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crepezinhos · 7 months ago

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Sucumb to the Sin

POV: You and Sunday are currently trying for a baby, but as you two do it, the task turns out to be harder than Sunday thought it would be, so he decided to listen to his sinful friend’s advice to try achieving it… and he fell in love with it. Art Credits

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a fluffy NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— AU is: Modern

— Virgin!Catholic!Sunday x Virgin!Catholic!Reader

You swallowed.

Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare…

You repeated to yourself in your head over and over while staring at the blank white roof above you.

But the way you could hear noises of silver tingling and clanking, then noises of a zipper being pulled downwards, made your heart accelerate its pumps with anxiety and unease.

I swallowed.

Don’t stare too much, don’t stare too much…

I repeated to myself in my head over and over while trying my best to not succumb to the temptation while staring down at her… breasts.

But the way they moved up and down according to her slow breathing made butterflies kick my stomach, whether I wanted to feel them or not.

“Are you… Are you ready, my love?” You heard his voice speak calm and low above you, his body slowly leaning down so he could make better eye contact with you.

“I…” You stared back at him out of respect, although it was a very hard quest. “I am.” You nodded your head, confirming your consent.

One of Sunday’s hand moved down and gently stroked his own length, very cautiously positioning it between your folds, right outside your hole. Sunday couldn’t help but sigh very hard in anticipation, feeling your wet flesh almost making him slip inside.

A little hic of anticipation escaped your lips when you felt his tip touch you, knowing it was probably going to be a little painful to lose your virginity. You pressed the pillow under your head a little harder, trying to get ready for it.

“Don’t worry… I’ll be gentle.” Sunday whispered, and his hips finally started hooking forward as soon as he saw you nod again.

You really tried keeping your hands in the pillow as his length begun stretching your insides, but you just couldn’t. They savagely reached up to Sunday’s shoulders midway and your nails begun crawling on them.

“AaaAHhh!!” You screamed in pleasure and slight pain, causing Sunday to pause almost immediately.

He somehow managed to hold a grunt of pain down his throat due to your nails.

God almighty.

Why the heck does this feel so weird but… so good?

No matter if Y/N is hurting my shoulders, my body feels like it’s begging to keep—

…

… No. I shouldn’t be thinking about this or… desiring this.

This is really one of the most dangerous sins, isn’t it..?

I quickly shook my head away from these thoughts and focused my eyes back to Y/N.

“Are you ok?” His voice was very sweet, trying to comfort you the most he could.

“S-Sorry…” Your wings instinctively moved forward and covered a bit of your eyes from him. “You can… keep moving…” Sunday nodded as soon he heard your weepy voice giving him consent.

He unpaused his initial thrust, the skin of his hips finally slapping against yours after a few seconds pushing in.

“Ah…” He couldn’t help but groan out of the pleasure he felt and relief of finally being able to drop his elbows to the bed and relax his arm muscles.

As the Bible says…

“Halovians ought to cover their eyes during the act with their cranial wings.”

So that’s exactly what I did next, finally respecting Y/N’s privacy and the Bible’s prophecy.

“You can move…” You consented again, lowering your hands to his wrists, trying to find better comfort, while your cranial wings repeated Sunday’s actions.

Here it comes…

The moment Catholics most fear throughout their lives trying to obey God’s checklist for Heaven.

Resisting the temptation of carnal activities.

But… it is unfortunately the easiest way you and Sunday could afford to breed a child.

You remembered your friends, who were definitely not a member of your religion, describing in a few conversations how it’s not easy for women to reach what you need to ‘complete’ this session of carnality…

An ‘orgasm’.

It made you wonder multiple questions. Why is sex a way to procreate? Is it a test from God? Were your friends being realistic about their claims? Were you and Sunday going to have to stay in such awkward situation for a long time?

It didn’t matter. Sunday begun to move.

He slowly started pulling out and pushing in again, trying to treat you and your virgin body like a wet pot of porcelain.

Although you knew agreed with Sunday being gentle at first, so he wouldn’t hurt you, you found it weird how he didn’t seem to be trying to increase stimulus. He kept slapping his hips against yours as slow as a snail and at a disappointing strength that barely made you even feel his length around your gummy walls.

You deeply love Sunday with every corner of your heart, but… does he know how to do this..? How to take lead on this..? Because… you don’t think either of you would ever achieve an orgasm at such an embarrassing pace like this.

Am I… doing this right?

This is how you do it, isn’t it?

Then why is she not making a single noise rather than a few of grunts that sound uncomfortable..? This awkward silence is killing me but there can’t be a better way than this.

Any other way to do this is merely lust. Lust is a sin.

Remember to not succumb, Sunday Oak.

To make your embarrassment worse, you realized just how it felt bizarre to have Sunday’s naked hips touching yours and feeling his dick reach such intimate depths of you, especially whenever his testicles tickled your skin every time he went down too.

Testicles are a… funny organ… to say the least.

Oh, my God, you were actually sharing your nudity to him.

“How do you feel..?” You heard Sunday’s voice above, sounding a little hoarse due to the effort he was doing to thrust you.

“Ok…” You awkwardly answered the most honest opinion you could give him without offending him, attempting to cover your face even more due to an instinctual fear of him possibly looking at your nudity.

‘Ok’? That doesn’t sound good.

But I… I can’t do nothing greater than this, can I?

This is probably everything that the Bible allows me to do for this kind of process…

Still, even if your answer was an obvious ‘yellow flag’, for the next minutes, you just kept yourself laid down under him like that while he kept thrusting your insides in that same boring formula.

Slow pace, weak thrusts, slow pace, weak thrusts, slow pace, weak thrusts…

Was it even doing something to his body? Because yours felt as normal as ever, and even… empty.

Is this even doing something to her body? Because mine feels as normal as ever, and even… empty.

God, what an embarrassing situation.

All you two have to do is to make Sunday ejaculate inside you, yet it doesn’t look like you two are even trying to reach it. It actually looks like that you two are torturing yourselves.

The weak soggy noises coming from his thrusts filling the room accentuated the awkward silence even more, and neither of you could help eachother. You’re both not allowed to moan due in this process according to the Bible, especially you, a woman.

You and all women, who heir Eve’s sins, that could only possibly be purged with procreation, are a danger to men, and you’ve always done your best to not make your dear husband get close to make a sin.

If you sin, Sunday can fix it for you.

But if he sins, it’s over for the both of you.

And you love him too much to make a mistake that would lead him to go to hell.

I gently spread my wings away from each other, finally giving me the answer I was looking for.

Her face seems relaxed too, with only a few exceptions whenever she decided to let out a grunt. She was doing such a good job at keeping her moans jailed inside her body, but this body of hers is—

Stop it, Sunday! You’re not supposed to be looking!

But… does that mean I also can’t… do other things to her..? As long as I’m not looking, could I…

What was it again..?

“Ratio, I need to ask you something…” Aventurine banged his cup at the table as he called Veritas’s attention.

“What?” Ratio made sure to also place his cup down at the table out of reciprocation with his friend.

“Have you ever made a woman cum yet?” Such a lewd question made Sunday’s eyes widen in shock immediately, but Ratio remained unmoved by its lewdness, letting out a chuckle while taking another quick sip of alcohol. “I mean, you’ve slept with a lot of women yet, haven’t you? You’ve surely—” Aventurine felt pressured to contextualize his question.

“One of the easiest equations I’ve ever done.” He responded, taking an extra, unnecessary sip from his drink as a prize for his achievement.

Babysitting drunk Aventurine alone was hard enough, but accompanied by another drunk-head was definitely a challenge for such a pure guy like Sunday.

“How do you do it? Topaz kept complaining about it to me last time we did it and I promised I would make her orgasm next time!” Aventurine threaded his fingers in his hair in stress while venting.

“I’ll pray for the both of you tonight.” Sunday commented, trying his best to focus singularly on the book he was reading rather than the God-offending ambient around him, but he wanted to be there for his friends if they needed him.

“The clit.” Ratio initiated, but Aventurine seemed to be a little lost in the matter. Sunday couldn’t deny his own confusion and curiosity too. “The little bulge above their vaginas. That’s the clit.” Aventurine finally seemed to understand his words and nodded in excitement like an obedient dog.

“Yeah? What about it?” He sounded like an excited kid.

“Mess with that while you fuck her g-spot. Fingers, mouth, whatever. It makes women go crazy.”

Do I… really need to do that?

Dang it…

You felt the left side of the sheets become lighter, meaning that Sunday had taken of his left hand away from there.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name very lightly. “Do you mind if I… touch you?” Sunday’s wings were flapping due to the enormous embarrassment.

“W-… What..?” You found that question really random and… sinful.

“I don’t think this is taking us anywhere, so…” He paused his hips. “I want to try… making this… feel a little bit better.” As soon as you heard those malicious words come out of his mouth, your wings spread wide away from each other too, meeting him staring at you.

And you took it as an offense.

For how long he has been staring at you?!

“S-Sunday, that would be a sin!” You immediately moved both your hands down to your boobs and covered them.

“But, Y/N, how else are we gonna going to make this work?! We’ve been like this for the past 5 minutes now, which should’ve been enough to make at least one of us close to an orgasm according to the Priest!” Sunday decided to pull his length out of you, getting turned off by your immediate discomfort, rolling his body until he was sat in the edge of the bed.

You sat up too, but not moving close to him.

“I feel horrible about doing it too, Y/N, but an in-vitro fertilization costs almost 5,000 dollars.” Sunday threaded his fingers on the hair that was resting in his forehead, as if he had some sort of headache. “It would still need me to commit a sin to get my sperm anyway… both are pointless.” His voice sounded more defeated and stressed out, which made your heart melt in worry and regret of being so rudd.

You decided to redeem yourself and crawled closer to him, careless about the fact that both of you could clearly see each other’s genitals now.

“Oh, Sunday…” You hugged him by the neck sideways, your breasts rubbing against his arms with no bad intentions. “I don’t know… I believe my advice would be useless and dangerous to you.” Sunday looked at you likr you had offended him rather than yourself.

“Don’t say that, Y/N.” He turned his chest to you. “I fell in love with you and married you for a reason. I don’t think you’d ever make me do a bad choice.” His face leaned closer to yours, gently smooching your lips.

“Sunday…” Your hands moved up to his cheeks, wanting to hold his face that close to yours.

“I’ll take all responsibility for this decision.” Sunday’s hands reached down to your hips and started threading your bodies together again. “I won’t… touch you too much, I promise. It’ll be very little. Just until we reach an orgasm, ok?” He reassured you once again and paused for a beat to organize his thoughts. “I mean… we’re just… trying to make the most sacred thing in the world… a baby, aren’t we?” Sunday started to gently push the both of you down to the sheets again.

The way he whispered about your objective made you feel a little sparked again and your wings instinctively reached for your eyes again.

“No, no… Don’t do that.” You could feel Sunday’s breath itching your nose as he positioned between your legs again, and you felt obligated open your wings again, meeting his eyes dark with anticipation as he admired you from such an intimate proximity. “Let’s do this together. Eyes open.” You felt hands move up to thread with yours, perfectly pining you against the bed.

“Are you sure, my love..?” No matter your worry for his decision, you still complied to him and hugged his hips with your legs, preparing for his entrance.

“Yes, my dear.” He very gently reached his lips to smooch yours another time.

But you couldn’t help but reach your wings to his head, trying to make that quick smooch become a kiss, one of that quickly became deep, warm and intimate. As you two spent some seconds savoring each other’s tongues and dancing them around as a pure demonstration of love and care, you started to feel his length beginning to make way inside you again, accompanied by his wings embracing your head underneath your wings too.

Sunday grunted in your throat at how your gummy insides were already more aroused and welcoming than before.

Perhaps my comforting words made her feel better?

I should… remember that.

While you were distracted by his dick feeling thicker and longer inside you, a hand of his climbed down to where you two were fully connected, and a sudden feeling of his index touching your raw flesh made your legs shiver in pleasure.

“Is this it..? Your clit..?” Sunday asked when he found a little bulge right on top of your hole, fully dependent on his touch to tell what’s your clit or not since he didn’t want to take his eyes off yours.

“Y-Yes!” You moaned as Sunday started touching it with more fingers and delicacy.

He had no idea what Dr. Ratio meant with ‘mess with it’ that day… he assumes that he should just… rub it around with his thumb while his passionate thrusts melted you.

“Aaahhh! Sunday!” You couldn’t help but scream and squirm with the amount of pleasure he was serving you now compared to before.

Your pussy instinctively tightened around his length, which made Sunday uncontrollably let out a louder, sinful moan. He wasn’t expecting such a dramatic reaction coming out of you with so little effort, but he couldn’t deny it that he definitely didn’t hate it.

“And this... this is your g-spot..?” He paused for a moment just to grinf against that sensible spot of yorus that made you quiver immediately.

“Ah, yes! Right there, right there!” You hated how your human instincts were making you act that out of your mind, making you beg like an unholy prostitue for him to continue fucking that spot of your walls, but Sunday was equivalently responding to you, nodding at your answer like an obedient nasty dog.

And havng nothing else to do and see rather than your teary eyes and sweaty hair, Sunday decided to reach his mouth down to yours again, sealing your wet lips shut in a serious kiss.

Fuck.

This is good.

This is really damn good.

Oh, God, forgive me… this is really hard to resist.

You felt Sunday’s knees climbing upward, forcing your hips and legs follow his due to your connection, now in an angle where your genital was barely facing the entire roof.

And finally, Sunday started quickening his pace with the help of gravity making his thrusts deeper and harsher against your g-spot. No matter if your mouth was being devored by him, you couldn’t hold back all the petty moans andn screas that needed to come out, and Sunday didn’t dare making you stop emitting them.

“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” You hated to part away frm his lips to make such slutty noises, but the position simply favored your pleasure way too much for you to ignore it.

You thought it was very mean of him to keep rolling your clit with his thumb even if you were already stimulated enough.

And Sunday took it as a compliment, a living proof that he was doing way better this time. The addicting way your warm, soggy walls were embracing his cock so passionately and your moans echoed in his ears were definitely stimulating him into insanity.

This can’t be that sinful, right?

I’m just making love to my wife and myself so we can have a baby. We’re just… pleasuring each other with the biggest level of intimacy a couple could ever have, aren’t we? It’s love. And this might be my purest demonstrtion of love because I’ve never felt this good pleasing my wife.

And, God, I promise you… I’ll never do this out of lust…

Your hands felt bored being so oppressed against the sheets and finally crawled away from his grip, reaching his back instead and hugging him closer to you. You decided to repeat the same movements with your legs too, somehow trying to make him reach even deeper corners of your walls.

Sunday decided to crumble his only hand that was keeping him in that position, making his chest fully attach to yours, the fluffy dough of your breasts making him let a deep, long grunt again.

“Huuummm… Ah! Aaah!” You were surprised at how Sunday’s tough character broke voice, beginning to repeatfly moan in an erotic, broken tone.

Oh, God… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!

You decided to be a little dominant this time and you were the one to take Sunday’s lips, making him shamelessly whimper inside your mouth.

You were whimpering with him too while his precise thrusts perfectly punched your g-spot over and over. If only you could roll your head backwards and see stars on your own to not let the pleasure overhwlem you, but it was perfectly pleasing to be threaded Sunday like this.

Nothing else mattered to the both of you anymore.

You were feeling every raw corner of each other.

“I love you, Y/N…” Sunday suddenly whimpered, a thick chord of saliva connecting both your tongues.

“Oh, Sunday, I love you too..!” Your hands couldn’t help but roll upwards and hook his hair with the tip of your fingers, carelessly hurting his sweaty, blue scalp.

“I can’t wait…” A tear fell down from his right eye, pausing to moan at the feeling of your pussy gushing his crotch. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you, my love.” His cheeks flushed as he thought of the scenario of your bloated belly or you breastfeeding a baby in your arms.

“I can’t wait for it either, Sunday..!” Your back arched and your legs spread further, trying to facilitate his sloppy thrusts inside you so you could reach your objective faster.

“I’m gonna… fill you up…” His eyes darkened with that overwhelming lust that he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Make sure that we’ll only need to do this once…” Sunday’s thrusts started building up into a more erratic pace. “Impregnate you in a single round…”

“Do it, Sunday! Do it! I’m feeling so good!” You tried your best to not say anything more obscene than that, but at the same time attempting to incite him into achieving his orgasm.

“Are you gonna… cum with me too..?” Sunday’s eyes widened, trying to get an answer out of you from your eyes.

“I think I am..!” Your hands clawed his head more violently, causing Sunday to groan.

“Fuck, honey, I’m sorry…” Both of Sunday’s hands suddenly slammed the sheets by your head and he rose his chest again, forcing your hands to fall down to the pillow again.

Sunday’s cranial wings were fully spread due to the stimulation, flapping and shivering while his eyes locked in your bouncing body.

“Sunday, you can’t—!” You tried turning your head to side and covering your eyes from the intoxicating view of Sunday’s upper body while your hands tried to make a barrier infront of his eyes.

“N-No..!” A hand of his quickly reached one of your hands. “Please… let’s look at each other for… stimulation.” His words slowly convinced you to turn your eyes to his again, but with a lot of embarrassment and resentment, and your hands held his wrists again just like at the first try.

Oh, God… how gut-wrenching was to see Sunday’s chest moving and up and down frenetically while ripping your virginity away, and that irresistible fucked-out face, hyperventilating to survive.

Sunday’s cock slowly started to feel thicker, as if your pussy was swelling around him even harder than before.

“Aaahhnnghh! Sunday, I’m close!” Sunday growled at the view of your body curling under him, giving him such a twisted, erotic view of you that made his cock twitch in the spot.

He had to swallow all the accumulated saliva pooling in his mouth so it wouldn’t drip down on you like a starved predator, although that wouldn’t be a bad alternative either.

“Let’s do it together, ok?” He tried his best to remain calm and sane for the sake of ‘purity’.

You nodded weakly and Sunday started pinching your clit rather than just rubbing it in loops, trying to tick that orgasm out of you. Your head rolled back once again, and Sunday took the opportunity to lean down and kiss you in multiple spots, starting from your collarbone to your neck and jaw as a way to comfort you through that building climax.

“It’s coming..!” He grunted with a lot of effort, his heart aching due to exhaustion it was going through.

And finally, with a final thrust of his, you started feeling a whole load of a hot liquid being spilled inside you mercilessly. No matter if Sunday had thrusted you the deepest he could, he still kept pushing his hips inside you while pulling your hips closer, trying all his best to make sure that you’d drink in every drop of him cum so he wouldn’t need to sin with you like that anymore.

Your whole body spasmed accompanied by a desperate scream, feeling your womb release all of your buildup with Sunday like a firework bring fired. You were absolutely surprised with that new feeling, not expecting such ecstasy to overtake your whole body so easily.

Sunday was also grunting in a high volume, but still sane enough to bite his inferior lip and hold most of it back.

Lord almighty..!

I never expected this to feel so—!

Argh!

Control yourself, Sunday!

Neither of you knew what to say. The more that sensation of orgasming dissolved, the more you two quietly stared at each other’s face, beginning to feel guilty immediately while still trying your best to not look down at the rest of his body.

You saw Sunday swallow hard again.

“We’re…” It still seemed like Sunday was too distracted by the view of your flushed face to continue speaking properly. “We’re done.” Even though his words claimed finality, his body didn’t dare move a single inch out of you.

“Yeah…” You were too distracted by his sweaty face too.

“Ok…” He awkwardly mumbled, and after some other seconds staring at you, he finally covered his eyes with his wings once again, and begun the process of pulling out.

You, as obedient as you’ve always been, decided to cover your eyes too, and let the moment finally be over.

As soon as you felt Sunday’s body moving away from you to get up, the first thing you did was immediately sit up and cover yourself with the sheets of the bed.

You had finally seen your husband, who you’ve known for over 5 years now, naked.

You could hear the sounds of the bedroom’s bathroom’s sink running water and noises that reminded you of someone washing their hands.

I have seen Y/N naked.

I have seen her breasts.

I have seen her vagina.

I have seen Y/N naked.

You couldn’t help but pout in your mind about the fact that you technically didn’t actually see Sunday’s penis.

It wouldn’t be that bad if you peeked at it when he came back, right?

Ok, Sunday, breathe in… breathe out…

You’ve exhausted her and yourself.

Is she even ok..?!

“Y/N.” You heard his voice back to his normal tone again.

“Yes..?!” You were awaken from your perverted thoughts, slightly getting scared with his call.

“Are you… ok?” His voice sounded a little bit more low and embarrassed now as he’s asked that intimate question.

“Yes…” You were embarrassed too.

“Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea?” His body lingered against the wall that separated the bathroom and bedroom.

“I… sure.” Your mouth watered at the thought of drinking a good cup of tea, now realizing how your throat was dry.

“Ok.” You heard his steps slowly becoming more and more distant.

After a few minutes of silence in the room, and many noises of things moving in the kitchen, he came back to the bedroom, still naked, with half his face censored by his wings.

“Sorry, I…” You finally realized Sunday was carrying an entire tray of appetizers and that he was walking towards you too. “I was a little thirsty too.”

“It’s ok! Thank you for… bringing more than just tea.” You gently placed your hands on the edges of the tray, trying to replace his grip with yours, but that caused him to twitch, rumbling many of the glasses in the tray.

Luckily, none of the cups had fallen, but you had to hold one to make sure it wasn’t going to fall.

“I-I’m sorry!” He quickly let go of the tray as soon you were officially carrying it.

You giggled in response.

“It’s ok, Sunday…” You quickly placed it down at your lap and started exploring the menu of sweets while your back relaxed at the fluffiness of the pillow.

Be a man, Sunday!

It’s just your wife!

Your… naked wife.

…

Oh, God, why did I remember that?

“I brought your favorites…” You saw his wings tightening around his head, practically blinding him entirely, finally giving you a chance to…

…

Oh,

God.

How did that fit inside you..?!?!

He’s gigantic and he’s not even hard anymore!

You quickly censored your naughty eyes using your white feathers and tried focusing on the food.

“Thank you.” Your voice sounded more unstable now that you were a little embarrassed again. “You can… lay down. No need to keep watching me.” You tapped the sheets beside you, and Sunday immediately took the order.

He quickly walked to your side and sat down on it just like you, staring at the wall ahead of you two blankly.

Neother of you could help but remember.

The wet, slapping noises.

“I feel so good!”

“I love you, Y/N…”

“Do it, Sunday! Do it!”

“Impregnate you in a single round…”

Both your wings shivered remembering those moments and dramatizing them with your own little fantasies.

You, imagining this more dominant and confident Sunday, particularly trying to make you feel the most pleasure between you two.

And Sunday, imagining this more submissive and loving woman, smiling and enjoying every ounce of his dick inside you, praising him and embracing him.

While you enjoyed your lunch, he couldn’t help but become more and more nervous about the fact that he wasn’t doing anything at all. He was just sitting and staring at the wall after finally having sex for the first time in his life. How pathetic could that be?!

“It was good.” He suddenly blurted, making you turn your head to him immediately in shock.

Although you were munching the sweets he brought you, you were also doing nothing rather than stare at the wall, which was why you got so shocked at listening to his voice out of nowhere.

And you didn’t what to say.

A). Pretend like you didn’t hear so he’d feel more comfortable in stating that confession again.

B). Thank him.

Or…

C). Reciprocate.

And at the desperation of the moment…

“Thank you… Itfeltgoodformetoo.” You quickly rambled your confession to not overload yourself with embarrassment.

B and C.

Sunday couldn’t help but feel glad when he heard that, his wings flapping gently as a response. Yours were barely flapping too, but you were really trying to not let that happen, and was succeeding.

“May I have a piece of—” Sunday begun reaching his hand to your tray, and you immediately leaned it closer to him.

“Yes.” He was surprised at your instant reaction, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity given to him.

You and him shared food with each other while still staring at the wall to reflect over what tou two just did, now with the tray between you too. Your hands sometimes bumped at each other, which made the both of you flinch, but quickly, your hands finally couldn’t feel nothing on the plates with sweets rather than their glassy texture, nor would any liquid slide to your mouth whenever you placed the cup on top of your inferior lip.

Finally, the tray was carefully put on your nightstand, and you finally laid your whole body down, turning your body to the wall instead of Sunday.

He was a little concerned when he saw you neglecting him like that, his eyes stoned at your sleeping figure so hard you could feel his stare. When he laid down his whole body too, you didn’t feel him choosing a side, meaning he was probably staring at the roof at this moment.

Did I… take it too far..?

Was she lying about her liking it?

Is she scared about the fact that I’ve sinned and made her sin too?

Oh, God… I messed up, haven’t I?

After a few minutes of attempting to rest your brain, you finally felt Sunday moving in the bed.

And… you were feeling him move closer to you.

You felt something touch and embrace your hips from behind, making you immediately look backwards.

“Y/N…” Sunday’s sweet voice whispered in your ear, truly apologetic. “I’m sorry if I… scared you. We can go to church tomorrow as soon as possible to repent—” His embrace became a little tougher as he tried to compensate you.

“Scared..? I’m not scared…” You really didn’t understand what Sunday meant with that apology, cutting him off before he could get you even more confused.

“You… aren’t..?” You felt his head move upwards, trying to take a better look at your whole face, feeling warmer seeing how normal it seemed.

“I’m just… a little embarrassed.” You looked away from his mesmerizing face again.

“Oh…” Sunday’s wings almost closed his entire face again as he remembered the act you two just did, but after confessing that, you finally felt a little bit more… free.

You started worming in the bed, trying to turn around in a way that wouldn’t move too much of Sunday’s hand in your hip, and you finally managed to do it in a few seconds.

“I really hope I get pregnant…” Both yours and Sunday’s wings flapped with your words.

Is it ok to wish she doesn’t get pregnant?

…

Probably no…

But…

“Do you think it’s ok if we kiss each other right now? Despite being naked? Because I really want to kiss you right now.” Sunday’s cheeks darkened in red as he also confessed his affection, his wings indecisive rather they flapped away or in direction of his face.

“I… I think it is…” You immediately started leaning your head closer to Sunday’s.

And it didn’t take him a second to reach your lips.

Nor did it take him another second to use his arms to embrace the back of your chest. Arms, hands and fingers, all clinging into you while you two shared a passionate kiss at 12 AM.

Taglist: @komelliko

(Not tagging anyone else because I don’t know how you guys feel about Honkai Star Rail posts)

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

#honkai star rail #sunday hsr #hsr #sunday #sunday smut #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #hsr sunday #hsr smut

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ssa-dado · 4 months ago

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Burgandy Swim Cap

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: meet-a-cute but you're mainly just ogling at Hotch as he swims in a speedo. Summary: You know those encounters that last, like, five seconds where literally nothing happens but still manage to blossom into a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. Partly because you're chronically single. Partly because you’re starved for attention. Mostly because you saw him in a speedo. A tight speedo. A tight, half-metallic speedo. A tight, half-metallic, very low-waisted speedo. So really, it’s not a crush, it’s cause and effect. Also… he’s a dad. Too. Warnings: objectification of the Hotchner body (called out twice for not having an ass, affectionately), implied age gap, sexual jokes and cuss words Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: I genuinely don’t know how to tag the reader... but she’s giving me fleabag energy… so, uhmmm, let’s roll with that. Huge thanks and smooches to @hotchology for developing and proofreading the snippets I dropped in your dms at 11 pm unprompted 🧎‍♀️

masterlist(s)

It’s not your fault you’re staring out the cafeteria window that just so happens to overlook the pool. You’re literally facing it. What else are you supposed to do - dislocate your neck inhumanly to look the other way?

That window was meant for people-watching.

Specifically, for anxious parents to spy on their kids mid-paddle without interrupting the lesson every time little Aiden coughs. It’s not your fault you’re childless and currently repurposing the feature to ogle burgundy-swim-cap guy in lane four.

You’re just… respecting the building’s original design intent.

You needed the distraction. Desperately.

Because beside you, your friend is once again delivering the extended director’s cut of that five-minute interaction with the guy she’s allegedly, absolutely, 100% over.

The conversation happened three months ago.

You know this.

Because she has broken it down line by line for three months.

Every pause. Every blink.

