling anyone. This was all a PR act – you did not actually mean whatever it is you said to me out there, but worry not. I’ll get out of your hair and divorce you – surely that will make everything easier.”

The way Rintaro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head would be comical if he didn’t look so scared. In a flash, your husband crossed the distance and sat next to you, his hurried movements causing his bangs to fall into his eyes. His large hands began to engulf yours, and you suck in a breath – without the gloves, it felt more intimate. “What divorce?” he chuckled nervously, brushing his lips over your bare knuckles. It was the faintest of touches, only done to appease you, but it still didn’t stop the bolt of heat coursing through your thighs. Gods, it was just so hard trying to stay mad at him.

“You know that’s impossible. Royal marriages are forever. Look, if you truly wish to divorce me, fine. But you know you will have to help me become King first. Once I am crowned, I can write a new law that says royal couples can be separated.”

“You are despicable.”

“I am,” he whined. Whined! Seriously, who was this man? “But I promise you, if you help me, I will let you go. Look, I’ll even find a high–ranking nobleman for you. The best of the best. You wouldn’t have to be lonely anymore. Just… don’t ever mention divorce to me right now. I won’t let you.”

Scoffing, you pull your hands back from his heavenly lips. “You seriously think after everything, loneliness is somehow my biggest issue?” Rintaro opened his mouth to retort, but you shook your head, making yourself small between him and the window seat. You hated it, how helpless you felt, from wanting his touch to being burnt by it. You hated it even more how you couldn’t look him in the eye as you mumbled, “Have you ever thought that maybe I just want to forget you?”

“I do not want you to,” he breathed out, and your eyes snapped shut when you felt his fingers brush over your cheeks. “But I am not so selfish to deprive you of a good thing. You will find someone who can love you better than I could.”

Your heart fell.

“Well, that would be easy. You never loved me to begin with.”

The Crown Prince never spoke again. You both mulled over your silences as you arrived back at the Palace, heading into the bathroom to do your nightly routines. Rintaro was to your left, taking out his razor blade and shaving foam while you stood to his right, lathering on your cleanser and toner. Thankfully, the silence did not feel as heavy as it did on the ride back home, but it was still far from being comfortable. It was only after you’d moisturized and turned to leave the room that Rintaro caught your wrist, glancing down at you with a pleading expression.

“Please. Can we stop fighting? I thought today was fun. Let us not end it hating each other.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, if I ruined your precious day,” you snapped, leaning back to examine how he missed a spot below his jaw. A slight stubble was visible, but you had to stop your hand from reaching out to him. You sighed. “All this space in the Palace and they couldn’t give us separate bathrooms?”

“Traditionally, royal married couples slept in separate rooms. Everything was separate, too, including bathrooms,” he gestured around you, “Perhaps you would’ve liked the old ways.”

Screw it. The small talk is the most awkward thing you have ever experienced.

“…You missed a spot,” you finally mumbled, taking his razor from him and gesturing for him to crouch down so you can reach. “Do you want me to finish it?”

Rintaro, despite his surprise, nodded and obeyed. It must have been uncomfortable for him to slouch, but he did so without complaints. He let you shave him as you saw fit, turning his head side to side, lathering on more foam, and you watched as his shoulders visibly deflated. Eyes fluttering close, Rintaro sighed, the tips of his fingers gingerly tracing circles as they laid beside your hips.

“You will take the bed as discussed,” he reminded, “You will not argue with me on this.”

“Okay,” you answered, because you, too, had no energy for more arguments. Once you were done with him, you wiped off the rest of the foam with a warm, wet towel. You both left the bathroom and went your separate ways – you to your king–sized bed, and him just outside the bedroom and into the lounge room, where you spent the past few nights sleeping. You realized he must not be sleeping well from it because of his large frame, yet Rintaro did not seem to mind.

Just as he was about to close the door, he lingered for a few beats.

“Thank you for going along the happily married couple act today,” he said, lifting his gaze from the carpeted floors to gaze into your eyes. “And for the record, I meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”

Then he turned, and swiftly closed the door, leaving you to be with your thoughts – all filled of him.

It didn’t help that the sheets and pillows still lingered with his scent.

You had your upcoming ball to thank for distracting you from your confusing feelings for your husband. That in itself was such a ridiculous statement, but one that ringed true. After Rintaro’s surprising gentleness, and the revelation from Maiko that he hadn’t spoken at all with Iris, you were now in a dangerous zone called Getting Your Hopes Up. Truly, you should know better. You had known Rintaro for years to know he could be effortlessly charming. He could have you wrapped tight around his finger, smiling like a lovesick fool, only for him to break your heart once more.

If not for that cold, hard truth, you would have invited him to bed with you that night. It seemed too tempting. It felt like the right thing to do. But you didn’t, and you were glad you held back on your desire, because you weren’t sure you could handle another heartbreak.

Especially because these past few days made you realize one thing – that you were still in love with him. The next morning, you found yourself wishing you had woken up next to him, and that was enough to make you avoid your husband all over again. And much to your disappointment, Rintaro stopped trying to chase after you, too, after countless rejections on your part. He had kept his distance, and only spoke with you momentarily when you arrived at your mother’s ball and had to exchange niceties with everyone.

After that, your husband excused himself and spoke with his brothers, but not after your parents couldn’t stop cooing at how adorable you and the Crown Prince were. He handled it with grace; kissing your cheek and thanking them for raising such a wonderful daughter. But the moment your parents became occupied with welcoming other guests, you were now left to entertain the other women in the ball.

Until the music began playing.

Until your song reverberated all across the room.

“This is the song you and the Crown Prince danced to the night you met,” your mother whispered beside you, giggling in your ear. “I requested it specifically for this night. Enjoy the dance with your husband. He’s already waiting.”

True to her word, you could feel Rintaro’s heated gaze on you from across the room. He’d stopped speaking with his brothers – the twins smirking beside him, Akaashi smiling at you softly, Tobio waving enthusiastically while nursing a glass of wine, and Kita firmly hovering from the walls with a concerned frown. Not that you paid attention to them. Your gaze was held by your husband and him only, bewitched as he started walking forward. The crowed parted for him like a true Prince until nothing stood in his way. Everyone smiled, giggling behind their gloves at the apparent ‘romance in the air.’ Beside you, your mother pushed you encouragingly, and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, waiting to see if you would take the Crown Prince’s outstretched hands.

“My love,” he whispered above your gloved hands, and your heart skipped a beat. He didn’t call you Princess, or Your Highness. You knew it was for the sake of keeping appearances, but by the Gods, you loved him. You were so hopelessly in love with your husband that you placed your heart in his hands once more, silently pleading with him not to break it as he led you in the middle of the dance floor. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, your hand resting on his shoulder as naturally as his arms came to your waist. The exact same movements from the night you first met, with the same song, but with your love for him stronger tonight than it did when you first laid your eyes on him.

This time, you danced as man and wife, and you recalled his words from the other day.

How there were moments it seemed so simple – where there were no titles, just you and him, having this dance like it was the most natural, inexplicable thing in this world.

The chord struck. The crowd parted. He took the first step in the dance, and you took a step back. Not once did you tear your gaze away from him, happily drowning in the depths of his hazel eyes you could look at forever. And isn’t that what you’d always wanted? To spend a lifetime with him, to grow old together. It would have been so easy if it weren’t for –

“Don’t think about anything else,” your husband shook his head lightly, “Just enjoy this moment. Tonight, there is only you and I.”

“Okay,” you found yourself nodding, and his grip on your waist tightened for a second. “Just you and I.”

Rintaro’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “Just you and I.”

You and him in those moments – you felt immortal. Like nothing could stand in your way. Or perhaps you could die tonight, and you would die happy. Because you were in your husband’s arms, and he was looking at you and only you, murmuring how you were becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day. You were melting in his arms, like goo. Like pudding. And he was strong enough to catch you, to brush his nose against yours at each dip, or letting his lips linger on your forehead each time you came back to him with each spin.

But happy moments never lasted long enough, and soon the rotations were beginning. More couples have joined the dance floor. Through one spin, you caught sight of Tooru and Maiko. Neither of them looked happy, but Tooru visibly brightened when he caught your eye, and shamelessly winked. On the other side of the room danced Iris and Kiyoomi, with the latter looking so nauseous you worried dinner would be spilled on your mother’s floor. And then too soon, Rintaro’s hands were leaving yours as he moved to the nearest dance partner, and you were caught by a pair of strong, muscled arms.

“My turn,” Tooru teased, a grin now on his handsome face as he nudged his head in Rintaro’s direction. He was now dancing with your mother, and you could tell, even from this distance, the smile he wore was genuine. “Should I beat him up?”

You chuckled, throwing your head back. Despite his jokes and jabs, Prince Tooru was a surprisingly great dancer – less stiff than Rintaro, and more confident in his receiving when you spun and dipped. But dancing with him did not feel the same. There was no passion, no yearning, no longing – just the lighthearted air of good humor and his calming nature.

“I don’t think beating the Crown Prince up would be a very wise decision.”

“Indeed, but I was never the Prince known for making wise decisions. That would be more Shinsuke’s forte,” he snorted, and the song reached a part for another rotation. However, Tooru refused to let you go and intentionally spun you away from what was supposed to be your next dance partner. Out of shock, you slapped his chest, and his broad chest rumbled with laughter.

“Your Highness! That was unbelievably rude!”

“As I have said,” you both laughed when he spun you again, “I am not the Prince known to be socially adept.”

You bent over in giggles, your head resting on his chest as you danced more throughout the night. Your feet were getting tired, but your mother was right – this was a night to enjoy. You danced to your heart’s content, exchanging jokes with the handsome Fifth Prince until you craned your neck to the side, only to be stopped by Prince Tooru’s large hand. This time, he no longer smiled as he gazed upon the dancing partners behind you, and your skin turned cold.

You had a feeling you knew exactly why.

“Don’t look. You won’t like what you’ll see.”

Nodding, you pursed your lips and forced a smile at him. “It’s okay, Princess,” he comforted, “Just look at me. You need not concern yourself with others.”

So you danced, and danced, until you could hear your father pleading with the Fifth Prince to give his daughter back because he didn’t get a chance to have a dance with you yet. Reluctantly, Tooru handed you over to your father, but not without a faux frown.

“That was a lovely dance, Your Highness. I wish we could’ve danced more.”

“I think we danced enough.”

Tooru’s smile was guarded; secretive. “I’m afraid it was not enough.”

You danced with your father next. And it was lovely, seeing him up close with all his smile lines and wrinkles. You missed him so, dearly, and he felt the same way. It hurt having to lie to him when he asked how you were settling in the Palace, but you didn’t want to concern him with your personal matters, and for some reason, it didn’t sit well with you if your father disliked Rintaro. So you swallowed your discomfort down and told him everything was great – silently wishing he wouldn’t pry further. He didn’t. And when the song slowed, your father kissed you on the cheek before letting you meet with your next dancing partner.

Stood in front of you was a great wall of what could only be described as majestic. Dressed in white with gold ornaments, Prince Kiyoomi’s curls framed his handsome face beautifully. You had been so accustomed seeing him in more comfortable clothing, and in the privacy of his own home, that seeing him out here in society, it reminded you that he, too, was a Prince.

The Second Prince – the would have been next King should Ushijima and Rintaro falter.

“My Prince.”

“Princess,” he bowed, taking your hand in his as you made your way back to the dance floor. The music played again, this time louder, and the Prince leaned down until his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. You repressed a gasp, unable to help yourself from digging your nails into his palm when you were greeted by how good he smelled – like mint, new leather, and pine. It also dawned on you how tall and firm the Prince was – perhaps taller and more muscular than Rintaro.

“Y–Yes, Your Highness?”

“Remind me to thank your mother for extending her invites to the forgotten Prince. Imagine my shock when I saw her invitation letter this morning.”

You chuckled nervously, thankful that he had now slightly tilted his head back. “I hardly doubt you are a forgotten prince.”

He snorted, effortlessly spinning you with one hand. “It’s not like I do my duties to begin with. I wouldn’t be surprised if I truly was forgotten,” distracted by his scent, you unknowingly stepped on the hem of your dress and slipped backwards. A scream nearly tore out your throat when the Prince’s large hands cupped the small of your back, your chest pressed to his and his curls brushing against your cheeks as he held you close. “Careful.”

“Th–thank you.”

You were a mess after that. You were never the best dancer, but something about being in the older Prince’s presence made you extra nervous. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He simply danced with grace, and hid his grimace well each time you stepped on his toes. He had also convinced you to stop apologizing every time you did, and by the time the dance was over, you were more than ready to disappear.

“Thank you for the dance, my Prince,” you bowed, words hurried, “I shall see you–”

“Kiyoomi!” a woman appeared out of nowhere, her thick, dark curls pinned up beautifully with some loose strands swaying in time with her hips. She had the same moles as Kiyoomi, and you watched, entranced, as the older woman wrapped her arm casually around the prince. The two shared a silent conversation with their eyes before Kiyoomi glanced at you, and the woman followed his line of sight. “Oh! Your Highness. Greetings. I don’t believe I have introduced myself before – I’m Kanami; Kiyoomi’s mother.”

