#Newer models lack this love

[reksink]

A Mock-Analysis and a Page of Pebbles

[bucksanklescrews]

car shopping- e.b. x fem!reader

Warnings: None, pregnant!reader, fluff

"I'm not driving a minivan," Evan said, his voice stern, but a hint of amusement still shined through.

You ran a hand over your bump. "Jesus, Buck, how many of them do you think are in here?"

Evan chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at you with that familiar mix of affection and playful defiance. "I don’t care if it’s one or five, I’m not trading in the Jeep for a minivan."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you ran a hand over your growing bump. “Come on, Buck, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? It’s not like we’re starting a soccer team.”

He grinned, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’m just saying, this Jeep has been with me through a lot. I’m not ready to swap it out for something... practical.”

"I said practical, which means a Jeep that doesn't stutter when it starts-"

"I made an appointment for it next week!"

You placed a hand on your hip. "And what about the appointment last week?"

He sighed, knowing you had a point. Despite all the love and care he had poured into maintaining his Jeep over the years—new tires, a well-kept motor, and a slightly faded paint job that he swore added character—it was clear that the old Jeep was reaching the end of its life. It had racked up miles and had started showing signs of wear, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Sure, his car had been fine before, but now that you were expecting, the last thing you wanted was to worry about Buck and your little angel stalling at an intersection or, worse, being stranded somewhere.

Evan ran a hand through his hair, the reluctance in his eyes giving way to a resigned sigh. “Alright, I’ll look at new cars... but I’m not making any promises.”

You smiled, knowing it was the best you were going to get from him. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Car shopping turned out to be more of a challenge than either of you anticipated. Every car seemed to have something wrong with it—too worn, too expensive, too small, too impractical. The first dealership was a bust, with Buck dismissing every option the salesman showed him. The second one wasn’t any better, with Buck complaining about the lack of character in the newer models. By the time you reached the sixth dealership, you were starting to lose hope.

Then you spotted it—another Jeep, practically identical to his. It was a little newer, with fewer miles on it, and in good condition. For a moment, you thought this might be the one. Buck approached the Jeep, his eyes lighting up as he inspected it closely. He ran his hand over the hood, checked the tires, and even peeked inside the cabin.

You watched him, hopeful that this could be it. But as the salesman approached to seal the deal, you noticed the look on Buck’s face. The excitement had faded, replaced by something more subdued. He thanked the salesman politely, but instead of heading back inside to discuss numbers, he started walking back to your car.

You followed him, your heart sinking a little. “Evan?”

He glanced back at the Jeep, then at you. “It’s just... it’s not the same, you know? It doesn’t feel right.”

You sighed, understanding where he was coming from. “I get it, Buck. But we need something reliable, something safe. For all of us.”

He nodded, though you could see the reluctance still lingering in his eyes. “I know. It’s just hard to let go.”

You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll find something that feels right, I promise. But maybe it doesn’t have to be another Jeep. Maybe it’s time for something new.”

Buck considered your words, his gaze softening as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

As your due date approached, just over a week away, the anticipation was palpable. You sighed, flipping through yet another car catalog, this one featuring used cars being sold directly by their owners. Your hand absentmindedly rested on your bump as you turned the pages, glancing over sedans and SUVs, none of which seemed to stand out.

But then, you spotted it. Another Jeep, just a few shades darker than his current car. It had low miles and was moderately priced, a rare find that immediately caught your attention. You smiled to yourself, thinking maybe this was it, the compromise between nostalgia and practicality. You turned the catalog towards Buck, who was sitting next to you on the couch, and pointed it out.

“Look at this one,” you said, your voice laced with hope. “It’s just like yours, but with way fewer miles. What do you think?”

Buck’s eyes lit up for a second as he took in the image, the familiar look of excitement flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, he seemed to hesitate, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s nice,” he admitted, nodding appreciatively. “But... I already found something.”

You quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? And when were you planning on telling me?”

Buck chuckled, pulling out his phone. “I was going to surprise you, but since we’re on the topic...”

He scrolled through his photos, searching for something specific. You watched him curiously, wondering what he had found. Finally, he stopped on a picture and handed the phone to you.

The image on the screen was of a new Jeep, a different color from his current one but still unmistakably in the same spirit. It was slightly newer, with a sleeker design, but it still had that rugged, adventurous look that Buck loved so much.

“I saw it when we were on a call,” Buck explained, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and nostalgia. “It was parked on the street, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. I jotted down the number before we left, and I went back to see it with Eddie before heading home.”

You looked at the photo, then back at Buck, and couldn’t help but smile. There was something endearing about the way he was so attached to his Jeep, and yet willing to find something new that still honored the old.

“You really like it, don’t you?” you asked softly.

Buck nodded, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and a touch of sentimentality. “Yeah, I do. It’s not exactly the same, but it feels right, you know? Like it’s time for something new, but it still reminds me of the old one.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you found something you love, Buck. And if you’re happy with it, then I am too.”

He smiled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close, his hand resting protectively over your bump. “Thanks, babe. I know it’s silly, but this Jeep... it means a lot.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth and love between you both. “It’s not silly at all. It’s a big change, and I’m glad you found something that feels right.”

As you sat there together, the car catalog forgotten on the coffee table, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. The Jeep was just a car, but it symbolized so much more—moving forward, making room for new memories, and embracing the future together as a family.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix

SUMMARY : aka. part II of mattel. finally, in the privacy of your home, you find the willpower to make the afternoon all about dean (as you’d originally hoped) when he tries to distract you from your plans. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), 0.5 mL of angst, pure filth mostly, fluffy as well tho, edging, switches all around, body appreciation as subtext lmao, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected piv (I’m scared of germs, you should be too), rough sex, biting, scratching?, oral (m. receiving), begging, squirting, idk hot and sweaty and wet sex honestly cause why the heck not?! 

WORD COUNT : 5.0k

A/N :  the title is from a muse song. this fills the biting square for my @jacklesversebingo card. Inspired by Bullet for My Valentine’s Scream Aim Fire album. Also by the reel on instagram for “riding” tips 🤣

DEAN’S POV 

When you playfully made your way into the house, he allowed his previous insecurity to grip his heart so it clenched while his stomach sank unpleasantly. 

You seemed far too happy, excited even, for him to be ruining your mood. 

But all he could think of was this morning when he was rushing you to get dressed. When he got to the wardrobe, he froze as his mind instantly scanned through the shirts he knew you both had inside, either folded nearly in stacks or hanging on the sturdy metal bar inside. 

Truth was, part of him felt guilty and his stomach sank every time he saw some old shirts of his you’d stolen years back. He typically found it hot when you wore them, but sometimes the way they fit on you made him feel self conscious about his weight. Especially when he could tell when you wore his newer clothes because of how much bigger it fit on your body. 

You’ve never made any comments about his body or his weight or the amount of food he eats or the lack of activity he engages in now. But he knows. Sam teases him about it, he laughs wryly, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice that those comments make him uncomfortable. Sure, back then it didn’t matter what Sam said about the food he ate because he didn’t notice the change in his body. He was constantly hunting or going hungry for large periods of time when they were stuck far away from society and only relied on snacks to stave off their hunger…

He decided to slip on last night’s clothes, hoping to hide his body from himself, from you, from his brother. From anyone who knew him when he was fit and toned and hard… God… he should’ve listened when those chicks told him he had a “dad-bod”.

He had no idea why he couldn’t stop spiralling now. 

When he got to the entrance of the house, he shut the door behind him and locked it, taking a deep breath as his dick began to soften due to his sour mood. He found your ankle boots next to the entrance and quickly discarded his own shoes and placed them next to yours.

His mind went back to anything that would indicate that you had noticed or even hated his body. Even though he had nothing negative to think back to, he felt awful. Suddenly, he could feel every inch of extra skin and he squirmed uncomfortably. 

He saw your discarded dress in the hallway and he found that he couldn’t help smiling.

He could spend all his life wondering why or how you still found him attractive, but that would be a shameful amount of time wasted. You were so beautiful and you were right here ready for him, loving him in more ways and more intensely than he thought he deserved. 

So he decided to just appreciate that you liked, no, loved him at all and quickly washed his hands with soap in the bathroom before entering your shared bedroom where you were laying like a model on the bed. 

Your face was turned to the window, to the drawn curtains and the sunlight that glided over your smooth skin. Your arm was raised above your head, in the pillows, and your body was covered in the red lingerie set that had caught his attention at the sex shop. To see it on your body was driving him insane. 

He noticed the shaky expansion and deflation of your ribcage with each breath you took. Your knees were bent, feet flat on the bed, thighs pressed together tightly, and then you turned to face him. Your lashes fluttered and you smiled when you saw him standing there, dumbstruck and in awe.

You spoke his name like a siren and he moved to get closer to you, the tension your sensuality began filling the room aroused him. His heart was pounding excitedly in his chest, and while some of the blood flooded up to his face the way it always did, most of it ran down south. And your voice did nothing but intensify how horny and desperate he was starting to feel all over again.

He stood at the foot of the bed and smirked down at you and you parted your thighs just to watch him curiously from between your legs with your brow raised expectantly.

He lifted only one knee onto the bed and reached for your hip to drag you all the way down. Your laughter filled him with delight, but when he slid his hand down your side to get a good look at you with your hair haloed around your head on the sheets, your seductive gaze seized him and his heart nearly stopped from how fast it was beating. You bit your lip in anticipation and reached for his shirt, quietly urging him to remove it.

“Please,” you murmured. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and threw it to the side. Hoping to be ignored, he leaned over you, his warm breath fanned over your neck and he relished the quiet gasp you released before he even pressed his lips softly to your pulse.

Your hands instantly threaded through his hair and he let you guide him off your skin, where he could feel the heavy thud of your heartbeat. You whispered his name against his lips like a prayer and he closed the distance between the two of you like a merciful god responding to your silent plea with tenderness. 

You were quick to bite his lips when he refused to give you anything more than an innocent kiss. He smirked against your mouth, inhaling sharply at your enthusiasm. Your tongue pushed past the playfully-stubborn lock of his lips and the sound you made once you tasted him made his cock twitch inside his sweat pants.

You became more impatient, he could barely catch up with you. His mind was dazed from your kiss alone, but your hands made a mess in his hair, tugging with desperation, eliciting deep moans from him. Your hips rolled upwards, your hands released their tight grip on his hair so you could dig your fingernails into his bare shoulders, needing—more than anything—to find friction. He groaned into your mouth and moved away panting, his lips swollen and tingling from your greedy mouth.

He took your hands far gentler than you’d handled him and pinned them above your head, his hand easily locked around your wrists and you bit your lip. You leered up at him when he placed himself closer between your legs.

“Is there something you need, sweetheart?” He teased, placing his hand flat on your stomach, nearly covering the entirety of the surface.

“Dean,” you whined, laughing breathily, “don’t do this.” He frowned dramatically at your refusal—playfulness guiding his actions—and tested your resolve by pressing his thumb against your clit over the wet lace of your new underwear. Your instant gasp at the softest touch thrilled him.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, a furious heat rushing up his face.

“Yeah, you didn’t feel that in the car?” 

He leaned over you again, nipped at your breast above the cup of your lace bra in retaliation, and slowly began to pull your underwear down your legs. He felt your hands twist in his grasp when he brought his lips around your nipple over the scratchy lace, you squirmed beneath him, impatiently attempting to kick your underwear off with his help.

“Need you so bad,” you whispered without being prompted to say anything. He smiled against your chest and threw your underwear away from your body with a snap of his wrist. 

“Oh, baby, I know,” he whispered empathetically, his eyes deeply gazing into yours as he slid his hand up the front of your body to pull down the cups of your bra so your breasts spilled out. 

He knew you saw that he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted instantly. Your knees pressed into his sides, your back arched when he breathed against your hardened nipple, and you struggled against his grip on your hands. You never asked him to stop, you only begged for more, so he wrapped his lips around your nipple and played with the other until you were moaning wantonly and begging shamelessly for him to fuck you.

“Please, tell me… you’ll let me cum,” you gasped, watching him intently as he detached his puffy lips from your now-slick and sensitive nipples. 

“Of course,” he murmured and pushed a finger inside you. You gasped, his lips touched yours, and he began curling his finger inside you, relishing in the feeling of it slipping into you without resistance.

He could feel the spread of your legs, the impatient wiggle of your hips, the pulse of your core around his fingers whenever he brushed over your g-spot. His cock ached as you panted and murmured his name in a quiet plea, your breathlessness made his stomach clench and he was enthralled by the sight of you, flushed and needy—all for him. 

He released your wrists to palm himself over his sweatpants, groaning and grateful that there was nothing underneath stopping him from feeling some pleasure as he admired you. He just couldn’t help himself with your shameless responsiveness. Your hands flew to his wrist and he looked down to watch your frantic grip near where his glistening finger was emerging from your warmth. You were something else entirely today. He closed his eyes momentarily, revelling in the image of you that remained behind his lids as he rubbed at his cock, and added a second finger inside you to scissor you open carefully when his eyes fluttered open once more.

He regarded you as you panted, your lips parted and your eyes closed. He bit his lip, parted your folds and flicked your slippery clit with his thumb watching your body arch and your hips buck. 

"That's it, you’re such a good girl," he praised, his voice husky.

His eyes flickered up to your face, but you were already watching him with your brows drawn together in concentration and your lips parted to release every tender moan that he pulled out of you. His heart lurched at your flushed state and you bit your lip hard, struggling to catch your breath. Your wide eyes swallowed him whole and then they fluttered shut for a moment; he knew what was coming.

Your walls spasmed around his fingers and your body shook when your orgasm finally vibrated through you. “Dean… fuck-fuck-fuck… fuck,” you implored, somehow becoming more wet around his fingers. Your hands moved up to his forearm, your fingertips traced the way his muscles flexed as he brushed against your g-spot repetitively, and you shuddered as you kept his unmoving fingers inside you after the most intense part of your orgasm passed.

“Fuck… so needy today,” he said with hushed astonishment. He looked between your legs with a lewd curiosity to watch your pussy flutter around his fingers. He chewed on his lip and experimentally continued to slowly rub at your clit until it became too much for you. Your pussy clamped down tightly around him and you started to guide his wrist away from you so his fingers slipped out, too.

While you caught your breath, he played with your sticky release and sucked his two fingers clean of the drying slick. Your tired eyes landed on him and you still smiled, maybe he could call your huff a laugh with the way your shoulders shook. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, too, now?” He uttered quietly, mostly to tease you. Still, as he waited for you to answer, he pulled down his grey sweats and stepped out of them swiftly. He moved back between your legs before he could miss a single second of your blissful glow and waited with a patient smile as you ogled him as shamelessly as he was doing to you.

"Please, Dean," you moaned, arms thrown up with your hair to grab the sheets hard. He smirked at you and you lifted your hips invitingly, causing his cock to twitch against your thigh. He cussed impatiently as he grabbed your hip over the red garter belt and teased your swollen clit with his cock, mostly enjoying the way your slick felt along the length of him. “Please… fuck me already. I need it, Dean,” you whimpered impatiently, pressing your ankles against the back of his thighs so he could give you what you wanted.

He considered continuing the torture, but decided against it, pleased by the desperation contorting your beautiful features the longer he played with you. 

"Okay,” he hummed and slammed his cock into you, his fingers digging into your hips on both sides now. Your gasp made his head light, his cock throbbed inside you, and he pulled out slowly to feel every inch of you before shoving himself back in with a satisfied groan. Your pussy pulsed to adjust to him, but you were still slick inside from your orgasm, and every thrust felt deliciously smooth. 

He watched you grip the sheets in tighter fists to brace yourself against the ruthless snap of his hips. His eyes trailed down, noticing the faster rise and fall of your chest as your lascivious eyes drifted lower, slowly moving down his chest and his stomach, and finally down to where his cock was ramming inside of you. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips, moulding your flesh like clay, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay.

He brought one of his hands away from your hip, reaching over to your sensitive clit, and stroked around it lazily—hoping to bring you to the edge of your second orgasm. When your body spasmed and you whimpered a plea, he knew he could get you there again. 

“Please,” you gasped, pulling hard at the sheets.