So maybe you are a bad friend. Possibly a terrible person. Because while she unpacks every microscopic detail of his “Oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your toe”, you’re mentally calculating burgundy-swim-cap guy’s exact height.

From twelve feet up. Through water. And glass.

And okay… maybe it’s not just the height.

Maybe it’s also the length of his... arms.

Arms.

His arms.

Long, sinuous things slicing through the water like art. Like poetry. Like that one ballet you pretended to enjoy but secretly napped through.

This is different. This is science. You’re just appreciating form. Physics. Hydrodynamics, anatomy, geometry… all the -ometrics.

You’re not objectifying. You’re observing. A selfless academic pursuit, really.

Especially when he glides under one, two, three lane dividers in a single breath, back muscles shifting and flexing with each kick.

And God… his back. You can’t stop staring at it.

Wide. Solid. Disproportionately large, especially considering the man has absolutely zero ass. None. Negative ass. Just ten uninterrupted feet of legs. Stunning.

But it’s the manners that do it.

Because the moment he reaches the ladder and sees the lady from lane one headed there too?

He pauses. Actually waits. Even though he got there first. Doesn’t try to squeeze past her or pretend he didn’t see - no, he stops.

Gives her space. Gestures her to go. Looks away, even.

Eyes politely drifting up the tiled wall, to the stands below you where the suburban invasion of moms has taken hold, to the bright flags swaying just behind the cafeteria window -

Until he lifts his head a little too high.

Fuck… did he just catch you mid-stare? You can’t tell. The goggles - those hideous, mirrored cheap goggles - reflect everything and nothing at once.

Maybe he sees you.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe your face is just a blurry little ghost in his periphery.

Either way, your entire body goes hot and rigid. You peel your eyes away - casually, discreetly, nod to your friend to pretend you’re still listening to her - but not entirely.

You still watch. You have to.

Because he’s about to rise from the pool. And you need to see it.

For research purposes.

For the sacred cause of scientific accuracy. You have to confirm if your earlier measurements were correct the moment he steps out of the water.

They weren’t.

Because he’s bigger. So much bigger.

You can’t tell exactly by how much, though, because the moment his biceps flex - thick and veiny - as he hauls himself up the ladder, your brain just… packs its bags and leaves.

Bye.

All higher function is instantly rerouted to the way the water clings to him - refuses to let go, even gravity is struggling to move on.

(Honestly? Fair. You wouldn’t want to let go either… you’re actually kind of jealous.)

Jealous of how those droplets trace his body - how most of them drip obediently, following the grooves of his muscles, but some linger. They pool in the thick mat of dark curls across his chest, clinging for dear life.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s covered in them.

A slick, glistening mess of wet hair clings to his pecs - dark curls matted down and glinting under the pool lights, looking so soft and stupidly biteable you could probably get arrested just for thinking about it.

Then the curls start to gather. Real organized.

Forming this tidy relatively thin line that runs straight down the center of his chest, gliding over the elegant suggestion of abs - not shredded, but sculpted. Classy, if that’s even possible.

The line of hair dips past his belly button and practically screams into your long-gone neural functions: lick here.

(And you would. With honor. For science. For the flag.)

Because then the trail spreads at his waistband, curling out along his obliques, a pair of sirens luring you to the main event: his very, very low-waisted speedo.

Duo-chrome. Black and something... metallic. Wicked.

The black half pretends to behave.

It lies to your face, “Look at me, look at me,” it says. “I’m discreet. I’m functional. I’m keeping things tasteful.”

But it’s a filthy little traitor. Because right next to it, the metallic side is doing everything but staying subtle. It wasn’t camouflaging a damn thing.

Topography: fully visible. The contour. The definition. The godforsaken outline.

Traceable. With a pencil.

Or your tongue.

Preferably your tongue.

Preferably slow. Possibly kneeling. Definitely grateful.

Because whatever anatomical miracle is happening beneath that lycra – truly might be the eighth wonder of the world built between two hipbones.

These are sickeningly good dick proportions.

Burgandy Swim Cap guy peels off the ugly goggles.

Be fucking damned. That is a hell of a face.

The suction rings frame his eyes - tender little indents where he clearly strapped those goggles too tight.

He’s a try-hard.

A confirmed overachiever - you can tell. It’s in the way he did those laps earlier - efficient, ruthless, mechanical - and in the speed too. Like every stroke was on a timer. Like there was something at stake.

Is burgundy-swim-cap guy training for something?

Maybe he’s a professional swimmer.

Maybe he’s training for a triathlon. The 2012 Olympics in London. A shot at some world record no one else cares about.

Maybe he’s an eldest son.

Maybe he’s got a dad who never said “I’m proud of you” without a follow-up critique.

Maybe he’s still trying to earn praise that never came.

Maybe it’s daddy issues - maybe it’s mommy issues. Issues… in general.

Maybe he’s spent his whole life needing to be exceptional just to feel enough.

Maybe he’s been through a heartbreak. A divorce. A loss.

Maybe he just has a lot of feelings and refuses to talk about any of them unless he’s actively swimming them to death.

Or maybe he’s just that guy - the kind who doesn’t do anything unless he can do it at 120%, even when no one’s watching. Especially when no one’s watching.

Maybe he holds himself to impossible standards because he doesn’t know how not to. Who swims like this because it’s the one place he can fail in private.

Who knows. Who cares.

He’s just a guy.

A man.

A stranger you’ve never even spoken to.

You don’t know his name, his voice, anything.

And yet, there’s something about him.

Something in the slope of his nose, in the way his flushed cheeks are still chasing the rhythm of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest. It’s not bodybuilder-big, not exaggerated - but it feels massive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him.

Because every breath he takes stretches that hairy chest just a little wider, a little broader, until the space around you feels like it’s shrinking, like there’s not enough air left in the room that isn’t his.

You’re fine. You are totally fine.

You’re also clenching your thighs for absolutely no reason. None.

Until - he removes the burgundy swim cap.

Now you do have a reason.

Because beneath it is this obscene head of raven-black hair.

Thick. Damp. Unruly.

Some of it’s clinging to his forehead, but the rest is sticking out in a thousand different directions like it doesn’t give a single shit about streamlining or aerodynamics.

He looks deliciously messy.

But he doesn’t let it stay.

No, he runs his hand through it almost immediately, slicking it back, a man who cannot stand the chaos of hair across his eyes, he can’t stand being out of place.

Control freak. Freak in general.

That tracks.

Still hot.

Hotter.

And still, he doesn’t play to the crowd.

He could - he should - scan the room, make eye contact, maybe throw in a wink or a casual flex. He could at least give a nod to the fact that half the people on this side of the glass are currently 1,461 words deep into mentally drafting smutty fiction with him as the main character.

But no.

He just looks down, slides into his pathetic little (from where you’re standing… sitting.) pool slippers, and rushes toward the changing rooms like he’s late to something.

A loser. An absolute loser.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re completely captivated - so much so that, when your friend finally finishes her emotional postmortem and disappears down the corridor toward the pool, you subtly change seats to get a better view of the hallway.

A strategic move, just in case burgundy-swim-cap guy decides he’s earned a post-swim coffee after all that aquatic foreplay you projected onto him from the safety of your horny little imagination.

Well. You’re getting coffee, at least. You deserve a reward. A hot, mildly burnt one.

You’ve been through a lot.

Except it’s possibly the worst line you’ve ever stood in because you had the genius idea to go for caffeine at the exact same time the children’s swim class ended.

Now you’re trapped - shoulder to shoulder with a damp, shrieking mob of underdeveloped humans all demanding hot dogs, pizza, cheeseburgers, and, from the look in one child’s eyes, possibly the cashier’s soul.

You’ve entered a purgatory of sticky fingers and pure indecision, where time slows and the line somehow clogs even more with every passing second.

It’s not their fault - children are absolute demons in Crocs. They don’t know what they want. They pause. They backtrack.

One child is negotiating for “just the cheese from the cheeseburger, but on a hot dog bun,” and you are watching, in real time, the unraveling of Western civilization.

…You hate that you respect the innovation.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You just really, really don’t want to miss Burgundy Swim Cap Guy if he happens to pass by - maybe in jeans, maybe (if there’s any justice left in the universe) grey sweatpants, or a hoodie two sizes too big.

Something casual. Unassuming.

Something that dares to cover everything you now know is under there - and somehow makes it worse.

Something that’s the reason your mouth is dry and you’re stuck in this line, mentally begging for something warm to wrap your lips around and feel vaguely hydrated again.

You’re trying to be patient. You’re trying not to hate the one kid crying because his juice is too red and his dad fumbling with his wallet.

You’re a monster. The worst kind of person.

These kids are innocent.

They’re not responsible for the slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they fantasy you’ve constructed entirely in your touch-starved brain - just to distract yourself from the fact that you haven’t been held in actual, human arms in months, your last situationship ended because they “forgot they weren’t single,” the closest thing you’ve had to intimacy this year was a barista remembering your name – once - and, okay, technically there was also that one time a man with a van asked if you “liked adventure,” but you don’t count that unless you're feeling especially pathe-

“That’ll be $2.50,” says the cashier.

Snaps you instantly back to the cruel reality where the only thing you're taking home tonight is a stupid plastic bracelet that’s already cutting into your wrist and the lingering scent of disinfectant.

(Good luck taking that away.)

You hand him a twenty.

He looks at you, deadpan, like he’s about to ask if your sad little wallet also holds the answer to the mental math problem he just did in half a second - the kind of calculation only a man with a degree in math or engineering could do, now tragically stuck working in a depressing public pool cafeteria.

Not even a cool street café. No latte art. No jazz music. Just chlorine and despair.

You give him a sheepish half-smile.

The twenty is all you had.

Okay - technically you had 50 cents too.

Maybe.

In loose change that’s probably fused with gum wrappers and lint at the bottom of your bag but explaining that feels like a one-way ticket to having a burnt cappuccino tossed in your face.

It’s 2011. Surely cafeterias still carry change.

…Apparently not.

“Card?” he asks.

You have exactly $1.78 on your card. You know this because you checked this morning, like the responsible adult you pretend to be.

This is bad.

This is humiliating.

This is the exact kind of character-building moment that turns into a core memory your brain will randomly replay at 3 a.m. for the next seven years.

The kids behind you are screaming. (Except one. One child is calmly and confidently negotiating a pizza-inside-a-burger situation with his father, who looks like he lost custody in the divorce and also in this conversation.)

And then there are the dads, too. You can feel them. Judging you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

Which is a shame, really. Because you love dads. You’re hopelessly, helplessly, filthily attracted to dads.

Hot dads? Daddy dads? Men with crow’s feet and deep voices who say things like “I’ll take care of it” and mean it? Slightly emotionally unavailable men with strong forearms, guilt complexes, and unresolved trauma they process exclusively through precision lawn edging and Sunday barbecue duty?

Inject that straight into your bloodstream.

You want them tired. You want them emotionally repressed. You want them to carry patio furniture like it weighs nothing and grunt when they sit down. You want to be a problem.

But these dads?

Their suburban dad disapproval is so potent it might as well be playing on loop over the intercom right between announcements for lost goggles and swim meet fundraisers.

These dads would ask about your five-year plan, nod thoughtfully, then ghost you via a LinkedIn message.

These dads are not for you.

These dads can go.

And so you panic. Sweat. Freeze. Until-

A hand.

A large hand.

Chubby-fingered, hairy, left-handed and wrapped in the crisp white cuff of a very expensive white shirt, peeking out from an even more expensive black suit jacket.

There’s a Rolex on his wrist. A real one.

That same hand, gentle and unbothered, slides a credit card (which looks comically small in those thick fingers, by the way) right into the reader, where $2.50 is already floating on the screen.

“I got it,” says a voice.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s deep. Unreasonably deep. The kind of voice that should be illegal before noon.

And soft, too, absurdly soft for how deep it is because the vibrations travel straight from your ear to your… there. There, there.

You turn. Slowly.

And there he is.

A man.

(Surprise!)

Not just a man – a Man. Capital M, bolded, underlined, possibly trademarked if your bank account could handle the licensing fee.

He’s in a suit. In a full suit. Black jacket. White shirt. Burgundy tie.

You blink… wait is that- no way.

It’s him.

It’s Burgundy Swim Cap Guy.

Now in Burgundy Tie.

He matched.

Goddamn it. What a loser. What a hot, meticulous loser.

Oh, Burgundy Swim Cap man.

Yeah, let’s get that correction in there. Man.

Because up close, in proper daylight and expensive tailoring, he’s clearly way older than he looked in the pool. Deliciously older kind of old.

… And here you thought he was your age. (You were wrong. Again.)

All the better.

You barely recognize him in this polished version of himself - drenched in a cologne that costs more than your monthly grocery budget and somehow isn’t obnoxious.

It’s that expensive.

It’s not that aquatic bullshit guys in finance wear.

No. It’s warm. Inviting. Woodsy. A little smoky.

Expensive in the way that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale until you black out while pretending you weren’t about to fall in love over his clavicle. (Yeah… too specific?)

And beneath it - just a trace - chlorine.

God help you.

You’re going to die here.

He even has a cowlick. A perfectly smoothed cowlick.

The kind that clearly took time, effort, wrist action, and probably a round brush.

He blow-dries.

He has a routine. A regimen. He has systems.

He’s probably terrifying in the morning. The kind of man who folds things. The kind who knows where his passport is right now.

Now, now.

But now he’s looking at you, brows thick, slightly furrowed.

Do you have something on your face? No. Can’t be.

No, you’ve just been staring at him like a feral raccoon. You still haven’t spoken.

…right.

“…Thank you,” you manage, barely audible - just as his phone starts ringing in his jacket pocket.

Drowned out by technology. Your gratitude swallowed by a default ringtone, who would have ever guessed.

He pulls the phone out, and just before he lifts it to his ear, you catch something - someone’s voice on the other end. A name? His? Yes they’re calling him it must’ve been his. Something clipped, ending in -chh or -shhh.

Josh?

Oh. Huh.

…Kind of disappointing.

You thought his name would be more... posh. Like something that comes with personalized cufflinks and generational trauma

….but Josh? That’s a guy who texts “you up?” at 11:48 PM from his blackberry pearl.

You hoped for more… syllables.

Whatever. What really surprises you is that Burgundy Swim Cap Man-slash-Josh-slash-Posh doesn’t say a word during the call. Not one.

He just holds the phone to his ear and stares - intensely - at a spot inside the glass food display. Not blinking. Not moving.

You’re genuinely concerned for the sandwich he’s glaring at. (It’s about five seconds away from bursting into flames.)

And you - you ache for that stare.

You want it on you. Burn it into your skin. You’d commit actual, punishable crimes for that kind of violent visual attention.

“Garcia, send me the files. We’ll brief the team as soon as I arrive,” he says - voice all business, clipped, calm, so authoritative it almost makes you bite your lip on reflex.

Then the phone disappears back into his pocket like it’s never existed, and without missing a beat: “An Americano, please.”

…Why doesn’t this surprise you? Could he be any more predictably boring? Go on, order a plain bagel and a side of unseasoned guilt while you’re at it.

But his eyes flick to the pastry shelf instead.

Brows furrow, slightly, sexily, offensively; he’s clearly doing some kind of emotional calculus about whether his swim earned him the moral right to a treat.

(He probably didn’t get many growing up.)

“And, uh… can I get the rainbow muffin to go?” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger toward the kids' menu.

You follow it (like an idiot).

And there it is. The muffin. Rainbow-sprinkled. Rainbow dough. Probably tastes like chemical vanilla. Pastel wrapper. Comes with a bubble blower, too.

A muffin. With a toy.

…This man.

You hate him. You want him. You’d marry him on sight.

He picks up the phone again. Dials. Calm. Efficient.

“Hey, can you pass me to Jack?” he says.

The frown - just a flicker ago, all sharp lines and no-nonsense jaw - melts. His face softens like he’s been flipped to a different setting and you actually flinch a little because how is that the same face?

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh. God, his voice. It goes soft. Stupidly soft.

“I’ve gotta be at work a little earlier today,” he murmurs, gently gripping the phone. “But I got you something… did you finish your homework?”

May you be absolutely, irreparably damned.

He’s a dad.

“Good job, buddy. I’m coming home soon, okay? Got you a surprise,” He glances down at the rainbow muffin. A little fond. A little sad, even. “Yes, you can do movie night with Aunt Jessica if I don’t manage to be there tonight…”

You wander how many other movie nights he missed.

“Yes, buddy,” he chuckles (you want to bite through drywall), “No, I didn’t forget the popcorn this time. You can have them with Aunt Jessica, she knows where they are… Yes, with salted caramel too. But don’t eat too much, alright?”

He pauses. Adds, with a soft little dad scold, “Make Aunt Jessica have some too this time. Save a few for Daddy, okay?”

Daddy.

Your knees give out.

No, not literally. You keep standing. But spiritually? Morally? Muscularly? You’ve dropped to the floor.

And then, casually, cruelly, he reaches for his coffee. With his ringless - yes, ringless - hand.

Not that you’re thinking about it. Not that you noticed. Not that you checked. Twice.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta go,” he says. His voice lowers again, not serious, just softer. Like he doesn’t want to hang up but he’s used to having to. “I’ll see you tonight. Be good, okay?” And then he smiles. To his phone. Like his whole face is a love letter.

Dimples. Of course. Of course this man has dimples. A loser dad with dimples.

“Love you too, bud”

And that’s it.

Phone call over.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But now you’re locked in that awkward limbo of mutual acknowledgment - the cursed micro-social contract that binds all humans in public spaces: you made eye contact, you must now exchange a minimum of one sentence to confirm shared reality.

He turns to you.

You are sweating. You are visibly short-circuiting.

No one is saying anything.

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have listened to his very personal call to his very personal son.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You shouldn’t have stared so hard you could recite the ingredients list on that muffin.

Fuck.

His shoulders look even broader in the suit.

Not just handsome - no, broad. Imposing.

Too bad the slacks are hiding his massi-

“The bubble blower’s for my kid,” he says, suddenly.

A preemptive strike. A full-grown man in what has to be his mid-40s, clarifying that he is not, in fact, personally invested in aquatic toy acquisition.

Funny, though - he didn’t feel the need to defend the rainbow pastry.

Interesting.

Bad for him.

“The muffin’s for the dad instead?” You nod toward the sad pastel pile in his hand.

(You’re a bit of a mean flirt - not because you’re heartless, but because it’s the only way you know how to hold on to a little power when someone makes your brain turn to mush.)

If you can’t stop yourself from falling for them, at least you can make sure they’re a little off-balance, too.

“If the dad’s lucky, he’ll probably get just a bite,” he replies, deadpan - like, completely expressionless except for the slight raise of his eyebrows at the end. You don’t even know where the voice came from. His mouth barely moved.

…Ventriloquism, probably.

Then he glances down at the linoleum floor. Smiles, almost shy.

“My son has a sweet tooth.”

Fucking hell.

This man is gushing about his kid to a total stranger in a pool cafeteria. No hesitation. No shame.

You are two seconds away from him flipping open his photo gallery and showing you twenty-five nearly identical pictures of a child covered in chocolate frosting, all while holding the phone in those massive hands.

God, his hands.

You really need to stop noticing them.

“Get a muffin for yourself too,” you say, tossing it out like a joke. Half-meaning it. Mostly-meaning it.

He chuckles, raises a hand, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

“Scared of food coloring?”

“No, no,” he laughs again. “Just…” He shrugs. Doesn’t finish. Leaves it there, hanging.

Is it because he doesn’t think he deserves a little treat?

Or because he’s afraid of getting that crisp, probably dry-clean-only shirt stained with rainbow frosting?

“How much is one rainbow muffin?” you ask the cashier.

(You two are best friends in your head now.)

He barely looks up. Dead inside. “One seventy.”

(This friendship might be one-sided.)

You blink.

$1.70 for frozen dough and a toy that doubles as a choking hazard… meanwhile, your cappuccino cost more than a gallon of gas.

Fucked up economy for real.

Then you glance at the cashier’s hands… he’s already typing it in.

Okay. Take it back.

That’s the real sign of late-stage capitalism: rainbow muffin doesn’t even require your consent to be rung up… but hey, at least you can afford it.

You’ve never been happier to be $1.70 poorer in your entire adult life.

You pull out your card.

He notices.

He pulls his, too.

Two cards. One slit. (Now this reminds you of your browser history from last night-)

“No, please, I got it,” he says - again.

Oh no, a damsel mustn’t pay for herself. (You hate him. You want to climb him like a tree.)

Watch her do it anyway. With confidence and $1.78 in her account.

You both arrive at the card reader at the exact same time.

Hands bump. Wrists brush. The tension is… stupid.

It’s awkward. It’s ridiculous. It’s… romantic?

Maybe.

Or maybe you’re just touch-starved.

Still-

You win.

Swipe clean. Transaction approved.

Victory, feminism, and low blood sugar all in one swipe.

“Enjoy the bubbles,” you say, smiling as you hand him the pastry and the overpriced soapy water.

He takes it, eyes flicking between you and the muffin, and for a second he gives you that look.

That slightly tired, slightly amused look men give right before they tell you you’ve done something reckless. Or charming. Or both.

He looks like he’s about to scold you. Fatherly. Disgustingly (hot).

He doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll cherish them.” (Who even uses ‘cherish’ in the 21st century?!) And then, at the very end of it, a smile. Small. Real.

He opens his mouth again, “I-”

A breath.

“I have to go.”

One last smile. Quick. Tight.

And he’s already turning. Already halfway to the exit.

You stare.

Helpless.

Unwell.

For a second, you hope this modern-day Cinderella in a suit might drop one of his wildly expensive Italian leather dress shoes so you’ll have something to hunt him down with across D.C.

Track him by scent and shoe size.

But no. The shoe stays on.

He probably triple-knots them like the terrifying overachiever he is.

He does stop, though - just for a second - to check the time on his very expensive Rolex.

Hot. Unforgivably hot.

This brief, chaotic muffin-flavored detour has probably set him back exactly one minute and twenty-one seconds, and you know he’s internally recalculating his entire schedule down to the microsecond.

And yes, the panic is subtle. But it’s there.

In the clench of his jaw. The twitch of his temple. That microscopic furrow in his brow that says: How dare I entertain myself with flirtatious nonsense when I have 7,000 emails to check by 5 P.M.

Incredible. You’ve rattled a man with a watch that costs more than your rent. You’ve won.

You are going to be insufferable about this when your friend finishes her class.

Forget “stepped on your toe” guy. That man is dead to the narrative.

This dad is going to be the main character of every single conversation you have for the next four months.

You will tell her everything. Every glance. Every gesture. The muffin. The bubble blower. The nonexistent ass. From the moment you first locked eyes with this burgundy-swim-cap man named-

“…Aaron,” the cashier mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“That’s his name,” he says flatly. “Aaron. He comes here a lot.”

The cashier really doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Aaron.

Wow.

Two syllables.

“FBI,” he even adds casually, like it’s no big deal, as he hands a slice of pizza tucked inside a cheeseburger to a damp-haired five-year-old.

So.

Aaron owns a pair of handcuffs.

Government-issued. Handcuffs.

That tracks.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #fleabag!reader

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xingumi · 4 months ago

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jasmine (megumi fushiguro x reader)

“you can’t, okay? not with him. not with anyone else. just me now.”

tags: sfw, fluff, crush confession, possessive megumi, jealous megumi, friends to lovers, itadori is also there, nobara is also there, megumi can’t be honest with himself

notes: first fic!! also posted on my ao3, my writing requests are open :3 i wrote this for my friend and maybe some1 else will like too... art by @pantarheio8

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megumi makes every effort to be a perfect gentleman. he holds your bags on shopping trips, picks up the lunch bill, and pulls his punches while sparring with you during training. his gestures are always perfectly measured, showing slight softness but keeping him at a safe, respectable distance. mostly because he didn’t like what it would mean for him if he let himself get any closer.

his self control was a fragile thing, fraying at the edges when you spared a glance for anyone else. there is a limit to how far his friendly courtesy goes; his greed speaks to him stronger than his restraint, whispering insidious little thoughts– should be mine…

he only recently came to the shameful realization of just how much he likes you. it didn’t happen all at once, it was slower. quieter, like a stray thread of his heart snagging and unraveling before he could stop it. he caught himself looking at you for a moment longer than necessary and he noticed the way his chest felt too tight when you smiled at him. it pained him how badly he wanted to monopolize your attention and how easily you monopolized his.

by the time he understood what it meant, it was already too late. megumi fushiguro had fallen in love with you. and somehow, that was the last thing he had ever wanted.

he cared too much about you to say something to you, to be freed from his silent yearning and to love you the way you were intended to be loved. he couldn’t throw away your friendship for feelings that he himself didn’t understand.

so he kept his hands in his pockets when he wanted to reach for yours. he looked away when you leaned in too close. he bit his tongue when the words hovering on the edge of his lips weren’t the ones a friend should say.

still, he hated the bitterness that came from being kept from his heart’s desire.

the proof is in the muscles in his face that twitch and flash a disapproving frown at the sight of itadori laxly throwing his arm around you. it bothered him how easily yuji touched you like it was nothing at all. it bothered him more that you seem to lean into the “friendly” gesture. he tries to explode itadori’s arm with his mind, unavailingly.

“on saturday, we can spend the whole day in tokyo, girls trip, no boys!” nobara exclaims like an eager grade schooler, linking her arm through yours and yanking you from itadori’s grasp. while thankful for that, a small wrinkle forms between megumi’s tightly knit brows. it doesn’t seem fair that she gets to lay claim to your time in a way that he couldn’t without blowing his cover. even nobara isn’t safe from megumi’s possessiveness. he sighs and turns a page in the book he’s pretending to read.

you free yourself from being sandwiched between your two friends, standing abruptly from the couch.

“i’d love to, bara, but i’m training with fushiguro that day.” you say apologetically, turning on your heels and planting yourself in the seat next to megumi.

hearing his name is bittersweet. he wishes you wouldn’t be so formal, but he loves hearing you say his name. in the quietest hours of the night, he imagines the sound of your voice ringing in his ear, calling his name over and over again.

“whaatt? is this true?” nobara demands, narrowing her eyes at megumi. her voice snaps him back to reality and he replies without looking up.

“she skipped last week. it’s only fair.” he remembers that you were markedly missing that day. your absence didn’t go unnoticed as you’d hoped it would.

nobara huffs, defeated. “oh yeah, AND we missed human earthworm 4 because you saw it last saturday with yuji!”

megumi’s whole body stiffens. the room feels a little smaller and his breath suddenly feels uncomfortable in his throat.

is that where she disappeared to? a whole day with him? why not anyone else? did they… were they just hanging out? why didn’t she tell me? i’ve known her for longer than he has, so why would it be him?

megumi is quiet for a long minute. his white knuckles grip the book in his hand that he’s been using as a prop. his eyebrows are stitched together closer than before and his lips have pressed themselves into a thin line.

i don’t even care! but… was it a date? does she like him or something? he definitely likes her, that piece of shit, he doesn’t know the first thing about her.

but she didn’t even think to ask me. i want her to hang out with me. am i too late?

he barely heard the rest of the conversation. his mind was stuck on the image forming in his head— itadori walking beside you, making you laugh, sitting too close in a dark theater.

if he tried anything, i’ll seriously kill him. he’s dead either way.

you notice megumi’s withdrawn posture and look at him inquisitively, craning your neck to gauge his body language. he’s quiet but not this quiet. he looks really, really pissed off. to you, it just looked like his book had just deeply offended him. you lean closer to him to get his attention. his eyes shoot up for a brief second to meet your concerned eyes. he feels like he’s been caught, like you can see right through him.

“‘s something wrong?” you ask, wanting to put a comforting hand on his knee. you stop yourself, not knowing how he would receive the touch.

“confusing chapter,” he lies, with more hardness in his voice than he intended.

