#a reminder for how much depression still has me in a chokehold

[eldesperadont]

looking through njpw art in my vault (stuff i was too lazy or embarrassed to post publicly) and especially the ELP drawings are sooo dated now cause i havent genuinely drawn him since before he got the mullet lol, missing that long mop of hair

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Don't Get Attached | Part 5

➪ Playlist (Spotify)

➪ W/c: 2398

Remind Me Why We're Taking a Break?

As the warm beams of sunlight scatter on my exposed skin, I melt deeper into the soft duvet before his grip tightens around my waist. And by his, I mean Jungkook. And by Jungkook, I mean the guy I promised myself to not get attached to. Way to go y/n, you really pulled through with that one … But, I swear, one minute we were just talking and then the next, his chains were dangling on top of me. In short, I blame the alcohol. 

Nonetheless, the damage was done and now, I have to pay the price by swallowing down whatever is left of my dignity before doing the infamous walk of shame towards the kitchen. At this point, I don’t even know where half my clothes are, which is concerning because I wasn’t wearing much to begin with. So, Jungkook’s white button-up would have to suffice for my little trip. Tiptoeing towards the fridge, I’m careful not to wake Koo’s sleepy head, before exhaling a deep sigh at the depressing sight of his empty fridge. How does one live off of beer, shredded mozzarella and strawberry milk? Moreover, how does one stay so fit and toned while indulging in such a bizarre nutritional palette? Beats me. 

Scanning the top shelf, I audibly gasped out of relief upon seeing a carton of eggs, even if there were only four left. Challenge accepted, Koo. In no time, I was oiling the pan while whisking some milk into the yellow, homogeneous mixture seasoned with some pepper, salt, and dried parsley.  

[Narrator's POV]

Stretching his body, Jungkook is saddened by the empty space beside him. Tracing his steps back to you, his half-awakened self follows the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. No one has ever cooked for him. Or, at least, not out of their own intentions or desire. Thus, to him, your gesture is unfamiliar, but deep down, greatly craved.

Focusing his softened gaze on your body, he takes a moment to admire the way his button-up cuts off right at your thighs. Although smirking at the sight, he isn’t too pleased by the fact that the rest of your body is still covered. Not enough exposure for his liking. If it was up to him, he would have you right there on the countertop, pretty whimpers bouncing off the walls. 

“Morning gorgeous,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, pulling your body closer to his bare chest. Leaving traces of soft kisses on your neck, his veiny hands intertwined with yours before pinning your body against the counter shelves. Now face to face, the space between you two has become less apparent, tension rising at the way your forms mould into one singularity. 

[Y/N's POV]

“Koo,” I whine into the needy kiss, eyes searching his darkened orbs. 

“Yes, baby?” he replies in a raspy tone. I didn't think someone's morning voice could have such a chokehold on me, but Jungkook's is definitely doing something. Please y/n, focus. 

“Koo, we can't keep doing this,” I manage to let out. 

“Doing what?” 

“You know, ignoring the elephant in the room?” my tone is firm but shaky. Nonetheless, I mean business, so my eyes maintain focus on his hooded gaze despite the suffocating tension between us. 

“Well, it's not my fault your thighs got me all horny, but I think I'm managing just fine,” he says with a grin, looking down at his grey sweatpants. 

“Quite literally, I hope you trip down the stairs and never recover,” I scoff, rolling my eyes at his teasing before pushing his hands off of me. I swear Jungkook is the epitome of a man-child, not one fibre of his being has the potential of being serious. Disgusting. Pushing past his broad shoulders I manage to get a few steps in before being pulled back on his lap as his doe eyes sparkle under the kitchen lights. 

“I'm sorry y/n, what did you actually mean?” he says with a slight chuckle, moving a few hair stands out of my flustered face. 

“Well, we can't just pretend like nothing happened. You cheated, Koo …” I explain softly, nibbling on my lip as the nerves kick in. Jungkook knows he messed up. He might not be in tune with his own feelings but he does care about mine. Or at least, I thought. Nonetheless, I could tell the topic made him backtrack his own thoughts, taking the time to formulate something morally acceptable. 

“Y/n, that didn’t mean anything to me. It was a mistake, I promise,” he explains, gentle with his touch as his hand caresses my exposed thighs which are now covered in goosebumps. 

“Your mistake hurt. A lot.” 

“What do you want y/n?” he asks hushly, tightening his grip on my waist as our bodies inch closer. Noticing my scattering eyes and furrowed eyebrows, his gaze softens. 

“A break. We need a break.” I whisper, feeling my throat slowly tighten. I don’t want a break. But, I also don’t want to simply sweep this under the carpet. If Jungkook truly cares, he will understand where I’m coming from. If he doesn’t, well, then I guess, we were never meant to be. 

“Is that what you really want?” he replies with a soft smile, our faces, now inches away from each other. 

“Yes,” I manage to let out, eyes lowering to our intertwined hands as his thumb caresses my skin. 

“Break it is,” Jungkook whispers, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my forehead before locking his eyes with mine for the last time. It hurts. It genuinely hurts. Why does he suddenly have to be so sweet and sincere? 

-- 

“JEON FUCKING JUNGKOOK,” I yell out from his room upon seeing the plethora of notifications popping up on my phone. I guess it died last night because I didn’t hear any of them, and quite frankly, was too occupied with Jungkook, if you know what I mean. 

“It better be something really serious for you to use my full government name,” he chuckles, rushing into the room with strawberry milk in one hand and an apple in the other. 

“It’s Bomi and Jason’s wedding tomorrow, I completely forgot,” I whine, burying my face into his pillow as hopeless whimpers leave my mouth. Bomi and I are high school friends and Jungkook is Jason’s personal trainer. I was kindly asked to be one of her bride’s maids and naturally, Jungkook was supposed to be my plus one. But, the problem or should I say problems, is that 1) I am not ready at all and 2) Jungkook and I are technically now on break. 

“Well, don’t look at me. You’re the brains here, I just do what you tell me to do,” he replies with a grin before plopping himself beside my distressed self. Scratch everything I said about his sincerity before. I meant none of that. Jungkook is still a man-child. 

“Okay, then listen to me when I tell you to drive me home, immediately. I still need to figure out what to wear,” I sigh, shaking my head in disbelief. How could I forget? I was so caught up in the whole cheating scandal that I almost missed my best friend’s wedding. Way to not get attached y/n! 

Finding my dress under Jungkook’s pile of boxers, I quickly change out of his button-up, feeling his gaze on my exposed figure. Eyeing his favorite view up and down, he leans his head back before letting out a deep sigh. 

“You know, we never discussed the length of this break …” 

- -

Softening my curls, I touch up my makeup before rushing out the door hearing Jungkook send a few honks upon arriving at the entrance. Initially, I was going to just take a taxi, but he insisted on driving us. None of our friends know about our little break, so the least we could do is act the part. Suited up, Jungkook looks very put together, handsome even. And, as our eyes meet, his gaze softens, opening the passenger door. 

“Thank you,” I say hushly, as he leans in closer to buckle my seatbelt before turning his face towards mine. Lips inches apart, I can feel the flush rising up my cheeks. He is such a tease it’s physically unbearable. Nibbling on his lip ring, Jungkook takes a moment to appreciate the way the dress pushes up my cleavage, reminiscing all those times his hands did the same. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, just admiring the view,”

“Oh, yeah? Well, how is it?” I tease back, tilting my head as my hands slowly slide up to his neck, intertwining in his curls.

“Irresistible, I fear,” he whispers softly into my ear, nibbling on the soft skin before his hooded eyes search mine. This will be really fun, I can just feel it. Not only are we lying to each other, but now, we are also lying to our friends. 

- -

“Y/n! Jungkook! You guys made it!” Jason greets us with a big smile, pulling Jungkook into a tight hug. Fixing my dress, I stand awkwardly to the side, admiring the beautiful setup. It's exactly how Bomi envisioned it, as hues of gold and white paint every inch of the hall. 

“Y/n, how have you been? Bomi was worried about you,” Jason’s voice brings me back to reality as I divert my attention to the two buddies. 

“I'm good, no need to worry, just got caught up in some things,” I explained with a soft smile, peaking at Jungkook’s nervous hands. It's gonna be a long night of pulling various excuses out of thin air before we can go back to our established break. Buckle up y/n.

Taking my purse Jungkook and I separate ways as he heads to the seating area while I help Bomi with her last-minute touch-ups. 

“Bomi, you look so ethereal,” I say softly, in complete awe of the beauty standing in front of me. Jason is one lucky man, let me tell you. She has recently chopped off her hair as a symbol of letting go of the past. An impulsive decision at first that ended up serving her right as she now looks better than ever. 

“You really think so?” Bomi replies nervously, eyes swelled with tears as I fix her veil. 

“I know so, love,” 

- -

As the venue doors open, guests turn their attention towards the adorable flower girl, Bomi’s little sister, Bae. Trying her best to not trip, she leaves behind a trail of pink rose petals before running towards Bomi’s warm embrace, embarrassed by the sudden rush of attention. And, as the pianist begins her cue, the bride’s maids make their way down the floral aisle. Feeling my eyes swell with tears, I focus on some deep breathing before spotting Jungkook in the sea of people, noticing his gaze soften as my chest heaves up. Something about him calms me down. Maybe, it was his smile, or maybe, his doe eyes that followed my every move, making sure I got to my spot safely before finally allowing his body to relax in his seat.  

After the vows and the tearful I do’s it was time to take pictures, as Bomi, Jason and their photographers navigated everyone out to the beautiful scenery by the beach. Standing beside Bomi, we intertwine our hands, exchanging soft smiles before the photographer tells everyone to scooch in closer, wanting to capture the breathtaking sunset behind us.

“Jungkook, get in here,” Jason yells out, motioning him to stand beside me. Holding my purse, Jungkook waves his hands with a nervous chuckle, initially declining the offer before being commanded by the photographer to do so immediately. Nodding a quick yes, he rushes towards my stiff body. Sensing my discomfort he maintains a slight gap between us, knowing dam well that’s the last thing he wants right now. But, none of it matters, because we are on a break remember? So, he gulps down his sinful desires, body remaining craving my touch. 

“Sorry, but could the gentlemen in the middle move closer?” the photographer says, finger pointing towards Jungkook, whose eyes lower to mine searching for permission before I give him a slight nod. Careful with his touch, he places his hands on my waist, grip tightening as our bodies inch closer. Feeling his breath on my neck, there’s virtually no room for me to move, remaining enclosed by his broad shoulders. 