“Anything for you," he promised breathily, continuing to fuck into you as he circled your clit faster. Each snap of his hips made you moan, and you squirmed restlessly—sensitive and overstimulated from his touch, but somehow needing more. 

He leaned over you to kiss you deeply and you gripped his arms instinctively after releasing the sheets as he caged you in with his arms and swallowed your sounds with his fierce kiss. Your nails dug into the taut flesh of his arms and his stomach flipped at your desperate attempts to restrain yourself. He smirked against your mouth, his thrusts became slow and shallow. You kissed him back firmly, breathing unevenly against his lips when he parted to breathe, meeting his thrusts as best as you could, uselessly trying to gain control.

He buried his face near the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and moaning softly in your ear. He groaned your name at the instantaneous clench of your walls at his closeness. You sighed his name, hands flexing on his arm before your nails bit back down on his flesh again, sending electric pleasure through his body. Dean bit down hard on your shoulder, muffling his heated groans against your soft flesh. You moaned in surprise and your pussy squeezed around his cock again. 

"Gonna come again, sweetheart?" He teased, licking at the bite mark and began rubbing relentlessly at your clit. He heard the hitch in your breath and moved his mouth further over your shoulder to bite down on you again. 

He loved your reaction to it.

“Wait!” You begged suddenly, comically—as if you’d just remembered you left the stove on. Your hand locked around his wrist to stop him from stimulating your clit. Your legs came loose from his waist. Sudden concern possessed him to pull out of your wet heat with a whimper that made him turn scarlet red, but a warning tingle flared up his spine at the loss of your body’s heat. 

He felt deceived by the grin on your face, but you began to climb up the bed with a devious glint in your eyes that made him grin as playfully as you were. 

"Sweetheart, please, let me fuck you," he laughed breathily, crawling up the bed after you. You chuckled and threw the pillows out of the way.

"Who’s needy now?" you taunted, grabbing his shoulders to make him take your spot on the bed before he could settle between your legs again. 

He lifted a brow, unaware of your intentions, and huffed indifferently—defiant, but he still obeyed and sat against the headboard. You circled your arms around his neck after climbing into his lap to give him a kiss while his hands played thoughtlessly with the lace of the garter belt on your hips. 

You weaved your fingers through his hair, sending shivers along his body, and tugged gently at the strands in your grasp to part from his mouth. He bit his lip, watching you through heavy eyes clouded with lust. Your playful smile made him smile reflexively, and then you disappeared to mouth kisses along his jawline and neck. His eyes fluttered shut and his head leaned back—gently hitting the wall—giving you more flushed skin to kiss. He moaned quietly as you licked and kissed at the vein carrying his pulse and your hips rolled forward instinctively at the sound.

Your mouth moved lower down his chest with hot and wet kisses that made his skin tingle with fervour to feel you closer. Your weight shifting off his lap made his eyes open slowly, and was greeted with the pretence of your innocent gaze before you wrapped your hand around the base of his dick. His heart skipped a beat, his cock jerked in your grasp, waiting in anticipation before you squeezed and slowly slid your hand up from the base to the tip. Your eyes flickered down just as a drop of precum leaked out of the tip.

Your satisfied hum flustered him, but he was used to it. Used to the way you licked your kiss-swollen lips at the mere sight of his leaking dick when you got your hands on him, readying him for your mouth or your pussy. To him it felt more like you wanted him at your mercy, throbbing red and hot before you finally gave him the mercy of pleasure and release.

“Shit,” he hissed, watching you pump his cock once, twice, and a third time, using every drop of his precum to languidly slide your hand along his length. “Please.” His hips rose from the bed and your response was a gentle laugh that made heat flare up his face. The pace of your hand remained infuriatingly slow and your tight grip drew thick droplets of precum so he almost felt as wet as you were. 

You had him just like you wanted, throbbing and red from your teasing hands, brushing the pads of your fingers to massage every sensitive area you could find on his dick. After uselessly begging for you to go faster, after pleading for release, you kissed your way down his soft stomach. He held his breath, watching intently as your mouth drew nearer to his cock. 

He squirmed when you breathed against him, your lips curved to a smirk, but his mouth was open, panting heavily and waiting hopelessly for the touch of your lips against his length. 

“Hot,” you whispered against his dick, and slowly, delicately licked the leaking tip with your hand wrapped loosely at the base. He sighed breathily and grunted shortly after you swirled your tongue around the tip to swipe away precum. Before he could form the words in his mind, your whole mouth engulfed his cock. 

You moved your head down and his hands found the soft strands of your hair, gripping tightly in surprise, then to guide the speed himself. Groans tumbled from his lips and he shoved away all his embarrassment when your humming vibrated through his cock and made him whimper. You swallowed, your throat tightened around him and he hissed a curse, pushing your head down and pulling your hair up faster. 

He dared to look down at you, through the haze of lust, the sight of you in tears with your reddened cheeks, and redder lips made his cock throb in your mouth. 

“Holy fuck,” he moaned, pulling you up by your hair to let his cock fall from your mouth. A string of saliva and precum connected your mouth to the tip as you sniffled and blinked away tears. “I need you. Get up here, sweetheart,” he begged hoarsely, unravelling his fingers from your hair to guide you up with his hand on your jaw. 

You licked your lips, released your firm grip on his dick, and allowed him to wipe your tears away as you moved back up his body with your knees on either side of his waist. 

He eagerly pulled you in for a kiss, his enthusiasm seeping through the passion of his kiss. He momentarily allowed himself to get lost, to gratefully lick the taste of himself from your mouth, and let his hands wander to pull the cups of your bra back down. Your tits spilled out of the lace and he thoroughly pinched and plucked at your nipples until he felt you take hold of his cock again and stroked him a few times. 

He drew back from the kiss breathlessly, watched you line his dick up with your pussy before carefully sinking down on him completely. His eyes fluttered shut, his hands fell to your waist, and a growly sound rumbled through his chest. 

“Mmm, fuck,” you moaned against his lips, trailing your hands from his wrists to forearms. Your forehead dropped to his gingerly as you raised yourself up so just the tip remained inside you, then slid back down gradually. His grip on your waist became stronger when you broke away from him to enjoy the sensation of having him inside you. “Ah, fuck…” you murmured, grinding down on him to push his cock as far as it could go into you. 

He choked on a moan, on the breath that was cut off by the feeling of you rolling your hips down on him leisurely. He squirmed beneath you, watching you get lost in the torturous pace you found pleasure in. Your head lolled back and your hair gracefully followed the movement shortly after. Susurrations of his name bled from between your lips. Your hands were secured tightly on his arms, pulling him closer to you. 

Pleasure rippled through him. 

He leaned forward to suck marks and press open-mouthed kisses over your breasts. Your hands abandoned his arms to bury your fingers in his hair instead, arching your back to push your chest closer to his mouth. You shuddered as his breath cooled your fiery skin and tugged at his hair, undulating your hips against his. 

He moved his mouth up your chest to bite at your neck. His teeth sank gently into your tender flesh, grazing along the thudding vein, and his tongue tasted the salty tang of your sweat. Your pussy squeezed around him in delight and he moaned against your throat, exasperatedly digging his fingers into your waist. 

"Please… move," he whispered gravelly, trying to take control of the way you moved by sliding his palms down to your hips and holding on tight.

“I am,” came your breathy response. The amusement in your voice made him whine. 

“N… not like that.” His voice was rough and you bit your lip at his frustration. 

Straight away, you finally lifted yourself up his cock, unhurriedly making him feel every bit of the heat and wetness that coated him. You dropped back down at the same frustratingly slow speed. His eyes fluttered shut, his brows pinched together, and he licked his lips before biting down on it. Again, you rose from his lap and steadily sat back down. Your breath tickled his jaw, “like that?” 

Your voice made his stomach flutter.

“Faster,” he begged, his throaty voice revealing his impatience with your drawn-out riding. You nipped at his jaw and only barely picked up the pace. His eyes fluttered open when you cupped his red cheeks, staring at his contorted face. “Please,” he mumbled, pressing his fingers into your hips. 

You laughed breathlessly and dipped down to kiss him, but he knew that was you denying him. Your teeth sank into his lip and he growled at you, throbbing and achingly close to finishing. If only you’d speed up, he could finally get there. 

You sucked at his lip before pushing your tongue into his hot mouth, inhaling each other’s breaths. His head felt light again and his stomach tightened, brimming with bliss, but you ignored his sobbing pleas by silencing them with your tongue, and continued to languidly ride his cock. 

But he’d had enough. 

He flattened his feet on the bed and snapped his hips upwards before you could even process or halt what he was doing. You cried out in surprise and uselessly attempted to hold onto his shoulders as he ruthlessly shoved his dick upwards into your pussy. He slammed you down with his bruising grip on your hips, moving you down on him faster, and obscene sounds began to burst from his lips. 

You inhaled sharply, clasping onto his broad shoulders to no avail until you defeatedly collapsed on him so he could have complete control of the rhythm. He still had enough awareness outside his pleasure to grin to himself as you moaned and gasped his name into his ear. You clamped down around his dick and began to meet his thrusts as he’d been doing for you. 

"You fuckin’ tease," he panted each word between heavy breaths, whenever your hips met his. Even nestled into you as deep as he could be, he yearned to be closer to you, so he tangled his fingers in your hair and crashed your lips down with his, sure—now—that you wouldn’t change the pace he’d set. Your teeth clashed with his, but he couldn’t care less as his cock pulsed inside you, overflowing with pleasure. "I'm so fuckin’ close, baby," he gasped gruffly into your mouth.  

“Please… come, Dean,” you breathed out your plea and he released a low moan, your words making something warm bloom in his chest. Heat trickled down his body and he couldn’t stop the bubbling of his orgasm, especially not with you kissing him so intensely. 

 "Shit- oh, fuck-" he gasped against your lips. You moaned pridefully when he stilled, his entire body tense beneath you, and he held his breath for a short second before he came inside you whispering expletives and your name. You trembled above him shortly after he’d spilled himself into you and he hooked his blunt nails into your hips so harshly he imagined he might break your skin and draw blood. 

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and loosed his grip on your hips when you finally stopped riding him after you came for a second time, but still sat on his softening dick after pulling every last drop from his throbbing cock. 

READER’S POV

“I love you,” Dean breathed against your mouth, gently brushing his thumbs over the raw flesh of your hips. 

“Mmm, I love you, too,” you promised quietly, carefully lifting your tender pussy from his dick. Dean hissed softly as your pussy fluttered over him and then he melted into the bed, slowly allowing himself to relax after you’d edged him for… well, who actually knows how long?

"What’s with you today, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice still pleasantly husky. 

You tried not to think about it as you sat by his knees, but your cunt still longed for him. “What do you mean?”

He opened his eyes and gave you a look. He looked so fucked out and it made you unreasonably arrogant. Your eyes flickered from his dishevelled hair, his red cheeks, swollen lips, and scratched torso. You blushed and shrugged after stealing a glance at his soft cock coated in your cum and his own. 

You could act nonchalant all you wanted, but your pussy clenched around nothing just at the sight of him. You could feel his release dripping out of you and you rubbed your thighs together. He was still watching you, but you didn’t care what he was able to see. 

“Please, come back here,” he mumbled lazily. 

You moved to his side and rested your cheek on his shoulder. You had a few moments of peace before his hand ghosted above your thigh and sneaked between your legs. You sat up straight and lifted a brow at him.

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re telling me you don’t want more?”

You grabbed his face after staring at him with narrowed eyes and kissed him roughly to shut him up, but he turned to face you and kissed you back just as fiercely. He pushed against your body so you laid on the bed once more and his hand found your slick cunt again.

This time, three fingers pushed into you and he used his other hand to rub furiously at your clit. You whimpered against his mouth, overstimulated, and he pulled away panting. “Come on, baby, give me another one. I know you want it.”

“Fuck,” you sobbed, your body trembling in protest. 

He was right, you could still feel the faint embers of your arousal and he was reigniting them faster than you were able to make your body process. Somehow your orgasm was building up for a third time, feeling less intense but completely fulfilling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured and before you knew what was happening, you squirted around his fingers and onto the sheets. Dean chuckled and drew out your orgasm as long as you could bear by still stroking on your clit after pulling his fingers out of you.

You could finally say you felt so much more relief, but you were half embarrassed by the gush of your orgasm. Dean was more than pleased by it. He licked his fingers clean of your release and then lowered his mouth down to your pussy with a moan to lick you thoroughly before kissing his way back up your body.

That mouth of his glistened and captivated your attention as he licked them. He pecked your lips and mumbled against your mouth, “I’m so glad I married you.”

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[wosobrainiac]

Shelter

Pairing: Alessia x Leah x Pet!reader

With most of Arsenal rescuing pets, Leah and Alessia get talked into saving a traumatized pet from a shelter.

Warnings: This work includes Pet!play, and has themes of trauma and trafficking though nothing is explicitly stated. There will also be no sexual activities between the pets and the non-pets. Theres also nothing sexual in this fic. Its kinda cute if i do say so myself.

The univese is based on the Widow au universe found here

This is a side blog because I'm too nervous to post this on my actual blog. Please enjoy and let me know if you have more requests for this universe.

Alessia and Leah had never really considered getting a pet (human or otherwise) until their teammates started rescuing them. 

First was Steph and her partner, who rescued a former pleasure kitten, Bella. She was surrendered when her CEO owner upgraded to one of the newer HFeline models with upgraded sexual proclivity when he lost interest in her. 

Now she got to spend her days in a far too expensive cat tree, sunning herself and eating exotic treats from around the world. 

Next were Viv and Beth who saved an adorable pup named Lady from being a bait dog in a dog fighting ring. Caitlin and Katie soon followed with a hulking retired HK9 named Jax, who begged for scraps at every meal and was a sucker for belly rubs. Kim rescued a bunny, Peaches, from a cosmetic company and Lotte had gotten a pup of her own, Brownie, who was also a pleasurehound for a major network, rejected when he no longer drew high ratings. 

Arsenal was slowly becoming a zoo, filled with barks and purrs. Their team group chat had turned into a pet helpline filled with adorable pictures of the shenanigans 

And while Leah and Alessia had come to love the new additions to their team, the pair still had… reservations. 

Sure, the practice was widespread, and hardly considered controversial. And yes, some people willingly signed up to be pets when they turned 18. But many were surrendered due to debt, chose it over jail or were kidnapped and forced. 

It didn’t sit right with them. 

Not until they saw how their friends' pets were thriving after being treated properly. Not until they saw that they could offer the ability for pets to choose. The ability to show preference and desires and to have them honored. 

Plus, Beth and Viv had made a fair point. Rescuing a pup was different than ordering one from one of the many Labs, Tech Companies or suppliers. It meant taking someone who had been in a crappy situation and offering them a new beginning. One that would be a vast improvement. 

They could show them love, and give them dignity, something that was blatantly lacking from the pet trade. 

That’s how they ended up at a pet shelter on one of their few Saturdays days of trailing after two attendants, Kara and Lexa, as they introduced them to each pet and gave them a short description of their personalities. 

It was a nice way to do it, she thought.

It made each of the pets seem like more than just… objects. It made sure that they found the pet that fit them best. One they would click with. 

She also realized it let Kara and Lexa make sure that her and Leah would be good owners. 

Kara’s questions were subtle, asking about their jobs, the amount of time they could devote to a pet, what kind of home they lived in and what traits they valued. Lexa was more direct, point blank questioning them about what their plans were, and making sure that both of them agreed that many of the practices in both the pleasure and security sectors were despicable and not to be replicated. 

“And who is this?” Alessia asked as they moved on to the next kennel, her fingers trailing along the tall black bars that made up the space. 

Kara smiled widely, flipping the lock on the cage door and easing it open. “This is Missy,” 

She reached up to scratch behind the kitten's dark hair, as Leah followed her. 

“Hello Missy,” The blonde defender said, also reaching to pet the kitten, even as Alessia hovered by the door. 

The kitten batted at her hand, trying to catch it, earning a fond smile from the defender. “You’re a spicy one, aren’t you?”