–

megumi couldn’t think straight the rest of the day. he was filled with a tight uneasiness and a heart-sinking feeling simmering beneath his skin that was impossible to ignore. he was so distraught by the idea of someone else making you smile in a way that was supposed to be his to earn.

the day passed unwillingly. every conversation felt like static in his ears. the training session was a waste of movement, his focus was shot to hell. even the simplest things—walking through the halls, eating dinner, hearing your voice—felt grating. the more he thought about it, the worse it got. the worse he got.

the sky had deepened from azure to deep navy and the corridors quieted for the night. he was sick of his thoughts looping over themselves, tangled and knotting up. he figured that he’d done enough sulking for the day.

megumi found himself on his feet, walking through the hall in a posture and cadence that felt weird, even to him. he couldn’t stop his feet from dragging as he navigated his way to your room. the walk was too short for him to reconsider his reckless decision. he stares at your door blankly before tapping three hollow knocks on the wood.

“hello? it’s me,” he whispers, just loud enough to be heard through the wall. his voice is quivering already.

you’re reading your textbook when you hear his familiar voice cut the silence of the evening. startled, you slide out of bed to meet him at the door. he’s unexpectedly close to the door when you open it, making him shift back half a step.

“hi, megumi,” you smile and look up at him. his arms hung awkwardly at his sides and his hands clenched and unclenched, like he didn’t know what to do with them. the blue light from the window in the hallway hit his angular face in a way that carved shadows along his sharp features, making his eyes seem darker and stormier. he’s always been handsome, sure, but something’s different about him now. you feel strangely intimidated by the broadness of his shoulders and the severe look he’s giving you now.

he’s quiet for a second too long, also taking in how pretty you look out of uniform.

“may i come in?” megumi asks, his voice still low.

“of course,” you reply.

if he was nervous before, he was absolutely frantic walking into your room. his heart drummed against his ribs in a hurried rhythm, an anxious percussion echoing in his chest.

“make yourself at home,” you gesture with open palms to your room. megumi is too nervous to sit so he stands with his feet planted in the dead center of your room.

“i hope i’m not intruding, were you up to something before this?”

“not at all, you actually saved me from studying for history,” you laugh a little. his expression softens and his resolve is refreshed by the sound of your laughter. how could he let anyone else take this from him?

“okay, good…” megumi’s voice trails off. his breathing is heavier than usual. multiple beats of silence pass, too long and too heavy. it’s never usually awkward like this. you watch him, a bit lost as to why your crush of many months is standing in your room, stiff as a soldier at attention.

even now, when he’s uncharacteristically uneasy, there’s something magnetic about him. a long day has weathered his usual guarded demeanor, leaving him looking just a little undone—his hair messier than usual, and in his casual clothes, the sharp control he always carries himself with has softened at the edges. somehow, his unpolished silhouette makes him even more handsome. there’s something breathtaking about seeing him like this, as if, for once, you’re seeing what’s underneath all the restraint he usually wears like armor.

still, he couldn’t have come at this hour of the night to have small talk. you don’t speak, just tilting your head at him, sensing there’s something he wants to say by the way his lips are parted slightly.

he realizes then he has to get it out. he swallows hard, trying to draw enough moisture from his throat to speak. he exhales sharply through his nose, eyes flickering to the floor before dragging back up to meet yours.

then–

“i–,” his breath hitches. the words stick in his throat, thick and burning, because once they’re out, there’s no taking them back. he takes a labored breath before trying again. this time, his voice comes out in a rush like floodgates opening.

“i just have to say something. i can’t watch like everything’s okay, i can’t pretend like it doesn’t bother me because it does. it really, really does. it’s driving me insane, because it’s not just today, it’s every time i see you with someone else, every time i think about–” he sucks in a shaky breath before his words roll out heavy again.

“i like you, okay? i’ve always liked you. you don’t know what you do to me and i’ve never felt this way about anything.” he drags one hand through his hair and avoids your gaze.

“i’ve been waiting all this time– i don’t even know for what, but it was completely stupid because it feels like you’re slipping through my fingers and i’m too late and i just can’t–” he’s becoming completely undone in front of you, his voice swelling like an intense musical score. he shakes his head and struggles to become coherent. his voice comes out quieter when he speaks again.

“i just– i can’t lose you. i can’t stand the thought of it, please…” by the end of his desperate ramble, his eyes have darted to every corner of your room and he’s sweating. when the dust has settled, he’s breathless, almost panting.

“please, say something,” he’s pleading now, his voice even lower.

despite his request, you don’t say anything at all. you can’t find the words. your feet move by themselves, silently taking swift steps towards him and closing the distance between the two of you. you hook your arms under his, pulling yourself to his chest. you finally hear how hard his heart is beating now. your head rests underneath his chin as you firmly wrap your arms around him and breathe him in fully.

“you don’t have to worry about losing me.”

megumi doesn’t immediately register the warm pressure that’s lodged itself comfortably against him. suddenly, his knees feel weak and his shoulders slump, finally being relieved of the tension he’s been holding all day. at the same instant, the invisible barrier he’d built around himself shatters, crumbling beneath the weight of your warmth.

for a moment, he can’t move at all, but his instincts bring his arms to you, hesitant at first, then tighter, pulling you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. his hands grab at the fabric of your shirt, less chivalrously than he would’ve consciously decided.

“you really mean it?” he whispers hoarsely. you nod without pulling yourself away from him.

in this moonlit memory, beautiful and tender, you can’t help but laugh. stoic and aloof megumi fushiguro has become a nervous wreck in a way you could’ve never imagined. you found it both endearing and amusing how helplessly vulnerable he made himself be for you. amusing only because he had been so wracked with anxiety, thinking you didn’t feel the same way, and he couldn’t have been more wrong.

he feels the vibration of your failed attempt to hold your laughter and looks down, arms still around you. you meet his eyes, beaming ear to ear.

“this is about that thing with itadori, right?”

he throws his head to one side and gives a weak scowl, irritated at the mention of his name. you laugh again, taking his dramatic annoyance as an answer to your question. it also annoyed him how well you knew him; he was a completely open book to you. he shakes his head. “no, well yes, but no, not really,” he huffs.

“i’ll have to thank him for bringing this out of you then.”

“i think you’ve had enough time with him recently.” megumi retorts quickly, abruptly shutting that idea down.

you laugh again while soaking up the last seconds of his embrace before finally peeling yourself off him. you’re still connected at the waist when you meet his half lidded eyes, intently focused and glazed over with need.

“you can’t, okay? not with him. not with anyone else. just me now.” he whispers, suddenly serious.

he says it with such authority that you don’t question what he means. you give him one slow nod. you notice how painfully close your faces are. you feel his steady breath tickling your skin. his hand finds its way to your chin, tilting your head up and to one side. anticipation paints your face as you both inch closer—

#megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jujitsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #possessive megumi #jealous megumi #friends to lovers #sfw

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mmani-e · 1 year ago

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Hello! After all this effort, behold:

DANGANRONPA DEMIX, THH EDITION!

Dr Demix 2

Finally got the talentswap designs I have for the THH characters one and done with! You can click through the read more section for some fun design insights. I'm intending on uploading a doc containing short lore bits about them eventually.

Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Affluent Progeny

So Kyoko's design was both kinda simple, kinda not, wanted to give her a very fine and regal kinda attitude to her but not arrogant as that's very much Byakuya's thing. Her story is that she loves her dad more than the family business and her grandpa so she abandons detective work and just uses her brain to help her dad out.

Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Novelist

Makoto is a wonderful guy, just great all around. He loves writing children's books and happy stories. This is his main coping mechanism so he doesn't have to process any negative emotions he gets, the rest he can't process… well they go into a murderous psychopath alter.

Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Lucky Student

Shoujo protagonist Aoi. Cute, headstrong, affective, competitive, these are all the traits that make her fight for her friends and clash with Kyoko (and more often than not Byakuya) in the killing game, even when all hope seems lost… she pushes through, unafraid to let tears spill from her eyes for all those lost, but pushing all the same.

Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Detective

This one, I wanna go into more lore territory, cause I kinda memed around his last desc I gave him so here goes:

"A disgraced heir of the Togami household, Byakuya lost the competition that would've secured his riches. Disdainful and bitter, he sought out to get to the bottom of why he lost, uncovering a rabbit hole in the process. By the end, he proved his sibling a cheater, but it didn't matter because by the end as he found the sweet satisfaction of uncovering secrets and crushing liars and cheaters under the weight of their hubris far more satisfying than any inheritance."

Sayaka Maizono - Ultimate Spirit Medium

So Sayaka isn't a clairvoyant at all like Yasuhiro, in fact her entire skillset is completely different, first of all she is like an actual psychic, and I based her design off of the japanese Itako, quite loosely. Very interesting group, look it up, also she'll never use these powers in the killing game because I dunno how to even approach these rituals or what they look like or how to write them while remaining respectful, so she won't do it in a killing game for the express reason of her not having the right tools available and not wanting to disrespect her traditions.

Leon Kuwata - Ultimate Swimmer

I really wanna draw him again, all these characters again tbh, and I wanna show off the patterns on his wetsuit. It's a whole coral reef under there, that anemone and clownfish bit is only one part of a whole reef stretching his midline.

Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Programmer

Sakura has installed chips into her body to help optimize her body processes and also cause why not. As for the muscles, she's an Assembly programmer, the programs she's made can run on calculators she loves it.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Ultimate Martial Artist

Chihiro's design here with the two belts is an explicit nod to his preferred martial art - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, so unlike Sakura in canon who'd be easy to imagine cracking someone's skull in half with a chop, Chihiro's approach is more crawling onto someone and bringing them down to the floor with grappling like an angry halfling monk. As for the belts themselves, on his head is his final junior belt, while around his waist is his current belt, he's not a black belt yet because he's still too young for it.

Celestia Ludenberg - Ultimate Baseball Star

Celestia actually isn't a legend in this AU, Taeko is. Celestia hates that and wants to start a baseball career going international, whatever the hell that means is up to her own definition, but she wants to be remembered forever as Celestia, not Taeko. Also extra sentence, but this is the SINGLE hardest design I've ever had to deal with here, I think in the future I'll be drawing all her little accessories and I have an alt costume for her I have in mind.

Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Pop Star

So I changed Hifumi's story as I originally outlined in the OG post with him. He was friends with Aoi all his life, pretty much his only friend at all, and ever since he was little he had an obsession with writing songs, because he was obsessed with stuff like anime openings and was content to just keep the songs to himself. It wasn't till Aoi convinced him to share some of his songs that he started his journey to success, but bc he's not traditionally attractive, his first hits were literally just… his voice being played over other more attractive singers and it wasn't until very very recently that he even performed a song of his for the first time.

Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Fanfic Writer

So while Hifumi was clearly a Doujinshi but due to weird translation, ended up as fanfic creator, Touko is straight up a FF then Wattpad then AO3 girl, who would get obsessed with this really shitty, tripe manga that she didn't even like reading. It did however have super hot dudes in it, so she wrote good stories of those characters when she got frustrated with the actual authorial content - which was always.

Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Gambler

Quite LITERALLY the never stop gambling meme personified into a guy. He can lose 3 mil on slot machines but always comes out fine because it means if he keeps gambling he'll eventually run into his 1/3 and win giga millions, what he needs to pay off his debts. It isn't just with luck though either because his personality and lack of intelligence or understanding of most the rules of the games he plays means he'll never react the way he should when getting a good hand in poker or a bad draw in blackjack, so he wins those games almost always through just… stupidity.

Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Biker

She's number 16 in her gang, and is easily the most loyal enforcer and taskman of the gang. She does anything she's told, to a grim and disciplined degree not typical for hooligan bike gangers, she doesn't really desire a seat as top dog of the gang though, after all she's got school to worry about, and her sister.

Mondo Owada - Ultimate Warlord

So his relationship and Kiyotaka's is gonna be interesting, because I don't want him to be exactly like Mukuro at all, who was just sort of an all-obsessed Yandere. It's more like he's always chafing under Taka, who is less than friendly with him in this AU, really the main way he even lets Taka boss him around is because he pays incredibly well and helps keep his gang members from devolving back into the unstructured, chaotic criminal life, the same that took his brother years ago.

Oh and yeah, he still looks like Guile, as he should.

Sparkling Justice - Ultimate Killer Killer

Yeah it's a reference to Killer Killer, sue me I love the manga. He has Hajirahara's ahoge, and I thought it'd be cute to also give him a mask just like the other Makoto from a Kodaka game series (Raincode.) Also, while Genocide jack stuffs all her scissors in her skirt, Makoto keeps a truth gun with "truth bullets" as his main weapon, the gun he stores inside the big book in the chibi of just Makoto, and the bullets kept on his person as the red buttons all over his body, which he pulls out when he needs to reload.

"Kiyotaka Ishimaru" - Ultimate Fashionista

Unlike Mukuro and Junko, Mondo absolutely cannot hide the fact that he acts nothing like Kiyotaka, though this is surprisingly fine to everyone else, because unlike Junko who plastered herself onto literally everything, Mondo always obfuscated himself from the public spotlight, at most showing only his suits while he hid his face behind something conveniently placed. Which played primarily to his vision of an ultimate fashionista, who was above everyone and catered to the rich and powerful.

Junko Enoshima - Ultimate Moral Compass

This was a fun one, I decided to let her have her red hair because I believe it to be the "natural" look of her hair, while attaching little clips of dyed hair to her buns as a replacement to keep her shape sorta and keep the strawberry blonde somwehere on her. Understand that while she is the "moral compass" she is still pretty deranged, and the only reason she focuses so much on keeping everyone on their best behavior is because it's endlessly entertaining to her to make her fellow moral committee members upset when she blatantly makes a mockery of the rules while still keeping kids on their best behavior to make a point.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Ultimate Fashionista and Tyrant, the Iron Hand of Despair

Taka's design I wanted to sort of focus on this sort of, holier-than-thou idea, where I wanted to make him look a lot fancier and upper-class than Junko does in his standard highschool fit compared to him. I wanted him to have an upper-crust sort of look

If you're reading this after reading this all, thanks! You're a wonderful person :) Signing off...

Mani

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

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Kind And Gentle

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,100+

Synopsis: Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

Themes: Benn Beckman x reader, Friends to lovers, confessions of love, suggestive dialogue, massaging - reader receiving, pain, aching, yearning, small kiss, Shanks is a meanie, swearing, teasing, Beckman is a softie, Beckman is a gentleman, term of endearment "Darlin'" used - it's just what I associate him saying.

Notes: Pure self-indulgence fic, procrastinating while I should be going through my WIPs. My shoulder hurts, guys. Needed this to get out of my system and get through the pain. Art link.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @missbeckman @tiredemomama

Pain. White and hot, swelling and encumbering. This was what you were experiencing in the middle of your spine; just a little to the right side of your body.

The ache never eased, no matter what position you slept in, nor adjusting your posture throughout the day. It was unending, the torment which knit your muscles together and cemented them in place.

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, bracing yourself against the wooden hallway wall as you rotate your neck in a circle atop your shoulders slowly. Arching your back, you winced as the knot continued to integrate itself in a woven entanglement of painful muscle beneath your skin.

Biting back a whimper, you tried as you might to reach the cursed divot beneath your flesh, whining quietly as your fingertips barely brushed against the surface of the painful coil. The ache called to you, the burden causing a small tremor in your lips from the electric heat of the hidden wound.

Shaking your head, you huffed out a breath as you attempted to soldier on about your daily chores. Ignoring the tight ache beneath your skin with a deep grimace written on your lips, you finally gave into your pain and balanced your hands against the wooden beam atop the deck of the Red-Force.

The sea breeze hit your nose, relaxing you briefly before the pain eclipsed all your senses. Brain foggy with anguish, lips parted and panting, eyes frantic and wife: you could bear it no longer. You muted a cry, muffling it within your mouth while you tried to release the elastic coil in your back by twisting your torso.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you curse in a soft whisper, your brows rising in a pain-riddled peak in your forehead. You moaned out in a soft whimper, praying nobody could hear your weakness as you tried to reach for the spot a second time.

The band was bordering on excruciating, your mind contemplating whether or not to seek out Hongo for medical attention due to the intensity of the pain. Just as you began to turn on your way, two strong hands clapped over your shoulders: thumbs moving in rough circles against your skin.

“I got you, Darlin’,” the gruff voice Shanks’ first mate whispered in a calming rumble, “Just tell me when I'm gettin’ close to it.”

Benn Beckman. It was always Benn Beckman. Any time any of the crew needed anything, no task too small, no feat too great: Beckman was the champion you had all grown accustomed to rely on. Leaning back into his touch, you hung your neck low to grant him greater access

“Oh-... mmmf-... -‘kay,'' you whimpered, curving your back down to expose more of your spine to him, “It's not-... Hhah-... It's not normally this-...fucking, shit-... -this bad.” A small click of his tongue snapped at you in empathy as his thumbs brushed against the coil of pain.

Although your friendship with Beckman ran deep, you had never engaged with him physically before. You respected one another, adored one another, and were as close as two crewmates could be. Two sides of a coin, twin edges of a blade, the gunpowder and the spark that lit the fuse - this was how you were described by your red-headed captain.

But as his thumbs sought out your deepest pain, all your thoughts escaped you. There was nothing else, just: Beckman, his focus and his expert touch.

“Just a touch to the right-... ahh, Becks!” you cried out as his digits flicked over the painful swell beneath your flesh. Huffing out pants of breath, you sobbed in strained relief as he continued massaging your body.

“Oh, fuck. It's there, isn't it?” he whispered, the thumb of his right hand pressed firmly against the tight knot as his left hand braced you against the side-beam of the boat, “There it is, Darlin’. I found it. There's the spot.” You arched your back within his broad hands, your arms stiffening in firm pillars against the deck as he prodded the painful peak in your back.

“Oh, that's it! Right there, that's the spot,” you mewled out, crying and gasping for him as he untangled your muscles with his rough, practiced hands. Just as he pressed his strength further against you, you winced out a strangled, “Fuck, not so rough! Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!”

“Darlin’, this is me being kind and gentle,” he bullied his thumb into your skin, stapling you to the wall of the ship by his hips and holding you steady with his hand perched on your left shoulder, “You need a bit of rough treatment. Hold still, let me coax it out of you.”

“Becks,” you whispered out his name, lulling your head back on your shoulders as he continued to pry, paw and claw the knot apart with his right hand, “Becks it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” his gruff voice reassured you, the gentle hold of his left hand against your shoulder contradicted the right hand that bruised your muscles, “It'll all be over soon. I'm nearly there, I can feel your body moving it with me. Just hold on.”

His thumb pressed an intentional swipe up, directing the pain up your back and into the peaked corner of your shoulder. His brows knit low in deep concentration, prompting him to suck in an empathetic breath in anticipation.

“Ohh… You're gonna hate me,” he whispered in your ear, kicking your feet apart with his heavy boots before anchoring his pelvis against your glutes to hold you firmer against the ship's wooden railing, “You need an elbow.”

“No, no, no! Not an elbow!” you cried, just as his right elbow drew itself against your spongy flesh, “Becks! It's-... nnmfph-... too much! Ahh! Too much!”

Attempting to break from his grip, you shook yourself away from his hands, only for your body to immediately betray you. Bent over the railing, your back immediately became unraveled by a firm grip and a strong elbow to the point that ailed you.

“Oh hush, you need it,” he barked in a soft tone, eclipsing your concern with an intentional rotation of his elbow against your shoulder, “Be a good little thing and take it.” He was moving the vines of the entanglement away from the source point, breaking it down beneath his body and flushing it out with heavy swipes.

Benn Beckman was experiencing the toughest battle he had ever had the displeasure in engaging with. He was trying to tune out how good you sounded calling out his name in pants and whines, his own empathetic huffs and groans mixing harmoniously with yours as he gripped your flesh.

“Benn Beck-...fuck-... It's right there. Right there, Becks! Don't stop!” you whimpered, your voice high and your desperation showcased in the soft pants of your breath. The release of your entangled flesh was just within Beckman's grasp, prompting him to switch back to using his fingers to expel the pressure beneath your skin.

“I got you. There ya’ go,” he confirmed again, expanding the heel of his palm against the binding presence of the last of the entanglement, “Breathe through it with me, I'm not gonna stop ‘til you're done.”

“Oh, fuck Beckman,” your eyes glazed over, your lips parting and crying out in bliss as his skillful ministrations cast out the pressure in your shoulder as a priest would cleanse unholy ground to make their sanctuary.

“Th-That’s it. Oh m-my fuck-,” you whined back into his hands, “You're so good. Your hands feel so good.” As the last of the knot fled your shoulder, a warm chuckle rumbled from behind you. Beckman's laugh brought you comfort, his softness depicted in this small moment as he held you in his arms.

His firm hands turned soft, caressing your shoulders in tender, gentle touches. He molded both of your shoulders within his palms, your body becoming jelly beneath his rough and calloused hands. You moaned softly as he maneuvered your body in a perfect arch against his chest, the rumble of his chuckle reverberating within your back to vibrate within your chest.

“Better?” he whispered in the shell of your ear, easing his body back to enable you to escape his broad cage. Instead of breaking away from his body, you relaxed into his arms, sighing out a warm breath of contentment.

“Thank you, Becks. You're bloody amazing at that,” you praised him, feeling light and free of the bonds that confined you, “Why did you offer to help me with it?”

“There was something in your face that told me you needed it,” he shrugged, huffing a small chuckle out of his nose and leant down to rumble out a whisper in your ear, “Always wanna help you, Darlin’.”

“Oh Becks, I could kiss you,” you turned in his arms, gazing through half-hooded eyelids up at him, “Can I?”

He smirked down at you, a small pink due flushing his cheeks with a subtle dust, bobbing his head in a soft nod to grant you permission. As you circled your arms over his neck and began to draw him closer to your lips, a chorus of barked laughter and an uproar of cheers echoed along the hull of the ship. Clapping hands, whistles and hoots erupted from your crew now surrounding the two of you.

“Oh, Beckman,” your captain cackled at you, his right hand clapping over his heart, “In public, big guy? And you,” he pointed his index finger at you, his wolfy grin painted in a drawn-out taunting smirk, “You sly little fox. Gettin’ the big man to take you right on the deck?”

“What?” you questioned your captain in a warning tone, floating your eyes between the rest of the crew gathered on the deck beside him. Shanks’ playful twinkle fluttered beneath his weighty eyelashes.

“Be gentle with me, Becks,” he mocked in a needy moan not too dissimilar from your own, before hardening his features and deepening his voice in a grunted, “You need a bit of rough treatment,” he commented gruffly. The color drained from your face, eyes widening and lips parting once again in bashful horrification.

“Oh right there, Becks, don't stop,” Shanks continued his performance, a small warning began to rise within Beckman's throat in a rumbled growl. Breaking out of your embrace, he grimaced at the red-head in front of him.

“Enough, Cap’n,” Beckman snarled, reaching within his pocket and pulling out his lighter with his left hand, fishing out a cigarette to follow, “Got out a knot, s’all. You know how shit they are.” Beckman ignited the end, taking a lengthy drag and exhaling a puff away from your face.

“Really? That's all?” Shanks cried out a laugh, the crew echoing his unashamed and carefree joy at the notion, “I thought I saw some hips moving together, Becks. You were letting some of your own groans out too, mewling like a wh-.”

“-Or should I relay half of the bullshit you curse out when Hongo releases the knots in your own shoulder?” Beckman smirked, his eyes daring his captain to say another embarrassing quip. After a pregnant pause, silent tension only momentary before another uproar of laughter barked out amongst the Red-Hair pirates.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm done,” Shanks waved his hand in the air, shooting you a small wink before turning to face his crew, “What say we make port, huh? Resupply with some fresh drinks, a hot meal, some good company, and a comfortable sleep on dry land?”

“Aye, sir!” the crew echoed in unison, your own confirmation falling from your lips as you began maneuvering around the first-mate to resume your duties. Just as you passed Beckman's shoulder, a firm hand shot out and gripped your forearm to hold you in place.

“Beckman?” you asked, turning to meet his eyes. You floated your own between his, hovering your attention to fixate on him completely, “Everything alright, Sir?”

“Goin’ back to ‘Sir’ again, after all that,” he murmured, barely above comprehension. Your quizzical feeling never left you, still hovering between the lenses of his glassy orbs.

“How you feeling?” he asked as he pressed down the filter end of the cigarette beneath the pad of his thumb, placing the butt-end in the small drawer attached to the hull of the ship, “I get it all out, or the ache still hangin’ in there?”

Humming in thought, you rotated your right arm and felt the ghost of your prior pain simmer down and flee from your form. The small pinch only remained behind in memory, but the small remnants of the ache threatened to return.

“It's gone for now, I think,” you uttered with a small shrug, “It'll likely begin the slow journey back up my spine in a pinch.” Beckman hummed in thought, nodding along as he checked over your body for any changes.

After a small lull, you held your ground as the atmosphere once again fell into awkwardness. You shook your head to stifle your nerves, sucking in a breath to elevate your courage.

“Can I buy you a drink or two when we get to port?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground and hands laced behind you, “An expression of my gratitude for you helping me out?”

“You askin’ me out on a date?” Beckman disguised his growing smile by arching himself away from you, loosening the tie in his hair and beginning to restyle it.

“And if I am?” you ask, still avoiding his gaze by holding your eyes firmly against the floor, “What then?”

“What then, Darlin’,'' he smirked, his eyes softening as his hands found your hips, “Is that I'd accept.” He pulled you flush with him, prompting your eyes to widen and search his gray orbs in your shock, “I wouldn't mind spending an evening with you, havin’ drinks in a quiet corner for a change.”

“It would be a nice change,” you confessed, eyes again falling soft for the first mate. He leant his hips back on the wooden railing, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. His index finger lingered on your chin, holding your eyes against his.

“What was it for you? To have you finally make a move after all this time?” he asked, his eyes turning playful as he looked down at you through half-hooded eyes, “The hands or the elbow?”

“I think it was the words,” you confessed with a small laugh, “Not used to having the Great Benn Beckman whisper: ‘be a good little thing and take it.’ Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm being honest,” a small choked pause fell from Beckman's lips, your own question now posed to him.

“What made you accept a drink with me?” you searched his eyes quizzically, pursing your lips as you continued, “We've served together for so long, what made you consider it now?”

“Oh Darlin', I've always considered it. More than considered it,” he huffed out a chuckle, bringing your face closer to his with the curl of his index finger, “Just didn't know how much I wanted it ‘til you started sayin' my name like that.” He hovered his lips over yours, his breath still scented with the sour, smoky tang of his last cigarette as he beckoned you in.

“Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm bein' honest,” he parroted your words back at you before finally claiming your lips beneath his own in a chaste kiss. The attention he gave your lips was brief, ending contact almost as soon as they touched.

He pulled away from your lips, noticing your pout and slight agitation at the hastiness the kiss ended. Chuckling, he leant over your ear and confessed his intentions further.

“Cap’n’s watchin’,” he nodded over to where Shanks’ taunting eyes and winning smile wordlessly teased you both, “Don't wanna give him more ammunition to tease you with, Darlin'. No matter how much I really wanna kiss you.”

“I owe you more,” you hummed up at him with a soft smile, tucking the loose strand of hair away from his forehead and behind his ear, “Anything I can do to repay my growing debt to you? More than a couple drinks later, a little kiss, or taking care of your duties for you today?”

“Just the promise of your company later will do for now,” he chuckled, leaning into the heel of your palm with his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Aye, Sir,” you smirked at him, giving his cheek two gentle taps before returning back to duty with a newfound rejuvenation. Your limbs felt lighter, your body felt freer and your head felt less foggy with the prior pain you felt.

Shanks sauntered over towards his first-mate, smirking and kicking up his feet all along the way in a playful dance. Beckman shook his head, reaching for another cigarette and lit the end. Shanks leaned his head against Beck’s shoulders, uttering not a single word as he fluttered his eyelashes, wiggled his eyebrows and clicked his tongue at the broody, larger man.

“Don’t even start,” Beckman growled under his breath. Shanks smiled wider, jolting his right index finger into Beckman’s side as he hummed up a playful mock at him.

“But you finally made a move, big man,” Shanks chuckled, nudging him with his left shoulder, “How long’s it been now? Two, maybe three years of longing, yearning and lusting from afar, hm?”

“Four,” Beckman commented gruffly, inhaling a deep breath of smoke in his mouth and holding it still behind his lips, “And I remember saying: ‘don’t even start’.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going, I’m going,” Shanks held his right hand up in defence, an extra buzz in his step at the knowledge that Beckman and you had finally allowed a small crack in the door open to engage with one another this way. A small chuckle erupted in Shanks’ voice, his own amusement adamant over his features.

