#I think about this a normal amount of time a day

[shehungers]

DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 18+ | 2.8k

your granduncle claims that the noises coming from the basement were rats trying to escape drowning in the ocean outside the lighthouse and scavenging for food. more than being surprised by his audacity, you're astonished he hasn't noticed all the missing raw meat, yet...

story warnings; dark content, the creature is imprisoned, explicit sexual details, double penetration, ig the creature is experiencing some sort of rutting season?, some graphic + grotesque details, heavy prose + details, roughly proofread.

reposted from my deleted blog: theoxenfree.

this is an old concept piece for a larger story.

if you enjoyed, please support my work by leaving feedback and reblogging!! 💖

Uncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Granduncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, granduncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Granduncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much at the bottom: a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brung a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

“Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by gooseflesh as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

“Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n; not even gonna lie, when I did a brief reread of this to apply warnings at the top, I burst out laughing at some parts. oh, past me, what were you thinking?

if y'all wanna see this rewritten and updated to better fit my current style, please let me know!

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - Morning or Night Sex

Dumbass post. I was brainrotting about if the Hazbin characters would prefer morning or night sex and why. So here we got a lineup of Angel Dust, Lucifer, Vox, Husk, and Adam and what their preferences are.

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; no use of y/n; Adam's section is lowkey a shitpost; also I got rambley in Husk's section sorry about that (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Angel Dust - Morning Sex ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Might be surprising at first, but it makes sense the more you think about it. Sex between Angel and his partner doesn't happen too terribly often, in fact, its more of a blue moon thing.

I mean, Angel's job is nothing but sex. So the last thing he wants to do is come home to more of it. Its like asking a professional chef to also cook all your family's meals. Its not that he doesn't like it, its just... alot.

Angel loves you because you see him as more then a sex object. You saw past his lewd jokes and constant flirting. When you two spend time together, despite what others may assume you two are doing, its just that, time together. Watching movies, doing eachother's nails, doomscrolling... Your Angel's safe person.

Yeah you two are very touchy feely with eachother normally but it never escalates too far. Angel Dust likes to just run up to you, pull you in his arms and just smooch you. You two will also often get into little playfights (especially ticklefights) which Angel always wins because he has extra arms the cheater.

So on the rare occasion things actually do get steamy between you two, it always happens in the gentle light of the morning. You always wake up, protectively encircled in Angel's arms. And it always happens with laughter.

The two of you making jokes at your sleep disheveled appearance, kissing smeared makeup that you forgot to cleanup the night before. Your legs wrapping tighter around eachother and your words turning teasing as you feel the effect the close proximity is having on the other.

You'll gently hold Angel's face while he nuzzle's into yours. Your hips grinding together lethargically, but with purpose. Your both already messy from sleep, so what's a little more added to it?

Not only is it easier to clean, which is always a plus in Angel's book, but Angel seems much more... calm. Serene, even. He is much calmer and happier throughout the day, less likely to jump at people or make rash decisions. Guess gentle sex is just the perfect way to wake up.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Lucifer - Night Sex ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Not even a hard choice for him. I imagine Lucifer kind of being old timey in this regard. He thinks of the mornings less as 'sexy time' and more as 'bonding time'. Its a time dedicated specifically for you two to kiss, cuddle, and most importantly, snuggle. Believe me, short king wants all the snuggles.

Lucifer doesn't really start getting horny until at least after breakfast; usually not even until noon-ish. Then he turns into a sex gremlin. Breakfast especially is kind of like a weirdly sacred, saccharine time between you two.

One of Lucifer's many love languages is cooking, so he takes a special pride in making you a wonderful breakfast. He will sit right next to you at the table, his legs flush against yours, and ask you all about your plans for the day. No; it doesn't matter to him that your mouth is full. He wants to hear all about it!

Once you two part from breakfast, its like a switch gets flipped. Lucifer suddenly changes from the wholesome; "Your so beautiful, Duckie! *kisses and nuzzles you*" to the much more dangerous, "Your so beautiful, Duckie~ *goes down on his knees in between your legs*"

Its like the miniscule amount of time he has spent apart from you has left him absolutely starved of your touch and taste. You've only been apart for an hour or two... Yet Lucifer is acting like a man who just came back from war; like he has been deprived of your touch for an ungodly amount of time and now he has to make up for it.

The less time you spend with him throughout the day, the more wild he gets at night. Lucifer misses you so bad. It often ends up culminating in you two having a sex marathon to "make up" for lost time together.

On the flip side, if you two spend the entire day together, Lucifer is a complete sweetheart instead of a horndog when night comes. Instead of pulling you to the bed with wanton moans, frantic kisses, and wandering hands; Lucifer brings you in with adoring eyes, a teasing grin, and cheerful giggles. He has had such a wonderful day with you and is ready to top it all off with the perfect snuggle session.

Look. Lucifer just... really doesn't like being alone okay? He doesn't want to spend a single moment away from you. Every second away from you is a second wasted to him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Vox - Morning Sex ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

If he had to choose, Vox would pick morning sex. Its the time he feels he gets to actually enjoy you. He isnt exhausted (yet) and he isnt all stressed out from... everything at work. So its inherently so much better.

True, sex in the evenings is also great when it happens. But Vox always feels guilty about it in the pit of his stomach. He is so much rougher and more aggressive in the evenings because of how frustrated his work makes him.

Its not inaccurate to say that in the mornings, Vox makes love; while at night, he fucks. The mornings let him admire you and become so much more then just sex. But as the hours wear on him, sex changes to an outlet, a needed release.

Of course, as the hard switch he is, this is assuming Vox is even in the mood for a good fuck. Sometimes when he comes home, all he wants is to lay back and let someone else do the work for once. Especially after a long day of putting out fires from incompetent employees or cleaning up messes left by the other two Vees.

In the mornings, none of this is an issue. There is no playing roulette with Vox's mood. There is no underlying frustration or stress to it. Its just... nice. Something Vox isnt used to. Something he doesn't get much of in his life. Normally things always come with a caveat or strings attached.

You both wake up in eachother's arms and greet the other with kisses. Kisses that either grow deep and needy; or teasing and playful. Sometimes you both claw at one another in a desperate bid to get as close as two bodies physically can. Other times you both laugh and look into eachother's eyes lovingly as your hips gently move in sync.

Its never one of you over the other or one of you having to take charge. You both move together. Both of you wanting, needing this as much as the other.

Vox never thought he would get to experience euphoria like this. To love someone who loves him back like this. But he wouldn't trade it for anything now that he has it. He would rather burn the world down then let you go.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Husk - Night Sex ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Hate to say it, but sex only really happens later on because of how hungover Husk is in the mornings. He always feels super sick right after he wakes up. Both from the hangover and the alcohol withdrawals soooo... yeah. Morning sex isnt happening.

Husk hates mornings in general anyways. Anything louder then a pindrop is deafening, everyone (Charlie and Niffty) wont stop running around, and Husk really just needs to get some booze in his system before he actually dies a second time. Its best not to engage with him until later on.

Even disregarding the whole hangover aspect; Husk tends to get more... handsy as the day wears on. As more alcohol accumulates in his system. It is an inhibition suppressant after all.

God help you if your blushy or easily flustered. Because Husk has a playful side and is one hell of a tease.

If your observant, you'll start noticing this coming out in the late afternoon. Husk now seems to lean in slightly when your telling him a story; his hands gently graze yours when he hands you a drink; and his voice seems to drop an octave. Especially when he laughs.

It gets so much worse in the evenings. The leaning in is much more obvious; Husk even rests his elbows on the counter like you have the most interesting thing to say. Husk also now touches you at every opportunity he gets, purposely tracing a claw over your shoulder or rubbing his body against you as he slides past.

Husk won't push it too far or be too obvious in front of people. But he always has a knowing smile on his face when you blush. His tail playfully flicks back and forth when you give a particularly adorable reaction.

Unfortunately, Husk is just that; a goddamn tease. He might whisper something nasty into your ear if he is drunk enough and the mood is right. But he isnt going to actually initiate anything. Husk wants to make sure your 100% into it, so its up to you to break that threshold.

When you do, he is all green flags. You two might have to sneak away from his post thanks to Alastor's watchful eye or straight up fuck behind the counter while no one is looking; but the old cat is absolutely going to enjoy every second he can steal away with you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Adam - Yes ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Honestly couldn't give less of a fuck. Literally the first man, he was MADE to fuck. Do you really think he cares? Cause he don't.

Adam is down to fuck all day, every day, 24/7, 365 days a year. It doesn't matter time or place. His baby needs to be dicked down?That takes priority over everything; nothing else matters at that moment. He will find a place to dick you down. No shame.

One strangely good thing about Adam is that he is actually aware his libido is superhuman and not normal. He may use bad pickup lines, make dirty jokes, or straight up ask 'hey, wanna fuck?' But once you say no, he leaves you alone. He will never actually push it.

So yeah, Adam, the first man, oddly respects consent?? The guy has more respect for people then Valentino.

On that note; since Adam is highkey always horny, he has a weird thing where he can't... comprehend people who don't keep it in their pants. Because to Adam; he is always suppressing urges. Always keeping his lust in check.

So when he finds out someone couldn't, or didn't, do that? He is just pissed. (One of the many big reasons he despises Lucifer) Adam's mindset is literally 'just use your hand if its that bad'. Like I said; oddly respectful.

ANYWAY. Like I said, Adam won't ever push it. However, he does make sure that you know his dick is hard and ready whenever you want it. Adam is at your disposal. If you indicate to him in anyway that you are horny, he is ready to go.

Wake up in the middle of the night from a dream? Wake him up too so he can fuck the memory out of you. Adam might be annoyed at first, but as soon as he realizes what's going on, he is so into it.

Are you a female and on your period? He doesn't mind! Adam knows from experience how horny some women get during that time of the month; as well as how a good fuck can relieve cramps.

Out of everyone on this list, Adam is the one you want to pick if you just want a horny motherfucker. Yes, he beats out a pornstar and the literal devil in how much he likes to fuck.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

Check out this SPICY post by @silasours on what some of the Hazbin men's favorite sex positions are with short fics included >>HERE<<

For something on the fluffy and angsty side, there is a wonderful post by @wysteria-bloom on the Hazbin guys comforting you when they see you crying at a party >>HERE<<

[wcnderlnds]

love dust | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・summary: jiyong has been your closest friend for many years but what he doesn't know is you like him a lot more than that. ・❥・word count: 1.4k ・❥・warnings: none! ・❥・authors note: first time writing for gd so go easy on me <3

“You should let me borrow this one when you’re finished with it.” Your delicate fingers played around with the rings decorating Jiyong’s hands. His accessory game was always on point — you were always asking if you could borrow the things he wore and he would always very happily oblige. Something about seeing you in the things he wore made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders as the two of you laid out on the couch in his dressing room, legs stretched out. Jiyong's other hand lay on his stomach where you were playing around with his fingers. It was soothing, putting him in a calm frame of mind before he had to go out and perform later in the day. Nobody could calm him better than you. He gently rested his head on top of yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he laughed softly.

“I should start charging you for the amount of things you take from me,” he joked.

“You’d double your fortune at this rate,” you grinned over at him, tilting your head. “Not my fault you always have the best stuff. Stop being such a style icon and I wouldn’t have to.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jiyong’s fingers playing with a strand of your hair, soaking in the quiet. It had always been like this with you. Jiyong was your closest friend — you’d known him before he’d even debuted. Every step of the way you had been by his side. Nobody knew him better than you and vice versa. He had been there at your lowest, you had been there at his. There wasn’t anything you hadn’t experienced together. It was easy to say that without each other, neither of you would be the person you were. It wasn’t often in life people found someone they connected with so easily, so deeply which is why Jiyong could never know how you really felt about him.

Over the last couple of years, your feelings for him had shifted. At first you’d brushed it off as just a crush, a silly little thing that would pass as time went on. Except it didn’t pass. It only got stronger. Every single day it was like a weight on your chest knowing that you could never tell him. Not only would it be humiliating but he definitely wouldn’t feel the same and that would be it. The friendship would be over and he’d be out of your life.

A sigh escaped your lips before you could even realise. Immediately, it caught Jiyong’s attention. His eyes that had been closed now opening to look at you with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” you assured him. He looked at you as if he was examining you, trying to figure out if you were lying to him but as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the room opened.

Daesung and Youngbae walked in, laughing at something. Their eyes caught the position the two of you were in, mischievous grins slowly creeping onto their faces. Oh no. You know what was coming next. It had been like this for years now. They’d catch you and Jiyong cuddling or being close to each other and never let either of you live it down.

“Did we interrupt something?” Daesung raised a brow. Jiyong rolled his eyes, sitting up with you and giving his friend the middle finger.

“I think we did. You know, next time put a sock on the door or something so we know you’re busy,” Youngbae teased. Your cheeks flushed red as you hid your face in your hands. This only caused the two men to laugh.

Jiyong got to his feet, holding his hand out to help you to yours. “You two are a pain in my ass.” He turned to you, his hand lingering on yours for a beat longer than normal. “I need to go get ready but I’ll see you after the show? We can go get food or something.”

You simply nodded your head, waving goodbye as he and Youngbae left the room. Daesung remained behind, looking at you with a soft smile. “You should tell him, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You should tell Jiyong how you feel.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you said, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. How had Daesung even figured it out? He really was more attentive than you gave him credit for.

“Sure but I’m just saying, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you told him,” Daesung shot a wink your way, running out of the room to meet up with his friends.

Now, what the hell did that mean?

——

The show had gone amazing. It was like Jiyong had never been gone. Each show he performed he got more and more confident, G Dragon coming out in full force. Honestly, seeing him on stage and fully embracing his G Dragon person was hot as hell. Nobody did it like him. He was the king of K Pop for a reason.

You had slid away to the dressing room as the show ended, giving the three boys time to thank the crew. It was Taeyang’s tour but you knew how much all of them appreciated the people who helped them. It was one of the most endearing qualities — it’s what made them some of the most loved boys in the industry.

The door to the room opened and in came Jiyong. He hand a towel in his hand, dabbing at the sweat on his face. The second he laid eyes on you, he smiled. His heartbeat speeding up everytime he looked at you. He had it bad. So damn bad.

“You did so good out there!” You beamed, throwing your arms around him in a hug. Without hesitation, he dropped the towel, wrapping his arms around you. If he could keep you this close to him forever, he would. Hopefully you couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating right now. The best feeling in the world was you waiting for him after a show. It felt like he was on cloud nine knowing that he had the most supportive, loyal and kind person by his side.

He pulled back, only slightly, his hot breath fanning across your face. You couldn’t place the look in his eyes but it cause a shiver to run down your spine. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Couldn’t do any of it without you.”

Time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with each other. Was this it? Was this the right moment to tell him how you felt? 

“Jiyong, I….” You started but he cut you off.

“I’m sorry for cutting you off, I need to say something to you and if I don’t do it now, I never will,” he cupped your cheek, taking a deep breath as he found the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long now. “I’m crazy about you. I have been for a very long time but you are so important to me that I didn’t want to ruin the friendship. I can’t lie to myself or you anymore. I understand if you don’t feel the same way but I owed it to myself to at least tell you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to his soft, rushed words. You could tell how nervous he was, how much he wanted to probably run out of the door and pretend he never said anything but he didn’t. He was stood here being brave so you had to be too. “Jiyong, I’m crazy about you, too. You drive me insane. It’s kind of terrifying how much I like you as more than a friend. I just… didn’t think you’d feel the same so I never said anything.”