“Missy is quite playful, and absolutely loves attention,” Kara hummed, scratching the kitten under her chin. “And cooking shows, or anything with fish on the screen really,”

“She does prefer elevated spaces,” Lexa added, gesturing toward the tower of platforms the kitten was laying on. “And will get depressed if she has to stay at ground level,” 

Alessia made a low noise, as Leah scratched gently behind the kitten’s ear, her eyes wandering down the line of kennels. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the kitten or any of the other pets they had seen, but she hadn’t felt that connection yet. 

Still, there were so many kennels left. 

It was heartbreaking how many of them were full. How many had little faces pressing against the black bars, trying to attract a potential owner? 

All except one down at the very end of the hall. 

She tilted back, trying to get a better look at what lay behind the bars, but all she could make out was a blue lump in the corner. 

She couldn’t deny the pull she felt towards the cage. 

“What about the one down there?” She asked, already stepping towards the dark metal bars at the very end of the hallway. 

A pained look crossed Kara’s face as she followed Alessia’s gaze. “She’s one of our newer arrivals,”

“Why is she all alone?” Alessia asked as they passed empty kennels on either side of the ones leading up to the one at the end of the hallway. 

“She’s having a hard time adjusting,” Kara explained, as Lexa walked in front of them. Leah trailed after them, looking much less enthusiastic. 

The tattooed handler grimaced as they got closer to the cage. “Given her circumstances, she might not be the best fit for first-time owners,”

Leah silently agreed based on the giant orange sign taped to the black bars of your area that read: 

Possibly aggressive

Two handlers are required during feeding 

“Less, what about Missy? We don’t want-” Leah suggested, catching the forward's arm. Alessia glared over her shoulder, effectively killing any further protests on her tongue. 

“The sign is just precautionary,” Kara said as they got closer, pausing at the door of the kennel. “She hasn’t been very interactive since she arrived, and we don’t have a good idea of her temperament yet,”

 “And she hasn’t seemed interested in food, or treats, so we require two handlers in case there’s a trigger there we don’t know about yet,” Lexa continued, unhooking her keys from her waistband and with a jingle. 

You pressed yourself into the far corner of the kennel at the sound, curling into a tight ball against the white bricks, and hiding your face from the group under a small blue blanket. 

Alessia couldn’t stop the coo that left her lips at the sight of your nose just barely peeking out from underneath the small blanket. 

“What’s her name?” She asked, shifting closer to the now open door, keeping her voice very soft. 

“We don’t know. Her previous owner only identified her by a number, and she hasn’t responded to any that we’ve tried,” Kara explained, her voice going very soft. “The only thing she’s liked since she got here is the blanket,”

As if you understood that they were talking about the thin fabric covering you, your fingers wound tightly on the edge like you thought they would take it away. 

All the movement did was shift the blanket to reveal more of your skin, littered with thick lines and yellowing bruises. 

“We suspect she was training to be a fighting dog and failed during one of the final checks,” Kara explained softly at their collective intake of breath. “She was in rough shape when they brought her in,”

Leah made a low noise of agreement, her eyes trailing the thick line of gauze that peeked out from the small flannel blanket you had tucked around yourself. It spanned from your too-skinny side, across your ribs, and to your back, where Leah was sure she could count each of your vertebrae.

It made her sick that someone could do this to another creature. “Final checks?”

“They put them with a bait dog to test their prey drive,” Lexa explained, easing the door to your cage open. You made no move to greet them. “From their records and the amount of titanium modifications they made, they thought she would be very… lethal,”

Leah made a low sound in the back of her throat. 

She knew about… modifications that people made to pets. The inhumane surgeries were considered upgrades. 

It made her sick that not only had you been physically abused, but you had also been surgically altered for someone else’s purposes. 

“Viv and Beth’s pup was a bait dog. She's such a tiny thing,” She murmured, thinking of how your scars mirrored those Lady bore. 

“They’re purposefully kept weak so the fighting dogs can beat them and gain confidence,” Kara said, stepping just inside the kennel and to the side so they had a clear view of you. 

Leah’s nose scrunched, thinking about how sweet and tiny Lady was, always rubbing up against legs and asking for pets and scritches. “Nasty stuff,”

“Indeed,” Kara agreed, crouching and leaning against the bars. You just curled tighter into yourself, shifting the blanket to cover more of your back. It slipped higher, revealing the thick scars on your legs just above your ankles. 

The place where your tendons had been cut to prevent you from standing on 2 legs. 

Alessia frowned, crouching next to Kara in the kennel entrance. “But she didn’t pass?”

“No. Their notes said her prey drive was too low, and unfortunately, that’s all the information we have besides the condition she was in when their compound was raided,” Lexa sighed, rubbing her forehead. “It appears that they were trying to enhance her hunting instincts with bearings and starvation,” 

Alessia hummed, stepping into the cage beside Kara and squatting so she didn’t intimidate you. 

“Hey pretty girl,” She said gently. 

You peeked up at her, blinking slowly, most of your face still hidden, meeting her blue eyes. She could see the terror in them, masked only by the deepest sense of anguish. 

She made a cooing sound. “It must be scary in here, huh?” 

A low whimper left your lips, and you shifted towards the door, and Alessia, dragging the blanket with you. 

The three women behind Alessia froze, and Lexa and Kara shared a look. 

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever seen her move,” Kara murmured, reaching into the fanny pack around her waist and pulling a small slice of sausage out. At the same time, Lexa put one hand on the spray at her hip, and gestured for Leah to get low like Alessia and Kara were with the other. 

They didn’t think you would snap, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She followed Lexa’s instructions, kneeling and placing a gentle hand on Alessia’s shoulder. 

“Try this,” The blonde kennel attendant kept her voice low as she passed the piece to Alessia, neither of their eyes leaving your timid form. “We haven’t had much luck getting her to eat, but maybe you can,” 

She held the sausage out to you with a flat palm, and all four women held their breath as you scooted forward, and stopped, watching them with wide, terrified eyes. 

“It’s ok, sweet one,” Alessia said, her voice soft, reassuring. “You can take it,” 

You glanced from the treat to Alessia’s face and back, your nostrils going wide as you sniffed in the new scents, sliding just a bit closer to them. 

You didn’t reach for the treat, instead you ducked your head and very gently raised it to touch the back of Alessia’s hand. 

She moved slowly, taking the treat with her free hand and flipping her palm over to gently scratch your head. 

You practically melted, pressing more of your head into her hand. Her nails ran over your scalp, and a sound that was cross between a purr and a growl fell from your lips. 

Leah couldn’t hold in her little awe.

“She’s adorable,” She mumbled, inching towards you and extending a hand to join Alessia’s. She picked a spot just behind your ear, gently stroking the place where your skin and hair met. 

You paused as you registered the new sensation, your body contorting like it didn’t know if it wanted to lean in closer or pull away. 

“It’s ok. It’s just Leah. She won’t hurt you,” Alessia murmured, though she could tell you didn’t quite believe her. 

She gently nudged Leah with her free arm, a silent order to say something that wouldn’t break the tenuous truce you had developed. 

“You’re ok,” Leah murmured, gently scratching behind your ear. “Less is right, you are quite cute,”

You made a groaning sound in the back of your throat that was a mix between a grumble and a purr. 

It pulled a smile from her lips. “You don’t like being called cute?”

You made the grumbling sound again, shrugging to displace Leah’s hand behind your ear. 

The defender chuckled. “I see how it is,” 

Alessia dragged her nails more deeply against your scalp, turning your grumble purr into a straight up purr, a wide smile pulled across her lips. “I want her,”

Leah hummed in agreement. 

You were clearly attached to Alessia, and she trusted that - despite the large orange sign on your door- that you wouldn’t hurt the forward. 

You were just scared and hurt, and you deserved a chance. 

“Kara can get you set up in a room so we can fill out some paperwork and go over some of our suggestions, and I’ll get this one set up with a nice new collar and a muzzle,” Lexa said, pushing herself to her feet. 

You flinched at the movement, causing the blanket to fall from your back. 

“Shh pretty girl,” Alessia soothed you gently. “You’re ok,” 

Leah frowned, gesturing towards where you were practically melting at Alessia’s touch. “Why does she need a muzzle? She hasn’t been aggressive,”

A pained expression crossed Kara’s features as she also pushed herself to her feet, more slowly than Lexa had. “The muzzle is just precautionary. We’ve had her isolated since she’s been here, and we don’t want an incident if she gets overwhelmed,” 

Leah sighed, she had to agree. 

The last thing she wanted was for you to lash out because you got frightened. 

“I don’t want to leave her,” Alessia murmured, and you nuzzled deeper into her hand. 

She took that as you saying you didn’t want her to leave either, but she knew she had to. 

“They’ll only be a few minutes,” Kara promised. 

“And I’ll take good care of your pretty girl,” Lexa added, smiling genuinely at them. 

Alessia’s fingers dragged through your hair one more time, as she released a long breath. 

“I’ll see you in a few minutes alright?” She said, giving your one last scratch before she pulled away.

You pouted as she stood, making a low, upset sound.

“I know,” She repeated. “Just a few minutes, and you get to come home with me and Lee,” 

You huffed, turning away from them, grabbing your blanket between your teeth and heading for your little corner.  

Alessia frowned, but didn’t stop you. 

She knew it would take a lot to earn your trust. 

“It’ll be alright,” Lexa said as she closed the door of the kennel. “We’ll come find you guys as soon as I got her all set up,”

OoOoOoO

“She’s had all of her shots, and her medical paperwork is in the file. The first issue we should discuss is her temperament,” Kara began, sliding a stack of papers across the table for them to read, pointing to the first page that listed dietary suggestions. “I would suggest hand feeding. It’ll help her learn to trust you,” 

“You said she hasn’t been interested in food,” Leah said, looking down at the page. 

Next to likes and dislikes almost nothing was checked. There were no notes. 

All except a little star next to the line that read Peanutbutter. 

“No,” Kara agreed quickly. “But that could all be down to stress. Variety will be your best friend in the beginning. Stick with finding foods she’ll enjoy first, and then we can worry about meeting her required macros later,”

Alessia nodded, her mind already working through the foods they had in the cabinet and the ones they would need to buy. 

The Arsenal meal team had done well to provide the growing zoo within the team with foods that fit their preferences. If they could grill Jax a T-bone steak for lunch every day, then surely they could grill whatever food you latched on to. 

It would just be at home they would need to worry about. 

“I’m also going to suggest obedience classes,” Kara continued, flipping the packet of papers to show them a flier. “We offer one three times a week that I think would help both of you and your new pup,” 

“This is the one Lotte takes Brownie to,” Alessia noted, taking the flier. 

Leah hummed. “Beth and Viv took Lady last week too,”

“Friends in class are good,” Kara nodded. “It will help her to be around the same pets, and she should feel more comfortable,” 

Alessia and Leah shared a look. 

Making you comfortable was their number one priority. 

“We’ll be there,” Alessia said, only looking away from her girlfriend when a light knock sounded G the door, and it slowly swung open. 

Lexa peeked her head in, before she looked behind her. “Alessia and Leah are in here, don’t you want to say hello?”

They waited another long second, before your face very hesitantly appeared beside Lexa’s leg in the doorway. 

“Hey pretty girl, you’re ok,” Alessia said, breaking into a smile. 

You perked up considerably at her voice, looking up at Lexa as though you were asking for permission to actually enter the room. 

“Go ahead,” Lexa smiled down at you, reaching down to unclip the leash from your collar. “I think they’re excited to see you too,”

You waited a long second before you eased your way into the room, your blue blanket tied around your collar so it fell around your back like a cape. 

“Come here sweetheart,” Alessia cooed, drawing your wary eyes away from Lexa and Kara towards her and Leah. 

It took you another long second to make your way over to her, gently nudging her leg with your head. 

She reached down to scratch the sensitive spot just behind your ear, over where the straps of the leather muzzle landed. 

“Are you sure she needs that?” Leah asked, watching you carefully paw the material that covered your mouth. 

“It’s just precautionary,” Lexa repeated, taking the seat beside Kara. “She’s not aggressive, but fear can provoke a reaction bite. I would suggest she wear it when you’re going to be around people and other pets, just until she’s socialized and loses that fear response,” 

Leah and Alessia shared a hum, though Alessia didn’t look thrilled with the suggestion. 

They understood, yes, but it felt… dehumanizing. You were a person after all, despite what you had been conditioned to believe. 

At the same time, they both knew they couldn’t risk you biting someone, even out of fear. 

“We just need a name for her to complete the paperwork,”  Kara said, flipping the packet to the last page. “You can use pretty girl if you like,”

Leah and Alessia shared another look. 

While pretty girl was a nice nickname for you, they had something different in mind for your actual name. 

“Let’s go with Y/n,” Leah said, looking back towards Kara and Lexa. 

You hummed contentedly at the name, leaning into Alessia’s fingers. 

“I think she likes that name,” Alessia cooed, digger her nails under the straps of the muzzle, making sure none of your hair tangled in it. 

You made another sound of contentment as Kara finished filling out the papers and slid them to Leah and Alessia. 

“Just sign on the dotted line, and she’s all yours,” 

It only took them a second to scrawl their signatures on the indicated lines, and then Alex’s was passing them your leash. 

“Enjoy your new super pup,” Lexa said, winking at you. “And treat her well,”

“We will,” Leah promised. 

They would take care of you, and fix the damage that had been done if it was the last thing they ever did. 

OoOoOoO

Getting you back to their apartment had been… interesting. 

You had not been thrilled about the chest harness they strapped you into, but you hadn’t minded the car ride, even enjoying it when Alessia opened the back window for you. 

It was fine until they pulled up alongside a car that also had a pup in the back. You had pulled away from the window immediately, nearly jumping into the boot of Leah’s jeep before he started barking.

By the time the light changed and Leah eased the car forward, you were shaking like a leaf. It struck both of them as slightly off considering you had been trained to be a fighting dog. 

You had been very hesitant as they got you out of the car, your eyes swiveling around as they led you into their apartment and showed you around. 

Since then you had been curled up on the soft pet bed they had stationed in the living room, not even letting them close enough to you to remove the muzzle. 

They knew it would take time for you to settle. Their friends had all warned them of that already, so they let you be, flipping through channels until they got to a shark documentary that seemed to catch your attention. 

Alessia was thankful that the kitchen was connected to the living room so she didn’t have to leave you as she made dinner. Not that she didn’t trust Leah to watch you, but she didn’t want you to think she had disappeared. 

The first step to building trust was to show you that they were there, and you were safe. 

She stuck with simple foods, chicken and rice, partially because Leah didn’t like anything remotely adventurous and partially because she didn’t know what you would enjoy. 

She and Leah ate first, sharing worried looks when you didn’t even patter over at the smell of food.

After their meal was cleaned up, they turned their attention to you. 

They started by sitting on the floor in front of their couch, a good distance from your pet bed, with your food bowl. 

“Hey pretty girl, are you hungry?” Alessia asked gently, holding the bowl out for you to sniff. “If you come a little closer I can take your muzzle off and you can eat,”

You didn’t lift your head off of hand, or make any move to approach them. 

Your nostrils didn’t even flare out to smell the bowl. 

It sent red flags spinning in their brains. 

They shared a look before Alessia passed the bowl to Leah and scooted closer to you, to the edge of your bed. “Ok pretty girl, will you let me take the muzzle off?”

Your eyes flickered away from shark show and towards the blonde briefly, before your head tilted minutely. 

She took that as the ok to reach for the buckle on the leather contraption attached to your face, carefully easing it open and sliding it off of your head. 

You yawned wide as soon as it was removed, scrunching your nose adorably. 

Alessia passed the leather contraption she never intended to use again back to Leah, and the defender passed her the bowl. 

She reached into the bowl and pulled out a piece of chicken, carefully holding it out to you with a flat palm. “Eat for me, pretty girl,”

You huffed. 

“Please,” Alessia said, her voice edging on pleading as she offered you the piece again. 

You sighed, clearly unhappy, but you leaned forward and took the piece of chicken from her gently, chewing and swallowing. 

“Good girl, Y/n,” The forward hummed, reaching into the bowl and pulling out another piece. 

You let her feed you a few more bites before you buried your face in your bed, clearly signaling that you were finished with your meal. 

Alessia sighed again, looking back at Leah who could only shrug. 