“Right there Becks, don’t stop,” Shanks’ voice whined again in a needy moan, before growling out a rumbled mock of, “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you’re done,” he laughed, turning back over his shoulder, “Honestly, Beckman. Show a bit of composure, man.”

Beckman’s blush scorched scarlet on his features, prompting him to thrust the butt of his cigarette into the drawer and begin to charge at his Captain. Shanks shrieked out a giddy cry of amusement at his first-mate.

“Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” Shanks laughed, turning tail and began running away in glee from successfully taunting his first mate. The barrelling boot heels of the first mate almost managed to catch up to the Captain immediately, but Shanks continued successfully darting away from Beckman’s disciplinary grasp.

#one piece #x reader #benn beckman #benn beckman x reader #beckman x reader #red-hair pirates #beckman #op benn beckman #op benn beckman x reader #red hair shanks

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elexuscal · 1 day ago

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Just read the new Murderbot Diaries short-story rapport, and it was delightful, and overall I'm just so pleased that many of my own headcanons about how meeting Murderbot impacting ART were proven true.

Cuz we knew that ART had an impact of Murderbot. The first friend it met as a free agent. Someone who helped it without needing to. An AI that was able to follow its own agenda. Someone it could watch TV with. etc.

But reading between the lines of Network Effect and System Collapse, it seemed that the vice versa might've been even larger. That ART had crew members it respected and valued, maybe even loved, but nobody like itself. That it's kind of constantly has to tune itself down for humans-- too fast, too sharp, too scary-- and MB was someone who was willing to snap back. That MB, containing aspects of both human and machine intelligence, was able to act as a bit of a Rosetta Stone.

ART was suddenly able to feel, viscerally, what trauma was. A whole bunch of other emotions too, presumably; but first and most intensely, the every-muscle-contract, alarm-sirens-in-your-head, oh-god-i'm-gonna-die, imsorryimsorryimsorrydontlookatme of sheer bone-deep trauma.

and it came back from that trip changed.

#murderbot diaries #murderbot spoilers #thinking about that line Matteo i think had #about how ART never jokes #doesn't have a sense of humour #whereas ART is in fact very funny i'd say #so #was it just that ART's humour was so dry that Matteo never recognised it #or more likely #the sense of humour developed post-Murderbot

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the-midnight-blooms · 1 year ago

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ALL I WANNA DO | jyh

pairing: scholar!jeong yunho x wife!reader AU: arranged marriage, historical au (Joseon dynasty) word count: 11.4k warnings: heavy angst, suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide

masterlist

The rain thundered down from the sky on a sullen morning, the clutter of dishes and whirring of teapots stirring one awake from their slumber. At once the household was buzzing with activity, the slap of sandals against the cool marble floor as a weary middle-aged man retreated to the dining table. On one end, the seat at the top of the table reserved for him, sat his boiling cup of tea and newspaper, his wife soon trailing in after him. Afterwards was his daughter, and they all greeted each other with polite “good mornings” before settling down to eat, a comfortable silence held among them.

Mr Hwang, a renown land owner found that when he left his home, he was able to find a line of servants bowing their heads to him in respect. He was, by any means no aristocrat and did not preach claims of nobility but his knowledge of literature, politics and art had allowed him to extend his name into upper class society. He was proud to claim that his name lingered on the tongues of scholars, dukes and the general along with other important men in the militia. Such men were seen as gifted in society, how could it be that a poor man who had never had the privilege of receiving satisfactory education proved to be more astute than any scholar of Joseon. It was down to sheer luck, and god, he thought that he was able to claim a reputation such as the one he now held.

About three months ago, on a Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang kissed his wife goodbye- leaving his home to travel four miles east to the large estate on a hill that he had been invited to. Every Wednesday, scholars from nearby towns had gathered to invest in the latest literature and scribble their thoughts in the margins of transcripts that had been thrown their way. They were settled within the library- men walking up and down the aisles searching for novels of interest some men sipping on cups of tea. Around three hours in, the ripple of quiet murmuring would transcend into loud chatter. Like clockwork, on that Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang settled down his quill cracking his fingers to relax the tense fibres in his muscles. He sat opposite the esteemed Mr Jeong, a loyal civil servant to the King and a member of the Royal Council.

Despite the ongoing of chatter surrounding them, the two men worked on their studies with minimal conversation. Mr Jeong was the first to break the silence.

“How is your wife and daughter, Hwang?”

“They are in good health, sir. How is your son? How is he finding his duties as a gentry scholar?” Jeong beamed at the mention of his son’s position within the royal court.

“He is too in good health. The prince informs me that he performs his duties excellently.” Hwang nodded, sending a polite smile his way before raising the cup of tea to his lips. A comfortable silence held among them but a thought provoked at the back of Jeong’s mind. “Actually, I am looking for a bride for my son as he is now of marriageable age.”

“That you should have no problem seeking, Sir. He is an impressionable young man, is he not?” Whilst Jeong felt implied to agree with his friend, there was more to his son than meets the eye. Yet for what he wanted to confess, it was better to stay quiet and agree to Hwang.

“I think I had better be open to you, my friend. I was hoping to ask if you would so kind to extend your daughter’s hand in marriage, for my son.” Hwang, taken aback almost choked on his tea for a split second quickly placing his cup down giving his friend a wide-eyed stare. A surge of emotions overcame him. Jeong was not the type of man to joke about serious matters such as marriage.

“My daughter? Wedded to your son? With all due respec-,”

“I understand that this is no conventional way to propose but you know better that I am not a man of custom. I have met your daughter. She is patient, kind and intelligent too. It seems that you have shared the gift of knowledge with her and my son does not want a wife that he cannot converse with. He is not asking for scholar but an understanding woman as such. I believe your daughter would make the perfect wife.” Jeong reasoned. The truth being there were many intelligible women in Joseon but the problem being they were either haughty or impatient. Either too vain about their looks or just purely selfish.

“If you allow me, I must discuss these details with her mother.”

“Of course, take your time. We are in no rush.” Which wasn't by any means true, but he could not exactly tell his friend to hurry up and make an on-the-spot decision.

That same Wednesday evening, Mr Hwang rushed back to his home as fast as he could running through the double doors- panting and out of breath. Without pausing to sit to down and breathe, the words spilled out of his mouth without caution astounding his wife in the process. Breaking from her momentary paralysis, she escorted her husband to the nearest chair-summoning the closest maid for a cup of tea to be brought to the study.

"We have to say yes, you must send Jeong a formal letter of proposal." Hwang nodded eagerly. Mrs Hwang thought about her daughter and what she would think. She would say no, of course.

Mr Hwang was not as ignorant as his friend thought he was. He had his eyes and ears everywhere- he knew his son's true nature. Perhaps if he was a better father, he would have declined the offer as soon as the words left from his mouth. After all wasn't this marriage an opportunity to extend his lineage into nobility? He could be richer, more reputable, more well known. How could he decline this offer?

"Begin the preparations, but do not tell her. Not yet." Reluctantly, his wife nodded.

Miss Hwang, daughter of Mr Hwang- the noble landowner, knew something was being plotted behind her back. She spent the last three months in and out of the dressmaker's, her measurements being taken for hanbok's of every colour, in silk, satin and in every other expensive material she could think off. A plethora of jewellery and fabrics were being sent to the house and as the months went by the atmosphere of the household became much more busier and chaotic. It brought her much annoyance that she wasn't able to find out- she even tried to provoke Min Cha but the youngest maid was not prone to bribery. She stared at her father at the top of the dining table, as his eyes scoured down the page of the newspaper reading the contents of the latest news in Joseon. Clearing his throat, he meticulously folded the paper discarding it to the side before making eye contact with his daughter.

"Minister Jeong and his son, Yunho will be joining us tonight for dinner. Make sure you are here and not hiding in your room" he instructed, giving her a pointed look before lifting his tea cup. A sudden thought rushed to her head. It could only make sense that perhaps they were coming over to propose. The gifts being sent at the house, the fancier clothes she was forced to wear, the hushed whispers of the maids as she walked by and their talks of marriage and children. They never bothered before, they knew how indifferent she was towards the notion of it. It could only mean that they were coming over to propose, or maybe they already had- besides she didn’t need to say yes, herself. Her father could on her behalf and it could be perceived as her approval. That was a thought she did not want to entertain, being a woman devoid of many choices was hard enough. If she could have a chance of falling in love and being loved as deeply and constantly the way that one wanted to be loved- she would grab at it. Though grabbing at it was like reaching out for a feather, its fibrils caress her fingertips only for it to slip through her fingers.

A few hours after the breakfast table had been cleared, the bustling sound inside the house had significantly quietened, doors to the kitchen quarters had been slammed shut so no sound seeped into the rest of the home. Warmth trailed the surface of the study, perched on the windowsill, head leant against the glass pane she gazed at the town below outstretched beneath the three miles of grasslands- a small cobbly path paving the way for carriages and palanquins. A creak infiltrated the room, her head snapping the other way watching a small figure stumble into the room and an older maid following after her. Tea settled down on the table, the maid scurried to the fireplace continuing her cleaning duties whereas Min Cha sat beside her on the window sill. Her hands reached to caress the younger girls face, pulling her towards her-nuzzling her in her arms. With a comforting quietude held among them, in the far distance the swaying of carriage treaded towards their home.

"Do you think that's Mr Jeong and his son?" Miss Hwang hummed carefully, fingers stroking Min Cha's dark hair. They watched the carriage come to a sudden halt outside their home; several moments later an older man walked out. The servants ran towards him, offering their greetings. After him, a taller man appeared out of the carriage, moving eloquently across the lawn. His dark hair was strikingly shorter than most young men of the common day and age, his brown wide eyes scanning his surroundings. Their eyes locked, he tilted his head slightly as if scrutinising her. Jumping away from the windowsill, she pried Min Cha off with her scurrying away to her room- to hide- exactly like her father told her not to.

Yunho noticed her eyes first. He felt like he was staring into his own when he discerned they were that they were burdening with inquisition, the length of her lashes softening a look that could have been perceived as threatening. It was her, wasn't it? She’ll make do he thought- there had to be reason for his father’s persistency. He was perfectly satisfied with being unmarried but then again his father probably wanted a grandson to carry the lineage, the establishment of this matrimony purely founded on both his father’s and Mr Hwang’s pride. For now he needed to refrain from looking ignorant for the next few weeks. Granted, he was stuck with her for life but as long as she knew her place he’d make do with her presence. They had moved to Mr Hwang's study where they had been seated around the fireplace, the cold winter air still clung to their skin, the heat of the spitting embers easing the chill that ran down their spines. His ears became heedless to the conversation the two older men shared, moulding his face to look interested with the occasional vocalisation to please his father's friend.

"I must finally introduce you to my daughter," Hwang cheered, clasping his hands together in enjoyment. Yunho forced a smile onto his face, preparing himself to meet yet another bratty daughter of a rich man. Calling for the maid, Hwang then proposed that he made his way into the garden to share a private interaction with each other.

Miss Hwang let out a small whine, shoulders slumped with an exaggerated frown etched on her features as she ambled down the steps and moved into the front lawn. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, she straightened her posture entering the garden with a sheepish smile. He was much taller than she had anticipated in the glimpse of their eye contact, the closer she moved the more intimidated she felt by his slender, towering figure. Though his features were soft and inviting, his wide eyes particularly held such a kindness in them that she had not seen in the eyes of other men. She wanted to speak in that moment, but neither of them had any idea what to say. Instead, she decided to saunter through the garden; Yunho following her. Yunho cleared his throat, her attention drifted from the garden flowers to him-she turned around to stand in front of him his movements halting as he sent a look of confusion her way.

"Why exactly are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I asked. What is the purpose of your visit? What are your intentions? What do you and your father intend to gain from your being here?" He cocked his head to side, and scoffed at her questions yet the look of seriousness on her face had thrown him off. He was half expecting to start the conversation flaunting about something, talk about her riches, or maybe even throw herself at him. Not question the nature of this visit, was Mr Hwang detaining the knowledge this arrangement from his daughter? If so, why?

"You are to be my betrothed." He stated, though it came out as more of a question as her eyebrows creased in scepticism. "Which I thought you would've known as you accepted the proposal-" she ran back in the direction of the home, abandoning him by burgundy dahlias. All the pieces had fallen into place now, it was dowry that was being sent to the house, all the preparations were for her matrimony. How could she have missed all of this? Storming into the study, the door banged open the abrupt dissonance making her father jump from his seat; Jeong raising an eyebrow in inquisition.

"Father, can I talk to you?" Her voice both breathless and desperate for answers. Before he could speak, she exchanged her position with Jeong- who the nearby maid had guided into the parlour. “Why have you been hiding this proposal from me?” Silence hung among them, as she glared into his eyes.

“Do you think if many months ago I approached you with this proposal you would have said yes? You would’ve spat in my face. This is for your own benefit. Did you even talk to Yunho? What must he think of you?”

“Who cares what he thinks of me? What I care about is how you’ve tried to dictate my life for me.”

“Everything I am doing is for your own benefit” There it was. That same old phrase. The same phrase that she had heard when her father pulled her out libraries and schools, pulled away from the fields and forced her into passivity and domesticity. She had gotten gone used to it finding partial amusement in embroidering, cooking, drawing while occasionally reading the odd novel but there was no satisfaction in a life where she only existed for the sole purpose of serving a man. Her whole life she listened and obeyed, her only desire being to at least choose who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Now she couldn’t even have that- her only last grasp for autonomy was being snatched away from her.

“You will tell Mr Jeong that we cannot move forward with this marriage, or I will tell him myself." She claimed threateningly, her hands balled into fists.

"No, I will not. You will marry Yunho and that is that! Do you understand me? Your wedding is in two weeks so I suggest you start preparing for your departure."

"You planned all of this, and didn't once think to ask for my consultation?" With wide eyes in disbelief at the fact that she only had two weeks left in her childhood home before her name was tied to someone else’s.

"What does your opinion matter? I am your father, I know what's best for you." He moved closer to her, she winced as the tone of his voice rose, at this point it was better to think about what the Jeong family thought of him rather than her.

"No. You know what's best for yourself. You have always prioritised yourself over your own daughter and wife. You have never cared for me. It always what Byungchul Hwang has wanted and never-" his palm connected with her cheek, the slap sending a stinging pain through the supple flesh. His coarse grip latched onto her shoulders shaking them roughly; her body oscillating as he screamed at her many of the words sprinting through her head, the echo of his strident tone ringing in her ears, vision clouding as the line of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Something along the lines of 'ungrateful child', 'worthless', 'wretched' and any other invective he forced upon her. Nothing she hadn’t heard before. What was hearing them once more, before she succumbed to his despotism?

She could not recall how long he had endlessly been screaming at her, until her mother had stormed into the room calming her father, before sending her to her own room. The hallways of her childhood home seemed to restrict her now, the windows had been tightly sealed shut due to the wind- they seemed make the whole house feel smaller. Closed doors felt like shackles binding to her feet, restraining her. Her room was no solace, not anymore as she collapsed onto her bed a familiar numbness gnawing at her.

The two weeks had skimmed by faster than she would have hoped, the duration of them spent packing away the contents of her room into boxes. She dismissed the help of the servants wanting to savour the last parts of her childhood alone, structurally moving from one side of the room to the other. In the end there were many things that she had to throw away, keeping only the items closest to her heart. Min Cha informed her that Mrs Hwang told the Jeong family that his fiancée could not attend the dinner due to “feminine problems” to which this made both of their cheeks flush red. They shared a laugh, a genuine smile that bled into sadness soon after as it dawned on her that she wouldn’t share many more laughs with Min Cha for a long time. On her last evening at the home, she kissed the younger one before dismissing her for the rest of the night holding her a little longer, and a little tighter than she usually would have.

The creak of the wooden door, hauled at her attention head snapping up from the suitcase as her mother treaded into the room, steady but with graceful steps. She could never be as regal as her mother, she never understood how her mother maintained such a façade even after so many years of suffering from social abuse. How did one not break?

“Would you like some help dear?” Shaking her head, her hands glided over the clothes methodically stacking them one on top of the other. “I never thought the day would come, and so soon at that.” She sensed a smile on her mother’s lips, her awkwardly joyful tone striking a nerve.

“It wouldn’t have come so soon if you didn’t leave me with much of a choice.” Miss Hwang scoffed, avoiding her mother’s gaze as she continued packing her clothes into her bags. Am I ungrateful for thinking that I want a love that never dies?

“My love-,”

She shook her head furiously, pausing the words that came out of her mother's mouth. Of course she knew that her whole life she wouldn’t be allowed to have a say in her father’s decisions. She knew that eventually she’d be pawned off to the richest man that asked for hand but for a long time those were thoughts that were yet to become real. Tomorrow she’d be married off to Jeong Yunho, the minister’s son and be nothing but his trophy wife. The bearer of his children and an extension of his property. A pretty macabre way to perceive the situation that she was put in but she didn’t see any other way going about it.

“Today I am your daughter, tomorrow I will be just an object-not even worthy of being called a woman. What is a woman anyway, mother? A commodity, right? A baggage to be passed from one man to another?” She pondered as her mother gasped, tears rushing to the front of her eyes. How could her daughter have the courage to say that to her? “Don't look at me like that mother, you never once fought for me.” She bent down to knees, arms extending to grab the number of boxes that she kept beneath her bed. Her own tears pooled at her eyes. Attempting to keep them at bay, she remained on the floor sifting through boxes of jewellery, letters, books composing them into piles of what she did and did not need. She would give them all to Min Cha, with the exception of her a few sets of her mother’s pearls and diamonds. After several minutes, Mrs Hwang left from the room, she released a painful sigh. When the sun sunk beneath the horizon paving the way for the moon to rise upon the night, she had finally finished packing all of her belongings leaving them by her bedroom door for the butler to pick up and take downstairs in the morning. Glaring at the green hanbok draped on the dressing table stool, placed there by one of the maids- unbeknownst to her- she rested her head down on the silk pillow. Pulling the comforter over her eyes she shut her eyes, wishing and praying this was all a long and horrible dream.

A horrible dream it was not, she was rudely awakened from her peaceful slumber. Washed and dressed into a traditional green hanbok, hair brushed back and combed held into place by a bejewelled headpiece. The maids had painted red dots on her cheeks symbolising her youth but to also "ward off evil spirits" as the elders claimed. They left in her own room for a while, as they patiently awaited for the groom's family to arrive. The oldest maid appeared at her side, stroking her hair gently with an abating smile that even her mother failed to provide for her.

“I don’t know how to be a daughter and he’s expecting to be someone’s wife.” Her whisper transcended through Ji Hye's soul, a cry so quiet as if she was hanging onto the edge of an abandoned precipice with nothing but the rush of a hollow sea waiting to invite her death.

“Marriage is all about compromise, dear. Love him the way you want to be loved, men don’t know anything about affection- they need to be led the way. Hold his hands and promise you’ll be a devoted wife. He’ll hold yours and protect you with his life,”

Before she knew it the entire wedding ceremony had come to a close, she couldn't remember anything much other than staring into Yunho's eyes, his face hidden behind a fan as he entered their garden. It was tradition for grooms to give their brides a wild goose during the wedding ceremony, the flapping of its wings as it entered her father's arms provided her with temporary amusement. She remembered the exchange of their vows, formalising their union over a cup of wine. The few guests had eaten their food, blessing the newlyweds with nothing but happiness and prosperity in their marriage.

Entering the palanquin, she jerked at the white curtains before the bearers could, avoiding her mother's eyes through the translucent fabric. Maybe she was just being dramatic and unnecessary, but still it hurt to be used as a tool to extend the Hwang name into nobility. Not to mention Yunho had barely spared her a single glance other than when he was forced to play the role of a loving husband in front of their relatives. Leaning her head against the palanquin, exhaustion dominated her; she gave into her body’s demands to sleep.

“Ahem” a low grumble had stirred her awake from her slumber, an obnoxious yawn almost startling the servant who had been instructed to awake her. Rubbing her eyes, she stepped out of the palanquin the air burning her warm skin.

Two large black wooden gates opened to reveal the Hanok poised at the centre. It was not the largest house she'd seen a noble have but it was certainly a beauty with its glistening purple glazed tiles that decorated the curved roof and the dark brown walls of timber that structured around the home. A small set of stairs led to the porch revealing the salmun, a door made of wood panels and thick paper, allowing them entrance into the home, the path there littered with greenery that she made note to water every morning. Lifting the fabric of her hanbok she treaded up the stairs lingering by the porch as both her father-in-law and Yunho welcomed the servants to place the luggage in the front yard.

“I’ll have the maids take the rest in.” Yunho reassured his father, stood by the doorway with a questioning look of their presence, or rather absence. With a warm smile, Jeong laid a comforting hand on his daughter-in-laws shoulder.

“I’ve left this home in your hands, my dear. Yet should you need anything- I’m only one letter away.” His words held more tenderness than what was in her father’s being alone. He soon dispersed from the estate. With ease, Yunho grabbed hold of the luggage, sliding the door open to disappear into a corner of the home within seconds. All without a single word. Hastily, she followed after him; the interior of the home was almost empty, the translucency of each door feigned an impression of massiveness. She learned quickly that there were in fact no maids in the home, so then why did he lie to his father? Did Mr Jeong not know that Yunho kept no servants in his home? Not even as much as one maid?

There was little to no furniture, as she peeked her around the living space, the dining room, then she found herself wandering near a bedroom adjacent to a study and washroom.

“These are my quarters. Follow me, I’ll show you to yours.” His glacial tone had startled her, she felt her veins pulsating as blood sped through her body like scarlet rivers. Trailing after him, she noticed that the further they moved in, the colder it was wrapping her arms around her shoulders to keep her warm. The hallways seemed to be narrower in this part of the home too. Her quarters were similar to that of his with the rooms the same size and similarly furnished except in the far corner of the room there was a dressing table with a small stool. Adjacent was a washing room, however to compensate for the missing study there was a door that led to a porch extending straight to the garden. With her luggage held at the foot of the bed, her peripheral vision caught Yunho loitering by the door fiddling with his fingers as if he was unsure of what to do with himself.

“I thought we were supposed to be staying in the same room.”

“I like my own space.” She nodded in agreement. Unsure of what to do, she reached for his hands to place in her own as Ji Hye had advised her to do. Hold his hands and promise you’ll be a devoted wife. Yunho looked down at her in confusion.

“I promise I won’t let you down, I'll be a devot-."

"Dear god, stop this absurdity." Roughly, he shoved her hands away from him, "Stop this foolish act." The coarseness of his words stunned her, an uncomfortable warmth spreading across her cheeks as she looked down at her feet in embarrassment wanting nothing more than the ground to engulf her and take her six feet under. "Here's my promise. Do not expect me to be a doting husband and kiss you goodnight. This marriage is at the expense of both our parents. You’re nothing but a baggage to me, weighing me down.” He snarled, bitterness hanging heavy on his tongue. "Oh and stay out of sight- I can’t stand looking at you.” He grimaced at her appearance before stalking off in the other direction, leaving her alone in the desolate hallway. What great sin must she have committed for her to be have been cursed with a man like him? Barely even a day into their marriage and he was abandoning her as one did to a wounded animal in a slum. A sharp pang penetrated her heart as she slumped down on the bed. Tucking in her knees she bit her lips refusing to let out a sob. The worst was yet to come so it was futile crying now, she’d save her tears for when he had finally deconstructed her will to live as of now if she obeyed his rules she could survive.

As expected of her, she stayed out of sight and adhered to every command. Every morning she woke up at dawn rushing to the kitchen sweating over steaming soup, chopping vegetables as fast as she could before he woke up. The simultaneous roaring of the boiling pots of rice and whistling of the kettle often made her panic, the halls becoming used to her running down it as she frantically organised the table. The last few times she was late to set the table, she was subjugated to his yelling. He did not even end up eating the food in the end, surging out of the house in anger, speeding after him she tried to reason with him but Yunho left the front gate too soon and there was no point in causing a further commotion.

Not long ago her mother had sent a parcel to the house: a gorgeous traditional dress made from chiffon and silk, with an abundance of letters. A short note from her father, a page from her mother, and about three lengthy sheets from Min Cha updating her on all of the missed gossip of the town. Yet the final line of the letter had made her stop in her path as she strolled across the garden. 'How is your husband? Does he make you happy?'

'He is in great health. Yes, he makes me happy. As happy as the sun makes the earth when it arises from the suffocating dark.'

She wore the dress to one of the dinners that Yunho had been invited to by his good friend, and fellow scholar, Kim Hongjoong and his wife. For the first time in a long time when she looked in the mirror, she was complacent with her appearance the dress accentuating her figure in all the right places- she even wore a ribbon as she tied up her braid. Patiently, Yunho stood by the entrance of their home. Mrs Jeong walked up to him; on observing her presence he did not care to give her second look guiding her out of their home and down the village to Hongjoong's estate. Her esteem had dropped a little, she would’ve taken so much as a glance her way though he wasn’t obligated to give her even that much. Additionally, it hurt that many of the wives, at the party, had their husbands fixed to their sides while Yunho seemed to never be present. Even when the husbands had formed a congregation, some of them would glance affectionately at their spouses meanwhile Yunho never cared for a second to see if she was still in the room. For a while she just hid in the garden, away from the social gathering like she used to at the Hwang estate- enjoying her own comfort amongst nature. Except this time it was not comforting at all, not when the wives told her how lucky she was to have a handsome and intellectual husband like Yunho. Simply she smiled although a pit formed in her heart that only really seemed to dig deeper each time she was reminded of the reality of her miserable marriage. If only they knew, if only someone cared enough to ask her if she was happy instead of telling her how lucky she was. If only they noticed her distance and the sadness veiled beneath the façade of contentment.

Hongjoong, who had initially been making his way to the kitchen to check on how much longer they had to wait until the food was served, noticed a feminine figure standing alone by the white chrysanthemums her fingers brushing over the surface of the petal.

“Jagiya have you seen Mrs Jeong, I can’t-,” Mrs Kim followed his line of sight to find her target. The couple shared a look before Hongjoong made his way to the garden, Mrs Kim fixing her spot by the window.

“Mrs Jeong, are you ok?” The voice of concern cracked her immersion away from the chrysanthemums to Hongjoong who held a friendly demeanour.

“Yes, I’m just not very social at big gatherings.” She admitted, dipping her head in embarrassment.

“Ah, you’re quite the wallflower. Opposite to Yunho, he’s very talkative. I wonder how you put up with him when you feign such quietness.” Forcefully, she smiled. He never spoke to her; when he did it usually out of necessity. “You should come in now, the night will be settling in soon and dinner is about to be served.” Hongjoong had left her to her own devices but as soon as he turned, the hospitable appearance had dropped and he felt a wave of fury. He could see it in her eyes, the sadness she was suffering from, he noticed the longing looks she sent him and Yunho barely acknowledging her presence. How could he be so nonchalant? Mrs Jeong returned back to the house just in time for dinner to be served, the men and women had naturally been segregated from each other enjoying the delicious dishes cooked by the servants with the help of Mrs Kim. The lady of the house occasionally peered over her bowl to see Yunho’s wife who was crammed into the corner of the room avoiding conversation. When she was dragged into one, she engaged enough to not be seen as ignorant before excusing herself to use the restroom. She hid in the bathroom until she was sure that dinner was over, it had turned out that she came back after desert but nobody paid much attention to her absence. Silently, she thanked god for their disinterest.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the table the males had been interrogating Yunho on his life as a newlywed husband. For all they knew he was smitten with his wife and treated her as if she was the Queen Consort herself, taking his distance from her at this gathering as an act of shyness.

“Thank god you settled down, I was getting worried that you were going to be taking up courtesans for the rest of your life.” Mingi, his closest companion, imputed.

“Well that option wasn’t too bad either.” He aimlessly joked, receiving a mixture of responses. Some awkwardly chuckled while others gave him a pointed look latching onto his pending lassitude to marriage. The rest of the evening flew by in a breeze, at the end all of the couples drew back to their respective pairs- thanking the Kim family for their hospitality before dispersing out of the estate with linked arms and intertwined hands.

