#ME WINNING MY PULLS??? how bizarre | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saerins · 1 year ago

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𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆

+ nagi seishiro x f!reader | wc 2.4k | content: fluff, high school setting!, some cursing

notes: this was something requested by an anon !! i realised this prompt was also done in my other fic whole except nagi was the second lead :’) also pleaseeeee excuse me if this is ass because i haven’t written in a long time T_T but i’m working on getting back properly !! <3

summary: he didn’t ask you out because he wanted to, yet nagi gets more than he bargained for in the end.

“so, um, nagi, why’d you ask me out all of a sudden?”

it’s kind of an awkward situation to be in, you think, as you look around the arcade, shuffling your feet beside where nagi’s seated, trying to win some tickets from what you can only assume to be a music machine.

when he’d asked you out on a date yesterday, you didn’t think he’d take you to an arcade, of all places. (then again, nagi asking anyone out is sort of unbelievable, honestly.) if you knew sooner (or if nagi had bothered to tell you), you wouldn’t have worn such a nice dress for today.

besides, you’re not even sure why you’d agreed. call your state half-flustered or whatever, because you heard that nagi seishiro of all people does not bother with human relationships much. you’ve only ever seen him interact with mikage reo anyway—and you’d just chalked it up to him wanting it that way. nagi had never shown interest in girls or romance or that kind of shit, so cue your surprise when he asked you out yesterday, when he saw you at the bus stop.

“hey, wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

you blinked at him, utterly surprised because that was the first time that nagi had ever spoken to you.

“um, where to?” (you were still malfunctioning over the fact that he was asking you out on a date.)

nagi scratched the back of his head, and you could faintly make out reo a few ways behind him, watching on.

“hmm, not sure, i’ll text you tomorrow morning?” he suggested, pulling out his phone. “what’s your number?”

okay sure, you could’ve asked for more details, but it was hard getting nagi to respond to you at all. you’re pretty sure he was gaming, that’s why.

“oh, ‘cause reo asked me to.”

that… was not the answer you were expecting. “reo asked you to?”

nagi has a bad habit of not elaborating. you don’t really like that, because you don’t like asking questions, but you can’t help yourself now. this is too bizarre for you to let go.

“yeah, something about how he’s sick of me playing games all day long, told me to go get a date, then he’d return me my switch,” nagi mumbles, and you can’t help but think that reo’s plan may have backfired, considering how he’s on a date and still playing games.

while nagi’s grey eyes are focused on the screen in front of him, you find yourself drawn to the way he’s sucking in his cheek as he concentrates, the way his bangs fall over his eyes and how his fingers can respond so quickly to the lines on the screen.

“you’re pretty good at this,” you tell him, getting lost in how well he’s playing. the points on the screen gets so high he’s almost nearing the high score.

for a moment, nagi’s distracted by how close you are to him; your hair smells like citrus and it’s really smooth. it’s also the only time anyone other than reo has been this close and you’re not anyone so he doesn’t really see why you’re able to steal his focus from the game.

someone like you shouldn’t make him notice things that aren’t about games or himself.

but you do—and he misses the first note since the start of the game, though he recovers fairly easily.

he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re in his class and you’re very pretty (now that he’s actually looking at you). you have a really cute laugh too, he realises, right when he wins the game and probably what’s a thousand tickets, with you rejoicing happily beside him.

“oh my god, you’re so fucking good at this,” you’re jumping and giggly and nothing like how quiet you are in school and why does he feel a little giddy knowing that he’s getting to see this firsthand? this doesn’t make sense. “okay, move aside, teach me, i wanna do it too.”

nagi obliges. it’s a pain having to teach someone else compared to doing it himself, he gets to know, as you miss probably half the notes on screen even when he tries to tell you how to do it. hell, he’s not really a good teacher.

you win about 300 tickets.

“not bad for a rookie,” nagi comments as you grab your own pile and stack it in your shared basket. the neon red and blue flashes pretty against your skin. it makes you even prettier, he feels.

you raise a brow. “nagi seishiro, wanna play a bet?”

no, not really. but somehow, he can’t quite turn down a game when it’s from you.

“what’re you betting?”

you hold out the basket in front of you. “i’m gonna find a game where i can beat you.” your chest is puffed out, like you’re determined, like you really believe you can. “if i lose, you can decide my punishment.”

nagi blinks at you. you’re… weird. you make his heart beat faster than usual. it’s a little concerning. “and if you win?”

grinning, you wink at him, “let’s leave that to later.”

whatever possessed him to spend the entire day following you around the arcade and watching you fail, he doesn’t know. you’re pretty bad at everything compared to him, but it’s not really fair—he’s probably spent ten times as much of his days in the arcade than you.

have you ever even set foot in here before?

nagi observes as you try desperately to beat him in ddr. you fail, naturally. your feet coordination really isn’t that good, but it’s pretty cute how hard you’re trying. you’re still pretty even at the end of it, even when you’re sweating and some of your hair is matted against your skin. he keeps that to himself though.

throughout the entire day, nagi finds himself entertained by your persistent insistence to beat him at something. it’s funny how you’re awful at the arcade games. it’s also funny how you’re honestly trying. it’s really no use but here you are, sweating once again from shooting hoops.

your 64 versus nagi’s 154.

“wow, you’re really bad at all these games,” nagi murmurs when he sees your score. “wanna go somewhere else?”

you’re quick to open your mouth but it takes you just as quick to shut it, probably knowing you’ll never beat him. at least, not today. “fine, you win,” you say through gritted teeth. you’re a little prideful; nagi’s learning a lot about you. “what do you want?”

nagi seems to have forgotten your earlier bet. he just shrugs and tells you to choose what you want at the exchange counter.

“you don’t want anything?”

nagi looks at the prizes with such disinterest it makes you wonder what can interest a guy like him. he shakes his head, “i can get anything i want anytime anyway.”

(the underlying insinuation that coming to the arcade with him is your only chance to win prizes flies right over your head.)

but when nagi looks at your slightly disappointed face, he tries to backtrack. “i’ll let you know when i think of something i want since i won,” he says, looking away from you. “but you choose one of the prizes today.”

turns out it’s so easy to please you. just like that and that smile is back on your face.

you choose a big goddamn pink teddy bear by the way. nagi sighs as he leaves the arcade with you. it’s probably a character nagi doesn’t know. he’s judging you, but then you hug it and smile at him and he forgets what he’s thinking about.

“i know this was only because reo asked you to, but…” you mumble after you and nagi both finished eating dinner, sitting across from each other at the ramen shop. “it was fun.”

nagi’s not sure what this is. just a customary thing where you’re showing appreciation for the time you two spent together today? you’re looking away from him though, he’s pretty sure normal customs don’t dictate that. he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to look at him when you say that.

“why’re you looking away?”

you look at him in blank shock (an expression that he doesn’t know how to process—what’s so weird about asking you that?) before you smile helplessly. “you’re very weird, nagi seishiro.”

“what do you mean?” nagi’s clueless, in that nagi seishiro way only he can be.

a few seconds of silence pass when you try to make up your mind. it’s unnerving how big and wide his eyes are, especially when they’re focused only on you and nothing else. in the end, you manage with a shake of your head.

“it’s nothing,” you decide. telling him of your possible crush on him would not do any good, you guess.

something bugs nagi; he can’t understand what it is. he just knows something feels off but it’s not like he’s ever felt this particular kind of irk—he doesn’t know what to do.

when the time comes to leave the restaurant, nagi finds himself walking the opposite way to his home because you started walking first.

somehow, his feet follows you.

it’s stupid—walking this far away from the direction of his home is troublesome. it’ll be a hassle to get home when his bus is on the other side of the long gone restaurant. why is he walking you to the train station again when he’ll just see you next week anyway? you’re in the same class.

“oh, are you gonna take the train too?”

nagi blinks at you, drawing a blank at your question. he must’ve completely zoned out. did the both of you get here in complete silence?

“no,” he answers honestly. he doesn’t elaborate. as usual.

by now, that doesn’t surprise you. instead you just nod your head, a hesitance borne in the shuffling of your feet. “well,” you drawl out, dragging the syllable, somehow hoping this wasn’t the end of the night but it is. “this was a nice one-time date,” you settle for, smiling. you’re about to just say goodbye, but you bite on your bottom lip, contemplating, before you slip his phone out of his hand and slide the screen to the side, taking a picture of the both of you together, nagi looking at the screen in surprise and you winking beside him.

when you hand it back to him, you bite your inner mouth, trying not to grin. “in case reo asks for evidence,” you offer as an excuse. you totally didn’t want to take a picture with nagi. “he better give you your game back!”

nagi gets this fleeting feeling that he doesn’t know how to explain when he sees you smiling at him. like how you remind him of the color gray. not because it’s bland but because it’s his favourite color. you remind him of spring and the cool breeze and how refreshing it feels.

“it was a nice one-time date, nagi seishiro,” you chuckle before you turn around, ready to head into the station and probably never spend such time with nagi again. you’ll probably get over the sadness of what could’ve been pretty quickly. you think.

but just before you can enter, you hear the firm steadiness in nagi’s voice. “no.”

you whip your head around, not quite sure you heard him right. “no?” you narrow your stare a little, moving out of other people’s way as they push past you into the station. “as in, you didn’t like it?”

you hope he doesn’t mean it like that.

nagi looks away, earnestly processing it. it came blurting out of him, he didn’t even know what he said until he said it. “i won the bet and what i want is… this. again. with you.”

the implications of his words slowly sink in and it has you feeling giddy. nagi, the guy who barely cares about anything nor makes the time for anyone—is he actually telling you this? is he really saying he’d take you out more?

meanwhile, nagi’s feet stay firmly planted where he is, wondering why you make him feel like this, why you make him feel like he can’t get enough. you’re just… you. before today, he could honestly say you were insignificant. but just the way you are; how you speak, your smile, your laugh and your resilience—nagi likes it, finds comfort in it, somehow.

“then,” you say as you enter the station, face giddy with the excitement of something new blossoming. “i’ll wait for more dates with you, sei.”

the way you call him that makes his heart skip a beat and he’s left blankly staring at your figure as you retreat into the station, stealing his heart with you.

“fine, fine,” reo sighs. it’s two days later on a monday and reo grudgingly gives nagi back his switch. “so, what’d you two do anyway?” he asks, shifting his gaze between nagi and you, though you’re at the other end of the classroom, talking excitedly to your friends.

nagi’s attention quickly transfers to his switch, already opening up a game to play. “nothing much,” is all he offers, and reo’s beginning to think maybe it was more of a punishment for you than a date.

reo sighs again, ready to lecture nagi for being the worst date ever when he pulls up his phone to look at the time. but he accidentally takes nagi’s phone instead, unlocking it to find his own chat thread—to which nagi doesn’t even bother saving his name (reo side eyes him but nagi doesn’t even realise).

that doesn’t surprise him, but what does is when reo realises your contact is saved—with the icon being a picture of the two of you together. you must really be something to be able to make nagi do something so idiotic like this.

“oi, nagi.”

nagi only responds with a raise of his brow. he’s still clicking away at the controls. reo guesses it must be a racing game from those sounds.

“if you guys get married i better be the best man for being your matchmaker,” reo teases, his grin filling his face.

even though nagi doesn’t respond, the champagne pink that brushes across his cheeks is enough indication to reo of nagi’s feelings for you.

looks like he never needed to worry after all.

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ladycharles · 4 months ago

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Occasionally JK Rowling says or does something so offensive to my sensibilities that I must speak. Sadly, today is one of those days.

This post, and the "male" she is referring to is a cis woman boxer from Algeria. There is an unconfirmed report that she might have an intersex condition in which one's chromosomes are XY. She may not even have this condition, but even if she does, it does not mean anything but that she has an unusual DNA quirk. We do not call Tom Cruise a woman for having an extra X chromosome, for example (nor would I expect Rowling to accept it if he decided to compete as a woman in the Olympics).

Now Rowling, upon being pointed out that she essentially pulled the twitter equivalent of Austin Powers punching that old lady because she "looks rather mannish", moves the goalpost. She claims, against evidence, that she an unfair advantage, going so far as to imply that simply by competing with a rare condition this woman has cheated.

This might seem bizarre coming from a self professed FEMINIST. It is the contention of anti trans "feminists" like Rowling that womanhood is being erased and destroyed by "trans ideology"; Yet here a cis woman achieves a olympic victory and they accuse her of being a man, of cheating. They erase her achievement, they erase her womanhood.

The subtext is racist and misogynistic - a strong Algerian woman with features that do not reflect Western beauty standards is being denied the very womanhood that TERFs claim to protect. She has lost to women before, she has no clear advantage... Yet by virtue of her looks and a possible rare genetic condition, she is now a "man" and a fraud.

This doesn't surprise me, and I suspect that anyone who has had to deal with TERFs will agree. But in case anyone is shocked here's my take:

TERFism has always been a reactionary movement. While it draws from second and third wave feminists and has an ideology on paper, any space with TERFs will tend to feature mad crusades accusing cis women of being trans on looks, attacks against sex workers that are harsher than those on the men who make that industry dangerous, few towards actual men, and a sense of outrage that trumps any real ideology.

It is feminism much like how "National Socialism" was socialist. And like the Nazis did with socialism, it uses the idea of feminism to legitimize attacks on perceived enemies while preserving the status quo. For TERFs that's traditional gender roles, which they have twisted into something that protects women rather than subjugates them. (This is not to say TERFs are Nazis, but it is a decent comparison because fascism is the ultimate reactionary ideology; full of symbolism and mythology yet devoid of any substance but machismo and hate.)

In a nuanced, good faith society, we might discuss trans women in sports using science to determine whether there are unfair advantages, and consult stakeholders and experts in sport and biology. We might study if chromosomes do impart an advantage, and weigh that against the other myriad genetic advantages like long reach or faster muscle gain to determine if there is any problem with current regulations. We might not do these things too, considering we have gone the entire history of sport without a single women's league collapsing from secret "male" invasion.

In Rowling's world, we first attack the winning woman as a "man in disguise" and rail against her without evidence. We have people replying "just look at HIM, he is clearly male". We have people writing violent revenge fantasies in which the Algerian woman gets beaten by a man or a gang of women to "teach her a lesson"... and JK does not once jump in to say any of it is inappropriate or hurtful to women who happen to have androgynous features, like some less fanatic people sharing the story have done.

When this is how their "ideology" reacts to an apparently "male looking" woman winning, we have to ask whether the liberation of women was ever the goal.

And the one thing that makes it all make sense, IMO, is that it's the lashing out that's the point. These people seem to enjoy calling a cis woman a man in much the same way they enjoy calling a trans woman a man. They enjoy the feeling of power as together they act cruel towards a woman who had the audacity to beat a white European. They seem to relish the ability to present themselves as feminists in one breath while brutally harrassing and demeaning women. Unlike ordinary bigots, they constantly bring up their crusade, as if they're growing dependent on the thrill. The cruelty, as they say, seems to be the point.

The danger of these ideologies is really becoming obvious ahead of the US election. Years of social media bubbles and astroturfing have made people like Rowling convinced that they are a silent majority, ironic for people who can't shut up.

Times like this I think are important reminders of where this can really lead. They may spin about being gender critical or concerned about women when the pressure is on; This is what these people do when they think they can get away with it.

This is the dark heart of their movement, beating loud enough to hear.

#anti jkr #unsolicited essay #jk rowling #trans inclusive radical feminism #pro trans #nonbinary #terfs hate women

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mrsjellymunson · 5 months ago

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KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Part Two

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing ’s excellent Stranger Prompts challenge - thank you for this, friends!

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But how much has he changed?

Chapter summary: Some answers, more questions 😉

WC: ~8.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, series CW for eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut, post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes, emotional scenes, eventual friends-to-lovers, descriptions of minor injuries, food/eating, mentions of canon-typical torture/experiments.

A/N: This series contains a lot of themes and scenarios that I haven’t written for before, I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. Abundant thanks to @the-unforgivenn for beta-ing and playing The Thesaurus Game 😛 This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it or my general one just lemme know in a comment, ask or message, I’d love to have you on board 🙏💙

Prev: Prologue Part One

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You wake earlier than they do, shards of sunlight peeking through Steve’s pathetically thin and badly arranged curtains hitting you straight in the face.

You don’t move initially, enjoying the sound of both boys’ soft, rhythmic breaths, grateful they’ve both had the opportunity to rest and sleep.

You use this moment of stillness to allow the events of the previous night to filter through your consciousness. Eddie’s still here. He’s somewhat warmer than he was, and is still breathing. You’ll take all of those as a win.

His arm is still wrapped around your ribs, his chest against your back. During the night, one of his thighs has made its way between yours, and his hips are now pressed up against the swell of your ass.

You suppose that if you look at it objectively, he’s in a pretty good approximation of the Recovery Position. Good for him. Promoting healing, aiding recovery, and all that.

And you suppose that if you look at it subjectively, having the entire length of Eddie’s body squashed against the entire length of yours, and having his leg pressed against you just there, stirs feelings that are inappropriate for you to be having right now. Such as how much you’re enjoying it. How safe you feel. How much you wish there weren’t even these small, thin pieces of fabric separating you from him…

He snuffles behind you, groaning softly, and his arm contracts, pulling you even closer to him. You’d much prefer it was more than just the involuntary tensing of a waking man that’s causing him to do this, but push that thought to the back of your mind.

You slowly turn your head as far as you can, only able to see a little of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair is fuzzy as hell, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

In what you hope is a soft and comforting voice, you ask,

“Morning, big guy. How’re you feeling?”

Eddie’s voice is cracked and broken, like he hasn’t used it in a while. It’s gravelly and low as he mumbles,

“Mmf. A little sore, but warm. God, it feels so good to be warm…”

His arm clenches around you again, and he pushes his face into the back of your neck.

Trying to cover an unbidden moan, and inject some levity, you reply,

“Well, thank goodness for that, otherwise all of mine and Steve’s efforts last night would’ve been for nothing.”

Eddie shifts, starting to get a sense of where he is and the situation he’s found himself in. It causes Steve to stir behind him and let out a little groan of his own, and you feel Eddie freeze.

Trying to calm him and keep this obviously bizarre situation simple and light, you mumble,

“Yeah, body heat seemed to be the best way to keep you warm. I don’t suppose waking up naked between me and Harrington was on your bucket list, right?”

Eddie’s cheeks don’t exactly flush (going from pale grey to pale pink far too much of a gradient to be entirely achievable right now), but you do notice a little warmth appear in them.

Eddie jests, at least you think he’s jesting, as his grip around you tightens again, stronger this time as his muscles wake up, and he chuckles lightly as he smooshes his face into your hair,

“Well, it's definitely not the worst place I’ve ever woken up.”

This rouses Steve enough that he’s now fully awake, and he seems to remember where he is too. He moves away from Eddie and sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Glancing over, he mumbles,

“Hey, man. So, there’s literally hundreds of things I wanna ask you right now, but I guess I’ll start with, uh, how are you?”

Steve’s face contorts with a mix of incredulity and embarrassment at the utter banality of the question he just asked.

Unfazed, Eddie replies,

“Honestly, dude? I’m not entirely sure…”

He tries to shift his legs to sit up, but realises how enmeshed they are with yours, and inadvertently pushes his thigh up even closer to you.

Steve continues, unable to stop himself.

“What happened? Where have you been? How did you even get here?”

Eddie lets out a long, low exhale.

Finally picking up on how tired Eddie still is, and how tangled your and Eddie’s limbs are, you guess Steve decides he doesn’t want to get into any of that right now and declares,

“Y’know what, I’m gonna go make coffee.”

He grabs some sweats and a crumpled tee, and heads out towards the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Fuck, this is awkward.

After a short pause, you mumble,

“Yeah, I suppose we should get up too. The kids are gonna be beside themselves, I’d prepare yourself for a barrage of questions if I were you.”

Exhaling, you somewhat reluctantly extricate yourself from Eddie’s embrace, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the pile of clothes you’re grateful you had the foresight to put out last night.

Pulling on jeans, a worn t-shirt and a woollen jumper, you sit back down and turn to Eddie, who’s now leaning up against Steve’s battered headboard, sheets bunched around his waist.

You notice his eyes are still sunken and red-rimmed, but he’s lost some of the sallowness that he had last night, and his features are significantly more relaxed.

As he sits up you have the chance to observe his torso properly. He’s thinner, and much paler, than the boy you remember. The odd appearance of his musculature that you could see last night is still abundantly present.

And there are scars. Lots of scars. They vary in appearance and colour, rough slashes and violent starbursts, in silvery white, muted pinks and shades of angry purples and reds. Some look smooth and well-healed, whilst others are raised and jagged. Some transect the inked designs you came to know so well, and it looks like he might’ve lost a nipple.

Realising you’ve been staring, you tear your eyes away and move them instead to Eddie’s face. He looks terrified, like he’s worried you’re going to find him abhorrent and run away screaming.

He starts to reach for the covers, to cover himself, but you lunge forwards and grab one of his hands in yours. You don’t break his gaze as you tell him,

“It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

His face softens, but his eyebrows remain pinched and his lips are still pressed tightly together.

Finally looking down as you stroke over his hand with both of yours, you notice that the wounds that you bathed and tended to only a few hours ago are practically healed, only a few areas of redness remaining where there were bleeding gashes and scarlet grazes. Some have almost disappeared.

You decide not to focus on this and concentrate instead on the fact that your friend, your best friend, the one you all thought was dead, is back with you here, right now.

Grasping his hand in both of yours, you murmur,

“However it happened, it’s really, really good to have you back, you know.”

He smiles then, and although it reaches his eyes, it does little to lift the grey pallor of his face.

He brings his other hand over, and as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles he notices the ring on your thumb. He runs a pad over the contours of the skull.

“You- You kept this?”

“Of course! I wear it every day. It helps me remember my best friend.” Your voice gets quiet as you add, unsure whether you’re overstepping.

“It helps keep you close to me.”

You hold each other's gaze for a beat too long, and Eddie’s lips open as if he’s going to say something.

Before he has the chance, a ball of anxiety rises in your throat, and you decide you can’t take the risk of him… what?

Telling you you’re stupid? That it doesn’t mean anything? That he wants his ring back?