She turned back to you and slowly extended her hand, scratching behind your ear. “You can be done,”

You made a groaning noise that sounded like relief. 

Leah snorted, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the half-filled bowl of food from Alessia. “I don’t think I ever per a pet who was happy dinner was over,”

“Y/n is one of a kind,” Alessia agreed, her nails dragging pleasantly against your scalp. 

OoOoOoO

Bedtime was relatively easy. 

Alessia and Leah went about their normal routines, only adding brushing your teeth and showing you where there was a second bed for you at the base of their bed. 

This one had a fluffy red blanket and a stuffed dragon. 

You had been… hesitant at first to get into it, looking at the door for the blue bed that existed in the living room. 

You chose to sit just in front of it, curling in a little ball that didn’t look comfortable, and draping your favorite blue blanket around you. (Alessia longed to fix it since it was bunched and only covered half of your body). 

Again, Leah and Alessia let you be. 

Lights were turned off as a stupid show played on the television as all three of you wound down, and before you knew it, a silence had settled over the room. It was broken only by the sounds of breathing and the occasional shift on the bed.

It was… uncomfortable. 

You weren’t used to it being so… quiet. 

You were used to the sounds of barks, and chain link shifting lulling you to sleep. You were used to a corner you could curl up in. 

You weren’t used to a bed, and you wanted to lay in it but you were sure it was a… trap. 

Just like you had thought the chicken Alessia tried to feed you was a trap. 

It had always been a trap before. 

You huffed, shifting next to the pet bed. 

Maybe if you slept in it, but woke up before the two women who had adopted you, you would be safe. 

It was soft, and you would be warm. 

You shifted again, freezing at the sound of someone moving from on the bed permeated the room. 

You had woken them up, and now the other shoe would finally fall. 

You curled tighter into yourself and waited for the pain that never came. 

Instead, there were only soft footsteps. 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

Your eyes blinked open at Leah’s soft question, meeting her blue eyes in the low light of the television. 

You nodded hesitantly. 

“Me neither,” Leah agreed. “Let’s go get a midnight snack,”

You padded after the defender as she headed towards the kitchen, stopping by the island near the stove as she headed for the cabinet by the fridge. 

She grabbed a brown jar with a teal lid, setting it on the counter before rummaging around in the drawer below. 

“Ah ha,” She cheered, holding up a spoon victoriously, grabbing the Jar, and turning to face you. 

Your head tilted to the side at the object. 

“I think you’ll like this,” She said, unscrewing the top and dipping in the spoon. 

When she pulled it out, the most delicious-smelling substance you had ever encountered coated it. 

You watched with rapt attention as the spoon disappeared into her mouth and came out clean.

Your mouth watered. 

“Peanut butter?” Leah asked, tilting the jar your way. 

Your head tilted, and you just barely leaned forward on your knuckles as your nose flared, trying to catch more of the scent. 

Leah’s lips tilted up at how adorable you looked, as she dipped the spoon back in the jar and then held it out for you. It was just out of your reach, closer to her than you had ventured yet. 

You had an immediate connection with Alessia but were still incredibly wary of her for some reason, she tried not to let it bother her.

You were hesitant to take the step forward. 

But it smelled so good. 

Your tummy rumbled, and your tongue darted across your lips. 

Leah stayed perfectly still, watching you with bated breath. She knew this was the only way to build trust with you. To show you that they wouldn’t hurt you. 

You very slowly took a step, tilting your head towards the offered treat, your eyes moving rapidly between her and the spoon. 

Your tongue carefully made its way between your lips and licked the spoon. 

Your eyes went very wide at the taste, and you quickly leaned closer to take the spoon into your mouth. 

“Good right?” Leah asked with a chuckle as the spoon came out of your mouth, completely free of peanut butter. 

You woofed softly, using your nose to nudge the now empty spoon back towards Leah, eyeing the jar on the counter.

She followed your eyes, shaking her head. “How about we try something else?” 

Alessia would kill her if she found out all you had eaten was Peanut Butter when you hadn’t been interested at all in dinner. She would point out that you needed carbs and protein to help you get to a healthy weight while being healthy. Neither of them liked how… skeletal you were, and any food was good really, but so was balance to give you the most sustainable energy they could. 

Leah searched the counter, looking for something to pair with the only food you seemed to like. 

“What about some banana?” She asked, grabbing for the fruit. 

She opened it and broke off a piece, offering it to you. 

You leaned forward to sniff it and pulled back in disgust. 

“What about if we add some Peanut butter?” She asked, digging the spoon back into the peanut butter and sticking the pale yellow slice on top. 

You stared at her skeptically, sure that the fruit would ruin the delicious brown treat underneath. 

“It’s good, trust me,” Leah promised when your eyes flickered back up to her. 

You huffed, scrunching your nose up at it, and then flinching away when you realized what you had done. 

“No pretty girl, you’re ok,” Leah said, dropping her voice and immediately sinking down so she was on the same level as you. She didn’t want to frighten you. “You’re allowed to not like things,” 

You curled into yourself, tucking your body as close as you could to the island. 

Leah wondered idly if Alessia would have elicited the same reaction from you. You seemed to trust the forward more for whatever reason. 

She gently pulled the banana bit off of the spoon, popping it into her mouth and offering the peanut butter to you once again. 

You sniffed, barely peeking out at her. 

She understood now why peanut butter was the only food on your list at the shelter. 

It was the only thing besides Alessia (and maybe your blue blanket) that you would risk coming out of your shell for. 

“You can have it,” Leah assured you, keeping her voice soothing and calm, ignoring the soft sound of padding feet coming down the hallway from their bedroom. “You’re ok,” 

You sniffed again, wishing you had brought your blanket with you on this excursion. Bad things always happened when you forgot it. 

You wanted to trust Leah, and the peanut butter did smell amazing. 

Very slowly, you leaned forward towards the spoon, making eye contact with Leah before you took it back into your mouth. 

She kept still as you licked it clean with a satisfied sigh, and pulled away. 

“Let’s go to bed,” She said, slowly pushing herself to stand, placing the spoon in the sink to be dealt with in the morning, and putting the jar of Skippy back into the cabinet. 

You woofed again softly, padding after her once she was done. 

Maybe things would be good here.

[verysium]

『02』 出発: departure

ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi

summary: a star's life is its counteraction against death, an endless deadlock against the brute force of gravity. in the constant struggle between space and time, rin cannot tell if he is being held up or held down. perhaps he has already dictated the terms of his own demise. cw: epistolary montage, mentions of blood in film, rin violently crying and throwing up, highly implied hallucinations, swearing, suicidal ideation, disillusionment and lots of hard angst. word count: 4.9k

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Two weeks after Sae took off from Haneda Airport, his words still lingered inside Rin's mind. His brother had left with a fiery flick of a grin—a gaping, white-hot maw right where his mouth should have been. It blazed then sputtered cold in his gums by the time he turned back around, but Rin still knew what he saw. The smoke never lied.

A triple tap of tongue against hard palate, the message moving fast as light. Something had flickered between Sae’s teeth. Something about split knuckles and brotherly love. Something about calling him back.

But Rin couldn’t hear over the boarding announcements, the roar of engines propelling out of the runway, the heat waves of people out in front. At half past noon, his brother had already departed from Tokyo, ten thousand miles westbound in a floating aluminum dream, reeling contrails through the sky. 

And Rin still stood on Earth, waiting. Like some dumb thing left behind.

It wasn’t until his mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder that he finally tumbled back to reality, an empty gate at his feet, no arrival or departure calling. The afternoon sunlight had grown dim, splintering against the glass windows and whirring the blood through his ears. His chest felt strangely suspended.

It was in the backseat where it all began. Three floors down in the parking garage. Fumbling through his pockets, his coat had snagged between the door and car frame, ten digits on a crumpled paper sent fluttering to the ground. Looking back on it now, he should’ve thrown that damn thing away. But he was stupid then, drunk on a heat stroke and the beginnings of terminal grief. Right on the exit of the Shuto Expressway, he made his parents turn the car back around and drive ten miles down to the nearest World Mobile, a wretched inhale of hope stuck squirming in his chest. 

It took him several weeks before he finally decided to punch in those numbers, and then another several weeks to call after that. His body shuddered, sweat-faced and suffocating, as he trailed sticky fingers down the waiting screen. The phone rang once then twice. Then rang on forever.

Nobody ever bothered to pick up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

2013 年 6月 17日 Nii-chan, 

It still feels like you never left. And I say this with a miserable lack of sincerity because you did in fact leave just two weeks ago. Kaa-san still makes your bed. Square corners and all. Your duvet goes in the pile with the rest of my laundry. 

Just the other day, I think I saw your shadow. I was sunbathing on the roof when I felt something brush against my back. Does Spain have big shadows too? I hope so. A country with so much sun must leave those poor shades short and stunted. Maybe they’re just a little shy. Be nice to them, will you Nii-chan? Not everyone can shine as bright as you do.

I hope you’ll make friends soon. Write to me often. I want to know everything.

2013 年 7月 7日 Nii-chan,

How are you? I didn’t receive anything in my inbox, and I checked with Kaa-san twice. She said you didn’t text me, but there is no way such a thing could have happened. Perhaps old age has finally gotten to her, or maybe something’s just wrong with this phone. Either way, I should’ve asked her to buy me a newer model.

On second thought, if you don’t text me, I will be very upset. But it will be a childish sort of anger. You wouldn’t be very proud. You will be pleased to know, however, that I have grown a total of ten centimeters this summer, and my bones are looking very strong and wide. My shots have improved too, and I scored three goals today.

Otou-san took us out to dinner for Tanabata this weekend. He told me it is about time I became a man. I smiled and said I didn’t want to disappoint. But then he said ten and three quarters is no longer a youthful sort of age, and I suddenly felt a little mad about it. I don’t want to grow up without you. 

The festival was crowded as usual. I ate every selection of wagashi then chased it down with some of the sake Otou-san lent me from his cup. Pretty sure that was illegal, so I threw it all up on the way home. But then we all went and saw the tanzaku, so I guess something went right. I wrote down a wish, but I won’t tell you. Otherwise it won’t come true. I hung it up on the highest branch though, so that someday it might reach you. 

Tell me what you think. Text back soon.

2013 年 8月 31日 Nii-chan, 

I did not receive your reply from last time. I think this phone must still be broken. Perhaps you should check on your end. Even if it’s just a greeting, I will be content. Anything from you is fine, really.

I visited the beach again. It was peaceful until the wind blew hair in my face, and I went blind for almost fifteen minutes. I tried cutting it, but Kaa-san got mad at me. After your disaster five years ago, she said she’d never let her sons hold a pair of scissors ever again. Don’t tell her, but I laughed. Inside, you know?

Sometimes I still see the waves in my sleep. The ones at Koshigoe Beach. They cradle me, and suddenly it feels like my head is floating even though my body isn’t. You’d probably think I’m crazy. But lately dreams are the only way I can reach you. 

I do watch the news though. And I train hard. Very hard. I can pass like you now, though not nearly as good as your highlights on TV. Coach says I still need to learn. You always said the same thing. But I am nearly as tall as Otou-san now and twice as strong. That must count for something, right? I hope the guys overseas will like this new me. When I finally come over there, that is.

Make sure you aren’t training too hard. I don’t want you to overstrain yourself. And if you don’t like it there, promise me you won’t force yourself to stay. You’ll pack your bags and come home early. 

Promise me. Please. 

That you’ll come home to me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

For the second time in his life, Rin finds himself on his knees, heaving up everything that has ever made him whole. The bathroom mourns with every dry retch of his throat, and suddenly he’s laughing into the porcelain, clutching at the sides in a mad form of desperation. His ribs shudder—tough in their hurt—yet nothing of substance ever lies between them. He’d smiled out his guts a long time ago. 

Is empty space still a space or just the photonegative of presence? 

Sometimes Rin feels like his body can never truly filled, but it can never be completely emptied either. No matter how much he regurgitates, there will always be more to come. The space inside him widens until it hangs on a threadlike line of limbo: so much to give yet so much to keep. It tugs at him—a crude form of baptism—pulling him up for air and then crashing his head beneath the waves again. 

Another harsh hurl reverberates across the bathroom tiles, this time accompanied by the loud smack of spit. He’s emptied out so much his bowels might just prolapse at any second, the boy inside him turned into some sort of liquid slop, sloshing back and forth in his ribcage. It’s all over the front of his shirt now, the stomach contents soaked for hours in bodily brine, the grief his body tries to hold. No amount of bleach is going to erase the stench.

Some days Rin just wants someone to cradle him like a child does a bird, gentle and afraid to hurt. He had a dream about this once, many moons ago. After wringing himself out to dry, he had gone to work, looping the washing line around his feet until it resembled some sort of upside down noose. Once the wind picked up, he let go of the string like a pendulum, watching his body sway in third person: up and down and up and down. In this reality, he was a creature of feathers and clothespins, his body molting in the breeze. So long as he swung back and forth in this state of suspension, he would remain in the middle, not tethered down enough to live but not free enough to die either. 

He’d simply exist. 

Some nights Rin still can’t sleep. His eyes lay limp in their sockets, two dead weights sinking into bone. He tried to pry them out with his fingers, but they only pressed deeper into his face, rigid and wax-cool to the touch. No matter what he does, Rin knows he will be too late. He can never reverse this decay—the post-mortem withering of his own heart. 

Just this afternoon, he died once again, his body slumped with the hollow weight of disappointment, his spirit sinking like a fault line into earth. He had been drying his hair in the locker room after practice, the friction of the towel’s loops causing small pinpricks of static to echo along his nape. The static had carried over hushed whispers, trailing along his scalp down to his ears. God, he hadn’t meant to overhear.

“Damn it, we’re really done for this season, huh? I’m telling you it’s the striker. We could’ve won this match if it weren’t for him.”

“I mean, if Itoshi were here, he would’ve destroyed their whole team by himself.”

“You mean the older one?”

“Of course I do. Who else did you think I was referring to? The younger one’s just been blessed up until now.”

“Without his brother, he’s just an ordinary guy.”

“Oi, Haruto, shut up! What if he hears?”

“Hear what? It’s not like it isn’t the truth!”

Rin still remembers how his surname burned on their lips, the tip of the tongue caught raw between teeth, the vowels seared into flesh. Itoshi was a burden coming apart at the seams, a title for something he could never possess. They were right and it left him smarting, reeling. He hadn’t laughed a day since Sae’s departure, but in that moment he wanted to shove his whole fist up his mouth and choke for the first time in five resentful months. The laugh had been a silent one, with tears on his waterline and a smile bruised onto his face. 

Ha.....ha.....hah.....

There comes a point in every boy’s life when he simply exists. Still young but no longer impressionable. Salt in the eyes. Salt in the mouth. Take it like a man. When he hawks back the knife, it must come out breathing and clean. Living but not dead. 

His teammates had every right to blame him. 

He can’t score goals like he used to. Can’t run and bleed. Can’t love like before. There’s nothing but shame waiting for him when the realization finally breaches the bathroom air and his teammates scramble off the benches, cleats stained with guilt. They saw his reflection in the mirror, weeping right above the communal sinks.

“R-rin! W-we didn’t know you were here.”

“Y-yeah! You didn’t hear much, did you?”

Rin had never hated his name more in that moment. They uttered it like a euphemism, hand over his stupid bullet-riddled heart, the blood too runny to salvage. It only hurt him more. So he did what he knew best. He clenched his fist, the nails fisted into the meat of his palm, eyes caught on a hardened edge. It didn’t matter if Haruto was his senior. He’d beat him within an inch of his life.

“So you call me Rin now? Wasn’t I just younger Itoshi to you earlier?”

“I didn’t....We didn’t mean...”

“Then what did you mean?”

Only the scurry of shoes answered—two scuff marks against the dirty floor, Haruto’s yelp in the distance. Rin was left all alone again, his thin shadow blown wide across the whitewashed walls of the locker room. 

“Damn coward,” he wanted to yell after him. “Run! Run and tell them how it’s not your fault!” 

But he was just talking to himself.

Is empty space still a space or just a pseudonym for absence?