“You have got to be more attentive towards your wife Yunho. It’s what makes the moments between you much more candid.” Hongjoong advised as Yunho came to bid him goodbye. For the first time during the evening he searched for his wife, finding her conversing with Hongjoong’s spouse by the doorway.

“What do you mean, hyung?” Yunho questioned, that great big grin of his faltering slightly.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you should be able sense her emotions towards you at this point. Do you ever stop to think that for a married woman she looks incredibly lonely?” His tongue poked the inside of his mouth, he cocked his head as he focused his attention towards her.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong. She’s just never been much of a social butterfly.” Hongjoong begged to differ but he did not want to pry, he had his attempt at trying to get Yunho to see how stoic he was being- whether or not he wanted to understand his sobriety was his own problem. The pair approached their wives, Yunho snaking an his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him-he sensed how stiff she had gotten from his touch.

“…and be sure to visit me whenever you’d like! I would enjoy the company, Mrs Jeong.” Mrs Kim offered. The newlyweds smiled, bid their final goodbyes and whisked themselves away from the home. Yunho kept his arm around her waist, gripping his wife to his side all really because he saw the evident scepticism whenever he spoke about his marriage, the wool could not be pulled over Hongjoong’s eyes.

“Complaining about me to Hongjoong?” Her back pressed against the wooden panel as he inched towards her intimidatingly.

“What? No, there’s nothing to complain about-” He grabbed the bottom of her chin, her neck snapped back as she looked at him her jaw paining from the intensity of his coarse grip.

“I’m starting to get sick of you,” He yanked her head backwards and forwards, a breath catching in her throat. In that moment he looked like her father, inflicting tethers of abuse to assert his dominance. With a thumping heart that beat too quickly for its own good, her vision became cloudy, breaths exhilarating as he continued to yell at her. This time, the words whirled over her head- her mind clogged with everything and nothing at the same time as the walls of the room began to shimmer, caving in on her. Ripping away from his grip, she pushed past him stumbling to her quarters as tears rushed to the front of her eyes, her mind filling with all of the trauma she had endured from her childhood, as he called after her. She broke into a sprint, tearing through the open space. Her back slumped against the door; she gripped her lips to prevent any sound from coming out as hot tears streamed down her paling skin. Irrational thoughts began to infiltrate her mind.

I can’t do this anymore.

He called out her name through the door, skin leaping of her muscles at the unusual gentleness.

“Let me come in, what’s going on?” No, he’d only mock her. She couldn’t let her guard down. Darting her eyes to the drawer on her bedside table, the hurricane of voices in her mind seemed to quieten.

No one would miss me, right?

The tears stopped, the pace of her heart regulating back again, quickened breaths slowing as she edged closer to the drawer. Chewing on her lip, she felt a roar of emotions tackle her as she gripped the cold metal handle this time not bothering to glue her mouth shut as obnoxious tears escaped her.

Min Cha would miss her. Her mother would miss her. Maybe not her husband or her father. Her husband could move on, wives were replaceable after all. Though killing herself would be a way at getting back at her father, she had no siblings- there would be no one to elevate the Hwang name. Suicide was socially unacceptable, so she’d be digging a grave for both herself and her family. The thought had crossed her mind too many times than she’d liked to admit but she lacked the strength to commit the sin. Instead she'd clasp her hands together and pray to god for a way out of this torment. Fatigue overpowered her at last, crawling to the bed she lifted the covers slipping underneath as her arms wrapped around herself to feel the warmth she was entitled to. When she slept, she dreamt of a fantasy- a life where he loved her and she loved him. As deeply and constantly as one wanted to be loved.

He stood on the other side of the door, tempted to slide it open to see if she was ok. Her eyes had held a certain type of horror that had haunted him. Yunho was too proud to admit that he had been treating her terribly, in an attempt to rebel against his father for the way he'd been forced into this marriage with no way out. Despite this remark, he was still too shallow to see that she was in the same position as himself suffering worse at the hands of his tyranny.

"My dearest Min Cha,

I lied to you. I lied to you when I said he makes me happy. How can I be happy when I have to beg for him look at me? If God permitted I ever crossed his mind it would be a blessing for he torments me with his harsh words and aloof stare-"

He called out her name.

For the first time in a very long time, since that night he stood outside the door for hours as she sobbed herself weary. The sound of him calling her name echoing the beat of her heart, every octave was every rhythm silencing the sorrowness in her soul. Even when he subjected her to his ferocity, she grappled onto the moments when he called for her because even being used felt like loving.

"I was going to go on a walk, if you'd like to join me?" His eyes darted to sheet in front of her, "if you're busy-"

"I'd love to," Maybe she said that too quickly, but he gave her a sheepish smile. Slipping the sheet inside the drawer and closing the pot of ink, she rose from her seat following Yunho out of the home.

The neighbourhood was quiet, as the sun began to sink beneath the sky. Some of the neighbourhood’s children scuttled back into their homes- all of them reminding her of her own dear Min Cha. They’d ventured out of the town centre, towards the outskirts where a large park was situated. She’d never gone there herself, but saw it on her way to Mrs Kim’s house. The park itself was desolate, the grass waving eloquently as few birds soared through the sky. She wondered what it was like to be free. Was she not free? Perhaps free from her father’s wrath, but instead subjugated to even worse at the hands of her husband. In that moment she envied Mrs Kim- and envy was a foreign feeling to her- for having someone as caring as Hongjoong as her husband. Whilst she was so whisked away in her sorrows, she didn’t notice Yunho draw his fingers closer to her- before encapsulating her whole hand within his. The sudden warmth perpetuated through her, her heart fluttering at this sudden affection. Was he starting to appreciate her now?

"Hongjoong-nah!" he called out, summoning the attention of the couple sat beneath a tree, a large number of metres away from them. Oh, that's why he held my hand. Everything was an act to him, she bit her lip to stop it from quivering. No affection was ever really genuine and no amount of praying to God would ever make it real. Hongjoong and his wife waved back, Yunho stepped forward to make his way across the fields towards them but she tugged at his arm pulling him back. He looked down at her confused, attempting to tug her along with him but her feet anchored to the ground.

"I think you should leave them be, they're having their own moment." she offered, her faint voice infiltrating his ears. Processing the thought, he pursed his lips and then nodded. They both waved at the couple, turning away to move- she half expected him to let go off her hand at that but their hands remained clasped together, Yunho tightening his grip as they walked away from the fields back to their home.

Undiscovered to them, when Hongjoong waved back he almost made a gesture to invite them over to him when his wife tugged at his arm.

"Let them be, Joong. They're having their moment." He agreed, retracting his hand, watching as his best friend walk away from him.

As suspected, Yunho’s sentiment stemmed from his guilt. After that day where they walked through the park together, he never invited another moment of closeness. Ignoring the agonising pang that struck through her, she moved on with her chores, simply deciding that she would have to live it the same way that her mother did.

Her father-in-law stopped to visit a few times. Yunho had hired maids, for the week that he stayed over. For the first time it felt odd to not be doing something, she was not at comfort with it. However, she had to manufacture a façade for Mr Jeong; so she did. Much to Yunho’s dismay, her mother had sent a letter saying that she too was passing through the town and wanted to visit her daughter.

She knocked on the door to his study, his head perked up at the sight of her. Inaudibly she handed the letter to him, to which he quickly scanned over the page releasing an annoyed sigh.

“You couldn’t have told me earlier? I wouldn’t have to dismiss the maids.”

“I only got the letter today.” Rolling his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, exercising his strained fingers. “Go.” He ordered.

“Would you like me to get you-,”

“Go.”

Her mother, meekly, ambled through the gate a small bag of luggage in hand. Yunho had not been at home when she arrived, but when he came back she had to scuttle to the doorway and make him aware so that her mother wouldn’t have to hear any of his harsh words. With a short nod, he retreated to his room to change out his scholars robes, before greeting his mother-in-law in the dining room.

“You’re so lucky, dear, to have a husband like Yunho. Tall, handsome, clever. What more could you ask for?” For him to care for me, to treat me as his equal. To not just treat me as a toy, picking and dropping me whenever he wishes. Mrs Hwang’s hands outstretched for her daughter’s, jerking immediately once she had surveyed them. They were not soft like they had used to be, but coarse-as if struck by labour. “These aren’t a wives hands. Those are tender and full of care. These are overworked.”

“He’s overworked my love for him.” She joked. Mrs Hwang gave a detailed stare before cracking a forced smile, fear rushing through her. Perhaps she was just overthinking, maybe her daughter had taken up studying again and was spending her free time writing away with her husband.

“I almost forgot. I came to hand the keys to your grandmothers estate in Hahoe. Take it as a wedding gift. You ought to visit, to see if it’s still intact or has been run over by the villagers.” Accepting the keys from her mother, she opened up her bedside drawer, waiting for the rush of sombre emotions to subside before throwing them in.

Sometimes I envy you, at least you were seen even if it was to be hurt.

A low hiss escaped from her lips as she carried the heavy tray to the dining room, a sharp stab penetrating through her lower abdomen almost disabling her ability to move through the vast hallways. After many months, the frigidity of her quarters had finally gotten to her, waking up with a stuffy nose and an abrasive tickle in her throat. Much to her dismay, Yunho was sat in his seat as she rested his food in front of him. She bit her lip as she kneeled to set out his dishes, restraining a grunt. Her hands moved quickly, partly so she could withdraw to her room, roll up into a ball and wallow in her own pain. Yunho noticed her paling skin and the beads of sweat forming above her lip as with a shaky breath she poured his tea, his prolonging beam burning into her skull. Hastily, she rose up grimacing before turning to leave. He shot out his hand, grabbing her wrist, fear bleeding onto her face.

“You should stay and eat with me.” He suggested. The words somehow warmed her heart, yet the two forces of pain and comfort repelled against each other. Tugging at her wrist, it prompted her to sit aside him Yunho moving the plate between them. "Eat up, you look really weak. Are you eating properly?" With furrowed brows and pursed lips he lifted his spoon to feed her, her hand lifted to grab the handle of the spoon but he jerked it back. "Open your mouth." he spoke light heartedly. She accepted his spoonful of food as if he hadn't subjected her to months of distance and cold words. As if a few months ago their marriage was menial and meant as much as servant meant to a king or wheat meant to a lion. What had caused this sudden change? They spent rest of the duration of breakfast taking in turns eating; she spent the whole time clutching at her stomach- and avoiding eye contact at that. He wanted something from her, her nerves jolting at the thought of being used. At the end, she picked up all the dishes to clear them from the table, scurrying out of the room so he would be unable to notice the blush forming on her cheeks when he attempted to assist her and their skin touched sending a tingle through her fingers. Though he did notice, a blush crept upon his face- even he couldn't understand the change in heart despite knowing that his indifference towards her was unjustified; he could not blame the cruelty he beguiled her to on his father and a marriage he did not want.

A sigh of relief escaped her once he left the house; she limped to her room, the pains in her stomach unfaltering. Closing her eyes, she slipped into a deep slumber. When she had awakened to a soft nudge, no light streamed in through the windows. Her eyes widened in realisation, grunting to sit up.

“Are you ok?” She jumped slightly, shifting her line of sight to find her husband kneeled beside her. Oh god. An intense consternation seethed through her blood, her heart wavering with anticipation as if waiting on his judgement. What would he do? Shout at her? Maybe grab her forcefully as he had once done? Deprive her of food? He hadn’t done the latter as of yet, but what was stopping him? His despotism held no bounds. Yet, to her surprise, he did none of it. Instead, he placed the palm of his hand to her forehead, feeling the burn of her skin against his. “Goodness, stay here. Don’t move.” Her vision wavered, as a result of her drowsiness. Tucking up her knees to her chest, she waited for him on her bed. After a while, he reappeared in her room with a tray holding an assortment of things. A bowl of hot soup, some tea, a spoon. His affection astounded her. Yunho did not even let her pick up the bowl, raising the spoon to her lips to feed her the soup.

“Have you eaten?” She asked. He shook his head.

“You must be hungry, I can prepare you food.”

“Don’t bother, you’re staying here. Besides I’m not hungry. How long have you been in pain for?” Was this the same Yunho she was married to? Actually, was this all a dream?

“Not long, it started today.” His lips fell into a polite frown. She had always agreed when others told her that Yunho possessed a handsome face, yet today those features became particularly distinguished to her.

“I can call the Physician I’ll go-,”

“There’s no need. I’m-,” He arched an eyebrow in inquisition. “I’m on that time of the month.” His ears tinged red in embarrassment, an endearing smile fell on her. Then it had dawned on her. When was the last time she smiled? Truly, and not forced?

“Would you like a heating pad then?” Nodding her head, she beamed again, to which he immediately dispersed out of the room to obey her request. Yunho had realised how much he enjoyed being affectionate, hating himself for the torture he inflicted upon her. Every touch was still staggered, every kind word had come off less fluently than he would have liked.

“You have a thing for staring into space.” Yunho’s eyes met hers. “You’ll look at anything but me.” He sat in her room again, he liked it there. There was a comfort in her quarters that could not be found elsewhere in the home. Though she found comfort in the garden. He had never paid much attention to it before, his scholarly duties often prevented him from venturing into the garden- sometimes he stayed over the nights at the office, scribbling away in journals fulfilling an endless piles of tasks submitted to him by his superiors. He found himself looking at her whilst she was staring intently out of the window.

“Is that a problem?” She provoked, playfully.

“Yes. I require your attention.” She focused on his wide brown eyes for a second before raising her eyebrows in a questioning manner, one that read ‘Well what do you want from me?’ She knew better now than to interpret this sudden interest in her, as affection. “Is it too bad for me to want to you focus on me instead?” Hesitantly, he enveloped her smaller hands into his the warmth of his palms easing the tension of their embrace. Then with all the courage he had, he shifted his body to rest his head on her laps, her hands flinging upwards at the shock of the sudden display of affection. He closed his eyes as she feebly combed her fingers through his soft black hair. Were these the small moments of affection that made a happy marriage? Moments where they were basked in each others embrace, nothing but the comfort of silence draping over them.

“How was your day?” She whispered, a small smile formed on his lips.

“Pretty dull if you ask me, meetings after meetings but no progression. How was yours?”

“Also dull. But the kitchen and garden keeps me occupied.” His eyes snapped open and she halted her movements for a second.

“I could hire the servants back to help you, if it’s too much.” She shook her head as if to disagree. In all honesty, she liked the domesticity. It brought her a sense of security- if she could not entirely stable a place in his heart, she could at least have a place in his home. He made himself comfortable in her laps, flipping his head as if to indicate he was about to sleep.

“Right you can get off me now, your big head is weighing down my legs.” He snickered, that beautiful smile crawling across his defined features, plaguing her own heart. She snickered with him, sharing a small laughter between them. He did leave her that night, but not without placing a chaste kiss on her forehead leaving with her smile that fell with her when she slept.

“She just wanted a few pieces of literature. I write a few things in the margins.” On her way home from Mrs Kim's she sought Yunho stood outside of their home with another woman. A beautiful woman at that, wrought with elegance and grace. Her movements so poise, she even matched Yunho's insatiable beauty. He caught her discontentment through his peripheral vision. Picking up a book from the night stand in his quarters, where they both sat on his bed, he flipped through a few pages showing her his detailed annotation. “Most people just like to read my notes rather than the actual novel.”

“It’s very profound.” She noted, reeling through the words. He had a poetic way of writing, reflective of his image and movements. Yunho was looking at her again, whilst she was flipping through the pages in his book. He caught the long curve of her lashes, blinking as soft as a child’s blow across a face. Like the way he used to blow on his mother’s eyes to steer her awake from her sleep when he was hungry.

“You’re beautiful.” He blurted. And she was. She always was. He was just too cruel to deny himself the pleasures of being in love to admit that to himself. “I’m sorry.” A second confession, yet this one hung tensely in the air. Without looking at him, her palm settled on his cheek. She did not have the strength to say it was ok, because none of it was.

“Can you look at me?” Their eyes connected in an instant. His lips drawing nearer to her own. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, before meeting her lips, drawing her into a passionate kiss fuelled from his melancholia. I’m sorry. And they met again, in the darkness of his room, heads falling onto the pillow, kissing away their sorrows until the stars ignited in the night sky.

He had not come home for a while, his absence tormented her. She knew of his increasing number of hours at the Royal Office, regardless she launched into a fit of worry as she strode down the street to his workplace. If he wasn't going to come home himself, she would have to drag him from there. Upon reaching his workplace, piles of scholars rushed out yet Yunho was still nowhere to be seen.

“Are you ok, Miss?” A scholar had asked.

“I’m looking for Jeong Yunho.”

“In the library. Just down the hall from the entrance.” Nodding she quickly thanked him before he could question her further. Her eyes ran down the aisles, letting out an exhale when she noticed his appearance, at the bottom end. Though before she could take a step forward, the same noblewoman appeared from before. A pleasant smile graced his lips as she handed back one of his books. It had all appeared slow from then on, the way that she grabbed his collar down towards her.

She watched him kiss her.

Did the Earth stop orbiting the sun? For everything in that moment felt incredibly still, like the wind had an hitch in its throat, the delicate leaves outside had stopped swaying; the birds had stopped flapping their wings. When a dissonant gasp had escaped from her lips, the world had resumed all the same, soul thriving with vigilance. He had kissed her the same way she had once been kissed: with such raw emotional intensity, his hands settled on her waist bringing her closer to him. She couldn't watch, tears blurring her vision her sweaty palms balled into fists at her side. Tearing away from them she sprinted back towards her home- her body wracking with tears. Was it even her home anymore? It wasn't enough that she walked through the desolate alleyways, her sobs were loud enough to wake an animal from hibernation but she couldn't care less. Not when his love felt like a feather floating towards the ground, away from her and she was unable to clasp it, feeling its fibres caress her skin. It's touch was no longer satisfactory, it was addictive and she wanted more. Yet it was not hers to have, and not his to give.

All of it was a lie. She wasn't just a noble woman interested in some reading. She wasn't just an acquaintance. After all, Mrs Jeong wasn't just his wife- maybe on paper but had there ever really been moment in their relationship where his love hadn't reached after a period of hurt? There was no continuity to his affection and there never would be. The sadness within her transgressed to anger, she slipped into her quarters through the back garden- her tears ceasing as her body gushed with a familiar numbness.

How long- No.

There would be no more 'How long?' because with each passing second as she prayed for him to return to her and her alone, Yunho took advantage of her desperation to keep her looped to him. Impulsively, she yanked at her drawers grabbing at every article of clothing she possessed and shoving them into the same bags she had entered this cursed home with a never ending stream of tears soundlessly pouring down her face as she did. Her heart tugged at her when she slid the bags under her bed so he would not see if he entered her room. Residing to the table, she began to scribble at the sheet of paper, the wounding scratching of the quill against paper creating small dents.

He never returned home that night. And she didn't long to see his face, the memory of it disgusting her. She felt so tainted, marked, by his touch- is that all he wanted her for? Her body? And her, a fool she was to give it to him like it meant nothing to her. When the dawn seeped into the sky she placed a letter on the mahogany table of his study, taking the envelope containing the key that her mother had given her and fled from the estate-taking the doors at the back of the home. Her chest burned as she stormed up the hill, and when she reached to the top of it the chilling air suffocated her lungs- her eyes flung back to the home, her yearning for it ever so strong. A final look; she tore her eyes knowing that if she went back she'd only get hurt even more and there would be no one to blame but herself.

"Jagiya, I'm home!" He called into the foyer. There was no pattering of footsteps stumbling his way to greet him home. Neither was she in the kitchen, in her quarters-or his own. In replacement of her absence, in the study a crisp, folded up note sat on his desk. His heart thumped in his chest as he picked it up.

My love,

I find I cannot bring myself to say the things I want, to your face. So as the coward I am, I say them through this letter hoping it reaches your heart instead of your eyes. I’m sorry that I married you. I’m sorry that she’s not yours. I’m sorry that even though I tried, and tried and tried that I wasn’t enough for you. So I’m setting you free from the shackles of this marriage. Whilst a divorce is not an option, I wish for you to take my departure as a blessing to move on with the woman you love.

I cannot stand in the same room as you, knowing she stood there too. I cannot bear your touch knowing she felt you too, in a more sincere way than I have ever felt. I cannot and will not hear you say you love me, not when you don’t mean it. Perhaps you feel you must say it out of obligation. Now you have no obligation to me, so say it to her in all the ways I wanted to hear them.

Lastly, thank you. Whilst I could not be entitled to your heart, you gave me the comfort of your home, your money and somewhat your time. For that I’ll always be grateful. I wish you the best of luck for the future.

Sincerely,

Miss Hwang

The letter in his hands trembled, tears billowing at the front of his brown eyes. How did he lose her? Did she somehow see the kiss? The way that the noblewoman had forced herself onto him, fixing her lips to him so tightly, he was paralysed on the spot. He could have sworn he felt her presence looming in the room, he couldn’t do this to her. He had hurt her enough. Roughly pushing away the noblewoman he ran to the bathroom, scrubbing at his lips as if it would remove the cursed action in itself; take the unremovable stain off. A weak sob escaped from his lips, sinking to his knees to cry out to the moon. It was all a mistake. He needed to find her, he needed to make his way to back to her.

A little body dashed across the front lawn, parading around the bushes as his mother stood in the kitchen, stacking away the dishes back into the cupboards. Thunder cracked the sky once more as a tall figure dashed up the hill to find comfort from the rain in the house settled upon the hill. He found that a child ran around the outside, who having sought him transcend tiredly, slowly inched towards him. Having been sent to Hahoe to retrieve scrolls and various pieces of literature, he had been let out of the carriage too early left to venture his way into the town. Normally, Yunho’s navigation skills were precise though with his mind wrought with numbness- it severed at his ability to think rationally. Yunho did not find her. He had searched the whole of Joseon too. From Hongjoong’s home all the way to her parents. Every possible place he thought she could be, he checked. Her mother cried out her soul, his father taunted him. A fool he was to let a diamond slip from his hands.

Si Won watched a man walk up the hill to his home, cocking his head in inquisition. His mother, Mrs Jeong, stalked to the doorway to call her child back into the home. A few weeks after she had reached her grandmother’s home in Hahoe, she was attacked by a wave of sickness every morning, tiredness gnawing at her muscles and had suddenly manifested a large appetite. She met with the towns physician, quickly learning that she was pregnant. She came back home to cry herself to sleep, so much so that she had almost lost her child in the midst of her grief. He became her anchor, giving her a reason to wake up every morning and to survive.

“Si Won, get back inside.” The toddler nodded before dashing down the hills to satisfy his interest in the peculiar stranger. Yunho’s movements halted as he met with the boy, who had shyly stopped less than a metre away. With a kind wave, the boy smiled- one that eerily mirrored his own.

She stopped as the stranger lifted up her child, walking in the direction of her home. There was something about the way that he moved that magnetised her, though the rain beating down on them, had her rushing back into the doorway-poking out her head. Yunho’s heart stopped for a split second in his chest.

It was her.

The child released himself from his grip, squirming to be put down. Gently, Yunho set down the boy who rushed into his home and passed his mother, frozen to the ground. He called out her name, a pained sob releasing from her as she turned to grab her child.

She had left the door open, Yunho ran in. Facing away from him, her child’s head buried in the crook of her neck by the light force of her hand. All so he couldn’t see her in this moment of vulnerability. No child should ever see their mother cry. It hurt more for them watch, than the mother to endure.

“I searched the whole of Joseon for you, but I couldn’t find you.” His wavering voice, reached out to her from the other end of the hallway.

“Close the door. Take off your shoes and go into the living room.” She ordered, passing up the steps to settle her child down to sleep. Persisting through his whines to not go to bed, he shrunk into a ball under her hard stare; huffing as if that would change her mind.

“Is he mine?” The soft covers blanketed his tiny frame, her hands caressing his cheeks. She got up to face him, nodding.

“I think you should leave, Yunho. When the storm subsides.”

“You have to listen to me. It’s not what you think. I know you saw us-,” His pleads were interrupted by the shutting of the door, descending the steps she entered the front room. “It was a mistake. She grabbed me, and forced herself onto me. I would never do that to you.”

“Would you not?” She argued. “You had no problem in hurting me when we first got married. In fact, in the entirety of our marriage you have hurt me more than you have loved me.” He went quiet, panting in the air as he held back sobs. He wanted to reach out and hold her again.

“I was sincere in my apology, I realised how wrong it was of me to subject you to punishment over something that was not your fault. I hadn’t realised that you never wanted this marriage in the first place- the same way that I didn’t. I hadn’t realised how cruel your father really was, until I told him that you had left home and there was not even so much as a scent of emotion on his face.” Breathlessly, his hands shook by his sides. Taking in his face, it no longer held the youthfulness that it once did. It was spun with tiredness and sorrow, his face sunken as if he hadn’t eaten in years. She wanted to dote on him again, hold him, feed him with her own spoon. Tell him how much she loved him, but hadn’t he hurt her so much already? Was he worth the endless amount of love she held for him?

“I had to beg for you to love me. Nobody begs for love Yunho. And even if you couldn’t love me, you could’ve tolerated me but you didn’t even want to do that.” A shaky breath escaped from her lips. His heated stare burned holes into her skin, her hair stuck to the back of her neck as sweat pooled under the guise of every humiliating emotion felt to man.

"Let me be yours again, please." he went down on his knees wrapping his arms around her stomach; tears staining the front of her dress. A stream of her own pearl tears soundlessly scurried down her face as she ran her fingers through his thick, black hair.

"Oh Yunho, why can't you understand? You've always been mine. It's me who's never had the privilege of having you." Falling to her knees, she plastered both of her hands to the side of his face, lifting it up gently so she could bore her eyes into his.

“Let me have that privilege again, let me have you in all the ways that you deserve. To have you and hold you in my arms is all I want to do. I will lay down my life for you just to have you again.” A solicitude remained suspended in the air, his staggered breaths pulping the palpable tension- attempting to calm himself.

“I’ve been hurt enough. I really don’t think I can go on being hurt.” He nodded his head understandingly, a look of dejection flooding over his perfect features. Hesitantly, she reached for his hands encasing his larger palm in hers- to grab at his attention. Patting her lap, she motioned for him to draw closer to her. Slowly, he drew closer falling into her laps. “Don’t say anything. I just want to hold you.” To hold you as if I’m going to lose you again. To drink you in as if this the last of drop of water to ever touch the earth.

With his face buried in her torso, his eyes fluttered to a close. Her knees tucked up, hands roaming through his hair as if it were uncharted lands. Wind rushed into the room, the sky dimming to a stony grey.

She knew now. Her worth was void of value but her love for him transcended deeper than the earth, vaster than the seven seas. Her hurt prolonged centuries, an immortal root that would transgress generations. Her heart limped towards him, through ruptured arteries and severed limbs.

“Get up, dear. Si Won-ah is waiting for us.”

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘hwang’ meaning yellow

A/N: I was hyping up how sad this would be, so I hope this actually lives up to everyone’s expectations 😭 I did catch myself crying but I am overly emotional sometimes. This has been sitting in my drafts for a good four and a half months, it’s such a relief to finally get it out.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#ateez #ateez fanfic #yunho x reader #yunho x you #historical au #arranged marriage #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #kpop #ateez angst #ateez yunho #yunho

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nanami-is-nanamean · 5 months ago

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Hi. I have seen a nerdjo fanart and went a little insane.