“It would be in your best intention to stop moving y/n,” he whispers into my ear as I manage a slight shuffle in place, feeling the bulge in his pants rub against my lower back. 

“I can’t, you're basically in my ass,” I snap hushly, looking up at his hooded eyes.  

“Don’t do that,”

“Do what?”

“Don’t give me ideas,” he grins, leaning closer before placing a soft kiss on my shoulder. You know, the devil works hard but I swear, Jungkook works harder. 

- -

“One, two, three, go!” everyone counted down, as cheers and applause filled the hall once Bomi threw her bouquet. I swear, it’s as if the scene played out in slow motion. From crying children, to drunk uncles, everyone played a role in this mess. I was no exception, of course, running towards the circle of bride’s maids whose arms reached out towards the incoming bundle of pink flowers. Although I wasn’t there for the bouquet, it somehow found its way to me, landing perfectly in my trembling arms. And, just like that, I was now encircled by words of cheers, best wishes and congratulations being shouted at my flustered face. 

Searching the crowd for Jungkook, I find him standing by one of the paintings with his tie undone, balancing two glasses of champagne in one hand. 

“Well, I guess I’m next,” I chuckle, waving the flowers in front of him, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“Does this mean our break is over?” he grins, pulling my body closer to his before leaning into a needy kiss. This time, however, I didn't fight back. Giving in to the suppressed desires as my hands intertwine in his dishevelled hair before looking back at his darkened eyes. 

“We can always begin again … some other time … in the near future,” I whisper, tracing little hearts on Jungkook’s burning chest, feeling him smile into the kiss.  

Previous

[kaddyssammlung]

ED-related Sleep Token lyrics Part 4 (last part)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

TW: ED

Chokehold

“You've got me in a chokehold”

Like I said for some reason I have choking and throwing up connected together. You can read so much into this line. And also the word chokehold makes you really think about that vast grip that an ED has on you. Sometimes it feels like something is pressing my stomach together and I can't eat much then.

“Even if it hurts me even if I can't sleep”

Yeah it hurts. Your stomach from not eating enough or your whole body because it lags strength to carry you or your whole body from working out but not eating enough. It just hurts.

Not eating enough affects your sleep. When I don't eat enough I can't sleep well. I don't really know why that is but it's something that I've struggled with a lot at times.

The Summoning

“You've got my body, flesh, and bone”

It is consuming. Bones make think about “body checking”. You take your fingers and gently touch the parts of your body where bones stick out. You do it all the time to see if you can feel them better then the day before which means you must have lost weight.

I still do this a lot. I love my collar bones. Every time I catch myself doing it I stop it though. I don't want to this.

Granite

“Sulfur on your breath”

It makes me think about substances. For me it was alcohol abuse. Drinking on an empty stomach hits in a different way. And also I don't recommend this. Your stomach does not forgive so easily. Especially when you are crazy like me and drink stuff that contains at least 40% of alcohol.

“Granite in my chest”

Makes me think about depression and a general feeling of sadness that started to set in after a certain time of starving myself. Nothing was fun any more. I was just sad all the time.

“Reason dislocates”

Why still stave yourself when it makes you only miserable and physically ill? You kind of forget why you started in the first place. “I just wanted to be thin...” Really? Is that so? Are you sure that there isn't a bigger problem that you are running away from?

Vore

“You have become the voice in my head”

The ED voice....”You should eat something” Then you eat and then it's like “that was too much, now you should feel guilty”....”that's not thin enough” “so fat” “just don't eat it will make it easier” “one day you will be thin enough and then you will be happy”

Lies! All of them!

“My life is torn, my bones, they bleed”

When you struggled with any mental illness long enough you don't know anymore you are besides that.

“So let's get swallowed whole”

Get lost in the ED and stop fighting it. If that's your end then that's your end. I had thoughts like that.

“Walls of flesh, so warm again”

At least you are not freezing yourself to death Vessel....Reminds me of being constantly cold and therefore also growing extra hair on your body. An extra fluffy layer on you because your body can't keep you warm anymore or you can't keep your body warm.

Walls of flesh...this sounds just so damn gross to me.

Ascensionism

“Your reflection, your bitter deception”

Makes me think how you know you are think but are unable to see it.

“Who made you like this? Who encrypted your dark gospel in body language?”

You why do I hate myself and feel like I deserve to be in physical pain? Internalized trauma my dear Vessel. I mean who made you like this? Why do you write about what you write Vessel?

“Past what might be eating me from the inside, darling”

It's in here because of “eating”. The past is eating me from the inside, too.

“Make it real 'cause anything is better then the way I feel right now”

That's kind of the point of addiction. Anything to run away from your feelings, your past your trauma.

Are You Really Okay?

“I was trying to hold back the darkness”

….”you don't have to lose weight...you are thin enough....” blablab....you can't believe what they are saying. All I used to hear was “you're fat”.

“I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine”

I hated being called out. I liked hiding everything. Maybe that's why I never go severely underweight. It's easy to hide your ED when you seem kind of average or just a little underweight.

Do You Wish That You Loved Me?

“And my reflection just won't smile back at me like I know it should”

That damn feeling of hating yourself. That does not even make sense but yet you feel it.

“and there is something eating me alive, I don't what it is”

I actually hope that you know what is Vessel because knowing helps so you can let go of it. I did not know what it was. I had a feeling but I was too afraid to look into that direction until it came looked for me.

Take me Back to Eden

“And now the weightlessness recedes”

Sometimes you can feel like you are flying or floating in some way. It's a nice feeling but that does not last long. You run out of energy fast and then you try to get that feeling of being weightless back but you can't.

“come now, bit through these wires”

Why not use a damn wire-cutter? Why bite through them?!

“Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire”

...no more teeth to bite with. Idk what to do with this it's just in here because it kind of fits.

“Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-up”

fun fact...I live in a region in Bavaria where a lot of porcelain (for hotels etc.) and chino also is produced.

Choking up brain matter....makes me think of having to gag and nothing is coming out and you feel pressure in your brain because of that.

Horrible feeling.

“Room feels like a meat freezer I dangle in like cold cuts”

What is it with the gross images of flesh and blood and meat?! Idk...just gross.

“but I'll take a pound of your flesh before you take a piece of my paystub”

What I just said.

“and I don't know what's got its teeth in me but I'm about to bite back in anger”

Yes, please start defending yourself. Or in my case: let go of your ED.

[shameonmeeguiltypleasure]

This has been itching in my brain for a while but I kind of just assumed that Colin and Eloise were the exceptions with having darker personalities based on what Anthony said in an earlier chapter and never thought much of it until I read the latest update with Colin's inner monologue concerning his sisters' wrath. Add in the fact that neither of the brothers were surprised at Colin's violent outburst (although this could be just because they are both used to it). And now I'm wondering if Anthony is just an unreliable narrator or is the entire family dark as well?

And speaking of dark, I know you said Pen is an unreliable narrator when it comes to family but does that only concern their love for her or is she also unaware of her family's darker aspects?

BTW, i love SMB. Like literally the chokehold that your fanfic has on me is unholy.

I love you Anon, thank you so much for asking!!

So when I shared Anthony's pov in that earlier chapter, I was still hemming and hawing about the way I wanted to portray Polin's siblings. It isn't till recently I decided to fully commit to the dark side and give shades of grey & black to the characters. Your ask definitely reminded me that I need to update the tags with 'Unreliable narrator' as depending on the sibling and the perspective, the character will read differently.

This was also due to how Colin and Eloise's talk went. Their relationship is extremely complicated (if you haven't noticed lol). She'll give you her experience growing up with Colin when I get to work on her book. The Bridgerton Siblings aren't dark per se… they just had to adapt to Colin who was an incredibly unrelenting force as a child. After Edmund died, Violet fell into depression and Anthony was drowning with responsibility with Benedict & Daphne doing their best to help him stay afloat, Colin was sort of left alone. Eloise wasn't talking. Franny, Greg & Hyacinth were definitely more minded than Colin and Eloise.

And the assumption was that COLIN was looking after Eloise, helping her through the trauma and grief. That he was doing fine because he was smiling and charming visitors away from the door when they wanted to ask after Violet (He was in a way… but he's a kid in grief too). Eloise is the only one who pushes Colin because she knows the literal worst of him. They clash because they were essentially the forgotten middle children.

Also, in Colin's mind, a part of him thinks, if he's capable of the things he's done his siblings must be the same they just hide it better from him and the public. (So yeah, he's unreliable and biased). And Funnily enough, Ant&Ben think the same of Colin. (They all severely underestimate each other's impulse controls tbh)

Pen is an extremely unreliable narrator when it comes to her family. There is LITERALLY so much she didn't notice (Y'all get more insight in Ch12). As SMB Phillipa will be quoted saying:

"Penelope is the best liar of them all. Only Master Liars could sink themselves so deeply into believing a lie of their own making they'd forgotten the truth. Phillipa Admired her for it, it's what kept her safe throughout the years. It's why she could forgive her for the many years she'd spent missing her sweet little Penny…."

Depending on the Polin sibling you interview, you're gonna have them describing a very different kind of Polin.

Example:

Anthony: Colin's got a temper and is greedy, but he's harmless. He's a Gentleman! He was raised well, of course. (duh!)

Benedict: Mmmh, not exactly harmless, but he knows where to draw the line. Maybe don't tempt him to cross it?

Daphne: Colin wouldn't hurt a fly! He's far too kind for that!! Oh, what? No, he just asked if I could help him bury some bones a dog dug up in his backyard on Saturday. Mmh? This red stuff? Oh, my daughter's learning how to paint.

Eloise: Colin will skin you from your toes to your hair follicles, boil you in a cauldron and feed you to the poor for dinner as a soup with bread as a side dish. You laugh, but I'm not joking. Ask him what happened to Susan who called me a bitch last week. Do you really think it was a coincidence he volunteered to feed the poor as charity work recently? Did you not wonder where he got the meat so quickly?

Franny: Of course, I trust my brother. Was that a serious question? Colin doesn't lose his temper unless it's over something truly bad. What's his definition of Bad? I don't know, I guess if someone made one of us cry, then yeah…

Greg&Hyacinth: Colin doesn't do anything wrong. He's actually pretty boring. All he ever does is eat and moon over Penelope Featherington.

Featherington Sisters:

Prudence: Touch my sister and die. I refuse to say another word. A threat? Oh no sir, that was a promise.