He hadn't been thinking at the time. Within the liminal space of the abandoned shower stalls, he lent himself a moment of weakness. He let himself cry. The shower head was cold and dirtied, and he stood there for forty-five minutes, waiting to be filled with a warmth that never came. In the end, he let his tears mix with the brackish water, staring at the evidence of his failure before it swirled down the drain. 

He realized he must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation. The real Rin Itoshi was swapped at birth and replaced with someone else. Inside the four-walled confines of the shower stall, his imposter reared its head through the mist, long baby hair drowned down to the ears. He didn’t belong. Not in this body bathed in condensation. Not in this namesake crowned in tempered glass. But by the time the water trickled down to his nose, Rin was already knee-deep in self-doubt, wading his way into misery. What more did they want from him? No one could ever replace Sae Itoshi. Not even his younger brother. 

Not even him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Six hours post-death in the locker rooms, Rin went home and passed out with his head on the toilet seat, two slick fingers shoved up his throat and his luminous guts buried somewhere down the pipe drain. Six hours later, his lids peel back scarlet, gelatinous with haze—a ringing in his ears. Some fucker is calling him again. 

He doesn’t answer. Twice. But the telemarketer is either underpaid or rudely insistent, so Rin finally picks up just to curse him out on the line. He doesn’t need any scripted intimacy. Doesn’t need other people counting his own losses. He just needs to be left alone.

At midnight, he staggers out of the bathroom, fingers absentmindedly flicking off the lightswitch before collapsing into bed. The sheets aren’t even his own. He doesn’t notice until he sniffs the pillow and stiffens. It smells god-awful. Like tiger balm and soothing menthol. Like somebody he used to know. And much to his chagrin, the images come stumbling back: knee-deep in the salted sea, shirasu swimming around his toes. What color were his eyes again? Blue ice between teeth. Sour like a bad star. Oh, what can he remember? Disappointment peeled into spirals. Happiness running down the back of his hand. The blood of an orange, sweet and dripping. He’s forever staring at someone’s back. Always a few steps behind.

Fuck you, Sae.

There’s haunting laughter coming out from the window panes, and he can hear the waves crash on shore in the distance. Two children run across sand. Muted footsteps. One soft thump then another. The vision is so close he can practically taste it. Salt in the wind, in the eyes, in his mouth. The seagulls pluck at his eyes, but he takes it like a man, breathing and clean. Living but not dead.

One of the children stands with his arms behind his back, face hidden by the shadows of the horizon. The ocean spray nips at his burgundy fringe, the hunger of a whole world engulfed in his gaze. In the distance, a younger boy shouts his name, dark hair framed by a cowlick, turquoise eyes smoothed over by water. He runs as fast as his little legs can carry him, his arms filled with bone-white shells.

“Nii-chan, wait for me!”

Sae’s face blurs before he can turn around, and Rin is left staring at the wooden slats above his childhood bed, resenting something he can no longer remember. Why did people have to go and change? Three years later and his brother had gone straight from stealing seashells to swindling stars clean out of the sky. Three years and he still had nothing to show for himself.

He imagines the look on Sae’s face when he tells him this. Conversations over Sunday dinner. The family gathered round the kotatsu, piss-yellow light slicing every dish into halves. He spoons pickled radish and chokes Sae’s teacup till it breaks. Would it be disappointment he sees on his face? His brother’s features crumpled mid-smile, blue-green eyes wounded into a porcelain state. Why? Why haven’t you done anything with your life while I was gone? 

Or perhaps it was anger. Smoke on the lips, bruised fists, and the heat of his mother’s blazing scream. Her son bares teeth and scrapes every syllable of their surname clean. Wrestles her other son’s shoulders down to the ground and shakes until the boy—the real Rin—gurgles and sloshes up inside. Do something, Rin. Do something! Or else you’ll never make it this lifetime.

Both, he could live with. But not this. The silence that burrows into his mind while he sleeps. The constant calling and the phone that just rings and rings and rings. It’s a circle, some sick sort of cycle. Every night he dreams of war—of sights and slights and stars. Things that end then don’t end then never end. He dreams until he wakes up screaming, on his hands and knees begging. Say something, will you? Anything. Fuck, why won’t you just say something?

Three years later and his brother still can't love him in a way he understands. 

But what did he expect? Sae was like that: pale and blistering, beautiful even when burning. Last dream cycle, his brother fell down three stories and erupted into flames, limbs compacted into fine dust. Should’ve screamed but didn’t. By the time Rin got down to him, Sae was already on his feet, sputtering soot from his lungs then flaring back up like nothing had ever happened. As if his hurt was merely bursts of light gathering and bunching, violence in free fall. 

And he was beautiful, Rin thinks. A boy of the blaze, man in the making, hair aorta-red, staring right back at him. By the time Sae opened his mouth, Rin’s arms were already open, ready to embrace the glittering shards. He crumpled before him as a building does a god, set alight on his brother’s palm. Strike me. He begged, blood around his mouth. Strike me anywhere and set me free. 

But that’s not what happens when you die. Not when his brother said it best.

I think I’d die and become a star. 

So he holds onto this life. Bunches it between fingers and twines it around his fist until he knows the person he’s dying for. Until he’s blacked out and dreaming in that damnable backseat again. Experiencing everything in the third person—the news, the screen, the slow-motion reels of an astral body wound up in constant replay. He can only watch as his brother slowly becomes a stranger in his own life again, and it guts him every time.

Sae Itoshi Dominates at Junior Championships, Secures Victory with Hat-Trick. Future Star? Sae Itoshi’s Sensational Performance Stuns Fans and Scouts Alike.

Who the hell is Sae Itoshi? Man, celebrity, celestial body? Not even his brother knows. But what Rin has learned over these past few years is that all stars are really just dead people, housed in a mausoleum of glittery beginnings and explosive endings. It’s binary—circling, really. A blinking eye in the sky, ticking time bomb, crying corpse, then everything wailing before its implosion. Sae could never comprehend this. The smoke-sputtering reality beyond tangible substance. This form of dying. 

But dying isn’t even the worst part of it all. It’s people like him who suffer. Unlucky stars are cursed with another, forced to revolve around each other. If one collapses, the companion gets ejected out the deep end of space and time—stumbling, groping, searching. 

Three years later and he’s still searching. 

Hey Google: Can stars still be seen from Madrid? 

The results for light pollution pop up. In a city of light, even light cannot be seen. How ironic, he thinks, that Sae is now a shining thing, flaring tendrils a million light years away. Post-nebula and he still loses himself in people who look exactly like him.

But that past has already come and gone, leaving nothing but the future behind. In the next dream cycle, Rin too will die, sputtering and choking, like a firework lit from within—violence in free fall. And when the time comes, he will leap off the fire escape, the city blocks spinning and spinning, every second a little death. The faster he falls, the more alive he’ll feel. He’ll drop all the way down until the only way he can go is up. And then he’ll ascend, floating past the skyscrapers, the streets, the sprawling metropolis. His toes curled, caught on the hook of night, the burnt flesh peeling back on bone. Floating until he disappears, his body nothing but white light.

Someday his brother will drown himself in his own artificial brightness. And Rin will follow, screaming, rearing, and set ablaze.

If you die Nii-chan, I think I’ll die along with you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There are rare moments when seasons die a sunless death, quiet and wilting into the earth. Rin’s final birthday without Sae falls on one such month—a red September during which nature bleeds, the autumn leaves rusting around Engakuji Temple. He’s taken up long walks during that time, pacing for hours around the park nearby. Something about taking his mind off things. Something about counting his own losses.

By late afternoon, his hands are shoved fist-deep into his coat pockets, on track to finish his ninth lap around the perimeter. The daylight has long pooled down his back, tiny dollops of brightness slow-dripping and honeyed, settling into the hollow divots of his spine. The mise-en-scène frames him in a languorous ochre—the kind of lighting reserved solely for an aged romance. And the wind plays his lover, its post-meridian breath tender as it brushes against his cheek. It’s all a range of motions from there. He takes another step, adjusts a stray earbud, then tugs his scarf all the way up to his nose. Ten laps now, and he still walks. The only time he ever stops is when he stalls mid-way to check his phone. 

Zero messages received. Message not delivered.

His thumb hovers briefly over the send button. The cursor at the end blinks with an almost human hesitancy before it opens its mouth, swallowing everything back up. The screen clears itself again, reduced to nothing but absence: a small square of light where silence reigns. Rin sighs before trudging home, a thousand words lodged into the back of his throat.

Nii-chan, I miss you. 

The kitchen is empty by the time he slides open the shoji, removing his shoes with practiced ease before padding across the soft tatami. His mother’s gone on an errand for groceries, her hastily scrawled note tucked under his door with a bowl of persimmons. The house is empty, the joss sticks still smoking in the living room, tips warm and powder-soft. He grows heady on their incense, locking himself away in his bedroom and drawing the curtains. His old Fujitsu laptop whirrs to life, propped up against two pillows and an oversized owl plush. This time he puts on a splatter film, splayed on his stomach as he reels through the opening credits.

He can watch without the subtitles now, even converse with tourists at the station in Enoden. He recalls his teammates’ faces last Saturday—breaths held tender, jaws slackened with faux horror—when he gave out directions in perfect English. Sae would’ve been proud, if only he knew how much it meant. But lately, there hasn’t been a single interruption to Rin’s nights alone, despite how desperately he longs for one. The most his English is good for nowadays is translating the kooky foreign films he puts on rotation, ninety minutes of runtime for thirty-one evenings.

He must have gone through a dozen franchises by now: Halloween specials, 90’s vintage, slashers, the paranormal. The American flicks still remain his favorite, mostly because of the chainsaws. Something about the suspense of disembodiment scratches an itch inside his brain. Like the adrenaline before a final goal, moments before he implodes—naked body slathered in pools of primary color.

In the darkness, the films weave together: a tidal wave of light that washes down his bedroom walls. The victim shrieks before she is bathed in an eerie swathe of red, pierced at the helm of a bloodshot lens. Something about her death is both alien and terrifying, and Rin feels himself come alive again. 

At climax, the light from his laptop is nothing short of searing, carving-knife intensity digging slowly into thin, rousing bodies. He can only watch as the killer sharpens his blade, each stroke a day-bright epiphany, cutting little wounds into the night. His figure is lit up from behind, illuminated in such a way that Rin can see his organs and count every one of his ribs. The scene peels back like water, reflecting montage after montage on the glass display case next to his closet. The trophies electrify themselves in the shadows, each silhouette splayed neatly on the shelf and serrated round the rim. The metal handles distort the characters’ faces in two-frame slashes, decapitating nose from ear, eye from mouth. Another scream rips through the background as Rin digs graves into his palm. This time the murderer chases a mother down the stairs, gleeful when her child fails to keep up. 

He’s seen this scene play out before—three years and eleven months ago, when he first got himself killed. It’s the final match against Tokyo Metropolitan Youth, and he’s running on fumes, ten minutes into additional time. There’s only a few more meters to the goal area, the footsteps fast approaching from his left. He has to make an escape. The opponent closes in behind him, knife in hand, and all he can do is run, body barreling straight toward the camera. 

The impact hits him right before the shot, his leg flaring out in some desperate attempt at a goal. The ball soars as he stumbles forward—violence in free fall, the boy inside him lit from within. In the final moments before he combusts, time stretches itself thin over his bones, smoking and exorcized from the fire. The shadow of his killer looms behind him, arm raised with the promise of metal and memory, the blade gleaming in sparse light. 

Got you.

The child on screen turns around, facial features contorted in dramatic horror. Rin can hear her scream before the lips even part. He can already predict this ending. He can predict the next one after this too. Plight of the final girl: last to die but forever immortalized in her own grief and helplessness.

In six months, he will be named the most valuable player for Kamakura United Youth. In another six, he will be hollowed from the inside out, cursed to feel only the loss inside every win. This motion picture has rewound itself one too many times, the credits rolling and taking him along with them. End scene and he’s standing there in a pool of his own triumph—the grass strewn with painted carcasses—a thousand boys dead at his feet. His knees make hard contact with the earth, nothing but penitence in his eyes. This is all he knows: love and its smoking aftermath, the weight of it iron-hot on his tongue. Victory has never tasted so bitter. 

But it always ends the same. For the final girl, the film star, everyone crucified by the crowd. All good auteurs come from a long line of men who have already run out of time, color pooling past their waists, crashing in over their heads. They don’t want to die, so they preserve their souls into billboards, spool strands of silence into substance. They only shoot what is in their blood: the sensational guts, glory, and gore. Because what better way to keep your memory alive than burn it onto the emulsion side of thirty-five millimeter filmstrip?

The red lights have begun to feel suffocating—the last of his breath now a belt around his neck—as the cameras pan down to a mutilated body. Rin secretly envies the child’s soaked shirtsleeves, the ground beneath her perfused in violent color. If only he could be filled with something that beautiful. But instead he was given the body of a pale child filled with longing, constantly waiting for a change and constantly wishing for something to flow out of him. 

Eventually the clock strikes twelve and Rin closes his laptop, the backs of his eyelids whited out, brain overstimulated from the psychedelic screams. His brother’s portrait blurs in his peripheral vision, overexposed from the red glow, staring up at him from the cluttered nightstand. And in the moment, he briefly wonders if Sae left Japan in search of a new image. Perhaps Spain was just ninety minutes of solid technicolor screen where people could scream without horror, where the protagonist could freely bleed. And in the end, there was no death. The audience remains seated in theaters, their memories replaying over and over, bodies forever housed in cinema.

At the director’s cut, Rin’s consciousness falls under, hand still clutching the frame. End scene and Sae’s blown-out face smiles just a little into the darkness.

© verysium 2024 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

[vincentvalenfine]

SLAMMING my hands on the table to yell Vincent realising he’s his partners first everything and developing the worlds biggest corruption kink - YES he will be angsty and guilt ridden about it but will that stop his brain from relishing every new thing they do? Absolutely not.

He hates it - but he loves it.

The knowledge that you're so innocent to the suggestions he comes up with makes him hate that primal part of him that longs to see you vulnerable, splayed out beneath him with every last inch of you bared to his gaze. He hates the beast in him that relishes your blushes and moans, every delicious gasp and cry as he introduces both you and himself to yet another new pleasure (or pain, sometimes even both at once).

But he loves being able to pleasure you so thoroughly. Loves the way you give every last ounce of trust to him as he ties your arms back for the first time, the deep affection in your eyes something he thought he'd never be willing to accept, hadn't thought he deserved, and yet drinks up with desperation whenever you offer it to him.

He especially loves the way the rope leaves elegant lattices of red all over your body once he removes it.

The struggle is in his own lack of varied experience, but he makes up for it with discreet, secretive research, afternoons in the library hiding his presence as he reads literature steamy enough to make his face threaten to turn red permanently. He harasses Reeve to teach him the art of navigating the net, and forces himself to purchase one of the newer models of phone that lets him browse the web to further his knowledge of the diverse realm of pleasure... how times have changed. Who knew the drive to try out just about anything he could with you would actually force him to acquaint himself with modern technology?

He hates when something new hurts you enough to make you cry, but he loves kissing the tears off your cheeks, tasting the salt on his lips as he murmurs his apologies and promises to make it better afterward. Every time the guilt claws at his guts, he tells himself he can enjoy these things because you want him to.

Pleasing you means more to him than any of his self-loathing.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

can you do a one shot where the Marquis likes to play piano but he’s always been a lil shy about it. One day while the reader roams the marquis’s estate, she catches him playing and quietly listens until he’s finished before applauding

ALMOST

Today had been one of the most frustrating days the Marquis had to endure, for as long as he could remember. As he swiftly made his way down the halls of his sprawling mansion, he tried to clear his mind of all thoughts, but for the first time, could not.

Considering his greatest strength was his perfect control over his thoughts and emotions, he was barely keeping himself together. Even though he had never had a panic attack, and until today, didn't even believe they were real, he knew without a doubt, he was on the verge of having one.

And that was unacceptable.

Slamming the doors to his music salon open, he didn't acknowledge the maids that practically ran out of the room, at the sight of their distressed master. All who worked in his home, knew to give the Marquis the room, if he is in a mood. He was known for being temperamental and cruel, and often preferred to be left alone. He was immune to female and male charms, and had no close attachments to anyone. As far as the staff was concerned, he was a soulless machine, but he paid better than any other house, as long as you minded your business.