I specifically saw this art--

and like LJKHFGLKJSHLDFKhGKLSD i know its satosugu or some kind of self insert bUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY--

the thought of a nerdjo nanago where GOJO is the straightlaced person in the relationship while NANAMI is the "bad influence" rough and tough bad guy iS SO GOOD TO MEEEEEEE

BECAUSE LIKE--

we all collectively hc nanami as being some kind of emo punk in hs or at the very least got into some bullshit during his uni/college years when he got out of juju tech and this is just its Natural Conclusion OKAY-- IM NOT INSANE BUT I WILL ADMIT THAT I AM GOING FERAL

Because like-- imagine a college au where gojo and nanami are assigned to be each others tutors in their respective fields (gojo with physics and nanami in economics). Gojo is painting this picture of a mean, money focused economics student that would rather look at the stock market than entertain theoretical physics, a subject that wont really affect his life before meeting him

But then they actually meet each other for their study session for the first time and oh god gojos never felt this gay before-- other than the time that gojo discovered he was gay, dear LORD he didnt feel that bad before KJLGSDGDL

Because while yeah, nanami did show up rockin the stereotypical hoity toity econ student fit-- glasses, collared shirt, watch, shined shoes-- he didnt expect him to be built like a brick shithouse, okay. And even as he fell back on his tried and true method of getting back into focus (which is breaking things down using physics to figure out how they interact with the world), even that failed because he started wondering about the physics of fabrics and how they didnt rip yet from such huge rippling muscles

He does manage to get through the tutoring lesson safely and, thank god it was the physics lesson first because if he had to sit there listening to nanamis voice talk about literally anything for extended periods of time, he may turn into a puddle. As gojo packs up, both his materials and his thoughts that are steering WILDLY into inappropriate territory, he resigns himself into being the fushiguros babysitter for the next 3 weeks because cleaning up baby diapers are the fastest way to get rid of a boner and he cant be popping those everytime hes around nanami

So imagine gojos surprise when nanami hesitates a bit before he leaves. "Are you busy tonight?" "...what?" "Are you busy tonight." "Uhm..."

Is this it? Is his 1 to 2 hour long crush discovered? Is nanami actually straight, found out his gayness, and decided to destroy him????

"...I noticed you didn't have anything down on your planner. A friend of mine got sick, so now im kind of going alone to this concert." "...Oh! Aren't you gonna--" "Sell the ticket? No, its... not really a concert, its an underground diy venue. its more live music in a bar, than an actual concert you buy tickets to. you get to find a lot of small starting artists. its pretty good." "...so youre saying is, there's no ticket to sell?"

gojo's breath hitches, as his deep chuckle graces his ears. "yeah, no tickets." his face is warm, and he has no idea if it shows. nanamis eyes tear themselves away from wherever they roamed and met his again. "you wanna come?" "y-yeah! yeah sure, im down."

he really fumbled the delivery on that one, but thank god nanami seems to like clumsy people because that just widened the small smile on his face. "that's good. see you 8 down at the lawsons?" "8 at the lawsons, yeah sure okay--" a nod, a grin, and he walks off.

Triple Threat Tokyo Groupchat

Sight Impediment: @/Dr. House Kinnie @/The Ball Vorer help what should i wear to an underground bar Dr. House Kinnie: wtf happened on that tutoring session gay boi The Ball Vorer: what else dude, he was being gay Sight Impediment: YOU GUYS ARENT HELPING

#i went. so feral.#i mean you can probably tell with how i just. made a damn drabble in the post JKLFKGBshfNDGhNSLDg #LOOK MAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT AND ENDED WITH NANAMI DEVOURING GOJO OKAY #INSTEAD IT TURNED INTO THIS #I AM BLAMING MY FEVER #I ACTUALLY CANT TELL IF ITS JUST A FEVER OR IF ITS A FLUE #EITHERWAY I AM BLAMING THIS DISEASE FOR IT LKGVBnLSDFKjhGBLKSDFg #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wynn talks #nanami kento #gojo satoru #nanago #gojo x nanami #nanami kento x gojo satoru #nanami x gojo #jjk headcanons #also this is actually really good set up for shit so feel free to use it as one of #wynn's story ideas

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 2 years ago

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Can I ask for a headcanon where MC is a martial arts nerd and asks to spar with Floyd, Jade, Jack, and Malleus?

Floyd Leech:

Floyd is stuck between finding it attractive that you could spar with him like this and a little bloodthirsty at wanting to overcome you in some way. He could never turn down a challenge however, and he offered some respect for your strength even if he took you up on each sparring session like he hadn’t been beaten before. It’s better to be careful with how much you playfully fight with him, as Floyd is quietly taking in all your techniques to use against you, while also observing your weaknesses to exploit them when the moment struck. It is a lot of fun though, and he wouldn’t turn you down.

Jack Howl:

Jack is worried about hurting you at first, perhaps even holding back which he later realized was a sign of disrespect to someone skilled like you. He did give a sincere apology for underestimating you, knowing he should’ve known better was he had a friend who, while they didn’t look muscular, was still very strong due to all the training they did. He promised to take your offers to spar seriously, preparing to give his all in the hopes of you both improving.

Jade Leech:

Jade is aware of, and doesn’t doubt, your prowess, but he always enjoyed seeing things with his own two eyes. He’s shockingly swift as an opponent but that only helps strengthen your techniques as he’s not one to easily fall for them, nor does he go for brute strengthening you right away. He’s a wily opponent that makes you use your brain as well as your body, and you find Jade is unlike any opponent you’ve sparred with before.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus didn’t have doubts about his physical prowess but this suggestion was something he wasn’t used to on two different fronts. Normally no one was brave enough to challenge him to any sort of battle, but physical ones were certainly not near the top of the list either. He had admired your form as you sparred, seeing the way your muscles were defined and that you had put serious dedication into martial arts. Whether you could use magic or not, he considered you a respectable opponent and asked if there were a few things you could teach him, hoping to be prepared if an opponent trained like you comes for his blood.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Floyd Leech #Jack Howl #Jade Leech #Malleus Draconia #Floyd Leech x Reader #Jack Howl x Reader #Jade Leech x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader

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nuggnugget · 4 months ago

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I’d love to know more of ur Piconell headcanons they’re sooo… 😭‼️

HHAHAHAHA I'm glad you like them!!! I'm sorry to all the Piconell shippers but

Situationship, friends with benefits, probably never actually gonna date date date here 😭

Listen as a couple, the art I've seen, absolutely cute, banger, would eat again but in my ART'S case I'm a SUCKER for them to act a bit more distant in views and fight about things but still, y'know. Hook up.

I'll chuck in a few of my own headcanons of course!

• Pico was the one to initiate all of it, and like I've said before, he's just having a really bad rebound. Despite his stern and mostly standoffish/ joking a lot behaviour he is DEFINITELY still nostalgic from the breakup and craves physical intimacy. That soft, sweet foggy, hugging and handholding typa stuff. His mind would catch himself dead and beat himself up though if he unconsciously did that around Darnell.

• Pico went with Darnell and not some random person because they built up a lot of mutual respect together. He feels like even though Darnell isn't exactly the sanest, and probably not even a great pick, the guy understands him and his issues a whole lot more than anybody else. Darnell picked him up when he was down and gave him some new confidence (Plus, now he's got muscles. It's a win win). The Weekend 1 fight really started Pico's interest in Darnell more as a qualm to his thoughts.

•Darnell is aromantic here! He feels no real romantic attraction to Pico (Pico is a mixed bag, you can't really tell if he's doing it for love or relief). That DOESN'T mean he's completely cold and heartless about Pico pining for him.

• He's less "I'm fine with it because I love you" and more "I'm fine with it because you really look like you need it, and I don't want you messing up again". Darnell sees it as a way to get Pico's head in the game rather than getting into a real relationship. He's not interested at all in soft intimacy, but has sympathy for the guy. Pico absolutely knows that. That's why they act more rough and like themselves in a normal situation (wrestling!!!! 💥).

• Darnell does help out Pico when he has his moments of schizophrenia or paranoia. I personally think Pico has hand tics when he's really overwhelmed. He's not the best at calming Pico down in those cases, but he gives in some effort. (Insert hand holding exception because it's sweet. Just like. Holding his fingers and soothing them. 💥 Pico cares a lot about that more than any kiss could do)

• They don't talk about their feelings that much in all honesty. Mostly because Pico doesn't want to throw his "stupid soft" thoughts and Darnell let's Pico do what he needs to do. They got to a good silent understanding.

• Pico loves to savour a moment of soft intimacy masked as rough gestures. It might be small, but it counts a lot for him.

Okay I won't put more this reply would go on for too long LMFAOO

I'm also still working on their dynamic! Would love to hear what y'all think :)

#darnell #pico #darnell x pico #pico x darnell #istg i hope i explained it well its all clear in my head but when i put it to words i dieee #listen to “you like me skinny” by julian guba thats pretty much my version of pico here #desperate pico is just... chefs kiss. idc

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sukuna-ryo · 7 months ago

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Jjk Men College Au

Headcannons

Nanami Kento

Finance Major

Blonde neatly styled hair, sharp cheekbones, thin lips, light brown eyes, glasses pushed up the nose bridge, dark circles, well-groomed and tidy, looks more professional than the professor, you thought he was a professor when you first saw him, calm and composed, stoic, mature, responsible and reliable, emotionally intelligent, good with people, helpful, no-nonsense-adult attitude, pragmatic, cynical, intelligent, tactical, tech-savvy.

Early morning lectures, blue dress shirts, khaki trousers, leopard print ties, networking, finance club, seminars, workshops, turns in assignments before due date, stockbroker internships, libraries, desk lamps, late night study sessions, midnight snacks, ink pens, vintage cars, leather seats, cracking knuckles, strained shoulder muscles, working out, not compromising on physical health despite having a demanding major, does jujutsu as hobby.

College-personal life balance, strength of character, disciplined, organized, heartthrob (unaware), husband material, would probably fall for someone just as diligent as him.

Ryomen Sukuna

Kinesiology Major

Red hair, fiery personality, strength, endurance, gym, MMA fighter, training, late night MMA matches, muscles, tattoos, tattoo artist best friend, frat parties, alcohol, girls, messy sex life, doesn’t do relationships, toxic, fans and fan clubs, future MMA champion, media coverage, athletic, strong-headed, willpower, intelligent, calculative, cunning, missing lectures, top ranker despite not studying much, arrogant, crazy, borderline criminal, don’t try to date him pls.

Leather jackets, ripped jeans, cologne, smirk, loud, reckless, always on the move, fights, wins, clubs, stays up late, doesn’t care, bad boy persona, high status, no commitments, love for chaos. Tension in the air when he enters, always the center of attention, fans everywhere, no time for weakness, doesn’t need to try.

Tattoo sleeve, arms covered, history of fights, scars, reputation, strength, untouchable, doesn’t play by rules, barely attends class, still aces it. Smirks, keeps moving, doesn’t stop. Drinks, casual, no relationships, cold heart. Only more battles ahead, all eyes on him, unpredictable, dangerous, charming.

Geto Suguru

Philosophy Major

Long black hair, weird side bangs, manbun, hidden tattoos, sharp dresser, classic casual but always expensive, calm and composed, mysterious yet friendly to those who matter.

Religious studies, top student, always reading something deep, debates with professors over lunch, having lunch with professors, doing pottery in his free time, sharp opinions, loud thoughts, a little racist, has a vision for an ideal society, probably loves Pythagoras and his cult, wishes to have something similar, always scribbling down ideas in random places, likes to keep things classy but low-key, sharp, calculating, deeply invested in his beliefs.

Volunteers at orphanages, good with children, art hobbies, loves to talk about philosophy, sometimes found debating late at night in the library, always in deep thought, a bit of a perfectionist, not easily impressed by others, enjoys challenging people intellectually, likes to put effort into his appearance, always carrying books on ethics, metaphysics, and society.

Popular amongst women, Gojo’s best friend, your grandma would probably like him, friendly but keeps a bit of distance, doesn’t open up easily but will be there for you when needed, composed around strangers, warm to those he’s close to, respects loyalty, his ideal partner would be someone with similar intelligence and values.

Gojo Satoru

Business major

6'4, blue eyes, trust fund guy, loud, jolly, eccentric, talented, arrogant, sarcastic, wants to make friends but misunderstood by those around him, comes off as off-putting, rich family, only heir, prodigy, diamond spoon kid, first in everything, Geto's best friend.

Gets bullied because of his white hair, shades, blindfolds, people think he has some weird kink, has fangirls regardless, popular loner, sharp dresser, stands out, hates attention, smirk always in place, makes people uncomfortable with his confidence, carefree but secretly lonely, sharp-tongued, cracks jokes all the time.

Easily gets on people's bad side, works to keep up his image, loves challenging authority, doesn't care about consequences, fiercely protective of his friends, holds grudges, always first to show up, leaves last, high-profile business role in his future, a bit of mystery that draws people in, keeps everyone at arm's length.

Wants to be understood, still pushes people away, walks into a room and demands attention, but doesn’t say a word, people notice him immediately, no one dares challenge him, but it’s not for lack of trying, takes classes seriously, skips boring ones, coffee in hand, shades indoors, professors secretly like him, students admire or fear him.

Doesn’t attend study groups, pulls through with perfect grades, natural intelligence, picks up info quickly, a bit of a mystery, high-profile events, networking, parties, center of attention at social gatherings, random comments that leave people laughing or wondering, doesn’t care about others, secretly craves connection but too prideful to ask for it.

---

Do not copy, plagiarise, translate or repost any of my content.

Likes, reblogs, and feedback is appreciated <3

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year ago

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Leg Day

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Female Powerlifter!Reader

Summary: You first catch Art Donaldson's eye in the university gym when all you want to do is hit back and biceps before class, the tennis player finds himself quite caught in your physique.

Warnings: foul language, smut, oral (f receiving), Art eats pussy and likes your thighs a whole lot. Reader is described as muscular. One line describes reader as not looking like Tashi in terms of physique.

Word Count: 1k

Author's note: Forcing myself to get back into writing at the same time im forcing myself to get back to the gym :') take this lil ficlet as a sign of my love for those who still follow me on here lmaoo.

Art adored your thighs.

You didn’t look like Tashi. Not that there was anything wrong with that in his mind, of course. But the physiques differed greatly. The star tennis player of Stanford had a lean build from her years of training and perfecting her sport. Long legs that covered the court in smooth strides and toned arms that delivered a vicious backhand.

The same body he and Patrick had nearly shared that one fateful night in a dingey hotel room when they should have been sleeping before their match in the morning. The same body he had found his gaze lingering on a touch too long to be appropriate for his best friend's girlfriend.

And the same body you called him out for drooling over in the campus gym when all you wanted to do was a simple arm workout before your 10 am.

“So are you actually going to use the bench or are you just gonna sit on it and stare at her like a fucking creep for another twenty minutes?”

You were not Tashi Duncan.

Strong arms crossed over one another as you waited for him to either say something or move, neither of which his brain could comprehend as you stood before him expectantly. A powerful, if not a tad intimidating physique supported by thick, muscular quads built from years of lifting heavy in sweat-filled weight rooms since you were a little girl that grew tired of soccer.

Then cheer.

Then volleyball.

The gymnastics.

Powerlifting was the one sport that finally stuck.

“It makes me feel strong.” You had explained your love for the sport to him one night. With his head laying in your lap, the textbook he had carried with him to your dorm under the excuse of needing help studying now laid discarded on your floor as he listened to your story. “Seeing how much I can lift, how it feels to finally make a weight you’ve been struggling with for so long. It feels like you’re proving something, you know? Especially when you’re one of the only girls in the weight room.”

Art could feel the testament to your craft under him. The thick corded muscle of your quads beneath his head as your fingers carded through his hair absentmindedly. Legs that were hugged by every pair of shorts you wore or hidden beneath the same pair of Stanford sweatpants whenever you felt a chill in the air. He found himself dreading the coming of winter as the two of you began to spend more time together.

He wasn’t sure when the admiration began to shift into something deeper, slowly turning from one athlete showing respect for another’s commitment to their sport into a hormonal college freshman staring at your ass in spandex shorts each time he bumped into you at the campus gym.

What he did know was that the night he finally found himself between your legs was one he would never forget. How quickly the pair of you shed your clothes in one anothers embrace, turning your room into nothing more than a collection of discarded study packets and kicked off Stanford merch telling the story that Art would no doubt replay in his mind for the entirety of winter break.

The soft smile on your face as he crawled on top of you, pressing fervent kisses to every inch of your body that you would allow him access. How he memorized each microscopic reaction, that a kiss to your neck would make you giggle but turn into a shuddering gasp if he dug his teeth into the skin. How you softened in his arms when he ran his tongue along the scar lining your hip, one he would have to ask you about someday.

But dear God, he could write poetry about your legs.

The feeling of them wrapping around his head while he lapped at your cunt with tentative kitten licks that soon turned into devouring you with a desperation that could no doubt be heard through the walls. Your muscles twitching and trembling from his touch as you cried out his name with an arched back and scrambling hands, desperately trying to reach him until you found purchase in his soft curls, gripping just tight enough to verge on being painful. His own moans mixing with yours, poor bastard getting so lost in giving you pleasure he didn't even realize when he began to grind his hips into your mattress, desperately searching for a release while helping you reach your own.

To hear your voice pitch into an airy whine as your thighs tightened around his head. Tighter and tighter as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm, hips twitching against his mouth still working away against your dripping cunt in a way that verged on being gluttonous until you pulled him away with a sharp tug on his hair.

In the aftermath, a silence settled over the two of you like a soft blanket. Spit-slicked lips laid feather-light kisses against the still twitching muscles of your thighs, pressing against the blooming bite marks that he knew would just barely peek out from the cuff of your shorts you wore during your morning training sessions. A minuscule stake of claim that he had no business branding you with given that he was too chickenshit to take you out on a real date.

Had you opened your eyes, you’d see that his were already trained on you with a softness you weren’t yet ready to see. Admiring the rise and fall of your chest with a faint smile on his face and the desire to take you out properly. To scrounge up enough money from his bank account after the room & board payments bleed him dry to some small burger shop or maybe the local theater to see you outside of the walls of your dorm or the university gym, wearing something nice and laughing at his jokes before kissing him goodnight. To sit in the stands of his next match as his girlfriend and congratulate him on his win with an overly obnoxious kiss that he would swear was humiliating but made him preen under your praise like a peacock during mating season. To do all of the downright nauseatingly romantic bullshit every nineteen year old boy wanted to do with the girl he was too afraid to actually make a move on.

But not yet.

“Have you ever considered wrestling? You’ve got a killer leg lock.”

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #men be like aaaaa i cant be serious with my emotions so im gonna stare deeply into your eyes with so much love its suffocating and #then ill make a silly little joke so you dont see me for who i ammmm #anyways- art donaldson with a muscular bad bitch who lifts heavy send tweet!!#anyways come talk to me about tgis man plsplsplspls

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horse-girl-anthy · 1 year ago

Text

Ikuhara Collaborators

as fans, it's easy to attribute any given aspect of an Ikuhara work to its flashy director. he is indeed a showrunner, the one who provides the uniting vision for a project. however, that doesn't mean that he is "the creator." anime production requires a lot of teamwork, which ultimately determines the quality of a work. rather than being a lone auteur, Ikuhara's strength as a director stems from his ability to draw in talent and create synergy between members. this post will highlight the individuals who worked with Ikuhara to bring his shows to life.

a quick note before we start: there are countless workers involved in a single anime production. for my sanity and yours, I focused on the ones I could find detailed information about. if you know of any additional contributors, or have detail to add about any of those I've included, feel free to leave a comment!

Sato Junichi

the first person who should be mentioned in regards to Ikuhara's career is Sato Junichi, his mentor at Toei. Ikuhara worked under Sato for his first animation projects, including a children's series called Maple Town Stories. Sato was the lead director for the first two seasons of Sailor Moon, but over time, he allowed Ikuhara more and more space to flex his own creative muscles. Ikuhara eventually directed the Sailor Moon R movie and became lead director on the season Sailor Moon S.

Sato is known as a great mentor--he also helped Kōnosuke Uda, Igarashi Takuya and Hosoda Mamoru early in their careers. it's safe to say that Ikuhara learned a lot from him. his respect for his mentor is shown by the fact that he asked Sato to provide storyboards for the vital episode 34 of Utena, "The Rose Crest." although Toei animators often used pseudonyms when working on outside projects, Sato declined to do so, wanting to celebrate his work on Utena.

other notable work: Goldfish Warning (Series Director); Sailor Moon and Sailor Moon R (Series Director); Sailor Moon S (Episode Director); Neon Genesis Evangelion (Storyboard); Vision of Escaflowne (Storyboard); Yume no Crayon Oukoku (Episode Director, Storyboard); Cowboy Bebop (Storyboard); Princess Tutu (Series Director, Storyboard, Manga); Sgt. Frog (Series Director, Storyboard); Aria the Animation (Series Director, Head Writer, Storyboard)

Enokido Yoji

a member of Be-Papas, Enokido was heavily involved in the writing and composition of Utena. he and Ikuhara attended the same high school, in the same year, but it is unclear how well they knew each other; but they were friends by the time Ikuhara was a film student. Enokido previously worked alongside Ikuhara on Sailor Moon, while also contributing to scripts to Evangelion. on Utena, he wrote roughly half the episodes: 1-5, 7, 9, 13-15, 22-23, 25-26, 30, 33-34, and 37-39, all crucial to the story. he handled every Miki episode and frequently focused on that character in interviews. while he did not handle animation composition on the film, he did write its screenplay.

if I had to say what Enokido brought to Utena, it would be articulation. he was able to understand Ikuhara's ideas and express them both in writing and in animation. my impression is that Ikuhara and Enokido got along very well and shared a vision, but Enokido balanced him out by injecting a bit of skepticism and realism into the work. it's hard to say how his visual style influenced Utena, but given that he was in charge of composition, he must have had a good eye and an ability to lead a team.

other notable work: Sailor Moon S (Series Composition, Script); Sailor Moon S: The Movie (Script); Redline (Composition, Script); Ouran High School Host Club (Series Composition, Script); Neon Genesis Evangelion (Script); Bungo Stray Dogs (Script, Series Composition); FLCL (Novelization)

Saito Chiho

a mangaka, her expressive and sensual art touched Ikuhara so much that he became determined to work with her. The Flower Crown Madonna, Saito's manga focused on the Borgias, served as an inspiration for Akio and Anthy's relationship.

along with the rest of Be-Papas, Saito created the Utena manga, starting it about a year before the anime aired. she later wrote and drew a manga companion for Adolescence of Utena, and in 2017, she honored the series's 20th anniversary by releasing the tribute After the Revolution. over the years, she's contributed a great deal to the Utena fandom. she also drew a ReoMabu piece for the Sarazanmai anthology.

of Saito, Ikuhara once said, "she's the most important woman to me, and truly understands me." it seems that they developed a strong relationship while working on Utena, which has lasted for decades. the two have collaborated on other projects, such as World of S&M, and done interviews together as recently as 2020.

other notable work (all as mangaka): Tenshi no Tattoo; Waltz in a White Dress; The Flower Crown Madonna; Kanon; First Girl; VS Lupin

Hasegawa Shinya

also a part of Be-Papas, Hasegawa was the principle character designer and art director for Utena, as well as a storyboard artist. he brought a sense of humor and eroticism to the project which suited it well, working closely with Chiho Saito to create Utena's artistic landscape. he was behind many little flourishes, such as Saionji crying in the opening credits. in addition to working on Utena, he also provided key animation for Penguindrum's first OP and final episode.

other notable work: Sailor Moon, Sailor Moon S, Sailor Moon R (Animation Director, Key Animator); Neon Genesis Evangelion (Key Animation); A Certain Magical Index (Chief Animation Director); The Girl Who Lept Through Time (Key Animation)

Oguro Yuichiro

Be-Papas member Oguro is credited as series planner. Empty Movement note that he was likely the one who handled publicity and marketing for the series, but may have also helped out in other ways. it was important for Utena's success to have someone with connections involved, and what's just what Oguro brought to the table.

he is the editor-in-chief of the magazine Anime Style and has interviewed other individuals on this list.

other notable work: Gekigangar 3 (Script); Kemonozume (Research and Planning Assistant); Goku and Zoku Sayonara Zetsubou-sensei (Series Composition)

J.A. Seazer

though not a member of Be-Papas, J.A. Seazer, the composer for the duel chorus songs, left a huge mark on Utena. in fact, the series's very conception was influenced by him. Seazer worked with one of Ikuhara's greatest inspirations, the experimental theater/film director Tereyama Shuji. a few of the duel songs actually predate Utena, including "Absolute Destiny Apocalpyse," which was written for a theater production. most of the duel songs were written explicity for Utena, and Be-Papas have said that they matched each song to its respective duelist. without the esoteric and powerful music that Seazer provided, Utena wouldn't be the same.

in the years since show's release, Seazer has gone on to write three whole new Utena albums, as well as many remixes of the original duel songs. you can learn more about them on Empty Movement's audiology page; I highly recommend checking them out if you haven't already.

other notable work (all as composer): Throw Away Your Books, Rally in the Streets; Moc; The Woman with Two Heads; Shintokumaru; Grass Labyrinth; Farewell to the Ark

Ohtsuki Toshimichi

speaking of J.A. Seazer, producer Ohtsuki Toshimichi is, according to Ikuhara, the only reason that he was able to get the composer on board for the project. producers often go unmentioned, but when considering a production, they are, naturally, essential. luckily for us, Ohtsuki was willing to take a chance on Utena (series and film), allowing the creative team total freedom. that willingness to go out on a limb taught Ikuhara the importance of taking risks.

other notable work (all as producer or exective producer): Metropolis; FLCL; Shaman King; Lorelei; Evangelion Rebuild Films

Kobayashi Shichirou

Utena's art director, Kobayashi, was and is a legend in the world of anime. known for his extensive work with director Dezaki Osamu, he was known for his beautiful backgrounds. known his hand-drawn paintings, Kobayashi helped to shape the look of many beautiful anime, including Utena.

it could be said that he was the one to help bring Ohtori to life. he was responsible for many of the backgrounds from both the show and the movie. his studio, Kobayashi Productions, was also instrumental in bringing the franchise to the screen.

other notable work: Moomins (Background Artist); The Gutsy Frog (Art Director); Lupin the Third: Castle of Cagliostro (Art Director); Ashita no Joe 2 (Art Director), Golgo 13 (Art Director), Urusei Yatsura 2 and 3 (Art Director); Angel’s Egg (Art Director, Layout Supervisor); Venus Wars (Art Director); Berserk 1997 (Art Director); Legend of Basara (Art Director); Simoun (Art Director)

Yamaguchi Ryōta

under the penname Noboru Higa, Yamaguchi wrote all Nanami episodes of Utena. he was not a member of Be-Papas and was asked to write her episodes in such a way that they would feel out of place. I think we can all agree that this had a positive effect on Utena. there isn't much information available about his work on the show, but it seems that his brand of comedy had a great influence.

other notable work: Sailor Moon S (Script); Sailor Moon Sailor Stars (Series Composition, Script); Ranma ½ Season 7 (Script); Vision of Escaflowne and Escaflowne: The Movie (Script); Medabots (Series Composition, Script); Kanon (Script)

Igarashi Takuya

Igarashi wrote Utena episode 19, directed episodes 9 and 19, and storyboarded many others, all under the pseudonym Kazayama Juugo. as he discusses in this interview, the staff members often had their own special character that they felt closest to and worked on the most, and for him, it was Saionji. he storyboarded Part A of Adolescence, meaning that he handled the Saionji duel.