You know none of this sounds like anything Eddie would say, but in your fragile, exhausted state you need to protect yourself from the risk of emotional harm, no matter how small.

You remove your hand from his and bend to retrieve the clothes Steve left for him, reasoning with a small smile,

“We don’t want you getting cold again, right?”

Eddie starts to dress, grunting a little as his limbs start working again. He only has time to pull on the worn sweatshirt when the door bursts open and the kids rush in. Dustin first, swiftly followed by Mike and Lucas, whilst Will and Jane hang back in the doorway.

The three teens leap, grinning, onto Steve’s bed, whooping and hollering and rolling around. They’re full of questions and theories and tales of what they’ve been doing whilst he’s been gone, all talking over one another.

Whilst Eddie is smiling and laughing and you can tell he’s buoyed by their love and exuberance, you also know he still needs to recover from last night, let alone whatever else he might have been through these past few weeks. So after a few minutes you shoo them out, instructing them to go help Steve make breakfast.

Dustin’s the last to leave, pausing in the doorway as he turns back, running his hand down his cheek and saying, with an infinitely adoring expression on his face,

“I can’t believe you’re here, man. It’s so good to have you back.”

They share friendly smiles before Dustin turns on his heel and follows the others, his voice decreasing in volume as he heads down the hallway yelling,

“I’m on toast duty today! You guys ate all the good peanut butter last time…”

You both snicker at their antics, Eddie shaking his head a little.

You want to say more, but settle for,

“They missed you. We all did.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows and rolls his lips inwards into a tight-lipped smile, and you sense that he’s just as emotional as you all are.

He continues dressing, and you’re relieved the kids didn’t see Eddie’s scars, for all their sakes. You’re not sure whether they’re ready to revisit what happened in the Upside Down, and you don't want Eddie’s first day back with you all to involve him having to uncomfortably explain where they all came from.

He dons the rest of the unfamiliar clothing, and eventually stands, facing you. He spreads his arms wide and pulls a goofy face, raising his eyebrows high and flattening his mouth into a thin line, knowing how unlike ‘him’ he must look right now.

You never imagined you’d ever see your favourite black-loving metalhead in an oversized heather grey Hawkins Athletic sweatshirt, worn navy sweatpants and fluffy white sports socks, but needs must, and at least it’s all clean and he’s staying warm.

There’s a crash in the kitchen, startling both of you, but it prompts you to suggest,

“Come on, let’s go see what chaos those guys are causing.”

You direct him to the front of the house, and as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen all eyes turn to him. You see the kids take in his fluffy hair and new garb. He notices and, preemptively gesturing to himself and in a very close approximation of his Dungeon Master voice, says,

“If anyone says anything about this, I swear I will kill you. Got it?”

Mike and Lucas try to act like they weren’t even looking, and Dustin raises his hands in supplication. Jane laughs at the boys’ responses and Will smirks at the shenanigans, and you’re certain he and Eddie are going to get along just fine.

The kids have made everyone a simple breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and fresh oatmeal and they bring it to the large farmhouse-style table as everyone gets situated. Craving his proximity, you take the chair next to Eddie. Steve’s made a large pot of hot coffee, which is swiftly devoured by the four adults and almost instantly requires replenishment.

The kids want to fill Eddie in on, well, everything. Over breakfast there’s much chatter about what’s been happening in town, how the three of you ended up staying here, how kind and supportive Wayne and Owens have been, even a somewhat discombobulating discussion of what Eddie’s funeral was like. Plus there’s tales from the boys about D&D and stuff that’s important to the teens, most of which you zone out of.

Eddie is also properly introduced to the two he doesn’t know. He greets Will with a broad smile and claps both his hands around the boy’s slender one, a symbolic gesture full of characteristic Eddie warmth, welcoming another sheep even though this particular one has known the others for many years.

You don’t think anyone else notices, but you don’t miss the moment of extended eye contact and tiny nods that are exchanged between him and Jane, as they are introduced and shake hands.

Eddie seems to have a good appetite, devouring four warm, runny-yolked eggs, three slices of toast slathered with butter and jelly, and two large bowls of oatmeal with honey and syrup in rapid succession.

There’s some syrup on his chin when he’s finished. You want to clean it off with your thumb and suck it into your mouth, but you resist the urge.

The food cheers him, even seems to put a little colour in Eddie’s cheeks. Well, perhaps not colour exactly, but a move from grey to white is certainly progress. It’s hardly Cordon Bleu cuisine, but Eddie’s hoovered it up like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. You wonder what he’s been surviving on all this time to make such simple stuff seem so luxurious.

Coffee mugs are refreshed, the table is cleared, and there follows a semi-formal exchange of the personal items of Eddie’s that are in the cabin. Lucas returns his pocket knife, which Eddie thanks him for with a bro handshake and a half-hug, and Dustin gets down on one knee and presents him with his wallet chain on outstretched hands, as if he’s presenting a weapon or battle trophy to his commander. Eddie ruffles his hair and brings him in for a crushing bear hug.

Robin and Steve return his crucifix and boar’s head rings, which he dons, and you can’t help noticing that they’re slightly looser than they used to be. You’re grateful nobody questions why you don’t return the skull ring to him, or seems to notice the knowing glance and small smile that he gives you.

Dishes are cleaned and yet more coffee is brewed, and you head to the utility room to see how Eddie’s clothes are doing in the (noisy, and possibly unsafe) drier. As you return there’s a lull in the conversation.

Ever the direct one, Robin can’t stand the not knowing any longer, and as Steve pours the next round of coffees she blurts,

“So, what the fuck happened? We thought you were dead. You were dead. They fucking buried you!”

The kitchen falls silent for a moment, nobody sure how much Eddie wants to divulge or relive.

He wraps his palms around his steaming mug, and takes a long, slow, deep breath in and out before he starts talking.

“I don’t remember much after that night with the, uh, Demobats. I kinda remember being jostled into a van, or a military-type vehicle maybe? And tubes, bright lights, people shouting…

“The next thing I know, I’m in some kind of lab, a poky room with a tiny cot and metal furniture, and people coming in at all hours to prod at me and stick me with needles. They did all sorts of tests and injected me with shit, and they wouldn’t tell me what any of it was.

“I’m not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that I can’t remember a lot of detail. It’s mostly just pain, agony, and being either chained or locked up. And screaming, so much screaming... Whether that was me or the others, I don’t know.”

You interject,

“There- There were others?”

He nods slowly.

“Yeah, definitely more than just me. I have no idea how many, who they were, what happened to them...”

His hands start trembling, and he lets go of the mug that’s started to shake in his grip, quickly putting his hands in his lap.

“I think the injections they were giving me were concoctions made from the… things they found… down there.

“Owens visited me a couple of times. He said he didn’t like what was being done to me but he wasn’t able to change anything. The last time I saw him he told me he was being transferred to a different site and didn’t think he’d be able to visit again, but he wanted me to know there was someone on his side.”

There’s a brief pause before he continues,

“The last, uhh, experiment was the worst-”

Eddie screws up his face and clenches his teeth at the memory, and balls up one fist, bringing it up to his pursed lips. He squeezes his eyes closed, and a tear appears at the corner of one eye.

You don’t know whether it’s the right thing to do, but you grab his other hand under the table, hoping it’ll give him comfort but fully expecting him to flinch away.

He doesn’t, and his hand clamps around yours in a fierce grip, almost crushing it.

Voice trembling and breaking, he continues.

“It was- Jesus H Christ- it was like liquid fucking fire. All I remember was feeling like they’d injected me with molten lava, and then there was so much shouting, and hands holding me down, and then everything went black...”

He pauses, and nobody else speaks.

Steve swallows, the tap drips into the sink and Robin’s rings clink softly against her coffee mug as she turns it anxiously.

“And then… And then the next thing I remember is coming to, and feeling cold, so- so fucking cold. And darkness, absolute darkness. And I was so scared, and I just started scraping and scratching at whatever was over me, and just kept scrabbling and digging until… there wasn’t anything over me anymore.”

You’re all stunned.

Someone says a quiet ‘fuck’, and you think you hear a sob, perhaps from Dustin.

Steve remains silent but runs a hand through his hair, palm coming to rest over his mouth, and Robin mutters a soft,

“Shit, Eddie.”

You all realise that Eddie wasn’t lying on a slab at all for these past two months, but was being experimented on, and it takes a long moment to sink in.

Eventually, Eddie says,

“Fuck. They really buried me, huh?”

To illustrate his point and as an attempt to inject some humour into the moment, he loosely combs his fingers through his fluffy locks and asks, “When I got here, did I have stuff in my hair?”

There are a few chuckles, and someone throws a balled up paper napkin at him.

There’s another short pause where nobody says anything, but then it’s like a dam breaks and everyone starts talking at once. Robin and Steve make comparisons with the Russians, the kids offer D&D analogies and half-baked scientific theories, and people ask Will and Jane what they think.

For the rest of the morning much discussion ensues, as well as the consumption of store-brand cookies and even more coffee, and you all try to fill in the blanks. Whilst some of the kids interject with ideas and suggestions, others sit quietly, mostly listening. You wonder quite how much secondhand trauma this is going to cause all of them.

As a group you eventually surmise that some shadowy branch of the military was battering Eddie and the others with all sorts of tests, and injecting them with unknown substances, goals unknown and refusing to tell anyone what they were.

Owens clearly never agreed with their approach, and it sounds like he tried to distance himself as much as possible.

The military finally took their experiments too far. Thinking they’d killed him, they eventually released Eddie’s body to his only family, Wayne, and allowed him to be buried.

Unbeknownst to them, their final experiment was the most successful, it just took longer to manifest than the others. Weeks, in fact. Just long enough for the scientists (if you could even call them that) to lose any expectation of a recovery, and for Owens and Wayne to organise a funeral.

Eddie had awoken, dazed, trapped and freezing and with no idea where he was, and had somehow managed to smash the lid of his coffin and scramble his way to the surface. On a rainy night, miles from anywhere.

Finally, Mike is the first to ask the question you think most of you have been contemplating.

“Dude, how did you even find us?”

At particularly painful points in his oration, Eddie has looked to you, seemingly finding comfort in your face, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he replies,

“Honestly? I don’t really know. I just had this… feeling… that I needed to come in this direction. And the closer I got, the more certain I was that this is where I’d find you.” Hurriedly, he looks around the rest of the group and adds, “Find you all.”

He carefully lays the hand not holding yours flat onto the table, and, eyes fixed on the faded floral tablecloth, he chokes back a sob as he asks a question that he’s clearly been holding back.

“Why didn’t anyone- Why didn’t you come find me?”

Robin grabs his hand across the table, wrapping it in both of hers, holding it tightly. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“W-we didn’t know! They didn’t tell us anything about any lab. We thought you were dead. Eddie, that first night? They told us you’d died!”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and you see tears start to slowly run down her cheeks.

Eddie chokes, and his eyes lift to the ceiling.

Dustin’s the first to move as he scrapes his chair back and sprints around to Eddie, enveloping his shoulders and neck in a clumsy but aggressively enthusiastic hug as he mumbles into his friend’s shoulder,

“But you’re not dead. You’re not. You’re here, with us, now. You’re back, Eddie, you’re back...”

Lucas stands too, ruffling Eddie’s hair and half-hugging the top of his head with one arm, leaning his cheek against Eddie’s curls, and you lean into Eddie, placing your forehead against the side of his bicep.

Steve turns from where he’s been brewing even more coffee, and moves to place his hand on a patch of shoulder not covered by Dustin or Lucas, patting softly. As he turns back to the stove he comments,

“Yeah, man. D’you really think we wouldn’t’ve come got you? Fuck those guys and all their crappy experiments. No one does that to a member of The Party.”

You simultaneously feel Eddie’s grip on your hand tighten, and the rest of his body relax. Many of you are crying, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweater darkening in patches from the wet plops of Dustin’s tears.

Will and Jane are affected too, and you see their faces soften as they clasp each other's hands under the table.

Eddie’s breath deepens as he absorbs the love and affection of his friends. You guess he’s not used to this much positive attention, and has clearly received even less over the last few weeks.

You all sit in silence for a few long moments, allowing all this new information to sink in and emotions to settle.

Eventually the noise of the stove and the clattering of coffee supplies, together with a strong gust of wind and the increased pattering of leaves against the window, brings you all back to the room.

Eddie seems to have processed everything faster than the rest of you, his emotions shifting, and as Steve pours more coffee he becomes agitated, slamming his fists on the table, startling all of you with the ferocity of his movements.

You guess he’s angry not only at the testing he underwent, but that they lied to all of you, and let him feel hopeless, like nobody cared.

The kids move back as he stands and starts pacing, running his hands through his already-frizzy hair and shaking his head.

“FUCK! Those bastards! Not only did they use me as some kind of twisted lab rat, but they didn’t even tell you guys I was alive? And they let me think that none of you cared enough to come find me, visit me, get me out? GODDAMMIT!”

He slams a palm into the doorframe, and you all jump a little.

Turning back to the room, Eddie notices the effect he’s having on everyone, and, rubbing the back of his neck, says,

“I think I’m gonna go take a walk…”

He moves towards the back door, the expanse of the disused field behind the cabin seemingly the ideal place for him to get his head together.

But, spying the large axe leaning against the frame, he has a better idea.

“Hey, uh, do you guys have, like, logs ‘n’ shit that need chopping? I really need to, um, work through some stuff. Besides, it’s probably the least I can do, given how much heat and hot water I’ve already cost you all.”

He gives a sheepish snort and brings his hand to his face again.

It’s you who speaks first.

“Are you sure, Eddie? I mean, it’s been a stressful few days. Are you okay to be doing something so… physical?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m feeling a little… pent up. Could do with working some of it off, y’know?”

You nod, figuring all of you are going to need different ways to process this whole bizarre and unsettling situation.

Dustin and Mike find some old tan workboots in a closet, presumably left by the previous owner. They don’t fit perfectly, and it looks like something may have nested in one of them at some point, but they’ll do for now. Eddie pulls them on over his loaned sweats and socks, leaving them unlaced.

Robin offers him his leather jacket. She’s obviously had a go at cleaning off as much of the mud as she can, but you can all tell it’s never going to be quite the same. At least it’s dry now, and Eddie takes it gratefully.

He grabs the old axe and the small hatchet that you use to chop kindling, unlocks the back door and steps outside, closing it behind him.

Dustin wants to go out to him, but Robin grabs him and holds him in a tight hug, explaining that he needs some time to process stuff.

The others give him space, some staying at the kitchen table to process their thoughts, others retreating to the living room and diverting their thoughts with the crackling cartoons that break through the terrible TV signal.

You choose to keep an eye on Eddie, staying back a little from the back door so as not to alarm him, but keeping him within your eye line.

You see Eddie pace a little, muttering to himself, then he shakes his head as if to clear it.

He turns to the log pile and hefts the axe a couple of times, getting the feel of it. He lifts a couple of modestly sized logs onto the stump, wielding the axe above his head and splitting them easily. Almost… effortlessly.

He chops a few more, flinging them into a pile with ease, then moves to lift a few larger ones, breezing through them with the same ‘hot knife through butter’ nonchalance.

It’s the most physical activity you’ve ever seen him do, aside from lifting the odd amp or two, which always left him puffed out. But he’s sailing through the woodpile with barely any exertion.

You can see he’s still processing the contents of your morning, as his features screw up occasionally and grumbled words and what are probably profanities spill from his lips.

As he hefts the axe through the tough logs you can see his eyes are getting redder, and his skin appears paler. You can’t see his body, but the tendons on his hands and neck are popping starkly underneath his translucent skin. And, the wind has picked up considerably since he’s been outside, whipping loose leaves and twigs around the cabin just like it did last night.

Eventually, he starts on the biggest, gnarliest logs. The ones you guys would only attempt when you really, really needed the firewood.

You hear grunts, muffled by the back door, as he works the tougher wood.

The axe gets stuck partway through a particularly thick log, and with an animalistic grunt Eddie yanks the blade from it. Easily lifting the log in his arms, he notches his long fingers into the groove and, in a move that startles you, he rips it into two pieces with his bare hands.

By the back door you suppress a gasp, your hand flying across your mouth and your eyes going wide. You’re not sure whether you should go to him, try to comfort him, or leave him to work through this in whatever way he needs to.

You don’t get the chance to decide, as he finally gets to a particularly old and knotty log that none of you have been able to get anywhere close to splitting. As Eddie slams the axe down into it with a ferocity you didn’t think was possible, he gets it far further than any of you have so far, but again, the blade gets stuck.

The wind picks up even more, as Eddie picks up the axe, log attached, and heaves it around his head, sending it spinning across the back field as he lets out a loud, feral and painful-sounding yell.

Breathing deep for a couple of moments, he runs a hand down his face and begins to trudge across the bumpy earth to retrieve it, coping easily with the rough and uneven ground of the ploughed field and his ill-fitting boots. You can see he’s still yelling expletives and occasionally waving his arms and shouting up into the sky.

The distance that he’s managed to throw the axe is substantial enough that he shrinks in your field of vision by the time he reaches it. You can no longer make out his expression, but as he comes to a halt you do see him bend over and place his hands on his knees, watching his back heave as he takes a few more deep, steadying breaths.

He lifts the axe and heaves both it and the attached heavy log easily over his shoulder with one hand. You consider that you’ve never seen him lift anything with such ease, save maybe his leather jacket, flung over his back, dangling it from one finger on a hot day.

As he turns and starts making his way back to the house, you notice that the wind has started to die down and is whipping less of Eddie’s hair around his face, and leaves and twigs begin to fall to the ground.

You hadn’t realised Jane had come to join you at the back door. Despite not directly knowing Eddie before, she says, in her characteristically deadpan voice, “He is… different now. Isn’t he?”

You purse your lips and nod, quick and small, and find it remarkable that this seemingly awkward young woman, who’s endured so much at the hands of so many, has developed such insight and tenderness.

After removing the axe from the gnarly chunk of wood and placing it by the back door, Eddie spends a few minutes arranging the logs he’s split into neat piles beneath the small shelter. The skin around his eyes is less red now, and his general demeanour seems more relaxed, controlled. Perhaps this has helped after all.

He takes a couple of breaths and composes himself before he heads back towards the door, holding the axe in one hand and a stack of logs atop his other arm.

Bashful, and conscious that you’d rather he didn’t know that you’ve been watching him the entire time, you take a few steps backwards and make like you’re just now coming to the door, opening it for him with a broad smile and directing him to the place in the living room where you store the wood for the fire, thanking him for his efforts.

As he places the last of the wood and starts to take off his jacket, you notice that his hands are again torn and bloody, splinters sticking out every which way and an angry-looking blister on one palm.

You assume that he’s reopened his wounds from last night, but the positions and patterns don’t match up. Everything from last night has almost completely healed, and these are all new.

Regardless of the peculiarities, they need attention, so you instruct him,

“Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You send him to your bedroom as you grab some washcloths, a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit from the bathroom.

You sit him up against your headboard, setting up your supplies on the comforter. Figuring it’s the most practical position for you to be in, you straddle his knees and begin dabbing at his cut and splintered hands with antiseptic. Realising there’s too much debris in the way, and wincing at the sheer size and quantity of them, you grab some tweezers, removing the splinters of various sizes that have embedded into his fingers and palms.

As you swap back to using the wet cloths and begin cleaning the blood from his skin, you’re perhaps less surprised than you should be to find that the new injuries have already stopped bleeding, and some of the smaller ones even appear to be closing up, apparently heading the same way as the cuts on his face and feet from whatever happened last night.

You work quietly for a few moments before your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that? Outside, just now? You seem…”

“Different? Yeah, I know… Don’t ask me how it happened, but I feel different too. Stronger, faster…”

He glances at you through his bangs.

“Less in control…”

His brow is furrowed as he holds your gaze, and you guess he’s waiting for you to back off. You don’t.

“I guess they… changed me.”

You move to touch his chin gently with one hand, wanting to reassure him. You realise that by telling him this you’re going to reveal that you were watching him, but you forge ahead anyway.

“Listen, I’m not gonna pretend that whatever it is that I just saw wasn’t a little… unnerving. But I’ve never felt unsafe around you. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”

He refuses to meet your gaze, and twists his battered hands together in his lap, seemingly fighting with himself.

“I should go. Leave you guys. You’re not safe with me here.”

A vice grip seizes your chest. All logic leaves you, and the only thing you can think about is never letting him go again.

“Eddie, no!”

“I don’t really know what their plan was, but I’m guessing they were trying to make me into a super soldier, or something. They’re not gonna stop. As soon as they find out what happened at the cemetery, they’re gonna try to find me. And if I could find you, they can find me.”

A ball of anxiety forms in you. You can’t let him go. You just can’t.

“I thought you were dead, we all did. I’ve only just found you again, after I thought I’d lost you forever. Please don’t say you’re going to leave?”

Your voice cracks and you swallow back a sob. You lurch forward and grip both of his hands with all the strength you have left, not caring that you’re getting his blood on you, and might even be hurting him.

If Eddie feels any pain, he doesn't flinch. But the sight of you falling to pieces in front of him, because of him, is apparently something he can’t bear.

“Okay, I won’t. I’ll stay tonight, at least. Then we’ll try to figure something out. Maybe contact Owens, see if he knows anything. Alright?”

He raises his head and looks into your eyes now, as you snuffle a little and manage a small smile. He’s yours for tonight, at least.

No, not exactly yours, you have to remind yourself. He’s safe, with all of you, for tonight, at least.

Something else decides to jostle for prominence in your mind, and you ask him, quietly,

“How did you find us? Really. How did you know where to go?”

Eddie takes a deep breath before shifting slightly, and he returns the grip on your hands.

You think you hear a little trepidation in his voice as he speaks.

“I don’t know if this is going to sound crazy, but… what doesn’t these days, right? It’s like- Even before… everything, it’s like every time I left you I left a part of my soul with you. And… it would stay with you all the time we were apart. And then whenever I was with you I’d find it again. That’s how I found you. It was like I was searching for a piece of myself, and somehow I just knew where to find it.”

He goes quiet, dropping his chin to his chest again.

His words play on a loop in your head. Even before… I left a part of my soul with you… and whenever I was with you I’d find it...