“What? Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t I feel the same? You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re biased.”

“Yeah, well,” he grinned one of those signature Jiyong grins. His eyes flickered down to your lips then back to your eyes as if asking for permission. You nodded your head and that was all he needed. He leaned forward, closing the distance to meet your lips. The kiss was gentle, a declaration of his feelings for you without actually giving them words.

It was short and sweet. It was perfect. 

Pulling back, he smiled at you. Seeing you stood there with your flushed cheeks and nervous smile, he felt like he could burst from joy. He was so head over heels for you. “Come on,” he said, linking his fingers with yours. “I believe I promised you some food.”

But before he could pull you off, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back down to meet your lips. Food could wait for now.

taglist (ask to be added): @ldydeath

[gain-stuff-eat]

who, may i ask, are you growing these love handles for, hm?

they're so luscious, filling my hands, you've made all this fat so easy to grab with your constant eating and endless stuffing

you are the very picture of excess and indulgence

don't think i haven't noticed all that snacking you've been doing, the constant grazing, the multiple meals, the huge portions, the increasing amount of delivery orders that show up all times of the day and night

you're insatiable and your body shows it

it's obviously not an accident, what you're doing to yourself. you clearly enjoy it. i doubt you thought you'd get this out of control... oh, you liked that? pointing out your uncontrollable appetite, the fact that you can no longer resist this hedonistic lifestyle you've spiraled into?

you're craving more right now, in fact, aren't you?

why don't you just go ahead and eat? we both know that's all you want to do anymore. all you think about. eating and stuffing until you can't move, and masturbating until you fall asleep. then waking up and doing it all again with even more food than the last time maybe because you can't help yourself. it's not your fault it keeps taking bigger and bigger meals to reach that fullness you constantly crave

gluttony looks so good on you

so much decadent fat. it spills and undulates off your frame. don't you feel so heavy? doesn't it feel so good? you wobble and jiggle with every step, no wonder it's hard to think about anything other than food

it's so easy to grab all this pudge because your shirt doesn't even fit. hadn't you noticed your gut hanging out? or has outgrowing clothes become so normal you don't even notice? with the way you stuff your face i'd be surprised if anything in your wardrobe fits. but the fabric strains over your softened, expanding body and reminds you to keep eating too, huh? you like how it feels a little uncomfortable, fits a little poorly, draws eyes to your growing figure

it makes you want to eat

i can tell because you started touch and feel your belly at just the thought, even though i can tell you ate not that long ago with way you can barely move, how you've beached yourself

you're so greedy

but that's okay because you chose this for yourself. you wanted this. you conditioned yourself to get this fat, you've pleasured yourself to the fantasy, after each massive stuffing, and now the reality is you crave this feeling. glutting yourself, getting heavy, the constant bliss of being in a bigger body all the time because food just taste too good and you only want more of it

don't be shy, go ahead and play with your belly. there's so much it, it's impossible to resist. press a finger into your navel, revel in how you've transformed yourself through your appetite alone

speaking of, better get yourself something to eat soon

you're starting to get hungry again

[pretentious-blonde]

for you? always

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: you’re unravelling—badly—but steve refuses to let you fall apart alone

warnings: toxic work environments, crying, steve just wanting to help!!

a/n: i made a part 3 but can be read as a STANDALONE, and once again, it is hurt/comfort. i just love sweet steve!!

if people want another part i am down. pt. 1 pt. 2

It might be an exaggeration, but Steve Harrington didn’t think life could get much better than this. 

He was standing behind the counter at Family Video, half-listening to Robin as she complained, not really giving her his full attention. She could have been ranting about his terrible sorting system, or the stain on the carpet neither of them had managed to get out since last week. He wasn’t too sure. His focus was more invested at the clock on the far wall, waiting for it to hit 6 p.m. 

It was Friday night, closing time. Normally, he’d be stoked to clock out and get home, maybe lounge around or hang with the kids. But for almost four weeks now, his evenings had been filled with something—someone��more exciting. 

He was aware of how annoying he had gotten. Hell, even Robin teased him about it, calling him the “lovesick puppy,” for the amount of times he was caught staring out the door wistfully, hoping you would wander in on your lunch break. 

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Plus, if he could put up with months of her pining after Vicky, she could put up with it for a little while longer. 

Four weeks—four perfect weeks since that first time you let him take you out for dinner. He brought you to Enzo’s, the fanciest spot in town, really trying to impress you.

He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face remembering it: the two of you tucked into a booth, your eyes lighting up when you tasted the pasta, holding it up for him to try it from your fork, your giggle when he got some of the sauce on the side of his mouth. He became acutely aware of your laugh, actually. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds. 

After he’d driven you home that night and dropped you off at your door, he’d stood there, wanting so badly to kiss you, but also not wanting to assume just because you let him before, he could do it again. 

So, he’d leaned in awkwardly, maybe an inch too far, and you’d given him the sweetest little smile that told him to relax and pulled him in the rest of the way. That moment was etched into his memory, something he found himself revisiting over and over. 

And from there, it had only gotten better. 

The second date at the local diner (you’d shared fries with him and stole a sip of his milkshake), the movie night where he insisted you pick the snacks—any snacks, your call—and still ended up grabbing M&Ms halfway through the film, claiming it was for “variety.” Then there was the afternoon you invited him over to bake cookies—insisting it would be a fun bonding activity—only to end up with flour in your hair and half the dough on the floor, while Steve practically bent over double laughing at how grumpy you looked in your patterned apron. 

And that perfect night at Lover’s Lake. God, he was happy you hadn’t grown up around here. He took full advantage of your lack of knowledge about the location. It was magical, lying on a threadbare blanket underneath the stars. You’d called him “a total sap” when he waxed poetic about constellations he barely remembered the names of.

He had caught you smiling at him like he’d hung the moon himself. He’d stolen a kiss—okay, maybe two, or three—when you’d turned your head toward him, and the surprise on your face melted immediately into something so soft. It made him sure you were feeling the same as him. By the time he was driving you home, hand resting on your thigh, you both felt like you’d just lived out a scene in one of those old romance movies he pretended not to like.

Then came your visits to his territory. He could still picture the day you stepped through the door, a shy smile on your lips. He tried to maintain some level of professional cool, but the moment Robin saw you, she took it upon herself to tease him relentlessly. “So you’re the one Harrington won’t shut up about.” 

He’d glared but couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. You’d just grinned, leaning against the counter, and introduced yourself to Robin, who then spent the rest of the shift chatting with you while Steve tried to play it cool and failed miserably. Yet somehow, that failure felt okay—good, even—because seeing you click so easily with his best friend just made his day sweeter.

Yes, the last month had been a whirlwind—one that left him with a permanent giddy glow. He liked you, really liked you, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. And it wasn’t just because you looked great in every light—though, let’s be honest, that didn’t hurt—but because you seemed to get him. You found humour in his dumb jokes, shared your own stories with him, and let him into your life without any of the hesitations or expectations he’d grown used to.

Even Robin had mentioned how he didn’t snap at customers as much. He threw a glance in her direction, who was now tapping her fingers on a shelf impatiently. 

“Dude,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if you stare at that clock any harder, it’s gonna melt.”

“Give me a break,” Steve smirked, flicking his gaze back at the time. “I’m just… in a good mood, okay?”

“You just want to get out of here to see your girlfriend,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

“She’s not my—” He paused, the flush creeping over his cheeks again. “We haven’t exactly— I mean, yeah, we’re kinda… I dunno, it’s been a few weeks. She might be my girlfriend.”

Robin laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm as she approached. “You’re so far gone, it’s painful to watch. Honestly, it's jarring watching you be all heart-eyed lately.”

He wanted to deny it, but instead he found himself laughing too. Was it that obvious? Judging by the glances from Robin and the kids—especially Dustin—it definitely was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care; if being obvious meant you were in his life, then so be it.

Finally, the clock hit closing time. Steve turned, circling the counter to the front entrance. He flipped the sign to “Closed,” already imagining what he might do for the rest of the night. 

You told him to come over that evening at around half past, maybe order some late-night takeaway, or go for a drive, or just hang out on the couch, do nothing but talk about your days. It all sounded equally perfect to him. 

As he began turning off the main computer, the store’s phone rang, shrill and unexpected in the quiet. He exchanged a puzzled look with Robin. 

Who the hell was calling this late?

You arrive at your apartment with shoulders hunched. Your day at The Hawkins Post had been a complete train wreck. You’d expected to face challenges when you got into journalism—no one just handed out dream assignments on a silver platter—but you hadn’t expected to be treated like the office errand girl.

All day, you’d been fetching coffees, photocopying pages, and biting your tongue whenever they cracked jokes at your expense. You told yourself you could handle it, that it was just part of paying your dues. But this afternoon, when they were brainstorming story ideas for the week’s paper, you’d jumped at the chance to volunteer something—anything. Before you could even get more than a sentence out, they’d laughed it off, practically shooing you out of the room.

You clenched your fists, trying not to let tears burn at the back of your eyes as one of the senior editors—some balding guy who’d never bothered learning your name—actually said: “Why don’t you just get us another round of coffee, alright hun?” 

You’d never felt so small in your life.

Now, alone in your living room, the tears finally came. Hot, embarrassing, unwelcome. You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag aside, your mind buzzing with memories of the condescending smirks you’d gotten. It felt like a punch to the stomach. Made you question what you were even doing there. 

The clock on your bookshelf read 6:00 p.m. That meant Steve was probably about to close. You’d said something about grabbing dinner, or even just hanging out at your place to watch that cheesy horror flick you’d both joked about. Normally, the thought would make your heart lift. But right now? You felt too raw to face him.

Not that you didn’t want to see him—you did, desperately. But something inside you balked at the idea of letting him see you like this: tear-streaked, puffy-eyed, humiliated. It’s too soon for that, you had only known him for about a month. No point in handing him your emotional baggage just yet. Maybe that was a two or three month sort of milestone. 

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper “just in case” you needed him. A part of you wished you had the strength to ask for him, to ask for comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

It rang a few times, and your stomach twisted painfully. Then, his voice came through, warm and cheerful, exactly what you needed and exactly what you felt you didn’t deserve right now.

“Steve?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve’s tone instantly made your eyes sting with fresh tears. “I’m just finishing up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You alright?”

You swallowed, forcing your voice not to crack. 

“Uh… yeah. I mean—no, not really.” You cringed at how shaky you sounded. “I’m not feeling so great, so, um… I think I’m gonna have to cancel tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could practically hear his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, really? You sure you’re okay? Like fever or something? I can—”

“N-no, I promise, I’m good,” you cut in too quickly, wiping at your cheeks even though he couldn’t see you. “Just think I need some rest.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.” He sounded so disheartened. You didn’t like disappointing him. “If you need anything, will you call me? I can be there in like ten minutes.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt gnawing at you. He was so sweet, and you were lying. Well, half-lying. You weren’t okay. But you couldn’t tell him that. At least not yet.

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured instead. “Just… sorry to cancel.”

He hesitated, that warm voice going even softer. “No, don’t worry about it. Feel better, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Steve,” you said, barely keeping it together. “Talk later.”

You hung up before your voice could betray you. The moment the line clicked, you tossed the phone aside, heart feeling heavier than before. God, you just hoped he wouldn’t be upset—or that he wouldn’t pry deeper. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down if he asked the right questions.

Still, a tiny part of you wished he’d come anyway.

Steve set the receiver back on its cradle, staring at the phone for a moment longer than necessary. His stomach did a little flip, the kind it did when something was wrong. He could usually read you pretty well by now—your moods, the subtleties in your tone. And that phone call? It screamed distress.

Robin, who’d been watching from across the store, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her. “She canceled.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Robin’s face immediately fell into sympathy. “That really sucks.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “No, I don’t think it’s… I mean, I hope it’s not that. She sounded off, like… said she wasn’t feeling well.”

Robin tilted her head. “She’s sick? Flu or something?”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, trying to reconcile the tension in his gut. “She said she just needs rest. I offered to bring her something, but she shot it down.”

Robin gave him a long look, then sighed dramatically, piecing together the puzzle. 

“Harrington, come on. You told me she just moved here, right? She’s got no family around? No close friends yet?”

“Yeah, she’s new,” he admitted, mind flashing back to the time you mentioned how weird it was living in a town where you barely knew anyone.

Robin folded her arms. “So, if she’s not feeling great, she’s gonna be alone.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, slower this time. A prickle of realisation stirred in him.

“Which might mean,” Robin continued in her usual exasperated tone, “that you, as the devoted whatever-you-are—boyfriend? friend? something—should maybe check on her anyway.”

His eyes widened. “But she said—”

“People say a lot of things,” Robin cut him off. “Sometimes they don’t want to feel like a burden. Or they’re embarrassed. You, of all people, should get that, right?”

A flicker of memory—Steve himself blowing off concerned offers because he didn’t want to look weak—made him swallow hard.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You think the pharmacy’s still open?”

Robin gave him a small, genuine smile. “Definitely. Swing by, grab some tea or cough drops, or whatever else might help. And maybe the grocery store for soup.”

Steve nodded firmly, adrenaline already buzzing in his veins. You’re alone. You’re upset. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let you suffer through that. Not if he could help it.

“You’re a genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” She waved him off. “And call me later—if you’re still alive. Just in case she actually has the plague or something.”

“Ha-ha,” he shot back as he flew around the counter, grabbing his jacket and headed for the door. 

Steve hovered outside your apartment door, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, an overstuffed bag clutched in one hand. He’d stopped at three different stores, grabbing tea, soup, your favorite candy, a variety of painkillers—everything he could think of to help you feel better.

Maybe he was totally wrong about the situation. I mean, hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe you truly wanted space. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe he’d come off overbearing. 

But the memory of your shaky voice on the phone nagged at him. He couldn’t just stay away. You’d insisted you were fine, but your voice cracked at the edges. Better to let you tell him in person than for you to suffer in silence. So he took a breath, rang the doorbell, and braced himself.

When you opened the door, it was worse than he expected. Way worse. Every bit of resolve he’d mustered wavered.

You were still in your wrinkled work clothes, eyes red, cheeks blotchy. It was obvious you’d been crying, and the sight of it knocked the air from his lungs. Instantly, all of Steve’s doubts vanished, replaced by a need to do whatever he could to help.

“Hey,” he said softly, attempting a small, reassuring smile. You looked ready to apologise, but before you could say a word, your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. His heart clenched as he gently pushed the door open wider and slipped inside, letting the bag drop beside him.

“Hey, c’mon,” he murmured, pulling you toward him immediately. Not expecting to find you in this state, but nonetheless prepared to help. “It’s okay. Talk to me, yeah? Are you—are you feeling sick, or…?”

You stood there, overwhelmed, arms shaking as you let yourself cling to him. Steve’s heart ached—the same way it did when he saw one of the kids upset, except this was deeper, more urgent.

Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes and sank further against him, your breath catching in a muffled sob.

It was all he needed to hear.

He readjusted his arms to fit you better, cradling the back of your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He could feel how shaken you were, how close you were to coming completely undone. It made him want to bury you in every comfort he could possibly give.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice steady. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re alright.” He didn’t know if those things were true, but by the end of the evening, he would make sure they would be.

You pressed your face into his chest, holding him like he was the only solid thing in your life right now. He felt the tremor in your shoulders, the ragged rise and fall of your breaths, and it lit that familiar spark inside him—he needed to fix this. Except he didn’t know how yet. But he would try. So for now he just held you, gently running his hand across your back.