The Marquis began to play the antique Grand piano at the center of the room. Worth more than most people would earn in an entire lifetime, it had a haunting quality to its sound that couldn't be found in the newer models. Losing himself in the music, he was able to temporarily forget what had been plaguing him most of the day. As the song came to an end, he felt calm once again until someone had the audacity to start clapping.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around and stood, prepared to tear into what ever soon to be ex employee lost their fucking mind. Instead, he was met with the reason for his loss of control he'd been suffering since he first laid eyes on her.

"what are you doing out of your quarters?" He snapped glaring down at the young woman he had been saddled with earlier today. She was the daughter of a new business associate that was off doing a job for the Marquis, and since he was new, the Marquis often held collateral in the form of people's loved ones to make sure the job got done.

Usually, he'd put them in a room and lock them in for the duration of their stay, but he at least made them comfortable. If wasnt like he put them in the dungeon, which he totally owned since his mansion was very old. The suites he used for their stay were luxurious and had various forms of entertainment to pass the time. His staff kept them fed and even fulfilled any requests they had, so they hardly could call themselves prisoners. But that's what they were in truth, and he'd never cared how they felt about fhat. They were not allowed to roam freely through his home, and hardly ever saw him beyond the initial introduction.

For whatever reason, when he was introduced to this young woman, he hadn't wanted her to be frightened. When she had asked if she was free to explore his estate, he'd given her permission to do so, to everyone present shock.

To his dismay, she had decided to spend the day following him around, asking about his extensive art collection, and making him feel like they'd known one another for years. Never had he been so comfortable in another person's company. For many years people had spread the rumor he was a real psychopath and he had always thought they were likely correct. He had always considered his lack of connection with others to be a positive attribute. In his line of work, attachments were weaknesses.

Deciding he was being far too familiar with her, he excused himself, and made a beeline for the security room, to see how everything was going.

Upon entering, he was informed that everythibg was going as planned, and all endeavors so far had proven successful. This was almost unheard of in his life, and his mind quickly returned to his guest. He couldn't help but wonder what she would do to amuse herself. There were many ways she could get herself in trouble, and as he sat there thinking about how stupid he'd been giving her free reign, he ordered the staff to locate her and then make themselves scarce.

After only a few moments, they found her, and immediately exited the room, leaving the Marquis to sit in front of the screens and observe her. He could see the confusion on their faces with his behavior but he couldn't care less. Their opinions hardly mattered to him.

She was currently in his equestrian facilities, outfitting one of his favorite Andalusian stallions for a ride. Watching how easily she made the normally high strung animal feel at ease was riveting. Although he was a gorgeous animal, hed always been stubborn and difficult with new people. Not so with this woman; you'd think she raised the damn horse the way he was cooperating.

When the traitorous beast actually lowered his head, to make it easier for her to put on his bridle, the Marquis scoffed aloud, and sprung from his chair. Leaving the room without thinking where he was going, he found himself exiting his mansion, walking towards the stables.

Just as he was almost inside, she rode out on a different horse than his favorite stallion. When she spotted him, her face lit up and she smiled one of her disarming smiles and made her way over to him.

"I'm so glad you're done! I asked the stable guy which horse was your favorite, and got him all ready for you to go riding together." She stated enthusiastically. "Do you need to change or can you ride in a suit?"

The Marquis just stared at the girl completely dumbfounded for a few moments. Had she honestly prepared his own horse, and decided that he was going to go riding with her? The absolute audacity of this woman! He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

Honestly, he had been wanting to ride as of late. He'd been neglecting his horses, and even though he employed a small army of people to take care of them, he felt a bit guilty when too much time passed between interactions. Because of his guilt, he would go ride with her, not because of her he justified to himself. "I have riding gear I can change into inside. Give me a couple minutes." He'd said before storming off.

He had planned on taking longer than necessary to get ready to make her wait, but decided that was childish. He refused to hurry though, making a point to keep a relaxed pace.

When he'd rejoined her, shed surprised him again, when she took off on her horse at a break neck pace. Chasing after her, he couldn't help but admire her form as she seemed to become at one with the animal. When they effortlessly cleared a fence, he had to veer off to the side, knowing full well his horse was not a fan of jumping.

He slowed his horse to a trot, and looked around at the beautiful scenery. Sometimes he got so absorbed into work, he forgot what a beautiful world he lived in. His work wasn't pretty, so he'd always tried to make up for it, by surrounding himself with as much beauty as possible.

As he came through the trees and found his companion barefoot and splashing around in the small lake he had created on a whim last summer, he couldn't help but smile at her antics. She was the most free spirited, uncomplicated being he'd ever come across. The way she displayed her emotions so freely, and genuinely seemed to enjoy life was intoxicating. Deep down, he knew he should turn around and never go near her again, but he almost didn't care.

Almost.

"come in the water, it's lovely." She shouted out to him "do you mind if I strip down to my underwear? It looks just like a bathing suit, I just don't want to offend you."

"Don't flatter yourself, you couldn't offend me if you tried. If you want to prance around in your underwear, I won't stand in your way." He said with an air of nonchalance, even though internally he was having a celebration.

"you're going to join me right? Do French men wear boxers or briefs?" She asked as she took her dress off and stood before him without a smidge of insecurity. "Unless you aren't allowed."

"why wouldn't I be allowed to swim in my own lake? That is a ridiculous notion." He scoffed, sliding off the horse and storming over to the frustrating woman. "Do you think so little of me, that I am not my own person? Do I seem weak to you?" He asked lowly as he glared down at her. He knew he was over reacting, but he didn't know what she meant and he hated being confused.

She looked so adorable peering up at him with her big doe eyes, as she chewed on her plump bottom lip. "I was just trying to be smooth, and find out if you had a wife or girlfriend or something." She said quietly. Her eyes lowered to her hands as she fidgeted. "you couldnt possibly be single. You're too perfect. Supermodels probably fight over you on the daily."

He smirked and gently lifted her chin to look in her eyes. "Maybe being perfect scares them all away." He gazed down at her thoughtfully, before coming to the conclusion she wasn't kidding. She actually thought he was perfect.

The idea that someone thought he was perfect and desired by hordes of women was extremely amusing. While it was true, some women had satisfied his natural male urges, he never laid with a woman more than one time.

Chuckling to himself, he took his clothing off and neatly placed it on a nearby bench. He knew he had a visually pleasing form, and stayed in top physical form for his own vanity and his career choices. He wore black boxer briefs, and ignored the way she was checking him out as he passed her and dove into the water.

She squealed and immediately followed, swimming gracefully beside him as he cut through the water. Coming to a stop, he turned to her and tried to ask her a question, but couldnt think of what to ask. Not one to ever be afraid to speak up or get answers, he tried to be logical and ask himself what was his issue. Did this slip of a woman make him nervous? Did he care what she thought of him? Or was he just having an off day, and she so happen to be here for it? Was he attracted to her sexually? Did he want to touch her, and in turn allow her to touch him? It wasn't like he was a virgin.

So caught up in his contemplations, he failed to notice, till it was too late, and he'd been plunged beneath the surface. Using her weight to dunk him, she had her hands on his shoulders as she pushed him down her body, underneath the surface. Continuing down by his own ministrations, she lost contact with him when he continued deeper than she was able to go. He opened his eyes underwater, and watched as her shadow rose up to the surface. Swimming swiftly behind her, he made sure to remain behind her where she could not see him. Sneaking up behind her, he grabbed her by the waist and took them both beneath the surface.

She was a very capable swimmer, and he enjoyed their rough housing. He could not recall the last time he had played with someone.

"what's in your hair?" She asked with a look of concern on her face. Reaching up, she ran her hands through his hair, before grabbing his face with both hands, and kissing him square on the lips. It was an aggressive move, but she still remained gentle somehow. Nothing else existed in that moment. He was left breathless when she pulled away, and then realization set in.

He liked her. He really liked her.

Without saying a single word, he swam to the shore, gotten dressed without even attempting to dry off, got on his horse and left her there. He knew he was being a coward, but he hadn't gotten so far in life by following his heart. He was strictly a brain user, and it was telling him to run.

So he had, all the way to the piano.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have kissed you. I read the situation completely wrong and it won't happen again." She stated earnestly.

Looking in her eyes, he could see she really believed she had made an error. He knew nothing good would come from getting involved with him, and she'd likely end up regretting ever meeting him. He was self aware enough to realize he was not a good person. Anyone that he got involved with would suffer in some way whether at the hands of his enemies, or from something he would do, or not do.

Pulling her close, he smirked before kissing her forehead. Placing his chin on her head, he chuckled at the two of them. "Sometimes the hardest thing, and the right thing, are the same."

"do you know the most sad word in the world?" She asked him.

Thinking through many words in several languages, he knew many sad words.

"almost." She sighed, snuggling closer in his arms. "He almost loved her. She almost was good for him. He almost stopped her. She almost waited. They almost were happy. They almost made it."

She pulled herself free from his arms and turned for the door. "my father is here and said everything went well. I just wanted to come say goodbye and apologize." With those parting words, she was gone.

A few days later, when her father told her the Marquis had almost been able to kill the legendary John Wick, but had been killed in the end, she almost laughed out loud.

Almost.

[mejomonster]

So I've been playing Sherlock the Awakened. I don't remember the tags for frogware sherlock so. Anyway. Forgot how much I loved this game, I'm halfway though.

I loved Chapter One for a lot of reasons, one being how you could get cases wrong or never know the Actual truth of the cases, because Sherlock is young and he can't Truly Know either. Or how the final case is how his mom died, and there is no real external closure because he can't ever Really know for sure, so the conclusion you ultimately draw is more about how Sherlock gives himself closure, which angle he gives it to himself, since there is no for sure definitive end. How his mom had mental health issues (and one of the horrors in Chapter One being the notes from her doctor about how she was treated which very well could've made her Worse, suffer More, but when i looked it up the treatments in 1800s were... pretty much what her doctor was doing, it was a kind of tragedy that was realistic for it's time and setting, and within Sherlock's life an unavoidable tragedy - his mom gets 'help' but the help possible is not much help at all and might even do damage, but it was the option available, and he lost his mom, and children can never do anything about things like that, beyond their control). And how the game extends the mental health theme, Sherlock has ptsd, Jon is an imaginary friend (he calls him a tulpa in The Awakened), a coping mechanism for Sherlock to comfort himself and give himself strength both as a child and now facing that lack-of-closure to tragedy and trying to provide it to himself. (A side note, I've been playing Crimes and Punishment and appreciate, again, that Sherlock can Get It Wrong in deductions... something The Awakened lacks, but I get why).

And then The Awakened (at least the newer version using the new young model of Sherlock from Chapter One), it takes bits of those themes of mental health, tragedy and trauma, coping. The opening reminds us of THIS Sherlock, who can insist there's an assassin plot against him when really it's just a book salesman with a crush on a florist, and a real person John Watson (a companion who is not imaginary, who's outside of Sherlock) who is reminding Sherlock his grip on reality isn't always great and he can work himself up into thinking there's things happening which aren't really there (in Chapter One, Jon both helped Sherlock internally remind himself of that and delude himself at other times). Sherlock has progressed and healed in some ways since Chapter One - he can recognize he has a tendency to delude himself sometimes, without Jon to help. He's a bit more comfortable making friends and relying on them (he's become open enough to not just befriend John Watson but actually trust him as a partner to rely on, which he was struggling to do except with imaginary-part-of-himself Jon in Chapter One), he's more open with compassion for others (he had that trait in Chapter One but he's quicker to offer it and realize when people are seeing him as cold/not understanding he means well). He has realized he may have some tendencies he'll have to live with (which hey I have ptsd, I appreciate a lead character also having it and knowing there's certain coping skills/things they do which are effected by those experiences and linger). He IS more self aware, self assured, has built some healthy safe-enough relationships with other people, is better at getting his point across and showing his care for people. (Great early moments of that is telling off the Lord Stenwick about how shit he is treating Kimiha, how much he Cares about solving the missing people case for the sake of the missing people's lives and their families).

I love how well this Sherlock, this particular version, works in such a story with unknown monsters (which Sherlock at first assumes must be himself deluding himself, because he has an awareness he does that and has before), in a story with people imprisoned for some traits others perceive negatively (in the asylum he relates to many of the patients locked up, he is one of them locked up for a time, he doesn't see Gerda and Heidi as particularly odd and he's been her with Jon in a sense already in his life, he relates to the patients in how awful the conditions are and the treatment and in caring enough to want such treatment stopped, in wanting to stop Gygax, in being horrified by the treatment of the human trafficked victims and that only resolving him more to want to stop the huge operation of suffering). Both the bits of unreality, and the very human monsters of the story (the perpetrators of the kidnapping, killings, trafficking), work very well with this Sherlock. (And the racism and dehumanizing being the key evil, in a story using these particular traits, is a solid choice I think in using these effectively and meaningfully).

[taybatwo2]

Vampire Heart Draculaura Review Part 4 of 4

In this final part of my review, I’ll be comparing her a bit more to some other Monster High vampires.

Including my G1 Elissabat (who really needs her hair de-glued) and I’ve had her hair “restyled” like that ever since I got her just because I liked how she wore it up in the flashbacks in “Frights, Camera, Action.” The picture above has mini-dress Draculaura with Elissabat, the true Vampire Queen. Luckily she’s pretty cool with this Draculaura playing dress up, as long as she gets to try on her outfit too.

Also, I had never undressed my Eissabat before and didn’t know these were two separate pieces!

And here is she is!!! I kept her puff purple sleeves to make it fit more with her color scheme. It’s not a bad look at all and I would have loved to have seen a true Vampire Queen Eissabat Collector doll.

Something like this, but even more dramatic. Give her some large vampire wings, layers of bows and bats and deep purples, a better looking tiara to house the vampire’s heart than what she wore in the movie, the works!

I think her boots look better under the dress than Draculaura’s though.

Her purples and large bell skirt gown are also kinda reminding me of this collector Barbie:

The true Vampire Queen….

….and now

Jump scare!

I wanted to compare G2’s hair play Draculaura (my favorite of my G2 Draculaura) due to the light pink steaks in her hair (as I thought it was the same light pink Saran) and her “darker face-up.” Turns out, it is actually a shade darker than Vampire Heart Draculaura’s and her makeup is not as dark as I remembered.

The difference in these dolls are night day, so onto something a bit closer.

Draculaura’s 50 dollar Amazon Exclusive collector doll vs Amazon’s Exclusive Collector 90/100 dollar doll.

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually way prefer the new doll over the old one in every way except for the lack of diary in the current release.

I was actually never a huge fan of the Collector Draculaura’s eyes (they look better far away and look like they were designed by Tim Burton) or her extra long body (I did like the chest articulation though, but thought an ever TALLER Draculaura looked odd), and prefer the new face up and eyelashes on the newer doll.

It does look like they have that same really light pink Saran.

They both have crumby stands that don’t hold the doll very well (at least Collector Draculaura’s is beautifully detailed).

And surprisingly non of these lace/lattice patterns were present on Vampire Heart’s Draculaura’s skirt. The embroidery on Collector Draculaura is still unmatched though, and she’s still an extremely lovely doll.

Buuuuut, she surprisingly has more in common with Haunte Couture Draculaura than Vampire Heart’s and visa versa.

She’s like the in between of Vampire Heart’s and Haunte Couture (similar colors to Vampire Heart’s, buuuut the same layered skirt with bat wing edges, heel/sole to her shoes, and a cape that attaches to her wrists…and I guess hats and rooted eyelashes that Haunt Couture has).

Well, Draculaura likes to reuse and update pieces of her wardrobe from her long life.

“Come play with us Vampire Heart Draculaura.” For fun, I compared OG Draculaura (whose hair has been degreased with LA’s Totally Awesome, but she just needs to be retro-brighted and I haven’t had time to do that).

She has the much skinner eyes of the OG Draculaura than the more “show accurate” Creeproduction Draculaura, but has the darker pink skin tone of the Creeproduction.

Well, I think that’s everyone, let’s get you to the Vampire Heart ball, or whatever ball your vampires are celebrating this week.

Huh. Looks like Valentine has offered to dance with you Draculaura. I wonder if he’s reformed in this timeline too….