You shift forwards even more, closing the gap between you, and the movement makes you become acutely aware of your proximity. You become conscious of the feel of his firm thighs between yours, how good it feels. How, for the second time in less than twenty four hours, you wish there weren’t these thin pieces of fabric between you.

Something sparks in your chest: Could he feel the same way as you?

Your voice trembles as you practically beg him,

“I don't want you ever to leave, Eddie. I don’t want us to ever be apart, and always be there for each other. I don’t want you to ever be missing a part of your soul again. I want to be with you, always.”

Eddie huffs out a sob of his own, lifting your hands to his and nuzzling his face into your knuckles. He takes one and slowly turns his head until his round nose connects with your curled fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he connects his lips with the soft, sensitive skin on your palm.

Tentatively, he moves a little and purses them against the inside of your wrist, lightly pressing them there, inhaling deeply and his breath shuddering slightly as he inhales your scent.

You notice both of your breathing has quickened. You can feel Eddie’s as it passes over your skin, and you feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Eddie looks over at you. His body may have changed in myriad ways, but his eyes remain the same. They’re still the huge, beautiful, warm pools of cacao that have drawn you in since the moment you met. It’s the tether that makes you realise that no matter how else he might’ve changed, deep down he’s still Eddie. Your Eddie.

You move your other hand, gently taking his wrist, and move his free hand up to your face. You close your eyes as you softly kiss his palm, and then move his hand to cup your cheek.

Gently, almost imperceptibly, Eddie moves his thumb and touches it to the very corner of your mouth. You feel a heat in your belly and you turn your head towards it, skimming it over your lips.

Your eyes flick between his chocolate orbs as Eddie bends his thumb ever so slightly. The pad of it pulls at the plush of your lower lip a tiny amount, but it’s enough to create a gap.

Without thinking you start to open your jaw, and he begins to move forwards. As he pushes into your waiting mouth all you can think about is tasting him, and your tongue starts to move. Just as the tip of it is about to make contact with Eddie’s thumb, there’s a jarring yell.

“Hey, everybody! Grub’s up!”

You pull apart with a start, both inhaling sharply.

It’s Robin, calling from the kitchen. Of course you’re grateful that the mums never allow the kids to arrive empty handed, but a large part of you wishes that you and Eddie could’ve had just a little more time to explore… whatever this is.

You let out nervous chuckles as you smile softly at one another, and hold each other’s gaze for probably little longer than is strictly necessary before you gather up the medical supplies and you both stand.

You can’t help but take Eddie’s hand in yours as you pull him towards the kitchen, encouraging him to follow lest he misses out on the delicacy that is Dustin’s mom’s substantial contribution.

“C’mon, Claudia’s lasagnas are totally legendary. It may sound simple, but combined with Mrs Sinclair’s recipe for garlic bread, I promise you, you’re about to have a near-spiritual culinary experience.”

Still feeling the heat of what just occurred in your room you busy yourself with packing away the first aid kit, and then elect to sit across the table from Eddie. You convince yourself that you’re not avoiding him, simply allowing the kids the chance to get close to him for a little while.

As if reading your mind, Dustin immediately plants himself in the chair next to Eddie, swiftly followed by Mike on his other side. Lucas sits next to Dustin, and Will slides in next to Mike. They chatter excitedly about campaigns and creatures and characters, and to see Eddie flanked by his adoring sheep brings a different kind of warmth to your chest.

The conversation remains light over dinner. Jokes are cracked, teasing occurs, and you’re pleased everyone’s getting a break from the tension and horrors.

The culinary delights are as good as you’d promised, and Eddie hums and moans at the delicious bounty before him. He remains pale, but he’s definitely regained some strength, vigour.

He glances over at you after taking an especially large mouthful of the meaty dish, and after you stop giggling at his uncouth antics he grins at you, tomato sauce staining his lips and the sides of his mouth, confirming,

“You’re right, this is goddamn heavenly!”

At another point he takes a particularly large bite of some soaked bread, and herb-flecked garlic butter oozes all over his thumb. Your eyes are drawn to it as he brings it to his mouth and presses it between his plump lips, and your eyes connect across the table as he sucks it off, twisting the digit and temporarily giving himself the most salacious pout. He spots you looking, and leaves his thumb in his mouth for what you consider is altogether too long before pulling it out with a pop. You gulp audibly and shift in your seat, grateful for the general clamour disguising your arousal.

You haven’t discussed as a group whether or where Eddie’s going to stay, though it seems to be unspoken between all of you that of course he’s going to remain here until you can all figure out what to do next. You decide not to raise the earlier conversation you had about him possibly leaving.

Dustin’s the first to broach the subject, asking,

“So, where’re you sleeping tonight, Eddie? You wanna come bunk with us in the warmest room in the house?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to extol the virtues of the open fire. His excitement is palpable, and you envy the optimism of youth that can make even the least appealing flat surfaces sound like an enticing bedspace.

You interject on Eddie’s behalf, suggesting,

“Hey guys, I know it would be the coolest sleepover ever, but I think Eddie might’ve earned the luxury of an actual bedroom after what he’s been through recently, don’t you think?”

Dustin looks crestfallen, but recovers quickly, agreeing with an only slightly pouty,

“I suppoooooose…”

Without looking at the others, you turn to Eddie and proffer,

“You’ll stay in my room, right?”

Eddie nods, his curls bouncing, as he agrees, perhaps a little too quickly,

“Of course, yep, that sounds… entirely fine.”

You miss how Robin and Steve glance at each other, Steve raising an eyebrow as Robin smirks at him.

There’s a quick clean up as dishes are done and pans are left to soak. Craving normalcy, you pile into the small living room and manage to make it through about two thirds of another of Keith’s loaned films before blinks get longer, eyes start to close and heads start to loll.

Robin chivvies the teens to get their sleeping bags set up, and there’s the typical grousing and bickering as everyone tries to use the bathroom at the same time. You think at one point three of the boys are trying to use the sink simultaneously, jostling each other and spitting far too enthusiastically in an effort to spray their compatriots. It’s a small nugget of frivolity that makes you consider the possibility that you might just all be okay.

Steve moves the small electric heater from his room back to yours, and you retrieve Eddie’s clothes from the drier. He slips into his Hellfire shirt and clean boxers as you change into your Garfield nightshirt, and then starts to grab blankets from beside you.

Confused, you question,

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, uh… I just thought I’d sleep on the floor, y’know, give you the bed.”

You’re aghast.

“Don't be silly, Eddie. There’s plenty of room. Sleep up here, please? I mean, it’s not like we never have before. All those nights in the trailer when I got too baked to make it home, or you got too baked to drive me, or both…”

You both chuckle at the fond memory. You wonder whether you’ll ever let on that sometimes you were faking it, or deliberately took too many drags from the last blunt, just so you could spend the night with him, in his bed.

He throws the blankets back over and, smiling, climbs in beside you.

Turning off your bedside light, the room becomes bathed in the low, pale blue glow of the moonlight.

You both lie on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Somehow it’s easier to talk like this.

Thumbing the skull ring on your hand, you want to talk about the… other thing that happened, but have no idea how to bring it up.

As you’re ruminating, Eddie beats you to it.

“I hope it wasn’t weird? Earlier, I mean. It was…”

Your thighs clench a minuscule amount as you recall the feel of him between them, and the lightest brush of your lips on various parts of each other, and you finish his sentence for him.

“Nice. It was nice.”

Shit. It was so much more than nice, you think to yourself.

“I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or anything. I guess I’m just a little touch-starved, y’know…?”

“I don’t. Honestly, I’m just glad to be close to you again. And if I made you feel uncomfortable then I’m really sorry…”

You can tell by the minor shifts in the covers and from his general demeanour that Eddie’s fidgeting with his hands.

“You didn’t, I promise.”

There’s another pause, and Eddie huffs out another small breath before he continues,

“Listen, I know the past twenty-four hours has basically been weirdness personified, and I don’t want to make it even weirder, but…can I… maybe… hold you?”

“I think weird is probably the understatement of the century, but it’s okay. And… I think I’d like that.”

You shift closer to one another under the covers, and you turn onto your side as Eddie moves himself to spoon behind you in an echo of your position last night.

He tentatively drapes his arm over you. He feels warmer than when you last did this, and more relaxed, and you press slightly backwards towards him as much as you dare, letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh.

You take Eddie’s hand in yours, threading your fingers with his, running yours over and between his digits and turning his forelimb this way and that. He hums into your hair and lets you move his arm however you like.

But you stop when you glance down in the dim light and spot a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist that you’ve not seen before. It’s definitely new. You know this because you’ve spent hours tracing over every inch of his inked skin, fantasising about following the images with more than just your eyes, imagining using your fingers, your hands, your lips, your tongue…

But this one’s not like any of his others. This one is small and simple, and looks like the outlines of two soft-cornered rectangles with a blocky W between them. It takes you a moment to process what you’re looking at, realising it looks a lot like one you’ve seen before. She’s had it covered with a delicate floral design (having connections in government really can get you anything, including underage ink), but you remember what it looked like.

Jane’s was a rectangle stacked on top of two horizontal lines, but when you looked at it from a different angle it became numbers: 011.

Looking at Eddie’s, you move the position of his arm. It turns the image a little, suddenly giving it more meaning, as you see it depicts a different number: 030.

Quietly, you croak,

“Eddie, what’s thi-?”

You don’t have a chance to process what any of it could mean as Eddie suddenly tenses, his head lifted from the pillows and his face flicking towards the window and back to you.

His brow furrows as he murmurs,

“Do you hear that?”

You strain your ears and hear nothing at first. But then, gradually, and from far away, you hear the disturbingly familiar sounds of flapping, shuffling and screeching.

Goosebumps appear on your arms and the back of your neck as you abruptly recall the only things you know of that make sounds like these:

Creatures from the Upside Down…

Prev: Prologue Part One

Series masterlist

My masterlist

Thanks so much for reading!

I really hope you enjoyed this part. The next one will probably be the last, and the taglist is open (as is my general one), just say the word, friend 🙂

Comments and reblogs mean the world to me - please let me know what you think!

A/N 2: Did anyone spot the LOTR, Captain America and/or Make Up references? 🧝‍♂️🪓👍 (Also, completely by accident, AQPDO too 😜, and ETA: this and THIS 🫠)

Taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @ali-r3n @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @jasminelafleur @corrodedcoffincumslut @kthomps914 @iletmytittiestitty-russ @findmeincorneliastreet @tlclick73 @sapphire4082 @razzeith @cupid-club @storiesbyrhi @eris-rose-86 @micheledawn1975 @bl0ssomanddie @veemoon @sunshinepeachx @writinginthetwilight @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @idkitsem @em0220 @kookygranger @fanfics-i-find-here @the-unforgivenn @b3lladoonna @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @amandahobblepot @daisy-munson @sheneedsrocknroll92 @maedesculpaeusoubi @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @kellsck @eddiemunsonshandcuffs @babydollface1165

(I’m getting a bit tangled up with my taglists so I hope nobody’s mortally offended if I either have or haven’t included them!)

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gallusrostromegalus · 8 months ago

Note

I must ask how my Most Favorite Boys, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, are doing in AEIWAM?

When Shinji returns to his post as Captain of the 5th after his exile, he is DETERMINED to not repeat his past mistakes and actually get to know the shinigami serving under him. He needs... Some kind of event, something people will voluntarily attend, where they'll tell him about themselves, and with a bit of structure because he is an awkward sod, and social interactions need RULES, DAMMIT-

"Now hang on-" says Shinji after staring at the blank office wall in silence for the last thirty minutes. "-that's not a bad idea!"

"...Is he okay?" Lieutenant Momo asks quietly.

"Oh yeah, he's always a little freak. Talks to himself and gets a lot out of the conversation." Also Lieutenant Hiyori nods. "You don't need to worry until he breaks out the craft supplies."

"He just pulled out a bunch of markers and construction paper." Momo pointed to their captain as he scribbled furiously on the paperwork he was ignoring.

"Aw. Fuck." Groaned Hiyori. "Well this is gonna be cringe as hell."

***

A few nights later, most of the fifth division assembled in the auditorium, slightly confused, but they had been promised there would be no additional work from this meeting, and there was an open bar, so they were in figurative and literal high spirits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fifth Division, welcome to TONIGHT'S GAME!" A cheerful and showman-like voice called out over the speakers, and the stage curtain rose to reveal a brightly colored game show stage where there had not been one before.

"Tonight's lovely contestants are- all the way from payroll, it's Fifth Division Tenth Seat Tenya Danshin!" The voice called out as the familiar face of their payroll and scheduling manager trotted out onstage and took his place behind the first of three podiums. There was some scattered and genuine, if confused applause from the audience.

"He's Big, he's Bad, he's just a little Bizarre, he's Josuke Araki!" The voice continued as a notably tall and muscular member took his place behind the middle podium with a wave and broad grin. There was more clapping and a few cheers this time.

"Currently being dragged onstage by my lovely assistant, it's my second favorite Lieutenant, Hiyori Sarugaki!" The voice continued as Hiyori was wrestled onstage and behind the third podium by Momo. The audience whooped and snickered at the spectacle.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FREAK!" Hiyori roared, flipping off the audience and the figure behind the final podium on the other side of the stage.

"I'm your host, ME! I've been here the whole time!" Grinned Shinji, dressed in a rather snappy three piece suit and holding a microphone. "WELCOME, all my lovely division members and Hiyori, to Tonight's Game! Now, you all know how to play, right?"

"Um. No. Sorry sir." Muttered Tenya as Josuke shook his head.

"You didn't tell us shit!" Hiyori growled.

"That's RIGHT!" Shinji's Cheshire Cat smile shined under the spotlights.

"You see, I wanted to get to know everyone in the 5th a little better, and there is nothing quite like a game show to get people to reveal some truly startling sides of themselves, but playing the same game over and over would be boring! So, every night we play Tonight's Game, the game is a different game than last time, and the contestants will all start with blank slates!" He explained, entirely too pleased with himself. "So- the only way to win is by learning, the only way to learn is by playing, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado- Momo, will you please bring out THE LIE DETECTOR."

The small curtains at the back of the stage opened, and Momo rolled out a cart with a strange device covered in dials and switches with a long antenna and a large lightbulb on top.

"Thank you Momo! Now, the clever bastards in the 12th whipped this up for me so I have absolutely no idea how it actually works, but I am assured this is the latest cutting-edge in Veracity Technology. Let's turn it on and try it out! Tenya-!"

"Yes, sir!" Tenya snapped to attention. "No need to be formal, I'm only your host, not your captain right now." Shinji waved. "Tell me Tenya- Do you have any children?"

"I- Um, my wife and I have three children, two little boys and our infant daughter?" He stammered, confused.

DING! The Device charmed, light bulb lighting up bright green.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji grinned. "You get a point!"

There was another chime as the screen on the front of Tenya's Podium lit up and displayed a "1".

"Oh, I see!" Laughed Tenya.

"Josuke!" called Shinji.

"Capt- Host?" Josuke stopped mid-salute.

"Very good! Tell me Josuke, do you live in the barracks?" Shinji asked with genuine interest.

"Uh, no. I live with my Mom." Josuke shook his head.

DING! Said the device.

"That is Correct!" Shinji nodded approvingly. "You get a point as well!"

"Oh, so, every time we tell the truth, we get a point?" Asked Josuke.

"Very quick on the uptake my friend!" Shinji winked. "Of course, as the game goes on, the questions are going to get much harder to answer Truthfully..."

Oooooooh! Gasped the audience, invested now.

"What happens if we lie?" Wondered Tenya.

"Even if we did- how would he fucking know?" Hiyori rolled her eyes.

"You can try it and find out!" Shinji grinned with more than a hint of Menace. "Hiyori! It's your turn!"

"Ugh. What?" She groaned.

"Tell me, When is my birthday?" Asked Shinji.

"I don't know and I don't care." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

BZZRK! The Device buzzed angrily, and the light flashed red. OHH! laughed the audience.

"What the FUCK?" Yelped Hiyori.

"Ooh!" Shinji winced, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm afraid that is INCORRECT! According to the screen back here, you spent the better part of THREE MONTHS tracking down a specific part to repair my sound system and traveled halfway across the planet to deliver it personally to me on my birthday. So not only do you know, you DO care, and for that I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you two points."

Hiyori's screen lit up and displayed a "-2"

"WHAT THE HELL?" Hiyori wailed. "You didn't even see me when I gave you that Banana Plug or whatever-!"

"I did not!" Shinji grinned. "-but The Device knows, and is infallible!" "That's terrifying!" Tenya laughed nervously. "Alright contestants, the questions are going to get harder now, so consider your answers to them carefully." Shinji warned, a finger up to his lips. "Contestants- does any of your underwear have holes in it?"

"...Can we refuse to answer on the grounds it might get us in trouble?" asked Josuke.

"Yes! But you won't get any points for that round, and you may not win our Lovely Prize this week. Speaking of- Momo! Will you please show our contestants what they're playing for this week?"

Momo emerged from backstage with a large, blank sign, which she turned over and held over her head for all to see.

AN EXTRA WEEK OF PAID VACATION

OHHH! exclaimed the audience, with a few audible mutters of Damn, a whole week? and How do you get on this show?.

"ALL MY UNDERWEAR HAS GOT HOLES IN IT!" Shouted Josuke, now with heavily-motivated enthusiasm. Laughter exploded out of the audience, thoroughly entertained.

DING! chimed the device, and the score on Josuke's podium went up.

"Josuke taking an early and shameless lead!" Beamed Shinji, delighted that his plan was working. "Tenya?"

"I-ah, I don't think so?" Tenya blushed. "I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed while my wife does the laundry." He tried to explain.

BZZRK! The Device contested, red light flashing and the audience howled with laughter.

"Uh-oh, that's Not Correct!" Grinned Shinji. "According to the device, a significant amount of your clothes have holes in them, and you don't notice because you get dressed in the dark. You didn't outright lie though, so you will only not get a point instead of a deduction."

"WHAT?" Yelped Hiyori, outraged.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tenya winced. "Seriously though- where does this thing get it's information from?"

"...Hiyori?" Shinji leered playfully at his lieutenant.

"Yeah, it's all got holes. They come that way- Two for my legs and one for my torso." Hiyori snarled.

DING! agreed The Device.

"That is *technically* correct, which is the BEST kind of correct! You get a point!" Shinji cheered, and so did the audience.

"FINALLY!" She shouted, but her eyes narrowed with competitive enthusiasm.

---

The game continued for an hour, with a mix of group and solo questions, but equal chances to score points awarded to all contestants. Josuke was shameless but ill-informed, causing him to fail several rounds, Tenya was honest even as his face flushed red and he crumpled behind his Podium. Hiyori did her best to be only as honest as she had to be, and as the game continued, they came to a three-way tie.

"Before we begin the final round-" Shinji said, intoning a gentle sincerity. "Contestants, you've been so honest with me. Like. Alarmingly Honest with me. So I need to be honest with you- I do know how The Lie Detector works."

There was a scandalized gasp from all three contestants and the audience.

"Okay- I *sort of* know how The Device works." Shinji admitted. "I don't know what 'Wiffy' is-"

"YOU MEAN THE FUCKING WI-FI?" Howled Hiyori.

"Oh, like you know how it works!" Shinji glared.

"It's using a radio frequency to transmit Data instead of an electrical pulses like internet usually does." She scoffed. "-AND I KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE IT!"

Shinji glared. "...I should deduct a point from you for insubordination."

"You can't do that, you're the Host, not the Captain!" Said Josuke cheerfully.

"Yeah, unless Host is a Military rank, it's arguing, not insubordination."

DING! Agreed The Device.

"DON'T GANG UP ON ME!" Shinji wailed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, I might not know how Why-Figh works, but I *DO* know how the device knows if you're lying or not. Would my Lovely Assistants please come to the stage?"

Momo emerged from backstage, wearing a labcoat and holding another device with an antenna that matched the Lie Detector, followed by a middle aged woman holding a Baby, an older woman, and Mashiro Kuna.

"Akkiko?" Tenya yelped, and his wife laughed manically.

"MOM??" Wailed Josuke.

"MASHIRO??" Hiyori bellowed, jumping up onto her Podium. "YOU SOLD ME OUT?!"

"FOR A BAG OF CORN CHIPS!" Mashiro cackled.

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN PAY HER?!" Hiyori howled at Shinji.

"She was gonna do it for free! I talked her UP to a bag of corn chips!" Shinji protested. "But YES! You've all been deceived! Hoodwinked!Bamboozled, even! Which brings us to our Final Question!"

The crowd roared with excitement.

"I started this game because I wanted to get to know everyone better- but I have to ask, how well do YOU know each other, and so I must ask you all if you know these people as well as they know you?"

There was a loud OOOH! of intrigue from the audience.

"Just to make it extra-exciting, all of these questions will be worth up to three points!" Shinji grinned, then slowly turned to the first Podium. "Tenya."

"Oh god." Tenya laughed nervously.

"Your lovely wife. You've been married for ten year now, so you theoretically know what she looks like, right?" Shinji teased. "So, for a potential three points and week of paid vacation- Do you know what color Akkiko's eyes are?"

Akkiko giggled, turning around as Tenya leaned as far forward on his Podium and squinted at her. With a deep sigh, he slumped over the podium in defeat.

"...I do not." He groaned and Akkiko cackled.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji cheered.

"I'm not good with colors." Tenya tried to explain. "-this morning I actually asked her what color MY eyes are."

"YES! That's what I was waiting to hear!" Shinji shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "All three points!"

The audience cheered loudly.

Shinji turned to the next contestant. "Josuke."

"Oh no." Josuke giggled.

"What is your mother's favorite food?" Shinji asked.

Josuke stared blankly.

"SURELY you are not living in your mother's house and NOT COOKING FOR HER, are you?" Shinji asked with no small amount of menace.

"You're never going to get married if you can't cook!" Tenya nodded in agreement.

"I COOK!" Josuke protested. "...sometimes." he added, cringing.

"-So. What do you make for your beloved mother, who works so hard taking care of her adult son?" Shinji teased.

"LOTSA STUFF THAT'S WHY I DON'T KNOW!" Josuke wailed. "I COOK KATSUDON, I COOK RAMEN, I COOK CURRY, I COOK OMURICE- I EVEN LEARNED HOW TO COOK WESTERN FOODS LIKE LASAGNA AND CHILLI CHEESE DOG-! DING! Went the device, Josuke's mother holding the radio.