You smiled at her, politely taking her hand as she extracted herself from her son’s arms and taken to draping herself all over you. Discomfort must be written all over your face, because the Second Prince sent an apologetic smile your way.

“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Kanami. Are you enjoying the night so far? The travel all the way from Itachiyama must have been exhausting.”

“Oh, it was, but it’s all worth it now that we’ve met again!” she squealed, and you paled.

“We have met before?”

Just as she nodded and went about to retelling this so–called meeting, Iris popped up behind Kiyoomi, her smile stiff as she regarded Kanami. Instantly, your mood soured. She hadn’t spoken to you at all tonight, which you were thankful, but something about the thought of her dancing with your husband, and probably being suggestive while at it had your blood boiling.

“Mother! Such a shock seeing you here. I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

Kanami barely glanced her way, her dark, curious eyes still on your face.

“Hello, Iris, and it’s Miss Sakusa, dear,” she corrected, her enthusiastic smile momentarily fading into a scowl before it returned. “Say, Your Highness, since you’re still on your honeymoon period – and I’ve heard your dear husband is too busy these days – would you want to come visit Itachiyama with me? I would be honored to be your host. It will also be a great opportunity to learn more about your Princess duties and politics!” leaning closer, she whispered behind her gloves, although her words were loud enough to be heard by Prince Tooru and Iris. “Although if I will be honest, politics does not interest me in the least bit.”

Your mouth fell open and closed, unsure of what to say, until you settled on chuckling and patting her hand wrapped around your arm. “I… Thank you for invitation, Kanami. I am most tempted to see your beautiful country, but Princess Iris should be the one visiting her territory, should she not?”

Kanami scrunched her nose.“The Princess never grew up in Itachiyama. She would be just as clueless as you. Besides, I have always wanted to invite you over ever since you had Kiyoomi as your last dance on your eighteenth birthday!”

“He… was?”

“He was! Don’t you remember, dear?” she turned to Kiyoomi, who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him already. But judging by his reaction, it seemed true – Kiyoomi was your last dance on your debut ball. “Well, in that case, I was always fond of you. I may be crossing the line here, but it was always a famous royal saying that whoever was your last dance on your debutante ball was your destined lover.”

[shirefantasies]

firstly happy new year!

i wanted to tell you i love your works and maybe ask if i can request a Thorin's company x reader where the reader is from our world and has many tattoos (like a full sleeve) and the company's reaction, maybe the dwarves show their tattoos too?

thank youuu so much!

Ooh, this is cool! Sorry it took so long this got buried in my inbox 😣 I’m going to try to keep the tattoos as vague/open as possible but I may describe em here & there, sorry 😅 Hope this is enjoyable & accurate hehe, ya girl does not have any tattoos herself~

Warnings: slight suggestive jokes, minor blood in one

Showing Thorin’s Company Your Tattoos

Balin

It started the moment he pulled out the contract. You’d gone traveling with the company but not officially joined until this moment. Soon as the parchment unfurled, you began rolling your sleeves up and out of ink’s way. Glancing upward, you caught Balin’s eyes upon the designs inked into your skin. “Oh,” you cocked your head, pen momentarily forgotten, “have you never seen tattoos like this before?” Such a question earned you a sudden burst of laughter from the white-haired dwarf, who shook his head. “Nay, not in the slightest! Quite the opposite. We dwarves are famous for our designs. I suppose that yes, I’ve never seen ones like yours,” he glances over yours once more, “but many I have seen.” Suddenly you felt compelled to ask: “Well, do you like them?” Balin smiled. “Of course I do! Just because they are different doesn’t mean they are bad. Watch out for my brother, though, he’ll be itching to give you a new one if you get on his good side.” He gave a wink and that sealed it for you- you knew it already, but it rang through your head once more that you had a place in this company.

Dwalin

It had started with a compliment. “I like your tattoos,” you told the shaven-headed dwarf with a smile and a nod his way. He looked surprised, then pride settled into his eyes beneath the fire’s flicker. “Thanks. Bet you’ve never seen anything like ‘em before, eh?” Matching Dwalin’s smug smile, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal the art covering your own body. “By my beard,” he breathed. “Would you believe me if I said there was more where that came from?” You teased. “May not have before,” the dwarf grinned, “but I certainly do now. Bet you don’t know what mine mean, though…” "Well then, tell me." Brows raising, he crosses his arms and looks you over as if anew. "And perhaps if you prove yourself, I can add to your collection." As you can imagine, this turned into quite a long conversation.

Thorin

The king-to-be’s eyebrows raise, a look of pure shock crossing his regal features when you expose the long expanses of tattoos you’ve decorated yourself with. Arching a brow, you assume it is some sort of royal sensibility and roll your eyes, at least until you hear Thorin’s faint words emerge, barely above a whisper. “My sister has something quite like that. May I?” Stunned, you simply nod, holding your arm out as Thorin draws closer, fingers gently brushing over your inked skin as a small smile creeps to his lips. “I remember when she got it. She wanted me to get one, too, but I was too afraid.” A deep chuckle. “You, I see, do not lack the courage. Dis would like you. Very much,” he comments, blue eyes shining into yours.

Oin

“You’ve gotta be more careful next time,” Oin shakes his head as he lowers you onto the blanket, one hand tucked carefully behind your head. “You’re welcome,” you grin, though the expression quickly turns into a wince as pain arcs up your newly acquired wound. Tutting, Oin says nothing, opting instead to strip off your layers to dab at the blood collecting there. He pauses, though, over your bared skin. “You never told me…” Gloved hand waving vaguely over you, and you chuckle weakly. “What, that I have an amazing pain tolerance?” “That’s one way to put it,” he replies, “and let’s hope so. You’ll need it. They did heal quite nicely, you know. Half the ones I’ve done looked a mess after.” “You do tattoos, huh?” You chuckle again, smiling up at him as he worked. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Gloin

Bursting into hearty laughter, Gloin claps a hand to your shoulder. "Thinkin' you can beat Dwalin, are you?” Obviously you are quite confused, tilting your head at him until you trace the line of his eyes to your exposed wrist. The edges of a tattoo showed there, bringing a chuckle to your lips. “Hadn’t thought of it like that,” you shot back, “but I suppose I would have him bested.” Gloin bursts into hearty laughter as you push up your sleeve to reveal skin entirely covered. “Bless me, I was teasing you! You really went for it, though! What did you do for yours? I managed to barter for mine,” he grins, pushing up his own sleeve to reveal a design near his shoulder. “I wish that was how it worked for me,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought of all your lost money, “where I come from, it’s pay or nothing.” Cue Gloin lining you up deeds to get dwarven ink done should you so desire.

Bifur

Catching Bifur gesturing your way, you frown slightly and turn back around, fixing him with a look of concern at his hasty motions. Finally, he traces a hand up his arm, prompting you to peer down at your own. Ah, right. He'd probably never caught a glimpse of your tattoos before. You nod, sign a 'what?' you hope doesn't come across too cheeky, and grin when he gives up and rolls his eyes and grabs your arm. “Well,” you ask, “like ‘em?” In all honesty, you have no expectation for his reply, but the enthusiastic nod and tug up of his tunic still has your eyebrows raising in shock. He has one, too, it seems, at least the one, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s quite similar to one of yours. Smiling, you wondered if that was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

Bofur

“Well you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” You aren’t even certain what the hatted dwarf means until you follow his gaze down the length of the arm you’d bared to spearfish with, tracing the lines of your tattoos. “So you could say,” you reply mystically, waving fingers until the both of you are laughing. “Which one’s your favorite? I wanna see ‘em all. Well, if you’ll let me, of course, and…" Cutting him off with a hand held up and a smile, you answer, "I know what you mean. When we're done here, we'll need some time by the fire. I'll show you then." Eyes shining, Bofur gives you a grin and wades into the river with you. That evening, as you sat and warmed your soaked legs by the toasty fire, you rolled up your sleeve all the way this time, telling him the story of every single tattoo and chortling at his animated commentary.

Bombur

The others saw them, but Bombur’s reaction amused you the most by far. Without thinking, he grabbed your arm and held it up, eyes scanning your art beneath the warmth of his gentle hold. “Well,” you chuckled, “what do you think, do you approve?” “I quite like yours,” he agreed, “yours are pictures. I like them better than Dwalin’s.” A call of protest from the warrior dwarf rang out defending both his own art and of course the traditions of their people. But if you have any of things Bombur enjoys most, things representing family, food, animals, nature, and the like, he keeps fighting for you to the last word! "But I like the pictures! Have you seen them? Come have a look here." There you stand, your hand tightly in Bombur's grip, but you cannot help smiling.

Dori

The two of you had all but insisted the dwarves finally wash some of their layers, so they agreed under the express conditions that the ones who cared so do it. As you knelt at the riverside with a bundle of (frankly filthy) clothing, you rolled up your sleeves to the elbows and saw Dori staring out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look particularly scandalized and you were used to eyes upon your art, expected it even. “Looking at these?” You asked with a smile. Sheepishly he nodded. “My brother has a couple of those. Always trying to get me to have one done,” he scoffed, “but I don’t exactly fancy a voluntary stabbing myself.” You can’t help laughing at that. “They certainly did hurt,” you agree in your mirth. Dori’s eyes slid down your forearm one more time. “You must be quite tough, then, aren’t you? Strong and sensible,” he beams.

Nori

One of your tattoos is especially meaningful, so the moment its subject comes up in conversation you are peeling back layers to reveal it. Many dwarven eyebrows raise as the sun strikes your skin, but you can’t help noticing Nori specifically, the look of intrigue and perhaps something else in his eyes. Challenging him with a look, you cock your head a bit at him. “Didn’t realize you had any,” he says simply. With a faint snort, you nod. “Well, here you go,” you roll up your sleeve further. Nori’s eyes trail up and down the expanse of skin one more time. “I’ve got a few myself.” Naturally, you ask him where, and that is when he breaks into a rakish smile and winks. “You’ll have to guess.”

Ori

Smiling at Ori as you accepted his sketchbook, you pushed back your sleeve to save it from smudging his work or the addition he'd welcomed you to make on a new page. An entry into his little world you were honored at the invitation to create. But when you glanced back up at the dwarf, your joy faded sharply away at the widening of his eyes. Shock, no doubt, at the revelation of the ink covering your forearm, designs you'd hidden for fear of distaste or harsh questioning. Quickly you slid the fabric back down, but Ori just gaped, looking more than a bit awed. "You have so many. Did they hurt?" A common enough question, posed innocently as you'd expect from the company's youngest. "Some more than others, that is for sure," you answered simply, "but I took it in silence." Humming in further awe, Ori leaned closer to you. "Nori screamed like a baby bird the whole time he got his." Bursting suddenly from your chest, your laughter cascaded over your whole body in relief, comfort returning to your little world. "I quite like yours better than his, too, especially that one," Ori added, pointing where he'd seen a particularly nice piece. Perhaps you should have known the artist would understand.

Fili

“Whatcha got there?” Glancing down at the utensil in your hand, you shrug. “Ladle. I was helping Bombur do the rinsing.” At that, the elder Durin heir smirks. “Not that,” he says, gesturing up from your hand, “those.” Right. “Oh, my tattoos? If you’ve never seen anything like them, I can tell you-” “Never seen anything like it?” Fili snorts in amusement, crossing his arms. “I take it you’ve not looked upon the dwarven kings of old.” Removing his coat and outer tunic, he bares his own arms. “I’d like to get mine here.” He touches his bicep. “One ringing each side.” “How convenient,” you tease as he flexes the toned muscle of his arms. “What?” “Nothing,” you snort, shaking your head.

Kili

The pair of you had been sparring, Kili parrying your every move before you finally sat down in defeat, accepting a newly-filled waterskin gratefully. The dwarf kept teasing you, saying all that he could about how well he knew you and the like. "Why, I practically know everything about you," he said with a proud look, "you'll not be surprising me any time soon." "Well, then, if you know me so well," you countered, "which tattoo is my favorite?" "Very funny, you haven't any..." Kili's eyes widened as you rolled up your sleeve, scanning every inch of ink. "...Tattoos." "What was that you were saying?" You asked, smirking into his speechless gape. Curse him, he regained his composure quickly, though, expression falling back into the smile you had to admit you loved. "Well, I certainly know which one is my favorite."

Bilbo

You start tugging at your top at the collarbones and Bilbo’s eyes practically pop out of his head when your tattoos peep at him. “You too?” He asks, tone incredulous. Chuckling in amusement, you fix him with an inquisitive look. “And what does that mean?” “Well,” he begins, voice faltering, “I suppose I just thought of that as, well, as a dwarf thing. What with Dwalin and all.” “Surprise,” you tease him with a grin, exposing more skin he flushes at the sight of, “but look, I think you’ll quite like this one…” Any tattoo you have from nature, after all, surely catches the hobbit's gentle eye in a heartbeat. “Oh, that is… quite beautiful,” Bilbo breathes with a faraway smile, “can I touch it? Wait, what am I saying, I’m sorry…”

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Message me/reply to join!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

All at Once, This is Enough

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria (Whisperers Arc) Warnings: Descriptions of childbirth Summary: Baby Dixon is impatient, an experience you and Daryl will never forget. A/N: I actually love writing Daryl as a dad (or soon to be dad). I think I’ll continue this with little drabbles here and there, but for now, this is the last installment of And Baby Makes Three series

*Click here to be added to taglists.