Phillipa: Penny's adorable!! I miss her sometimes. Hmm? Oh no she's still living with Mama, I just miss when she used to stab tables and threaten cousin Alfie to hold his tongue or she'll stuff him full with stones and toss him in the lake. Alfie's afraid of water you see, but she was offering to teach him how to swim, he didn't need to cry about it. Isn't she sweet?

Felicity: Touch my sister and die. Don't even breathe next to her. What? Prudence did? Well… *loads shot gun*… I guess I'll save her the trouble. *BANG*

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Book Review: To Sir Philip, With Love by Julia Quinn (Bridgertons #5)

I can't believe I'm about to say this but--I disagree with Mama Bridgerton. Now, before you exclaim HOW DARE YOU obscenities at me, I'd like to clarify by saying that it isn't so much that we disagree but that our opinions diverge when it comes to what makes Eloise a charming lady. Violet says that it's her daughter's impatience. For me, though, I think her appeal as a person, as a character, comes less from her impatient nature and more from her frank and restless chatter. So what if she talks a lot? Who cares if she asks questions, probes for a two-sided conversation? It's endearing! It's infectious! It's genuine! She's a curious person who wants to get to know people, really know them. She strives to get along with everybody she meets, to understand them, and I think that's charming, indeed! The constant stream of Eloise's chatter can be grating or bothersome at times, sure, but only when someone else is desperate to be heard or to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, there's still something lovely about Eloise being open and secure enough in herself to want to share her thoughts as soon as she has them. I couldn't help but like her for that. Admire her even. I wish I could be more like that instead of swallowing most of what I want to say. I was markedly less invested in Philip as a character, however. He came across as petulant and "woe is me" at times, particularly when he was discussing his unhappy marriage with Marina, who was clinically depressed. (Sensitivity, understanding, and nuance was lacking in the writing here.) His behavior toward Eloise wasn't fabulous at times, either. I'm willing to go easier on him on that score, though, because part of his arc included learning the difference between expectation/convenience in marriage vs. reality/compromise in marriage. The children, Amanda and Oliver, were also a nice addition. They reminded me of the rambunctious havoc my brothers and I used to wreak as kids. We never pulled a flour prank that I can remember but there were a few blocks-to-the-face, pool-strainer-over-the-head, dares-that-resulted-in-stitches moments of our own. I do think Eloise and Philip are a well-suited couple overall. They had fun banter, decent conflict. I'm only disappointed we didn't get more of them connecting over letter-writing because I think that was a missed opportunity. I wanted it! It's a lost art form, okay? ALL THE ROMANCE POTENTIAL. Oh, and the Bridgerton brothers bursting into the place to defend Eloise's honor was the best scene of the whole book. Probably my favorite sibling intervention of the series, if I'm being honest. My brothers would also put a guy in a chokehold and demand to know if he'd been a gentleman if I absconded to his country home without warning.

3/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

[corruptedconfessions]

Hi :D! Could I ask for yandere shinsou being walked in on (by his own darling) him putting things putting things on his shrine for darling?

As per usual im not super proud of my own writing but I hope you enjoy it none the less! Sorry again for the wait! Uni and depression has been kicking my ass loll

Also! A little warning! While this one still is gender neutral like most of my works some of the clothing mentioned is generally feminine. That’s kinda the idea I had and I ran with it! 

He had been careless. 

Normally he was ever so careful to make sure that he was behind locked closed doors before he would open his closet door, revealing the towering shrine, what was once a little shelf now turning into a full floor to ceiling display. He had everything, He had managed to get a blown up version of your school picture, lovingly framed in the middle, surrounded by flowers he changed frequently and your favorite scented candles. It had been long enough his little shrine had a wide variety of...collectibles of you.  

What had started as a discarded eraser, forgotten hairband, crumpled up paper you had thrown away had quickly grown into more...intimate things. Over the two years of your friendship with him he had managed to steal several articles of clothing, some Chapstick you used (it felt glorious against his lips, an indirect kiss that left him shuttering and hard every time), even a few strands of your hair that he had stolen from the salon when you had gotten a haircut. That one was his pride and joy, it had been hard to sweep in and steal some hair without you or the hairdresser noticing before it was swept away. 

You had been getting suspicious of so many things disappearing from your life, though. Started confiding in him with fears of a stalker, telling him about your favorite things disappearing, items like perfume and Chapstick disappearing faster than you could replace them. He had soothed your anxieties, promising you were just being forgetful, but also saying he would keep an eye out for you, promising he would tell you if he saw anything suspicious. 

The guilt of scaring you had kept him at bay for awhile. He had enough things covered in your scent, enough things your lips had touched that he was sure he could hold himself back for your sake. You two were practically glued at the hip now days anyways, and the real thing was always much better than the weak items he substituted when you insisted on going out with...others. Honestly he didn’t understand why you couldn’t just stay with him!

He had been doing so well, able to hold back the urges to swipe stuff as you looked away, smiling softly at you as he handed you whatever you had accidentally dropped instead of stowing it in his hoodie pocket before you noticed.   

But then he was tempted with a prize he couldn’t resist. 

It had been a normal evening, he had been sitting on your bed, watching you ramble and flit around the room, freaking out and chattering about something or another. Honestly he couldn’t quite remember, too mesmerized watching the way your face lit up when you grinned, or how your eyebrows would furrow together whenever your tone turned more annoyed. You were always so breath taking, always making his hands itch with the urge to reach out and just touch you. To feel your warm skin under his touch, to watch your face as you reacted to him instead of all those useless idiots you insisted on being around. 

There had been a knock at your door and much to his annoyance you had ignored his insistence to ignore it and ran off to go answer the door, stepping out into the hall and leaving him to his own stewing thoughts. 

It really wasn’t his fault! You had left him alone for so long...and you had just left them laying out, peaking out from under your bed tauntingly, like a prize you had left for him to find. Like you were asking for him to take them, to have this new souvenir of you....it had been so long. He had held himself back from taking things...

It was only logical he rewarded himself for his efforts right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shinsou’s hands shook as he hooked his thumbs under each side of your panties, holding them up in front of him as he drank in the sight of them with a flushed face. So this is what you...

The blush that dusted across his face darkened as he shifted, making the bulge straining against his tight jeans all the more obvious and painful. Hesitant eyes shifted between your panties and his jeans, his hand twitching as he hesitated. 

He could...

No. 

Right now he had bigger things to focus on. Like finding a place to put this new important addition before you came over to meet him for dinner. It was such a shame that the guy you had originally made the reservations for had ghosted you...but he would always be there to pick up the pieces

That reminded him to make sure you didn’t look in the freezer until he had time to run to the store and get more acid...

Shaking away his distracted thoughts his eyes roamed over his shrine, still holding your panties high in the air. Perhaps he should move the flowers and lay it in front of your photo...It would make a wonderful centerpiece. 

“Shinsou! Sorry I let myself in using my key! You’d never guess what-”

The purple haired male froze when you suddenly barged into his room, freezing at the sight of him kneeling in front of his closet, holding up the panties like some sort of offering. 

“Are those my- What is...”

His hands started to shake as he watched the color drain from your face as your eyes roamed over his shrine, taking in every excruciating detail of it. 

“No- Wait, y/n , I can explain!”

He was immediately spurred into action as you took a nervous step back, shaking and dumbstruck as you took in the sight in front of you. Everything you had lost, everything Shinsou had comforted telling you you had misplaced was right there, hanging around a picture of your face in your best friends closet. 

“W-what the fuck!”

Fully prepared to turn and leave a yelp was pulled out of you as muscled arms quickly wrapped around you, restraining your arms to your sides, panties still clutched tightly in one fist. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!”

For once the calm and collected, almost apathetic hero looked panicked, eyes wide as he shook even as he restrained you easily, ignoring your thrashing as if you were nothing more than a baby bird hitting his chest. 

“Y/n!” You shook your head angrily, jerking in his touch as you hissed at him, tears burning in your eyes. 

“Don’t touch me, pervert! Let go of me!!”

A part of you warmed in pride as the male visibly flinched at the insult. Good. He deserved to feel guilty for being such a creep! You glared directly up into his gaze, unwilling to step down from this challenge even as he easily held you tight against him.

And so you watched as panic and guilt melted away into something...darker. With a deep breath even the shaking stopped, hands now easily pinning you against him as an arm moved to hold you in a chokehold, forearm pressing into your throat. 

“Shin-sou?”

Your hands darted up to claw at his wrist as he frowned down at you, somehow looking so sad despite the empty apathetic eyes that stared down into yours even as tears started streaming down your face. 

“I’m sorry...I can’t have you leave after this. Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. You’re just going to take a little nap until I can decide what to do with you...”

His voice was soft as he hushed you, whispering soft comforts, barely audible over the sounds of your own ragged breaths and choking. 

Everything faded to black. 

[zenonaa]

Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318629/chapters/43362350 Read from the beginning here: http://zenonaa.tumblr.com/post/183875659535/read

Comments: Day 6 for TogaFuka Week. I went with Rebirth/Death. In this chapter, Togami and Fukawa visit Togami’s dad.

***

A stream gushed through the mountain, part of it winding through woodland area. Nestled amongst trees, in a small clearing, was a wooden cabin. Its dark exterior was sleek and modern, from its wall panels to its gently sloping tiled roof that two solar panels sat upon. The inside of the house was rustic with earthy hues, plain and compact in design, containing a blend of Japanese and Northwestern European furnishing.

In the main area that was part-living room, part-kitchen, a man slouched on a weary sofa, punching a radio that kept losing signal.

“... Provisions were intercepted today by...”

“... It has been twenty days since Towa City was captured by the...”

“... Fifty people died today when the Remnant of Despair known as the Porcelain Widow went on a...”

The man fiddled with the dial but unable to get a decent signal, he gave up and tossed the radio onto the seat beside him. He heaved out a sigh and leaned back, staring up at the wooden beams overhead. In the ‘before times’, he would have lit a cigar or thrown himself into some work. Only, he didn’t have any more cigars, and as for work, the only work he had to do were things like gathering firewood, popping to the stream to retrieve more water or pottering about trying to find furniture to rearrange.

That sort of work should have been done by maids, people whose purpose in life was to carry out menial tasks for people with more important things to do and better things to contribute to society, but he didn’t have any servants anymore.

With a quiet grunt, he stood up and lumbered over to the kitchen area. The solar panels generated enough electricity for a small refrigerator, lighting and a stove. He poured water into a pot and placed it on the stove to heat. Because he had nothing better to do, he stood nearby, watching as it came to boil. Perhaps, later, he would write in his journal. Though a solitary man, in a situation like this, even he needed to pretend that he had someone to talk to.