"Was your favorite in there Mrs. Akari?"

"Yes! I like Chili Cheese Dog." She smiled. "I always eat seconds!"

"YOU ALWAYS EAT SECONDS OF EVERYTHING I COOK I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE YOU LIKE THE MOST!" Josuke wailed.

"That is also true! He is a very good cook! And single!" She nodded up at Shinji.

"-And he's single!" Shinji grinned at the audience, some of whom whistled back. "Three points, for your culinary skills! Which means we have a Tie!"

The audience tittered with speculation and excitement.

"...Hiyori." Shinji grinned.

"You're a dead man as soon as you sign off on my vacation time." She glared.

"I mean, I can end the game right now." Shinji wagged his finger at her. "-But I can't resist the opportunity to humliate you. Now, You and Mashiro have been living under the same roof for longer than Josuke and Tenya have been alive, so to be fair to them, I'll ask you about someone you've met more recently but should still know pretty well-"

Hiyori squinted at him.

"-What is Momo's Favorite Animal?"

"What?" Hiyori laughed. "-Everyone knows it's Penguins!"

"Really?" asked Josuke. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I didn't know that either and I've served under her for decades now!" Said Tenya.

"What? How do you guys NOT know that?" Demanded Hiyori. "Her phone background is a Rockhopper Penguin, she's got a Fairy penguin squeeze toy in her desk for really long phone calls and she's always talking about wanting to go to the Tokyo aquarium in the living world to see them in person! She's even got a HUGE collection of penguin plushies in her r-" DINGDINGDINGDINGSING!! rang the Machine as Momo furiously pressed the button, face red as a beet.

"Wow!" Shinji smiled. "I'm surprised! You seem to know Miss Hinamori really well!"

"Uh, duh? We're colleagues." Hiyori rolled her eyes.

Momo sighed with relief.

"Interesting! Follow-up question- What's Mashiro's surname?" Shinji asked.

Hiyori blinked. "...uhhhhhhhh..."

"You heard Kensei yell it at least six times a day for the last century you jackass!" Laughed Mashiro.

"UHHHHH..." Hiyori paled, and the audience roared with laughter.

"Hmm... I seem to remember you pretending you didn't care about my birthday, and yet, you do- For you to remember her favorite animal and in such detail, Momo must be VERY IMPORTANT to you!"

The audience giggled Momo turned scarlet again and slowly crumpled into a ball. Mashiro vibrated with excitement beside her.

"Yeah?" Hiyori glared at Shinji. "She's the smartest person in the whole damn division and does half your job for you? If I win, I'm giving the week off to her just to watch you flail around without her! No wait- I'll set up the webcam and we can split the week off, go to the aquarium AND watch Shinji squirm like a worm an a-! Uh? Momo? You okay there?" She asked, finally noticing Momo laying on the floor, borderline catatonic with embarrassment.

"This is FASCINATNG!" Shinji grinned. "You are apparently so immune to embarrassment that you have somehow made it bounce off you and target Momo!"

"What's to be embarrassed about? I like her okay?" Hiyori blinked. "She's great! I wanna work with her forever!"

Shinji leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands and stared at Hiyori, positively vibrating with excitement.

"What?" She glared.

"You are. SO CLOSE. To comprehending something." He said, wide-eyed and delighted. "It's fascinating to see someone on the precipice like this."

Hiyori stared blankly at him. clueless.

"So you like Momo. We've established that." Shinji said, attempting to throw her a bone. "H- how do you think Momo feels about you?" Hiyori slowly lowered her gaze to Momo. The entire audience watched in hushed fascination as Hiyori frowned at the situation, thinking hard-

"...Momo?" Hiyori's voice was suddenly nervous. "Do you- have I just been annoying you? Becuase I can stop-"

Momo Hinamori was abruptly on her feet, crouched atop the Podium, fists balled in the front of Hiyori's shushako, pulling the blonde's face up so it was mere inches from hers. "HIYORI SARUGAKI YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Fuck!" Hiyori yelped. "I'm really sorry, I'll- I'll leave you alo-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO DO, MISSY!" Momo continued, grabbing Hiyori's face. "YOU'RE WINNING THIS GAME, YOU'RE SPLITTING THE WEEK OFF WITH ME, YOU ARE GETTING A HOTEL IN THE LIVING WORLD AND THEN *I* AM GOING TO-'

In the videotape of the game that mysteriously appeared in the ninth division later that week, the next forty-seven seconds of sound had been obscured by a single, loud, continuous "BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" sound, but Mashiro was visibly looking up some of the terms being shouted on her phone, Josuke's mother sprinted up to cover her son's ears to no avail, Akkiko was pointing between herself and Tenya with excitement, and Shinji's jaw fell so far open it looked like it had become unhinged from his skull.

"-AND IF EITHER OF US CAN WALK IN THE MORNING, THEN WE'RE GONNA GO SEE SOME PENGUINS!" Momo finished, staring Hiyori down with a terrifying blend of romantic fury and bloodthirsty lust.

Hiyori stared up, wide-eyed and expressionless, face clearly offline as she underwent several psychological and spiritual awakenings before her she slowly broke into a slow, stupefied grin "Oh you like-like me!"

"...Yes." Momo sighed, deeply pained and affectionate at once as the audience howled. "You're okay with... all that?"

Hiyori saluted Momo with an enthusiastic "-Yes, SIR!"

"NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKIN' ABOUT!" Shinji whooped with joy, jumping up and down, the audience on their feet with applause. "POINTS AND VACATIONS ALL AROUND, AND FOR BEING THE *MOST* HONEST, THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S GAME IS MOMO HINAMORI!"

The audience cheered wildly as Momo scooped Hiyori up like a princess and carried her backstage.

"THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT'S GAME!" called Shinji over the din. "GOODNIGHT EVERYONE, AND GOOD FUCKING LUCK!"

---

As for Jushiro Ukitake, he appears on a special guest episode of Tonight's Game with fellow Captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki and Retsu Unohana to play "Never Have I Ever" and *that* episode is widely considered to be one of the most scandalous and unhinged of all the games on Tonight's Game.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #Shinji hirako #momo hinamori #hiyori sarugaki #jushiro ukitake #(well he get mentioned at the end)#Long post #I've been watching a lot of Game Changer and I occured to me that Shinji and Sam Reich have a lot in common #for those of who don't watch Game Changer: This is a parody of the second episode

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auroreliis · 1 year ago

Note

Batfam would have to do research on my special interests if they want to win me over fast but also the thought of super serious Bruce and Damian watching/reading jojos bizarre adventure is really funny to me

Absolutely they would. For you, they would binge every show, play every game and read every paragraph of a book just to have something in common with you. They would all do it for different reasons, but in the end, you would have to listen to them outnerd you.

Bruce's regard for your interests is wholesome. He genuinely wants to know what makes you happy, what you do in your free time, what you could talk about for hours. In order to be able to listen to you talk for hours, he surrounds himself with your interests. You like this artist? He buys a few of their most popular albums. This game is entertaining to you? He either tries it out or watches you play it. There's this film you're excited about? He watches it with you.

Although most of your interests are different, he does actually find himself enjoying anything you enjoy. Perhaps it reminds him of you.

Dick has this one fear. He believes that no matter how persistent he is, if you aren't reciprocating his clinginess, the two of you will grow apart eventually, so he never leaves you alone, even when you beg him to. It isn't really a secret, as he makes it quite obvious, but he hopes you will one day embrace him as he embraces you. You probably get sick of him and tell him how boring he is, which shatters his heart completely.

Now he has to figure out a way to spend time with you, but he needs to make sure you are also enjoying his company, lest you hurt him with your cruelty once more, so he researches every last fact about your interests, be it an activity, a game, a book, a person, he knows everything about it. Dick doesn't want to make it obvious that he only found out this information the night prior, so he cautiously needs to start a conversation.

He most likely waits until you are occupied with your interest before walking up to you, "Hey, is that _____? Wow, I used to be obsessed with it as a kid, I'm suprised you even know it, it isn't that popular and it's quite old." He pats your head and sits down next to you, grinning as you start rambling about it to him. You are actually talking to him. It worked.

Jason is careful when sharing his interests with you. He needs to preserve his reputation as your cool older brother and usually people don't share his interests, so when he finds you reading a classic book, he seats himself nearby, waiting for you to finish reading. Once you're done, he makes sure you enjoyed the book before fanboying about it. You immediately notice how much of a nerd he is. He also recommends similar books or ones he thinks you would enjoy as well. In the end he pulls you into so many fandoms that you stop listening when he recommends books. You've already got like 40 more to read.

Tim does not have this problem. The moment he knew you existed, he educated himself and has kept up with your interests ever since. "Just in case", or ,"Just because", he said, typing a summary of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. "I might as well", he takes notes while binging One Piece. This guy is clinically insane. Fortunately for him, he can now start conversations with you very easily, since he knows everything about your interests (and everything else about you).

Side note: If you refuse to spend time with him even after he did all that for you, the following outcomes are possible:

Either you pity him and spend time with him or Dick tries and fails to guilt trip you, only to end up forcing you to spend time with poor Tim who was awake for a whole week just to impress you (Tim frantically nods along with anything Dick says).

Damian takes great pride in having things in common with you, so as soon as he notices you being fond of something, he surrounds himself with it. You have a favourite colour? He creates a few painting with specifically that colour. You like a certain animal? He will try to adopt one. Damian would, of course, never admit it to you, but he desperately wants you to notice that you two have similar interests (As in, you have an interest and he pretends to also like it just so you maybe talk to him).

If you don't talk to him, he will become more aggressive with his attempts of having you notice him, perhaps randomly coming into your room to paint, claiming that the lighting there is better. Or he asks Bruce to adopt a certain animal during dinner. His attempts are obvious to you, but he doesn't know that.

Cassandra wouldn't really need to share interests with you. She's always close to you anyway. While she does speak to you every now and then, she is perfectly comfortable with sitting in your proximity in silence. However, if you ever asked her to, she would research anything you need her to in order to rant or ramble to her. As long as she has her eyes on you, anything is fine.

Stephanie immediately goes to Tim for help, knowing that he went insane and made a bunch of summaries and notes. First, she makes fun of him, then she apologises, because he threatened to take the notes away, she then complains about how much there is to read before finishing the essays Tim wrote, giving herself about a week. Steph then talks to you as if she didn't go through all that trouble just to have a topic to talk to you about.

Dick told Barbara all about his shenanigans. She even helped him figure out what you're interested in, even researching about it herself. She isn't as intrusive as the others, instead waiting until the moment is right, not wanting to scare you away or overwhelm you. Perhaps if you're alone, she'll come up to you and start with small talk, only really mentioning your special interest if it's involved somehow. Overall, she is the least feral of the bunch (in this situation, at least).

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ashprompts · 7 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

a collection of sentence starters from dropout tv's game changer. feel free to alter pronouns/text as you see fit

“I’ve been here THE WHOLE TIME”

“It’s hard to hold this much anger in my body.”

“If you never hear from me again, you know what to do!.”

“If they don’t find me it’s because I was chopped up and fed to the pigs!”

“I SOLVED YOUR LABYRINTH, PUZZLEMASTER. THE MINOTAUR’S ESCAPED, AND YOU’RE GONNA GET THE HORNS, BUDDY”

“I. CANNOT. WIN!!!!”

“A lot of people have been saying that ___ is a singularly evil, wildly incompetent, befuddled nepo baby silver spoon motherfucker. This is what people are saying.”

“If you can do ONE swing on the swing I will let you play with all the math puzzles that you want”

“You’re not getting a FUCKING JOKE OUT OF ME until you let me out of this room! You want bits?! You let me out of this room for bits, motherfucker!”

“Are we gonna die before we get outta here?”

“I’m gonna lose so fucking hard it’s gonna blow your fucking mind”

“But in this sick rodeo, this bizarre fucked up clown festival, we’re here celebrating what I can only describe as the sickness at the core of America.”

“Give me the assignment and I don’t miss. I’m gonna DIE before this is over.”

“Your tower’s gonna fall. Laugh it up now.”

“A river of sweat is running down my back right now.”

“I do hate zombies and I will have nightmares about this tonight. But in this moment I just feel like I’m surrounded by friends.”

“We don’t give a cum.”

“If you’re in a hole, DYING. I WON’T BE THERE.”

“I showed them my feet, [name]! I SHOWED THEM MY FEET FOR NOTHING?”

“Stop shaking your cock in the middle of a fucking huddle, dude!”

“I’d fuck that pie.”

“If you’re like me, you eat a lot of ass.”

“I hate capitalism but I also hate losing.”

“I get my tongue so far up somebody it’s like I’m tasting their tonsils. I get so deep in there I’m gonna burn myself with stomach acid.”

“I like perching like a little bisexual gargoyle”

“If you were performing on a subway I would take money away from you.”

“I’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN TO PULL THE THREAD ON THIS SWEATER.”

“Icarus flying too close to the sun, but it seems Daedalus our little mastercrafter over here had some WAX WINGS OF HIS OWN, didn’t he? Wanted to see his son fall, faaaalll from the sky, OH HOW CLOSE TO THE SUN HE FLEW”

“Hey can I get an ah? … Don’t scream at me.”

“You kinda have the vibe that your kids call you by your first name.”

“The day I DON’T curse when a body falls from the sky, call somebody.”

“Could I place an order? I’m hungie. What do you think would be the best pizza to order if I’m quite hungie? Um, I like cheese, what is your largest pizza? Yeah let’s get an extra large because I’m hungie. I’m hungie, I’m hungie, I’m hungie.”

“WE ARE NOT ANIMALS!!!”

“So long as I am on this stage and drawing breath, you can good and goddamn believe I’ll be trying my best in every challenge.”

“Was it bad that we just started smashing shit?”

“You didn't count on INGENUITY did you motherfucker?!”

“FIGHT THE BOURGEOISIE. I WILL VENMO YOU $20.”

“This could be hell. This is very Satre-esque.”

“YOU ARE NOT GOD. THE MACHINE IS GOD.”

“Can you tell us why you’d do this to us?”

“I won’t be made a fool”

“I do feel like I’m in a nightmare”

“I’m the only one OUT of the loop it seems”

“Everybody do the wenis! The wenis is a dance! Everybody is a genius! Who knows it in advance!”

"DANCE IS A SIN!"

"You think I'm gonna fucking roll over?!"

"It'll be a COLD DAY IN HELL when I go out like a fucking chump!"

"I don't care about winning, I just don't wanna lose"

#rp memes #rp meme #rp prompts #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #ask memes #ask meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence prompts #sentence starters #game changer rp meme #dropout rp meme

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foodiegoogie · 4 months ago

Text

bittersweet reminiscing

james potter x implied fem!reader ✮ 3.2k

summary: it’s a wedding, but it’s not yours. all the while you put yourself into a situation that’s both self-deprecating and weirdly, self-reflective. all because of a certain bespectacled person you’re very much in love with.

cw/tags: friends to lovers to exes to friends :’), initial fluff, eventual angst, buckle up kids

note: HELLO! to whoever comes across this, i’m ngl… idk what i was doing with this one 😭 but all i can say is that it’s loosely based on the apartment we won’t share by niki <3 my queen, my lady <33 with that, i hope u enjoyyyy 🥹

( ♡ )

Inside each of us are two wolves; one is evil, one is good. Those wolves constantly battle against each other, and as for which wolf wins - well, that entirely depends on you.

You apply the same sentiment to James, because while everyone else compares him to the sun - blinding, effervescent, and almost always the center of attention - you compare him to a two-faced maniac. Actually, more appropriately, you think of him as a two-faced maniac.

Because inside of James Potter there are two contradicting sides to his personality; one that’s easy to love, and one that’s easy to hate.

You were fortunate enough to witness both of these sides to his bizarre personality, to put it simply. You can’t forget the very first time you met his warm brown eyes with yours, and the way he beamed at you instantly like he knew something you did not (in the future, you think to yourself that maybe that was true). You first have an encounter with the side of James that’s easy to hate, what with the jokes and pranks he pulled as a young boy in Hogwarts, coupled with the relentless teasing he threw your way each and every time he’d catch a glimpse of you in the corridors of the castle, or sit next to you during classes.

Even then, you also remember the very first time you caught sight of the side of James that was easy to love.

—

“Hey, you,” You don’t need to turn your head to know who it was that sat beside you. And you don’t need to look at him to see the mischievous smirk on his face, because you could already hear it in his voice.

You expect him to bring up something ridiculous that he’s noticed about you in particular today, like he always does in his ‘routine’ with you, but the growing silence between you is void of that. You start to turn your head to look at him out of curiosity when he speaks up again.

“Helloooo?” James drawls, his annoyance is clear in his voice even as he calls your name. “I’m trying to talk to you, and you won’t even look at me? How rude.”

It takes every ounce of your pride not to roll your eyes at him. You wouldn’t give James the satisfaction of showing how much he bothers you. Otherwise, he’d never stop.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t stop.

You hear him scoff in disbelief from beside you, and an image of him with crossed arms and a pout on his lips crosses your mind.

“Wow, you’re giving me the silent treatment? And here I thought we were just starting to get along just fine!” And just as quickly as he starts, James is rambling on about how it was totally unfair that you’re just blatantly ignoring him when the first class of the day had barely even begun.

You decide right then and there to finally turn your head towards him, and James cuts himself off from his rambling as the corners of his lips curl up into an amused smirk.

He’s not even fazed in the slightest as you glare daggers at him. “There you are,” He smiles victoriously, crossing his arms as his chest puffs out with pride. “Took you long enough.”

This time, you allow yourself to roll your eyes.

“You were being loud, and I prefer to wait for our professor in silence,” You emphasise the last word of your statement, looking pointedly at James.

He’s still smiling at you as he says, “Yeah, I know.”

You ought to punch the smile off of his face. “You know?”

James nods his head, and his messy curls follow with the motion. You think it frames his face quite nicely, fortifying his boyish charm. But then you remember that you’re supposed to be annoyed with him, not charmed.

“Of course, I do,” He grins, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“James, we aren’t friends.” You hear yourself speak, although you obviously thought otherwise with the hint of fondness in your tone.

“What?!” He gasps, bewilderment etched onto his face. “We aren’t?”

You could tell that he was just being himself, theatrical with the bewildered look on his face. James’ eyes are wide with mock-disbelief, his nostrils are flaring, and his mouth is hung open like he’s actually shocked.

Before you even realise it, you’re already laughing hard, and your hand moves to clutch your stomach in the process.

James smiles at the sound of your laughter, taking in the way your eyes were crinkled and sparkling with amusement. He looks proud of himself.

“I like your laugh,” He says to you in a soft, honest voice. “You should do it more often when you’re with me.”

The laughter dies down in your throat, and you can’t tell how you feel about his words. But your chest fills with a weird sense of warmth, and it spreads throughout your whole body as James continues to gaze at you like you’re the most interesting thing to look at.

—

You remember it quite vividly, that very moment in time. It happened back when you were just first-years, new to the world of Hogwarts, and to each other. But you suppose you’re able to vividly picture the memory in your head, even after all this time, because James still manages to give you the same warm feeling that fills your chest and spreads throughout your body.

It’s there when he compliments you genuinely for the first time, and it’s there when he smiles at you when you lock eyes with each other from across the room.

It’s not there, however, when he voices out his feelings for Lily Evans to you during your fourth year at Hogwarts.

—

“Honestly, she can slap me with a book, and I’d thank her.” James sighs dreamily as he places his chin on his hand.

“Alright, Jamie. I think we’ve got your point.” Sirius rolls his eyes at his friend’s dazed expression. You snicker at his reaction, and you silently hope it’s enough to hide the disappointment in your eyes.

The boy in question, however, still continues. “No, because – why is she so pretty? And kind? And smart? Bloody hell, she’s perfect! How is she perfect?”

You and Sirius sigh in unison, although for very different reasons; Sirius sighs out of exasperation from James’ dramatic antics, and you sigh out of, well, despair.

You can’t quite place when it all had started. You just remember that once upon a time, James was easy to hate. But then, once upon another time, he suddenly wasn’t.

From then on, James had switched to being relentless in his pursuit of Lily instead of being relentless with teasing you. This had lasted until the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts, but much to no avail, James was nowhere near capturing the heart of the girl of his dreams.

—

The sight of James slumped down against the couch, looking so down on his luck, reminds you of a wilted flower. It makes you sad, and it breaks your heart.

In the midst of your attempts at comforting him, a sickly feeling lies deep in your chest. A selfish voice whispers in the back of your mind, this is your chance, it says. You don’t hear it. You don’t want to hear it.

“It’s not the end of the world if she doesn’t notice you, you know,” You say to him, your voice low and soothing as you allow it to be, in spite of your own feelings.

James just sighs heavily for what seemed like the nth time that day, a deep frown decorating his pretty lips. “Well, it feels like it.”

You sigh in return, more out of exasperation than in sympathy this time. You open your mouth again to retort with another attempt at consoling him, but he beats you there first with another self-deprecating comment.

“I mean, what’s wrong with me?” James looks at you, and you can see the pain in his eyes. It tugs at your heartstrings, and it makes you want to do everything you can to make it go away.

And so, you do.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, James,” You scoot closer to him where you sit on the couch, but keep a reasonably safe distance away from him still. “Absolutely nothing. Sure, you’re a little overbearing at times, but that’s okay. That’s who you are.”

For a moment, it seems like he takes the weight of your words in, and mulls it over in his head. But then, “How do I know that who I am is okay?”

You resist the urge to sigh heavily and cry. Because nothing could ever hurt more than watch the boy you’re in love with beat himself up over his inability to catch a girl’s attention — who, not to mention, isn’t you, but that’s beside the whole point.

“James….” Your voice trails off, it catches his attention.

“Sirius, Remus, and Peter are proof enough that who you are is okay. Merlin– even I’m proof enough that who you are is okay.”

This time around, it actually does seem like James realizes the truth in your words, and allows a small smile to appear on his face.

“You really think so?” He asks sheepishly.

You almost scoff in disbelief. “I know so.”