Igarashi was another hire from Toei, having also worked on Sailor Moon. given that he storyboarded the crucial episodes 25, 30, and 37, he must have quite the artistic talent. however, if you read his interview, you'll see that he also has lots of great insights into Utena's themes as well. he talks a lot about the mood and tone, which often go undiscussed.

other notable work: Sailor Moon R and S (Director, Storyboard); Sailor Moon R: The Movie (Assistant Director); Cutie Honey F (Director, Storyboard); Mushishi (Director, Storyboard); Ouran High School Host Club (Director, Storyboard); Soul Eater (Director, Storyboard); Bungou Stray Dogs (Director, Storyboard)

Hosoda Mamoru

believe it or not, Hosoda worked on Utena before he ever directed a film of his own! having also been mentored by Sato, he met Ikuhara at Toei and came to work under him on Utena under the pseudonym Hashimoto Katsuyo. while Igarashi felt a kinship with Saionji, Hosoda's focus character was Juri. while he mostly handled storyboards and key animation, he wrote one script: the one for episode 29, the final Juri episode. he gave an interview about her two-episode concluding arc here. in addition, he storyboarded Part C of the Utena movie, which includes Juri's duel.

other notable work (all as film director): Digimon: The Movie; One Piece Movie 6; The Girl Who Leapt Through Time; Summer Wars; Wolf Children; The Boy and the Beast (also wrote); Mirai (also wrote); Belle (also wrote)

Mitsumune Shinkichi

Mitsumune composed Utena's beautiful background music, for both the series and film. I can't find much information about him, but I had to include him on this list because I adore every single track he penned.

other notable work (all as composer): FLCL; Yu-Gi-Oh (it looks like he more or less scored the entire franchise); Dragon Dive; Rocket Girls

Aizawa Masahiro

at last, we come to an entry that isn't confined to Utena! Aizawa worked on Utena, Penguindrum, and Yurikuma, all in the area of animation. credits include storyboards, chief animation director, key animation, and more. he seems to have taken on the most responsiblity with Penguindrum, being heavily involved in episodes 17 and 23.

it appears that he's another animator that Ikuhara met at Toei. he's still active in the anime industry and works under the pseudonym Aizawa Kagetsu. his notable work section might look short, but that's because he's made small contributions on a large number of projects.

other notable work: Lupin the Third: The Woman Called Mine Fujiko (Animator Director for OPs and EDs); One Piece Film: Z (Key Animation); Tanaka-kun wa Itsumo Kedaruge (Storyboard, Director, Key Animation)

Nakamura Shouko

Nakamura got her start at Production I.G and Gainax and is known for a feminine, sensual animation style. she codirected Penguindrum with Ikuhara, along with storyboarding many episodes, providing key animation, designing the settings, and working on the OPs/EDs. at least as far as visuals go, she may have been the most influential person to work on Penguindrum, and Ikuhara handed the crucial task of directing the final two episodes over to her.

Nakamura has had a long and successful career working on many projects. I'm not able to find any interviews with her on Penguindrum, but given how much she invested into it, she must have been just as determined as Ikuhara to see it made.

other notable work: Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence (Key Animation); Mushishi (Key Animation, Animation Director); Kimi ni Todoke (Key Animation, Animation Director, Storyboard); Kill la Kill (Key Animation, Director, Storyboard); Evangelion: 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo (Key Animation); Doukyuusei (Chief Director, Storyboard, Key Animation)

Nishii Terumi

now a veteran of the anime industry, Nishii's first ever job was working behind the scenes on Adolescence of Utena. she later served as animation director and character designer on Penguindrum. when asked about working with Ikuhara, she said it was "very hard," because, despite the freedom he afforded his staff, "he changed his mind every week." in fact, she said that Penguindrum was the hardest project she ever worked on.

Nishii is a major critic of the anime industry's treatment of workers and is a member of NAFCA, an organization lobbying for better conditions for animators.

other notable work: InuYasha (Key Animation); Saint Seiya Franchise (Character Design); Mushishi (Animation Director, Key Animation); Death Note (Key Animation, Animation Director); Heartcatch Precure! (Key Animation); JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond Is Unbreakable (Character Design, Chief Animation Director); Jujutsu Kaisen (Chief Animation Director)

Hoshino Lily

a manga artist, she worked on Penguindrum as a character designer and also drew all the end cards. she's known for BL, including Naruto doujinshi and fan art. in 2013, she contributed to a Utena tribute book on Pixiv.

like Nishii, she mentions Ikuhara frequently changing his mind while developing Penguindrum. though multiple character designers worked on the project, it seems that Hoshino was the one primarily responsible for the looks of the main characters. apparently, Sanetoshi is meant to look like one of her "long-haired ukes."

other notable work (all as mangaka): Harem de Hitori; Boku dake no Ō-sama; Rabu Kue; Otome Yōkai Zakuro; Yumemiru Koto

Nakamura Chieko

like Nishii, Nakamura worked on Utena very early in her career and went on to be an animator for Penguindrum. she worked on the backgrounds and was the art director for many episodes, including the first and last; she also contributed to the "Crystal World" of episode 9. later, she would collaborate with Ikuhara again on Yurikuma as a background artist and art director.

other notable work: Eyeshield 21 (Background Art); Kids on the Slope (ED); Sengoku Collection (Art Director, Background Art); Doukyuusei (Art Director, Background Art); Saint Cecilia and Pastor Lawrence (Art Director, Art Setting, Background Art)

Hayashi Akemi

a pattern is emerging: Hayashi also worked on Utena relatively early in her career as key animator (6 episodes and film) and animation director (8 episodes and film). later, she contributed to Penguindrum as a key animator--specifically, she is the one who animated the Princess of the Crystal transformation sequence!

Ikuhara said in an interview that she is "good at drawing small details" and thus asked her to handle Himari and Shoma's backstory. she storyboarded, directed, and provided key animations for episode 20, a major series turning point.

other notable work: Slam Dunk (Key Animation); Fruits Basket (Character Design, Key Animation, Chief Animation Director, Animation Director); Gurren Lagann (Animation Director, Key Animation); Banana Fish (Character Design, Chief Animation Director, Key Animation); Doukyuusei (Storyboard, Character Design, Animation Director, Key Animation)

Hashimoto Yukari

Hashimoto deserves to have her praises sung to the heavens for composing the OST for every post-Utena Ikuhara work--not only the BGM, but also the arrangements for the Triple H songs (originals by the band ARB) and the musical numbers from Sarazanmai. according to this staff article, "she's able to respond to any out-there requests Ikuhara makes." that's readily apparent on the Yurikuma OST, where she seemlessly blends a wide variety of musical styles to create a unique sound.

other notable work (all as composer/arranger): Sayonara Zetsubou-sensei (OP and ED); Toradora!; Poco's Udon World; March Comes in Like a Lion; Osomatsu-san (2020); Komi Can't Communicate

Ikami Takayo

Ikami "is a Japanese novelist, detective fiction writer and screenwriter born in Tokyo in 1975." she is credited as cowriter for all Penguindrum and Yurikuma episodes, as well as the Yurikuma novelizations. it seems that she may have been the one to come up with the phrases "Yuri approved" and "Is your love the real thing?" outside of writing, she has also dabbled in series composition.

other notable work: Thirteen Eyes in a Dark Sky (Short Story); Isolde's Garden (Novel); Watamote (Script); Beautiful Bones: Sakurako’s Investigation (Series Composition, Script); Otherside Picnic (Script)

Yamada Haru

Yamada is a big name sound director and the cofounder of Sound Team Don Juan. he's worked on many projects over time, including some blockbuster hits, but still found time to be the sound director of Penguindrum, Yurikuma, and Sarazanmai.

other notable work: Your Name (Sound Department); Shin Godzilla (Sound Department); Made in Abyss (Sound Director); Banana Fish (Sound Director); Suzume (Sound Director); Shin Ultraman (Sound Department); Skip to Loafer (Sound Director)

Shibata Katsunori

Shibata was relatively inexperienced as a director when Ikuhara took him under his wing, giving him a lot of responsibility on Penguindrum. he provided storyboards, directed episodes, created special effects, and drew concept designs. he was credited for the "bear dance" ED of Yurikuma and did storyboards/key animation for episode 4. on Sarazanmai, he directed episode 6, codirected the OP along with Ikuhara, and did storyboards for episodes 1, 6, and 10.

other notable work: Xam'd: Lost Memories (Key Animation); Sword of the Stranger (Key Animation); A Certain Magical Index (Key Animation) Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (Key Animation); Sengoku Collection (Storyboard, Character Design, Animation Director, Key Animation)

Kaneko Shingo

the more you look into it, the more it seems like Penguindrum, Yurikuma, and Sarazanmai were staffed by the exact same people. that's not true, of course, but there is a lot of overlap.

in this case, there's overlap with Utena too. a former Toei employee, Kaneko is the only person on this list who worked on all four Ikuhara works. he provided storyboards for Utena episodes 2, 11, 32, and 38, and was also assistant director on a couple others. on Adolescence, he served as a unit director and storyboarder for Part B. he provided the script for episode 16 of Penguindrum, one of my favorites. he directed the episode as well, along with 4 and 23 under Nakamura Shouko.

Kaneko additionally storyboarded and directed episode 8 of Yurikuma, but took on a bigger role with Sarazanmai, where he storyboarded the Kawauso Dance and directed episodes 2, 8, and 10. apparently, he's "earned a reputation as Ikuhara’s comedy chief." thanks, Kaneko!

other notable work: Slam Dunk (Assistant Director); Parappa the Rapper (Storyboard, Unit Director); Fullmetal Alchemist (Storyboard, Director); Soul Eater (Storyboard, Director); Sengoku Collection (Storyboard, Director, Key Animation)

Furukawa Tomohiro

after doing some key animation on Penguindrum, Furukawa went on to be a major figure in the production of Yurikuma. he did storyboards/key animation, acted as Ikuhara's assistant director, and took on the final, crucial episode 12 as lead director.

Furukawa is now a showrunner in his own right and still acknowledges Ikuhara as his mentor, though he doesn't want to be pigeonholed as his "follower." this article suggests that, based on comments Ikuhara has made, Furukawa's knack for euphony left its mark on his mentor's work. in return, Furukawa has joked about Ikuhara's "insincere grumpiness" and praised both his management style and gift at mentorship.

other notable work: Death Note (Key Animation); One Piece Film: Z (Key Animation, Assistant Animation Director); Kakegurui Twin (Director); Revue Starlight Franchise (Showrunner)

Morishima Akiko

a yuri artist, Morishima was inspired to become a mangaka at age 19 after she read an Ikuhara interview. she was afraid to accept his offer to work on Yurikuma out of fear that she would "ruin everything," but ultimately came onto the project to create the manga.

in the linked starting guide, Morishima and Ikuhara go into detail about the planning process for Yurikuma. it's revealed why Ikuhara likes to work with mangaka; he has them draw the characters first and creates their personalities based on their art. he specifically wanted to work with Morishima to give him some yuri cred. when asked, Morishima discusses her likes and dislikes when it comes to yuri. she apparently prefers writing about older women and doesn't care about how sexy a yuri is, but only about the strength of the romance.

Morishima has drawn tributes to Ikuhara's other works, including Penguindrum and Sarazanmai. she also wrote the Yurizanmai section of the Sarazanmai anthology.

other notable work (all as mangaka): The Conditions of Paradise; Hanjuku-Joshi; Renai Joshika; Onna no ko Awase; Motto Hanjuku Joshi

Kurosawa Masayuki

Kurosawa is a digital artist, editor, director, and storyboarder. I don't have a lot of information on him, but I decided to include him because he storyboarded Yurikuma episode 11 AND Sarazanmai episode 8 (along with 10). what does this mean? well, he handled both Lulu and Enta getting shot, of course! funny how these things work out.

in addition to storyboarding, he is also credited as Sarazanmai's editor.

other notable work: Wolf's Rain (Director); El Cazador de la Bruja (Editor); Revue Starlight (Editor); My Happy Marriage (Editor)

Takeuchi Nobuyuki

Takeuchi was working at Shaft when the studio picked up some outsourced animation for Utena. his work was striking enough to catch Ikuhara's attention, and so he was brought on to Adolescence as an animation director. as the 2000s began, Takeuchi saw success working at Shaft with director Shinbo Akiyuki. this article describes him as particularly talented at externalizing characters' inner struggles.

Takeuchi, though presumably quite busy, contributed to Penguindrum, specifically episode 9, acting as the sole director, key animator, and storyboard artist. he got a chance to shine with that episode, which is now a fan favorite.

the reason that Takeuchi is so far down this list is that he played a larger role in the production of Sarazanmai. he's credited as the codirector along with Ikuhara, as well as a storyboard artist and key animator. Takeuchi is noted for his focus on the Kuji brothers, having directed episodes 4 and 9. he gave an interview about his work on Sarazanmai, which can be read here.

other notable work: Spirited Away (Key Animation); The Cat Returns (Key Animation); Howl's Moving Castle (Key Animation); Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea (Key Animation); Bakemonogatari (Storyboard, Animation Director); Weathering With You (Key Animation)

Migi

a mangaka, she provided Sarazanmai's character designs, contributed to the anthology, and is still drawing the Sarazanmai manga. she's said that Tooi was the hardest character to design, and she argued with Ikuhara over Sara's look, since they apparently have different definitions of bishoujo.

Migi has an active Pixiv account where she still posts Sarazanmai art. she also did this lovely tribute for an Ikuhara exhibition.

other notable work (all as mangaka): Robot; Gelatin

Utsumi Teruko

Utsumi got her start "working as a production assistant at Brains Base and slowly inching towards writing via literature management duties." she's credited as the cowriter of all Sarazanmai episodes, working closely alongside Ikuhara. she also coauthored the light novels, wrote song lyrics, handled series composition, and acted as a manager. on top of all that, she is the one who created the model bridge which transports the Golden Trio to the Field of Desires.

other notable work (all as script writer): A Good Librarian Like a Good Shepherd; Enride; Cheer Boys!!; Kakegurui Season 2

#kunihiko ikuhara #ikuhara #revolutionary girl utena #mawaru penguindrum #yurikuma arashi #sarazanmai #commentary #theres tons of others i didnt include bc i just couldnt find anything about them.

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

Note

So, how exactly was the Gotei 13 formed in AEIWAM?

(The original gotei-13 captains might have canon genders but I'm going off vibes tbh.) (Here's a collection of Kubo's art of the original 13 so you can see what everyone looks like)

-----

It had started with the Clans.

Actually, it had started when Shigekuni Yamamoto was mugged for the fourth time in as many days, by agents of The Great Noble Houses, trying to influence the tide of their endless petty wars. You could hardly blame him for reacting as he did, somewhat literally blowing up with rage, and upon his return to his home office, rallying his fellow distraught men into a fighting force to stand up to the clans.

It had been quite a popular manuver for him, with the equally distraught and downtrodden citizens of the central rukongai threw their support behind him in short order. He was already well-known to them, and respected for his work. In a few short years, his meager forces had grown to rival the clans in power.

Then the Quincies had invaded the Spirit World, lead by some horrible creature known as Yhwach, seemingly Hell-Bent on conquest- which is where all of them would end up if The Archery Bastards kept shooting everything that moved and upended the balance between the worlds.

Now-General Shigekuni Yamamoto, the unfortunate bastard to whom the task of defending the largest city in the Spirit world from invasion had fallen, needed some muscle.

Why me, of all people? Surely there were others more qualified? He wondered, staring at the latest round of reports from the meager handful of his men that remained. Or perhaps everyone smart enough to actually do this is also smart enough to realize it was a lost cause and had thrown their lot in with one of the Noble Houses, and I am on a fool's errand.

Even just a handful of warriors with sufficient strength could break the leading edge of the Quincy line, and let the small army that remained slip behind them in to cut the Quincies off from their supply lines. It was just that breaking the wall of archers required at least a dozen of him.

"Word from lieutenant Sasakibe!" Shouted one of his soldiers, sprinting in the door and thrusting a letter at him. "Sorry sir I just remembered how important it was that you heard from him as soon as possible."

"You did as I asked." Yamamoto nodded, opening the letter. He had needed to stay- both to recover from his injuries and because if the Quincy got much closer, using Ryujin jakka to create a wall of fire around the city might be the only way to hold them off- and he had tasked Chojiro Sasakibe, his Longest and Dearest friend, with finding him the strongest warriors in Soul Society.

He took the scroll and opened it, reading the neat but excitably slanted handwriting within-

Dearest Shigekuni,

I am relieved to report I have found a dozen extremely powerful warriors per your request! I went on a hunch a friend of mine had, and found a concentration of MANY powerful warriors that would be willing to aid our cause, but twelve among them are particularly standout candidates. Given the rapid advance of the Quincy Army, I have included a teleportation spell to their location at the end of this scroll so you may meet them immediately.

"Incredible!" Yamamoto laughed. "Is there nothing this man cannot do?"

I do beg of you though- Please, reserve your judgement of them until you have seen their capacity.

"Ah." Yamamoto sighed. "...of course there's a catch."

Their circumstances are... complex, and this has made many of them rough and peculiar to speak to, but I swear we will not find better warriors, at least not before the Quincy advance reaches Seireitei.

I await your arrival, Chojiro

Yamamoto unfurled the scroll a bit more to see the edge of the teleportation spell that would activate when exposed to sunlight. "Sir?" asked the young soldier.

"It seems Sasakibe was successful in finding me the assistance we need, but they are apparently a queer lot." Yamamoto rumbled, thinking. "There is a teleportation spell- How close did you say the Advance was?"

"Not more than a week out, sir."

"Hopefully less than two hours then." he grunted, standing up and carrying the scroll to the courtyard of the building he operated from- it was a place used to the many comings and goings of a large and complex organization, though the little Shrine to the God of Messages and messengers had been somewhat neglected of late. Yamamoto took a moment to sweep the leaves out of the shrine and bowed to the statue within, thanking it for delivering Sasakibe's message and asking for help delivering him to his friend.

"Any orders while you're away, Sir?" The soldier asked.

"Someone clean out that shrine and make it a proper offering. The last thing we need is for communications to go down." The General nodded.

"Yes Sir!" the soldier saluted.

Yamamoto unfurled the scroll and with a flash, vanished from the courtyard.

---

With the same flash, he appeared somewhere... foggy.

"Shigekuni?" a familiarly crisp voice asked somewhere in the ether.

"Chojiro?" Yamamoto called back, and the vague shape that might have been a rock in front of him stood up, arms open. He laughed, and embraced his friend. "Good job! How did you find them so fast?"

Sasakibe's warm smile suddenly stiffened into a grimace. "...Promise you will not be angry?"

"Chojiro?" Yamamoto frowned.

"See, I was asking my friends- only the most trusted of them, I swear- how to even go about finding warriors with everything scattered to the wind of late, and well- One of them suggested that only things that are powerful are widely feared, so look where fearsome things are to find powerful ones."

Yamamoto squinted at his friend, then around them at the dense fog, the strange rocky cliff beside them, and the distant sound of angry voices.

"Chojiro." Yamamoto asked, hands on his shoulders. "Where are we?"

Sasakibe pointed up behind Yamamoto where characters had been carved into the stone cliff.

The Nest Of Maggots

"Chojiro."

"Yes, sir?"

"This is a prison."

"Yes, sir."

"This is a prison for the kind of filth that even the most bitterly factious clans agree is a danger to have wandering around. The kind that they already tried and failed to weaponize against each other. This is a prison for Monsters."

"...Yes, sir." Sasakibe sighed. "-But, is is not monsters we need?"

Yamamoto was silent for a time, thinking of the swathes of pointless destruction- salted fields and burnt villages- of the senseless loss of life- slaughtering soldier and civilian alike down to the last man, woman and child- of the cruel and twisted powers of the chosen favorites of Yhwach.

"Monsters to fight monsters." He shook his head. "What is this world coming to?" Yamamoto sighed.

Sasakibe looked away, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "Still, beggars can't be choosers." Yamamoto nodded. "Show them to me."

--- All twelve "Most Dangerous" of The Nest's prisoners had been herded together into something approximating a straight line in the middle of the rocky cavern that housed the prisoners here, though some of them were already beginning to meander, and one woman near the end of the line had, rather rudely, decided to remain seated in Yamamoto's presence. The lineup was... less than impressive. Two of the women looked like they belonged on pinup posters rather than death row. One of the men looked like a washed-up Sumo, another like an ashtray that had been cursed to roam the afterlife as a human. On one end of the line was an ancient and decrepit old man, and on the other was a- Yamamoto wasn't actually sure if they were a man or a woman, but in another life, they had definitely been a cat.

"These are the most powerful fighters in the Spirit World?" He muttered to Chojiro.

"These are the most still-alive-est fighters in the Spirit World." Chojiro clarified.

"...Fuck it. " Yamamoto sighed under his breath, before stepping forward and addressing them properly.

"I am General Shigekuni Yamamoto of The Seireitei. I don't know how long you've been in this hole-" Yamamoto paused, sensing that something was off.

None of the Prisoners were looking at him. In fact, the all seemed very dedicated to looking everywhere but at him. Some were inspecting the stalactites, others were examining the grit on the cave floor, or staring into the metaphysical abyss somewhere just over his shoulder, and one man had pulled his very silly straw hat down in front of his face.

"-Alright, what the hell is going on?" Yamamoto growled.

There was a general unenthusiastic sort of shuffling and a distinct lack of answers.

"Remember everyone!" The man next to the cat-in-human-form spoke up while examining his fingernails. He looked more like an accountant than someone who belonged on Death Row, but the others perked up and paid attention. "-We are not to speak to any guards of visitors until our representative arrives and has given us permission to do so." The others nodded and resumed looking anywhere but at Yamamoto.

"...Representative?" Sasakibe lightly growled at a guard, whose complexion went from 'ashen' to 'deathly'.

"They um. Well. They've gotten rather close to one of the other prisoners, but she's no good in a fight, so we left her-" The Guard sputtered under Sasakibe's withering glare.

"-Miss Tsubaki was waiting at the Primary gate last I saw her." continued the man who looked like an accountant and that Yamamoto was becoming increasingly sure was armed, despite allegedly having been searched and denied any tools in his confinement. "...I say to no-one in particular." He added.

There was a moment of silence.

Yamamoto struck the tired-looking, gray-haired young woman beside the accountant, sending her stumbling back, but the accountant and the sturdily-built blonde man beside her stepped in to catch her, the rest of the line snapping to attention, eyes fixed on him with utter rage.

"Now that I have your attention-" Yamamoto started again, the gray-haired woman coughing as the sturdy blonde helped her back to her feet. "-As I was saying, the Spirit World is being invaded, and you're all being conscripted to-"

"Yachiru!" Snapped a young woman behind them.

Yamamoto turned to glare at the interloper, but instead found that the gaunt-looking woman that had remained seated had somehow apparently teleported and tackled Sasakibe to the wall behind them, one arm pressed to his throat, slowly choking him. Apparently-Yachiru's other hand had put some substantial holes in his abdomen and she paused from where she was about to stark licking Sasakibe's blood off her fingers to look at who had spoken.

"Don't eat that! You don't know where it's been!" Said a waifish young woman in threadbare prisoner's robes who could not have been taller than 4'10". She was quite striking, with large, dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a long aquiline nose. She took Yachiru's bloodied hand and dragged her back to the group. Yamamoto tried to keep his pace even as he walked over to check on Sasakibe, who immediately sat up and waved him off.

"...Thirsty." Grunted Yachiru- She might also have been beautiful, with her pale, round face and smooth black hair, were it not for the haunted, carnivorous look in her eye and her apparently literal bloodthirst. She stopped halfway back to the group to give a wet, hacking cough that made Yamamoto's skin crawl, and spat out a gob of bloody phlegm on the floor.

"You'll feel better when you get Minazuki back." the young woman reassured her, helping Yachiru sit back down, the others taking seats on the stone floor as well, in two neat lines behind her, the Human Cat behind one shoulder, the Accountant behind the other. "Is everyone else alright?"

"Kinroku definitely did not tell the guards to go get you." announced the man from behind his straw hat. "Also the mean old man hit Chigiri."

"I understand. Do you need assistance, Chigiri?

"The Old Goat has a sucker-punch like a rocket but I'll live." grunted Chigri, rubbing her abdomen and waving her hand interrogatively at Yachiru, who shrugged in reply.

"Despicable Behavior, hitting a medic." the human ashtray sniffed disapprovingly. Yamamoto could feel the Reiatsu of the group now, previously held in check, now starting to unfurl and growl and snarl at him.

"You BASTARDS-!" Yamamoto snarled, lunging towards the young woman, who instinctively made a fist in front of her chest, grabbed it with her other hand, and swung her whole body around, slamming her elbow into his eye socket and nose, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. It wasn't that hard a hit, not compared to what he was used to, but there was genuine killing intent behind it, much like the heel she struck into the side of his head, knocking him over the rest of the way in surprise. Miss Tsubaki's large, dark eyes were full of rage as she glared down at him, grinding his head into the floor under her toes. "Ah." He said, finally recognizing her from images in the intermittent news bulletins. Tsubaki was a middle daughter of one of the most powerful of the Noble Houses who had suddenly vanished from public view the year before. The rumor was that she had been imprisoned by her father for dangerous activities like 'Going Places' and 'Writing Letters' or even 'Having Opinions'. It was apparently true, but if she'd managed to organize the dirtiest dozen of the Maggot's Nest, he was beginning to understand her father's choice of internment. "Miss Tsunayashiro, I presume."

"I am her, and I am here in my capacity as their Union Representative. This means you do not talk to them. You talk to me." She lightly snarled, removing her surprisingly sharp-heeled foot from his temple and sitting seiza in front of the group. "Now what is it that you have brought us here to discuss?"

"Your friends are getting conscripted." he glared, slowly getting up and standing to address her. Returning the blow to a civilan, no matter who her family was or how hard she hit, was beneath either of their dignity, but a little looming was alright.

"We're getting hired." She corrected him. "With proper contracts and compensation."

"Shut up or else." He snarled, reconsidering the value of his dignity.

"...Or else what, exactly?" She asked.

Yamamoto bristled, and slowly drew his sword. Tsunayashiro's gaze flicked to the blade, following it's gleam as he brought it up to her throat, tipping her chin up with the point. "-Or you will all die right here." Tsubaki closed her eyes, sighed deeply and opened them again, gaze fixed on his. He could feel her pulse through Ryujin Jakka's blade.

...Steady as a rock.

"Alright." She spoke evenly. "Strike me down."

Yamamoto blinked.

"We are already on Death Row, General." She explained slowly as though speaking to an idiot. "None of us have families to speak of, or to speak to, for you to threaten. We're already cold and barely allowed to sleep and starving and in constant pain from broken bones or missing organs or untreated injuries. We are all already doomed to die or suffer gross abasement. You, however-"

She slowly stood up, neck sliding a bit on Ryujin Jakka's blade, drawing a trickle of blood.

"-I've been in here for the better part of a year, I believe, but news trickles in. Guards leave to replace soldiers fallen on the battlefield. Rations dwindle as farmland is overrun or destroyed. Political prisoners are freed and returned home as more popular heirs and scions are killed. You, General Shigekuini Yamamoto, need help with this war, and need it badly, to come here for it." Tsubaki continued, stepping forward and pressing a bit more into the blade, the trickle running more strongly, down her throat and into the folds of her thin Yukakta, staining the fabric bright red.

"So go on. Strike us down." She spoke softly. "Spare us the Humiliation of a Public execution or the horrors of a lobotomy, and doom yourself."

Yamamoto, quite possibly for the first time in his life, hesitated.

"If you cannot do that, sit down and negotiate like a civilized person." She said. The blood stained her entire breast now, but she did not flinch or waver.

Slowly, glaring and refusing to break eye contact, he withdrew his blade, wiped it down and sheathed it. Teeth gritted and heart unexpectedly racing, he sat. Lady Tsunayashiro followed, head still held high, though that may have been so Chigiri could lean forward and press a pad of torn robe to her throat, stemming the bleeding as she bandaged it, muttering curses.

"We're being invaded by an army of mutant humans called "Quincy" who can shoot arrows made of pure reishi, which can obliterate a soul entirely. They're lead by some monster called Yhwach, who seems hell-bent on conquering the entirety of the Living and Spirit worlds, and is apparently capable of killing small gods and Kami." Yamamoto explained, trying to stress the depth of the situation. He'd never been in a labor negotiation before, and was hoping they'd be more reasonable if he made an emotional appeal. "Kill enough of the archery bastards and live, and I'll have all your crimes pardoned."

"What a shame, what a shame." clucked the old man at the far end of the lines. "You young people just don't know how to handle things..."

"Hmmm..." The person who was definitely at least spiritually a cat pursed their lips. "Oh, uh- Chika Shihon." the bowed their head. "-It's a good start, but I'm gonna need a hell of a payday, seeing as nobody will hire an ex-criminal, even a pardoned one, and about forty more people need to die before my family will consider taking me back in."

"As well as some form of protection from political reprisals, or there won't be an opportunity to spend any of that payday." said Kinroku the Accountant, rubbing his nose like he was going to push up a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing.

"Paying criminals? Surely, you can't be serious!" Sasakibe scoffed.

"I am serious, and my name is Tsubaki, not Shirley." The representative quietly smirked at him. "Well, General? What price are you willing to offer for the salvation of all of Soul Society?"

"I want to see some proof before we talk price." Yamamoto glared at the Death Row From The Dumpster before him.