Eventually, he guided you away from the door, nudging it shut behind him with his foot. He decided it would be better to get you settled before trying to get you to talk.  

“C’mon,” he murmured, leading you to the couch. “I…I brought a bunch of stuff—tea, soup, that candy you like…” He tried a tentative smile, but worry still ached in his gut. Those things seemed rather redundant now that he spoke them aloud. When he looked at you, it appeared you didn’t even register what he was saying. Whatever was ailing you, it certainly wasn't the flu.

“Hey,” he said again, voice hushed so as not to scare you. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” His gaze flicked over your tear-stained cheeks, and you could practically feel the genuine concern radiating off him. “I just… I want to help. I can’t help until you tell me what’s wrong. So… let me try, okay?”

His words hung in the air, soft and pleading. There was so much earnestness in his eyes, it almost hurt. He was trying so hard, and you could tell he was moments away from offering every solution under the sun.

That was who he was—a guy who dove in headfirst, wanting to protect and fix. And though part of you still felt hesitant, the rest of you knew you needed him right now. His soft, brown eyes begging you to let him in. 

It would be cruel to tell him not to worry, especially since he already saw the state you were in. You took a deep breath as you tried to gather your thoughts. 

“Work was… hard,” you start, voice trembling on the last word.

Steve nods, encouraging you to continue. “Yeah?” He scoots a little closer. “Tell me about it, angel.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. The humiliation still burns in your chest, but as soon as you see the concern in his eyes, the words begin tumbling out.

“All the guys at the paper,” you say, swallowing hard, “they basically laughed in my face today. I wanted to pitch an idea—I thought, maybe if I showed some initiative, they’d take me seriously.” You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “Turns out, they don’t.”

He inches forward, the couch creaking beneath his weight. “They laughed?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, blinking away tears. “The whole room, practically. They didn’t even let me finish. Just told me to go make more copies or bring them more coffee. I felt so stupid. Like I’m not cut out for any of this.”

Your voice cracks, and Steve’s expression tightens with empathy. He raises a hand to your cheek, carefully brushing away a stray tear with his thumb before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know how you feel,” he says softly. Then he corrects himself with a small shrug. “Well, not exactly. I know someone else who went through that crap. I don’t know the full story, but from what I heard, it was awful.”

Nancy let slip here and there snippets from her time at The Hawkins Post. The incessant ridicule, the constant demeaning remarks. It irked him then, but now? He was vexed. Grown men picking on you all for a power trip? Unbelievable. 

He had to school his anger before he said something regretful, he always did have a sharp tongue. What you needed now was comfort, not someone going on a rampage on your behalf.

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah. But you know what I do know?” Steve continues, his voice dropping to a firm, truthful tone. “Those guys? They’re idiots, alright?”

“Maybe…” A shaky laugh escapes your lips, and you sniff, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “They made me feel like a complete joke.”

“No way. Not even close.” He shakes his head firmly, like he wants to banish that thought forever. He won’t allow you to linger in self-doubt. “You’re brilliant. Look, you picked up and moved across the country by yourself, found a place to live, and started a brand-new job in a town where you barely know anyone. That takes guts.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of the day pressing in again. “Feels like it was a dumb move,” you admit, voice quieter. “Like I’m playing dress-up in a grown-up’s world, and everyone else can see I’m an imposter.”

A flicker of protectiveness flashes across Steve’s face. He can’t stand the idea of you belittling yourself—he’s seen how you throw yourself into your work, how bravely you uprooted everything to move here, how determined you can be when you set your mind on something.

“Hey,” he says, tilting your chin so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re strong, you’re smart, and if they can’t see that, well…” He shrugs. “That’s on them. They’re the ones missing out. I swear half those guys probably haven’t stepped foot outside of Indiana.”

When you lean into him, relief flickers in his chest. 

Thank God, maybe he’s getting through. 

He tucks you closer against his side, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Whatever you decide to do, you’ll crush it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I believe that.”

“Yeah?” you ask, voice thick.

“Absolutely.” He gives you a little squeeze. “You want a new job? You’ll find one. You want to stay and prove those assholes wrong? You’ll do that too. Just say the word, and I’ll be right there to cheer you on. Or beat them up, if that’s easier.”

Despite the tears still threatening at the corners of your eyes, you let out a half-chuckle. “I’ve never really been much of a quitter,” you admit, the first spark of determination returning to your tone.

“Didn’t think so,” he says with a grin, admiration evident in his voice. “Strong girl like you? You’re gonna do just fine.”

You nestle closer into him, thankful beyond words that he’s here, that he understands in a way you desperately needed someone to.

Steve’s just relieved that you’re letting him be the one to help you shoulder the weight. Something else he realised this evening was that he hates seeing you hurt, but if being here—listening, comforting—helps even a little, then it’s worth every second.

You exhale a shaky breath and smooth down the front of your shirt, eyes still puffy from crying. You feel lighter, like a burden’s been lifted just from having Steve here. Even with a hint of embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” you say, voice quiet. “For making you worry, I mean. I should’ve just told you what was going on.”

Steve’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t—well, okay, maybe I was worried,” he admits, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips. “But I’d prefer it if you just told me when you’re sad. I mean, I can’t fix everything, but I want to help—when you’ll let me.”

You nod, fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I still feel bad for lying earlier. Telling you I was sick.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You got me soup and everything.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting with a touch of bashfulness. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try to look after you?”

A beat passes, and then your eyes snap to his. 

“Boyfriend?”

Steve freezes, colour blooming across his cheeks. 

Shit.

“Uh… yeah?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, that’s—what did you think we were doing? I figured we were… you know, dating. I pick you up, I pay for stuff, sometimes we—uh—we kiss—” He falters, stumbling over his words. “Not all the time, but—”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you watch him ramble. Something tender wells up inside you. It’s like he’s laid himself bare—admitting out loud how he sees you, how he sees this. And it’s so damn endearing you can’t help the small giggle that escapes.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you tease, reaching to gently poke his cheek.

He groans, cheeks going even pinker. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, covering his face with one hand. “I can’t believe—”

You place your hand over his, coaxing him to look at you. “I like the idea of you being my boyfriend,” you say softly, each word weaving comfort through the space between you.

“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and for a second, he looks almost boyish with relief. “You do?”

A small smile curves your lips as you lean in. “Yeah.” 

You slide a hand to his cheek, guiding him into a kiss—slow, sweet, and laced with the warmth of everything you’ve been lacking back all day. He exhales against your mouth, shoulders easing with the gentle press of your lips. His thumb strokes lightly over your jaw as he returns the kiss, and you taste a hint of peppermint from the candy he’d been snacking on in the car. When he finally pulls back, breath a little unsteady, there’s a stunned happiness in his eyes. 

“So…” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. “I’m your boyfriend.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but you could see the question behind his statement. He wanted full clarification here. He wanted to hear you say it out loud. 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Yes, Steve. You’re my boyfriend.”

“That’s—God.” He laces his fingers through yours, a giddy laugh bubbling from his chest. “That’s—yeah. Glad we cleared that up.”

You both end up in the kitchen soon after, unpacking the soup he brought. It’s nothing fancy—just store-bought chicken noodle—but it warms you from the inside out as you eat together, perched on stools by the counter. He slides you half the candy he picked up, and you pass the bag back and forth, bumping shoulders with quiet smiles. There’s something so normal about it—the day’s troubles left behind in another world.

Later, you curl up on the couch together, switching on the TV. Steve insists you get first pick after the day you had. You flick through the channels until you settle on some old sitcom that neither of you pay much attention to. You’re more focused on the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Eventually, the clock inches toward midnight. The hum of the television plays softly in the background as you shift to look at him. 

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

He winces a little. “Yeah,” he says, regret threading through his voice. “’Fraid so. Saturdays are insane. I tried to switch shifts, but Keith was being a total pain. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t apologise,” you shake your head. “I was just wondering if… you wanted to stay here tonight.” Your cheeks warm slightly at the invitation. “I live closer, and I’ve got a spare toothbrush somewhere. Plus…” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze momentarily. “I’d really rather not be alone tonight.”

Steve’s eyes flicker with surprise and then a rush of tenderness. “You—you want me to stay? I mean, I don’t want to impose. Not like in a—like we don’t have to—I mean—”

You cut off his rambling by resting a hand over mouth. “Steve.” Your smile is gentle. “Stay the night, please? I’m asking you to.”

He searches your face, seeing sincerity there, and his entire demeanour softens. You’re too damn sweet for your own good, he swears. 

“Alright,” he breathes. “Yeah. I’ll stay.” Then he leans in, pressing a slow, grateful kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”

Eventually, the two of you shuffle into your bedroom, quietly laughing as you rummage around for that spare toothbrush you promised. You lend him an old T-shirt that’s slightly snug across his shoulders, which only makes you giggle more. By the time you both slip beneath the blankets, the mood has shifted from the sadness of the day to the tenderness of tonight. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, and you snuggle into his chest, breathing in his soft scent. For a moment, neither of you says anything—it’s enough just to lie there, safe and comfortable, heartbeats syncing in the quiet. 

“Night, sweetheart.” He murmurs and you sigh in agreement, already being lulled into sleep. It’s a happy sound—one that makes him pull you closer as you drift off. 

You stir awake to the warmth of Steve’s arm still draped over your waist. Morning light filters through the curtains, illuminating the little dust particles swirling in the morning light. The alarm you set starts to go off and he lets out a quiet groan, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder as if he can hide from the responsibilities of the day. You can’t help but smile, tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand.

“I don’t wanna go,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You push a sleepy chuckle past your lips. “You have to—Robin would miss you too much.”

“No she wouldn’t.” He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his back and turning off the blaring sound. “Probably count it as a blessing not to put up with me for a whole Saturday.” But there’s a small, silly grin on his face that betrays the fondness beneath all the complaining.

A short while later, you’re both in the kitchen, sipping hastily brewed coffee due to your shared reluctance to get up. You lean against the counter, watching as he rubs sleep from his eyes and nurses his mug like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You don’t say anything about the state of his hair, enjoying the way it falls messily across his forehead. 

“You sure you’re feeling better?” he asks, gaze flickering over you, still laced with concern even though you’ve assured him more times than you can count.

You nod, a softer smile pulling at your lips. “I am. Thanks to you,” you add, nudging his foot with yours, blushing with how sappy you’re both being.

He tries for a humble shrug, but the flush creeping up his neck is unmistakable. “Anytime, angel.”

Before long, the clock reminds him that time is up. He slips into yesterday’s shirt—grimacing a bit at the wrinkles—and heads for the door. You follow, hands clasped around your mug. At the threshold, he turns to you, pressing a gentle goodbye kiss to your lips.

Then another.

And another.

“Steve, you’re gonna be late.” You let out an exasperated laugh, placing a firm hand on his chest.

He grins like a kid caught stealing candy. “What—trying to get rid of me already?”

“You know I’m not,” you sigh, rolling your eyes as you gently shove him. “I’m literally seeing you after you clock out!”

His voice lowers playfully as he backs out the door. “Damn right you are.”

He winks, then sets off, leaving you with a warm, tingly feeling long after he disappears from sight.

When Steve finally strolls into Family Video, he finds Robin already at the counter, re-shelving tapes. She glances up, raises an eyebrow, and greets him with a lazy wave.

“Hey. So… how’d it—” She stops mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait a second.” She points accusingly at his shirt. “That is the same outfit from yesterday. You did not—”

“Whoa,” Steve lifts both hands defensively. “It’s not like that, okay?”

Robin sets down the tapes, folding her arms over her chest. “Then enlighten me. Because it sure looks like you had a fun night.”

“Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It was—look, it’s not what you think. She was having a rough time, I went to check on her, and… well, I stayed over. Nothing crazy.”

Robin cocks her head, curiosity replacing her initial look. “So she’s okay?” She may not know you as well as Steve did, but if you were important to him, you were important to her too. 

“Yeah. She will be.” He nods, and a small, proud smile graces his lips. “My girl’s tough.”

Her eyes light up. “Your girl, huh?”

He bobs his head, trying to hide the giddy surge that washes over him. “Yeah. Officially.”

Robin squeals—actually squeals—and Steve flushes, glancing around to make sure there are no customers to witness it. 

“We have to do a double date!” she says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ll get Vickie—”

“Rob,” Steve pleads, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curving up too high, “let’s not scare her off, okay? One step at a time.”

“Fine,” Robin huffs, but she’s beaming at him. “But soon. I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes, yet there’s no denying the warmth in his expression. The truth is, he’s never felt so content. The memory of your smile still fresh in his mind, and the knowledge that, yes, you’re his girl. Officially.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something out,” Steve says quietly, stocking a few tapes behind the counter. His voice is softer than usual, carrying a note of contentment Robin hasn’t heard in him for a long, long time.

She shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thinking of how you looked in the morning light, how sweet it felt to hold you close and kiss you goodbye. He looks out the window toward your apartment, knowing you’re going to be there when he leaves in a few hours. “Me too.”

[system-of-a-feather]

So this is adding onto this post, but the statement I'm expanding on is "I think people see fusion as parts melting into each other but honestly, I think its more like your concept of self widening over multiple parts"

Context; skip to Context Clear if you don't care

For context, this is something I was thinking about because yesterday, at work, we found it really funny that since we were working with a client that reminded us a lot of our younger selves for better or worse, that we were inevitably going to utilize more of our Ray brain and energy to give them the best care and we were going "haha the amount of times we did the signature Ray 'No.'" because Ray specifically just has such a signature "no" and it made us snicker mentally everytime we did it

But today we were thinking back on it since we were choosing to listen to some of Ray's music, and really, we spent almost ALL of the day primarily in Ray mental space, but we really didn't notice it at all until the day after and THAT is incredibly odd for our system because Ray is a part that is EXTREMELY internally obvious. He's not a part we'd ever be "blurry with" in the past, and hes not a part we wouldn't realize is out. So it was really interesting that we were almost exclusively operating in Ray brain and DIDNT notice it

But the reason we didn't really notice it, is because while we - in hindsight - were obviously operating as Ray (including the iconic chronic passive singing of Frank Sinatra and similar songs), it was NOT unique or different to the concept of just what we as Feathers are like and do and that's because everything Ray does is basically completely normal and within the concept of what Feathers is. And that made me think; Ray didn't "fuse" or "meld" with any parts when we fused, the concept of Feathers expanded so that Ray is just an obvious and normal part of the "I" which Feathers is.

Context Clear

When it comes to fusion, its not really as though parts disappear or stop interacting or existing in any way or form. Sometimes they might not be super obvious or outwardly identify as themselves with fusion, but that's largely a matter of perspective and focus.

I'd like to think of it kind of like how I've heard similar things explained in some Buddhist literature; Think about table. A table is made up of many parts that we can look at individually; four different legs, the table top, maybe theres some center piece; some might even include the chairs around the table to be part of "the table".

Now imagine you stubbed your toe against one of the legs. Clearly, you can look exactly where your toe hit, and you can say that it was OBVIOUSLY the left most leg. However, you could ALSO be 100% accurate in saying "I stubbed my toe against the table". When you say "table" the legs are not suddenly melting into the table top and the decorations and the chairs; the legs are still there and they can be individually referenced and looked at, but at the same time, the table exists as a seperate concept that CONTAINS the legs.

The legs of the table can exist and be separate from the concept of the table while still being a specific part of the table that can be referenced, acknowledged, expressed, and focused on. At no point does anyone ever stop seeing or being able to discuss or interact with the legs of the table when they start talking about the table. At any point, anyone could look back at the legs, but sometimes its easier or more realistic / appropriate to just talk about the table as a table.