Now, you think that perhaps that was the time you had inadvertently diverted James’ attention from Lily back to you, because the week following that particular conversation, he appeared before you with a certain look in his eyes that you only saw in your foolish dreams.

Long story short, he says that he likes you. You say you feel the same way, and the both of you step into a new relationship together as more than just friends. This is the nicest feeling ever, you thought at the time. Everything you’ve dreamed of doing with James suddenly became a reality, and selfishly, you think you never want to dream about anything ever again because nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being with James in actuality; holding hands, stealing kisses, casual touches, sharing glances across the room—everything.

The both of you last a month at best.

—

“Hey,” You greet him with a small smile as you approach him on the couch in the Common Room.

You prepare for the conversation that’s about to come as James tears his eyes away from a certain redhead sitting across the room, and shifts his attention to you.

He returns your smile with his own.

“Hey,” James greets back as you sit yourself down beside him. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s... it’s been great,” You chuckle weakly as you nod along with your words, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself that you were having a great day. James catches onto it.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He shifts closer to you, your knees bump into each other. You subtly pull away from the touch, and you thank the gods that James doesn’t notice.

“James, I…” You trail off, struggling to find the words to say. Meanwhile, he remains oblivious to your inner turmoil as he nods his head encouragingly, ready to listen to your thoughts.

How exactly do you break up with someone who you want to be with more than anything? Now that James was yours, you had wanted nothing more to hold him close and never let go. It was selfish, you knew that feeling well enough. But still, it always comes, and it never goes.

It isn’t what you wanted to do—it’s never what you wanted to do—but you notice how James still stares at Lily Evans longingly when she’s in the same room as the both of you are, how it lingers even when you ask him what he was looking at despite knowing the answer. It doesn’t take much effort to understand that James’ heart still lies with Lily’s hands. And as much as it hurt for you to realize that, you knew that you needed to do this. You knew that you both needed this, even if you wanted nothing more than to keep him close to you.

“I think we should end things… between us.” You finally manage to say after a gruesome moment of silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a head with fiery red hair turn subtly towards your direction.

James’ brows pinch in confusion, and his hands reach out to hold you by the arms. You don’t pull away.

“What? Why?” He asks you, pleading for you to make him understand why you’d say such a thing.

“I just…” You take a quick breath. “I just feel like we’re better off as friends.”

You couldn’t believe what you were saying, and it looked like even James couldn’t either. All you could think of was how you wanted to take it all back, take him back.

At first, it seemed like he was about to contradict your statement, and you push down the hope that bubbles in your chest at the sight of it. But then, he sighs, pulling his hands away from your arms and placing them on his lap.

“There’s no spark, is there?” James says with an apologetic smile. You hate it, in spite of the fact that it was his smile.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and force a smile of your own onto your face, shaking your head.

“No. No spark.” You hear yourself say, but you know deep down that it wasn’t true. There was a spark, but it didn’t ignite into a fire because it was one-sided. Unrequited. Unreturned.

“Well,” James began, “It was fun while it lasted, Y/N.”

You try to ignore the fact that the sound of your name on his tongue leaves you with a bittersweet feeling, considering the situation you’ve just put yourselves into. But, you force a smile, and act as natural and casual as you possibly could.

“Yeah, it was fun,” You agreed quietly, not quite finding the conviction you hoped for in your words.

And so, it began; you keep a front every time you were around James, you try not to be bothered by how unbothered he is despite coming from a break up with you, but you suspect you should have known better than that. It wasn’t like he really liked you anyways, right? You had offered yourself up when the opportunity presented itself, and regardless of the magical month that you and James had together, it made you feel like shit.

Because it was still one-sided. Unrequited. Unreturned.

Thinking about it now, you deem yourself foolish for even entertaining the whole idea that you and James actually stood a chance - no, that you stood a chance with him altogether. You beat yourself up over the fact that you’ve had silly dreams that house you and James together in a place of your own, matching rings on both of your hands, little footsteps running around the house, and laughing together because of how pathetically you pined after him, and how much of an idiot he was to realize it later.

You’ve accepted that it’s a dream you won’t ever share with James.

—

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Remus’ voice ripples through the tense air you’ve managed to surround yourself in. He’s studying your face intently, taking in the way your brows are creased with concentration, and how you’ve been glaring daggers at the innocent, folded table napkin in front of you.

You blink rapidly, as if snapping yourself out of your own thoughts, and remembering the present. It was a happy day, a momentous occasion between two beings in love - that’s what everyone else called it, anyway. You’ve managed to convince yourself that it’s what you’re gonna call it, too. Despite it being a momentous occasion between a girl you once wished was you, and a man you’ve loved ever since you could perform the Levitation Spell in first year.

You begin with a sigh, “It’s nothing, Rem. Just doing some last-minute reminiscing before my grand speech,” You hide your bitterness with a soft chuckle.

Remus, ever the observant one, sees through it. But he doesn’t say anything about it, and instead, settles for a sigh and a hand over yours. You’re grateful for his thoughtful gesture of silent support, and so you turn your hand over, palm facing his own, and give it a squeeze.

The intimate moment is shattered by Sirius’ yell for a toast to the groom and bride. You and Remus share an amused glance with each other before raising both your glasses up in the air as a toast, mirroring Sirius and each and every one of the other guests there with you.

“Okay, show’s over, folks,” Sirius slurs, clearly a little tipsy (or more than a little) as he looks pointedly at you with a smirk from up front. “It’s the pretty bird’s turn.”

Most heads turn to follow his gaze towards you, and whisper to each other, asking who it was that the best man was referring to, but some throw you knowing, and expectant looks, maybe even a hint of a smile on some of their faces.

But you don’t care about any of them as you lock eyes with James for the briefest of moments, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest because wow, he looks good in a tuxedo, and wow, his smile is dazzling, and you feel lucky it’s thrown at you, even if it doesn’t mean the way you want it to.

You stand up from your seat, Remus gives you an encouraging smile, and you return it warmly with one of your own. As you approach the front, Sirius hugs you by the side and presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, and you mutter a quiet word of thanks because you know what it means. You silently thank every deity out there for having the kindest friends in the world as you take a deep breath and prepare to say your words for James and Lily.

It goes like this: before you begin, you flash a warm smile towards the newly wedded couple, and with that, you begin your speech. You recount a few silly stories and tell fun facts about James Potter as a person, as a friend, and as a lover (that’s not yours). You tell James directly in front of the crowd how lucky he is to have someone like Lily Evans to ground him, and you tell Lily how lucky she is to have someone like James to keep her on her toes, and to love her like never before. You end your speech with a toast, wishing all the best and all the happiness in the world for the newly wedded couple.

And there was no bitter malice behind your words, no biting envy in your tone. Because whilst in the middle of an ironic situation where you’re on the sidelines again—longing for James, and wishing to be Lily—you accept the state of things, and reach a realization with resignation.

Inside of you, there are two parts of a whole.

The one part that will always love James no matter what, and the unforgiving part that will always long for him.

( ♡ )

WHEW! if you made it this far into the oneshot.... congrats. u r so brave for doing just that <3 and i am eternally grateful that you've decided to give this messy work of mine a chance :] plz feel free to leave a comment, like, or reblog and let me know what u think abt this!!!! <3

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter x lily evans #jily #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter marauders #james fleamont potter #james potter fic #foodiegoogie writes #Spotify

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kaeichi · 9 months ago

Text

mixed drinks, mixed feelings.

[wc: 1.9k] ex fwb! gojo. sfw. angst. alcoholism. hurt/no comfort. you and gojo are teachers at jujutsu tech.

“hey, gojo?”

“...”

gojo hates drinking.

you're not sure who this imposter is—this slumped figure who is currently hunched over the sticky countertop, tangled white hair sprawled messily against the dark sleeves of his arms, accompanied by four almost-empty shot glasses nearby. no, the man you know has never even taken more than a couple sips when the staff goes out for drinks after work hours, nor could he barely tolerate the smell without gagging, his beautiful face contorted almost comically into unequivocal disgust, so whoever this is in front of you couldn't possibly be him.

around an hour ago, the crew decided to head over to the nearest izakaya to celebrate nanami’s newest promotion at his job. he may have left jujutsu tech a long time ago, but he remained close friends with everyone nonetheless. it was only after multiple rounds of drinks that you realized how gojo has mysteriously disappeared for a suspiciously long time, and everyone was too buzzed to notice. after checking the bathrooms and excusing yourself outside, a strange feeling washed over you; for some reason, you eventually found yourself making your way to the bar right across the street.

it seems that one way or another, there is that invisible string that persists, faintly pulling you towards none other than gojo satoru.

tentatively, you lean down, a hand reaching over to gently shake his shoulder. the overwhelming stench of liquor invades your nostrils, but you resist the urge to withdraw, your concern winning over. “you alive, gojo?”

“…it's satoru,” he groggily mumbles.

sighing, you drag a bar stool to sit beside him, observing the uncharacteristically disheveled male. the sight is so bizarre that it makes you audibly laugh in disbelief, and you're tempted to snap a picture for blackmail purposes—he deserves it, you think. just because it's him. what the hell happened to the suave, well-groomed, overly confident sorcerer that you know? the man with very little to no apparent weaknesses at all?

even the strongest has his moments, i guess. if you recall correctly, this might be the first time you've seen him so openly vulnerable. you try to will away the strange sputtering in your chest.

tugging at his wrinkled sleeve, you urge, “look at me.”

no response.

the drinks you've consumed earlier are now starting to take effect, a light headache incoming as you try to think of what you should do. you count one, two, three, before a haunting realization comes to you, making you grab a fistful of his snowy tufts and forcefully gripping it upwards. his eyelids twitch, adjusting to the light after previously being closed shut. when he finally opens them, your breath gets caught in your throat—his once brilliant azure eyes are now a bland gray, with a hint of red rimming the outline.

“gojo?! christ, snap out of it! why can i touch you?”

somehow, the fucker still manages to smirk.

“why not? you've never complained about it before, so why start n—” you let go of his hair, letting his forehead slam back on the counter with a dull thud. he makes a dissatisfied noise, whiny and drawn out, before groaning, “who do you think i am? i can sense your presence way before you came here—my infinity wasn't off this whole time. and again, that's satoru for you.”

that gave you little reassurance, unsure whether or not to fully believe him—especially in this sorry state. despite his devilishly good looks and capabilities, gojo satoru is lame, a menace, and acts like a fool most of the time; but even you know that's a ruse. right now, there's no silly antics, no mask to hide behind, no façade to protect himself. even his fancy sunglasses are long forgotten on the ground below him.

“care to share what's on your mind, my dear friend?”

the seemingly disoriented colleague of yours adjusts his head so he can face you, still leaning against the dirty wood as his lips pull into a pout. “your dear friend, huh…”

“what was that?”

“nothing,” he then sits back up, his voice back to a normal volume. “so? wanna take a shot with me?”

you try your best to refrain from grabbing him by the hair again and slamming his head downward, on purpose this time. “you already drank a whole bottle back at the izakaya, and even that's pushing it. what's with you?”

his glassy, bloodshot eyes regard your stressed expression for a moment before he turns away, opting to stare at shelves of alcohol displays in front of him. “do you remember how megumi acted the first time he met you?”

…of course he'd ignore your question. having a conversation with someone like gojo will never be as clear-cut as you’d like it to be.

still, you decide to entertain him; it is a nice memory after all. fushiguro megumi, one of your students, who is also the little kid whose sister you coincidentally saved from a near death experience many years ago. little megumi came up to you after learning what happened, his head bowed low as he muttered his sincerest thanks in a small, quivering voice. you had kneeled down to his eye level, assured him not to worry about it, but he refused to look up, nor to even budge an inch. then as a joke, you told him to give you a nice big hug if he wanted to thank you more, and he complied, much to you and (especially) gojo’s surprise.

“mhm. didn't know you were the sentimental kind. is that why you refuse to get drunk?” you tease.

“whatever. i've been taking care of that brat for over ten years now, and he's never given me any kind of gratitude or affection whatsoever.”

“...have you ever thought that maybe it's because you have a personality issue?”

“that's not the point!” he whips his head to you, glaring at you with such venom that you can't help but grin widely. he immediately stops scowling at your reaction, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before he averts his gaze once again. “i… understand him, is all i’m saying.”

“you ditched the group and went all the way here, alone, just to reminisce about the past? you truly never change, huh? you're still as dramatic as ever.”

“disrespectful little sh–” and he's back to glaring at you with a subtle sneer. “why'd you even come here?”

“first: you can't call me that, i'm older than you,” you click your tongue. “second: why not? are you telling me to leave or what?”

“no, seriously. why?” gojo repeats.

at this, your brows crease together. why what? “because i was concerned?”

“why…” he sinks further into the counter, head in between his crossed arms, much like how he had looked when you first walked in.

“i don’t get what you're trying to… are you asking me why i’m concerned? well, why wouldn't i be? it's not like we're not friends outside of work. of course i’d—wait, where are you going?”

you quickly hop off the stool when the tall sorcerer abruptly stands up, now briskly walking away and heading towards the exit. you call him a couple more times but he doesn't bother to look back, and you resort to nearly running to be able to keep up with his freakishly long legs. right before he rounds the corner of the street, you harshly pull his wrist; at the contact, he jerks his head back, dull gray eyes flashing angrily.

“is that all you see me as?” he yells, his voice echoing through the dark, empty street. you’re taken aback by the harshness of his tone, letting go of his wrist in surprise. “tell me no. lie to me at this point. did all our nights spent together mean nothing at all? i was just a quick fix for you, wasn't i?” the volume of his voice raises even higher, and you frantically wave your hands at him to stop.

“no, that's not true! i—” now you understand why he's been drinking irresponsibly. fuck. if you knew this is how it’d end up, then you wouldn't have started anything with him in the first place. you don't regret anything, but is it really worth ruining your precious friendship? all the years of your youth shared together has now gone down the drain, all because of a couple of drunken nights?

“—then why don't you look at me the same way as you do with nanami?” he says, and your stomach drops. one look at your shocked expression and gojo already knows. he knows, yet he needs one last confirmation that comes directly from your mouth, no matter how excruciating it is. “tell me i’m wrong.”

“i’m sorry, go–”

“it’s satoru, damn it.” this time, he doesn't scream his words, nor does he ball his fists so tight that his knuckles blanch. instead, what comes out is merely a quiet, trembling whisper.

you wince at the sheer amount of emotion behind his words, the feeling of guilt heavy on your shoulders.

“listen to me, satoru. there's nothing going on with me and nanami. and what you and i both have– had, is in the past now. you know why we can't be together, right? i can't leave my dear students behind.” the two of you are well aware of that predicament; you and him can never have a real relationship, unless you're willing to risk relocation to kyoto prefecture.

would you really do that for someone you're not even 100% sure you're in love with?

“then stop pretending to care about me. stop doing all this like you mean it,” the white-haired male spits out. you look down, a hand reaching in your pocket for the discarded sunglasses you've picked up earlier, gently placing the pitch black lenses over gojo’s face.

you want to say it's for his sake, but truthfully, you just can't bear to look him in the eyes anymore.

“but that's the thing; i do care about you. and i never stopped caring about you. you're such a great person, satoru,” you assure him with a much softer tone. before you know it, you're reaching towards his face—however, as soon as you made contact, your palm seems to burn from realization (of him further misunderstanding your actions? of you knowing your place?), making you quickly retract your fingers.

you pretend you don't see him chasing after your touch.

“please believe me when i say this,” you continue. “you deserve someone who's just as kind as you, someone who actually deserves your love, and i’m not that person—”

“kiss me.” you nearly lose your balance as he suddenly places his hands on your hips, pulling you close to him, his voice breaking as he pleads. you're glad you can't see his eyes anymore—it might shatter your already fragile resolve even more. “i don't care. i don't care if you're not the right person, or if you think you're undeserving of my love. none of that has ever mattered to me. so please, kiss me. just one more time.”

huffs of your breaths mix together, faint white clouds forming in the chilly night. your heart shivers with anticipation as your gaze lingers on his soft, familiar lips for a moment too long.

one,

two,

three.

“…i can't. i'm sorry, gojo.”

for being the strongest sorcerer alive, he’s undeniably and pathetically weak when it comes to you. for being the strongest, he can't even snap that thin, flimsy cord, unable to sever that invisible string that ties you both together.

gojo hates drinking, but he would down glass after glass until his body gives up before his mind does. he absolutely hates drinking, but he hates uncertainty and loss of control even more.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #im sorry but i cant NOT do angst…

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tsukimefuku · 9 months ago

Text

The Event (Part 1)

This is an older version of this. The current one can be found linked on the masterlist.

You find yourself entangled with Nanami in his apartment, and worry where this might be going.

Tags: +18 (!!!), WITH PLOT (there is always a plot), Jujutsu Kaisen, SMUT, f!reader, Nanami x reader, alcohol consumption, they're clearly in love, fingering, bj, penetration, a little angst, some fluff, hurt + comfort.

WC: 5.2K

Theme song (?): Want me too - Mons Vi (on Youtube)

Hope you guys enjoy my filth, yet again. This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU", a sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x f!reader x Higuruma fanfic I'll eventually write (eventually). This is preceded specially by "Would you let me die?", here, and "Where does your mind drift", here. It comes before “The man who played with fire”. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: these one-shots are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

“I've been fooled twice and again

Flowers dying that I send

But I want you

I want you

I want you to want me, too”

— Want me too, Mons Vi

You were pressed against the wall of his apartment, and Nanami's insistent hands on your waist were doing the pressing, while you fidgeted around his shoulders to remove his suit jacket. You both had locked lips and tongues to each other, and you couldn't remember another time in your life you had been this breathless while kissing someone. That boulder of a man and the heat of his body sent all your senses spiraling as you finished taking his suit jacket off and tugged his shirt to pull him even closer — something that was clearly impossible, given you were both already glued to one another.

Then, you tried to remember how the fuck the both of you wound up in this situation.

***

"Nanami..." you hiccuped, "you're d-drunk!" Lowering your beer mug on the bar counter, you pointed at him, accusingly. "C-completely hammered."

"Is..." Nanami took a moment to realize he had his eyes closed for a few seconds. Were it seconds? He opened them, as if that would help him with the drunken vertigo. It just made the situation worse. "... That so?"

"You're talking so damn slow, and you had your eyes closed for like a whole minute. Dude, you're so-" you hiccuped again, taking another gulp of beer, completely forgetting what you were about to say.

Somewhat amused at how you simply never finished the sentence, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to ground himself. Nanami didn't recall the last time he got this completely boozed up. Both of you were pretty strong when it came to alcohol, but tonight, you two maybe went a little too overboard. "You don't seem to be fending off so well..." He stretched his last word, feeling a little dizzy, "... Either."

"Is this a competition, Nanami? ... I'll win!" You declared, bottoming out your beer mug, making a pretty huge effort to put it back on the counter without breaking the glass. "... Do I want to win this-"

The barman looked at you two. "We're closing. Can I get you guys some water?"

Oh, that was why you were both so banged up. You had been talking and drinking nonstop for hours without eating anything.

"Holy shit, Nanami, we've been drinking for five hours?" You asked him, stunned. He answered nothing, having his eyes shut again, head dangling back, while he leaned on the chair. How does he keep sleeping while seated? This is so bizarre. You grabbed his arm and shook it lightly, and Nanami was pulled awake.

"We need to pay for the drinks, sir." He said to the barman, much to the barman's worry.

"I'll... Get your check, and some water for the both of you, okay?"

You both nodded, like puzzled kids.

After paying (with a lot of effort), you and Nanami walked outside, just to realize basically every joint was closing, and that it was raining. No, raining wasn't the most adequate word for it. It was absolutely pouring.

"Shit, I'm never getting home like this." You complained, as Nanami fidgeted with a small umbrella he somehow had on him. Considering he easily walked around with his blunt blade underneath his suit jacket, carrying this must've been quite easy.

"How did you know?" You asked, pointing at the umbrella.

"I always check the forecast before leaving my apartment." He answered, still fumbling with the thing. Of course he does. You took the umbrella from Nanami's hands and opened it, giving it back to him.

"Hey, Nanami... Do you live nearby?"

He started to look around, pondering for a moment, until he could locate exactly where the both of you were. "I... do, actually." He paused, realizing he had his posture crooked, fixing it. "It's a 20-minute walk from here."

You thought for a moment. "Can I-" hiccup, "come over and wait for the rain-" hiccup, "to pass?"

"Yes..." He blinked slowly, still processing the words on his mind. "Of course."

As he held the umbrella on his right side, you intertwined your arm to his, pushing yourself closer, so the two would fit under the tiny thing. However, given the fact that the both of you were considerably tall, and that he was specially broad, that didn't work so well, leaving each with some shoulder exposed to the unforgiving weather.

Nanami sighed slowly. "We will get completely drenched."

You scoffed. "No, we won't, and if we do, it will help us sober the hell up. Come on."

***

Feeling less under the influence after a walk in the rain and cold, Nanami took his keys and opened the door, letting you in. He noted you were both somewhat damp while taking your shoes off, but not completely soaked in water as he'd expected. He flipped the lights on, and then, you could see the inside of his apartment — something you, not so proudly, used to wonder about from time to time.

It had mostly light colors with warm tones to the furniture. He had two bookcases completely filled with books that seemed to be organized in a pretty specific and convoluted way. They neatly met together on each shelf. He had an armchair, and above it was a greenish type of light fixture for reading. The windows were incredible, and provided a great view of Tokyo. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the sofa, and it was an open-type of kitchen, where someone from the living room could see all of it. It was an impeccably clean and well-maintained place, and if this wasn't Nanami, you'd probably think it belonged to a serial killer, given how it was extremely tidy, to a clearly obsessive length. You felt you were dirtying the apartment just by looking at it.

"Um... Where can I sit?" You asked, hesitantly. He pointed to one of the chairs at the dining table, and you promptly sat there, trying not to move too much and spread water around the place.

You started to slide your hand through your hair, just to realize it was quite wet. He noticed, and went inside his room for a minute, coming back with a blue towel, giving it to you. Taking the towel from his hands, you shuffled it around your head, drying whatever you could. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nanami replied, sitting down on the edge of his sofa and removing his tie calmly. He folded it a couple of times before putting the tie over the sofa's arm.