When the first few bubbles emerged at the surface of the water, the front door yawned open. Two sets of footsteps sounded, thudding against the wooden flooring. They came from somewhere behind him, and if he turned, he would have seen them, but he didn’t turn yet.

Something hard and solid struck the floor.

“Is that how you greet your king?” someone drawled.

He recognised it. A chill shot through him, but when he faced the intruders, he forced himself to mask his emotions, keeping his features smooth and blank.

The one who spoke, the self-proclaimed king, grinned toothily. His blond hair met his shoulders and curved against them but weren’t much longer than that. Over a black business suit, he wore a cloak like a king, its colour a range of skin tones, and on his head sat a thorn crown. He trained his cold, blue eyes on the dark pair of the owner of the cabin.

“It’s you,” said the owner of the cabin curtly.

“You don’t sound too surprised, Daddy,” said the intruder. The owner of the cabin winced, and the intruder broadened his grin. He inclined his head slightly, maintaining eye contact, and gripped harder onto the orbed head of his cane, which he had hit against the floor earlier. “Or would you rather I call you by your name? Kijou.”

Standing opposite the intruder, the owner of the cabin, Kijou, squared his shoulders.

“That would be Togami-sama to you, though you don’t have a respectful bone in your body. I knew you would find me eventually,” said Kijou in a low voice. His knuckles turned white as his hands balled into fists. “It was only a matter of time. I can’t say that I’m happy to meet you.”

This brought out a pout on the other man.

“Not even your own son?” he asked, and Kijou didn’t answer.

“You should be honoured,” someone said from behind the self-proclaimed king. A young woman stepped aside, revealing herself. Though she had a buzzcut now, Kijou recalled from photographs and video footage that she once had long hair, styled into two braids. The circular glasses that she had worn were still there, and no doubt there was a mole below the left corner of her lips under the dust mask over the mouth.

Drawn on the dust mask was a curved pink line, a symbol of a smile. She reminded Kijou of a sukeban with her dark sailor uniform, the skirt reaching past her knees. It was torn, especially at the bottom, with a long slit down her left leg. In the past, she had scars on her thigh, a tally for every victim of Genocider Syo, but now those scars covered her entire body.

Her appearance had changed a lot since Kijou last saw an image of her, but he knew it was her. Only someone like this would be associated with someone like the traitor standing before him.

This woman went by two names. One was Touko Fukawa, and the other was Genocider Syo. She was Byakuya’s right hand woman and she killed whoever he asked her to kill as well as wrote propaganda for the Remnants of Despair. Rumour had it that she had written a book so depressing that anyone who read it would soon kill themselves.

“You have been blessed by a visit from the great Byakuya-sama,” crowed Touko or Syo, raising her arms. Honestly, Kijou didn’t care to differentiate between the two.

Kijou stared at Byakuya, and only Byakuya, gritting his teeth. Byakuya approached Kijou, who breathed in deeply but didn’t move. Despite Kijou’s calm exterior, his heart beated furiously in his chest, though Byakuya wouldn’t have known that. A strong person didn’t succumb to emotions. Weak people did, and Kijou wasn’t weak. He stood perfectly still, but when Byakuya positioned himself in front of him and lifted a hand, admittedly, Kijou flinched, prompting Byakuya’s eyes to widen momentarily.

Byakuya licked his lips, slowly in a full circle, inducing a crawling sensation in Kijou’s skin.

“What do you want?” asked Kijou, but he had an inkling. This was why he trembled slightly. He knew, and he wished Byakuya would hurry up and do it.

“Bow down to me,” said Byakuya.

That hadn’t been what Kijou anticipated.

Without so much as blinking, Kijou replied, “Never.”

Byakuya grabbed Kijou by the hair and tugged him down. A pained wheeze hissed out from Kijou, and when Byakuya slammed his head against the wall behind him, his vision flashed white and he choked out a pathetic noise.

His head pounded as he gazed up, and he saw the ice in Byakuya’s eyes start to crack. Behind the layer of coldness were murky pools that seemed to go on forever. He didn’t get chance to stare into them long before Byakuya shoved his head to the ground, forcing Kijou onto his knees. With Byakuya’s hand applying firm pressure against his head, Kijou couldn’t look up.

The force on his head lessened rapidly, but Kijou didn’t lift his head. Moments later, something else pressed against him. Kijou deduced that it was the cane that Byakuya wielded.

“You foolish boy,” murmured Byakuya.

There was a high-pitched rasp.

“You idiot,” said Byakuya.

It had been the sound of Byakuya unsheathing a sword.

“You disgrace,” said Byakuya.

The sword had been contained in the cane, and the case slid off Kijou’s head. His body shook. Wouldn’t stop shaking.

“You’re no Togami,” said Byakuya. “You’re dirt.”

Nothing was pinning Kijou down. Only pure terror bound him, shackled him to the ground. Seized him in an inescapable chokehold.

“Dust,” breathed Byakuya.

Though Kijou had resigned himself to this fate, when Byakuya raised his sword, Kijou let out a sob.

“P-Please,” said Kijou, clutching his hands together. “Don’t kill me. God, please don’t kill me.”

“God...” Byakuya wet his lips and smiled. “That’s right, I am your God.”

He swung the sword forward. Before it even penetrated, Kijou began screaming, and as Byakuya hacked away at him, the raw, animalistic wailing that wracked through Kijou came and went. Blood splattered everywhere, and long after Kijou had become not much more than a pile of pulp, Byakuya was still slashing him. Even that wasn’t enough, and he threw in stomps too.

Eventually, Byakuya slowed to a stop, panting loudly. Touko sidled up to him. The sight of blood didn’t disturb her anymore. Hard to believe, but there had been a time when even a papercut would make her feel woozy. Now, though, she grinned as she wrapped her hands around Byakuya’s arm.

“I’m a god,” said Byakuya, unclear who he was telling, if anyone.

“You are,” she purred, snuggling into him.

Byakuya planted his sword blade first into what had been his father. It shifted a bit, but stayed upright. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Touko fished around in his other trouser pocket and got out a lighter, which she flicked beneath the cigarette that he cradled in his mouth.

They stood still as he took a drag and breathed out a tendril of smoke. She basked in his body’s warmth. The window gaped a starry night, and Touko remembered something from long ago. One time, she and Byakuya took a coach out of the city, and they had lain on a hill, side-by-side, and pointed out different constellations. In the city, they couldn’t see many stars, but there, they could. He knew all their names and so did she, and he had listened to her tell him every story behind them.

That had been before all this.

Touko squeezed his arm.

“Um, Byakuya-sama?” she said.

Byakuya gave a hum.

“Why don’t we stay here for the night?” she suggested. “We can leave in the morning, when it’s light out.”

He puffed out smoke and bent down to snuff out his cigarette on one of Kijou’s bones. While he was squatted down, he dipped his finger into the mess of flesh, and he smudged blood onto himself.

His eyes narrowed as he brought his finger to his mouth and tasted it. The blood had a metallic tang and was warm in his mouth.

“We may as well,” said Byakuya. He stood up.

In the small cabin were two bedrooms, each with one bed. More than one person likely lived here before Kijou took up residence. One room was dustier than the other, and they chose the cleaner room to sleep in. It only had one bed with a tatty duvet. Byakuya removed his crown and cloak and sat down on it.

She approached, stopping a few paces away, and held her breath as she waited, fidgeting her hands.

“Come here,” he instructed.

Touko’s face lit up and she closed the gap between them. He pulled her toward himself as she clamoured onto his lap. His hand cupped the back of her head, pushing as he guided her into a kiss. Electricity coursed through her body as their warmth melded together. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Byakuya prodded his tongue against her lips and she opened up. He hugged her closer, and she shuddered as he drove his tongue into her mouth. All of her body tingled, all over. Touko groaned, grinding against him, and he filled her with a noise of arousal. She felt his hands paw at her clothes and let him shed them off her, until she was only clad in her panties.

The sex they had on Byakuya’s dead father’s bed was incredible.

Afterwards, they lay together and Touko breathed loudly, gazing upward. They would have to make a small trek to their helicopter in the morning. Byakuya would want them to leave as early as possible, so she ought to have tried to get some sleep, but she couldn’t. Her head buzzed, and her eyelids wouldn’t stay down. She listened to the whisper of a stream, the hustle of a breeze and the occasional chirps of insects. An image of a stink bug came to her mind, and her heart clenched as she remembered how it had crumbled in her fist as she crushed it.

Judging by the lack of snoring, Byakuya hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Byakuya-sama,” she murmured, and if he didn’t acknowledge her, she would have left it at that. That would be what destiny decided for them.

“What is it?” he asked with his back to her, barely any louder.

She swallowed.

“What if we didn’t go back, and we just stayed here?” she said.

There was a pause.

“Why would we do that?” he asked slowly in a flat voice, like a calm sea before a storm was due to hit.

Touko cringed.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her stomach quivered, and she quickly added, “Good night.”

“No.” He sat up and turned to her. “Not good night. Why would you suggest that?”

Destiny must have had it out for her. His eyes bore into her.

“You would have us abandon our comrades? Our leader? And for what, a tiny cabin in the woods on a mountain?” he asked, gesturing around the room.

“We don’t have to stay here,” she said, her heart hammering away. God, with the moonlight framing him like that, he was irresistible. Her fingers curled into her hand. “As long as I’m with you... then I will go anywhere. Even a tiny cabin in the woods on a mountain.”

Nothing. He said nothing. Just glared.

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling her throat tighten. “I’ll shut up.”

His face was cold.

“You can sleep on the floor,” he sneered.

Touko got off the bed and sat down where he indicated. He lay down again, and the bed creaked as he put more weight on it.

In the end, she got an hour sleep at most. The sky lightened outside, and he nudged her with his foot until she raised her head. Byakuya put his cloak and crown on while she dressed too, and she followed him down the stairs. He walked in front of her and opened the front door.

Almost instantly, he slammed it shut without leaving. A second later, the door let off three sharp thunks.

“We have company,” said Byakuya calmly, and he backed away from the door, drawing his sword from his cane. She stayed close to him.

Moments later, the door shuddered and after a few more thumps, it fell down. Standing in the doorway was a human with a large frame. Their business suit strained slightly over their muscles, and their facial features could not be determined due to the fact they wore a wrestling mask that resembled a cow’s head.

Byakuya held his weapon out in front of him.