The door flew inward and bounced off the wall from the force of Daryl’s boot, wood chips flying but it seemed to still be functional. He turned his body to shield you in case of any threats inside, but the one room cabin was empty save for some old, run down furniture. You curled in on yourself with a pained wince, clutching your rounded belly as the muscles tightened and rippled under your hands. 

“Tha’ ‘nother one?” Daryl asked, gently placing you on the decrepit couch, Dog lying obediently by your feet. You nodded, breathing through your mouth, slow and deeply. “‘Bout four minutes maybe.” He mumbled to himself. He had no way to time but Siddiq had told him to try. In a rush of movement, the archer tore the old sheets off the bed, sending dust up in a cloud. He glanced at you apologetically while digging the extra blankets out of the pack. You had stuffed the damn thing full, so he could only pray there were things that would be useful. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled when the pain ebbed away and you had a moment to relax. He was spreading a blanket over the mattress but stopped to look at you over his shoulder. 

“Wha’ fer?”

“I begged to come with you. Now, we’re here waiting for Siddiq and what if something goes wrong and Daryl, what if the baby… what if I…” You felt his hands on your face, not even realizing he had moved. 

“Hey, hey. Ev’rythin’ s’gonna be okay. He’ll be here soon. Okay?” 

Your eyes danced back and forth between his but you nodded and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to your mouth. Your lips were so soft against his palm. He smiled at you, small but genuine, and moved his hand so he could press a kiss to your mouth before going back to work on setting up what Siddiq said was needed. 

He made it two steps when he heard your breathing pick up and then a whine of his name. Glancing at you and then the bed, he came back and kissed your temple while gently lifting you. It had only been about three minutes since the last one. 

With the utmost care, he placed you on the mattress with the two pillows to prop you up. His poncho was draped over them to keep any dirt or dust away from you. 

“Daryl… it feels like…” You had begun to sweat, even in the freezing interior. There hadn’t been time for him to start a fire yet. 

Daryl took hold of your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “Feels like wha’?”

“It burns.” You hissed. The archer felt his stomach flip and thought he might vomit. He had no idea what that meant or how to help you. 

He let go of your hand and patted the back of it before snatching up the radio. “Siddiq.” He heard the static and waited, driving his boot through an old coffee table. He had to start a fire. When there was no answer in the time it took him to break up enough pieces to burn, he pressed the button harder than necessary. “Siddiq!”

“I’m here, Daryl. Ran into some walkers. Tell me what's happening.”

“She’s hurtin’ ‘bout ev’ry three minutes now. Says it burns.” He could have cried when the flame caught so quickly. Jogging back over to you, he started unfolding the second of three blankets. They were small and not very thick but they would cover you and help with the chill. That would do for now. 

“Okay. Have you checked her to see if the baby is crowning?”

“Not a doctor, man.” 

“Right. Sorry. I need you to look and tell me what you see.”

Daryl felt dizzy. A part of you that he was so intimately familiar with now scared the living hell out of him. He was out of his depth, but he had no choice. You and the baby had to be okay. “Yeah…um, okay… hang on.” He dropped the radio at the foot of the bed and then placed the blanket next to your hip. “Hey, I, uh, need ta look at ya.”

“Help me get these off.” You seemed utterly unbothered, pulling at the soft elastic waistband of the jeans. With a nod, Daryl took over, pulling them and your panties down your legs once you had raised your hips. He tossed them aside and placed one knee on the bed.

“I don’ know wha’ ‘m doin’.” The archer whispered, voice trembling. 

“You’re just looking right now, Daryl.” You said between quickening breaths. When this one hit, your fingers dug into the blanket, twisting it, and you threw back your head with a scream. Daryl moved then, a hand on each of your knees, he separated them and reached behind him for the radio. 

“I…don’t even know how describe wha’m lookin’ at.”

“Try, Daryl.”

He lifted his other hand from your knee and wrenched your fingers from the blanket, letting you squeeze his hand instead. At least now, he didn’t feel completely useless. Now, he was staring at your poor vagina and trying to think of a way to describe what exactly was going on down there. 

“It, uh…it looks like half a peach with the pit still in it.”

“Shit.”

That did not inspire confidence. “Shit? Whaddaya mean shit?!” Looking up, the archer met your eyes, wide and terrified. He gave your hand a squeeze. This was all too insane and he knew if he thought about more than the here and the now, he would lose his goddamn mind. Here and now, you needed him. His baby needed him. He couldn’t think past that. 

“I think the baby is crowning.”

“Th’fuck that mean?” 

“It means that your baby is going to be born before I can get to you.”

His heart was pounding furiously, his chest literally hurt with each beat. You were looking at him, mirroring the terror he knew was showing naked on his face. His hand trembled as he pressed the button on the radio. 

“Tell me wha’ ta do.” 

“Daryl.” You cried, barely able to catch your breath while the grip on his hand tightened. 

“I know, Sunshine.” The radio remained silent other than static. “Siddiq?” You were repositioning yourself as best you could while refusing to let go of him. “M’gonna kill ‘im.”

“Yeah, do that, but first…could you maybe catch our baby?”

“Wait… wait, wha’?”

You could feel another contraction coming, leaving you very little time to speak. “I helped with Hershel and with RJ. I can do this. Just… don’t pass out.” With a deep breath during the first spasm of the next contraction, you pushed, teeth clenched with a scream brewing behind them. 

“Won’ pass out.” He wasn’t very sure of himself but he couldn’t let you down. It wasn’t an option. Daryl moved to the area just below your feet, holding your knees to give you some kind of grounding connection. He was supposed to say something, right? Encourage you? It felt like the right thing to do. You’d surely tell him to shut up if it wasn’t. “Ya, uh… ya got this.”

You fell back, feeling like you got absolutely nowhere. It still burned and the pressure was incredible. “Fuck. Ow.”

Daryl’s thumb swiped back and forth over your kneecap. “Wha’ can I do? Whaddaya need?”

“I need this baby out of me!” You panted, your fingers flexing in the blanket. 

“Well, tha’s the endgame, Sunshine.” 

You were making a conscious effort to not end up like the women in movies. All “I hate you” and “you did this to me,” especially when Daryl was looking at you with an expression somewhere between worry and that he thought you hung the moon. You couldn’t imagine yelling at him during the most important event of your lives. 

Then the next contraction came and it was time to push. Maybe yelling at him would make this easier somehow. It didn’t matter because the pain was unbearable and you couldn’t form words if you tried. 

“Yer doin’ great. Holy shit, baby’s right there!”

You wanted to ask questions as you sagged against the pillows, feeling like you got no reprieve before you’re sitting up again to push. Daryl was talking, encouraging you and squeezing your knees until he wasn’t. You had enough conscious thought to miss the contact but then you were being torn in half. You screamed, the pain white hot and new and then the most intense relief that you had ever known. 

That angry wailing was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. 

You did it.

Panting hard, near gasping, you looked at Daryl. His eyes were wide and shining, his arms moving to wrap the little bundle in a blanket. He looked so adorably alarmed and lost that you would have given anything to wrap both him and the baby up and hold them. 

“There’s a…uh,” he lifted the cord that was still attached and you remembered there was still work to be done but your body knew what to do. Right then, you just wanted to see this little person that you and Daryl created. 

“It’s okay. Just leave it.” You reached toward him and he automatically offered up the newborn while a tear rolled down his cheek. 

“S’a boy.” Daryl said quietly while you positioned your son close to your chest. Offering up a nipple while careful not to pull against the cord, you were surprised at how easily he latched on.

“Wow, hungry little guy. Definitely yours.” You smiled up at the archer to find him still looking awestruck. “You’re a daddy.” He nodded carefully while moving to sit beside you, blue eyes flickering between you and the baby. “He looks just like you too.”

“Poor kid.” With slow, gentle movements, Daryl brushed a finger over the baby’s soft, light hair before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yer amazin’.”

“I bet you say that to all your baby mamas.”

“Stop.”

Daryl did not, in fact, kill Siddiq.

Baby Dixon was now a week old. You and Daryl had settled into a routine of such domestication that you could almost forget the dead walked outside the walls. He had turned over anything that needed done around the community to someone else, aside from hunting. He made sure Carol and Michonne were there to help you when he had to go out. People had to be fed and it was winter. It was the one job he couldn’t ignore. 

Your eyes opened to the moonlight peering through the window. You propped yourself up on your arms and looked around the room. The other side of the bed and the bassinet were empty. You were alone. 

That meant there was only one place Daryl could be. 

When you pushed open the nursery door, you found your archer sitting in the rocking chair with your son tucked in the crook of his elbow, talking softly. 

“Yer uncle Merle was a real sumbitch but he’da loved ya. Well, after he told me wha’ a pussy I was fer settlin’ down with yer mama.”

“Language.” You whispered around a smile. 

Daryl didn’t seem surprised to see you there. “He was fussin’ n’ he only ate a hour ago. Didn’ wanna wake ya so we came in here. M’sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You walked over and brushed back the archer’s hair before leaning on the back of the chair to gaze at your son. The baby was staring intently between the both of you, gurgling and cooing around his fingers. 

“He likes stories.” Daryl informed you, never looking away from the tiny bundle. “Keeps ‘im from squaling when he gets changed if I tell him somethin’ new.”

“We should name him soon.” 

“Yeah. Lil’ bean ain’t what I wanna saddle the poor kid with.”

You chuckled. “You called Judith lil’ asskicker.”

“Kid eventually got a name.” Daryl stood carefully, holding the baby in one arm while the other reached for your hand. You laced your fingers through his and followed him back to your bedroom. With the baby in his bassinet, Dary wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I think I know what we could name him.”

“Yeah?”

You smiled up at him. “Yeah, I think so.”

Michonne moved around your kitchen, putting together plates for everyone. She and Carol would bring food over to make sure you and Daryl were eating while adjusting to being parents. Carol was snuggling the baby and pointing out which features belonged to Daryl and which were yours. 

“Definitely Daryl’s ears.” She laughed. 

“Wha’s wrong with my ears?” Daryl gave her a light kick on the ankle. 

“Nothing, Pookie. They’re adorable.” Carol smiled sweetly and Daryl flipped her off. You had all just sat down to eat when the hungry whimpers began. “I think this little guy wants his dinner too, mama.”

You accepted your son and sat down on the couch, sliding your arm through one sleeve so you could pull up your shirt without it continuously falling down while he tried to nurse. There was no need to cover up. It was just the five of you. Judith and RJ were at Aaron’s with Gracie. 

The baby latched on eagerly. “There you go, little bean.”

“You two ever gonna name him?” Michonne queried. You and Daryl exchanged a knowing look. 

“We already did.” The archer noted before sipping from his water glass. 

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense here!” Carol beamed, food forgotten. 

You smiled at Daryl and he nodded. “Well,” you began while stroking your baby’s cheek. “We’d like to formally introduce you to Merle Richard Dixon.”

Daryl kept his eyes on you but could feel Michonne looking at him. “Fer the brother I’s born with and fer the one that chose me.” 

The room went quiet save for the sounds of little Merle suckling away without a care. 

When Daryl saw you shift your gaze, he finally turned to Michonne. “Is, uh…is tha’ okay?” There were tears in her eyes with one escaping to travel down her cheek. 

After a moment, she smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I think he’d love that.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, watching relief wash over Daryl as well. You shifted Merle to sit upright on your lap with your hand under his chin while the other rubbed his back. “Then it’s settled.” There were smiles and nods shared before everyone went back to eating. 

And the baby let out a burp worthy of an adult man. 

“Yeah, Merle fits.” Carol teased. The air in the room was lighter with laughter and everything seemed perfect. At least for now, but you’d definitely take that. 

[notyourhetloki]

Ken with a gn doll!reader love interest

Reader: gender neutral

/Ken x Doll!Reader/

A/N: Guess who's obsessed lol anyway... This is NOT spoiler free! In fact, this is set AFTER the movie! I gave Ken a redemption arc because I think he'd be willing to better himself so here you go...

Word Count: 1348

—

How it started:

You were hanging out with Allan at the beach when suddenly Ken approached you, waving and smiling as he spoke: “Hey Allan! Hey (Y/N)! Wanna play volleyball?”

Allan glanced nervously at you before you two agreed, following Ken through the sand.

The game was fun but you were losing, that is until you had the chance to score, jumping up in the air and striking the ball with full force… hitting Ken right in his face.

He dramatically fell back, face covered with his hands while groaning. You quickly ran to him, kneeling on the sand and patting his shoulder. “Ken! Are you okay??”

He revealed his face, slowly blinking while examining you. You worried he was mad... you were new in Barbieland and didn’t want to make any enemies. What if he hated you?

“That… was… AWESOME. How did you learn to plunge like that??” Ken gave you a big smile, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate.

How it went:

You had been hanging out with Ken a lot lately, spending time at the beach or at your Dream House (all dolls had their own house now, including Kens). He even invited you to his Mojo Dojo Casa House (yes he still called it that) to watch some movies, and you gladly accepted.