Wait, now the famous movie star -and nothing else- Elissabat wants to dance with you instead. I’m sure Lord Stoker will be glad at all the attention you’re receiving….such a graceful model Vampi-

Tripped over Fangelica….it looks like she’s in this timeline too…

Anyways, all bow down to the Vampire Queen, the most beautiful of Monster High’s Skullector’s dolls (to date and my opinion).

….seriously I really want a diary to go with her…stop leaving those out Mattel!!

[rebelwhodoesntknow]

Aikatsu-ing again (everyone has to put up with my shit)

So the first real set of Aikatsu Academy performances came out and I have many thoughts!! I’ll talk about the mechanics first and the music next, I think. This may be a stream of consciousness I have no idea. It’s also VERY LONG so it’s under the read more for your sanity.

So the models I would say are pretty decent! I’m not sure if they’re still using the vtuber models with pre-choreographed movements or if they gave them proper Aikatsu style models, but my guess is the former. One thing that really annoyed me was that their mouths were definitely not synced to the lyrics they were singing, which definitely broke the immersion for me a bit. Like come on if you mapped all the other movements surely you could make the mouths at least mimic the vowels they’re singing! I also feel like the camera angles were really trying to compensate for the animation/choreo at points. It did its job, but I just had a feeling if we zoomed the camera out there may be some awkwardness that I don’t think you’d find in other cg performances.

They did have a bit of coord transformation, but I would say it’s very stiff. They did have the sort of sparkly bodies that come to mind when you think of og Aikatsu transformations, but the coords didn’t come on in sequence which kind of sucked. Didn’t really get the photo thing either, doesn’t feel anywhere as connected to the Aikatsu system as the cards did.

The stage itself was…fine, I suppose. I recently rewatched Idol Kiwi’s video on the Aikatsu stages and I think she made a really good point on how the fantastical Aikatsu System leads to endless stage possibilities, and i definitely felt like this one was slightly too grounded. The lack of appeals and coords that didn’t push too many boundaries definitely did not help. BUT THEY GAVE THEM AURAS!! They are extremely simple but at least we know a vestige of the old system was there!! My hope is that they’re trying to portray these girls as absolute novices (like Akari initially) and the aura showing up during the last song is a sign of their progression. Maybe they’ll do appeals soon!!

One thing that was interesting to me was the insistence on doing full song performances. Up until now, Aikatsu performances have usually consisted of a singular verse and chorus (sometimes two choruses), and sometimes a bridge if the chorus is short. So I don’t really get why they decided to lengthen it. Was it to justify the definitely simpler choreography? But if that’s the case, why did they do the full song of Diamond Happy and add a bunch more stuff? Personally, I would have liked a shorter stage if it meant there was more effort put into the animation and choreography or if an appeal was thrown in.

Okay now for songs!! We had the two songs that had already come out, one new song, and a Diamond Happy cover. I think I’ll cover songs and then go into individual vocals.

I don’t have much to say about Full Bloom Helianthe other than it’s good and it sounds like Aikatsu. I will be adding it to my playlist! It’s the same sentiment as Akogare Sky, but Sky sounds a bit more modern. What I’m really interested in is the newer songs.

The Diamond Happy cover was… okay, I say begrudgingly. I miss Ichigo, her voice really brought something to that song that is definitely missing. I also missed her expression on ‘happy’ which was not mirrored in any of the girls. Also, THEY KILLED MY HARMONY IN THE CHORUS! WHERE IS THE LOVELY HARMONIZED CHIKARA—AH-AH!! I really thought the cover was good until that point and that just killed me. They can hit those notes! Why didn’t they… why…. Aaaagh. *head in hands*

Peek-a-boo was kind of fun? Idk about the intro. It gets you sufficiently pumped but it also repeats peek-a-boo like 10 times which is going to be an embarrassment hurdle for me. It might grow on me though. The first thing I thought when I listened to it was ‘oh they’re doing Tristar with this one!’ Because it pretty much sounded like a Tristar Photokatsu song. Kind of cool, but now I wish Tristar were the ones singing it… can’t win them all I suppose. Okay onto vocals! Just a note I am a singer but I am not classically trained, so I’m saying more what I feel than Evidence This Singer Is Good/Bad.

Mieru’s voice has definitely grown on me! I was a little bit nervous that she was too quiet of a voice to really stand out, but I ended up quite liking her in the songs, even though she didn’t seem like the main character in them. Her voice actually fits great in Peek-a-boo, so much so that I almost wished she was a sexy-type idol. I hope we see that mature tone again!

Pairin is still my favorite for having the most amount of sheer power behind her vocals. She feels like the main character to me, which is funny because I’m pretty sure it’s definitely supposed to be resident cute-type Mieru. But I can hear Pairin the most on the songs and she’s really what gives them impact. She sounds more like Ichigo, Akari, and Yume, so my brain pegs that down as the main character. She can definitely play up the pop typing when singing like she did in Diamond Happy, but I like it better when it’s just clean pure vocals from her.

I feel really bad for Meh, because it seems like she’s struggling with singing the most. She’s obviously supposed to be a Sumire-type cool idol (and she sounded great in Tarte Tatin on a livestream) but she doesn’t hit this sort of butter-smooth vocal pocket that Sumire does. She just doesn’t have the same richness in her voice. In fact, I think she has real trouble switching between head, throat, and chest voice, since I hear these little vocal splinterings that I recognize from my own singing endeavors. I think she has potential, it’s just… not being tapped into, and it’s sad!

Anyways yeah those are my thoughts! I at least like that old Aikatsu stuff is still being engaged with in this new time. But I’ll keep on keeping tabs on Aikatsu Academy!

[anemonet]

Please please pleasp plea s pelas tell me abt ur suns desighm. I'm STARING at them it is so so incredible it's eye candy

Oh!!! Someone asked thank you hello:DD and aw thank you!! oki oki explaining time!!!

So to begin might be good to check out this post i made about pebbles and moon where i babble about older and newer iterator models and their differences. I'm bringing this up because timeline-wise I would stick suns somewhere before the early "mass manifactured" iterators like moon ( their not really mass manifactured but at some point i asume there was an explosion in production amounts) and the first couple iterators ( which i would guess are no longer around to be honest, the dont-murder-yourself protocol must come from somewhere, anyhow!)

Im placing suns here not only because i like visual variety but also because i get some free moving room design wise, because i like to think (and this is only my personal headcanon) that the earliest itertor models were not made for wider production. These lil fellas were made to Solve the Great Problem, and as we know anchients loved their religious stuff so i cant imagine the first couple iterators werent annocunced and made with alot of buzz around them, probably lovingly made and blessed by monks or something. Think like these are the solution and we will show that in their design, they just should look more cermonial and important, which leads into my actaul design choises!!

Suns design pulls on both the anchients religious ideas and ideals like my choise to use the bound feet look some anchients have and to not give suns a real face - I dont know how people have all the lore pearls read and memorized but from what we know from the industrial blue pearl, moon talks about how ancheints wore masks to:

"showing spiritual persuasion - covering the face as a way to symbolically abate the self"

which i took and ran with and therefore gave suns no face at all, they are creating something meant to ascend them, showing them holding up their values (the lack of "ego" the self)? and that also ties into how suns pearls- well actully first lets real quick explain why suns has pearls and jewerly, because it relates tothe second thing suns design pulls from: the ancheints love of just lots of decoration in fashion to absurd points. its brought up in a couple different places how its ironic that the ancheints preached for the barebone religious ideals of the jellyfish while also being lavish and leasure seeking and overall trying alot - "burdened by ambition" as moon says in the drainage green pearl- which i tied into suns design by adding shit tons of pearls and other pazzazz to suns puppet!!! the love of more is more is really what lies under suns design and what i like to think of as part of ancheint sense of how to look at the time, they are created to ascend them and for that they must look religious and hold up the ideals but also we must add so many clothing layers and jewerly becasue we like that, which is info we needed for me to bring back what i was gonna say which was that the pearls and jewels on suns designs (gold as that seems to be the favored jewerly material going by the murals in pebbles) have the scholar and martyr achivement symbols engraved in the pearls like the ammulets anchients wore (outskirts light blue pearl)! I went with those symbols because just karma ten would be boring and i dont actully have all the rainwolrd words and symbols sadly so we make do. and i think its a pretty good showcase how fashion and religion was combined.

I would also like to say that theres two things to bring up if we wanna take later iterator designs into the equaiton, which is one(1), hey wait why does sun look more like pebbles than moon?! which yes thank you for bringing it up i would like to contribute this to two factors, 1, cyclical design, pebbles is a call-back if you will, - suns more intricate look was probably scrapped by moons time, as theres not much point to dressing some machine up (i would speculate there was a shifts in how iterators were viewed in different times, a noteable case being the ashy green exterior pearl where its talked about the controversy of pebbles creation (also mentioned in some of the white pearl fragments), and i would think at some point itertors went from The Solution to machines who handle our production facilites (this is a crude summary but this is not what you asked for and i could talk about it for doube the wordcount as this post so moving on) this is of course not to say moon wasnt respected by her citizens (refer back to the exterior pearl) but she was not always a city lets just stick with that. anyhow what was i saying?pebbles? yes ok but when materials got cheaper it was possible to replicate it (suns more labour heavy design) again ( even if a bit less intricate as its a bit much work) so pebbles and suns share looks because of that, and then you will of course bring up wait hey a minute wasnt moons model clunkier because the science wasnt developed enough yet? how can an older design be more advenaced in looks? and the answer is its not!!! suns puppet is foremost a showpiece and somethign to sell in the iterators with, so actual function for the puppet wasnt to intresting (the real important bits is the actaul machine), i like to think that the early models had much less function in their limbs and was much more simplified (the puppet, im not sure about the mind thing) and because of that while suns design looks more modern it lacks alot of functions later models had, later when itertors self maintence became importnant it was replaced for the more praictical "older model" (moons) again note this is soley my own mad rambeling and connection made from the lore and not canon at all.

my last note would probably be to mention that suns keeps their wires neat and orderly cause they like it! (wire placement depends on the iteators preffernce, you cant tell me these super computers cant move around their wires into personalised looks) also yes they came with the pearl on the wires, probably hand crafted by some monk somewhere.

anyhow so suns mostly like that for show, and is probably a trademark for how those older iterators looked (i would put no significant harrasment in this era too, just cause of vibes^-^) I think their neat! and holy shit how much did i talk im so sorry, ahem uhm hope this was fun to read? thank you for the ask and have the sillies :DD

[crow-caller]

Hey! I want to preface this message by saying that I mean absolutely no hate by it, and I genuinely respect your content hugely and think you're an amazing person. However, in your most recent video you made a comment about autism that I, as an autistic person, have a different perspective on, and thought it might be interesting to you.

You said that being autistic doesn't automatically make someone disabled and I disagree. A disability is anything that makes it difficult for an individual to function in normal society. This means that, whilst autism is indeed a neurotype and is not inherently bad in any way, it is still a disability as our society is entirely based on social structures and social norms that are completely antithetical to how autism as a neurotype functions. Essentially, whilst autism is a neurotype, the way that autistic people are expected to conform to neurotypical standards makes it a disability, as it makes it significantly more difficult to function.

I and many other autistic people who are extremely high masking and have low support needs still consider ourselves to be disabled not because of our neurotype, but because of how society is structured to our disadvantage.

I know that it was just a passing comment and I genuinely don't want to be rude at all, but this is something that I'm extremely passionate about because of my own neurology. I love your videos, and I hope you have a good day :))

So, this is something I've got a lot of comments on!

Let's start here: I am ALSO autistic and disabled. I probably should have made it clearer.

This is a very interesting subject really and comes down to how we define disability in terms of medically, socially, and more. I'm not an expert, but I happen to live with someone who does study autism academically (and is also autistic and disabled). (My flatmate is helping me correct this wall of text too.) (also, this is VERY long and not like, trying to prove you wrong, it's just more I feel like giving a lot of context, especially for people who aren't very aware of autism related issues)

Firstly also, it's 100% valid to view autism as a disability or identify as disabled via your autism. I don't consider my autism to be a disability, but it is something which can be disabling.

Autism as a disability though is complicated, and to call it not a disability again relies on how you actually define disability. Your points here are very true, but also rely on a social system of understanding disability. The world isn't built for autistic people and that can cause disabling effects. If the world was built ideally for an autistic experience, would autism still be able to be counted as a disability? This is called the social model of disability and is a newer thing.

Traditionally disability has been considered in terms of the medical model, not the social. This views disability in terms of there being a disorder or deficit in capability for an individual which requires treatment or intervention. With autism, it isn't really ideal to use the medical model because it inherently implies autistic people are in some way lacking.

But then there's also the legal definition of disability. Autism is legally often classed as a disability because disability is a protected category that affords certain protections such as against discrimination. This is also how autism is able to be used to gain access to special accommodations such as in uni. While labelling autism a disability in this more legal system sense is important, this is primarily because there is no other protected characteristic it could fall under at this time.

Ideally, I'd say 'neurodivergence' is a better category, though it's a term which has a lot of debate on what that means. Usually, it'll include autism, ADHD, dyspraxia, and dyslexia. All of these are things which can be disabling in certain circumstances per the social model but are harder to place in the medical model as disabilities.

I call autism a neurotype to reflect the idea it is fundamentally another way for the brain to be wired. A good example of this is what is called the 'Double Empathy Problem': Autistic people are often thought of as being impaired in terms of social communication and empathy because they are often viewed from a neurotypical perspective. However, the same is equally true in reverse: non autistic people often struggle to socially communicate and empathize with autistic people. Meanwhile, autistic people are able to communicate with other autistic people equally in much the same way neurotypicals find it easy to communicate with other neurotypicals. The trick to it is that autism is a neurotype, and what appears to be deficits and flaws is merely a difference in communication style between two neurotypes.

Is the theory, at least. This is pulling into flatmate help, who again studies this sort of thing at PHD level.

It's complicated, really. It has nuance. I hope it's been interesting!

Basically, I'm really aware I should have had more context in what I said. Especially since I pulled out the term 'neurotype' which isn't exactly common lingo. It's ultimately up to every individual autistic person to decide how to label themself and doesn't require any intervention from academia to find an answer. It's just this is actually a very hot topic of study and a rather interesting one. I definitely will be adding a new pinned comment meanwhile on youtube to at least clear up I wasn't an ablebodied neurotypical handing out judgements on the autistic. this is just my life.

[ae-neon]

Autumn Court headcanons.

These are kinda nebulis, not about any specific fic or au.

The first rule of survival is learning to always lie. Even when you tell the truth, have ulterior motives for doing so.

UtM was modelled after the CoN but it mirrored Autumn more than anything else. Eg in the CoN there are no humans or lesser fae

But in Autumn lesser fae act as servants while humans act as slaves and entertainment.

The Forest House is, like Versailles, the heart of the Court and all politics is played out in and around it.

It's also like Versailles in that all the nobility live there with the royals, constantly forced into games of power and station as well as displays of talent and loyalty

Autumn duels actually prohibit the use of fire, it's a brutal thing aimed at maiming and humiliating

The House of Vanserra is actually a newer ruling House and the royal line was carried onto the children through LoA whose birth House is no longer spoken of outside the historical context

Time keeping is also done through Houses as Autumn is a volatile Court whose crown often changes hands. The current year is the 889th of Beron's rule, the second longest reigning monarch in Autumn's history

They have large hunts and bonfires under the full moon, this is the only time when people are free to move and associate as they wish, even using glamoured masks that hide their scents and voices

They also have three day long banquets and balls, and public trials for entertainment and shows of force by the royal house

Art is seen as sacred and religious

Many keep monsters as sort of exotic pets

Clever glamours and tricks of hand are more favourably looked upon than open displays of magic

Engaging in things like drugs and sex, affairs especially, are not seen as overindulgence or bad in any way but social isolation or a lack of engagement can be a stain on even a Prince's reputation. Even Beron himself is forced to engage in some level of public pageantry

Sharing a cup is seen as an intimate act (because if it's poisoned, you'll both die) and is only practiced by Mates or those bound together in the holy name of the Mother

Lucien was actually the most favoured by the Court before it was revealed he was in love with a lesser fae, a great taboo for the High Fae of Autumn (not that it doesn't still happen)

Eris is the greatest duelist in the Court and only 21 nobles have challenged him in the last 450 years before UtM

[wndstrrrry]

does gilbert continue to self soothe even now, does it get worse considering the circumstances?

does gilbert ever talk about his childhood with other characters, like serge or renault?

do gilbert and/or carl still struggle with alcohol issues, and if they do how is it going?

do gilbert and renault ever have conversations about bonnard, their childhood together in the past, in a newer context now that they're processing their trauma in a different situation?

does rosemarine ever get closer to anyone else in the cast?

more of a general question but what are the diagnoses/potential psych diagnoses for other characters in the series?

what are your plans for carl?

what are your plans for liliath, and any potential reaching out between him and gilbert?

i am so entertained with these i LOVE QUESTIONS!!!! i LOVE YAPPING!!!!