Similarly, if you put a plate on the tabletop, you could say "I put the plate on the tabletop" and have that be accurate, you could discuss the table top specifically, but it probably just sounds more reasonable to just say "I put the plate on the table."

With that analogy in mind, not being fused it kind of like getting an Ikea table in the box. All the parts are disjointed, unconnected, and seperate from one another. You can't really discuss these parts as "a table" because they're not together, they aren't really able to work like a table, and the parts can be taken miles apart - you could even loose parts; what happens to one part does not necessarily echo throughout the non-unified whole. If you stub your toe on the leg, you probably didn't impact the table top and every other part of the would-be table. If you place your "plate on the non-unified table", its hard to imagine where exactly you would have put the plate down. The concept of each part operates really only independent of one another.

Fusion, on the other hand, is like putting that Ikea table together. Once everything is all together, you can easily refer to the whole as a "table" but you can ALSO refer to the legs, the table top, the screws, etc.

Its not so much parts melting together to make a new whole, its more about parts connecting and unifying to create a solid whole concept. Pre-fusion, the concept of "I" is limited to the individual parts that don't really exist in a unified form - you are either interacting with the leg, the screw, the table top.

Fusion, the concept of "I" is expanded to the unified whole, meaning you are always interacting with "the table" but you can also specifically be interacting with the leg, the table top, the screw, etc.

[intrepidacious]

occupy my brain [4]

series summary: Being Harlan Thrombey’s research assistant would be the perfect summer job if it weren’t for his grandson.

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

chapter warnings: heavily implied smut; ransom being his usual asshole self; the repercussions of chapter 3 😏 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: these chapters keep getting longer and someone needs to stop me to be quite honest. or maybe don't. this was a fun one 🤭

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

searching for redemption

It had been a few days since the incident, and your mind couldn't stop replaying that night. It was like you were stuck on a loop. Every time you closed your eyes, you could feel his hands on you again. His lips.

And when your own hands traveled down your body, you couldn't replicate the sensations those memories brought you. The frantic clashing of your bodies against each other, the heat, the sounds.

It was maddening.

The last thing you needed right now was an unhealthy obsession with the memory of Ransom fucking Drysdale's dick.

You'd have to quit. You'd have to leave the country. You were still thanking your lucky stars that Harlan Thrombey hadn't said anything about the state of you the morning after, when you arrived at your meeting late and in a very wrinkled shirt. You'd wanted to die.

The man wrote detective novels, for crying out loud. It didn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what you'd been up to the night before.

The one silver lining was that Ransom was still as unwilling to get any actual work done as ever, and so you'd been pretty successful at evading him. Apart from a couple of research-related texts exchanged between the two of you, you hadn't heard from him at all; and even though your own messages were bordering on passive-aggressive, his stayed surprisingly, and thankfully, innuendo-free.

You just wanted to forget any of it had ever happened.

There were only a few weeks left of your run at Blood and Wine, and then you never had to see him again at all. You'd never been more grateful for your semester schedule picking up immediately after break. After sinking a couple of eighty-hour weeks into lab reports and essays and analyses, you'd be back to normal again.

Everything was going to be fine.

Except there were still a few weeks left of your run at Blood and Wine, and when you left the lab building on Friday afternoon to catch a ride home with your friend, her car wasn't anywhere on the parking lot. Instead, you could see a beat-up BMW and a certain dark-haired asshole leaning against it.

Heat rushed to your cheeks immediately at the sight of him. His lips were twisted into his usual scowl as he scrolled through his phone. It wasn’t bright enough outside to warrant wearing sunglasses, and yet Mr Pretentious did it anyway.

"What are you doing here?" you called out, stopping a couple of paces away from him.

Ransom put his phone away, and even though you couldn't see his eyes you could feel his gaze dragging up and down your body lazily. You ground your teeth.

"We've been summoned," he finally said. "Don't you ever check your phone?"

As a matter of fact, you hadn't in a while; labs made you forget all concept of time, particularly with the amount of reports you'd had to finish. You found an e-mail from Harlan Thrombey marked urgent as well as several missed calls from [Don't even think about it] and a message from your friend telling you she'd left without you after "your asshole guy told me u had plans. use protection!!"

"How did you even know where I was, anyway?" you asked, putting your phone away again without deigning to answer that particular text.

"I asked nicely."

You snorted.

"Can we go or do you wanna wait here until you take root?"

"Right now?" you said reluctantly.

"Right now," Ransom drawled. "Get in."

So much for your evening plans of watching a couple of episodes of your favorite show and eating sushi in bed. With a groan, you climbed into his car. It smelled surprisingly nice in here, like worn-out leather and some expensive air freshener and, well, Ransom.

Hot breaths and sticky skin and low moans and—

The engine roared to a start and you quickly turned away to put your seatbelt on. It was a twenty minute drive to the Thrombey estate, and you spent the first half of it staring out of the window, ignoring the man behind the wheel. You weren't sure what you were waiting for; some snide remark, probably, an excuse for you to rip into him like you usually would and leave everything that had happened between you behind for good.

"You're being awfully quiet today."

When you looked at him, he was staring blankly at the road ahead, his face unbothered. He still hadn't taken off his sunglasses, even though the lights were pretty low now. Prick.

"Because this is weird," you said.

He put the blinker on, every movement nonchalant. "Why?"

You rolled your eyes. "You know why."

The pause that followed was long enough it almost let you hope he'd just drop it and you'd be off the hook. You could just move through the uncomfortable air between you and continue working together as history's worst team until you could finally part ways.

"Do you always get like this or has it been a while?"

Then again, always lovely to be reminded how much you hated the guy.

"You know what, I'm not even going to answer that," you said sharply.

"The second one, then."

"It's none of your business, Ransom."

"No," he said and readjusted his glasses. "It was fun, though."

"Fuck you."

He stayed silent for the rest of the drive, but the smug energy still radiated off him. You entertained yourself by thinking about murder.

*~*~*

"Ransom, take those glasses off," Harlan said as soon as you sat down in his office.

You gave Ransom a look that said told you so; you'd had that discussion just minutes earlier.

"No thanks," he answered, leaning back in his chair. "What did you want to talk about?"

Harlan sighed heavily. "Off now or so help me god, I'm going to write you out of my will after all."

There were a couple of angry red splotches forming on Ransom's neck, right above the spot where you knew you'd left your mark on him, which was just hidden by the collar of his sweater today. With another gruff sound, he finally pulled his sunglasses off.

You swallowed your gasp down.

"What happened with you?"

Ransom raised his chin to look his grandfather straight in the eye; it made the shadows fall on his face in a way that made the dark bruise stand out even more.

"I fell," he said dryly, his features made of stone.

You didn't hear Harlan's reply; you barely took anything from the meeting, even though you felt yourself nodding, agreeing to consider a couple of different things in your research for the remainder of your work time. Later, you even found a couple of notes you'd taken on your phone.

Your thoughts were swirling and you didn't even know why. It was all very confusing.

Only when you got back to Ransom's car, because of course you'd had to agree to him driving you again, that one thing crystallized for you clear as day: you were furious with him.

"You fell, huh?" you said sharply.

"That's what I said."

"Bullshit someone else, Drysdale. What did you do?"

"Why do you care?" he said, tilting his head. "Because we fucked one time?"

Your face was burning. "Sorry for trying to be a decent human being."

You crawled into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind you, which really didn't have the intended effect when he was getting in on the other side just moments later.

Neither of you spoke this time. You were staring at your own reflection in the car window, still fuming; that's why it took you until the car slowed down that you weren't even in the area of your apartment building.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ice my face," he said, turning off the engine, "and then I'm going to sleep."

"Hey!" You got out of the car after him, face incredulous. "You said you were gonna drive me home!"

"I said I'd drive you. I did. If you don't wanna stay, call yourself an uber."

Drowning. Strangulation. Multiple lacerations to his thorax.

"You're such a prick."

"Where have I heard that one before?"

You followed him into the entrance hall because damn him, you were not going to stand out there in the middle of the night and hope for an uber to be in the vicinity.

"Brighten up, sunshine," he said, another way too smug expression on his face. "You need to learn how to relax."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you hissed, throwing one of your shoes at him.

"Jesus, what—I should be the one asking you that."

You threw the second shoe. "I’m not the one driving you insane!"

"You sure about that?" His voice was low, almost raspy, and your gaze snapped to his, almost involuntarily. His eyes seemed to bore straight into your soul, like he was searching for something.

Slowly, he stepped closer to you, his hands roughly grabbing your face. Still, the way he pulled you towards him was almost gentle, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t pin down. At last, your faces were merely inches apart. You couldn’t breathe.

Then, finally, his lips found yours again, softer this time but no less demanding. You clasped your hands around his neck to keep your balance when he started walking towards you, making you blindly stumble backwards, his arms securely around you when you almost tripped over something on the floor. You didn’t care to open your eyes.

You hissed when your calves hit the stairs sharpy, the pain almost enough to break the spell he put you under. "Ransom—" you tried.

He huffed disapprovingly, his grip tightening, and then he continued walking you up the stairs, letting you lean on him just enough to not lose your balance, the hunger in his eyes growing even as he noticed the uncertainty in yours.

Getting to the second floor took moments. It took hours. His mouth found that spot on your neck again and you shuddered, your grip on him tightening.

"We shouldn't—" You gasped when he nipped at your shoulder. "Shouldn't we talk about this?"

"Do you want to talk?" he snarled, his hands wandering down to your ass. "Or do you want to stop thinking for once in your life and let me make you cum enough times you won't be able to walk tomorrow?"

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged his head backwards until he hissed, forcing him to look at you. The bruise around his eye looked even angrier up close, and you inexplicably found yourself wanting to trace it, not to hurt him more but to soothe.

Instead, you swallowed it down. "Promises, promises," you said.

He didn't need another invitation.

thank you to everyone who voted for this chapter on my most recent poll, it was a close one!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 🧡

[plethorawrites]

malady do you think there are some weird ailen biological things that clark has maybe even jon has them since yk his half ailen

Yesss!!! Plenty. I don't know in what capacity you're referring to, but I have thoughts in general.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

A. No cavities. I mean, if their bones are basically unbreakable, there's no way they'd get any tooth damage.

B. Sleep hovering. Pretty sure this is canon, but they absolutely dream of flying and suddenly start to do it. Often. And even as a baby, Jon would float out of his crib.

C. Weirdly good intuition. Not exactly like Spidey senses, but similar. They just have feelings that are right 9/10 times.

D. Empathy. To the extent that if someone is hiding an emotion, even extremely well, they just know. Immediately. It's not even reading their lies with a heart beat, it's just their ability to read general body language.

E. Randomly quotes something from Kryptonian history. Lois or some other justice league members understand or at least know he's referring to something from home, but if he does it in front of a civilian by accident he has to make up some excuse about it being from a book or movie.

F. Soothed by the sound of an incredibly specific pitch that's only obtained by a machine star labs built. They hear every sound on earth all day every day, and for the most part can handle it, but sometimes just need it to disappear. The pitch makes it disappear almost entirely and Jon, only being half Kryptonian and therefore needing sleep unlike his dad who just does it out of habit, puts it on like white noise to go to bed.

G. Jon LOVED playing in dirt as a kid. Like utterly adored it to the point he'd get multiple baths a day and Lois could never figure out why until Clark realized it was because he could feel the vibrations of the ground and the earth as it shifted. He could feel everything within the soil too, for that matter.

H. Loves hugs for that reason. Can feel the barest hint of goosebumps, the heartbeat of the person they're hugging, and it feels so warm when Clark wraps his arms around his wife or Jon hugs his parents. It's just relaxing.

I. Music from Krypton. Not even something that was learned. It was just embedded in their minds from birth. A very specific melody that helps them think and it's frequently heard when Clark is writing an article or Jon is doing homework.

J. Bland food. Such bland food. They have the most sensitive taste buds so a normal amount of salt is way too much, even the slightest dash can be overwhelming so when they cook dinner they have to use the barest bit possible. Yet, they still taste as much flavor as most people would if they dumped half a bottle of seasoning into a meal.

[spotaus]

Hehe, you flatter me!!!

Yes! This is low-key Error's first real introduction to tye plot as of now, so I had to re-establish his behavior a little! He's like... obnoxiously happy to share his stuff, all the time, and it shows!!

And ough, I'm so so glad the vibes played out there because that's exactly the energy I was going for with the food, haha! (He's suddenly in a very secure and safe location, feeling good about himself, and has very little worries? AND he doesn't have to eat Geno's bad cooking? He'll yeag 🙏)

Yes! At first I was going to have him overreact, but Error has seen a LOT of weird stuff in his life, and heard a lot of stories, and frankly Nightmare's new look didn't strike him as an issue. (And if it *was* something he wasn't supposed to see. Well. He was decent at playing off those encounters too lol-)

I wasn't sure how intense I wanted to go with his reaction, so I went with the gut feeling of 'oh, that's not good'. Because like. Geno used to tell Error all sorts of horror stories from magic mishaps from his school, or in the market, or from the past. The academy had certain magic studies banned for those reasons too. And. Idk how much I want to focus on it. But Geno didn't always have that giant wound in his skull. I almost like to think that what made him the way he is now was him playing around with altering his magic typing.

I'm thinking that back before even Fresh was around, Geno had realized that his magic could be stronger if he just learned to use other magic, like humans could. Amd the way he sees magic like gems? He'd cobble together haphazard crystals, each one with a different make-up, texture, and ofc spell behind them. They were unrefined, and not clean. And then it occurred to him that Diamonds reflect all the colors! So maybe... and yeah, I think this idiot baby boy tried to make a spell with all the magic types fused into one, but obviously he was just a little guy! The strain on his developing soul was too much and he burnt out his right eyelight. His soul, already about half a normal soul, crystallized and chucked away, leaving him with his soul 'shard'.

And Error doesn't know the full story, but Geno had warned him away from playing with different magic types when he was alone. (BTW Geno did end up figuring out how to make crystals. They just require an ungodly amount of patience and perfect concentration for like. Several days. Pressure all at once backfires, slowly applied pressure works wonders.)

Sorry, sidetracked! But yes! Error knows that it's not good, abd that it hurts, and the he doesn't like it! But it's not his place to step in because Night's not doing it alone, and he assumes there must be good reason if someone like Ccino isn't stopping him. (When Nightmare literally told no one how much it hurts abd strains him so they just don't know lmao-)

Hehehe!!!! I took a page put of you bookeith that section! I wanted to delve a bit deeper into how Error sees his magic, abd like you said, he needed to try it out himself to try and understand! I feel like Error's always a hands-on learner, and when words fail him, physical things won't!

And yeag. I think the house was usually pretty empty, but when Geno came home for breaks he'd fill a shelf with his books to study. And Error isn't a book guy, but a skim would've been more helpful than his current nothingburger worth of knowledge lol!

!!!!! I genuinely could not come up with a way to present the vibes Error had but! Yes!! He saw Nightmare frfr being just like him. Someone talented, someone special in a way people weren't prepared for (bro does NOT get that Night actually has -3 intelligence coming to Magic now) and he's thrilled! Another person in the same boat as him!

Yes, the offer! Technically, Nightmare already offered for Ccino to leave. (I don't think he ever asks the Knights directly, but he hints at it. Those first few missions after his change being solo ones, a chance to run) but Error is the first person he believes might take it. He could go anywhere, Night would sponsor him, and it would be easy as that. But Night forgets that Error is opinionated. (And stubborn, and he hates drastic change.) Error made his choice that a day to become a Mage. He broke rules to get here, he sat through Night's lectures to get here! He's not just giving that all up now! Protection is never something he believes he needs, he's the danger to everyone else, frankly. He's staying whether the King likes it or not!!!