He was nice to be around, always glad to help with whatever you needed and always excited for your next activity together. He was goofy and made you laugh, which made him feel good about himself.

And because the way to his heart was through his ego, you two became best friends as soon as you started complimenting him. He even admired you back, making you feel all fuzzy inside.

Ken was ridiculously charming, and you felt yourself falling harder with each moment you spent side by side. But, you had to remind yourself you were not Barbie, and he was Ken... He couldn't possibly be interested in you... right?

Besides, you knew he had a lot to learn yet. After the incident with Kendom and the whole patriarchy thing, he started studying sociology and began a journey to better himself, and you were happy to be there to help.

You reminded him of his daily mantras ("I'm kenough") and accompanied him every time he visited the library for more books. Ken cringed while you reminded him about the past. “At least you apologized to Barbie, right?”

“…”

“RIGHT?”

And just like that the two of you were on an adventure to the Real World, for Ken had a very important mission.

—

You had never been on rollerblades before, so as you arrived at the Real World, you started to wobble. Luckily, Ken caught your hand and continued to hold it, helping you balance. You felt heat rising to your cheeks, blushing at the unexpected touch and intimacy. (Unbeknownst to you, Ken was blushing hard as well, trying not to think much of it. You were just friends, right? This was normal… right?)

You both found Barbie, and you were proud to hear Ken’s apology as he spoke. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, Barbie. For trying to install patriarchy in Barbieland, for stealing your house, for all of it! You don’t need to accept my apologies, but I just needed you to know that I’m trying to better myself every day, and (Y/N) is helping me with that!” While Ken looked ashamed, Barbara looked shocked.

In the end, she accepted his apologies and smiled at you as you waved your goodbyes.

Ken felt immense relief and happiness now that he took this new step in his self-growth journey. He was so happy in fact, that he felt like holding your hand again. You both looked at each other and smiled, hearts racing and faces blushing.

—

You were in his Mojo Dojo Casa House, chatting and giggling like teenagers. Ken started asking about you, very interested in everything you had to say. He was fascinated and wanted to know more about you, and soon he caught himself asking more intimate things. “So… do you have a girlfriend? Or… a boyfriend? I mean… I don’t know, are you even into Kens? I mean…” he stuttered as you laughed.

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend… in fact, I never had a significant other before…”

Ken’s blue eyes grew wide, mouth slightly agape as he slid closer to you. “Oh… really?”

“I mean… I’m not a Barbie, not a Ken… not sure I’m even supposed to have someone.” You suddenly grew a little sad at that, being so vulnerable with Ken all of a sudden.

You looked down in shame, but Ken quickly lifted your chin up so you looked at him. His expression was fond, eyes roaming through your face and finally landing on your lips. He grew closer and for a moment you actually thought he would kiss you.

But he didn’t, he stopped and moved back, suddenly a bit confused and anxious. “Ha… I’m… I’m sure you’ll find someone eventually…” he said with an awkward smile.

How it ended:

Ken was desperate when he asked Allan for help. He was so confused, so… eager. He had never felt this way before, not even with Barbie. You were different, you listened to him, inspired him to become a better person, spent your valued time with him and you two had so much fun together! He felt genuinely happy around you, and in the last times you hung around, he felt the deepest urge to kiss you. This desire had been growing the more he tried pushing it away, so he decided to ask for help.

“I mean… (Y/N) is not a Barbie, and I’m Ken! It doesn’t make sense, right?”

Allan looked at him with slight confusion as he responded. “I mean… there are truly no rules, it’s not like there’s a book written somewhere that Kens should only date Barbies.”

Ken was left starstruck because I mean, Allan was right. There are no such rules in Barbieland, that was just something everyone assumed one day. “Thank you, Allan!” He hugged his friend before heading out.

—

Ken invited you on a beach date night and you happily agreed. You two sat on the sand as you watched the waves, but he only had eyes for you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” You wondered about the sea and the stars. “Yeah…” he answered, not looking at them.

Slowly, Ken moved his fingers to touch yours, and while turning your head to look at him, you let your hands completely meet.

Your heart beat fast as he smiled that gorgeous smile of his, cheeks rosy and eyes glowing blue as he finally spoke. “(Y/N)… can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Ken.” You smiled in anticipation.

He looked down, doubting himself a bit before looking up again and almost whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

At that moment everything made sense, and you couldn’t help the big smile on your face as you spoke. “Of course!”

He matched your smile and squeezed your hand in excitement before turning away a bit and fist-pumping the air, then turning back with a more collected expression on his face.

Ken stared at your mouth before leaning in, and you leaned as well. Slowly, you met in the middle and finally kissed. Gentle, he grinned against your lips.

The first kiss was quick, but as you stopped and looked into each other’s eyes, he came back crushing onto your mouth, not wanting to be separate anymore. Ken took your face into his hands and you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

You both needed to breathe eventually, so you parted. You took the opportunity to ask a very important question. “Ken? Would you…would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Ken gasped, his eyes growing wide and teary as he held your hands in his. “That would be the coolest thing to ever happen to me… yes!”

The two of you hugged tight, and for the first time in forever, everything felt just right.

—

[kaylatoonz]

Amy meets everyone but Sonic

I think it would be funny/interesting if Amy doesn’t meet Sonic until the end or near climax of the movie.

From what I can remember from the games, Amy would almost always do something small within the sideline of the story that becomes impactful in the main story. Best example of this is how her interaction between Silver and Shadow both play a part in them switching from antagonist to friends/allies to Sonic and his friends.

If the SCU introduces Amy in the third film I think this would be the best way to go about it if she doesn’t get as much screen time. There could be a side plot where Amy is trying to find Sonic but she meets everyone that has some connection to him instead. Each person she meets she helps/supports them in a small but impactful way that helps Sonic and friends in a big way by the climax or end of the film.

They could give us a taste of Amy’s strengths and feisty nature by showing her teaming up with knuckles (maybe give them a dynamic similar to Sonic X or IDW). Then they can establish her kindness and determination to help those who have been wronged, by showing her helping tails at his lowest point (maybe Amy helps tails in his SA2 arc or help him break sonic out of prison island). Finally, by the climax of the film Amy indirectly helps Sonic in the biggest way possible by reminding Shadow of his promise to Maria which encourages him to aid Sonic in saving the world.

Bonus points if throughout the film there this running gag of Sonic and Amy keep just missing each other.

Amy just left after helping knuckles and wade defend citizens from strange creatures (black arms?)

Sonic: sorry I’m late to the party, I heard from tails that you guys might need some back up

Knuckles: no need little brother we have defeated our new foe with the help of a valiant new ally.

Sonic:?

Wade: yeah your pink girlfriend was a lot of help 😄

Knuckles:*look confuse then thoughtful*

Sonic:… Wade i don’t have a girlfriend why would you assume

Wade: oh she is a pink hedgehog like you and she got really excited when she found out that we know you so sh..

Sonic: Wade you can’t just assume we’re together just because we’re both hedgehogs I don’t even kno… wait! She's a hedgehog too?! And she’s on our side!

Where is she? I gotta meet her! * starts dashing round the battle field*

Wade: as I was just saying you just missed her and she was actually looking for yo..

Sonic: dang it! Maybe I can catch up to her, we could use all the help we can get if we’re fighting that faker. Contact tails for the deets gotta go! * runs off*

Wade: wait sonic she was look for.. and he’s gone

Knuckles: she could be a good partner, they’re both strong and reckless 🤔

Wade: I know right 😄

Amy get held up fighting off /distracting the guards while helping tails break sonic out of prison island

Sonic: thanks little bro I didn’t think I could broke out here on my own.

Tails: your welcome but I can’t take all the credit I had some outside help

Sonic: let me guess pink hedgehog

Tails: yeah you’ve met

Sonic: nope but I’ve heard great things. I seem to just miss her everywhere I go

Tails: *smirks* so the fastest thing alive can’t caught the girl

Sonic:*roll eyes* hardy har har, very funny… is she still around? I really like to meet this new heroine, maybe team up.

Tails: yeah she holding back the guards I can put her on speak if you insist 😏

Sonic: tails😑

Tails: ok ok Hey Amy do you copy?

Amy: yep still here though my hands are a bit full at the moment. How are things on your end? Did you find him? Do you need help?

Tails: yeah everything great I found him , we’re safe and he really interested in meeting you😏 (sonic: tails it’s not like that😠) so we were hoping we can make our escape and meet back at..

Amy: *wham!* That sounds great I.. *fzzzz* I can meet you guy at *fzzz* HEY! You better stay down or I’ll get my hammer and! *fzzz *wham!*

Tails and Sonic: hammer?

Amy: *fzzz* oops…

Tails: what do you mean oops…

* An explosion can be heard from the other end and the build shakes*

Tails: AMY! ARE YOU STILL THERE! ARE YOU OK?!?! AMY PLEASE RESPON-

Amy: I’m ok! I’m ok there’s just a lot more exits then we originally planned so I’m just gonna take one of those * awkward giggles* I’ll meet you guys at *fzzz* *line cuts*

Tails: * sighs in relief* well better luck next time Sonic I don’t think you’ll be catching miss rose any time soon.

Sonic: dang I was really hoping to catch her this time she sounds like a fun gal.

Tails:😏

Sonic: *lightly punches tails shoulder* welp we better make use of Amy’s specially made exits and get out of here.

After Amy reminds Shadow of his promise to Maria and so Shadow joins Sonic in facing the final threat of the film (black arm, bio lizard, metal sonic?).

Sonic: hey shads come to join the party? What changed your mind?

Shadow: your pink friend reminded me of something important…

Sonic: *looks confused for a second before realizing who he’s talking about*

Sonic: no way… she really is something special…😊

Shadow: she is…😌 now let get this over with this only one time thing got that faker😈

Sonic: whatever you say faker😈 now let’s kick some butts.

[shakespearean-dream]

last of the big five yall!!!!

happy late fourth of july! remember to keep boycotting, speak out and listen to palestinians, the people of congo, native americans, queer/trans people and women currently being oppressed this independence day because america fucking sucks!!! 🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥

here are a couple good places to donate! please remember to do your own research and take care of each other, it’s getting scary out here.

ohhhh nimdok, where to start with you….

i have been dreading doing him because he pisses me off so bad but i actually had some decent fun with him :D. designing him and branching out farther away from his canon self was nice, but im not touching his backstory or personality really, that stays about the same for me in my head.

speaking of whichhh! like benny, i understand how the game makers had a short amount of time to fit an entire character arc of an old man undoing his deeply internalized racism/xenophobia/ableism in a singular short scenario, but unlike benny i actually somehow like his better?? nimdok had a lot more to get over (well not saying being a dickhead murderer isn’t a lot but 😭) and i enjoyed seeing him actually help out the people he would’ve previously turned in. it still feels a little hollow/unrealistic because again, he’s been like this his whole life, but considering how much AM takes him away from the group to (most likely) psychologically torture him for his actions he’s probably had a bit of a revelation.

doing his scenario was unfortunately funny at times because of the strange way we had to go about redeeming him with the golem guy😭giving him a smooch caught me off guard but ykw? i’ll take it for being able to kill mengele like immediately afterward. also speaking of whichhhh…

i would go into more detail about nimdok and mengeles relationship to give it some depth because god i love me some queers, but that is??? a real fucking guy???? a real life monster???? im less than comfortable picturing the fucker in my mind, much less giving him depth with a character who i also don’t like. like why ship ur essentially OC with a REAL LIFE N/AZI??? just another one of the reasons harlan elision creeps me out. (if that just pissed you off google search him s/a-ing 2 people, marrying a 19 year old when he was in his 40s and defending a child r/apist i really don’t feel like arguing with you. the guy was a horrible fucking person and he makes me sick, i just like this franchise.)

i cannot cough up anymore thoughts about this fella pls forgive me; these past couple days have been rough on my 3 brain cells. AM will for sure be next and after that fully rendered/decked out full bodies are in order!! so look out for that:]]]] i may also start posting some art fight things since i was just complaining about the lag a post or so ago☺️ jk ily artfight. team seafoam lets goo

ok i love u guys!!! if u have any requests for me drop a comment or an ask, and thank you so much for the continued support on my art❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ lots of links on this post but one more quick reminder to take a look at my commission page if you’d like!!! yolanda is still in the shop because they cannot figure out what’s wrong with her :(

have a good night friends 🫶

[dekusleftsock]

Turning tragedy into hope-Let him lose those arms

I’ve tried making this post three times so let’s hope that third times the charm y’all.

I’m just gonna come out and say it but when I saw that panel where Izuku doesn’t have any hands I literally got so excited.

AND ITS NOT BECAUSE I LIKE MY FAVORITE CHARACTER GETTING BRUTALIZED (well? I do think it’s a little funny but shhh)

But it’s because this has been foreshadowed almost as much as the handhold itself between Izuku and Katsuki. And it’s wonderfully tragic in the best of ways. Literally half of the commentary surrounding it when it came out in the leaks was “omg I thought of that!” Because literally everyone and their mother KNEW this was coming in some form. Izuku was going to lose an arm, and that would be the case.