An elderly man slipped past the wrestler, with upswept silver hair and amber eyes. His skin resembled a prune in texture and he walked with a marked hunch. The man was Kazuo Tengan, former headmaster of Hope’s Peak Academy, former advisor of Hope’s Peak Academy and current leader of Future Foundation.

He stopped just in front of the wrestler and smiled pleasantly at the other two.

“I thought we might find you here, Togami-kun. Fukawa-san,” he said. “This is quite the cosy little cottage, isn’t it?”

Neither Touko nor Byakuya replied. They leered at him. He tilted his head.

“Where is your father, Togami-kun?” he asked.

Byakuya eyed him.

“I don’t have a father,” Byakuya replied bluntly.

Kazuo quirked his brow, holding his hands behind his back. “Do you mean that because he disowned you, or because you killed him?”

The lack of response gave Kazuo a suspicion on what the answer was. He sniffed the air and strayed from the doorway, feeling Byakuya and Touko monitor his every movement. Because the kitchen area was in the same room, he soon wandered over to the mutilated corpse on the ground.

“Oh dear, the answer is ‘both’,” said Kazuo, peering down at it, then he lifted his head. Noting Byakuya’s expression, he adjusted his glasses. “Shall we get down to business? You have probably worked out why we’re here.”

“Yes,” said Byakuya. He raised his sword. “You came here to die.”

Byakuya propelled himself toward Kazuo, preparing to swing his sword at him, but before he could reach him, the wrestler shoved into him and Byakuya stumbled.

“I, Great Gozu, will not allow you to kill anyone anymore,” roared the wrestler.

Regaining his footing quickly, Byakuya aimed his next attack toward Great Gozu.

Small knives splattered against his blade, and Byakuya pulled back.

Now that Great Gozu no longer occupied the doorway, more people could come in. One was a lean man in a red trench coat, and the other was a woman with a grey complexion, who wore a purple respirator mask and a short dark jacket.

The knives had come from the man in the red trench coat. Byakuya remembered him vaguely from Hope’s Peak, a blacksmith by the name of Sonosuke, and the noise just after Byakuya had closed the door earlier had been from Sonosuke’s knives hitting against it, as they did against his sword just now.

Sonosuke stayed back and reached into his sleeve, presumably to whisk out more knives to throw.

Touko yanked up her skirt and grabbed a pair of scissors from the leather pouch on her right thigh. With a screech, she charged at Sonosuke, and she cut his cheek with her blades.

He let out a yell and lurched backward into the wall. She readied another attack.

Nearby, the woman with the respirator mask ingested some green pills, who Byakuya now remembered to be called Seiko Kimura, a pharmacist. The effect from the pills was immediate. Seiko bulked up, and her purple gloves tore as her hands enlarged. Her nails became claws, and her silver hair lengthed, thrashing like snakes. On her legs, her tights ripped. Veins popped out on her face and with fangs bared, she hurtled toward Touko on all fours.

Byakuya intercepted Seiko, and she only barely dodged his sword’s path. She twisted around and leaped toward him. He kicked out his leg, landing a blow on her face, but she didn’t rebound much, as if he just swatted lightly at her.

Seiko lunged at him again, but Byakuya fended her off with his sword. Blood sprayed and she staggered back with a howl.

Gozu appeared behind Byakuya and grappled him, wrapping his arms around his middle. Byakuya struggled but couldn’t break free. He gasped in pain.

Touko’s eyes widened. She jumped onto Gozu’s back and stabbed his shoulder with some scissors. The scissors belonged to her alter and were her trademark when it came to murders, and for a long time, Touko couldn’t stand them, only keeping them so Syo wouldn’t have to make more, as every time she did that, she risked being caught.

Now, though, Touko had come to appreciate them.

He shouted and his hold loosened enough for Byakuya to squirm free. When Byakuya got out of the way, Touko whipped out another set of scissors, as her other set were still embedded in Gozu, and she ran at him.

Before she got there, Kazuo aimed a stun gun at her and pressed the trigger. Kazuo hit her on the base of her neck. A rattling sound burst out, lasting for five seconds, which was how long he squeezed the trigger for. Touko’s muscles locked up and she fell down into a heap.

Byakuya’s eyes strained wider and he ran over, stopping near her unconscious form.

Sonosuke threw knives at him. They skimmed past Byakuya, grazing skin. Non-lethal. Intentional.

Kazuo raised a hand, showing his palm to Byakuya.

“Togami-kun, you’re a smart lad,” he said. “You know that you’re outnumbered. It’s impossible for you to take all of us down.”

“If you think you can kill me, you’re welcome to try,” said Byakuya, jutting out his chin. He held his sword in front of him. “I’m unkillable, however.”

“That guy’s really trying to test my patience,” said Sonosuke gruffly. Byakuya glanced at him.

“So you can speak,” said Byakuya dryly. Sonosuke flourished a knife.

Kazuo kept his hand up, speaking slowly.

“We don’t plan to kill you. I’d much prefer we be as less violent as possible.” He sighed. “If it was my way, we’d have a cup of tea and leave together without any more fighting.”

Byakuya watched him closely, gripping his sword firmly.

“If you don’t plan on killing us, what are you going to do?” asked Byakuya, and he jerked his head. “Take us to court? Put us on trial? Lock us away in your basement?”

“That’s to be decided,” said Kazuo. His brow furrowed. “This is a losing battle, Togami-kun. Your leader, Enoshima, died during her broadcast of a mutual killing scenario, as you are aware. And a few hours ago, we captured her right-hand man, Clover... or as he was once known as, Makoto Naegi.”

The name made Byakuya’s heart jolt.

“What?” said Byakuya sharply. His stomach rolled. “Makoto... Naegi?”

Their former classmate, who the prep course slaughtered. Who burned before their very eyes.

“What are you talking about?” snarled Byakuya. “Naegi’s dead. Clover is...”

“I believe you’ve been tricked by your deceased leader, Togami-kun,” said Kazuo evenly. “Although Naegi-kun does not remember his past life, tests have confirmed that he is, biologically, Makoto Naegi. According to him, Enoshima faked Naegi-kun’s death and using Matsuda-kun’s notes, changed him into a heartless monster.”

Byakuya stared. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, but perhaps Naegi-kun isn’t telling the truth. We shall see.” Kazuo extended a hand unsmilingly. “But for now, Togami-kun, we’d like you both to come with us.”

To no one’s surprise, Byakuya didn’t take Kazuo’s hand. Instead, he flexed his grip on his sword and said, “The only thing that can kill God... is God.”

The next scene happened in slow motion. Byakuya lifted his sword, and he turned it over in his hands so the blade pointed toward him. He dropped to one knee. Sonosuke and Seiko stiffened, while Gozu moved toward him. Kazuo’s eyebrows rocketed up.

Then, Touko swept her leg under Byakuya, and time sped up to normal. Byakuya fell, dropping his sword, and banged his head against the floor. Only, when she ripped off her mouth mask and her long, pink tongue hung out of her mouth, it turned out it wasn’t actually Touko.

Her foot pressed down on Byakuya’s back.

Gozu froze.

Genocider Syo regarded them with tired, weary eyes.

“If you can save them,” she said, “then we’ll go with you.”

[fourteenacross]

Can you do "I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth" with Lams pretty please? 😘

John lets Alex hold him against the wall for ten long, silent seconds. There might be a dozen reasons for why he’s frozen up, everything from forgetting the next move in the sequence to having a brilliant idea for a piece of legislation he wants to sweet talk Congress into introducing. He could have suddenly remembered he left his iron on. He could be having a stroke.

But none of those reasons also explain why he’s staring at John’s mouth. 

And there’s no denying that. John’s brain is reaching for an excuse, but there’s absolutely nothing he can come up with that would explain it. Is it possible that’s a pining-fueled lack of imagination? Well, yes, but John is sure that it’s not. He’s sure that Alex is staring at his mouth, here in the empty gym in the basement of the White House, long past the hour that any sane person would be asleep. He’s had a suspicion, an itch about it for the past couple weeks, but he assumed his dip into a light depressive episode last month had reactivated the part of his brain that spends way too much energy reading into every movement Alex makes and every one of the very many words that come out of his mouth.

He was wrong. This is happening. This is A Thing.

“So are you going to…do something?” he asks, and immediately regrets it. That sounds like a come on. “Put me in a chokehold? Flip me around?” 

Alex blinks slowly, as if waking out of a dream.

“Stop staring at my mouth, maybe?”

Alex blinks more rapidly now and steps quickly away, dropping his hold on John like he’s been scalded. John’s skin has been heating up in an awkward flush since he noticed the staring, so maybe he’s not far off on that one.

“I wasn’t–”

John can see Alex start to slip into “Mitigate The Fallout” mode and holds up a hand to stop him, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m fucking tired. Do you want to finish this workout or not?”

Alex is uncharacteristically silent, staring at the wall over John’s shoulder, now. The only sound in the gym is the rattle of the air conditioner and their labored breathing. John wishes he didn’t have a meeting with State at seven am so he could go home and drink heavily.

“You laughed at me,” John reminds him quietly. “I asked you out on the campaign and you laughed at me.”

“I didn’t…laugh at you,” Alex says weakly. He scrubs at his face with his hands. “I’ve told you that a thousand times–”

“I know.” And John’s being unfair; he knows that Alex’s laughter back then wasn’t mockery or shock, it was the awkward titter of someone trying to gently turn down an offer. He’s wondered for years if things would have been different if Alex wasn’t engaged to Eliza on the campaign trail. At his lowest moments, he allows himself to concoct elaborate fantasies where one of those late nights sitting on hotel balconies or the hood of John’s Rav4 and drinking cheap beer, sliding closer and closer to each other until they were draped all over each other, ended in a kiss or maybe even something more. When he’s at his most depressed, when he’s been on yet another shitty date, when he rolls home from work at 2am with the knowledge that no one is waiting for him and he’s more comfortable on his office couch than in his bed–he lets himself have that fantasy in those moments, with the rueful knowledge that it’s just that–a fantasy. One barely based in reality, because Alex is his best friend and Alex loves him more than anyone else in the world outside his kids, but it’s not that kind of love.

Or so he’s claimed for the past six years.