And yeag!! Nightmare was scared! He had spiraled after Error fled his office and was sure that Error would run away, or hate him, or (worst of all) decide to rebel. Despite Ccino calming him down, he was sure Error was going to leave. Nightmare thought he was going to fail Error. But! When Error so stubbornly claimed loyalty, Nightmare couldn't help but cry! He was an emotional kid before, he's one now. And Error! He's not used to people crying (not like Fresh or Geno did much of it) but he used to get comforted by Geno a lot when he'd come back from market or school and get so mad he would cry. And Geno used to tell him it was alright, relate to it. So Error does the same here! (<- Geno was emotionally constipated about romance, but he's got brothering down to an art!)

The balcony!!! That stupid lil fireworks gun was going to be my final scene whether I wanted it to be or not! Error made something entirely for fun for once, and it was to be thoughtful towards the king! The King he didn't even know was young again! And he shut his trap for once to just enjoy tye silence. Not many people can get him to do that haha!

New Age AU Drabble (Lonely)

Hello everyone!! Welcome to the next drabble I swore I was going to write! This one I'm very fond of, because it involves the two who kickstarted this whole thing, the King and his Royal Mage (in-training)-

This happens some time after Nightmare's reversal to his new age, so it's basically the next one in chronological order for the main story drabbles!

@ancha-aus @mutzelputz @papiliovolens Hi guys!! Welcome back :)

Ping

Error glanced up from his project when the little tingle of his magic blinked into his awareness. Someone’s outside? He looked over at the heavy door that separated the cool space of his study from the stairs which led down to the main floors of the castle. On his end, it was absolutely tangled in blue wires, like his own little spider web. Though, to be fair, the rest of the room wasn’t faring much better. He’d certainly taken the chance to make the space his. The king had told him to, after all! Much better than the tidy room his brothers always made him help clean…

Blue strings lashed out from the ceiling and wrapped around his current project, wrapping securely around it before tugging it, his knitting needles, and the notes he had scattered all up into the loft space shrouded in shadow above him. It was just a lot safer to keep all his projects up there, out of his way until he needed them. Out of sight of his rare visitors. He couldn’t show them something that wasn’t ready! That would be embarrassing! Not Royal Wizard behavior at all. 

As his project rose, Error rolled onto his back, popping his spine before making an effor to stand up himself. How long had he been laying there? Normally he’d have been up in one of his hammocks, but this project required he keep it level until a later step, so he’d decided that the soft rug on the floor and a few blankets would have to suffice. Had it been an hour or two? Knowing him, probably much longer. He didn’t like pulling back the curtains, his strings didn’t glow in the darkness if he did. Infusing magic worked a lot easier for him in the dark.

He glanced to the door again. Thirty seconds and there hadn’t been any more pings? It had to be someone he actually halfway wanted to see, then. Darn. 

Error crossed the space, stepping over a few loose supplies, and around a few of his hanging strings, until he came to the door. As much as he wished he could ignore this person, he knew better. So, he gripped the solid iron handle and swung the door inwards towards him. 

Stood outside on the landing of the stairs was Sir Dust. 

He wasn’t an unwelcome sight, but he definitely wasn’t an expected one either. Lately, it’d been that Ccino guy showing up to his door unannounced, bringing him meals or just checking in on him. Sir Dust had been there the day he was hired, the knight doing his best to encourage Error to not make stupid, rash choices. Fortunately, given that chance to think, Error had been able to return with a smart and rash choice instead! Which, might he add, landed him this sweet gig for royalty. That was why, when Dust came around, Error didn’t turn him away. His magic was powerful, and despite being small, he was really cool. 

“Error.” Sir Dust greeted. “Brought dinner. Ccino’s been busy.” 

Sir Dust was always blunt. Even that first day they met, when he’d spoken more than a few words he’d seemed strained. Uncomfortable. He was comfortable here in his home territory. 

And, he wasn’t lying! Error hadn’t even noticed it, but when he looked down, his eyelights honed in on the plate held easily in one of Dust’s hands, and a jug held in the other to his side. 

Error was quick to lean out the doorway with a grin and snatch up the plate, careful not to make contact with Dust’s hands. He’d abandoned his glasses somewhere behind him in the room, so he had to raise the plate closer to his face before he recognized the contents. 

“Noodles, sweet!” He half-whispered to himself. 

His hand moved, gesturing out towards Dust. More of his strings shot past, from somewhere in the room, and clutched the jug before tugging it back inside with a flick of Error’s free hand. 

“Ccino told me to tell you: Drink that water. You’ll get dehydrated.” Dust voiced, watching unbothered as the jug was tugged back and out of his view. 

Error glanced up at him, and scoffed. Ccino had been doing his best to get Error to drink more tea with him because tea had water. Error was fine! He didn’t need as much water or food as an average monster, it was normal! Besides, he’d forget about it anyways. 

“Okay. Thanks!” he said anyways. Though, it was mostly thanks for the food. Error loved when Ccino made noodles. They were always buttery, and Error wasn’t sure how he always made something that looked so bland taste so good. …Now his mouth was watering. Maybe he was a little hungry after all. 

Error waited for Dust to start making his decent back down the stairs, but when he saw the monster was still stood still and quiet, he raised a brow. Was there something else? Had to be. He hoped Dust didn’t want inside. Error had all the plans to devour this food and then dive headfirst back into his project. He didn’t want to be distracted. 

“One more message.” Dust said, watching Error. His white eyelights were clear under his hood. Error didn’t think he was wearing his mask, but even with the soft glow from his web of strings he couldn’t tell in the shadows. Didn’t matter to him either way. 

“King Nightmare’s rescheduling your next… report.” Dust said plainly.

At that, Error felt his soul stop a bit in his chest. “Why?” He asked without thinking. The King had been listening and seemed interested during his last report! He’d made a lot of progress since then too, finished one of them enough that they could test it! The King had said he was excited to see it! Surely he hadn’t been tossed aside so quickly?

Dust seemed unphased by his demand of an answer. 

“The King is just taking time to rest. Last project wore him out.” Dust explained, before he added, “Ccino’s orders. Like drinking your water.” 

Error couldn’t tell, not really, but he was pretty sure the knight was grinning at that last part. Ha ha, very funny. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Error was pretty sure the entire castle knew that Ccino guy was in charge of keeping the King in check. Heck, when he’d first been brought in, the King looked worried about introducing him to that Ccino. Error never knew why, they’d gotten along great! 

But, if it was Ccino telling the King to take a break? He figured that the King was probably listening. Fair enough. His soul calmed down a little at the rationalization. 

“Oh, alright.” Error said finally, “Do you… know when he’ll want the next report by, then?” 

He could still plan, right? Maybe it was only a few days. 

“Mm, pretty sure Ccino said next month? Gotta catch up on some things. You live here.” Dust replied. 

Oh. Okay. Hmm. That was… a lot longer than he’d been hoping for. He could probably manage, though. Keep chugging away at his current project, maybe have time to draft a new one. Bigger? But, wait, the King wanted him to propose any bigger ones to him first. Supposedly he’d be allowed unlimited creative liberties, it was more so if something exploded he’d know what happened, but still. He didn’t want to break the few rules he had. Old projects then! Make them the best ever! 

He blinked in surprise when the little ping tingled in his skull. 

Dust had turned around without him noticing, a hand extended to just barely nudge one of his hanging strings. He didn’t look back as he spoke. 

“Gotta get back to rounds. G’night Error.” He said.

Error watched, disoriented for a second, before he nodded to himself. 

“Good night, Sir Dust!” He returned hurriedly.

He watched as the knight started moving, and entirely silently he descended the steps. Only when he had turned the curve out of sight and his shadow disappeared from the wall where torches below cast it, did he pull the door shut and return inside his room. 

His steps echoed against the stone floor until he returned to the cushioned rug, and then moved even further past that to one of his low-hanging hammocks. 

It was tucked beside a bookshelf that the King had let him stock with whatever books he liked from the library during his first week. The room had been cold and bare, obviously unlived in for a while, and Error didn’t exactly have a lot to move in. Just his spare clothes, the (now empty) pouch he’d been using to store his coin, and the dolls. He’d refused to remove those from his bag until he was alone, though, so he’d really had nothing to call his own. The King had given him the opportunity to collect items like books from the library, had let him choose some items from an incoming shipment of trading goods, and had sent someone to buy any equipment Error might need to advance his magic and creations. 

And, for the most part, Error was very self-sufficient. He’d had time to knit himself new clothes, and blankets, and decorate the room entirely with his magic. He spent a lot of time up in the high ceiling too, it was where he kept his dolls, and the projects, and all his important belongings. Everyone once in a while, though, he liked the bookshelf wall. Especially when he was eating. It was just easier to remember not to just hang up the plate among his projects. 

Ccino’s cooking was always delicious, Error would never not look forward to a meal made by him, even if it was the lamest sounding food ever. He’d managed to make brussel sprouts tolerable. A feat, honestly. The tastiness and warmth that spread through him couldn’t distract him from his worries, though. 

Error knew he’d have to work hard to make sure the King was impressed. But also not too bothered by it. He knows his explosive spells used to make his professors and tutors angry, and while the King had been nice about it so far, if he was tired? Error wouldn’t want to push the limits. But if he was too simply about it or lackluster, the King might be upset he was wasting his time? Ohhh. At least he had a month to work and try things out before then. Hopefully he could have an idea at that point. Hopefully. 

…

Ten days. 

Error had given it about 5 days after the time that the report was originally meant to happen, five days after Dust told him it’d been rescheduled, before he felt like he might go stir-crazy. Not because he was worried, but because of the exact opposite. He had his few other ongoing projects, mostly if not entirely completed, up to the King’s review. But he’d also developed another, newer, concept that he just knew would brighten the King’s mood. 

Dust had been the one periodically bringing him food still, he hadn’t seen Ccino, and Error didn’t dare pry too far. All he’d been told was that the King was still swamped with duties and was locking himself in his study to complete his duties. 

Now, Error was not one to talk about unhealthy work ethic, not in the slightest, but he figured it couldn’t be fun. The things the King was doing weren’t exciting or engaging like Error’s projects were, they were all papers and about talking to people. Error dreaded the idea of sitting alone in a room, trying to figure out something stupid like which roads a guy should walk or what people thought of him. Sounded stressful. 

So, Error had made something to make the King feel less bad! Less cooped up! 

Originally he had wanted to wait until his report, but he’d been so invested in making this that it’d only taken him a day, and his miniature prototypes had worked perfectly, so the larger one was ready in just a day or two! He’d really really tried to convince himself to be patient but… The King had liked him because he was bold! And did things he didn’t expect! And Error didn’t want to lose that reputation. If the King wouldn’t come to him, he’d just go to the King! 

That was the thought process, of course, which had led him to the entryway to the King’s royal wing. Then past it and the guards standing watch. Then to standing right infront of the door to the King’s study. 

He knew it was the study because he’d been inside once before. The King usually met with him up in the tower, but they had met down in his study once, to talk about the revised contract. It had been a long, boring conversation which involved the King asking Error to repeat his words back to him at certain points (the King had caught him spacing out several times, but never scolded him) to make sure he was actually listening. Something about making sure Error was safe and had other options? The King seemed super serious about making sure Error was okay, just because he was a kid, but he wasn’t a kid anymore! He was 13 by the time he signed, basically a whole adult! 

But, point is, Error had spent at least an hour or two in there listening to the King talk. He knew where this room was. 

Staring at the door was… a little imposing. What was his plan again? Burst inside? 

Yeah. If he knocked, someone would send him away. Just like at the try-outs. He had to just commit and walk in. The King had said in the contract that Error was always welcome to come to him if he needed something. And right now? Error needed his attention. 

He reached out, grabbing the big handle in one hand as he clutched his satchel with the other. He twisted it, and the moment it processed that it wasn’t locked, he pushed it inwards and slipped inside. He blindly shut it in his wake, just in-case someone tried to push him outside. 

Leaning against the door, his eyelights shot around to take in the room. 

No one was charging at him, and no one was rushing to yell at him. Good. Good. He-

“Error?” 

Well that wasn’t a voice he recognized! 

Error abandoned his skim of the room to search for the origin of the voice, and found himself staring wide-eyed at a monster across the room. This monster was a skeleton, their bones white, they seemed short, and skinny, and their one socket was wide in surprise with a single cyan eyelight, the other empty and seemingly gone dark. They stared at each-other. 

This odd skeleton, Error noticed, wore the King’s clothes. To a tee, the cloak, the shirt, the pants. The shoes looked different, but the pants covered them enough that Error couldn’t quite tell on a quick glance. That, and this skeleton had the King’s circlet resting on their skull, crescent moon plastered right in the center of their forehead. 

Error would’ve doubted the conclusion his mind came to, if it weren’t for the fact that he noticed this skeleton was not the only other one in the room. A quick glance revealed that Ccino was sat nearby to the skeleton, resting on one of the chairs around the coffee table. Error had been able to pick up that Ccino didn’t relax much at all. Especially not around strangers. 

“King Nightmare?” He asked back, staring at the monster across the room still. 

The way the monster seemed to flinch at the title told Error he was right. This was the King! 

A lot of questions flooded his mind, but they were beat-out by a sudden flood of curiosity. He hurried across the room, rapidly approaching the King, until they were stood just a few feet apart. He didn’t even notice Ccino’s worried ‘ah, ah wait-’ or the way the King had to refrain from stepping away. He just saw his suspicions were correct. 

“You’re… shorter.” He voiced, stupidly. 

He wasn’t wrong! The King was now shorter than him by at least half a head! Before the mass of dark magic that was the King had been taller than him by a lot, and he was tall for his age, but now! Now he was tiny! He wasn’t sure what to do with this information besides be delighted. He was used to being taller than people, but taller than a king? Now that was more his speed!

It took a few seconds for it to finally hit Error that the King did… not look happy. He didn’t look mad, but Error knew that was not an expression people would give when they were happy. His brows were furrowed a bit, his mouth tugged down ever so slightly at the corners, his shoulders were tense. 

“I- Yes, I am a bit… shorter. Than usual.” The King replied, “May I ask why you’re, ah, here, Mage Error?” 

Error blinked at him for a second. Right! He was here for a reason! 

“Oh! I just finished a lot of my projects, and I know that the report was rescheduled, but I made something I thought you would really like, and I…” He trailed off a moment as he realized Nightmare was staring at him. Had he done something wrong? 

Nightmare was still watching him, but seemed more alarmed that Error had stopped talking. He wasn’t sure he liked being able to read the King’s expressions like this. Usually, the king had a poker-face worthy of a family game night, only breaking when he was pleased and smiled. Now his expressions were so obvious even Error could read them. It was strange. 

“...Please, continue. A project?” The King seemed to catch himself and prompted. His expression schooled again, though it looked like he had to put in some effort. Eyelight flickering away from Error before shooting back to him. 

Error hesitated for a second, but ultimately continued. 

“I just… Thought that if I came to find you it wouldn’t take too long to show you, and then you wouldn’t be stuck doing just all your paperwork all day.” He was a bit more reserved than he’d meant to be when he presented the idea, both his hands now clutching the strap on his satchel. “I mean. If you’re that busy I can always. I can come back.” He paused again, “Or I- I- I can wait until my report day. Like I… probably should have.” 