Hell, even outside of the story the amount of official art and AU’s Horikoshi drew that had Izuku without an arm is astounding. Like it’s so painfully obvious that this was coming, and so he upped the shock when he made Izuku lose them both.

Izuku is even doing his white eye thing, he isn’t shocked, he’s angry. My dude is pissed. Clearly, to me at least, the loss of his hands is less of a shock to him and more so that he’s angry that afo took away the reason he lost them in the first place—Tenko.

Y’all gotta remember who Izuku is, he’s the stubborn motherfucker that refused time and time again to give up on his dreams, he’s the one that illegally saved Iida and Katsuki, he’s the one that refused to let go of Tenko’s hands because when he was in his time of need, it comforted him.

Izuku has been told by his doctors for over a year atp that he was going to eventually either lose his hands, or lose the function within them. He’s accepted that. He can try to stop it, hold it off through equipment and treatment, but at the end of the day, everything breaks eventually. He knows that. We know that.

So if he was going to lose his arms in some way, it’d be through this: saving someone, holding their hands, never letting go, comforting them.

It’s tragic and sacrificial, but Aizawa’s the same. Did we make theories about how Eri is gonna heal him from being an amputee? Did the story say “actually due to this cool magical illusion/quirk it was all a mirage/eri could heal it”? No, it didn’t. Did Mirko somehow get her arms and legs back because they’re tied to how she views her strength? No, she didn’t.

And there’s a reason they didn’t. Multiple reasons they didn’t. They’re heroes, their scars tell their stories.

Not even mentioning how that’s such a trope (“everyone else keeps their long term injuries except for the main character because he’s special and gets main character powers, like not getting a disability from a dangerous job! :)”), but why should eri, a little girl, be responsible for everyone’s injuries? She doesn’t even have full control yet, she’s playing it by day. (People LOVE to talk about how all the 1-A kids are just kids fighting in a war, except when it comes to a little girl being responsible for everyone’s injuries, somehow)

The reason eri was shown wasn’t because she was going to somehow save the day, but because she wasn’t. It was supposed to stop those theories from having actual merit, because eri doesn’t actually have the built up strength to help.

So, with that out of the way, I wanted to say how this is so fucking beautiful. It’s tragic yes, Izuku and Katsuki never got to hold hands, not properly, but maybe the measure of their trust is beyond that. Maybe, an embrace could suffice—this would go back to Izuku’s vigilante arc. Where, instead of holding hands, Katsuki caught him when he needed to. And he’s going to do it, again and again.

Maybe holding a robot or silicone arm won’t feel the same, but it’s the feelings surrounding it that matters, not the act itself. The hand hold is still there, the hands still haunt the narrative like a mouse within the walls. It bites at cords like their own emotional walls.

Katsuki missed his chance, over and over again, and he’s going to have to come to terms with that. But that’s not to say that the story won’t let this aspect haunt the narrative like it always has. It’s still THERE, and I believe in Horikoshi to continue to write a story about hands while the main character doesn’t even have them.

Izuku’s hands are tied to his strength, physically and emotionally. He views them has the glue that ties his heroics to himself. His hands have always reached out to others, his hands have always punched those who were wrong, and even when he had to switch fighting styles he still saw them as the reason he was able to fight at all. They represent OFA, his love, his anger, his weakness, his strength. They represent his sense of self, and yet he’s more outraged than hurt that he lost them for Tenko to be free—only for AFO to take away that freedom all over again.

THATS why the loss had to happen. THIS. He lost something so incredibly valuable to himself, but he lost them of his own accord. He could have let go of Tenko at any moment, yet he didn’t because he wanted Tenko to know comfort and freedom. He wanted him to be free.

You could say that Tenko was telling Izuku to let go because he was breaking down his emotional resolve, and I believe you could also say that he was telling Izuku to let go so he doesn’t hurt someone who tried to help him all over again. You could say it’s both. It’s selfish and selfless, like everything in this story is. But Izuku refused to, and that was a choice Tenko could never take away from him.

So, that’s how I’ll turn this tragedy to hope, because this was done out of Izuku’s love, why take away that meaning?

Why put them back?

Why take away those scars?

Scars tell stories, they tell you how we became the greatest heroes.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #57 – Monstress, Volume 9: The Possessed by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda

I have, for the year so far, been reading one volume of the Monstress a month as a sort of regular treat or change of pace. And so after nine months, I’ve finally caught up with just under a decade’s worth of narrative. Which is, honestly, largely a matter of falling entirely in love with the first few volumes, and then progressively falling out of love over the last plot arcs. It never becomes dire – this volume is honestly rather better than the last, at least for y tastes – but the magic is very thoroughly gone.

After their dream sojourn in Golga, the prison-planet of the Old Gods, Maika, Zinn, Kippa and Ren awaken to discover that a full year has passed while they slept – and that in the meantime, Maika’s father has somehow cut Zinn out of her and bound him to his will. With the armies of the Blood Court and the power of an Old God, he’s well on his way to conquering the whole continent – or at least the specific cities with laboratories and relics of the Shaman-Empress he requires to reassemble the Mask and – well, that’s unclear, but something bad. Combined with the news that he’s taken her godfather Seizi hostage, it’s’ more than enough for Maika to leave the remote island sanctuary she awoke in and jump back into the wolf’s jaws, dragging everyone else along with her. Returning to the city of Thyria and her mother’s home and library, she just about has a plan going when – well, when the world seems to start ending, as Old Gods suddenly follow the protagonists back from Golga and begin possessing every host they can.

I’m not entirely opposed to big timeskips to shake up the setting and let the plot develop, but this one really just completed the process of shaking things up by shoving all the parts that every really compelled me as far to the side as can be (okay, not entirely fair – it is nice to see Seizi again). The Lord Doctor’s the most offensive part of this, not because he couldn’t be an interesting character in his own right (parts of him are pretty compelling!) but just because he’s such an utter comic book villain. Deep ties to the Lore and a personal connection to the protagonist, but seemingly untied to any of the actual politics and context of the setting, tossing aside the carefully arranged political status quo into just being a cackling cannibal mad scientist cult leader megalomaniac who suddenly has the capacity to conquer the world. He could be fighting Captain America and no one would blink an eye. He’s just very emblematic, I suppose.

And maybe I’m looking at the earliest volumes with rose-tinted glasses here, but I can’t help but feel like at some point over the writing process the shape of the story Liui and Takeda wanted to tell has changed substantially, and the dream-world diversion and year of table-setting were necessary to make the plot they wanted more practical. Which is probably inevitable when you’re doing 6 issues of comics a year, but that doesn’t mean I need to enjoy the shift or the obvious artifice of it.

The art of the series was always reliably stunning even when I was getting irritated with the writing, and that’s still largely true but – look, after years of teasing and buildup, the fact that Maika’s deadly loyal-to-her-father sister just looks like someone’s Hazbin Hotel OC on Deviantart really just feels bathetic.

So yeah, the series will continue next year – will have to, with that sudden cliffhanger – but I feel pretty confident in saying I’m not going to pick it up when it does.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 25

Vice

Fiddleford's chair was tipped back precariously, his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the kitchen table’s edge. He was scraping at a can of baked beans with the spoon, it’s dull clink against tin punctuating the last semblance of effort. His space was illuminated only by the dim glow of a old electric lantern perched on top of the table by his feet, casting the kitchen in fragmented segments of dull light.

Ford stepped through the kitchen archway with a stack of papers tucked under his arm, the cotton of his sleeve brushing stiffly against the pages and crinkling them a bit as he walked. He strode to the table and, without preamble, dropped a stack in front of Fiddleford with enough force to send them fanning out across the surface—startling Fidds so completely that his chair rocked back onto all four legs, his feet flailing to regain purchase against the floor. “Read ’em and weep,” Ford said, grinning wolfishly, disregarding his friend’s reaction to the disruptive entrance.

“Jesus, Ford...” Fidds snapped, sitting up straighter. “What’re you sneakin’ up on me like that for?”

Ford leaned against the counter, the corners of his mouth tugged into a self-satisfied grin. “I told you I’d figure it out,” he said smugly.

Fiddleford didn’t answer right away. He picked up the first sheet, then the second, his eyes scanning the calculations. The lines of ink were jagged, some numbers smeared as though written hastily with an unsteady hand. But the logic was undeniable. His brow furrowed as he worked through it.

“You’re screwin’ with me,” Fidds said, looking up at Ford.

“I’m not.” Ford replied.

“No fuckin’ way—“ Fidds’ words got caught in his throat as his eyes ran through the pages, flipping them over and shuffling through them before breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “My God, Ford… Just like that? Here? Now? I-In the dark?”

Ford leaned back against the counter, preening. “Just like Newton,” he said.

Fiddleford barked a laugh. He bit his lower lip, shaking his head as he flipped through another page. “Alright, Ace, Let's see how it holds up to proofs,” he challenged.

Ford pushed himself off the counter. “You mean proofs like these?” He reached into the crook of his arm and dropped a second stack of papers onto the table. This one was twice as thick as the first, and it landed with a heavier thud, the pages fanning out in a neat, meticulous arc.

For a moment, Fiddleford didn’t say anything. His gaze rested on the sheer immensity of it, the dense weight of thought that seemed to radiate from the pages. Slowly, he reached for the second stack, pulling it closer and flipping through it. Every page was crammed with meticulous lines of logic, the kind that required a ruthless precision—every theorem scrutinized, each axiom stretched and tested until it proved itself worthy. It was the language of mathematics distilled into something almost poetic, the purest form of inquiry rendered in ink—as elegant as it was exacting.

“Just like Newton…” Fidds murmured, his voice reverent, disbelieving. That’s when he started really laughing—loud, full-bodied laughter that bordered on hysteria, spilling out of him uncontrollably.

Before Ford could brace himself, he was wrapped in a tight hug. “You’re brilliant, Stanford, brilliant!” Fiddleford shouted, planting a sloppy kiss on Ford’s cheek. His excitement was childlike, unguarded, a burst of joy so immediate that it caught Ford off guard.

Ford laughed, shoving Fiddleford off him with mock annoyance. “For God’s sake, Fid. You’re gonna throw my back out.”

“Ford, this is incredible!” he continued, stepping back and shaking Ford’s shoulders like he needed to be certain the man in front of him was real and not some fevered apparition. “You’ve—you’ve single-handedly substantiated Linde’s chaotic inflation model.”

“I know,” Ford replied with the faintest note of smugness.

“This means… pocket dimensions,“ Fidds rambled, flipping through more of the pages. “—with physical properties. It’s—It’s monumental!”

“I know.”

“Oh, man,” Fidds giggled, rifling through another sheet. “I’d love to rub this in Em’s face. Last time I tried explainin’ your theory to her, she said I’d be better off teachin’ you how to work a vacuum cleaner.” he went on with a laugh.

Ford blinked, surprised by the mention of Fidds’ wife. “Em..?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, giving him a quizzical look.

“Yeah,” Fiddleford replied with a laugh, already pacing the narrow stretch of the kitchen, the pages flapping loosely in his grip as his arms gestured wildly. “She thought the whole thing sounded like somethin’ outta a pulp novel. Said—what was it—oh yeah, ‘You’d follow that madman off a bridge if he asked ya nicely!’” His laughter rang out loud and unbothered, reverberating faintly off the walls.

Ford chuckled, but something about the moment left a peculiar unease curling in his stomach. He watched his friend carefully. “You think this’ll be enough to get back into her good graces?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, offhanded.

Fiddleford blinked at him, his laughter trailing off into a quiet, bemused chuckle. “What?” he asked, the smile still wide on his face.

Ford shrugged, leaning back against the counter again. “I just figured—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know, figured she wouldn’t really… ya know…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely as if the rest of the thought could fill itself in.

Fidds tilted his head, his confusion deepening, but there wasn’t a trace of discomfort in his expression. He just shifted through the pages, glancing between them and Ford, waiting for Ford to continue, to elaborate. But the silence began to grow uncomfortable.

Ford frowned. He studied his friend for a moment longer, wondering if he should press further. But something about Fiddleford’s demeanor—how calm, how completely untroubled he seemed—made him stop.

Instead, he glanced at the can of beans sat precariously on the edge of the table. “Eugh,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Are you eating those cold?”

Fiddleford snorted. “Oh, hush. You’re the last person who oughta be critiquin’ anyone’s eatin’ habits,” he shot back, his grin widening as he dropped back into his chair. He picked up the can again, scooping out what little remained. “’Sides, it’s not so bad. We lived on cold canned beans when I was coming up,” he added, scraping at the sides with a spoon and swallowing another bite. “It’s got a lil kick a’ nostalgia.”

“Right,” Ford said dryly, “because nothing says ‘happy childhood’ quite like botulism.”

“Somethin’ ‘ike that,” Fiddleford said as he slid his tongue against his teeth, preoccupied with dislodging a stubborn bit of bean skin between his molars

Ford opened his mouth to respond, but a faint hum filled the room, grabbing both of their attention—the fridge sputtered back to life, followed by the overhead light flickering once, twice, then settling into a pale, steady glow. Beneath the window, the radiator’s pipes began clanking before it groaned, pushing heat into the room.