“I can’t be this for you,” John finally says. He laughs, short and hard and humorless. “I shouldn’t even be this for you.” He gestures back and forth between them, at the gym at the mats they’re working on. It’s been their routine for a couple years now, since right after the assassination attempt. The guy shoved right past Alex. He took a shot at the President and then tried to escape into the crowd and he shoved Alex to the ground in the process. Alex spent weeks obsessing over it, replaying the scene over and over in his head. He and Eliza were in the middle of the divorce, and he’d show up at John’s apartment late into the night, staring into space and saying, ‘I should have done something.’

So John offered to teach him some very basic self-defense. John and the Secret Service both are of the mind that even if Alex was a trained martial artist, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the guy from getting by–it was chaos and it happened so fast–but it made Alex feel better, and even though John knew it was a bad idea, he wasn’t, like, disappointed to be spending a few hours a week sweaty and shirtless with Alexander.

But something about that clicks into Alex’s head. He’s mulish, suddenly, hands on his hips, jaw set, glaring at John.

“You don’t even know what I want,” he says.

“You want another person to fawn over you and tell you how great you are and distract you for the ten seconds a day you’re not in your office.”

That’s a low blow. More than that, it’s cruel. John honestly doesn’t think Alex intended for…well, any of this to happen. Eliza, Maria, the affair, the divorce, the short parade of fawning young polisci grad students that followed. Alex is ten kinds of fucked up, and while it doesn’t excuse things like infidelity and messy public scandals that almost cost their boss the White House, it does explain them. Alex wants to be loved, desperately, but even more than that, he wants to do good. He wants to make something important, make a mark on the world, to the point where he’s completely fucking blind to who he’s hurting along the way.

John wanted to think he was better now, at least a little bit. That he’d grown. Things with Eliza are settled, more or less, and they’re back to being friends, even if they’re no longer married. He hasn’t picked up any randos in months, maybe longer, and something about him has been more…still. Deliberate. He’s matured.

Or, at least, John thought that was what was happening. But maybe he was wrong. If Alex is here in the middle of the night, making eyes at John because he’s lonely, doesn’t that just go to prove how little their friendship must mean to him?

“Fuck you,” Alex says, very softly. He doesn’t drop his hands from his hips, but his shoulders slump a little and he can’t hide the tremble of hurt that goes through him.

John is quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “That’s not–ugh.” He runs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He takes a deep breath and then drops his hands, holding them out, beseeching, in front of him. “Let’s not fuck around, okay? You know I–you know I have, um, feelings for you. You must know. Everyone does. Strangers on the internet make memes about it. I asked you out like, two hours after we met. And that’s all true. It’s fucking embarrassing, but it’s true, and it doesn’t change anything, because they’ve been there our whole friendship. What would change things is you…taking advantage of those feelings because you’re lonely or because you’re bored or because you want to see what it’s like. I won’t lie and say that I don’t want you, but I don’t want it to be like that. I couldn’t handle it if it was like that.”

That deliberation is back again. Alex is studying him, reading his face and frowning. He crosses his arms across his chest, still looking for some sort of answer in John’s eyes. It’s the sharp, inquisitive, penetrating stare that hooked into John that first night they met, and he feels that same magnetic pull, the one that’s never really gone away, like someone has tied a string around his heart and put it in Alex’s hand. John swallows and Alex takes a step closer.

“What do you want it to be like?” Alex asks, gentle, all the accusation drained out of his words, all the hurt.

A lump is forming in John’s throat and he pushes past it, clears his throat and swallows.

“I don’t know,” he lies.

“You do,” Alex tells him. “Because if you’ve been thinking about it for half as long as I have, then something has to have stuck in your brain.” He takes another step forward. “Come on. I thought we weren’t fucking around. What do you want it to be like?”

And how in the fucking world is John not going to be maudlin as hell after Alex says something like that?

“I want it to be real,” John says, closing his eyes. “I want it to be…this energy between us all the time? I want it to be based off of that. That passion and…and love. I want everything that we have now to be the start and for the rest of it to build up on top of it. I want us to have breakfast together on the weekends and take the kids to the park. I want to go to sleep with you after long, shitty days like this one. I want to finish all those stupid, half-started home improvement projects with you. I want to make dinner with you. I want to look at you and know that this…this thing that I feel in my heart is running through yours, too.”

He opens his eyes. Alex has taken another step closer. He’s close enough to reach out and take John’s hand, now, but he doesn’t.

“I laughed because I liked you and I was nervous it was showing,” Alex says.

“What?” John’s too emotionally overloaded to follow that. He’s too busy concentrating on not doing something stupid like crying.

“That night we met,” Alex says. “We closed down the bar and I was missing my FaceTime date with Eliza, but I didn’t want to go yet. And I thought, ‘If I wasn’t with Eliza…’ and was immediately totally fucking ashamed, and then a second later you asked me out. And I laughed because I did want to go out with you, but I couldn’t throw away all these years with this person I loved and I was guilty and embarrassed and full of nerves, so I laughed and made an excuse.”

Now, Alex does take his hand.

“I was with Eliza then, but I’m not now,” he says. “And I thought you were over me, so I didn’t say anything once I started getting my life back together after. And then I started to wonder and started to…let my heart get carried away. But I wanted it to be the right time. I didn’t want to rush in. But I couldn’t figure out what the right time was.”

John wants to bang his head against the wall.

“You can’t just…come in here and tell me everything I want to hear,” John says, but he doesn’t pull his hand back.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how it works!”

“Why not?” And there’s Alex’s usual argumentative self. “It is how it’s working, John. Not by…design or by plan, but you said it! No more fucking around. I’m not going to fuck around anymore. That’s what’s up with me, okay? I love you. I love you because you’re my best friend and you’re my kid’s godfather and you’re my partner in crime and you make all my ideas better, but I’m also crazy about you. I want you. And that might not be enough, but that’s what I’ve got, and now that you know it all…well, you can…do with it all what you will.”

John is pinned by Alex’s gaze, sharp and clear as he tells John everything he’s wanted to hear for years, everything he’s fantasized about since that first night. Everything about this is a mess–Alexander is a fucking mess, two guys on the President’s staff dating would be a mess, there’s Eliza and the kids to consider, there’s work, there’s Alex issues, there’s John’s fucking issues, which they haven’t even fucking touched on yet….

But John’s an impulsive asshole and he is, he realizes, staring at Alex’s mouth, now. He should think this through, he should sleep on it, he should make them take their time and have a longer conversation in the morning when they’re not fueled by workout adrenaline and bowing under the weight of a very long, very hard day. He should talk to Eliza and take some time to reflect and maybe spend some time away from Alex to think about what this all would mean.

But he’s staring at Alex’s mouth, and before he can even start to suggest any of those very mature, very thoughtful next steps, he’s backed Alex up against the wall, hands bracketing his shoulders, chest moving rapidly with each panted breath.

“This wasn’t what I expected by ‘do with it what you will,’ but it’s a very, very good plan,” Alex murmurs, eyes wide.

“No, it’s a terrible plan,” John says, leaning in, “But everything about my life since I met you has been a terrible plan, so why stop now?”

And if Alex has anything else to say, it’s lost in the press of John’s mouth against his, swallowed up just like the soft kissing sounds in the far corner of the White House gym are swallowed up by the rattle of the air conditioner and the beating of their hearts and the still, heavy quiet of a very late night.

[sparda3g]

The Seven Deadly Sins Chapter 267 and 268 Review

It’s been a while since I last review the series’ chapter. I had a complication with my new laptop to get my day started, but now I am back in motion. I apologize for unable to get chapter 266 review done. Now I am back for the latest chapter; however, there were two releases. I guess you can say it’s my karma, can’t escape from working hard. On the bright side, we have two chapters to enjoy.

The first chapter was largely a buildup, picked up right where Estarossa lost his mind and proceeded to choke Elizabeth, because love hurts. It’s sad how I thought, “As expected. Oh the humanity! Will anyone please save the princess?!” Sorry, my expectation has shrunk. Fortunately, she ends up saving herself by shooting magic right at his face. It’s the least she had to do; she was about to die. Honestly, if someone did save her from that, that is kind of sad. My hope for her was rising and nothing can ruin that…

Right?

An interesting setting for Estarossa to choose to hide her at, concerning that it was a secret meeting place between Meliodas and her. Estarossa truly believe he is his oldest brother; I can’t say that’s sweet of him. Of course, Elizabeth will be touched by the sight since it is nostalgia and all, so I didn’t mind her reacting this way. For now. Shame that it does resort to a love triangle war though, especially Estarossa being involved in this mess.

The next conflict against him is setup back at the plain field with the Archangels and King getting ready to set off. I wonder if this is how the series’ battle will be like going forward; teamwork is the only way to win. It’s nothing wrong with that; just feel like one-on-one will become Meliodas and very few others exclusive. Anyway, it makes sense for those three to be the only one to go since they can fly; sorry, no flying nimbus. If this was a Seinen series, I would be very afraid for King to die because of marriage in mind, but I am worried in a lower capacity level.

Before anyone can say, “Sausagefest,” Derieri insists to join along as well because she can fly too. This is when it finally put her trust into the test due to her status. At least the Archangels aren’t so rude with her. It’s  evident that only Ludociel is a bona fide douche of Archangels; good for others. Human can bad mouth at her all day, so it’s natural.

I was happy that King is the one to step up and defend her, mainly because his journey in the past spiritually comes in handy for a reasonable decision making. I couldn’t see any other way. I don’t know if King will tell her the story, though I think it’s that important. So long she has someone’s support, she is allowed to go. I do get the feeling that this is her endgame, but maybe Nakaba will surprise me. We’ll see. Now we have a demon, a fairy, and two Archangels. Sounds like a really strong team.

It segues to a better yet simple insight of Estarossa and his struggles in the past. As said before, he’s like the bastard child that no one would want or befriend with. The reason why he loves Elizabeth and Meliodas is because they didn’t laugh at him. It’s a familiar story of social outcast getting loved by one and eventually fallen in love. The problem is he’s a villain and most importantly, Elizabeth always have her eyes on Meliodas. What a shocker.

Even in the midst of depression, she still talks about him and ask Estarossa to help her. To be fair, Meliodas is the prime target, so I won’t blame her for bringing up the topic in this dreary mood. I unintentionally feel bad for Estarossa to be stuck with this hell of being neglected by two obsessed lovers. Who’s the actual villain here?