"So, how are you feeling? You look more sober." You said. He did, actually. You noticed his usually neat, perfectly aligned hair had some locks over his forehead, probably due to the rain. His blue shirt was slightly damp, and his pants, just under his knees, had definitely seen better days.

"I feel more alert, yes. And the vertigo has stopped, thankfully. Although I'm still quite inebriated." Nanami replied, as he leaned back on the cushions crossing his legs, and you noticed the slightest hint of imbalance. "What is your status?"

"I'm sobering up a little. But I'm still pretty fucked, though." You answered, chuckling while you rested the towel over your lap. "I'll definitely regret this tomorrow."

He huffed, amused. "I will too, probably."

You were both silent for a moment, while the pouring rain filled the ambiance. It had eased out, but was still pretty heavy.

"Nanami..." You began.

"Yes?" He braced himself. He knew some complicated question or contemplation was just about to be thrown at him. Nanami had noticed for a while now that you liked to think out loud and chat about your ruminations.

"Remember when I asked you to let me die if it would save somebody else, and you refused?" You questioned, starting to probe him.

Strangely, it didn't annoy him at all, especially after the conversation you both shared when you were stranded with Ijichi by the mountains. He thought at the time you made that request, he'd like to go back to it, eventually. "Yes, I do recall that." Nanami answered.

"Why did you- I mean, we're supposed to-" Talking about this was hard, and being still somewhat drunk made the task nearly impossible. Gladly, he already knew what you wanted to go on about.

"I don't want you to die. You see, even with your antics," he began, "you have become an important person in my life. As jujutsu sorcerers, that unfortunately is hard to come by and stay. You..." He paused for a second. "You stayed, and I'd like to keep it that way."

You were slightly surprised, given you expected from Nanami some sort of less straight-forward declaration about the importance and relevance of people in his life. It must've been the alcohol, you thought.

"Why did you request that from me, in particular?" He inquired.

"Because you know me better than anyone currently in my life," you blurted out, "and I knew you'd not take it like... I don't know. I just knew you'd understand where I was coming from, especially having been by my side when-" You choked up and couldn't finish the sentence. He knew, he remembered clearly what transpired ten years ago in your hometown, one of his most significant missions. You weren't aware of it, but even after the conversation you had years ago, he still blamed himself to some degree.

"You know me well, too. So how did you arrive at the conclusion that I would agree to such a request?" Nanami questioned, curious eyes glancing at you.

"You're such a dutiful and respectful person. A decent one, too. Especially regarding other people's wishes, when it's within your powers to honor them. So I thought you'd agree to it." You confessed, shrugging.

He sighed. "I'm not a hero, I'm a jujutsu sorcerer. I came back because out of the two stupid things I could do, this was the one I was better suited for."

"You see, I think that's bullshit." You said, finally confronting him on this ready-to-go speech Nanami had most of the time. He was a bit surprised. You continued. "I know you care underneath that facade. Hell, I think I can actually say I know you, Mr. Bangs — yes, I remember them. We go way back, so don't try to preach to the choir. You're someone actually worried about saving people and doing good deeds in this dirty world of jujutsu."

The corner of his mouth stretched a little, and he seemed to be almost smiling. However, his expression was still blank enough to make his surge of warmth and fluttering unnoticeable. "If you knew that, then why did you believe I'd oblige to such a request?" He was still under the influence, and in normal circumstances, wouldn't be tap dancing dangerously around this boundary like he was right now.

You blushed and looked away as you began to answer him. "I just... Believed your 'preaching' for a second, I guess."

"I see." He answered, still looking at your face, thinking how lovely you looked when you blushe- No, stop it, he thought to himself. You noticed his eyes staring at you in a way that remembered the conversation you had while stranded some days prior.

“Is your mind drifting, Nanami?” You inquired, playfully. Looking at him to wait for an answer, your eyes locked onto his prominent jaw and chiseled face, and you wanted to rub your own face on his until you got cuts on your ski- Get a hold of yourself, woman, you mentally chastised yourself.

He didn’t fail to notice it, too. Rather than feeling embarrassed at being caught red-handed, daydreaming of you, he threw the ball right back at you. “Is yours?”

You promptly looked away, yet again, heart skipping beats as you tried to keep yourself under control. Then, you noticed through the window that the rain had finally subsided.

Time to run before you went past the point of no return.

"Nanami, the rain is gone. I guess this is my cue." You said, hastily getting up. You were nervous, and having him probing you — not the other way around — was pushing all of your buttons in ways you were not prepared for. Furthermore, you were the type to make other people uncomfortable through joking and blunt sincerity, just so no one couldn't do it to you first. But with Nanami, after so much time, you had become vulnerable, something that scared the living shit out of you. You just knew Nanami was a decent and good man who'd never take advantage of this, and on top of that, you kind of owed the fact you were still alive to him.

He seemed a little disappointed, his expression less indecipherable than before. "I understand. Well..." He said as he got up. "Return safely."

You approached him to say goodbye, and your senses — as well as your common sense — dulled as you felt his perfume, now evaporating along with the water from his clothes. "Bye, then." You said, suddenly planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Instead of retreating, as he normally would in a situation like this, Nanami closed his eyes and leaned his face to press your lips harder against his face, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction that sent chills down his body. You inhaled him in, and before you knew, he was sliding down his own face, brushing his cheeks against your mouth intently, until his lips met yours. He let out a soft low groan as they made contact, and one of his hands made its way to your back, effectively pulling you into his warmth.

That was the moment you lost any willpower to get out of this unscathed, and you threw your arms around his head, which stole a light gasp from him. You used this opportunity to press your tongue inside his mouth, and his own tongue came to entangle with yours. Nanami grabbed you by your waist and pushed you against the wall, starting to pant lightly while the both of you were locked in a passionate kiss, ready to wash away the last ten years.

Oh, yeah. That's how this started.

He had his body pressed against yours, and you both did not dare to part the kiss or open your eyes, for you knew the moment you did, one or the other would pull the both of you back to the reality of how much of a bad idea this was. Not only were you and Nanami colleagues, but you effectively worked together on missions. On top of that, this wasn’t just a one-night stand or a random hook up, it was pretty well established you had feelings for each other, and some complicated unresolved issues. Things that having drunken sex usually tends to make even more chaotic.

Suddenly, he rubbed his hips against yours just the right way, and you felt his throbbing erection pressed against you. You moaned loudly against his lips, open-mouthed and tongues grinding each other. Your moan made him press his mouth against yours to a closed kiss, and all the hairs on his arm and neck propped up with a shiver. Nanami went still, and the lack of mindless friction against his body brought you back to Earth for a split second.

“I’m leaving/Please leave” you both said at the same time, as he jumped back, sitting haphazardly over the sofa’s arm and tried — without much success — to cover his hardened length with his closed fist, looking away with a completely flushed and vermilion face. I should consider quitting alcohol, was the idea he entertained.

Panting frantically, you ran to the door, snatched your shoes from the entrance without even putting them on, and got out, letting it close behind you. You tried to catch your breath while hunched over, and evening out your breathing was being much harder than you thought, though you figured it could be from your heart racing and throbbing against your chest insistently. There was a ringing in your ears that you wanted to wait out until leaving the building, and so you stood there, right outside his apartment, for some minutes. However, while trying to pull yourself together, you noticed something.

You never heard the door locking.

I want him, I’ve wanted him for so long now, and he wants me too. What am I doing out here? I’m seeing this through to the end, you thought to yourself, with liquor-bought courage, resting your hand on the door knob. Pushing your body while you tried to silence every anxiety and impression that this was a bad idea, you entered the apartment again, to find Nanami sitting at the edge of his bed, beads of sweat on his forehead, as he incredulously and eagerly lifted his gaze to glance at you. You felt you must’ve looked desperate, and simmering under his slightly vacant stare, he seemed desperate too, clutching his fist on the mattress strongly enough to deform it a little.

“You… never locked your door” you remarked, removing your coat.

“I… did not.” He answered. “More specifically, I couldn’t find the strength to do so.”

Nanami seemed to have reached the same conclusion you did when you were given time to think by yourself outside.

Starting to walk towards him, you removed your socks, then started to unbutton your shirt, and he seemed hypnotized, following your stride with needy eyes. You let your shirt fall back, sliding over your arms until it hit the ground. Standing right in front of him, you put your hands together to unbutton your pants, and he held your hands in place, hesitantly.

You were resolute, but he seemed to still be swaying between what to (not) do.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long. I… please…” you pleaded, barely brushing the side of your face against his, sending electricity all throughout his body. “I know you want me too.” You brushed the tip of your nose delicately over his chiseled cheekbone, to look him in the eyes.

Sighing deeply with his eyes closed, he finally opened them, and put his own nose right beside yours, making it possible for you to feel his breathing, lips nearly touching. “I do.”

You immediately kissed him, and it was different this time. The feeling wasn’t so urgent, but your lips locked deeply and intensely. He caressed the side of your hair with his fingertips, sliding his index finger around the edge of your ear, sending chills down your spine. Nanami then put his hands, one to each side of your hips, and guided you delicately to sit beside him on the bed. After that, he slid himself further back on the mattress, and you followed along.

As you both were in the middle of the bed, he rested his palm on your chest, pushing you softly to lie down, with his honeyed eyes still locked to yours. Every touch he made was so intent you felt your body shiver, like this was the first time you were ever touched by another person. To call Nanami an intense lover would be an understatement.

Lying down slowly, you gazed up at him, feeling your face searing hot as you did. This man was so goddamn handsome, and the way he looked at you nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

His hands traveled between your breasts, down your abdomen, and reached the edge of your pants, unzipping you and pushing them as well as your underwear to your mid-thighs. Still looking at you, analyzing your each and every facial expression, Nanami started to slide one of his hands to where your already drenched underwear was previously. You felt somewhat embarrassed to be already that wet from some kissing and grinding, but oh, well. He apparently had that effect on you.

As his fingers reached your dripping folds, his eyes widened a little, and his expression was kind of… amused? “Oh.”

Your face blushed even harder. “I… You… We were and-“

“You want me that intensely?” Nanami said, touching his forehead to yours, nose side by side.

“I… do. Please.” You answered, a little defeated.

He rubbed his lips against yours, and sighed, seemingly fluttering. “Then have me. Have all of me.” He pressed his tongue against your mouth, and you let him in, at the same time his fingers started to rub against your core. You mewled into his mouth, rolling your eyes back, and propping your hands to hold the nape of his head. He was softly grinding himself to the side of your body, searching for any relief to this throbbing clothed erection.

He rubbed his middle finger to your clit, and the others rolled your outer folds in, pinching them delicately. As you mewled and moaned into his mouth, he let out satisfied groans, trying to hold himself together as you fell apart to his touch. The sounds you made being under his will were just exquisite.

You started to grind your pussy against his hand, and attentively, he applied more pressure with his fingers over your nub, eliciting a loud and powerful moan from you, as you pushed full force your lips on his. His body trembled, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop doing this to you right now without going mad if you, by any chance, changed your mind about this whole endeavor.

Rocking your hips back and forth, you started to feel the heat pooling on your lower abdomen, tugging at his shirt urgently and desperately. He noticed it, and parted his lips from yours, keeping a small distance between your faces so he could watch you crumbling down in real time. You were completely debauched, flustered and messy. His heart throbbed in his chest, as he had never seen you look so beautiful as you did at this very moment. He could still smell the flowery scent from your hair, now mixed with your breath and sweat. It was heavenly.

Bubbling up and all throughout your body, you came onto his hands nearly yelling out of sheer pleasure, saying his name, and with your hands to the back of his neck, pressed your nails so deep into Nanami’s skin it almost drew blood. He huffed, delighted, as you quivered and convulsed underneath him. Nanami wanted to ask you to stay and not leave ever again.

Riding out your high, you pulled his face closer, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

Then, you moved your hand smoothly down his chest and abdomen until you reached the outline of his cock underneath his pants. You grabbed it firmly, and he let out a choked grunt from the back of his throat, launching his head back and pumping his girth involuntarily against your touch. You smiled.

“And you want me too, that badly?”

“I do.” He replied, pulling his hand up from your folds and tasting you from his fingers, while he looked straight at you. You saw his eyes half lidded as he tasted it. Sighing at the sight of that, you thought for a moment you came a little just from it.

You pushed him back on the bed with your hands and slowly began to unbutton the rest of his signature blue shirt, removing it, and straddling yourself on top of his hips. Your pussy was pressed over his cock, and he put both of his hands firmly over your thighs, grinding up, grunting as he did. The motion, after you became so sensitive, had you seeing stars and sparkles in the back of your eyes. Letting out a mixture of a huff and a chuckle, you basked in the vision you had in front of you, and slid down your hands to open his pants. You did, and removed them until they fell on the floor.

Suddenly, you gave a lick on his abs, and he shivered, letting out a faint moan. You made your way with your tongue slowly down his body, planting a few kisses until you got there. His cock was extremely hard, the tip was red and already leaking. Your mouth watered at that sight to behold.

Nanami suddenly put his hand on your cheek, and you looked at him. His face was flustered, his hair had already fallen completely out of its usual slick arrangement, and the needy look on this man’s face sent a wave of heat down your back.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m… Extremely wound up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “If by any chance this becomes too much, tell me to stop.”

You smiled at him. “I won’t. Have all of me, too.”

His gaze deepened as your tongue made its way to his tip, glazing it with saliva. He immediately grabbed your hair and let out a strained moan, launching his head to the pillow underneath it. You swallowed his length, inch by inch, careful not to choke ahead of time. You noticed him squirming his hips underneath you, probably holding himself from bucking upwards full force.

Once you had taken him all in, you positioned yourself the most comfortable way and started to encouragingly press your hands on the sides of his hips, for him to pump his cock inside your mouth.

Still tightly — though not bruisingly — holding onto your hair, he asked, “are you sure?”

“Mm-Hmm”, was all you got out, with that massive cock inside your mouth. He started off slow, grinding the back of his cock to your tongue, gravely groans filling the room. As you seemed to be taking it well, his pace picked up, and his tip began hitting the back of your throat, deliciously choking you, as a few tears bubbled up in your eyes.

You were moaning to the taste and sound of Nanami, and your moaning seemed to snap something inside of him. Nanami began thrusting into your mouth intently, and after so much build up and grinding, suddenly, came while bucking his hips sloppily, painting the back of your throat with pure white. You began drinking him all in.

When you finished, you cleaned your face with the back of your hand, slowly making your way back to him. Before you did, though, Nanami held your waist and laid you down on the sheets, climbing on top of you and kissing you passionately, moving his hands to hold the sides of your head. He let his body weight rest over you, carefully, and you sank underneath that mountainous man, sliding your nails delicately down his back. He pressed himself in between your legs, and you gasped at the sensation.

“Please…” you begged, now holding his face, looking straight into his eyes. “Please.”

He sighed, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, as he grabbed a condom from someplace you couldn’t quite make out. Nanami opened it with his teeth, and slipped it on quickly, hovering above you. He locked eyes with you again, resting his forehead against yours, and extended his hand behind your back, accidentally pressing the deep scar you had over your spine. You gasped in pain, and he retreated his hand immediately.

“I apologize, I… I…” his expression looked equally pained, with a distinct frown between his brows. “Please, forgive me.” This wasn’t an apology about current events, and it clenched your chest to see him like this. At this moment, you knew he still carried blame for what happened years ago.

“There is nothing to be forgiven, stop apologizing,” you said, holding his head against yours, eyes piercing through his. “You never failed me. Don’t apologize anymore. Please, don’t… don’t blame yourself.”

His gaze softened, and he rested one of his hands on your cheek. The touch was wholeheartedly delicate, like he was holding a flower petal, and it sent your heart thumping against your chest. You could feel a surge of words stirring up your throat, and decided to let them out.

“I love you,” you said, gazing intently into his eyes, “I love you completely.”

Nanami looked at you pleadingly, and immediately pressed his lips to yours, brushing away to all the pain the both of you had endured together and apart. Only then, did he separate his lips from yours to breathe out, “I love you too.”

At that moment, you were sure you had sunk in too deep, and there was no escaping it anymore. Not even if you were an expert at fleeing.

He positioned himself and sunk in slowly, wanting to feel as every inch made its way into you. You both shared an intense and strained moan in unison, as he bottomed out, tearing you apart slowly. There was no build up whatsoever to the coil that instantly formed in your lower abdomen, ready to snap. You stretched and clenched around him, walls fluttering, and Nanami groaned against your lips, halting any movement from his hips.

“If I move too quickly, I’ll…” he said, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate, while pressing his hands to the sides of your shoulders. You were caged in, right underneath him.

You huffed and laughed softly. “I… I know, m-me too. Let’s take it slowly…”

Nanami smiled with the corner of his lips, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your jaw and contouring your face with the tip of his nose, until your noses were beside one another. He gazed at you, glancing straight into your eyes, and you looked right back, as he started to slowly glide in and out of you, pulling entirely and bottoming completely with each movement he made. Both of you moaned and groaned into each other, as he pressed you under him from every angle possible. Your heart whirled content, and at that moment, you felt heartwarmingly held and protected by him.

His pace started to pick up, and you were babbling incoherently against his mouth. He kissed you and pressed your head against the bed with his urgent, insistent lips, while the heat pooled in your belly began sparkling, ready to burst.

“I-I’m… I…” you huffed, nearly out of breath.

He thrust into you sharply and picked up a quicker pace. With that, you let go, orgasm hitting you like an avalanche, while you trembled, twisted and turned under Nanami. He came right after, muffling an almost shout with his mouth against your puffy lips, and his hips were slowing right until the movements stopped.

Your mind was blank and your sight grew dark, as you brushed the hair over his forehead with your fingertips away, a dumb smile on your face. He caved, falling beside you, pulling you in for a hug as you two drifted away.

***

You woke up, and realized you were sleeping with your stomach down. You had no idea what time it was, but the throbbing headache was relentless enough for you to not care about it. Looking to your side on the bed, you realized Nanami was nowhere to be found.

“What…?” You asked yourself, getting up and almost falling down in the process. His phone, which was on the nightstand before, was also gone. As you walked towards the room’s door, you saw that his blunt blade was gone too, and there were some toasts and an omelet ready on the table, accompanied by an assortment of toppings. The other side of the table, however, was empty, and over your chair there was a note.

For some reason, you had a bad feeling about it.

What was that about regret the morning after?

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uniquexusposts · 7 months ago

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Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff Story type: novel Part: 10/? Word count: 2602 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 8. Call It What You Want

Matilde sat in the airport, waiting for her flight to leave. She was seated in the business class lounge, enjoying a cup of coffee. Well, she couldn't really enjoy it. The events of yesterday played through her head; from the perfect race and victory, to the moment in the restaurant. Even though it hurt, she still had a fun night with Max and her former colleagues.

"Hey," a voice said, he sounded surprised.

Matilde looked up and a smile came to her face. "Hey," she smiled at Kevin, who took a seat next to her. "Going home?"

The Danish driver nodded. "You too?"

She nodded. "It's my mum's birthday tomorrow."

"Ah, that's sweet. Congrats on your win, by the way! Your first victory as team principal and the first victory for Ferrari this year!"

A weak smile came on her face. "Thanks."

"Hangover?" The off reaction didn't go unnoticed by Kevin.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Something like that."

He smirked. "You will remember this one forever."

"And if I will," she muttered. The good and the bad, she thought. "How was your race? P11, P10?"

"P10, quite average. It was an alright weekend. The track is fun, but the entire show around it... Not a big fan, to be honest."

"Yeah, Miami is something else. I wonder what Las Vegas will be like," she mentioned.

"We are Danes, we keep it low profile."

They both laughed.

"Where are you seated?" Kevin asked.

Matilde looked at her ticket. "2A, you?"

"8H," he replied. "I don't know if it is me, but it's quite funny that in America, we get paper boarding passes, and in Europe, or flying from Europe, we have them online. Or it's me, my subconscious preference."

"No, I have it too. But I don't know. Also, when going through security here, we have to remove our shoes. I have never done that in Europe. Bizarre how many things are different between continents." She took a deep breath. "It makes travelling interesting and fun."

Matilde and Kevin made their way to the gate when it was almost time to board. They had to wait for just a few minutes, because the crew still had to arrive after a short delay on their side. Matilde's eyes fell on the crew of SAS, who now arrived. A smile came on her face, and tears flowed in her eyes. One of the stewardesses happily smiled as well and excused herself from the crew, just like one of the pilots. Matilde stepped towards the inflight manager of the flight.

"Mati," the stewardess said and embraced her daughter tightly.

Matilde closed her eyes, not saying anything back. She was so relieved and happy to see her mother after five months. More tears welled up, but she was fighting against them.

Freja pulled back, looking at her daughter. Matilde opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sweetheart..." Freja found herself in a difficult situation as well, trying to hold back the emotions as well. She stroked a piece of hair behind Matilde's ear and placed her hand on Matilde's cheek. "I'm so happy to see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine," Matilde whispered, not wanting to bother her mother before the flight and her job with her issues. "I'm so happy to see you, too," she said and smiled. "I didn't know you were on this flight."

"Coincidence," her mother smiled. "We will talk once we are in the air, okay?" She let go of Matilde and looked at the man who sat on the bench; she assumed it was a friend of Matilde's. "Are you flying together?"

Matilde looked behind her, at Kevin. "Yes, but we're not seated next to each other. He's a friend of Lars."

"Since when does Lars know Kevin Magnussen?"

"Lene is friends with his wife," Matilde smirked, thinking how ironic it was.

Freja looked impressed and introduced herself to the Danish driver. While they had a quick chat, Matilde greeted the pilot with a hug, happy to see him as well. The stewardess and pilot excused themselves and boarded the plane.

"Parents?" Kevin asked curiously.

Matilde nodded. "Mother and stepfather," she exclaimed. "She says it is a coincidence that she's working on this flight, but I know she planned it like this."

"Parents..." He smiled. "It's adorable." He looked at her. "This might be a personal question, and if you don't want to answer it, it's fine. But do you still see your father?" Kevin looked waitingful at her. "Lars doesn't really talk about this family, as you probably know by now."

A comforting smile came on her face. "Yeah, Lars is really private. But we all still see our dad. My parents divorced twenty-four years ago, and they're still friends. Mum met Emil through work, and they try to work on the same flights since they got together."