“Hallelujah,” Fiddleford muttered under his breath, setting the can down on the table with a soft clink. He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head as his chair creaked under the motion. “Thank you, Tesla. Looks like I don’t gotta play lumberjack after all,” he teased.

Ford rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in the smallest of smirks. “Lucky you.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Fiddleford said suddenly, sitting up straighter as he reached into the pocket of his hoodie. His hand fumbled for a moment before pulling out a crumpled ball of red and white knit fabric.

Ford raised an eyebrow, watching curiously as Fiddleford held it out. The bundle unfurled as it passed between their hands, revealing itself to be a pair of gloves. They were peculiar—fingerless for practicality, but equipped with small mitten flaps that could fold down for warmth. The design was deliberate, thoughtful, but it wasn’t just the functionality that caught Ford’s attention.

It was the even number of finger holes—six in total, each carefully stitched with an uneven precision.

“Saw you choppin’ wood this morning,” Fiddleford began, his tone light but deliberate. “And I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t have any gloves on. Got me to thinkin’—you probably don’t have a pair that fit right, so…” He let the sentence drift off, shrugging faintly, as though to downplay the thoughtfulness behind the gesture.

Ford stared at the gloves for a moment, his fingers brushing lightly over the knit fabric. The stitching, though imprecise, was sturdy. He could see where the pattern had been adjusted to accommodate the extra digit, the yarn pulled slightly tighter at the edges where it strained to hold the shape. “Fid, where did you get these?”

“I made ’em,” Fiddleford said simply. He leaned back in his chair, his posture carefully casual, his arms folded loosely across his chest like he hadn’t just handed over something he’d clearly spent hours on. “Had a lotta time to kill today. It’s nothin’.”

Ford ran a thumb along the edge of one of the mitten flaps, processing the effort it must have taken.

“Try ’em on,” Fiddleford said, gesturing toward the gloves with a slight tilt of his chin. “See if they fit.”

Ford hesitated but then slid his hands into the gloves, the fabric stretching to fit perfectly, snug but yielding. It felt strange—this ease of fit, not having to press two fingers together to make them share a space. He flexed his hands experimentally, marveling at the comfort. “Wow, Fid…” His voice was quiet, caught somewhere between surprise and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Without thinking, Fidds reached out, his hand curling around Ford’s wrist. His fingers brushed gently over the material, turning Ford’s hand this way and that to examine it more closely.

“They look pretty good,” Fidds murmured, his voice half-absent as he inspected his handiwork. He adjusted the angle of Ford’s wrist, then his eyes narrowed slightly. Something had caught his attention—something small but impossible to miss once you saw it.

At first, Ford didn’t notice. He was still focused on the gloves, on their warmth, their fit. But Fidds had gone quiet, and his fingers stilled against Ford’s wrist.

A faint patch of arm hair poked out from beneath the sleeve of Ford’s shirt, and caught in it was a small fleck of bright red—something brittle but hard. Fidds’ brow furrowed. He turned Ford’s hand further, and as the sleeve shifted, it revealed something else: a faint outline of a burn etched into the pale skin just above his wrist.

“What’s that?” Fidds asked, his tone low and slightly concerned. He moved as if to push the sleeve up for a better look, but Ford jerked his arm away, the reaction quick, and defensive. Fidds let go immediately, his hand falling back to his lap, but the urgency in Ford’s recoil lingered.

“Just a little accident,” Ford said, his voice stiff. “I was being clumsy.” He tugged the sleeve of his shirt back down in a swift motion. Fiddleford didn’t say anything at first, but his expression shifted—familiar, paternal, like he’d just caught Ford with a hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Just then, the phone rang sharply, cutting through that uncomfortable moment and interrupting the settling silence. Ford nearly leapt for it, his movements abrupt, almost frantic—desperate for a diversion and distance between he and Fidds’ worried, prying eyes. He grabbed the receiver and pressed it to his ear with a snap. “Pines,” he said, brisk and businesslike, falling into a cadence of formality.

There was a brief pause on the other end, static crackling faintly as a low, measured voice responded. Ford’s expression shifted, his shoulders straightening. “Good to know the message made it through to you,” he replied, his tone smoothing into something more practiced, more controlled. “Yes, sir. We’ve got full power again—as of five minutes ago.” He glanced absently at Fiddleford, who was watching him over the rim of his glasses with mild curiosity, one eyebrow raised.

“I imagine the roads should be cleared by now,” Ford continued, pacing a short line across the kitchen tiles as he spoke. “I’ll be sending my assistant.”

There was another pause. Whatever was said next made Ford’s jaw tighten. He raked a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his head, the gesture quick and agitated. “Yes… yes, I understand,” he said, his voice lowering slightly. “I’ll ensure it’s handled—No more delays.”

Ford hung up the phone and turned toward Fiddleford, who was still at the table, absently spinning his spoon against the rim of the empty can. The faint scrape of metal against metal was the only sound in the room until Ford cleared his throat.

“They want it tonight,” he said simply, his tone quieter now, less curt than it was on the phone.

Fiddleford did not falter. Without a word, he pushed back his chair with a slow, deliberate scrape of wood against wood, the sound dragging through the stillness like a quiet prelude. Standing, he crossed the room in a fluid motion, his figure briefly swallowed by the shadows of the hallway. For a moment, Ford was left in the silence, his nerves a bit unsettled by the moment just before the phone rang.

He instinctively went for a cigarette, desperate for the sense of ease the ritual brought—taking one from the pack, the strike of a match, the drag, the burn, the release.

Fidds reappeared, stepping into the soft light, a dark coat hanging from his frame. In one arm, he held a stack of manila folders, neatly tied with twine, the edges of the paper curling just slightly from their time in the cold. In the other, a small, carefully wrapped box, its shape oddly delicate against the rough lines of his hand.

Ford’s eyes followed him as he set the stack of folders on the table first, the soft thud of the paper against wood breaking the fragile quiet. He didn’t look at Ford as he tucked the box into the worn canvas messenger bag, the fabric stretching slightly under the weight. With a practiced fluidity, he placed the stack of folders on top, one precise layer after another, until everything was neatly contained.

Ford straightened, his posture stiffening slightly as he watched, hovering by the counter and puffing away as Fidds worked. His arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment, he said nothing—just watched, rolling the filter awkwardly between his fingertips. The weight of their shared silence felt like an old, worn thing, a familiar tension neither of them could shake, no matter how many times they repeated this dance.

“Everything accounted for?” Ford finally asked, a trace of something cautious in his tone.

“Triple-checked,” Fidds replied, his words soft but sure. He gestured to the folders with a small, almost absent smile, the corners of his lips twitching in a gesture Ford knew to be his version of reassurance. Slipping the strap of the bag over his shoulder, Fidds zipped it closed with a smooth, practiced motion, the teeth of the zipper humming a brief, final note. He adjusted the strap, testing its weight against his side.

Ford hesitated, something unspoken lingering in the air between them, hanging alongside the chill. “Roads might still be bad,” he said, his voice steady, almost like he was testing the waters. “Be careful.”

Fidds glanced at him, that faint grin returning as he cracked open the front door. “Always am,” he said as he turned away. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Ford alone in the kitchen. For a long moment, he stood, watching Fidds’ Mustang tear out of the shed and over the gravel, cutting through the snow and hitting the freshly plowed asphalt. Ford watched him go with a sigh of relief.

He turned away from the window, drawn back to the papers he’d previously scattered over the table. He moved to stack them back up, but as he did so, his attention was caught on the faint pulse just under his sleeves. He paused his stacking, then pulled his sleeve up, wincing slightly as the cotton rubbed over the tender blotches of burnt skin—worse now, after the hours that had passed. The wax had clung to the hairs on his arms in clumps, flaking off in brittle pieces and crumbling to the floor as the fabric slid over them. Ford then built up the courage to lift his shirt by the hem, revealing more of the same—wax clumped along his chest and belly, streaks of angry pink burns marring his skin. It would take ages to pick it all out out of his body hair. Longer still for the burns to fade—a reminder of Bill and his brutal process.

That heat lingered on his skin, the memory of molten wax dripping onto flesh playing on a loop in his mind. Every mark of failure a stepping stone towards redemption, every burn a testament to the symbiotic connection that fueled his ambition. Bill’s methods weren’t for everyone. Hell, they weren’t for anyone, except Ford. But he clung to them, even when they hurt—especially when they hurt. To Ford, the lucidity was worth every blistering scar.

But he couldn’t help imagining his friend’s expression if he saw how far he had gone—his concern flashing, his inevitable questions. It wasn’t something Fidds could ever understand. Not the what, and certainly not the why.

If Fidds had pressed him earlier, held his wrist just a moment longer—How would he react? If he knew? If he saw the full scope, the haphazard road map of burns etched into Ford’s flesh—would he see them as a mark of madness? A betrayal of reason? One small burn could be dismissed as an accident. But the others? Those wouldn’t be so easily explained—they were stuck there, like little accusations. So, for now, sleeves would be a necessity.

Fidds couldn’t know—could never know. The clarity Ford had achieved had come at a cost, yes, but Bill had been there, guiding him through it. He coaxed him beyond his limits, demanding more than Ford thought he could give, but Ford had given it. He’d needed that push—needed him. How could anyone else possibly understand something so singular, so uniquely theirs?

Fidds saw the world in terms of what was reasonable, what was practical—an engineer through and through. He was brilliant in his own right, capable of dissecting the mechanics of anything he touched with unparalleled precision. But Ford—Ford’s brilliance was a different beast. It wasn’t measured in neat lines or predictable solutions; it thrived in the murky, untamed spaces where logic blurred into impossibility. He peered into the void of theory that others wouldn’t dare to approach, eyes fixed on horizons no one else could see. And that kind of hunger demanded more—more risk, more audacity—chaos was something others avoided instinctively, something they fortified themselves against. But Ford let it consume him.

Fidds, on the other hand, stayed anchored, tethered to practicality, bound to a framework of rules and reason that kept him steady. Ford thought back to that fleeting look on his face earlier, the way he brushed off the mention of his wife—so detached, so unaffected. Maybe what Ford had said the previous night had struck a chord, made Fidds finally understand that trying to hold onto two opposing lives—one with Ford and one with her—was a losing battle. Or, maybe not. But pondering the inner workings of Fidds’ marriage, the cracks and compromises, felt futile, almost absurd. Fidds had always been adept at compartmentalizing, and Ford—well, Ford had never been one to pry.

In truth, it was better this way—Ford couldn’t see Fidds’ scars, and Fidds couldn’t see Ford’s, and maybe that was the point. Keeping some things to themselves was necessary, a kindness they gave each other. As far as Ford was concerned, ignorance was its own form of mercy.

—

Fidds pulled off the main road and onto a dirt trail barely visible under the snow, his headlights cutting through the darkness like a blade. The path led to nowhere—just a barren stretch of land, empty of anything but dry grass and skeletal trees. But ahead, in the middle of all that nothing, was the helicopter, its blades carving relentless circles into the frozen air. The sound hit first, a thrumming, deafening roar that vibrated through his ribs.

He parked the Mustang, the engine cutting off with a shudder and he was swallowed by the droning whir. He stepped out, the cold air immediately biting at his cheeks. The downdraft from the helicopter struck him hard, tearing at his scarf and whipping his hair into his eyes. He squinted against the wind, raising a hand to shield his face as snow and dirt swirled around him, stinging like nettles against his skin.

The side door of the helicopter slid open, and men in identical black suits emerged, faceless behind dark glasses despite the night, their earpieces glinting in the dim light. They moved with a detached precision, mechanical in their motions. One of them stepped forward, his expression unreadable, though his gaze lingered on Fidds like he was sizing him up, deciding whether he was worth the trouble.

Fidds dug into his bag, fingers brushing against the coarse twine that held the stack of folders together. The papers inside were heavy, dense with the weight of their importance—or their danger. He pulled them free, holding the bundle out toward the man who reached for them without a word. The man turned, passing the stack to another waiting figure inside the helicopter. It was so smooth, so practiced, that Fidds wondered how many exchanges like this they’d done, how many nameless messengers they’d dealt with, how many secrets had passed through their hands.

The man turned back to Fidds, his posture rigid, his voice sharp over the sound of the blades. “Is that everything?”

Fidds paused. His hand hovered over the bag, fingers brushing lightly against the worn leather. He felt the outline of the box inside, its edges digging faintly into his palm. Something flickered in him—a pulse of hesitation, of instinct, sharp and sudden like a warning bell.

He didn’t know why the thought gripped him so tightly, or why his hand refused to close around the box. It would have been so simple to hand it over, to finish the task. But something rooted him in place. His fingers curled, pulling back from the bag’s opening like it burned.

He looked up at the man, meeting his expectant gaze, and forced his voice to steady. “Yeah,” Fidds said, his tone even and convincing. “That’s everything.”

[tsupertsundere]

FFXIVWRITES 2024 - DAY 2 - HORIZON Complete ---- 1,567 words ---- Notes: I enjoyed writing this greatly, which for some reason makes me that much more anxious to share it. The first unselfconscious but purposeful piece of fiction in too long. I hope you enjoy this honest depiction of what that looks like.