The one part that is questionable and honestly, I’m curious for probably a reason that wasn’t intended is whether that one memory of his is true. He states that Meliodas once told him that he will work things out with him and Elizabeth. Elizabeth is confident that he would never say that. If you take it out of context, I would think she’s an asshole for being so damn sure. Hell, do we even know what Meliodas meant if that part is true? It sounds like something of an older brother trying to make the relationship work, but not necessarily make them lovers. I wish the translation was more accurate or the tone was better suggestive because that respond somewhat pissed me off. It better be false to escape this mess. “I’m sure your memory is mistaken.” It better be…

Estarossa does go mad and the Commandments begin to swallow him up. He resumes back to choking Elizabeth out cold, only it’s a strangle rather than a chokehold. She started it, so serve her right. At least, she’s on cue to be damsel in distress, so why I even bother hoping. Estarossa form a ball shape, filled with the Commandments’ energy. He lost his mind to drag her into the abyss, so he can eat her. Look, if it does put her into Kaneki’s state in the last episode of Tokyo Ghoul Season 1, I will eat all of my complaints and put her on a throne; no more from me.

It’s an interesting comparison with Estarossa and Meliodas’ current state. That would mean Estarossa will go through the transformation phase similar to Meliodas in which is taking time to complete. The state is like a cocoon, waiting it to break. What I would like to know if Meliodas can come in contact with other Commandments or other similar procedure he’s in. If so, he may detect Elizabeth in danger and plan will change. It does sound like a perfect setup for those two to go head-to-head with similar power-up. It’s only matter of time.

The second chapter is pretty straightforward, but entertaining none the less. It’s all about Ban, the guy who has been missing for a while. The color page did give it away, so it wasn’t much of shocker. However, it does hold more than one meaning behind it. While there isn’t much to cover in plot aspect, the joy comes from the journey and how far he has gone.

It does start off strange with some wolf covered in black energy or whatever, leaving some fans wondering what is that at first. I quite like the imagery of the setting. It’s artsy in a way, something like Limbo the video game. It’s a nice change of pace in its atmosphere; Nakaba should do more of that technique. It becomes clear that it’s Ban when it remembers the Fountain of Youth and sure enough, he recovers to his normal state. Well, his human state to be exact.

These two chapters used plenty of large panels, sometimes a page worth, for impacting effect or cool designs. In this chapter, it’s mainly for the detail and exploiting the hardship journey. Purgatory is true hell and even for an immortal, it can still “kill” you. Your body may not break, but your mind will.

Ban grew crap load of hair but that’s because time travel fast in there. With the mixed of an image of a lost man and his current mental state, it would appear he has lost his mind, close succumb to eternal hell. It’s effective when even Ban was scared out of his mind. The double page is really good. It’s like watching some guy going to an endless journey; wandering around for centuries (literally).

I feel bad for Ban to suffer this magnitude. It’s agonizing how he keeps calling for Meliodas like he really can’t take it anymore. Immortal isn’t shaping up to be incredible. It’s telling when he begins to speak to himself, questions and all. You can argue that he’s doing so to keep in check of his humanity’s state, which is plausible. Either way, he’s fallen into the despair that could one day take him to emptiness.

We are treated with a nice fun action with some silly looking black dragon, but this type of nature is amusing and I do miss it. It’s a good change of imagination in its lore, so not everything has to be vicious in design. The dragon reminds me of Meliodas’ old sword, but I believe that is the point by the end. It brings a fun action between the two. It was a good timing on its end since Ban needed a distraction to prevent total insanity. It’s funny how I thought we have a new hairstyle for Ban, only to get his head blown away and regenerate with the usual cut. It’s a good thing that I didn’t jump ahead to think there’s an art error since time travel really fast and such.

It’s good that it was established a while back that Ban and Meliodas have a solid friendship, so it’s nice yet a bit sad how much he has struggled to retrieve his best friend’s emotion. Luckily, Ban has a lover that is far tolerable in compare but my point is his reminder of Elaine waiting for him causes “Meliodas” to speak from somewhere. All this time, that funny looking dragon is “him.” It’s charming how two friends always find a way to challenge each other, no matter where.

Now that he has found “him,” it does make me wonder if he will return once actual Meliodas “hatches” from transformation or will it be for a while, leaving room for Meliodas to cause chaos. I don’t even know how can Ban escape from there. He now holds the game changer; it’s only matter of how long it will take.

Overall, the two chapters were good for its setup. Archangels, King, and Derieri is an impressive dynamic; hopefully it takes them a while to get there for some amusing interactions. Estarossa lost his mind because this romance has been mind-numbing. It leaves a sign of potential two brothers’ battle coming soon, possibly after with those four arrival. Ban’s journey was creeping and amusing. The artwork for both chapters are pretty solid with nice detail with its single page use. The second chapter benefited greatly from extra spaces and impacting inserts. The combine of two doesn’t make it feel like two chapters in total, but it covers enough setup to engage an exciting event for the next. Plus, both end page of each chapter connects each other. It won’t be long now before another round of carnage ensue.

[fuzzyporcupine]

lips like sugar | chapter eleven

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Eren/Levi

Summary: The last thing Levi wanted was charity. But a sugar daddy? That doesn’t sound too bad.

FULL -  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

Levi tries not to think about the past. It holds nothing but swollen eyes and unshed tears as far as he is concerned. Never being one for the pity, that suffocating sense of useless, Levi does not bring it up. Not to Eileen, not to… well, he guesses there really has only been her. Until Eren, that is, the bright-eyed bastard the man can be. That is why he is thrown off kilter when Eren mentions it.

Of course, the question is just mentioned in passing. In between Eren asking him how he likes his fucking eggs for Christ’s sake. Levi doesn’t know if the man is being intentionally unsubtle or is just horribly bad at trying to hide his ulterior motive. He likes to think it’s the latter – puts a little bit into the dent of the Superman armor Eren parades himself in, makes him more human.

“Just curious,” Eren adds as if to soften the blow. Levi could scoff, but he holds his tongue, instead looking up to stare off into the delicate, brunet curls swirled around the base of Eren’s neck.

“Just curious,” Levi repeats, slow and baiting. He feels like this must be what people mean by living domestically. The breakfast served hot and fresh, questions about dark pasts. Well, maybe it’s not the textbook definition. Regardless, he likes the feeling, even if it does dredge up unpleasant memories of watching a pimp throw his mother into a wall. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on not burning your apartment down?”

There is a wicked grin on Eren’s face when the man turns around, spatula in hand. “You underestimate my culinary expertise.” Eren takes the next couple of seconds to lamely toss the spatula up into the air a couple of feet and catch it on the retreat. Levi would be lying if he said the whole sight wasn’t extremely arousing.

“Loser,” Levi mumbles, trying to hide the fluttering in his chest with elementary taunts. His face is blazing, and god, Levi is just really terrible with all of this. Eren – Levi takes back the whole bastard bit – plays none-the-wiser to Levi’s obvious lapse in mentality. Allows him precious silence while Levi wanders away from the scene of the crime like the cat who tried to catch the canary but ultimately just ended up destroying the upholstery.

He tries not to think of it as a walk of shame, but it becomes just that. Hell, the only thing missing is a sad background song and his head hanging low to mark his disgrace. How is he actually so terrible at this?

“So, bacon man or sausage man?”

God fucking dammit.

Levi spends the day apartment hunting… which proves to be an all-around depressing experience. It’s just that Levi can’t expect to leech off Eren forever – wouldn’t expect that, no matter how much of a sugar daddy Eren claims to be. There has to be a limit. So far, Eren hasn’t seemed interested in showing one, but then again, Levi doesn’t think he has been quite demanding for a… a sugar baby. Fucking hell.

He sighs deeply for what feels like the thousandth time, eyes beginning to go hazy from concentrating on the pulsing LED screen on the laptop.

“You okay?” Eren plops down next to him, nursing a can of generic beer. There is a concerned expression on the man’s face, a deepening in the brow. Reminds Levi of when Eren caught him on the wrong side of his eviction. That this the same Eren who drove a stranger home after paying for their loaf of bread. Who searched all the ass-end parts of town with Levi in search of Mittens. It’s Eren, and even if Levi doesn’t want to use his money, he does want the man’s support.

“No,” he mutters, defeated and annoyed. And somehow, it feels intimidating to turn and face the man. To truly express that he feels fucked three ways to Sunday. He wants so badly to conceal this weakness, because it’s just that. Weakness. Another sign that he’s a piece of gutter filth who would have never been pulled from the impoverished chokehold if not for the rich philanthropist beside him.

There is a beat of silence, a slight movement that causes him to finally give way to the man. Eren’s gesturing, obviously unsure with how to breach the topic, trying to speak through his limbs.

“I…” The man looks slightly like a gaping fish, and if not for the dire situation, Levi would probably find the reaction a bit amusing. “I have a spare condo on the other side of town.” Eren’s hands are flying up before Levi has a chance to ask him how much of a charity case he actually looks like. “Okay, before you say anything, before you say anything, I came up with a plan.” Levi cocks a brow at this, never underestimating Eren’s intelligence, but merely the idea that Eren would be suggesting something other than giving Levi a free condo. “You could work for me.”

Levi pauses, giving a moment’s reflection to realize Eren is being serious. “I’m not exactly corporate material.” Imagining himself in a fitted suit, charming the asses off white-collar somebodies – it doesn’t feel right. He’d be a stranger in his own skin, trying to impress an elite bastard who wipes his ass with sheets of gold. Worrying his bottom lip, Levi breaks eye contact with Eren, trying to find some kind of resolution in the swirls of the hardwood flooring.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Anyone would be crazy to underestimate you, Levi.” It’s not exactly enough of a confidence builder to convince him to storm into Eren’s office building the next morning, but it is enough to get him to glance back up into that bright-eyed gaze. Then, just like the tide, Eren pulls him in with a gentle squeeze on the knee. A silent reassurance. But Levi has none of Eren’s charm, none of the man’s graceful way with words. So, he settles for letting his body fall sideways into Eren’s, allowing his head to drop on a firm shoulder.

Eren just holds him closer.

The temperature has begun to steadily rise in the past few days, and though it’s not quite low enough to warrant the freezing rain, Levi still feels chilled beneath Eren’s coat. The sidewalks are lined with slush, and Levi’s worn soles aren’t really doing an adequate job of standing up to the cold ground. Eren had offered him a ride this morning, but Levi refused, needing the cold air in his face for a change. Needed some time to think, more like – uncoil all these emotions tangled up in his gut.

He figures Eileen will have an earful to give him about the whole situation, but Levi doesn’t know how biased that opinion will be. Eileen has always been protective of him, each becoming the other’s unofficial family. So, he’s understandably a little nervous about breaking the news to her.