1. self-soothing

yeah, gilbert has always done that ... so it's not like it's gonna stop. he does it when he feels really sad, and it was definitely an issue when he was in the hospital because he would get so anxious rubbing his arm with the IV that he'd accidentally get it out of place or something. eventually he moved back to touching his clavicles.

it doesn't hurt anyone, so it's not worth stopping him ... it helps him, it keeps him grounded, and it's way better than self-harm, so no one really tells him anything anymore. he doesn't notice unless someone points it out, really.

2. gilbert's childhood

renault is aware of it pretty much, like. the whole thing, a lot of it, he knows things serge doesn't, he knows a lot of things, he doesn't remember all the details because gilbert told him this when he was little and they first met, but he still remembers quietly holding onto gilbert in the middle of the night as he spoke about the things he went through. he doesn't know much about auguste, but he does know about his mom leaving him, the adults preying on him, the modelling issues, the self-harm, bonnard ... renault knows a lot about his childhood, serge knows more about the current state of gilbert. renault doesn't know as much about that aspect.

serge knows about auguste and gilbert's lack of family, he knows about the modelling because gilbert shared that with him but he never went into detail.

3. alcoholism

carl ... carl is probably drinking a glass of wine a night to keep himself sane. let's be honest. no one is there to stop him now, his parents can't like, track down his expenses so he can buy himself wine if he so wishes. he's a bit off the rails i would say, a controlled off the rails kind of situation where he tells himself "i'll get just a glass or two a day" and then he has to keep himself distracted to not go over the top.

gilbert is a more delicate issue, because he still WANTS the alcohol but he would have to go and get it himself, which is not possible since he doesn't have money, and neither renault or serge would let him engage in that, so nowadays he doesn't really ... get alcohol. nor cigarettes. not anymore.

he'll probably gain access to them once (if) he starts working, and he'll sneak out and get something for himself, but maybe by that point he'll be over it ... he just has those days, you know?

honestly, with how his body works today, alcohol isn't exactly the best thing, neither are cigarettes, but he doesn't care. he just wants to soothe his mind a little sometimes. then he goes back to being miserable.

4. gilbert, renault and bonnard

gilbert tries, because he can't fathom the idea that one second renault was SO trapped under bomnard and then he was out of the house the next. it feels surreal, all of it feels surreal, he wants to ask, they both have questions but the other never knows how to answer them, or they don't know how to word those questions so it never goes anywhere.

one thing they do agree on is that it's best to not talk about it for now. maybe one day. bonnard's name is not to be said within those walls.

5. rosemarine

i honestly don't know? the plan is for him to try and get over his issues with gilbert because it's not his fault! we've seen that in the comic! but he can't really bring himself to. not now at least.

rosemarine doesn't live in paris, so it's hard for him to actually get in contact with anyone, he has other things to worry about and he's not social, so it's like. he's there. he calls serge from time to time to check on him, he asks trivial questions, smiles to himself when he hears things are okay, frowns and asks more questions when things are wrong, and hangs up the phone. it's all trivial.

maybe one day. he's no longer in contact with jules at least ...

6. diagnosing your favs

i wish i could tell you because i have no idea LMAO.

carl definitely has ocd, that's like, my final veredict. probably depression and anxiety too but it could very much be comorbid with his ocd and stuff.

gilbert, again, has bpd, autism, ptsd, probably some depressive disorder ... like, there's a plethora of things wrong with him.

i don't know anything about anyone else, i cannot diagnose these guys. kurt has undiagnosed bpd and maybe adhd. who knows. nekka is a diagnosed hatsune miku fan.

7. carl plans

well, i don't have much for carl. i want him to come back eventually, like. drop out of college in the middle of a bad episode (of some sort, idk what kind) and go back home impulsively ...

or maybe it's a wellness check goes wrong, and everyone can tell he's having a rough time, so he packs his stuff and is kinda forced to go home by his parents bc they were notified that he was having a shitty time, and he has to drop out ...

and he reconnects with people and stuff ...

i do know he goes home around the holidays to celebrate with his family, and if everyone's lucky they can catch him while he's there!

8. liliath plans

not many main character plans for this guy, sadly ... he's here to serve cunt. he's busy working things out in therapy, rediscovering himself, he probably moves out of home and has a relatively calm life all things considered. he hangs out with jack, he hangs out with other people, gets some ACTUAL friends ...

i'm not sure if he'll ever try to directly start a friendship with gilbert, since it'd have to be a long distance thing (again, he's not in paris ... for now.) and he'd have to text him and be like "hey i heard what happened hope you're doing well ;)" or something

but like. gilbert doesn't have social media that traces back to him. he's still pretty scared of having anything that can trace back to him. he doesn't want auguste bothering him anymore.

[busterswritehand]

You're Timeless To Me

-

Roughly 180 years after the events of ACOSF, Lucien looks up to find that he is surrounded by strangers. Meanwhile, Nesta realizes she has stayed still while the world around her keeps moving. Misery loves company, but these two can hardly make small talk.

-

Part 5

-

"You want me to do what?" Lucien choked on his tea. He looked at the female sitting across the table from him.

Nesta stared him down unphased by his reaction. "I want you to teach me how to be a proper emissary." She cocked a brow. "Will that be too difficult for you?"

Lucien couldn't hide a small awkward smile creeping on his face. He looked around to at the other groups relaxing on the cafe patio.

"It would definitely be an undertaking," he said. Lucien shifted his focus back to Nesta. "You're not really a people's person."

"I know. That's why I need your help." Nesta spoke through gritted teeth.

Lucien stared at Nesta. He could tell she was choking on her swallowed pride.

He sipped on his tea, "Please."

"What?"

"I need your help, please."

Nesta stared at him. He could see that baffled frustration written on her face. She let out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't need all the reasons you've suddenly taken an interest in this," Lucien said. He had a few theories, none being that she had a genuine interest in politics, but it was obvious Nesta was not keen on sharing. He would not push her, he knew better. "Just a simple please will do."

"So you'll help me?"

"I'll consider it." Lucien hid his amusement for once. He should have known something was up when Feyre asked him to meet with Nesta - at her own request no less. "You have a whole day to convince me."

"Fine," Nesta said. "Tell me what would help you make a decision."

Lucien looked to the mountain lines that were mostly hidden by buildings. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"Have you ever been in one of those automobiles?" He turned to face her. Nesta's straight face was anything but amused.

"You can get into one of those death traps," she sneered. "I'll watch."

"Don't tell me you're scared." Lucien extended a hand toward her.

Nesta studied him.

"I'm not scared," she said simply. "I'm just not stupid."

"Come on, it'll be fun." Lucien watched Nesta as she hesitantly took his hand.

"You better know how to drive one of those things."

"Once or twice," he smiled slyly.

Nesta swatted his shoulder with her free hand. Lucien laughed. It was just too easy to tease her, and he suspected that she didn't mind it as much as she let on. Maybe it was the smile peaking out from her pursed lips when she huffed. Or maybe, it was the fact that she didn't let go of his hand.

"Are you going to take us there or not," Nesta demanded.

"Right away," Lucien said.

He wasted no time winnowing to the outskirts of town where he had spotted automobiles racing around a few nights prior. As he suspected, there was an automobile rental store nearby. Lucien lead the way.

"I'll let you pick the color." He nudged her with his elbow.

Nesta gave him a side eye and clicked her tongue. He looked at her, waiting for a reply. She craned her neck towards him.

"Are you serious," she asked.

Lucien nodded, humming. Nesta tilted her head and looked him up and down. Lucien did not have the slightest clue what she was thinking, but he was curious to know what was running through her mind. Nesta faced the building in front of them and straightened her back.

"Lavender," she said. "Good luck finding it."

Nesta took a seat on a bench outside of the building, leaving Lucien to go in alone. He should've known she wouldn't make it easy. Nevertheless, he accepted her challenge.

Lucien walked through the doors and was immediately greeted by a salesperson. The salesperson ushered Lucien around the giant building with all sorts of automobiles. Lucien took a liking to a newer model that lacked a roof. Although there were none in lavender, there was one in a unique shade that piqued his interest. He rented out the car for the afternoon to the delight of the dealer. Wasting no time, Lucien drove it to the front of the building.

"Yellow?" Nesta eyed the automobile in disgust as Lucien turned off the engine.

"Dandelion," Lucien replied, hopping out of the vehicle. "Some poor soul ordered a custom paint job and quickly regretted it."

"I can see why."

Lucien didn't need to look at Nesta to know she was watching him. He walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. Nesta slowly stood up, straightening her skirt.

"Let's get this over with." She walked past him into the vehicle.

He closed the passenger door and made his way back to the driver's side. He turned on the engine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nesta gripping the door with her hand. Her harsh gaze met his.

"Don't kill us."

"I promise not to." He meant it for what it was worth

Lucien found the way automobiles were treated as a novelty here to be peculiar. For humans, it was an admirable form of travel. For fae, however, it was nothing more than a hobby - like painting or card games. It made sense, he supposed since most forms of human transportation could never compare to fae ability. In all fairness, he rarely drove in such vehicles himself. He did not need to.

The driving track weaved through the mountain cliffs. Trees occasionally provided a barrier between the cliffside and the road. He glanced over at Nesta whose tight updo was coming undone in the wind. She did not seem irritated though; the female was easing into her seat with her fingers dancing in the wind.

Looking back out at the road, Lucien caught a glimpse of an aerial view of Velaris. He had seen a similar angle from the House of Wind, but what he was witnessing now was far beyond it. He started to understand why Feyre had taken such a liking to flying. Although Lucien had been taken on flights by Feyre's friends, they were more like short, awkward landings. This was different.

The trail ended at the plateau of a cliff - a perfect lookout spot. Lucien rolled the automobile off of the path. He was barely done parking the vehicle when Nesta hopped out.

"Could you wait a moment," Lucien whipped his head around to chastise her. What he saw instead of an agitated female was Nesta making her way to the edge of the lookout.

He slowly approached her.

There was no tension in her shoulders, but they were weighed down.

"I didn't realize my driving was that bad." Lucien stood beside her,

"It's not that." Nesta didn't face him. Instead, she looked ahead. "The view just reminds me of -"

"The House of Wind," he finished her sentence. "I was thinking the same thing."

She smiled faintly, a huff of laughter escaping her lips. He could see the melancholic nostalgia in her eyes. He wondered why she moved out, but that's not the question he asked.

"Do you miss it?"

"In some ways, yes." She looked over at him. They studied each other. Like she could read his mind, Nesta replied. "I - We needed a change, Cassian and myself."

Lucien nodded.

"Your driving could use some work though."

"Noted," Lucien chuckled.

The two stood there looking out at the city in silence. When they could no longer stand up, they sat down. From the view, they could see the busy market streets, the towering buildings, and the rendezvous on the outskirts of the city. Lucien and Nesta broke the silence every so often pointing out small details that could only be noticed from their birdseyeview. It was a kind of peace he had not felt in a long time.

"I'll come up with a proposal for Feyre and Rhysand," Lucien said breaking that peace. "I'll talk to them before Starfall."

"Before you leave."

"Yeah," he nodded.

He didn't want to leave so soon, but this was not his home.

[yukipri]

The Bad Batch Season 2 - Mid-Season Eps 7 & 8 Spoilers & Thoughts

Ranted it out on twitter last night and forgot to share here.

LOT of thoughts this time

Major Spoilers beneath cut!

Really trully phenomenal writing, so much more than I expected to be said so explicitly. Open discussion of clones' rights, their futures, their lack of personhood under both the Republic and the Empire, even the threat of decommissioning.

What we always knew, what we wanted explicitly addressed in mainstream canon, stated by the clones themselves. Truly ecstatic about these episodes.

Absolutely loved the confirmation that yes, this is what Rex has been doing all along. We saw it implied with Gregor in S1, but it's so good to see it clearly stated, and to see him in action. It makes me hope he got Cody out too.

It also made me crave a show dedicated entirely to this fight. I once again understand and am okay with the TBB centering solely around the Batch. But it's hard not to be anxious knowing what all the other clones are facing. Which makes me understand Echo even more.

Echo's decision. I knew it would come to a boiling point, trusted it would. I'd hoped that Echo would convince Hunter + co to care, but they have their own priorities. I love Echo more bc he decided he couldn't walk away.

He said that his place was with the Batch, and I like to think that he found some kind of home with them. But unlike the rest of them, he sees the rest of the clones as his brothers too. I hope this isn't the last we see of him, but I know he is loved and respected with Rex.

These episodes were a wealth of nostalgic locations, and seeing each one caused such a beautiful ache. I love all the lush new planets explored in the other episodes, but Coruscant felt like coming home.

The specific locations: 79s, the Senate building, Riyo's room that looks so much liked Padmé's, the Martez sisters' place, the clone memorial, the lower levels, even the star destroyer, the stunning of the troops specifically evoking S7's finale. Everything the same but different.

We didn't get to see all of these places with the new graphics, bc TCW S7 only had 4 arcs and TBB S1 covered a lot of newer locations. But gosh what a treat. It was all so beautiful, both aesthetically and metaphorically. Defs need to rewatch so many times to truly appreciate.

Rampart's fall surprised me, bc I did feel he's the lone Big Bad of the show so far, the true embodiment of anti-clone. He's done a lot of unforgivable things and having Palps lock him up isn't satisfying, even if it was surprising. I unfortunately doubt that's the last we've seen of him, though who knows. I admittedly don't care too much either way, but if he's gone, it'll be interesting to see who steps into the next "main antag" shoes, bc I doubt it's Palps himself.

IAN MCDIARMID.

TRULY THE KING.

(or should I say, Emperor)

RIYO.

I'm so glad to see her again

(also, apparently I've been saying her first name wrong all this time??? Am I the only one who's been saying Ree-yo when it apparently shoulda been Rai-yo?)

Rex had his tiddies uncovered the whole time and I was so concerned he'd get shot. i mean he's the only chara guaranteed to live, and I'm also glad he's got a better disguise, but dear please wear some protection

(but yeah ngl it's nice that we got to see him armorless with the beefier new model. I am still remembering TCW Saleucami and thinking my gosh this man is a STICK he is STARVED they ALL ARE. I am always for adding more beef to clones.)

Really curious where they're going with the chips brainwashing the clones. Both Rex and Wrecker appeared conscious of the whole time they were under, trying and unable to stop and remembering it afterwards.

Yet other clones seem to be gradually "waking up," even though many of them likely should have been equally horrified at the moment O66 went live. Rex and the Batch aren't exceptions being Good Guys, the vast majority of the clones are extremely loyal and honorable.

Makes me wonder if after an extended time under the chip's control, that feeling of wrongness/fighting against it fades, until it seems the new ordinary? But then the more time passes, the Order weakens, and they're able to feel more discrepancies, hence the desertions?

The clone assassin definitely seemed super "under" an Order, extremely Off and not himself, like what I'd imagine a freshly O66 clone to be like. Which makes me further curious that Rampart had him (and presumably more like him) under his control. We'll have to see!

But yeah, to conclude: Cody didn't die! (didn't show up!) Named clones I cared about too much in the few minutes we had them DID die and I am still sad but, it could have been worse.

Also huh, not even a glimpse of Crosshair? (feeling a wee bit bad for his fans, that out of the first 8 eps, he's only in one of them...hopefully the next one will be about him ^ ^; )