Angeline affixes herself and stares out at the horizon. This one is clear and crisp, a delineation easy to see. This time, she’s outside of Vesper Bay, far but apparently not far enough from the Waking Sands. Minfilia happens to be there with her - something uncommon, like she got caught out by a sharp eyed senior for some Special Attention, Observations and Advice. When Minfilia says, “When you look at things so deeply, I can never begin to imagine what you’re thinking about,” it is with a little bit of a puzzled bemusement, like this is the first time a presentation has not brought the exact response expected. 

Angeline affixes herself and stares out at the horizon. She is thoroughly bundled against the bitter Ishgardian cold - she hasn’t uncrossed her arms in hours, but she can’t bring herself to go back inside. She can see only a glimpse of it, and the slate grey sky against the granite of Abalathia’s Spine wrapping the city made the distinction one more of texture than of anything else. 

“I think a lot about a lot, but if you have to ask I suppose what I’m thinking about now is how everything just about is supposed to be contained in either one half or the other.” 

One Aymeric de Borel, who had at that moment only just approached her from behind holding two mugs of hot chocolate on a Haurchefant-flavored tipoff it would be sorely needed but who hadn’t yet opened his mouth, simply came to a stop next to her and considered. “Is it… truly everything?” He probed gently, with the air of one stepping lightly and gamely into the ring. When she seemed to make no move to reach out for the hot chocolate, he set it with some precision onto the rail in front of her. A brief expression of eye-rolling frustration, there and gone too quickly for it to speak to any real depth, scrunched her face and then passed. Another few long minutes passed, and Aymeric was just about to offer something again when Angeline said, “I know there are things that are supposed to - “

“ - be bigger than it, but when I’ve encountered them it still hasn’t been true. It’s still in one of either two halves.” Aymeric de Borel studied Angeline’s face, the set of her brow and mouth beneath their lovely softness. They had not yet had their third what they would go on to consider ‘date’, and Aymeric was still figuring out what precisely to make of this romance they were fashioning - and the kind of peculiarities he had begun to pick up on. Honesty, as ever, was his best quality, so he took a stab with, after a brief consideration, “if you spend so much time looking, it begins to narrow what you can find.” At his voice, at something in it that it ventured toward, Angeline’s arms lightly unwound, and she let a hand arc out and down for the cup, her palm already feeling its warmth - 

Angeline affixes herself and stares out at the horizon. Her hand comes down on the empty red wooden railing before her. Kugane is swallowed in a cocoon of charcoal - the lights are just coming on at the wharf and will trickle up and up until the giant floodlights tear open the night, peel it back to reveal the red meat slab of Kugane Castle. The doorway and peephole into a tightly locked house of a nation. Despite the increasing lights, the set of Angeline’s mouth is tight, like against sickness, and she still carried the smoke of Rhalgr’s Reach in her nose and throat. “The few times I see something more, it doesn’t last long. It’s an illusion. Like it truly can’t exist.” The phlegmy rasp in her voice was half bitter by content, and it sounded so unfamiliar to her own ear it made her give a start that broke into full-chested coughing. She braced herself on the railing with both hands, hacking until she was bent almost double. 

“Well I’m certainly glad you’re getting that out - “ came Alisae’s brash bark. She strode in and clapped Angeline heartily on the back until the fit subsided. “I really hope nothing’s catching…? We have a bit of a trip back.” Angeline recovered enough to catch her breath, shaking her head hard enough to swish. “Well then it won’t do to look so gloomy,” her erstwhile kouhai drawled, lifting her eyebrows in challenge. “Clouds the eye.” She squared up on Angeline’s left, bundling against the rail, and took in the disappeared horizon, obliviated into the fog. “Makes you forget something vitally important.” Angeline’s quick rasping breaths had slowed and steadied as Alisae spoke. 

She swallowed as she studied the younger girl’s face, what she could see, the curve of her cheek and her giant goofy ear blocking most of it.

Angeline wished sorely that in that moment she could see Alisae’s eyes, but in that way both women were alone when Alisae said, “When you spend so much time looking that looking is all you know, what you’re looking at almost ceases to be.”

Angeline affixes herself and stares out at the horizon, doubled here, sea and sky as one. Waves lapping above clouds. Her last attack, surging light, was about five minutes ago. Another three until the next, until she has to strain with every muscle in her body and with seeming new ones every day to hold it in, the wings sprouting from her temple, wrists, and neck creaking as they thickened and ached.

They have so far refused Emet-Selch his final audience, dawdling rather rudely in his lair, Urianger not lowering his voice when he and Thancred exhanged some rather uncharitable comments about the architectural and civic design, their smiles only briefly losing their careful tenseness, quickly resumed. It took a lot of convincing for the Scions to let her excuse herself and walk alone (and, in fact, only threatening worked; Angeline honestly reminded them that not a one of them could do a thing to stop her). Her head ran mixed and clear - the sharp rays of the Light aether inside her slicing whatever she was thinking about in two before spinning her mind to something else until she caught herself like a thrown spinning plate. Her palms ached sharply and for a second she was certain she held that very plate in her hands, reflecting her or that insufferable other her back at her, until she relaxed her clenched fists and her nails slid cleanly out of the slits they had made, the wounds unbleeding and gently glowing. On her request, the Crystal Exarch once heaved a fondly aggrieved sigh and held his right palm over a light set in the Crystarium floor, scattering it into momentary constellations above them. “About three quarters of the constellations there were on the First can’t be seen from what remains of Novrandt,” he had murmured, half despite himself. He tried clamming up when Angeline rounded on him, and as always it worked only moderately well. “More than a few people make it a point to know and remember them regardless, to fill in the rest of the sky even beyond what they could see.”

Angeline caught here how his voice deepened, just a touch, speaking of two skies. A clear bell to recall him now. “A common kind of mission I share. Remembrance can fill an absence, hold it, fill it back in.” An irrepressible half-grin pried his lips - he couldn’t help it. “Make right. I wont allow it to be any other way.” Despite the twisting in her guts and the echoing gunshot ache in her chest his very memory brought a smile to her face. Like an unlucky wind, an over-spoken-of devil, as if he could detect the presence in her thoughts and couldn’t stand the answer, she felt the oncoming of their garrulous host. Her baited escort to a sorry excuse for a welcoming imminent, Angeline lifted her chin and surveyed once more the solid phantom city below her.

“A clear cut example of what happens when someone forgets,” Angeline declared right as Emet-Selch’s skirt swishes were audible, right before he was ready to sweep his arms open and utter some sparkling line he spent millennia thinking about how to deliver. She felt him see someone else as he took her in, even as his opprobrioric tirade spilled out, echoed out across the 1:1 scale doll city just for him, A Monument To Memory, Grand As Once It Was. Angeline wasn’t listening.

Angeline affixes herself and stares out at the horizon. She is on a ship to Eorzea, the first time she has ever been anywhere else than Exactly Precisely where she came from. Every fulm is a fulm further away, the world a fulm bigger. The horizon can’t come closer to her, can’t eat the space up and obliterate it, separate her up out of it fast enough. If she could fall into it exactly, hold sea and sky apart to place her and only her in the golden line where nothing else would intersect, she could reach the place her mind and heart would soar to, imagine, create and live only in fantasy, to experience it all but for real. A frigid spray of a wave up the prow makes her scream. It is swallowed by the sky.

[viceroywrites]

meeting ms. fischer (drabble)

[gary/21 x gn!reader]

[very loosely tied to my gary fic but can be read separately]

[you & gary started dating during blue morpho arc & went to hs together at one point]

[i gave gary's mom a random name since she isn't named in show]

i've been sitting on this drabble for the last three months and decided to post it cause why not. enjoy!

-

“If she makes you uncomfortable at all, you say the word and we’re out of there!” Gary says firmly, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as you both pull into a residential area, having left the bustling city to a smaller suburban neighborhood.

“Gary, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s meeting your mom for heaven’s sake, not a Guild interrogation.” You chuckle, reaching over to place a soothing hand on Gary’s thigh and squeezing gently.

“I’ll take scaphism over this, any day.” Gary groans as he pulls into the driveway, glancing over at you, “You sure you want to do this? Because once you’re in there, my mom will talk your ear off, keep you prisoner.”

“Positive. Now let’s go.” You say with a grin and Gary sighs, unbuckling his seatbelt as he begrudgingly gets out of the car and unlocks the front door to his childhood home.

Being caught up in all the Blue Morpho drama when you first started dating, you and Gary both realized over dinner one night that he hadn’t let his mom know that he was dating let alone now had a significant other.

Needless to say, the moment he called her to let her know, she demanded that she needed to meet you as soon as possible.

An tan, energetic dog comes dashing towards the doorway the second Gary opens the door, immediately jumping on you with its tail wagging happily.

“Oh my god, Lady, no! Mooom, call the dog!” Gary yells out, gently tugging on the dog’s collar to get her off you.

“Gary, it’s fine!” You laugh as Lady happily licks at your hands as you try to pet the squirmy dog, “I didn’t even know you had a dog! How could you not tell me?”

“Technically, my mom got Lady after I moved out to become a henchman so she’s not really mine. She’s super friendly thankfully.” Gary sighed before wincing as he heard his mom’s voice calling from the kitchen.

“Gary, I told you to call me before you got here! I’m still making lunch for the two of you!” 

“Mom, I said not to make anything! We had a late breakfast!” Gary groans, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen.

As you walk into the kitchen, you see an older woman with the same shade of brown as Gary’s hair with slivers of gray showing through, hunched over the stove. She finally turns around, wiping her hands on a nearby kitchen towel as she sees you for the first time.

“Mom, this is my partner, [Your Name].” Gary introduces the two of you, squeezing your hand tightly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ms. Fischer.” You say politely, extending your hand but blink as instead you’re wrapped in a warm embrace instead. 

“Oh my god, no need to be so formal! Call me Irene!” Ms. Fischer teases before pulling away to look at you full on, her eyes assessing you up and down before they widen, “Wait a second, I remember you!”

Gary and you glance at each other confused before saying in unison, “You do?”

“Weren’t you two in the same little comic book club, Gary? Remember you had that meeting here when the school kicked you out for trespassing, thinking you were an adult. I told you they were cute, didn't I?”

“You remember that far back? That was before I even turned 15!”

“I’m not that old, Gary!”

-

After Gary begrudgingly agreed to split the lunch his mom had prepared for the both of you, the three of you were squeezed together on the couch with Ms. Fischer sitting in the middle, a worn-out photo album in her lap, showing you page after page of baby photos of the henchman.

“Mom, don’t show her that one!” Gary protests, his cheeks red as he attempts to snatch the photo of him as a toddler wearing just a diaper with a plastic sword and a paper crown on his head.

Irene’s reflexes are too quick for him, dodging his large hand as she places the photo into your hands. “I swear, I could never get him to take off that darn crown once we went to Medieval Times.”

You reach across her lap to give Gary’s hand a firm squeeze, grinning at the cute photo, “It’s okay, Gare. You were such an adorable kid,” Your hand reached up to squeeze his cheek playfully, “And you got even more adorable as you got older.”

Gary smiles warmly, pressing a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist. Irene looks between the two of you with a look of admiration before clearing her throat, “Gary, those comics that you got shipped to our house are piling up in your room! Can you please go grab them?”

“Now mom? I can do that later…” His voice trailed off when his mother gave him a stern look. “Alright, fine! I’m going!” Gary groans, getting up from the couch, heading to his old room in the basement of the Fischer home, leaving you alone with Mrs. Fischer.

“I swear, I don’t know where he gets his stubbornness from.” Irene sighs before placing the photo album on the coffee table and turning to face you. “I just wanted to get you alone for just a second to say thank you for looking after my Gare Bear. He’s such a sweetheart and I worry about him doing all that dangerous stuff.”

“Of course, there’s so much to love about him and I’ve always got his back.” You say which Irene beams at, bringing you into an embrace and squeezing you tightly before pulling away, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“And if he ever does something stupid, you call me and I’ll whip him into shape!” She says pointedly to which you hear a groan echoing from your boyfriend as he ascends up the stairs, a box full of comics in his arms. 

“I heard that, mom!”

-

On the drive back to your shared apartment, Gary makes you pinky promise not to tell the Monarchs about his mom’s nickname for him.

“Of course… Gare Bear.”

“[Your Name]!”

[madstheintrovert]

Ok so OFMD S2 Ep8 spoilers, you’ve been warned.

☠️

☠️

☠️

So…

What the everloving fuck was that. I just. I am devastated. Ok well I’m happy for Ed and Stede because of course I fucking am. But. What THE EVERLOVING FUCK.

Thoughts:

1- I refuse to let it sink in that a certain someone was gut stabbed and is now buried under a lovely cross (the unicorn leg, the scarf with the ring, get out stop). I will be anxiously awaiting the fanfic writers to fix this. Plz. I’m going to go on Ao3 immediately after I post this.

2- is that dream sequence of Stede’s actually foreshadowing? Because while Izzy does not die at his hand, Izzy dies due to Stede’s plan. Idk.

3- if Izzy doesn’t fucking haunt someone on the crew I’m done. He better show up like the Badmintons to call everyone cocksuckers or I sue.