"Did they get together..?"

"Oh, no. A few years after the divorce."

"And your dad?" Kevin's eyes grew round. "Sorry, I'm asking way too much."

She shook her head. "It's okay, it's not like I have issues talking about it. My dad has a girlfriend, Astrid. They met two years ago. It's complicated, but it is what it is," she said and shrugged. "How are Louise and Laura, by the way? And how is the pregnancy going so far? You're having another girl, right? "

"They are both doing fine, and yes, we're having another girl." A smile came to his face as he continued to talk about his family.

* * *

Since it was a day flight, Matilde didn't manage to get any sleep. She planned to do some work on the plane, but ended up watching some movies. Her mind kept drifting off to last night. She got up from her seat and walked through the aisle, passing Kevin, who sat on the other side of the cabin. Their eyes met, he smiled, she nodded. Once she got in the galley, she waited for the bathroom.

"Mati," Matilde's mother said when entering the galley. "How is everything?" She closed the curtain.

"Fine, a whole new experience in business class," Matilde replied and playfully smiled.

"You've never flown business class at SAS?"

"No, economy is all I could pay for, and Red Bull could book for me. Now Ferrari books business class for me. Well, not this flight. I happened to get an upgrade?" She raised her eyebrows. "On this flight only? Not the first flight?"

Her mother smiled. "That is weird, lucky you."

"Mum, you didn't have to do this."

"You are the team principal of Ferrari and flying economy? A woman like you should fly business class. And it is a pleasure to have my daughter in business class on my flight," her mother proudly said and nudged Matilde's shoulder.

Whenever Matilde or her brothers were on the same flight as their mother - which wasn't often, they flew economy. And they grew up appreciating the small things, they didn't bother to fly business. Matilde wanted to ask Ferrari to book economy tickets, but she didn't dare to ask because she understood that by booking business class, she could properly rest or work during a flight. But flying business class wasn't in her nature.

"Still... This is a flight for a private event."

"Still. At least you're not flying private." Freja handed over a bottle of water. "How was yesterday?"

"Aren't you supposed to work?"

"We are mid-flight, all the passengers are served, and now we get on a break."

"Oh, yeah, that is right." Matilde took a sip of her water. "Well, go get your break. It's important."

Her mother proudly smiled. "You sound like a real boss, a caring boss."

A fragile smile came on Matilde's face. "I will tell you all about this weekend once we are home."

"Of course. Unless you want to say something now?"

"No, no, it can wait. You should take your break."

"Okay, sweetheart. By the way, are you driving home with Emil and me? After the plane lands, we have a quick debrief, and then we are free to go. It's okay if you want to go home. Are you staying at mine or your dad's?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow, so I was hoping to crash at yours?"

"Yes! Of course. You're always welcome."

"And if I can drive home with you? I think that's fun," Matilde smiled. "We're going to the same destination, after all."

Freja nodded. "I will share the plans after my break, yes? And you go to the bathroom, it's free now."

Matilde laughed. "See you soon." She stepped into the toilet and did her thing. When she stepped back into the galley, her gaze fell on Kevin. Business class was almost empty, and so was the seat next to Kevin. Without thinking too much about it, she sat down next to him; only the aisle was in between them. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

He sat up and smiled. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

She licked her lips and looked around her. "Well, uh, I don't know if you're the right person to ask this, but yeah... From my experience, we did things differently... but when you're going out after a race, celebrating a...perfect result... do you ask Steiner to join? Or other Head of Departments?"

A frown came on his forehead, and he crossed his arms. "We don't have those results often, but... Yes. Why?"

Matilde slowly nodded. "Exactly," she mumbled. She looked down and saw that her hands trembled slightly.

"Why?" Kevin asked again.

"I'm telling you this in confidence, okay?" Matilde said and looked at him.

"No one will know about it; whatever you have to say, I promise."

"No one in F1," she repeated. "I'm struggling with this thought, but...uhm, the team went out to celebrate the win and P2," she told him. Kevin nodded. "Without me." Tears filled her eyes. "And I don't know if it was their intention, like, not to invite me. As in, they didn't want to celebrate it with me. Or if this is how it goes at Ferrari."

A concerned look came on his face. "Oh, wow. Matilde..." He didn't know what to say. "Why is that your thought?"

"Things are not going smoothly with the team and me; there's still a lot of friction. And I'm still an outsider, which I get; I'm new, young, a woman, still learning to speak Italian. But this weekend... It felt like we bonded, like we finally became a team. And I was, am, still proud of this weekend with all the performances, but then I got a message from Leclerc, asking where I was at their celebration. Coincidentally, we were in the same restaurant. I was with Gemma, and we ended up at Red Bull's dinner. And then I saw the team celebrating the great results."

"But didn't they go out with the team and... I don't know, perhaps the crew only?" Kevin asked, trying to understand it and trying to soften the blow for her.

Matilde shrugged and wiped away a tear that was rolling over her cheek. "No." She looked in front of her. "Everyone was there, except me. But why would Leclerc text me, asking where I was? If it was a crew-only dinner, then why would he text me?"

He showed a weak smile. "I don't know. I'm trying to find some reasonable excuses, to make you feel less shit. You know, I know my crew often goes out as well without inviting the board." He scanned her face. "But the message from Leclerc doesn't make sense. But why were you with Gemma at the Red Bull dinner?"

"I kinda forgot," she said, more tears rolling over her cheeks. "I had so many emotions, and everyone was texting and calling me and asking me things. I asked a mechanic, and he said that they would stay in, because they all had an early flight home the next morning," she rattled. "And then Gemma showed up and asked if I wanted to join her. Next thing I know, I was doing shots with Max." She ran a hand through her hair. "I was thinking of throwing lunch or something after the days off, but I'm not too sure about it now."

Kevin nodded and took a deep breath. "This is not nothing..." He didn't want to say too much; what if he said something wrong? Or gave her an idea? "Did they see you?"

"I sent them champagne."

Kevin straightened his face. "You did what?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, but what the fuck was going on? It didn't make sense. And I wanted to let them know I was there without actually standing next to their table," she blurted. When she thought about it now, it was a bold move, a dick move, but it was genius. "And I told the waiter to say that I gave them my compliments."

"Matilde..." He looked impressed and disapproved at the same time. "This is so..."

"Not me? Yes, I know. But I already had alcohol in my body, and I just... I don't know, I was so confused and disappointed. And when the waiter pointed at me... You should have been there. They looked like they had seen a ghost."

Kevin couldn't help it, but laugh. "It is such a dick move, but such a great move. You can't do this. This is not professional."

"It's not professional to invite everyone, but your team principal. And I get it; it's awkward, but I'm not awkward. Half of the team is older than me and more experienced than me. And it's not like I don't know how to function in a team." She shrugged.

"But how did things go at Red Bull?"

"We would go out for dinner first, often with Christian and the board. The team would go to a club, and Christian and the board often would go back to the hotel; sometimes, they would join. Or we would go out without Christian and the board, team only thing, but they would know. Or they declined the invitation. We were very open," she said and dried her eyes when her sight became blurry. "It was asked... And everybody had a choice. I know things work differently at Ferrari, but this was the last thing that I expected." Matilde shook her head. "We still have to bond and stuff, apparently, but I honestly thought we bonded well over this weekend, and I was just so proud to lead this team." Warm tears left her eyes again. "They didn't invite me for a reason."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She sniffled. "But it's good to know that this isn't normal. Or that this is the way Ferrari operates. The text of Leclerc still doesn't make sense."

"Well, I know that this isn't normal."

She got up. "God, I'm sorry you had to see me having a breakdown," Matilde embarrassedly laughed and dried her eyes. "It's the lack of sleep, hangover and yeah... But thanks for listening. I won't hold you up longer from whatever you wanted to do."

"Matilde, this is a serious issue. I'm not saying you have to go to the board and say something about it, but you have to talk about it. If you say nothing, they will think this is normal, and it's definitely not normal," Kevin mentioned. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it softly, just to let her know that he was there for her. "Let me know how it goes." He gently let go of her hand.

She nodded. "I will, thank you. Really," she said and walked away, back to her own seat.

Kevin was perplexed and processing the words he just heard. Should he do something about it? Or did her team have other intentions? Either way, he knew he had to text her brother when they landed, sharing his concern.

Next chapter

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donotnomi · 2 months ago

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WIP Wednesday Monday

Guess who's the genius who decided to make Wednesday her publishing day—on the same day as WIP Wednesday? Yep, that’s me.

So, I'm jumping the gun a little here. Thanks @london-cowboy for tagging me—I really needed an excuse to share a sneak peek from not one but two WIPs!

For all MOTA readers, here's a little snippet from Chapter 2 of Stripper, Occasionally Hooker aka the MOTA Lap Dancer AU. Still in the middle of revisions, so keep that in mind!

“Six whiskeys and a ginger beer, miss,” Fukunaga called out, clearly excited. Bucky turned sharply toward Gale, draping an arm around Fukunaga's shoulders as he eyed the glass in front of Gale. “Someone here doesn’t drink on the job.” Gale couldn’t resist correcting him. “Someone here never drinks.” Bucky took it in stride, slipping two fingers into the pocket of the delegate on his left, pulling out a golden cigarette case without even looking. Gale was speechless. Bucky flipped the case open with a snap, took out a cigarette, and only then turned to the Japanese man for a nod of assent. The man, his face flushed, offered him the entire cigarette case, likely made of gold. Bucky placed it back in his pocket after taking out a second cigarette. He put one between his lips, and at that moment, five lighters flicked open. The entire Japanese delegation paused for a second in a Western-style standoff. Then, four lighters retreated. The head of the delegation leaned in. Without leaving Fukunaga’s lap, Bucky craned his long neck toward him, locking eyes as he brought the cigarette to the flame. Half the room was watching. Bucky leaned back, resting completely against Fukunaga’s chest, letting his head fall onto one shoulder as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Gale observed his broad, powerful neck stretch impossibly, much like it likely did in other acts. He felt the need to look away, aware that Bucky’s robe was beginning to slip off the sides of his body.

For Slow Horses readers, yes, Paris Rules will be back soon, next Sunday I hope, with a massive new chapter. Again, it's a draft.

He needs to vanish from anyone who might review the footage later, in case someone starts tracking him. That’s why he’s already got a second hat stashed in his pocket—a different color, a different style. As he exits the station, of all things, it’s Spider’s voice that guides him. Spider, lying lifeless in one of the city morgues, his body no less cold than the metal cell he now occupies. Not now, River mutters to himself. “Style and taste, Cartwright, don’t depend on money but on intelligence. You, for example, couldn’t dress to save your life even with the royal family’s budget, whereas I, with 25 pounds and a Salvation Army store, could easily pass for one of them.” River hoped the store was still there, the one they ducked into to see who would win that bizarre bet. Just a few weeks before Stansted, River had willingly accepted Spider’s challenge, fully aware of his own weakness in that area. Their relationship had felt strained, both knowing how strong River was in the skills that mattered for their work, their internal competition. River had deliberately exposed his vulnerable side, choosing to take a hit to the gut rather than extend a hand and embarrass them both with the implicit, mutual acknowledgment of the imbalance between them.

Just realizing it's the first ever relevant appearance of Spider in one of my fics. Crazy! Tagging @middlingmay @c-goldthorn @whirlpool-blogs @soliloquy-dawn @angelfruittree @joeyalohadream

#donotnomi writes #donotnomi wips #mota wip #MOTA lap dancer AU #slow horses fanfic #SH This time they fuck WIP

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pencilofawesomeness · 2 months ago

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Guys I'm having such a bizarre moment. I didn't expect to win like this, or to have my personal headcanons be confirmed so directly, but I also feel simultaneously robbed because Akutami is reaching into my head /jk

We received so little about Sukuna, but those brief brief brieeef moments of existentialism really caught me and I've thought about him for so long because of it. He was a fantastically terrifying villain, but there was always that dissonance there, between some of his words and actions, that portrayed that aimless longing and hurt and what that meant as a characterization point, and I'm honestly so hyped we turn around and get this in 271:

(scanlation for this panel because I think it gets the sentiment across better)

Followed by

I'm—

Y'all I started my draft for my Sukuna Reincarnation AU months ago and I never expected canon to validate me. They leave it easier and more open-ended, of course, but I'm coming on the record to say I wasn't crazy for my stretch of a character exploration and also I called it.

I won't go into the specifics of my "study Sukuna like a cockroach" notes now I just wanted to come grab the mic and announce that I beat Akutami to it >:D /lh

I'm being a good noodle and not stretching myself thin by starting a new multichap now, but I've had With the Storm in the works since January, and in light of the end of JJK and this lovely little tidbit, I'm tossing a sneak-peak from Chapter 7 because why not:

But maybe it could be. Maybe, just maybe, Uraume could accept this proffered hand and continue to hope.

---

Yet… things were different now. Things changed. Uraume changed, Sukuna changed, and even though they were still themselves, there was a myriad of shifts that piled on their shoulders until something gave way. Maybe a subconscious part of Uraume had braced for that to be a crash, but instead, Sukuna had been nothing but accepting and open. It only made them more nervous about losing him, just as they feared losing Pops. Uraume was not used to wanting, or hoping, but there was a powerful need in their chest that childishly demanded that they should get to keep both their kinder father and this happier Sukuna close, even if that may not be possible.

They nodded, not trusting their words at the moment, and Sukuna relaxed slightly.

“Good. Though that reminds me… You never really answered my first question. What do you want to do? With this life, I mean.”

There was that want again. Uraume felt the pull at their lungs until it was unbearable. They knew what he was asking; the question didn’t hinge on his involvement anymore, just them. Sukuna said he wanted to live peacefully, so what, then, was Uraume’s answer?

As much as they felt like a coward saying this, maybe that was okay. Sukuna felt the same way, after all. “I like this life too…” Uraume answered, and it was very different saying those words aloud. “Pops isn’t a shaman at all, and he’s good company and a good father. If I wasn’t able to find you, or you were not of this world, then… I would stay as his family.”

“That’s good,” Sukuna agreed, lifting yet another anxious weight from their chest. “I get that. Nobody else in my family are shamans either—at least, not really—and they’re all good people. It’s a good life, and even though I would have never expected it… I don’t want to lose it.”

It was amazing how similar they were, then and now. Uraume…really shouldn’t have worried about a lack of understanding. Sukuna didn’t have to say it, but it was clear that their thoughts had wandered down a similar road yet again. Their families, full of normal people living normal lives, were an unexpected treasure; to willingly become a monster, to become a scourge upon the world for whatever reason, would forfeit that. More than that, having people to care about made the desire to spread destruction lessen, rather significantly. Maybe that hurt and rage and bitterness was still there, in between their ribs, but in the ones that were dead and buried—a part of them, but also not quite there anymore, like when a scar ceases to constantly itch and ache and becomes only a mark on functioning skin.

They didn’t have to be monsters anymore. There were calmer, kinder things available to want—available to receive, even.

“This is so weird,” Uraume blurted, staring at their small hands and thinking of the strange miracle their lives turned into.

Sukuna barked a quick laugh before it was muffled into something like a snicker. “I know, right?” He leaned back in a stretch, his face catching the sun and lighting him in something that wasn’t a fire, but equally bright. “It’s not bad though.”

It was weird, to be a child, to be without some far-off goal, to be loved and happy, in the sense that it was absurd and foreign and absolutely unexpected. It was a breath of fresh air after years and years of having frozen lungs. Weird, surprising, but unmistakably good after so long of believing that no such term, deceptively simple, could have ever been applicable.

“Not bad at all,” Uraume agreed, a bright and blooming thing in their chest as their life began to slot into a new place. Still open-ended and perhaps a little terrifying for it, but Pops accepted them, and Sukuna accepted them, so maybe they could truly accept themself now, and whatever that will look like.

#jjk #jjk manga spoilers #jjk 271 #with the storm #with the storm sneak peak #i wrote this months ago i'm going insane /pos #this is also the most i've pre-written for a fic lol #got a collective 120k under my belt #80k of ready to go stuff #wasn't planning on posting until i was done with runaways but the end of jjk made me wanna #the compromise with myself is sneak peak only lmao #i've been sitting on too many sukuna feelings to be healthy for a while now and i can't believe im being validated #i gotta ignore the little canon bit about the curse in his stomach though sorry fam #i put too much effort into sukuna's and uraume's backstories they're mine now #i had too much fun writing them as kids too #that moment when you remember you were the scourges of an era but you're a modern first grader now #though dw with the storm catches up to jjk present eventually ahahaha #if I had a nickel for every good guy villain au that became a full series rewrite......#i'll shut up now I just gotta go insane over jjk some more byeee

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sirowsky-stories · 9 months ago

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The Old Prince

Part 13

Author's Note: It's been an intense week for me, my loves, (I quit my job of 9 years!) so this was severely delayed, but here you are!

Description: You're forced to make a really tough decision, and as the war rages, you finally realize what it's gonna take to win.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Angst. Severe injuries. Word Count: 6427 Author's Masterlist

You’re not quite sure how Simon’s managing to change the oceans so quickly, unless he’s concentrating all his efforts solely on the Atlantic, not trying to expand in all directions at once. Still, there is a lot of ocean to get through, and he’s advancing terrifyingly fast, turning thousands of square meters of the water into the same goop you saw in the Mexican Gulf, every few seconds.

This is what allows him to stay at the front of his army, riding a bizarre wave of dead things at the head of his legion, while Oberyn circles above, keeping just under the shadow of the cloud, as if itching to reach new land to destroy. Seeing him sends shards of glass through your heart. He’s not a spirit, which means your light won’t be able to save him, and you have to be prepared to kill him if you wanna win this war. There’s no other way this ends.

But no matter how badly changed he is, you still see your beloved prince when you look at him. Your heart won’t stop choosing to see the love he gave you. It just won’t. His gift will live on in you for as long as you survive this world, and in Day for the rest of all time, which is the only comfort you can find while you stand there in front of the now once more glowing lighthouse, waiting for the storm to hit.

He is lost. But not gone. You can still save one small part of him.

The cloud reaches over your heads just as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, no doubt a precisely calculated time-plan on Simon’s part, but the dragon pulls back then, remaining above the mass of the army as the gunk which replaces the sea makes landfall. You guess that he’s being held back so he won’t kill too many people before they can be converted and added to the ranks, but it makes no difference as the island itself rejects their arrival.

It’s more than a little satisfying to see the Darkling literally fall over when his wave of death is brought to an abrupt stop, as if hitting a wall, once it tries to spill over land. You can’t help but grin smugly at him when he glares at you while getting back up, which of course, only further angers him. But there’s no use. The light holds.

“That’s a neat little trick, Lux. But you won’t keep me out forever,” he growls, and the slight tone of incredulity in his voice tells you this is something he hadn’t anticipated.

Which must mean your spirit has never managed something like this before.

“I thought you were the new and improved dark one. The best one ever,” you taunt, feeling a tad superior to have finally found an angle he can’t immediately break through. “I thought you knew all my tricks and had already figured out how to counter them.”

“Like I said, it’s just a matter of time.”

You refrain from replying that you can reach around the entire world like this, since angering him further isn’t gonna do you any favors. Then Oberyn’s flame suddenly drops on you from above. As if spewed from one of those airplanes with water-tanks, used to combat wildfires, it cascades over the entire western coastline. The dragon is sick of waiting for his cue, it seems.

You can protect the island from the dark forces, which means he can’t land or swipe at people or animals on the ground, but his fire is just fire. Neither belonging to light nor darkness. The people aren’t frightened of it, so they just stand there as it hits them, melting their bodies in mere seconds.

If you don’t do something, the entire island will be destroyed. But the only thing you can do is try to kill the dragon. The thought fills you with pain and sorrow, and Simon immediately senses it.

“Poor little Boo. How awful it must be to know you have to kill your lover if you want to save these pitiful people.”

You can feel him prodding at your mind, trying to slip past the light so he can disrupt your power, but you’ve been down this road before and you’re still immune to him. Flooding your mind with all the happy memories, all the curious conversations in the beginning of your time at the castle, the immediate connection you’d felt with Oberyn and how it had eventually blossomed into love, you shove Simon out of your being with such force that it once again unbalances him.

And when the dragon lines up for his next run, you use your connection to all the people around you to increase the strength of your beam, before unleashing it from your chest. It hits him at the base of his throat before he veers off, but you maintain the beam, chasing after him until you’ve hit him again, leaving a glowing trail along his spine. He crashes somewhere to the northwest, and the sea of malice swallows him whole.

It’ll heal him, you know it will. He isn’t nearly damaged enough to be out of the game, but it gives you a while to think. And what you think is that you can’t fight a war by being only defensive. Your enemy can and will wait practically forever for your barriers to fall. His army isn’t dependent on food and water to survive, whereas yours is.

The only offensive measure in your arsenal is your light-beam but it won’t be enough to decimate Simon’s forces. You need to find a way to put a weapon in the hands of every living thing you’re connected to. But how? While you’re working that problem, the Darkling continues to let his evil spread through the ocean, killing millions of water-dwelling creatures in the process, and when you see the black goo travel past the island, you suddenly wonder why your light hasn’t seemed to reach the underwater population at all.

Reaching out towards Europe, you try to feel if your powers seem to have reached into the landlocked rivers and lakes, but the only answer you find is no. Which means, given time, all water on the planet will eventually be infected and undrinkable, killing everything no matter how much light you try and infuse things with. If you can’t find a way to protect the water, you’ll lose.

You can’t see Caelum anywhere, so you have to assume she’s hiding and waiting for her moment to strike. But you’re also highly aware the other spirits are absent as well, meaning Simon knows you can restore them and is keeping them out of your reach. Fuck! You need more time. There are too many unanswered questions.

Then something unexpected happens. A person on the beach below you loses his light, and the darkness instantly swallows him through the gap in your armor, giving it a foothold on the island. It can’t spread any further unless more people give in to it, but it still worries you. The dark one must be whispering to them, reaching into their minds just like he tried to do with you and just like you expected him to. But you didn’t expect him to succeed in persuading anyone so quickly. It’s only been minutes…

One problem at a time, that’s as much as you can work on, and right now, weapons take priority. You need a way to distribute light through something other than yourself. Another person falls, further inland, leaving a second beast in her place. It writhes and screeches, clawing at the invisible barriers which contain it, already hungry. Desperate to consume.