"Fair enough." Nodded Tsubaki, turning her head to address the group. "After me, who would you all say is the weakest fighter?"

The group considered this for a moment.

"Strongest is easy, its Yachiru, even with the missing lung." waved the pinup girl with the eyepatch and pigtails.

"Give Uhin some credit!" Protested the other pinup girl with the tits that were individually larger than her head.

"That's sweet of you to say Batsu-" Uhin the Giant in the back row laughed, patting the second girl's head. "-But also holy shit, no. Yachiru could disembowel me and strangle me with my own intestines before I could get off the mark! No offense little man, but I think it's Furuoki." He said, patting the straw hat of the man in front of him.

"Really?" Tits McGee pondered. "I was going to say Nobutsuna."

"I was gonna say me too." announced the human ashtray with a rough and reedy voice. "I hate fighting." "Yeah, but you hit like a fuckin' rockslide. Yeah, it's Furuoki." Agreed eyepatch.

"Mr. Otogawa-" Tsubaki addressed Furuoki the hat man. "-It's rather dark in here, would you please let in some light?"

Furuoki blinked at her, confused.

"Show the old man you can punch a hole in the ceiling." Yachiru translated for him, wetly.

"Okay!" Furuoki chirped happily, getting up and walking a few feet away.

"MORE!" yelled the group.

"Over by the guard tower!" Encouraged the large and rather jolly looking man, save for how he seemed to have lost both his lips and most of the front of his mouth, but had only bothered to replace his missing teeth with gold ones, giving him a permanent lipless grin.

Furuoki walked over towards the guard tower until the guards approached him and told him to back up, paced a bit until he found a suitable middle ground, and squinted up at the ceiling.

"Sir-" Sighed the head guard walking towards Furuoki as frowned at the ceiling. "Sir that's half a mile of solid rock and twelve different magical wards above you. It's not gonna work."

Furuoki instead dropped down on one knee, aimed, and-

A dazzling blue-green light and a noise like the roaring fires of Hell Itself erupted from his fist as he punched up towards the ceiling, vaporizing the stone above him and making all 12 wards chime and tinkle like glass as he broke through them. As the mushroom cloud of dust dispersed, sunlight began to filter in through the hole, at least 100 feet in diameter. The top third of the Guard tower seemed to have evaporated as well, and the guards were scrambling to try to control the panic.

"Is that enough?" Furuoki called.

"...Is it, General?" miss Tsubaki asked.

"...Ten Thousand Kan?" Yamamoto tried.

"That's fine dear, please come sit back down." Tsubaki waved.

"I am surprised, general." She smiled at Yamamoto in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of they way the post office cat would smile at the mice. "Ten Thousand Kan annually per individual is a very reasonable offer."

"A one-time payment of Ten thousand Kan to be split between the group." he growled.

"No." She shook he head. "You're offering us annual salaries, individually."

"The hell I am."

"Then we will enjoy watching the collapse of civilization through the new Skylight Furuoki made us." She replied, unconcerned. "You may have noticed, General, that there is a war on, and this is an exceptionally safe and secure place to be. Make it worth leaving."

"-Two minutes ago this was a frozen hellhole you were all starving in." he glared.

"Ah, but the view and property value has improved substantially in the last two minutes!" She smiled, unconcerned with his complaints. "There is no punishment you could mete out that is worse than remaining here, General, but you are not an advancing army of superhuman mutants, and there are MANY things the Quincy can do to us that are worse than remaining here. You are in a most unenviable position."

Yamamoto grimaced. "You're sure this is the best there is?" he muttered to Sasakibe.

"We could also try swearing loyalty to one noble house and hoping the other four don't try to kill us before the Quincy do." Sasakibe grunted, hand over the puncture wounds in his guts. "I don't like it either. but I like our other options even less."

Yamamoto sighed. "...Five thousand Kan Annually per individual."

"Ten thousand." replied Tsubaki.

"Seven thousand."

"Ten thousand."

"That's not how this is supposed to go." Yamamoto grumbled.

"And yet, this is how it's going." She smirked. "There is also the matter of the political protections!"

"DAMMIT!"

---

Half an hour later, terms had been reached.

Full pardons, Ten Thousand Kan, annually per individual (plus expenses), and political protections in the form of employing them as commanding officers on the condition that they "-Don't get killed, and prove you're smarter than a sack of hammers and at least half as useful."

"No for real, I'll forgive the old man the gut punch, lemme do something so you're not bleedin' all over my contract?" Chigiri sighed, watching Sasakibe write up the contracts.

"I'll trust my body to keep my guts on the right side of my skin over someone's dirty socks." he sighed. "Or do you have something else on hand?"

"Minazuki." Muttered Yachiru, leaning heavily on Chigiri.

"Oh right! I keep forgetting she does the fish thing." Chigiri perked up. "Yeah tell the guards to go get her sword, it turns into a... fuckin' whatsit, the big flat fish? Turns into one of those that can heal anything."

"Again, I trust my own faculties over any sort of Healing Halibut." Chojiro groaned.

"Stingray." Yachiru muttered, wheezing a bit. "Minazuki is a stingray."

"Alright, back in line everyone- I need you all to confirm your identities and what crimes you need pardoned, and to sign your contracts." Sasakibe sighed, standing up with the contracts and handing the first to Yamamoto.

"Shigekuni Yamamoto, Dereliction of duty and Mail-tampering, among other assorted sins." He said, smirking a bit at his own joke as he took the contract.

"Thank you sir." Sasakibe sighed, shuffling the pile of folders containing the files of the dozen criminals, and stepping up to the first one.

"Chika Shihon-" He read off, matching the drawn portrait to the person in front of him- Chika was a rather handsome young thing, with warm bronze skin and short, soft white hair. It was the gleam in their yellow eyes that made Sasakibe worry. "- Sentenced to lifetime imprisonment or death for staging a clan coup, twelve counts of fratricide and... dabbling in forbidden Kido?"

"Oh, like you've never had a family dinner that got out of control!" Chika huffed, indignant.

"I'm more curious about the Kido, actually." Yamamoto said, peering over his file.

Chika beamed and Sasakibe got as far as a choked "NOT HERE-!" before they vanished in a cloud of smoke. When it cleared, they were still wearing the same excited expression, but now as a small white house cat.

Sasakibe and Yamamoto stared at the cat for a moment, then at each other in a mutual expression of I can't believe we've been reduced to asking these freaks for help.

"Well, when you've got thumbs again, please read your contract, then sign and initial all the indicated areas, and swipe your blood across the bottom." Sasakibe sighed, bending over to hand the kitty their contract. "Remember, these contracts are legally and magically binding. Betray us, and die immediately."

"Next is- Kinroku Izuhara-" Sasakibe was interrupted by one of guards appearing with the confiscated personal belongings of the prisoners, including an entire bundle of swords under his arm.

"I understand not giving us our weapons until the contracts are signed and the seal is placed upon us, but may I have my glasses back?" Kinroku asked, voice crisp and arch. He was certainly the least ragged-looking of the group, his graying hair still neatly trimmed and face clean-shaven.

Yamamoto held out a hand and the guard placed the appropriate glasses in his palm. "Trade you for whatever you have that's kept you so clean-shaven it's making my mustache itch." Yamamoto glared.

Kinroku smirked, and produced a piece of bone that had been exquisitely sharpened into a razor's edge.

"This is a human bone." Yamamoto observed.

"Unfortunately, poorer quality than the bones of pigs or cattle in terms of holding an edge, but it's done it's job." Kinrku nodded.

"...This says you're on death row for ...Tax Evasion?" Sasakibe glared at the file as the blade was traded for the glasses.

"Yes. I made an unfortunate miscalculation regarding the loyalty of my men, so I am glad you are taking adequate precautions." Kinroku muttered, cleaning his glasses on his robe, holding them up to the dim sunlight filtering through the hole, and frowning, disappointed.

"Men?" Yamamoto asked. "You've had experience commanding armed forces before?"

"After a fashion." he said, signing the contract and biting into his thumb to finish the deal. "You've heard of The Vipers of the southern reaches?"

"The decentralized bandit gang that disbanded a few years back? I thought their leader had died?" Sasakibe frowned.

Kinroku smirked at him.

"...Oh, for fuckssake." Sasakibe groaned.

"Chigiri Shijima." Yamamoto read off, having already moved on. "...What the hell kind of charge is Aggravated Medical Research?"

"Can't make an emergency field medicine manual omlette without breaking a few bones. And causing a few disembowelments. And poking out a few eyes." She explained.

Yamamoto slowly arched an eyebrow at her.

"I PUT 'EM ALL BACK!" Chigiri protested. "...Eventually."

"Read. Sign. Blood." Yamamoto sighed, handing her the contract.

"For real though, your man okay? I can have those stitched in under a minute." Chigiri pointed her thumb at Sasakibe.

"That's some fast-acting painkillers." Sasakibe noted.

"What painkillers?" Chigiri asked, genuinely confused.

"...I'll take my chances with the halibut." Sasakibe winced, turning to the next man in line. "Danjiro Obana?"

"Yeah!" Grinned the sturdy-looking blonde man, all smiles and friendliness now that an agreement had been reached. "Lookin' forward to workin' with you guys!"

"...Imprisoned for cannibalism?" Sasakibe asked, horrified.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Danjiro hollered, voice echoing around the cavern.

"How do you accidentally consume human flesh?" Yamamoto glared.

"Well- okay it wasn't an 'accident' per se, but look, that Ise Clan guy locked me in the family mausoleum to die, and understandably, I got the munches, and the coffins were fulla, eh... post-sapient jerky?" Danjiro explained. "I really don't know what he expected to happen. Really surprised when he opened up the door a month later and I gut punched his spine out though. I don't regret that one bit."

"You know? That's fair." decided Sasakibe, handing him a contract. "Read, sign, blood."

"Yessir!" Danjiro saluted happily.

"Furufoshi Saito?" Yamamoto asked the young woman with the purple pigtails and eyepatch that was next in line.

"I DID NOT 'KIDNAP' HIM, HE'S MY HUSBAND AND THEY'RE ALL A BUNCH OF PRICKS!" She roared.

Yamamoto blinked at her, then leaned over to read "Accused of Abducting and 'Deflowering' the eldest son of the Kuchiki clan' on her file. "...Care to elaborate on that?"

"I found poor Kyoga-kun half-dead on my doortstep after the battle of River Bo- he still had spears in him, the poor thing! So like a sane and reasonable person I took him in and nursed the sweet thing back to heath and- well, a beautiful man in my bed, grateful to me for saving his life and offering me his eternal love and gratitude- How could a girl resist?" She sighed, hearts in her remaining eye.

"-and since I'd carried him over the threshold into my home we were basically married already, so it wasn't wrong of me to ride him like a pony or violate his warranty like that! He loved it! He loves ME! AND I LOVE HIM! It's just that the rest of the Kuchiki clan are a bunch of snobs with no sense of romance." She sighed, melancholy, then looked up at him, chewing her lip in nervousness. "...You haven't. heard anything about him?"

Yamamoto considered her story, and the few times he'd met Kyoga Kuchiki- a delicate young man with a sense of romantic grandeur and when he'd seen the boy recently, he had been lying facedown on the floor and sobbing, in quite some distress over being separated from his beloved-

"...Daddy Bear?" Yamamoto asked, bewildered.

"MY LITTLE BABY BEAR REMEMBERS ME!" She shrieked with joy, "Is he alright? I've been so worried, he still wasn't over that septic infection and the war keeps getting closer-" She demanded, grabbing Yamamoto by his Kosode and shaking him for answers.

"-As of last month, he was distraught over your absence, but otherwise hale. The sooner the Quincy are dead, the sooner you can see him again. Read, sign, blood." Yamamoto said, detangling himself from her and putting the contract between them.

"Ah, Ever-turbulent but true runs the course of Love." sighed the charred man beside her. "Nobotsuna Shigyo, at your service." he introduced himself, bowing politely.

"I'm Batsu'unsai Katori- We were arrested and imprisoned for roughly the same incident and it may help to be introduced at the same time." Said the woman with the exceptionally large breasts beside him. "Um, I'll need my glasses back too- Oh, thank you!"

"The sight of sunlight is so strange after such time." Mused Nobotsuna. "Even before our imprisonment, the Lady Katori and I were leaders of a secret underground society!"

"It was less of a society and more of a Polycule that got out of control-" Explained Batsu'unsai. "Once I discovered by spiritual powers, I moved in with the great sage Shou Dokutsu, and began hanging out with and then dating other people with spiritual powers and they started bringing their partners to my district and pretty soon there were so many of us that the easiest way to house everyone was to start developing the extensive underground cave systems in the area."

"We manufactured many fine magical artifacts, so called ourselves The Under-Wares!" Said Nobotsuna.

"We actually called ourselves The Kido Union, because in addition to the magical tools, we formed a united labor front to keep the clans from exploiting us." She explained, and Yamamoto began to understand her interruption.

"I am the wise Loremaster of our people!" Said Nobutsuna.

"He's a stablehand." Batsu'unsai smiled.

"But the clans did not like that they were no longer able to exploit and abuse us now that we had allied in great numbers, and war came to our peaceful nation of Shou's Hole!" he said, with genuine sadness.

Yamamoto and Sasakibe looked back at Batsu'unsai.

"It actually is called Shou's Hole." she sighed. "He just wanted it so badly."

"I wore them down!" Notbotsuna grinned.

"Still, the clans did not like that they now had to pay to have magical labor done and that we would outright refuse their more barbaric requests, and eventually I think it was the Shibas that mounted an all-out assault on us. Last I heard, most of the Union made it out through the other exits from the caves, but Dokutsu-san and most of our heavy hitters stayed at the primary entrance to buy time. Nobotsuna and I were the only ones to survive the assault, and Hiraku Shiba had us thrown in here." Batsu'unsai sighed.

"Prick." Spat Nobotsuna. "Oh sure, when a head of one of the so-called 'Noble' houses goes around decapitating people and burning them alive it's considered 'honorable combat' and 'keeping the peace', but when I, a man whose family tree isn't a fucking wreath of incest, retaliates in a decidedly less lethal fashion suddenly its 'treason' and 'making up a spell called Penis Blast is a war crime'!!"

"-What kind of blast?" asked Sasakibe.

"He can demonstrate it for us on The Archery Bastards. Read, sign, blood." Yamamoto said, thrusting contracts at them.

"Entetsu Kumoi." Read off Sasakibe as they came to the bald man who was nearly as wide as he was tall, with the exposed gold teeth. Entetsu looked up from where he'd finished putting his glasses back on and arranged his hairless brows into something that indicated that he'd be smiling politely if he had lips. "Imprisoned for your participation in the riot at the Windroad House, where you..." Sasakibe frowned at the file. "-Attacked and killed one hudred fifty-seven town guards with a brick, and mounted an assault on the local Dyamo?"

"Always morally correct, hittin' cops with bricks." Nodded Entetsu. "-Specially ones comin' t' kill just because some people are out havin' a good time, doin' no harm to no-one."

"The Windroad House is a Bar in the 3rd district famous for it's ah. Exotic. Cabaret performances." Sasakibe explained to Yamamoto, who didn't get out much.

"You were. At one of these performances?' Yamamoto asked.

"Ah, nah- just gotten off the job and had nipped down to the pub across th'way for a pint when I saw the pigs kick in the door an' start dragggin' the ladies out and I thought 'well that ain't right', so I started throwin' bricks until I were on me last brick and then I hunted them down wit' that last brick until there were none left." he explained. "Then I thinks, 'well, there's only none left until more come from the station', so's I made me way up the road to the station wit' me brick and had me a little hogslaughter up there too, see?"

"...And you just. kept going?" Sasakiba asked.

"So's I did! Right up to the head hog's trough, though by then it were well early in the mornin' and I were tired an' had some dozen spears in me back and me brick had fallen apart, so's I dinna get hims haunches fer ham." Entetsu sighed.

"Persistence! Very good quality in a captain!" Grinned Yamamoto, handing him the contract. "You know what to do by now."

They turned to the rather comely young man with the straw hat. "Furuoki, was it?" Yamamoto asked, feeling something that wasn't hopeful, per se, but these were strong people, and deeply insane and they were agreeing to help him, something that made his heart race with a delirious sort of mania.

"Yes. I am Furuoki Otogawa." he nodded.

"-And you're imprisoned here for- ecological terrorism, defiling holy a holy site and creating a dangerous magical device?" Sasakibe asked.

"What?" asked Yachiru, getting back to her feet and leaning heavily on him. "You told me you were in here for Jaywalking?"

"I thought I was?" Said Furuoki, frowning and tipping his head with confusion.

"It says here you constructed a device over the Tenjo no Ganbo waterfalls to, ah- 'suck up the carp in the pool at the base of the waterfall and launch them, at speed, up and over the waterfall'." Sasakibe read off and looked up to see Furuoki staring into the distance, eyes watering.

"They wanted to get to the lake at the top so badly they were swimming up the waterfall, but they kept falling down and getting hurt!" he sobbed, overcome with emotion. "I just made a chute to safely carry them to the top and gently toss them in the lake! how is that a crime?"

"-because when a carp makes it to the top of Tenjo no Ganbo falls, IT TURNS INTO A DRAGON! YOU MADE HUNDREDS OF DRAGONS SUDDENLY APPEAR! THOUSANDS BEFORE THEY COULD DISMANTLE THE DAMN THING!!" Sasakibe shouted.

"Ohhh." Furuoki said, nodding. "-I'd wondered where all the dragons had come from. I still don't see why that's a crime though?"

"Gods help us." Groaned Yamamoto.

"Dragons tend to be. Kinda destructive." Yachiru spoke slowly, her voice still rough and hollow-sounding. " 'specially to little villages."

"Oh." Furuoki said quietly, horrified.

"Don't worry, I'll deal with them once I get my lung back and bust outta this joint." Yachiru reassured him as Sasakibe handed Furuoki his contract.

"You wont be 'busting out' of anywhere, miss-" Sasakibe suffled the papers to open her file. "-Yachiru Unohana! You're obligated to serve General Yamamoto in exchange for your freedom, seeing as you're imprisoned for- for-"

Sasakibe froze, staring at the file. "-That has to be a Mistake."

"What?" Grunted Yamamoto, sizing the woman up. According to the group, if Furuoki who could rip this heavily fortified prison open like an ant's nest was their weakest fighter, this sickly-looking woman was their strongest.

"The file says she's imprisoned for killing ten thousand people!" babbled Sasakibe.

"Oh, no, that isn't right." grunted Yachiru, and Sasakibe sighed with relief.

"-Should be closer to twelve or fifteen thousand." She clarified, and Sasakibe went white.

"Read, sign, mark with your blood at the bottom." Yamamoto sighed, thrusting the contract at her.

"Uhhh... can't." She said, staring blankly at the contract, then slowly looking up at Yamamoto.

"What do you mean 'can't'?" he growled.

"I can't read." she said.

Sasakibe hid his face in his hands, groaning with pain, while Yamamoto turned on his heel and threw his hands in the air, silently beseeching any available Gods for help.

"You get what you pay for, General." Called Chika, having changed back into the clothes they'd arrived in- garish red-orange and black ninja garb of the Shihon clan- and tying their sword back onto their gaudy belt.

"I am paying all of you a frankly OBSCENE amount of money, I don't think it's unreasonable to expect basic literacy!" Yamamoto snapped.

"It's okay girl, I'll read it to you and then you can have Minazuki back, okay?" Chigiri volunteered, wrapping an arm around her illiterate compatriot and walking her back to some seat-height rocks.

"Let's just get this over with." Yamamoto sighed, glaring at Tsubaki, who only smiled serenely back at him. "Uhin Zenjoji?"

"Present, sir." Beamed the enormous man who looked like a professional Sumo wrestler- there was fat, lots of it, but underneath, an unsettlingly steady grace and power to his movements.

"Your file says you're imprisoned for Smuggling, Murder, Bootlegging, Murder, Trafficking, Murder, More murder and... one hundred seventy two violations of The Migratory Bird Act?"

"The only two I will dispute are the trafficking and migratory bird charges-" he said, delicately holding up two fingers. "-firstly, it's not trafficking to move refugees from the clan wars out of danger without giving the aforementioned clans a cut. I'm no pimp."

"And the birds?" Yamamoto glared, intrigued more than anything.

"A man may have his hobbies and his charitable works!" Uhin said, touching his hand to his chest in faux-impassioned speech. "I collect and breed rare and endangered birds- the world would a sadder place without their songs. So I have- well, had- an aviary up in the mountains where they could be propagated in peace." Uhin sighed.

"Huh. Something nearly bordering on sanity." said Sasakibe said, offering Uhin his contract.

"Got any of them- whatsit- the big kicky bitches?" Danjiro asked.

"Cassowaries?" Uhin asked. "But of course! Delightful little creatures."

Yamamoto decided he didn't hear that, actually, and turned his attention to the final member of the dirty dozen.

"Hello young man!" the decrepit old man creaked cheerfully. "I am Saizo Sakahone." he was bald, liver-spotted, missing teeth and had a spine that bowed like a fishing rod with something much too large for the boat on the end of the line.

"Sakahone like the province?" asked Yamamoto, remembering the western area he'd traveled through recently.

"...In a manner of speaking, I suppose?" Saizo grinned. "Though it's rather the other way around- my lovely wife, may she rest in peace, managed to bear me no less than sixteen beautiful daughters, and they bore at least a dozen granddaughters and so on- Why, by my one thousand one hundred and eleventy-eth birthday, I had somewhere over fifty thousand descendants! So I am not so much named after the province, as the province is named after me!" he chucked.

"...by the Gods." marveled Sasakibe.

"Look, I love my sword too but at least I take it out of the scabbard sometimes." sighed Yamamoto. "What're you in for, family man?"

"O-ho! Now that was quite rash of me, I'm afraid. Yes-" Saizo nodded, rubbing his gnarled-oak hands. "-but as you say, I am a family man and there is nothing I despise so much as someone who does violence to children. No, no, nothing more vile in the world than that..."

Yamamoto felt Sasakibe go stiff beside him, and glanced over. Sasakibe tipped the file closer for his friend to read.

"-The total annihilation of the Uchimaki clan?" Yamamoto asked.

"I was born a shepherd, my boy. My people have been herding cattle over the hills of my province since there were cattle and hills to herd them over. When rot and madness like that turns up in a line- you need to cull backwards at least three generations or it'll set root and spread through your whole herd." he sighed. "What a shame, what a shame, but it had to be done, or they would have learned to turn a profit, treating children like that, and then we'd never be rid of it."

"I saw the crater. Half a mile deep and three times as wide." Said Yamamoto, mustache trembling. "I thought the wrath of the Gods themselves had descended upon them."

"Hm." Saizo nodded, jaw trembling a bit with palsy. "Hm, yes. That's what it felt like."

"Would you like to feel it again?" Yamamoto asked.

"No." Saizo shook his head, but slowly straightened up as much as he could- he must have been close to seven feet tall before the scoliosis set in- flexing his hands and rolling his neck, the power held withing that body starting to come off him in shimmering golden steam. "-but if that's what it takes for me to go home again, then I will be the tool of the Gods once more."

Yamamoto offered him the contract, and did not need to give him instructions.

Behind them, there was a quiet but extremely invasive wet noise and Yamamoto turned to see Unohana unsheath her... well, it lived in a scabbard but it was a muddy green and unusually gooey for a sword. Minazuki bubbled forth from her scabbard, trilling faintly as she solidified and formed into a mottled green cyclopean stingray, large enough to swallow a man, nuzzling at her human affectionately.

"Huh. She does seem to have an exceptionally intimate bond with her Zanpaktou..." Sasakibe noted, then flinched as Minazuki's mouth opened to reveal a fleshy interior of writhing tentacles and strange glands. Without hesitation, Unohana shed her prisoner's robe, which was apparently the and stepped inside to be swallowed with a sigh of relief.

"Very intimate!" grinned Chigiri at Sasakibe's shoulder. "My offer to stitch you up is still on the table, unless you want to develop a similarly intimate relationship with a fish."

"Never did care for seafood..." Sasakibe muttered.

"What about Tsubaki-san?" Furofushi frowned. "Where's her contract?"

"I came here for fighters." Yamamoto shook his head, turning to Tsubaki. "But you are right that The Maggot's Nest is a secure fortress in it's own right. The war is no place for a pri-"

He stopped, staring. Tsubaki had sat down and was rubbing her feet, fingers laced between her toes. She glanced up at him, then down at her feet, smirked, and sat back, wiggling her toes. "No, I agree, the front is no place for a Princess, but it is very much a place for a Diplomat, isn't it?" she asked.

Yamamoto blinked. "I have been thoroughly disinherited from any political position I may have inherited, so I am no princess." She explained, rolling her ankle with a smirk. "-and you are, if I may make an estimation based on my training as a Lady Of Society and now that all of our contracts are signed and bonded, terrible at negotiations."

Yamamoto shook himself, trying to pretend he hadn't been staring at her arches. "...I thought it went fine? Nobody lost a hand."

She smiled, and walked up beside him, lacing her arm with his and gently patting his hand. "My dear. If bookies had been allowed to lay bets on this encounter, the odds of me losing my head would have been considered a sure thing, and the odds on my being able to convince you to properly hire us and pay us, I agree, an 'obscene' amount of money so slim that anyone who took my side would now be a very rich idiot."

Yamamoto squinted at her, trying to translate that in his head.

"...You've conned me." He glared.

"Quite badly, I'm afraid." She smiled.

"You've conned me, but you can con say, that idiot that runs the Omeda clan or the obnoxious boy with the cock's comb that follows Yhwach around even worse." He tried.

Miss Tsubaki smiled, and laced her fingers with his.

"I'm going to have someone much smarter than me write up your contract." he nodded. "Sasakibe? Can you get us home in a-"

Yamamoto turned to see his friend, standing with his robe open while Chigiri knelt before him. Yamamoto blinked in bewilderment, and then realized the woman was stitching his wounds up at speed, her face close to his navel to focus on her work.

"...Hurry?" Yamamoto asked.

"Boss if I go any faster I'm gonna sew his bellybutton shut." Chirigi replied, not looking up.

"She is almost done, sir." Sasakibe winced. "Please don't interrupt her work?"

--- It took a good half hour to get everyone together to leave- clothes changed, signed out of the Maggot's nest and their custody turned over to Yamamoto, Nobotsuna trying to smuggle his "pet" Salamander out, several other prisoners saying tearful goodbyes to Tsubaki and her taking their information down 'for later', Minazuki trying to eat the salamander, and further mayhem while Sasakibe finished drawing the teleportation circle but soon they were lined up, and as the spell activated, Tsubaki gripped Yamamoto's arm rather firmly.

But in a flash, they were returned to Headquarters, Tsubaki blinking from the bright sun.

"General!" the soldier saluted. "Good to see you again! No news from the front, but we have received word the Shihon clan has made an alliance with the Fon clan as the advance approaches their homeland."

"HAH!" Shouted Chika. "Either cousin Genki pulled his head out of his ass or whatever cousin they're on now has good taste! Mingyan is a BABE and a half."

"Nice digs, very nice." Nodded Danjiro, looking around the courtyard. "...Looks really familiar for some reason. Never been to Seireitei, but I swear I've been in a building just like this?"

The other criminals looked around the courtyard, frowning and muttering about how it DID look familiar, and not at all like barracks.

There was a distressing hurgling sort of noise behind them and Minazuki spat out Yachiru Unohana, who tumbled out, nude and covered in slime. She rolled to the foot of the shrine, and sat up, blinking at the statue inside.

"Hey-" She called, voice still low and a rough but the hollow wetness had gone. "-Why's the military got a shrine to Yatagarasu?"

The others looked at the shrine and then around the building again. The orderly layout, the way the men were fit and professional but not precisely military, the extensive filing and sorting system visible through the open doors, Yamamoto's confession to Mail-tampering, the shrine to the Messenger of the Gods...

"You know, I did think it was rather strange that you were able to rally a small but apparently quite fast and very loyal army without the aid of any major clans." Tsubaki sighed. "How very industrious of you, Postmaster-General Yamamoto!"

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #genryusai shigekuni yamamoto #chojiro sasakibe #yachiru unohana #Original Gotei-13 captains

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