4-Lucius and Pete got married and that brings me joy (in this pit of despair)

5- aw Ed. ED. I was cackling when he sucked at fishing and Pop pop was ready to fucking beat the shit out of him. Iconic. Also him just staring at the burning ships and being like “stede”. Stop. Also the I love you and the like I saw u do all that “cool” pirate stuff. And BABE. And THE LETTER.

6- Ed pt.2 IZZY AND ED. THAT SCENE STOP. While I don’t feel like Izzy should have died I think he was awesome this episode and definitely like came full character arc this season (the talk with our least favourite pirate wannabe and final words with Ed - I.e., Ed has so much family now. He can just be Ed)

7- Spanish Jackie being awesome and the bit about poison tolerance amongst the hubbies. I love her and the Swede and the Swede is finally getting some fucking respect and love and aw.

8- the seagull on Izzy’s grave. Hey buttons, love u

9- and the quad lives (shoutout to my lovely 4 Jim, Archie, Oluwande and Zheng Yi Sao). Also that moment between Zheng Yi and Auntie. Also Jim patching Auntie up.

10- ok gotta circle back to Izzy and the pirate wannabes chat and how much I love Izzy

11- how are we feeling about ep 8 Bonnet. I personally think he still needs some humbling. Idk because I’m happy about the progress he’s made re being made out to be a failure his whole life and coming to terms with that and becoming this more confident version of himself (I mean he had confidence from Day 1 but he was mighty plagued by all the Shit he went through in his youth). I enjoyed him “trying to protect” Zheng Yi when she wouldn’t run away when the navy because she was mighty fucked over losing Auntie and her crew (which my poor baby). Also I like Zheng Yi calling him out on his bullshit 24/7. But also idk I wanted him to like apologize or smtg because he was being a right dickhead the previous night. Also idk so happy Ed told Stede he loves him but like life’s a dick but so were u Stede… basically I love that Stede is unapologetically himself this season but also sometimes u do need to say ur sorry for being a dickhead.

12- the crew when Izzy died. The look on Jim’s face. Stop. I need to rewatch and look at Al their reactions but Jim’s caught my eye of the pain and sorrow because WE ALL LOVE IZZY NOW.

13- once again, Izzy better haunt someone or I sue

Ok I’m going to go try to not thing about the fact they killed Izzy now. What I don’t believe can’t hurt me or some shit.

[linkspooky]

Thoughts on Higuruma?

He’s personally one of my favorites. I’m interested to know if ya had any analysis/opinions on him. And how you think his arc will go in the future.

Higuruma’s character is interesting on two levels, one because he is subversive of a lot of characters thinking in Jujutsu Kaisen “the ugliness of the weak, might makes right, the solution to every problem is getting stronger” he also contrasts Geto in an interesting way as they both have similiar reasons for breaking down but end up going in the complete opposite direction. I’ll explore more under the cut. 

1. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

In Jujutsu Kaisen and in shonen manga in general, the attitude is that the solution of every problem is to just train and get strong. This is an attitude echoed not only by Gojo but also his students especially in the earliest parts of the manga. If there’s a difficulty you can’t face, if you lose someone, then the solution is to work harder to get stronger. 

This is an understandable attitude especially after Yuji’s death is caused both by Yuji having to rely on Sukuna instead of controlling him, and also a death that could have been prevented if Megumi fought Sukuna using his power to his full potential. In such a situation where you are rendered weak and helpless due to your lack of ability, it makes sense you would want to be stronger so as to not be caught in that situation ever again. 

There’s a certain logic to it, if you’re weak you can’t even help yourself especially in a crisis situation so of course if you want to help other people you have to be at least that capable. 

The problem for Gojo and his students is that they really only know how to be strong, as if that is the solution to every problem. Megumi, Nobara and Yuji all train to get stronger, but by the end of the Origin of Obedience arc, they all suffer from a lack of communication because Yuji and Megumi both want to keep secrets from each other in order to protect the other one. Maki is someone who wants to get strong enough to fight back against the entire Zenin clan and prove them wrong about her, and yet she’s also incapable of basic communication with her sister Mai that could have solved their conflict. 

This is a lesson that Gojo learns early on in life too at the end of Premature death, that being strong was not something that could save Geto. The reason why I say “Might makes Right” is a common philosophy in the Jujutsu World is because Gojo himself had a bit of a complex, believing that people like him and Geto were so much stronger than normal humans that they couldn’t have human flaws too. 

The reason that Suguru’s downfall gives Gojo such whiplash is because he didn’t believe someone he saw as above other people like him was capable of making such a human error. It’s not just refusal to believe that a friend like Suguru would do anything wrong, it’s his entire world getting flipped on its head. 

Which is where we get this might makes right philosophy, that those who wield power are always righteous, whereas weakness is some kind of sin. Despite the fact there is no human being on earth who is strong all the time in every situation, and everyone has vulnerabilities, flaws. This is where we get Higuruma himself is a subversion of that kind of thinking, because while most characters either look down on, or try to ignore weakness Higuruma is a rare person who tries to look at that weakness instead. 

He is someone who remembers the basic fact that all people are weak sometimes, and as selfish as they may seem they are people who are in need of help. Expecting a person who’s suffering and a person who’s weak to also be completely morally pure at the same time, to suffer nobly, to not show any ugliness at all when they’re in pain is almost expecting too much out of them. Whereas Higuruma’s logic is simple, Itadori’s weak and he needs help, and Higuruma’s reason for helping him is that there are probably lots of people just like Itadori who need help too. Weakness is something we all share in common. 

2. The Ugliness of the Weak

Geto and Higuruma are also both two characters who continually tried to help weak people around them, because they believed they had a duty to do so out of their position as someone strong. Geto is one of the strongest curse users in the generation, whereas even when he was just a lawyer, Higuruma was regarded as a genius. 

They are both characters with higher minded goals who believe they have to act out of duty to protect others. 

Their duty is not something they can look away from or shrug off. However, it’s this positivity, this drive they have to help others that ends up leading to their downfall. Higuruma and Geto even have incredibly similar breakdowns. Geto describes his as getting stuck in the cycle of exorcising and consuming curses without making a real difference in the world. Higuruma’s caught in a similiar cycle. 

They are both essentially exposed to the ugliness of people over and over again until they completely lose faith and believe what they are doing is pointless. At which point they snap and become an inversion of their former selves, Higuruma kills people in the game seemingly without remorse, Geto starts massacring the humans he once swore to protect. 

It is also for both of them more the systems they are caught up in that are to blame, then the weak people themselves. The indifferent masses seem like an easy target to lash out against, but Higuruma’s frustration comes with the law system, and Geto’s frustration is the corrupt sorcery world that commands young sorcerers to die over and over again. 

If there was a difference between the two of them it was Geto flipped his opinion and started to despise weak people entirely. He could never divorce himself from the idea of might makes right, so even when he started to lose his way he didn’t face the ugliness of himself. Geto can’t see any resmeblance between the weak people he looks down on and himself, even though by the time of Jujutsu Kaisen Zero he’s perfectly willing to kill Yuta an innocent to make his plans go forward, the same way Toji ruthlessly executed Rika. Might makes right, after all, the strong are the ones who have the right to decide over the weak. 

Whereas Higuruma is still capable of seeing weakness in himself, because he recognizes that all people are weak and ugly and that he is no exception. It’s Yuji’s admission of his own weakness and taking responsibility that brings him back down to earth, because there’s a better path forward in helping a weak person than there is in eliminating them. 

Higuruma is able to reflect upon the weakness in himself in a way that Geto can’t, and because of that he’s able to process his remorse and realize he regrets the people he has killed so far, something that breaks him out of the cycle of violence whereas Geto is still caught up in that cycle until the end. 

[kitkatkitchen]

Umbrella Academy - Season 4

Final thoughts (spoilers obviously)

Okay, I’m going to say that this was my least favourite season. However, that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it thoroughly haha

The ‘disappointing’ parts:

- Five and Lila - so weird and not needed! I feel Lila and Diego’s marital problems could have been outlined and accepted in a different way than the cheating way

- Klaus’ weird side plot - I LOVE klaus and I enjoyed his little shenanigans! However I don’t really see the point in his side plot? Or how it relates to the plot of the Cleanse? Klaus’ whole arc has been about not being taken seriously because of his addiction but that arc was not solved this season because all they did was make him the most useless part in ending the apocalypse? He at least could have kept the dog!

- Plotholes - Why did Klaus’ tattoos dissapear and then not reappear with the Marigold like Luther’s body? What’s the full story behind Ray and his absence (all that was mentioned was a separation with no real meat to it or emotion)? Etc etc

- Rushed - why did they choose to do six episodes? I guess we’ll never know. Some things could have been solved with more time? Maybe I could have grown to like Lila and Five if they had been given more than one episode? (I know it was seven years but it feels rushed from an audience perspective)

The parts that made it The Umbrella Academy:

- amazing acting from all parts. I’m so biased when it comes highlight Robert Sheehan but I always will. His ‘daddy issues’ monologue was CORRECT and so well acted <3 And, of course, Justin H Min knocking it out of the park! I really grew to love Luther this season! Tom Hopper does an excellent blend of comedy which makes up for our usual comic relief (Klaus’) more serious plot line. Also Claire’s actress (I don’t know her name, will find out) was great! I really enjoyed when her character was on screen!

- The overall ending - I personally liked the idea that the siblings accept that they were the issue all along. Some of the final moments hit very well. I loved Abigail’s discussion with Hargreeves. KLAUS CRYING CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD SO THANKS FOR THAT. And the cameos at the end were so fun to spot!

- CIA fight scene - such a highlight for me in classic umbrella academy style ! Diego and Luther really stood out to me where they didn’t usually, this season.

- Jean and Gene - classic umbrella academy villains with great wackiness to them.

- COMIC ACCURACY! Always a highlight for me. I’ve been waiting for Klaus to float for a very long time and some great comic cameos!

Overall, not my fave season but the finale made up for some parts that felt rushed or uncertain. I feel if they’d have kept to the ten episode format then a lot of these issues wouldn’t have occurred. For those wondering, season 2 is my favourite season overall <3

[kyberrebel]

Things that went through my mind during The Acolyte episode 4

I guess Kelnacca got sick of wearing clothes during his exile. Typical Wookiee.

Osha is just going to leave without saying goodbye to Sol?? That seems a bit messed up to me.

If Kelnacca dies, I am going to riot. 

I think it’s kind of weird for Mae to bring Qimir on her mission to kill Kelnacca. It just doesn’t seem like it’s his thing. But I’m not really complaining, since I do like his character.

IS THAT KI-ADI-MUNDI??

It could just be another member of his species but if it is him THAT IS SO COOL! (I just checked and he doesn’t have a canon birth year so who knows.)

I really don’t think that not informing the High Council about Mae is a good idea. I understand not wanting the Senate to get involved, but c’mon, guys. 

Maybe I’m just biased, though, because I’m thinking about if it may be a Sith that’s training Mae. The Jedi don’t know about the Sith eventually returning at this point in time, so maybe they’re just less worried. 

So Mae is actually going to try to kill a JEDI WOOKIE without a weapon??? That’s literally the hardest of her targets to kill without a weapon. Can she use the Force to kill him, or does the Force count as a weapon.

“I can’t believe my sister is Jedi scum.” I mean, she’s technically not. 

Oh good, Sol caught Osha before she could leave.

IS THAT PLO KOON!?

I know I said it before a few episodes ago, but I’m saying it again since we’re getting these cameos. I would die of happiness if we got a Yaddle cameo.

Yord is growing on me a lot. He’s beginning to be one of my favorite characters in the show.

I am really not vibing with these giant bug things. They may be showing up in my nightmares tonight.

“My loyalties to Osha.” Mae, I hate to tell you this, but she kind of hates you right now.

Damn, Mae, you could knock before barging into Kenacca’s home.

KELNACCA’S DEAD!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW!? 

I was kind of guessing he wouldn’t survive the show, since my prediction has been only Sol surviving out of the Jedi Mae needed to kill, but damn seeing him dead still sucks.

I was not expecting to see Mae’s master again so quickly. 

His helmet kind of looks like something someone from the Knights of Ren would wear. I know it’s probably not yet, since they probably haven’t been founded yet, but it’s giving the same vibe.

Seeing all the Jedi with their lightsabers out is giving me CHILLS.

I really am not a fan of how short that episode was. I mean, I enjoyed it. It was nice to get back to the main story after last episode being a flashback. But it was just so short, I think it could have used another ten minutes.

I also wonder if we are going to get the story wrapped up this season. The show isn’t marketed as a limited series, but I hope we don’t have to wait for another season to get the full arc. We're halfway through the season. There's only four episodes left, who knows how quickly things will happen.

But anyway, it was a fun episode. I loved seeing Kelnacca again (RIP), I loved seeing all the Jedi fight together (even if it was for two seconds), and I am enjoying how badly I’m predicting what’s going to happen next. It keeps things interesting.

Right now, I'm predicting Qimir to be Mae's (former) master. Could he have killed Kelnacca without Mae noticing he was gone for that long? Who knows. But that's my prediction.