He didn’t like the way his voice had stuttered and lagged at the end as he became more uncertain. He glanced over at Ccino. 

The older skeleton was watching between them wordlessly, looking a lot more tense than when Error had first seen him. Like he was waiting for something to happen. His eyelights were plastered on the King. Who was staring at Error intently. 

“Is this project something which you could share inside the study? I… wasn’t intending on leaving my hall today.” the King asked him in an oddly gentle tone. His voice slowed the same way as usual, but it was strange to hear it in such a high voice. 

Error’s hands wrung the strap of his satchel as he thought. “It’s. Ah. Explosive. It’d have to be outside.” He admitted in defeat. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that the King might not want to abandon his work to go look at Error’s spells. Thinking back, they did probably all look pretty silly to the King. He was really good at magic. Just like Dust was. “It can wait.” he added briefly. 

The silence that followed only lasted a second or two, enough for Error to furrow his brow and feel that little hint of indignation that used to plague him, the one that made him so mad at everyone. What was he thinking? He was good at magic too! Maybe not as good as the King, but certainly he was powerful, his magic wasn’t bad or a waste. Those instructors back at the academy were wrong, he knew so, he had to stop thinking about what they’d thought of him.

Error found himself glaring at the floor when a sound snapped his attention upwards. A fizzling sound and a little groan from the King. The King had gripped his skull, covering the socket with the cyan eyelight and turning away from Error’s view in a snap. 

That fizzling noise had sounded… unhealthy, to put it plainly. It didn’t help that Ccino finally spoke up, a little ‘My King?’ worriedly ringing out from the chair where Ccino had planted himself. The King had hunched himself forwards a bit to clutch at his socket, like he was trying to hold in pain. 

Was… was the king sick? Was that why he looked like this? Initially he’d assumed the dark energy had been a glamor. Some kind of magical enhancement to shield him, to make him more fearsome, even to cover up stunted growth. This must’ve been what he looked like normally, right? But. If that were true, the King would’ve just called it back onto his person or had Ccino usher him out. If he was sick, though? He might not be able to control that magic. Might be limited in its output, or even barred from access…

Error would’ve asked him, but his eyes moved curiously to the mirror instead. The reflection gave Error a perfect view of the King’s other side. The way the magic in his palm was flickering and sparking. Between- Between colors. The cyan Error was familiar with, and a soft purple that he’d never seen. 

He must’ve been right, on some level, because he realized it. He couldn’t sense the King’s magic. 

Or, at least, he couldn’t sense any magic that was active. The King’s magic worked like an aura, at least as far as Error had seen of it. Wide-spread, curling around anyone and anything it liked like a vine, and strangling what it didn’t like a noose. He wasn’t as good at seeing magic or feeling it as his brother, but he knew when a magical signature was missing, and he could feel familiar ones. The magic that the King was using to make his eyelight flicker? It was familiar, if only faintly, but it wasn’t his normal magic. Not by a longshot. There was very little intent, and what there was felt. Strange. Desperate, almost. 

“It’s alright. I’m fine, just a hiccup.” The King said, clearly responding to Ccino. 

It took a few deep breaths before the King righted himself, and Error watched as he peeked at the mirror first. He saw that the King’s eyelight was cyan again, but only partly. The bottom portion was still that lavender, and he hissed under his breath before covering his socket with his hand again. 

That same fizzling noise again, but muffled. Error watched, clearly, as the King’s face momentarily contorted with pain, before going still again. 

That couldn’t be healthy, whatever he was doing. His brother had told him all sorts of horror stories about things going wrong with magic at his academy. People who would change their appearance, and they would do it poorly, with adverse effects on their body. He got a chill.

“I- I- can wait. The project can wait.” Error muttered over the sound of that magic fizzling and popping over the King’s socket. 

He didn’t waste any time, even as he was pretty sure the King turned to call him back. He was already to the door, and then out of the door, and then hurrying down the hall. 

No one in the castle actually cared what he was up to, so he wasn’t exactly careful as he hurried down the halls and back to the tall tower which was his. When he passed the entryway, hsi strings caught his arms and tugged him up and over the dozens of spiraling stairs, straight to his doorway. He practically spun inside and retreated to the rafters among his projects to disperse the ones he’d placed into his satchel. 

…

It was childish, but Error felt faint about what he’d seen. He wasn’t sure why, but his head hurt just thinking about it. Altering appearance wasn’t something unheard of, or even really frowned about in his circles. But the magic the King had been doing was unfamiliar and strange. Not just something to alter the appearance of his magic, but something else. Something that was unnatural.

He tugged a string directly from his socket as he hung alone in the rafters, and saw the way that it hung from his fingertips. Blue, a deep one. Monster souls shouldn’t have traits, most didn’t, at least not the way human souls do. Magic, however, tends to manifest in a way that reflects its owner. Error had seen the way a white soul produced bright red magic. His own manifested as a dark blue. Integrity, he’d been told. It was reflecting on how he saw himself as well, he never gave up, he always walked his own path. Those who’d met him could certainly vouch for that. 

As far as he’d known, the King’s magic was cyan. Somewhere between Patience and Kindness, which made sense to him. The King had certainly been kind, offering him this job despite the rules, and he was patient too. Letting Error go on and on and on about his creations. He’d never doubted that those were accurate traits. Now, though? Now the King seemed to be sporting Purple. Purple was not a color which Error had ever seen from him. And it seemed the King must’ve thought the same thing of himself.

Error took a breath as he moved the string so it sat hovering between his index finger and his thumb, the ends clinging with residual, pliable, magic. With his other hand, he pinched the end nearest to his thumb and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t think about it often, but his strings were just that, made up of plenty of little threads, all woven together in just the right way which pleased Error. Texture and thickness which he liked and relied on to hold his weight, keep his projects secure, it was unlike any threads seen in the rest of the world. All his own. It’d taken him time to perfect it, though. Each new string, a new pattern and new density, until a few years ago when he’d figured it out. If he was right, though, he could mimic other styles. Other existing patterns. Other existing colors of magic.

He let his grip slide an inch or so down the string, concentrating as the fibers snapped and rearranged themselves. He furrowed his brow as he recalled the method to make a rope, the braids and twists and tension involved. Each strand felt like he was mentally moving a ten pound weight, and his concentration wavered when he realized his fingers were growing warm. Then, a few more seconds, another inch, and it felt like his fingertips would burst into flame. He hissed and opened his eyes, retracting his hand to see what sort of abomination he’d made. 

Half the string was still that familiar deep blue, but the portion near his thumb was a bright yellow. Thick, three times as thick as the blue, and with the appearance of a rope. It trembled and shook with tension, the portion where Error had given up being a strange and ugly, frayed mass of blue and yellow strands, some portions a muddled green at the exact mid-point. 

The sight made Error wince, and he pulled his fingers apart, the frayed portion snapping easily. The blue strand fell limp into his palm, while the yellow strand began to unravel. Quickly. LIttle chunks of burnt-out thread exploded like confetti, turning white or back to that blue color. It spun and spun until Error was left with little chunks of blue magic thread stuck to the fabric of his shirt and floating to the floor below him. The yellow magic he’d imbued, all the intent pushed behind it, wasn’t nearly enough to keep it steady or in place. Even if he’d finished the entire strand and burnt his fingers to do it, it wouldn’t have held up a small rock, let alone anything important. It was useless.

His little test, he realized, didn’t even cover the severity of the situation. He’d used strings, something he’d removed from his person. The King was doing that… to his own socket. 

How long had he been doing that? If Cyan wasn’t his natural magic, how much strain had he been under? For how long? 

It was none of his business, he reminded himself. The King was an adult, with a lot of advisors and strong magic users and people like Ccino. He had people who would tell him to stop. Error didn’t have the whole picture, surely. It wasn’t his place to worry about it. It just… rubbed him the wrong way. It bothered him. 

…And now he had two things to sulk about. Great. 

…

Ping

There it was again. 

Honestly, Error hadn’t expected anyone to come to see him again so soon. It’d hardly been a few hours since he attempted to visit the King, and it must’ve been dark by now. Who was coming up past dinner time? 

He eased himself down from where he’d placed himself in the rafters, and stood in front of his large door for a second, before opening it up to peek out. 

And. Outside, in the dimly lit corridor, was… The King. 

Or, at least, it looked like the King? Same clothes, same height as he’d seen earlier in the day, and his eyelight was cyan once again. Only, this time he couldn’t see the King’s expressions. He was wearing a mask. Error had to blink to process it. An owl, round and dark, with big eye holes right at the right level for the King’s sockets. It reminded Error a little bit of the fluffy owls he used to see outside his window, the ones just barely out the nest still losing their fluffy baby feathers. Was… Was it heresy to think the King was small and cute? Probably. Very absurd thought, compared to the haunting dark mass he usually was. Maybe that was why he disguised?

“Mage Error,” The King greeted, voice calm as it usually was, “I am aware that this is an impromptu visit, but may I come in? I realize I did not attend to you as I should have earlier, and I wish to rectify this mistake.” His cyan eyelight watched upwards, and Error stared down at him for a moment through the crack in the door. 

He glanced past him, too. But it seemed like the King was entirely alone. Just like he tended to be. 

Error swung open the door, pulling himself out of the way along with it. It wasn’t like he was going to say no to the King, but he wasn’t nearly as excited as usual. What should he do? Say? Obviously something was up with the King, but was Error supposed to say anything? Or was the King just here to make sure Error stayed out of trouble? Adults did that a lot back in the day when he got on their nerves. 

His thoughts persisted as the King entered the space. Error shut the door behind him and watched idly for a breath. The King was moving oddly. Like he was faint. His steps were just ever so slightly uneven and he seemed to wobble ever so slightly as he moved to sit at the unoccupied chair before Error’s desk. What was wrong with him? 

Error started moving, shifting away the items he’d once again strewn out on the floor back to the shadows of the rafters, and instead lowering a set of strings which held his hammock and a wooden board he much preferred to a table. The King watched as the items lowered, just like he always did, but the table was empty as Error hoisted himself to sit on the edge of the hammock across from the ruler. 

“You… have questions, right?” Nightmare voiced.

The King was looking at the empty surface suspended before the both of them, and Error realized he hadn’t even moved to gather his projects. For some reason he was hesitant to bring them up again. 

“Can I? Ask you stuff?” Error questioned uncertainly. “Adults usually don’t like when I start asking questions.” He admitted. 

The King looked up to him, before he sighed and nodded. “Ask anything you like.”

That was… an odd allowance. Error wasn’t used to that either. Usually the King was the one letting him talk, and talk, and talk, and his questions had never been about. Well. The King himself. Just about the knights, or the tapestries, or the food. Never about the King. 

“Why are you small?” The burning question was the one he had to get out of his head. He had theories, but the King was the only one who could confirm or deny them. 

The King was quiet for a brief second, before he brought a hand to his mask. It hovered there as he chuckled, though to Error it sounded a lot more like a giggle.

“It is a… complicated story. I’m still not quite sure myself, but I will share with you what I know as to how I came to be this way.” The King moved a hand behind his skull, tucking it beneath his hood, and tugged at a pretty silk ribbon. A purple one, Error noted. “It’s the least i can do.” 

The mask fell forward into the King’s awaiting hand, and once again Error was met by the image of that clean and soft white bone. The rounded face he didn’t recognize. His expression was neutral, schooled, careful.

“I know you are not from Orchard, nor are you familiar with the traditions of our kingdom. However, you recall the story of my upbringing, and my twin, correct?” He asked, and Error nodded. He recalled decently that there had been twin princes, the King, Nightmare, and his brother, Dream or something? He’d been asking about the tapestries and the King had told him how the two of them had grown up really close, and how he ended up with the throne in the end, banishing his twin so he wouldn’t steal the crown or something. 

“Good. Well. My coronation was not actually mine. It was that of my twin. Dream. He was the crown prince, but I had found word of a great cost to completing the ritual, and I was sure he would be hurt by the process.” The King explained. “The power of the kingdom is passed from generation to generation through the soul. Each King’s soul warps and changes, taking the shape of an apple, golden and shining with a seemingly divine magic. When my mother gave up her soul for Dream to eat, to inherit her title, I…” 

The king trailed off for a breath, and Error felt his insides twist a bit. Eating a soul? That was… a concept. Fascinating, but also he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which someone would actually follow through with it. Of course eating an entire other monster’s soul would provide a magic boost, just like when monsters absorbed human souls, or humans overloaded on magic.

“I stole it from him and completed the ritual myself.” So, maybe that was why he was sick? “The ritual, as it was meant to do, provided me with power beyond myself, yes, but it also altered my mind and physical form. I aged significantly, something I had always assumed was due to the overwhelming force of the gifted magic. In a matter of moments I was old, my mind more clear and sharp. The way you knew me before was the shape I was meant to hold. That I expected to stay.” The King rubbed a hand against his good socket, the other gently resting over the mask sat on his lap. “Several weeks ago, I collapsed. And when I awoke, I had taken on this form again, and it seems my mind is reverted as well. Both have returned, aside from my memories, back to the exact condition that they were on the day of my coronation. So, I find myself back in my youth, and small as a result.”

He seemed to pause for a second, before puffing a sigh, “Or, almost the exact condition. It seems a wound I suffered the same day didn’t ever quite heal.” He ghosted over his empty socket and the cracks running up and out of sight beneath his hood.

Error stared at him a second, and he blinked in confusion. That was a lot of wacky magic shenanigans, and that was coming from him of all monsters, but he was processing something that had been glossed over.

“Wait, so how old are you?” Error questioned, confused.

The King blinked at his question, before Error caught sight of something he didn’t quite expect to see today. A slight lavender blush dusted the King’s cheekbones. Error’s not even sure the King noticed he’d done it. 

“That’s a… tricky question I’ve been trying to decipher. However, as far as my development and mental state are concerned, I regrettably appear to be 13.” 

The King seemed ashamed to admit it, but Error found his mind working a bit faster than he’d meant it to be. The weak aura, the weird magic, the short height, the baby face, the higher voice, all of it! He’d heard of cases like this. Not usually between monsters, but often when monsters would overtake too much magic, or too many supplements, or strain their bodies, they could take on a higher form before reverting. Usually it only affected the amount of magic they could harness, and no one had ever sustained one long enough to actually age before releasing it, but it wasn’t an impossible idea. If the King had been operating on borrowed magic? It was entirely possible that there was a sort of stasis provided to him. Especially since Error was pretty sure he never ever got hurt. 

Part of him wished he’d paid more attention to the books on the shelves back home. His brother would eat this up. Soul-based research with an abnormally long-lasting period? Oh boy…

“That’s cool!” Error blurted without really thinking about it. 

The King seemed to actually flinch about it, cyan eyelight looking wide at Error form across the makeshift table. 

“I- What do you mean?” The King questioned, obviously confused and shocked. 

Error frowned a bit. Did the King really not realize how much skill that takes to pull something like that amount of magic transfer off? Error’s not even sure he could do something like that, and all without losing himself to this other invasive magic?

“King Nightmare, it sounds like you were a torch holding a really really hot fire and you didn’t even get burnt. I’ve never heard of someone using magic like that.” And he blinked as he suddenly perked up, “You’re young too! We’re like each other! Doing cool new magic things that no one wanted us to do! Well, I mean, you want me to do it, but- That’s not the point!” 

Error actually leaned forward a bit so his elbows planted on his knees, and he squinted at the King. “I bet I’m older now too, that’d be really cool. What season is your birthday?” He’d not seen the King celebrate his birthday since he’d been there, but then again, the King was always busy, and Error didn’t pay attention much. 