There’s a frosty sheen on the glass door of Paws for a Cause when he raps his knuckles against the hard surface. The shelter does not open for another couple of hours, but Levi always enjoys the time spent with the animals before shop open; and he knows Eileen will never deny the extra help.

There is a quiet thud of footsteps, followed by a wrinkled smile in the window. She opens the door in a rush, hurriedly signaling Levi into the shelter.

“C’mon, shorty, you’re going to freeze your ass off out there.” Levi smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek as he steps through the entryway. “Where’s your fancy boyfriend, What’s-His-Name? Shouldn’t he be keeping you out of this mess?” Levi resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Eileen only has good intentions.

“Let’s just say I’m concerned for his ‘spaghetti and meatballs’.”

“Damn right,” she states, grin playing on the corners of her mouth. Regardless, she’s quick to lay a fragile hand on his forearm, paired with a delicate smirk. All deep lines and faded skin, still beautiful in her own magnificent way. There’s a gentle tug and Levi’s following her down the hallway to her makeshift office, no words needed.

She opens the door, motioning for him to take a seat in a rusted, old metal chair. Tells him she’ll be right back, then he’s alone, left to filter through his own thoughts as he stares into the blank abyss of the off-white walls.

The office is cramped, never intended to house a desk in the first place. There are adoption papers strewn about the desktop, pens left uncapped and haphazardly abandoned. It’s a real mess, and it has Levi’s brow twitching in anticipation. He’s offered to tend to the office before, but the idea has always been cast aside with a flick of the wrist and a smile. Though, Eileen has always seemed to have a method to her madness.

In his scrutiny, Levi is stopped by a photo framed on her desk. He looks much younger, hair longer and face full of acne. There is a half-smile forming on his lips, eyes partially sheltered by a curtain of dark hair. In his arms, a brown, wide-eyed puppy, ears floppy and tongue hanging out from the side of its mouth. Levi reaches for the picture, traces the edge with his thumb.

He’d been so angry back then. So naïve. Wanted an outlet to focus all the unfiltered rage he’d felt deep inside himself. That had brought him to Paws for a Cause with a rock in his hand and a grunge on his shoulder. Levi still remembers Eileen dragging him back to this office by the shell of his ear. Gave him a choice to work to pay off the damage or be given over to the police. Two days later saw him buried in bundles of fluff and fur.

Levi doesn’t think he’s ever truly thanked Eileen for her kindness, not in the way he should have. That she deserves so much more than he has ever been able to give her. Because who truly knows what could have become of him if she’d not taken him in, given him a job? Probably washed up on the side of the highway, living beneath a bridge with track marks lining his arms. Closes his eyes and grips the photo slightly tighter.

The quiet meow breaks him out of his thoughts.

And there are tears falling down the contours of his cheeks before his eyes even reopen.

Eileen is smiling, an internal glow emitting from her expression as she cradles the kitten in her arms. Not just a kitten, Mittens. Mittens, who he thought he’d never see again. Who he thought would starve to death beside a grimy dumpster.

She looks freshly cleaned, grey coat seeming to shine beneath the office’s florescent lights. Levi supposes he has Eileen to also thank for that, as well.

Placing the frame back onto the desk, Levi pushes himself up out of the chair and stumbles over to Mittens. He is shaking as his hands come up to stroke her head, earning himself a noise of thanks from the tiny kitten.

“How?” he asks, still dumbstruck and dazed.

“I found her rummaging around in the back this morning. She must have followed your scent here.” It’s then he realizes that he is still crying like an infant who has missed breakfast. Like a goddamn baby. But there is not one ounce of himself that can find it to feel ashamed. Not when he snuggles Mittens close to his chest and realizes how much he had truly lost with her absence. It might be edging towards slightly unhealthy, but Levi needs this cat, probably more than Mittens needs him.

“Thank you, Eileen,” he whispers, pulling her into a tight hug with his free arm. “Thank you so much.”

Levi still thinks that it is not the thank you she truly deserves. Could give this woman the world, and he would still feel indebted to her kindness. But it’s a start, and Levi can accept that.

[ladystylestores]

Homebound with EarthBound | Ars Technica

EarthBound got a nice Nintendo Power push. But in retrospect, Nintendo of America, you could’ve tried a lot harder with this trailer.

Give me 10 minutes. I need to defeat five giant moles so the miner can find the gold… which I need to get $1 million and bail out the rock band… who can arrange a meeting with the evil real-estate-developer-turned-mayor I need to beat down.

My partner doesn’t get it, which I completely understand. When I first tried EarthBound, I didn’t either. The now-cult-classic SNES title first arrived in the United States in June 1995. And I, a nine-year-old, had no chance. I craved action as a kid gamer, and that largely meant co-op, multiplayer, and sports titles (a lot of NBA Jam, Street Fighter, and Turtles in Time). Nothing about EarthBound, particularly when only experienced piecemeal through a weekend rental window, would ever speak to me. As one of the most high-profile JRPGs of the early SNES era, it embodied all the stereotypes eventually associated with the genre: at-times batshit fantastical storylines; slow, s l o w pacing; virtually non-existent action mechanics.

Frankly, I wasn’t alone. Based on its sales, not many gamers seemed to understand EarthBound, and it’s not clear Nintendo did, either. What on Earth does the trailer above say to you? In the late 1980s and early 1990s, the company again and again (and again) tried to find a hit JRPG in the States without much success. Nintendo literally gave away games like Dragon Warrior—as a Nintendo Power pack-in—and still couldn’t find an audience. Even the heralded Final Fantasy franchise struggled initially, as Nintendo brought it stateside with a big, splashy map-filled box that no one seemed to care about in the moment.

But a quarter-century later, I can’t stop pushing the power switch on my SNES Classic to spend time with Ness and company. Part of it is me; I’m much older and, in theory, have more patience despite how things like social media and smartphones may be slowly destroying our collective ability to focus. People liked EarthBound better in 2013, too, when Nintendo finally re-released the game for the first time in decades on the WiiU Virtual Console. But part of my newfound appreciation is inevitably the timing of this recent play-through. The compounding pandemics of 2020 have changed the way we all approach the world; FOMO has all but evaporated. (Do I need to constantly doomscroll on Twitter to get all the depressing news as it happens? Should I plan a vacation so I can sit inside doing nothing particularly active somewhere more scenic?) In some ways, there is nothing but time, meaning an indulgent, leisurely, complex game suddenly offers a new value proposition.

More than any of that, however, all my time spent homebound with EarthBound—nearly 20 hours and counting despite a newborn and no work stoppages around the Orbital HQ—comes down to the game itself. To a subset of modern gamers, EarthBound‘s legacy may simply be introducing Ness to legions of Super Smash Bros. disciples. But on the 25th anniversary of this game’s arrival, it actually seems more suited for our current moment than ever.

My parents had no idea what kind of game I was renting at age 9.

Nathan Mattise (yes, photographing his living room TV)

Excuse me, what is happening here?

This cop has watched way too much Elliot Stabler in his life.

Nathan Mattise (yes, photographing his living room TV)

At least the pro at the Onett Times captured the moment: “Police attack innocent boy!!” Evidently it was caught on videotape by a bystander and will air on the local news.

The Insane Cultists are obsessed with blue but really look like they prefer white.

Does Scientology involve beatdowns?

Nathan Mattise (yes, photographing his living room TV)

Why are the kinda crazy ones obsessed with having their name on the building?

Nathan Mattise (yes, photographing his living room TV)

A plot for 1995, a plot for 2020

If it’s been a while or (like me) you never bothered in the first place, EarthBound takes place in a not-so-subtly veiled version of the US, literally called Eagleland in-game. Our hero (whose name defaults to “Ness” but can be changed as you see fit) grew up in the sleepy and seemingly mundane suburb Onett. Other “numbered” suburbs like Twoson soon follow.

Things are not as idealistic as they first appear. In these shining cities on various hills, an alien called Giygas has landed and seeped an evil influence into everything. You have to fight Runaway Dogs and Cranky Bag Ladies now. And post-invasion, every town has developed a problem for you to work through, each feeling eerily prescient in 2020.

In Onett, for example, bad cops feature prominently. Even after you rid the town of a pogostick-riding gang called the Sharks, you can’t just leave Onett because Captain Strong and his police force instead threaten to beat you down for trying. EarthBound originally came out within years of the beating of Rodney King, and it features four cops ganging up on a kid. Captain Strong literally attacks you with submission chokeholds. Nine-year-old me must have been confused if I even got this far, but adult me did a double take as society continues to grapple with the tragic deaths of Black Americans like George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Rayshard Brooks, and Elijah McClain at the hands of police.

The cops of Onett merely come first, but that’s far from the only blunt observation on American life awaiting EarthBound players. In Twoson, your future friend and squadmate Paula has been abducted by a religious cult called the Happy Happy Religious Group. The group obsesses over turning everything blue, but, uh, they resemble a much whiter real-world analogue and maintain a similar disposition toward others (“Your existence is a problem for me and my religion,” says cult leader Mr. Carpainter before he attempts to dismantle you). EarthBound‘s creator Shigesato Itoi may have again been responding to events of his day, as the Boss Fights Book on EarthBound points out the game was developed during the feds’ siege on the Branch Davidian compound in Waco.

But with their character design and dialogue (“I think those who won’t paint everything blue are opposed to peace,” another says), the Happy Happy Religious Group probably doesn’t remind players of David Koresh anymore. Instead, my mind wandered to a much different modern-day cult, draped in white sheets or Stars and Bars, that pushes red on everyone instead. (As EarthBound’s subtle commentary-cherry on top, Paula’s “pray” ability during battle proves unpredictable and often detrimental if used.)

These storylines, rich in social commentary, come up again and again, and I’m barely approaching EarthBound‘s halfway mark. In fact, I just arrived in the big city of Fourside where a “regular unattractive real estate” developer named Geldegarde Monotoli has risen up the political ranks to become mayor. The guy’s name has been emblazoned on a big skyscraper acting as a de facto city hall. He takes political and economic advice from a privileged, bratty neighborhood kid. And Monotoli tries (and apparently succeeds) at both forcing police to do his bidding and manipulating the media in his favor—The Fourside Post’s lead story when I entered town was “Over 70% of Fourside citizens support Monotoli.” Hmm. Perhaps, as Cord Jefferson (a writer on HBO’s Watchmen) recently put it on a podcast: “History is prescient. The things we touch on are just things that have been complaints of my parents, my grandparents, and my great-grandparents.”

Listing image by Nathan Mattise (yes, photographing his living room TV)

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