Consume… wait, that’s it! Using your hand, you shoot a highly concentrated beam at the newly formed creature down on the beach, turning him into glowing dust. Your light has now consumed and transformed him, just like the darkness does to the living. Except the dust he becomes also becomes a part of you, because it’s light.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Caelum suddenly swoops down over you, heading straight for the glowing dust and then beating her wings against it, sending it flying off over the blackened sea. Taking the opportunity given, you attempt to amplify the light of those little specks as they disperse, and it works.

Like fireworks, each and every particulate becomes a sizzling little bomb, which when it hits a creature of the dark, multiplies and creates a chain reaction which kills thousands in mere seconds. Simon manages to stop its rampant progression by throwing masses of thick vines in its path, essentially drowning the fireworks. But this time, you’re the one who can sense his fear growing, because this is an effective weapon, and one he won’t be able to wait out or prevent.

There’s no reason to hold back, so as soon as the first volley is extinguished, you launch a second one, and Caelum is right there, helping you disperse it with her microbursts of powerful winds. This time, you use both hands separately and aim your beam along as much of the front lines of the dark army as you can endure, before your hands are once again charred. But it pays off. The chain reaction which follows is massive, destroying at least a tenth of Simon’s army before he can halt it.

Then, just as the battlefield grows louder with the shrieks of anger from the decimated forces, there’s a rumble from below the semi-solid surface of the black ooze, and then Oberyn comes thrashing out of it. It holds him back, weighing him down with its oily muck, leaving him struggling to get his wings up, having to beat them hard repeatedly before enough of the shit has been removed to allow him to take off.

He comes straight at you, fully aware that you’re the one who brought him down and obviously eager to retaliate. It takes less than a second of seeing his distorted and enraged face glare at you, before your mind reverts into thoughts of grief and despair, and just like earlier, the moment you do, the Darkling pounces and tries to invade your mind. You’re not threatened by it, but it does scatter your resolve, leaving you frozen.

It tortures you. Seeing this, knowing that it’s your Oberyn but you’ll never get to see him proudly glide across the skies again. Knowing you’re the one who has to end him. There isn’t enough light in the universe to keep those thoughts away. He closes in so fast, and yet it seems to happen infinitely slowly. Jaws wide and the churning heat within, trained solely on you, needing to destroy with such desperation.

You wonder if there’s more behind it. His very existence depends on your obliteration, that much is easy to conclude, but somehow, you feel as though this need is fed by more than just the fear of death. It was the fear of losing you which brought him here, so it stands to reason the same fear is still what ultimately controls him, even if his memories are gone. But none of this really matters. It’s just thoughts, coming to you now as your own desperation is brought to a head. A last attempt to put off the unthinkable… but inevitable.

Stop..

An image flashes before your eyes, obscuring the jaws which are about to reach you, and you hear your own voice whispering inside your head, just as it had sounded back then, while something occurs to you on instinct. You’d made it stop that day in Detroit. The creature attacking the policemen. But it hadn’t been sunlight you’d put in its way. Once again you scream the word, not as loud as you can, but with all the might you possess… and the dragon stops.

He’s brought to a halt so abruptly that he flinches backwards and then crashes down onto the beach below you as if an invisible rope had snared and pulled him down. You look up, checking if there are reinforcements on the way to try and aid the dragon, only to see Simon’s face contort into pure rage at the sight of his presumed perfect weapon against you flailing as he tries to get back up. But the monster makes no attempt to help his minion.

Turning back to Oberyn, your breath is suddenly stifled as pain floods your being with the knowledge of what you’re about to do. He’s helpless to defend himself while you hold him down, pinning him to the sands as you try to prepare. Except there is no preparing for this. No amount of conditioning is going to make this one damned bit easier. You need to touch him to finish it, so although it’s the last thing you want to do, you start to walk down towards the beach.

He thrashes against the invisible chains you have wrapped around him, screeching through his ruined throat for his master to save him, but the dark one isn’t going to spare his resources on a lost cause. Whether he knows what you’re doing or not, he knows he’s powerless to stop it.

“Shhh…” you soothe, making your way to the once so mighty king of the skies, and his writhing eases up a little. “It’s gonna be alright.”

By the time you’re standing in front of him, he’s completely stopped moving, laying his head down in the sand, staining the tiny crystals black with the oil that seeps from his ruined skin.

“It wasn’t the sun which stopped that creature in Detroit,” you explain, even though you know he doesn’t have the ability to understand you anymore.

You just need to. One last conversation. Your final chance to ever say anything to him again.

“It was conviction. In that moment, I truly believed myself strong enough to stand up to something so evil. And I believed it so completely, so fiercely, that my voice reached into its dead brain and sparked the idea that maybe there is something more powerful than darkness. That’s all it took to stop it in its tracks. Just an idea. The barest hint of a flaw in the fabric of reality woven by the evils of this world.”

Taking one final step, you lay your hands on the tip of his nose, ignoring the thick, oily goo you sink into slightly, and which starts to trickle down your lower arms in sluggish dribbles.

“Such a simple thing. And yet, I couldn’t convince you of it. Because around you, I didn’t think I had to be that person. With you, I thought I could just be… human,” you shrug unhappily, giving yourself just a few seconds to let the tears fall. “I should’ve known better.”

He watches you, giving no indication that anything you say is affecting him, and even though you knew it wouldn’t, it still hurts you to know he’ll never look at you with those big brown, adoring eyes again. Light flows through your hands and your chest, and you watch as he slowly dissolves before your eyes, until all that’s left is the glowing dust. And the love of your life is truly gone.

Pain overwhelms you, bringing you to your knees, but there’s no longer any fear within you. The worst thing that could ever have happened, has already happened.

What’s left is agony and loneliness, but this doesn’t concern you, because you now know those feelings won’t take away your love or your hope. That they don’t eliminate positivity, but each exist alongside one another instead. You now realize both are born from the same place. Equal parts of the same core, and each vital for the existence of the other. And this understanding makes you truly untouchable to the Darkling.

But you can’t force this kind of understanding on other people. It’s not something one can be taught, so there’s no way for you to render others equally untouchable. Oberyn’s final act was to make you invincible against the darkness, not so that you can singlehandedly stop it, but so that the forces of light will always have a leader. No matter how long this war rages.

“You may have temporarily weakened me, Boo,” Simon snarls then, “but so long as the spirits belong to me, you will lose. I have all of eternity to wait for you to recognize that.”

With those words, he and his army retreats, although the Atlantic remains ruined after their departure. He’s not defeated, not even close. He’ll regroup and head for another coast, another continent to try and infect, and he’ll keep doing that for however long he has to. Because he’s right. Without the spirits, you’ll never stand a chance.

As if knowing you’re thinking about her, Caelum comes to your side and lands in the sand beside you.

“We can’t let him drag this out,” you say through the tears and the snot which has accumulated in your nose, while you follow your enemy’s departure with your gaze. “I don’t know how, but we need to free your sisters and we need to do it soon.”

In your periphery, you see her nod decisively, probably also aware the longer this takes, the more people will eventually succumb to the darkness no matter how diligently you try to safeguard them. And perhaps even more importantly; the more of nature will be destroyed. As you stand there, a plan begins to take form inside your mind, and you wonder if she somehow speaks to you, because you don’t feel like all of this is coming from you.

“Has it ever been this bad before?” you ask her, turning to meet her eyes now.

She holds your gaze for a few moments, but if she replies, you can’t tell. You don’t know if she even remembers things from as far back as the last dark one, but you also feel like whether she does or not, she’s no longer the same thoughtless entity of raw emotion she’s meant to be. Her stoic stillness somehow feels like an answer, though, and not a good one. But however bad you might try to imagine things could get from this point; nothing could’ve prepared you for how truly awful they would become.

--=¤=--

You sigh heavily as you feel another person die. Not by the Darkling’s hand, though, this was natural causes. A young man somewhere on the northern Australian continent, you’re not sure exactly where. It stopped being important a while ago. The exact locations. They’re all just losses. Caelum senses it too, and you feel her sorrow, which annoys you. You’re not sure when you stopped being able to grieve the lost ones anymore, but it seems like a long time ago.

You still care, perhaps even too much. Because each and every one who dies feels like your failure, but after so long and so much death, it’s gotten harder and harder to let yourself feel it. To let your love for the world carry your burdens and lighten your heart. It’s so hard when you’re connected to everything, because people die, in all sorts of ways, every minute of every day. And even if it isn’t traumatic or horrible, even if they just die in their sleep, you feel all of them as they leave the light.

How long has it been? How many deaths have you felt at this point? The fight takes you all over the world, so time-zones have stopped having any meaning to you. You battle the dark for as long as you can, and then you find a place to rest, sleeping for what you assume are a few hours, and then you get back to work. That’s the routine. Day after day.

The world fights with you, holding off the black hurricane and the senseless death it protects, even when you sleep. Determined not to fail, feeding off the light you still pour into it with as much hope as you can muster. But for all their courage and strength, Simon’s power has not been weakened. You’ve made almost no progress in recovering anything he’s already corrupted, leaving the American continents his adult playground.

He’s frustrated, though. You can tell. His need to consume makes him crave fresh bodies. Living things to torture the light out of so he can feed his stale existence and give it purpose. His army is restless, spending its time tearing at itself in search of relief from such a pointless existence, needing to tear, rip, destroy something. At times it gets bad enough that they even start dismembering themselves, further mutating their bodies as the removed limbs grow back even more distorted.

Time, it seems, is no more their friend than it is yours.

Caelum has changed as well. She’s no longer limited to non-verbal communication, having learned not just how to speak telepathically with you, but how to remember things from one moment to the next. Ordinarily, she shouldn’t be capable of thought or reasoning of any kind, but circumstances have forced her to evolve.

“Please, stop,” you ask her without saying a word out loud, when she continues to grieve for the dead man, and her sharp eyes refocus on you.

“You are the one who recognizes the strength of caring,” she chides, not for the first time.

“I’m aware. But lingering on the dead won’t help, will it?”

She doesn’t respond to that, but something about her gaze makes you feel guilty.

“I just mean we need to keep looking ahead, find solutions. We’re not a single step closer to ending this war and it’s been… how long now?” you ask, genuinely trying to work it out but coming up short.

“Three and a half years,” she replies, and for a moment you just stare blankly at her.

Your own assessment was off by about an entire year.

“Fuck…” you sigh, bowing your head in recognition of your absolute failure.

It’s the fifth time since that day you’re back on Faial Island, standing in front of the lighthouse and looking out over the Atlantic. You had eventually figured out how to heal the ocean, and all water, once Simon had left, so today it glistens blue against the horizon to the west. It turned out that all you had to do was change the wavelength of your light for it to travel through water. But that’s also about as much as you’ve accomplished.

The plan you’d once had, to try and sneak back into the States and covertly reach some of the spirits by using your conviction to gain control over a darkened creature and use it as cover, had failed on multiple occasions, leaving you scratching your head for some other idea. Brute force wasn’t gonna work, because as much as the world would stand behind you, they couldn’t operate offensively and would be of little help to you. And powerful though you are, even if you could muscle your way past an entire army, you still can’t kill Simon.

But somewhere deep inside you, there’s a glimmer. A truth, or knowledge, you’re not sure which. What you do know is that this glimmer is the answer, if you can just tap into it and learn what it’s trying to tell you. Because there is a way to win, you’ve never doubted that, and you never will. You just need to find it.

“Hey,” a voice quietly greets from behind you, and you recognize it as Andreia.

She comes to stand next to you, and you glance at her with a polite nod and small smile. She always comes to see you whenever she sees you arrive by the lighthouse where she still works. That’s another thing which seems very odd to you. How the world still has to keep going as usual, even with the truest evil trying to devour it. How the stock market has been affected by Americas destruction, how the politics of the world have shifted.

It feels like all that should’ve just stopped. Been put on indefinite hold while you all band together and fight. But that’s not how it works. Oddly enough, the planet has probably never seen a more peaceful time in all its existence, with the entire population so devoted to hope. There are no ongoing conflicts, virtually no crime even on the smallest scale of offences, and people are generally behaving more helpfully and tolerantly.

What a strange world this is, where the end of this war will see it return to those darker traits in very little time.

“Any progress?” she asks, following your gaze across the sea.

“No, not yet. I’m… stuck. In my head, you know?” you ponder, grateful to have someone other than the owl to talk to, just because humans relate to you better and understand things which no spirit can. “I keep trying to look at the problem from new angles, looking for something I could’ve missed, but as much as I know in my fucking bones there is an answer, I just can’t find it.”

“Maybe you need to write it down.”

At first, you dismiss her suggestion, since you can’t see what difference it would make, but when she continues to explain her reasoning, you start to come around.

“It activates a different part of your brain, which sometimes helps with problem solving. Singing does too, but I don’t think there is a song for this situation.”

“I don’t know. People have been making music for ages, covering every topic under the sun. I’m sure if we looked hard enough, we could find something eerily appropriate,” you shrug, laughing lightly at the subject.

Ever since you lost Oberyn, laughter hasn’t come as easily for you as before. It’s harder to let yourself be happy when he can’t be there to share it with you. But it’s also so important that you do hold on to the good moments and allow their brightness to infect you.

“How about… Ironic by Alanis Morissette”, she offers, making you snicker.

“Definitely. Or Everybody by Backstreet Boys.”

She hums approvingly, and a few more songs are exchanged between you, getting more and more ludicrous.

“Mr. Brightside by The Killers. I mean, come on, both the song and the group are appropriate,” you suggest, and by now you’re both struggling against incessant giggling.

“Lose Yourself…” Andreia replies, but then forgets the artist for a second, “…by uh…Eminem!”

But your laughter dies then. Partly because while the song does fit the theme overall, the message you’ve always taken away from it is simply about living in the moment and appreciating what you have, however unimportant or insignificant it might seem to someone else, which doesn’t really fit with going to war against ancient evil. And partly because of how the woman herself doesn’t seem to know why she chose that song at all. The moment she said it, confusion flashed over her features and with every second since, she looks increasingly befuddled.

“Lose yourself,” you repeat on impulse, but this time saying it as a suggestion to yourself.

Immediately, there’s a strange little click inside your head, and then the glimmer suddenly comes into full focus, so distinct now that you know it. How did you never think of it before? Oberyn even said it to you, in your final conversation on your way north from Antarctica.

You cannot possibly think that anything but giving it everything you have is going to be enough to free them all.

Every word he ever spoke to you or around you, lives in your mind, remembered in such vivid detail you can even recall the slight tremor in his voice as he’d said it.

“Andreia,” you say, turning to face her and pulling her into a tight hug which she bewilderedly reciprocates. “Thank you. You may have just saved everyone.”

You pull back and smile at her, but before she can say anything, Caelum picks you up and flies off with you, having heard you call out to her in your mind the moment the realization hit you.

“Am I to head west, then, Lightbringer?” she asks even as she aligns her beak to the shrouded horizon.

“Yes. It’s time to end this,” you answer out loud, because these words should be heard. The time for sneaking around and whispering between shielded minds is over. “I finally know how to free your sisters.”

Your once again brimming confidence rubs off on the owl, and she sets a nearly impossible speed, excited by the prospect of seeing her fellow spirits restored to their rightful glory. It doesn’t take long before you’re back underneath the poisonous cloud, and right away you can tell that it’s changed since your last visit, maybe a year and half earlier. The air is so thick with soot and ash that it clings to your skin and colors you black, while also wreaking havoc on your lungs in mere minutes.

Undoubtedly, this is what the entire world would eventually become, once all life had been consumed and all that was left for the armies of death to occupy themselves, was to torture each other, flooding the air with their oily blood and mutated skin cells. You’re grateful to know that this will never come to pass, while you cough up some of the black goo which has already begun to accumulate in your throat and lungs. It doesn’t harm you since you’re continually healing the damage it does, but it hurts more than one might imagine.

Looking up, you can see that Caelum isn’t affected by it, beyond how it obscures her sight, so you do your best to help her navigate by trying to get a sense of where Simon is. You find him quite quickly, detecting a massive surge of energy as he realizes his enemy is back. Which is probably the only thing he’s had to be excited about in a very long time. Directing the spirit there, you instruct her to drop you from an altitude high enough that she’ll be safe even if Octopus should be around and attempt to reach her with its enormous tentacles.

“Such a fall will break many of your bones,” she notes, not really out of concern, but more like she’s just making sure you know.

“I’m aware. It’ll be fine.”

The weightlessness is strangely liberating. Instead of falling, it makes you feel like you’re soaring, maybe because of how hopeful your realization has made you. But still no more than a trick of the mind. Hitting the ground removes the illusion when your legs completely shatter, all the way up to your hips, and fractures to your spine, ribs and arms make themselves known moments later.

You can still move, though, and as you feel Simon approach, you manage to claw yourself up to a seated position, finding that ignoring the pain is easier than you’d thought this time, which gives you comfort even as your enemy reaches you, sporting a large smirk on his disfigured face. Whatever’s been going on here for the past three years, he’s clearly begun to mutate himself, because his features aren’t entirely recognizable as human anymore.

He still has two legs and arms, and only one head, but the true shape of the Darkling has started to emerge, and it’s fucking hideous.

“Eww… the hell happened to you?” you ask, breathing hard through the pain, but otherwise mostly disgusted by his appearance.

Unlike his minions, the dark one is dry. His skin is a pale grey and where it’s cracked from the lack of moisture, mostly on his arms and hands but everywhere else too, there are miniature faces growing out of his flesh. Not like images of faces, but rather as though tiny people are actually trapped inside of him, trying to crawl out through the gaps but held back by some thin, partly transparent film. He’s at least ten feet tall now, so there’s much more space for these trapped people to crowd around, but they’re still fighting each other for room.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and even his voice is unrecognizable. “This is my collection. The ones I like the most get to live inside me. The ones who are the most frightened… they make such delightful music inside my mind.”

You were hoping it wasn’t what it looks like, but clearly, it is. He probably grows larger with each soul he devours, and since he couldn’t have infected any new people for a long time, these must be his own creatures. Which would mean, once the mutated body is destroyed, the original human soul is still there, to some extent. But not in a way that would enable them to be restored. Their bodies are gone and no power on earth could bring them back. But at least the destruction of the Darkling will set them free.

“You’re using them to protect yourself.. aren’t you?” you ponder, trying to buy time for the spirits to reveal themselves, but also hoping to understand more about him, since that will help you take him down. “You cover yourself with them to make it harder for anyone to reach your dead heart.”

“Well, of course. Who’s gonna try and reach into this mess of scared little people, so desperate to escape their hell, they’ll crawl into the skin of anyone who touches me, driving that person mad. Ingenious, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose. In a devilish sort of way.”

“You will make a very nice addition to the flock…” he pauses, and puts a finger to his lips as if trying to think of something which evades him, “…oh, what was it Oberyn called you? I only heard it once, but it was something Egyptian, wasn’t it?”

You don’t really wanna hear that name spoken by anyone else, but since you’re still not sensing any spirits, you play along.

“Kaivalya.”

“Ah, yes! Freedom. How insulting a name to give to a creature whose entire life has been doomed to this ending from before she was even born,” he laments, putting on a very noticeably fake tone of compassion just to irritate you.

His voice already grates your eardrums. It’s so dry and course he can’t get much volume to it, but it still manages to cut straight into your brain with how it breaks on the high notes. The fake sentiment only manages to mildly annoy you in comparison.

“It was a promise…” you spit through teeth held tight against the pain of your legs trying to realign themselves so that the bones can be set, only to hurt more when the angles they’re trapped in won’t allow the movements.

“A promise? That old prince promised you freedom, and you believed him?!” Simon squeals before starting to laugh, further abusing your ears.

“No,” you counter, once you’ve adapted to the new level of pain. “He didn’t promise me freedom… He couldn’t have, because I was never his prisoner. He named me Freedom because that’s what I gave to him. A heart free to love again.”

You can tell he’s about to counter, it’s easy because his smirk returns every time his own thoughts amuse him, but you’re done with this distraction so you continue before he can.

“That’s what you took from him. I gave him this amazing gift… and you ripped it out of him.”

“Prince Martell sealed his own fate by allowing his fears to rip him apart,” he challenges, no longer smirking, though. “He was so scared for you. So worried you’d lose and he’d have to live on without you. And so, the coward you loved, the man who knew better than anyone how important it would be to keep hope alive in the time of the Darkling, chose to die rather than fight for you.”

Fuck. He’s found your weak spot and thrown a knife into it. You shouldn’t care what he says but you can’t help how his words cut through you, because they’re the same ones you’ve battled with in your nightmares. The same ones you’ve been unable to answer ever since it first dawned on you that he’d turned. Why did he give in? He knew what would happen. How could he leave himself so vulnerable?

But this is why you’re here. To set things right, no matter what happened in the past. You’ll never get those answers, so all you can do is let the questions go. And just as you begin to calm yourself, you feel it. They’re coming. He’s summoned them to watch as he devours you. And to protect him, should you have some trick up your sleeve.

“Tell me something, Si…” you start, giving them time to come closer before you get this over with. “Did you really think you’d ever get me to surrender to you? Is that what all this flaunting of your achievements is meant to do? To win me over?”

He sours while he listens, clearly unable to think of a witty comeback because you’re right. He absolutely thought that this, beating you, would be such a triumph you wouldn’t be able to resist admiring him.

“I’m the fucking goddess of all light, you prick. I was never gonna bow to you, you’re nothing but a shadow under the bed, a cockroach hiding in the bottom of the sink. You named me Boo, remember? Because even back then, I was better than you.”

You’re not actually trying to antagonize him, you just really wanted to give him a piece of your mind before you get this show going. But true to form, he’s enraged by your insults and comes at you with his arms raised and ready to beat you into the ground. The nine all are there, too far away for your eyes to make them out in the dark and dusty air, but close enough that you can feel them, standing in a circle around you and their master. And Caelum circles directly above you, just as you’d asked her.

“Don’t hesitate,” you tell her, as you watch Simon measure his first punch.

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain… Kaivalya,” she replies, and unlike the Darkling, her use of your most beloved name shows you just how much she respects you.

Nothing else is said between you. Nothing more is needed.

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

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