The King seemed taken aback, but still spoke, “My birthday is in the spring, but-”

Error lit up at that, “Yes! I am older!” he exclaimed excitedly to himself. He’d never had anyone younger than him to hang around before! Granted, he’d met other kids at the academy, but they hadn’t liked him much. 

His grinning was cut a bit short when the King stammered from the seat across from him again. 

“Mage Error, I- I’m glad to see this news isn’t distressing you, but I please ask you to consider my next few words.” The King was watching him, and Error tried to tone down the smile gracing his face. “News of my… state is not being circulated just yet. Orchard is still recovering from centuries of mistreatment under my bloodline’s rule, and I am nowhere near to being able to restore the kingdom as I had planned. My goals will likely only bring more turmoil and frustration to the people, and while assassinations and other sabotage have rarely graced these halls, if word gets out of my newfound weakened form? This castle, this entire kingdom, could be thrown to chaos.” The King’s tone was very serious, and it sounded tired. “You, Error, are not officially my mage, but to prying eyes your studies here fill that same purpose. I was willing to take you in when I was sure I had the power to protect you, but I can’t provide that security any more.”

“Before I came here, I reviewed our contract. At the loss of my protection, you are welcome to request an indefinite leave of absence from the position, and I will have one of my knights accompany you anywhere you wish to go and ensure you arrive safely. I do not want to put you in danger due to my search for reform. You have no obligations to stay in this place nor risk your life for it.” The King’s voice was steady as he said it. “You do not have to give me an answer this moment, but I needed to inform you so that you have a full understanding of your options.” 

Error’s grin had faded about halfway through the King’s speech, and he could already feel the fuzzy numbness creeping up one of his legs as he tried to keep himself from lashing out. Dust had talked to him about that. His reactiveness. 

“King Nightmare, I’m not going anywhere.” he declared, crossing his arms with a huff. “That dumb contract you made me read also said I can stay as long as I want the position. And I want the position.” And the food, and the tower, and the courtyard, and the knights, and the King who listened to him talk about his explosives. “I don’t care if you’re short or have purple magic or whatever,” the King flinched at that, “ You’re still really smart and you have a bunch of really strong people you’re in charge of. Including me, by the way.” 

He was almost offended. He was strong! He was dangerous! The King had always praised him for ingenuity and sheer force of will placed behind each of his projects, and Error took pride in that. He was strong, and powerful, and he wanted to do fun experiments and help the King. Almost more now that he knew that the King was some twig of a monster. Now he didn’t have to worry about lame old people bossing him around. 

The King seemed to lean forward ever so slightly in the chair he was sat in, and Error didn’t shy away. If this was a battle of the wills, he wouldn’t be-

A sniffle. 

Error jolted when the King pulled his hands up to his skull and hastily dragged his sleeves against his sockets. Was he crying??

“Ah- Forgive me!” The King said in a small voice, “Emotional regulation, another damning loss from my sudden form alteration. I’ve been lucky I hadn’t embarrassed myself sooner.” He practically teased himself. 

Error let his body stop tensing, and he noticed the uncomfortable fuzzy feeling had fled in the aftermath of his bold declaration. If he’d had any doubts before that this King was actually as he said, this was the final sign. The King had never showed so much emotion before. 

“I think it’s fine. I get mad all the time and you never mind.” Error voiced, though he wasn’t sure how welcome it would be. 

At that the king laughed, and Error grinned to himself, looking away from the scene. He didn’t like it when people saw him cry. He understood that one all too well. 

A silence fell between them. Error wasn’t going anywhere, he’d made that abundantly clear. The King wouldn’t be sending him away, either. It went unsaid, but it was there in the agreement they’d made just hardly a year prior. The King never went back on his deals.

“Mage Error, I believe you wanted to show me something earlier. Now that it is dark, I believe I would be willing to have Horror accompany us out to the courtyard so I may observe.” 

Error glanced back to the King, and saw that he was looking up at the darkened ceiling. As though trying to predict when a string would lower down his newest creations. 

“Oh, actually I bet we can do it here. From the balcony, I mean. It goes up into the sky, so it shouldn’t hurt anything.” he said, his excitement gaining momentum once again. “I actually made test ones this time too, just to make sure!” 

Error swung backwards out of his hammock, and let the strings above him loosen to drop the item into his awaiting hands. 

The King rose from his seat, walking a bit strangely still, but nothing which bothered Error much. He was more interested in the curious face of his ruler as he approached Error near the balcony exit. Error wasn’t one to use his balcony often, he didn’t even have strings set up to pull the curtains aside, so he lifted one back so that the King could pass by, and he followed himself shortly after. 

The balcony was a thick one, reinforced underneath by large wooden and stone beams, the railing thick enough that one could sit along it like a high-stakes bench. Error did just that, pulling himself up so his feet dangled over the edge. The King remained back, hood pulled tight to his skull as the night winds attempted to tug it away from him. It took a few moments before he joined Error near to the edge, leaning on the balcony which was just ever so slightly too tall for him. His arms rested at chin-height and he seemed to be debating whether to rest his chin on them like an arm rest. 

Error watched from over his shoulder, and grinned to himself as he secured the little invention with his strings before holding it out for the King to see in the moonlight that illuminated the darkness. Them, the castle grounds below, the mountainside and the sprawling hills and valleys beyond. 

“I’ve seen people make these before with gun-powder, they always glowed red, though. So I infused some magic into the canister and the projectiles, and they should do something fun.” Error explained excitedly, pointing out different locations on the thing held in his strings. Long, slender, a mix between a crossbow and a cannon, but tiny. Only the length of his forearm. “Best thing, it should be quiet!” He’d noticed that some of the knights didn’t like when his explosions made loud noises, and a lot of guards came rushing the first few times he’d set off his creations. 

The King examined it for a few moments longer, before he nodded silently. 

Error snickered before he pulled it back into his grip and aimed it up and out. Away from the tower, where it should’ve been just over the large, round, open space in the center of the castle. High in the sky. 

He shifted, dragging his fingers along the surface, the long portion lighting up and flinging something from the end of the device. A little ball of pure white. Up, up, up.

It exploded. 

Error laughed in triumph as the night sky above the palace was set ablaze with a collection of little shimmering lights, like falling stars in all shades of blue and green and purple and white flying everywhere before going dark. His eyelights shot back to the King as he loaded the next round, and he was delighted to see that the single cyan eyelight was plastered on the smoky after-effect left by the burning magic. He desperately wanted to start telling the King all about how he’d done such a genius thing, but he found himself simply hefting the little device up once again and firing into the open darkness instead.

[lanschpaket]

Caitlyn Kiramman & Vi (Color/Character analysis S02 Act 1+2) 2/2

I had another thought while analysing the first part and wasn't originially planing this to be 2 parts. But at one point this following thought just didn't fit there anymore and that's why I write about it in this 2nd post

We all remember S01E08:

I want to interpret a little further into this and combine this with the color analysis I did with Caitlyn. In S01 both Vi and Caitlyn can be seen as opposites from the very beginning already. One is from top side, the other from bottom side. One is hot tempered, the other cool tempered. And the thing Vi herself says that they're Oil and water.

I personally like to believe that Vi is Oil and Caitlyn stands for water. Why do I think that? For Vi it's because - Oil is greasy and associated with dirt, many people would say that about Zaun. That's where Vi is from - Oil is also very flammable, so combined with fire it gets really dangerous. Vi has a very short fuse and will easily and very quickly reside to violence. Also fire is associated with red, and her main color is pink/red-ish For Caitlyn it's because - Water is mostly associated with being pure and clean, which you would say about Piltover. That's where Caitlyn is from - Water is adaptable. Many associations with water go into calm and tranquil. Caitlyn is mostly very calm about things and thinks first and will not be heading into something without thinking. Also her being a marksman gives her the skill to be very calm, so that way she does land her perfect shots even in extreme situations. Also water is associated with blue and her main color is blue I'm laying all this out for a further analysis for the things in S02. Through the course of S01 Act 3 and S02 Act 1, a lot of extreme situations happen and they both have to deal with all of them somehow. These situations would definitely shake up a personality, which would also lead to a change of it.

In Vi's case I would say her hot temperedness calms down. And I also kinda thing that a big part of her just gave up on it all. She has no goal anymore and doesn't see any light at the end of the tunnel. So what is there even to fight for. When everything she tried fighting for was lost in the end no matter how hard she tried. This is visible in her apperance:

Vi loses her red, her drive and fighting spirit. The latter is something that slowly goes out as she step by step even loses the brawls she's fighting in. But it's not entirely gone. It's still there, dormant or just shoved aside. But it will never truly be gone, cause it's a big part of her to fight for things when they're important to her. And I think that's a part of her she can never lose. Now for Caitlyn, as I already explained in Part 1 her design integrates more red over the course of S02. We know that she is slowly residing more and more to violence. Therefore we see her add more and more red to her and also the scene framing supports this:

For better stills on her red cloak or the red on her in general in S02, take a look at the other post ;3 Caitlyn is more and more pulled into the attitude towards dealing with the entire conflict of Piltover and Zaun that Ambessa has. With reinforcements and violence. But then again, Cait never really loses herself. She still wears her Enforcer uniform and at some point lays down the cloak, return to a self that kinda is just out for personal justice and not wanting to drag others in that don't deserve to be treated badly. Her sense of justice and right or wrong returns after she reunites forces with Vi. I think the encounter gave Caitlyn back her calm and to figure out what's really important to fight for and how her past actions were wrong. And on the other hand Cait brings Vi back the fighting spirit she lost. Both of them combining their new stand on things, makes them overcome past struggles they were trying to cope with and move on together. Not everything is fixed, but this is the first step into the right direction for them both.

Which is important now, because now that these two are teamed up again, they start fighting against "the red", which is Ambessa and all her plans she wants to execute. All things Ambessa is trying to get to are things that oppose both Vi and Cait. On one hand Ambessa is trying to take away Vi's dad and on the other hand Ambessa is risking peace and restoration for both Piltover and Zaun, in ways that aren't true justice in Caitlyn's eyes, because to her peace should not come through violent acts. Which takes me back to her talking to Ekko in S01 (which I also mentioned in the 1rst post). It would just be a vicious cyle, and this has to end. And both Vi and Cait go on about in a way they would never have back then with themselves during S01 Act 3 and S02 Act 1. They learned so much and changed together in a way. I think I lost some thoughts along the way and over the course of the day, cause there were a couple of hours between the first post and this one. But I think I stated most of my thoughts that came to me. Thanks for reading and I just want to say: I love this show so much. It's soooooo guuuuudddd and I need more. But at the same time I'm not prepared and am super scared. How are my emotions holding up? They're not. I'm running in circles, this show is driving me crazy xD

[starbuck]

i say i like tragedies and everyone’s all like ‘why do you like sad stories? are you depressed?’ and never ‘how was the catharsis? was the catharsis fun?’

[hawkinasock]

The file crashes everytime I try to edit it, so this will likely remain unfinished until I have a better device. Thought I'd post the wip to commemorate Yanqing being amazing in 2.5 <3

(Redraw of that one Dungeon Meshi scene iykyk)

[borrelia]

ended up using frozen instead of canned peas btw. not the fancy ones, just normal sweet peas. so I added some butter and cornstarch after mashing them to thicken them up. and I kept the hashbrown patties for later: this time I cut and fried my own potato patties. used this video for figuring out the patties, but used 200mL milk + 500mL water and an actually sensible amount of pepper and paprika for the batter. idk why, not like it made a big difference.

buttered warmed bun, peas, potato, salt and vinegar, bun 2.

review: actually kind of nice? I think it would be better if my patty was crispier, but yeah it's just kind of a pleasant warm meal. the pea soaks into my bun a little too much, but not an unreasonable amount. could just be about choosing the right kind of bun. just tastes like nice warm salted thing. the vinegar is a must too, definitely brightens it up. the pea and the butter seem to be doing the same thing here--I get a faint amount of pea flavor, which is actually very pleasant, but I think I'm mostly getting butter from the bread. saw a food review the other day abt homemade wigan kebab with peas and he said the peas don't add much, except "sunshine and happiness." ykw man, I'll agree with you. I think this would be lesser without them.

saving this for a reheatable carby lunch for later :)

obsessed with the trawlerman video again. i could make a smack barm pey wet at home....

[venus-is-thinking]

DRDT Chapter 2 Episode 14: Initial Thoughts

What an episode! I can't believe that we're probably starting to near the end of the Trial. But, considering we're almost there, we DEFINITELY have a lot to talk about. It's a longer episode, and there's a LOT to go over, so buckle in!

SPOILER WARNING FOR DRDT CH 2 PART 2!

T/W: Murder, hanging (with depictions)

The Reactions

Hu is literally so pretty.

I wasn't expecting her to get a whole mechanic defending Nico, but it makes sense. Letting other students cut in during the Class Trial is a great way to draw specific attention to a character point, and it's very clear that Hu's over-defense of Nico is going to be important moving forwards.

RIP to my "using the weight rack as the carousel" theory. The fan probably makes more sense. I just still have no idea how the 300-ish pound or whatever weight rack managed to get knocked over in the struggle.

I'm glad they directly pointed this out. Trying to kill everyone in the Class Trial was the EXACT thing Hu was so pressed about David doing. It's a weird double standard to be so forgiving of Nico when they tried to do the same thing.

Insane thing to say if Eden is the culprit and killed Arei because she didn't believe her. Then again, if my explanation for a lot of Eden Trial dialogue is "she's speaking out of regret for killing Arei now that she knows Arei was being legit," maybe she's just calling herself cruel as well.

This is honestly very valid.

Do you think "here" implies Nico trusts someone in the outside world? Based on their secret, it seems like they probably didn't have many friends. Could also be referring to animals? Or Mai Akasaki?

Big psychic damage to Hu though, considering we know she thrives on other people relying on her. She wants Nico to be someone who relies on her sooo bad, but they just... don't.

Like, girl. They literally JUST said that they don't trust anyone. That includes you.

She's clearly projecting in some way, though, which is definitely an oof. I wonder if Hu wishes she had someone who was undeniably on her side in the past...?

(To be clear: I think Hu is a very well written and interesting character. She fits the fucked up vibes of Despair Time, but coming from a more surprising angle of "that really nice and caring person can also be fucked up." She's just clearly in the wrong here, so I get to clown on her as I clown on everyone else.)

Ace is honestly so valid for this. Like, yeah he's kind of a bully and he sucks sometimes, but. Like. He did almost get murdered and people are, like, mad at him for it? Huh???

If Ace does end up being the Chapter 2 killer because he snapped, I honestly think he's so valid for that.

It is my personal agenda to record every instance of J being notably anti-murder. I don't know where it's going but if it does go somewhere I want my credit because it is Apparent.

(The entire fanbase nods in agreement.)

I know some people definitely still think/thought that Hu and/or Nico was responsible for the crime, so we've all DEFINITELY been squinting at that alibi. I fully believe it's true, but that doesn't change the fact that I wouldn't put it past Hu to make a fake alibi to protect Nico. Idk if Nico would go along with it, though.

I got so jumpscared by the Closing Argument-style CG.

I'm so glad we did get a definitive answer on how this thing worked. I was so afraid that we were just gonna solve the Arei murder method and the exact solution of Ace's would be a "left to audience interpretation" kind of thing.

I'm not exactly sure where the blood on Ace's fingertips comes from? Maybe he cut his hand on the wire when he was trying to struggle after he woke up or something.

This makes so much more sense than anything I saw theorized though, lol. The fan falling from drop hanging totally checks out as a way that the murder mechanism could fail.

I have NO fucking clue why Nico opted for this as the murder mechanism, though. I get wanting to use Hu's wire to frame her, but why didn't you just cut Ace's throat with the wire in the first place???

where did their cape go :(

Potentially suspicious line from Ace? I don't know what he's referring to as "go through all this." Like, maybe just reliving the murder attempt, I guess...? Could also be going through the Class Trial, though, if Ace killed as a result of Nico trying to kill him.

*Levi's secret quote looms*

Things that make me think Nico is either a victim or a survivor. Like, are you really gonna say this and then go try to kill someone else? ...Or Ace again, I guess??

Fun fact: this was actually what guided me to my initial killer picks, before I discussed with anyone else or read any theories! I thought the killer was trying to frame Nico, so it had to be Eden or Ace. The tape and everything else was just what locked it in for me. It's fun to see Teruko follow more or less the same path that I did when I was trying to solve the mystery :)

TAPE TIME :D

The use of the Bound Wrists truth bullet actually really confused me at first bc I didn't realize we were just talking about the tape. I was like, were Arei's wrists bound because Ace's were and it was intended to be another similarity???

Maybe Eden's just being nice, but I find it really suspicious that her instinct after all this time is "didn't MonoTV take it" and not "oh I guess Ace is probably the murderer."

Teruko has now outlined two different ways that it makes sense if the killer was in the gym that night. If I were Eden, and I were innocent, I would be realizing that there's a very small suspect pool left, and I know that I'm not the killer, giving me additional information. Instead, she's questioning the validity of the tape argument, which isn't useful for narrowing down the killer-- it's useful for keeping the suspect pool wider and not leaving herself as one of three (but basically two) options.

I kinda get why people are upset with Rose here, but it's also kind of an oof because they're only mad because Rose is really smart. Like, no one's out here like "oh my god Ace you didn't recognize the tape??" Y'know, because they think he's stupid. Rose has a really good memory, which raises the standards really high, which sets Rose up for failure.

In Rose's defense, she also never saw the tape in Nico's gym murder OR on the carousel for Arei's murder. She only saw the pieces in the trash can, which seemed to be inside out. Against Rose's defense, it would probably have been for the best if she'd gone in to look at the crime scene.

Am I tripping, or is "fish misunderstanding" a weird way for David to phrase this? The misunderstanding with Teruko was assuming that the murder happened last night, which was in fact because of the fish-- but the thing Teruko should have noticed, which makes it Teruko's mistake specifically, was the body swinging.

I'm probably reading into things too hard, but it's so hard with David. What do you know!!!

Damn, Teruko is SPEEDRUNNING this character arc. Considering we basically know she's locked in for all 6 chapters, I'm really surprised to see her making this much progress this fast.

I'm guessing that this means that Teruko is probably due for a major setback sometime sooner or later. But, interestingly, this makes me feel like Teruko realizing that working alone doesn't work isn't her character arc's end destination; it's the willingness to open herself up to caring about others even in the face of the consequences of losing someone you love. Teruko is closing herself off from everyone because she knows she's going to lose them. Maybe her end destination is allowing herself to love people, even if she might lose them someday.

This was fruity as hell btw. I'm starting to think Rose may be our replacement support if Charles does die in Chapter 3.

It's so funny that this is basically Teruko claiming in-universe protag privilege. Go off, queen.

I also said something along the lines of "Hu are we really doing this again." Totally forgot that the BDA is still relevant, lol.

I personally find the way Veronika phrased this to be very telling from an author's POV. Veronika doesn't say "she must not have committed the murder," she says "she must not have witnessed the murder." It would be totally reasonable for any of the students to forget that the rule is written in a way where a killer could fail to see the moment of murder, but DRDTdev wanted to draw attention to the rule's exact phrasing again, which is a deviation from the phrasing in the canon games.

To be clear here, I stand by this even if Eden isn't the killer and the BDA group really is Eden/Whit/Teruko. I still think it could be a reminder for a future chapter when it comes up. But, I don't think it makes sense to change the phrasing of a base rule unless there's a specific reason you want it to be different. Whether now or later, this feels like a reminder that it IS possible for the blackened to trigger the BDA.

I don't necessarily "believe David," per se, but I do think it's interesting that we're drawing attention to this. I don't really think it matters, especially because I doubt the characters remember, but I'd place my bets on Eden being the last one because of that, "Teruko, wait!" thing.

It doesn't matter because, if David or anyone else saw the body, no one can confirm which two of Teruko, Whit and Eden set off the BDA, but it's an interesting note.

It's so funny how no one, fanbase or in-universe, can tell if David is lying though. Like, he COULD have seen it, but he also easily could just be making shit up to try to throw the Trial again.

will I EVER understand what the fuck this man is cooking

Why. I thought you wanted to end the killing game to finish what Xander started. I don't know what's happening :( /pos

My guess for now is just that he's still trying to kill Teruko, in keeping with Xander's plans?? Idk how making her more distrustful makes her more likely to die, though.

I do find it very interesting that Eden's approach/reaction has been to be very quiet and freaked out whereas Ace's approach/reaction is to freak out VERY loudly. Ace's is fitting because what does he do other than freak out loudly, but I might have expected Eden to do... idk, something else? It makes enough sense though, considering either the group is right to suspect her, or she's still coping with losing Arei a little bit ago.

...*squints REALLY fucking hard*

The music and voice acting in this section is REALLY fucking good. It's sad/charming/soft enough that it feels like it could be genuine, but there's still a little something that makes you have to question whether or not it's real. You WANT to believe Eden, but it's so hard to do so fully.

Y'all think Eden's crying is reminding Teruko of whatever Arei's crying reminded her of?

i'm out of images :(

I really like Teruko assuming that Eden is innocent first. She's too distrusting and also reasonable (it is life or death after all) to just hard clear Eden based on nothing, but she's offering a bit of a reprieve to Eden. Eden's friendship means that she isn't going to get immediately targeted in her most down moment, and that's it. It's a small way to show Eden she does care.

On another note, the fact that Eden got to hug Teruko and that Teruko said the "let go of me" NOW is honestly one of the main reasons I trust Eden more. I felt like that was obviously going to happen, but I was expecting the post-Trial. Putting it here is wild.

Theory Update/Analysis

Oh boy, it's accusing time! It makes sense that we're going to start with Ace. At this point, I can honestly see it going either way. Major props to DRDTdev either way, but ESPECIALLY if Eden really is the culprit. I was so confident in it, but they're really making me question my assumptions.

I think that both Ace and Eden have good reasons to be the blackened or not to be, and good reasons to die here or to not. I'm going to do my best to make a list of reasons for both characters and give a bit of my thoughts on them. They're roughly ranked in most to least important order imo, but I didn't think too hard about it.

EDEN

Reasons Eden Would Be The Blackened:

THE TAPE: It would be easier for her to take the tape than Ace, as attention was on Ace in the gym. The tape's disappearance from the background also happens to coincide with Ace knocking her over and her standing back up.

THE NOTE: Eden already knows all the info she would need to know to write that note. She could have put the note back together to give herself a defense, to try to disprove herself as the culprit with her handwriting, because Rose was going to do it anyways, and/or to frame Arturo if she didn't know he had an alibi. I think any of these reasons, or a combination of these reasons, are enough to make it possible, and while Ace could've overheard, it's definitely less easy for him.

NOT BELIEVING AREI: Both Arei and Charles have, in this trial, been shown to question whether or not Eden believed Arei wanted to be Eden's friend. If Eden simply did, this plot point goes nowhere.

A GOOD PERSON: Eden has been called a good person, but other than that freaky CG, nothing has really come of it. Is the plot relevance of Eden being a good person really going to resolve by saying "Eden is a good person, she'd never kill her friend!"? If a good person isn't gold, Eden still feels like a missing piece of that puzzle.

INCENTIVE TO FRAME NICO: This one's a bit more of a reach, but I don't really understand the point of framing Nico if you're Ace. Of course Ace is going to insist Nico is the murderer no matter what. If you're Eden, you have a direct audience to setting it up similarly: Ace. If you can get Ace to go all in on Nico, that's one less person who was in the Gym who suspects you. Eden and Teruko feel less likely to say "oh well it looks like Nico's murder so it MUST be Nico."

HEAVY FOCUS IN CH 2: DRDTdev seems to give the chapter death's important content shortly before their deaths. Eden has been one of the most prominent characters this chapter, which could be a bad sign.

Reasons Eden Wouldn't Be the Blackened

HER EMOTIONAL REACTIONS: I think I stand with everyone else when I say that the thing giving me pause with Eden!Culprit is how devastated she truly seems to be. I do still think it could be a combo of guilt and panic over the prospect of dying, but it's hard to justify everything.

HER FRIENDSHIP WITH AREI: Sort of a spinoff of the last one, but Arei was at least offering to Eden to be friends and to protect her. If Eden did believe that, to any extent at all, it's hard to imagine her killing Arei in cold blood.

THE FISH: The biggest question when it comes to evidence as to how Eden could be the killer. If Nico fed the fish and they were all still there last night, and Eden had an alibi until after the Relax Room closed, how would she have gotten the fish to add to the crime scene?

THE BDA: Easy to ignore imo considering we've already called it into question within the series proper, but still worth talking about. For Eden to be the culprit, either someone else saw the body first and isn't claiming to have (or it's David), or we're burning the "Eden didn't witness the crime and thus could still trigger the BDA" card here.

GENDER BALANCE: Possibly an irrelevant point, but it is true that we've had 2 women and 1 man die so far. If a man was the killer, it'd keep it even. Unlikely to be relevant as any disparity could be easily balanced out in Chapter 3 with (presumably) 3 death slots.

Points About Eden That Could Go Either Way

THE FORK CG: I firmly believe that this could be setting up for Eden being a more important character throughout the series or to die after a moment of intrigue, possibly letting us explore/imply more in her post-death bonus episode.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HU: Hu has lost David as a sane ally. Nico is telling her that they don't want her speaking for them and that they don't trust her. Would DRDTdev prefer to fully isolate Hu moving into Chapter 3 by getting rid of Eden, or to leave Hu with one friend who still believes in her.

CHARLES HAVING EDEN'S SECRET: By telling us Eden's secret ahead of time by Charles revealing it to Teruko, extra focus was given to Eden's secret. Was this just the easiest way to get everyone's secrets revealed based on character dynamics, or was it meant to imply that Eden's secret is extra important? Is that because she's the killer? Is it a #ArEden sweep???

ACE

(why are they both orange)

Reasons Ace Would Be The Blackened:

NO EVIDENCE-BASED ISSUES: This is the biggest and strongest point across the whole board imo. There is no tangible, evidence-based reason why Ace COULDN'T have done the crime. Out of all 13 currently surviving students, he's the only one who that's true for. That obviously makes him a viable suspect.

WOULD ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DO IT: Ace has been Freaking The Fuck Out this chapter. I could VERY easily see him deciding to kill here. I don't think anyone is trying to argue that Ace is too emotionally attached to the cast to try to kill all of them, because he clearly isn't.

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?: I'm not really sure where Ace's character is going to go from here. I'd be interested in seeing more from him, but, like, where is his character arching to if not a killer? Ace is so disliked and intense that it's hard to imagine him really, fully pivoting and caring about others, but if he can't do that, is he destined to be a killer eventually?

HEAVY FOCUS IN CH 2: DRDTdev seems to give the chapter's death important content shortly before their deaths. Ace has been one of the most prominent characters this chapter, which could be a bad sign.

Reasons Ace Wouldn't Be the Blackened

OBVIOUSNESS & POINT OF CHARACTER: Of course Ace would be willing to kill Arei or whoever and the rest of the students. This is kind of the inverse of my "would absolutely fucking do it" point-- I don't know exactly how much surprise it would carry if Ace were to be the culprit. And, more than that, I feel like the point of Ace is that he is a victim here, but he's so unlikable that no one wants to acknowledge that or believe in him. I think it'd be an interesting comparison, if everyone really wants Ace to be the killer, but he just isn't. To everyone's dismay, Ace is still here. Now what?

SECRET LARGELY UNRESOLVED: Ace's secret hasn't really had any plot relevance yet. It seems like most people's do. I'm like lowkey expecting them to bring back the starvation motive from SDR2 in Chapter 4 and have SOMETHING happen with Ace there. Either way, while it could be reserved for his bonus episode (a la Min and Xander), I'd expect that his secret would have more main-story impact before he dies.

EXISTENCE OF SCRUM DEBATE: We're suspecting Ace first, but we still haven't done the scrum debate for this trial. Unless the scrum debate is "do we just vote for Ace without ever really pursuing Eden" and the answer is "yes," I don't see how we get out of this suspecting Ace period with a scrum debate without at least entertaining the idea of Ace's innocence.

STRONG CONNECTIONS TO OTHER CAST MEMBERS: Ace is very relevant to the Levi, Nico and Hu plotlines right now. Are they really going to just... get rid of him, when that's what both Nico and Hu would want?

ABILITY TO FIGURE OUT THE CONTRAPTION: Ace would not only have to recognize the way in which Nico was trying to kill him (which, to be fair is easier if he did wake up partway through), he would also have to conceptualize and figure out how to make the playground contraption successfully. I think Eden's clockmaking skills and... generally higher intelligence imo would be better suited to that.

COWARDICE: Ace is so fucking scared of everything. Would he want to put himself into harm's way by becoming the killer and having a do or die moment in the Trial? But, is he more scared of dying as a victim in the killing game, after seeing how close Nico came to killing him?

Points About Ace That Could Go Either Way

TAYLOR LORE DROP: Ace's friend, named Taylor per a Q&A with the dev, got vagued about in this Trial. Is that something to be pursued in a later Ace free time (following the one with Levi), or is that something that's going to be explained further in Ace's bonus episode (which could VERY easily be about friendship, considering it's Mai fucking Akasaki as the other person in the convo).

ACE'S BREAKDOWN @ LEVI: When Ace said he didn't fall for Levi caring about him at all, was that him affirming himself that it was the correct decision to try to kill, even if it'd put Levi's life at stake, who he previously kinda liked? Or was he lying to himself, and, at least previously, he wouldn't have wanted to kill Levi, no matter how harsh he seemed on the surface?

Well, that's all I got! Please let me know if you can come up with any more points for any of the 6 categories, because I'm very very curious to hear them! I'm thinking I might try to do an expansion on this in a separate post before next episode if I have time, exploring the ins and outs of each point with more textual evidence to back it up. I'd love to discuss any reader-suggested points too, if y'all have some in mind!

For now, I'm still personally leaning towards Eden as the culprit over Ace, but I wouldn't be surprised to see it be either of them. Well, other than the fact that my reaction to the killer being revealed is going to be :O no matter what.

[clownakai]

[gideonnavsenormousbiceps]

shang qinghua and shen qingqiu would be so funny as college roommates. because here's the thing, they would definitely both blame each other for basically everything and be like "he's the worst roommate ever!" to their respective boyfriends and then it turns out they're both actually just awful roommates. Like shen qingqiu probably sucks at domestic chores like loading the dishwasher and always does it wrong no matter how many times he's corrected, but shang qinghua is probably up all night typing abd playing music obnoxiously loud (he has one of those really clicky keyboards and also gets way too enthusiastic about typing) and leaves empty energy cans/Ramen cups everywhere. Will either of them move out, or learn communication skills? No, of course not they prefer to complain