#a sort of 'once a god always a god' conclusion

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 26 Commentary

Alrightyy I've mustered up what's left of my brain for a belated ep 26 commentary post. IRL responsibilities are getting a bit away from me so I wasn't able to spend as much time on this as usual; apologies if the haste shows through! Consider this more reaction than meta.

As always, spoilers under the cut:

A carry-over comment, but I really do appreciate the Li Lun/ZYC scene in ep 25 for how it solidified ZYC's resolve and reminded him of where his heart is, what he believes in, what he chooses to defend. Such a load-bearing and pivotal conversation for both characters in opposite directions of development. It also makes ZYC's return to the Bureau triumphant in a way, despite all the preceding trauma, despair, and hopelessness. WX embraces him in relief that he's safe and in comfort for what they've all just been through, and for us, it's doubly meaningful as a sort of homecoming after a confrontation that only we have witnessed. It's also interesting, the cutaway as they hug, the things we have been made privy to and the things that are kept private from us.

Ouuughh the lines voiced over as ZYZ and ZYC meet eyes for the first time since all that transpired in Tianxiang Pavilion. It gives such a deep sense of wordless understanding and intimacy. I'm reminded of when the show did that for Ranyi and Miss Qi's final lines.

As I mentioned previously, a lot of subtext became text in this episode, which was quite exciting (and also extremely adorable the way ZYC was like "I think I've said too much" /// afterwards). I didn't expect ZYC to convey his understanding of ZYZ to him so soon, but that really goes back to something I love about ZYC: that he doesn't really waste time expressing something once he's come to an emotional conclusion. Maybe there's something to be said there about how he knows, after the loss of his family, how important it is to say the words when you have them to the people in front of you while they're still here.

If ZYC's words and his tears offered to a catatonic ZYZ in ep 23 were an expression of star-crossed and conflicted love, this parallel scene is just an utterly unrestrained confession, the stars be damned.

Also, tbh I never found ZYC's reactions to ZYZ to be unfounded or unreasonable, even when misguided in the beginning (and necessarily so, given the narrative and premise) or at times harsh (which I also found much-needed for ZYZ to hear, and delivered with obvious sympathetic anguish). He was clearly reflecting and actively revising his own preconceived notions this entire time, feeling for ZYZ the whole way through, and I do think he's demonstrated realistically and impressively the full extent of empathy perhaps as far as it can possibly stretch without personally experiencing ZYZ's life himself and while still living and feeling for his own. But to see ZYC so ready to address his previous flaws, to admit them and correct them, to go beyond them and to reach out so plainly for ZYZ in front of him now that he has that personal experience—the relationship between them has transcended the initial set-up of two opposing characters meeting in the middle. The show has gone that extra step and made their perspectives one. And given that I didn't personally find that step to be narratively necessary, so to say, (as in, even without it there's not truly a narrative obstacle because I already believed ZYC loves ZYZ despite everything and we've already seen the lengths he'll go to not to kill ZYZ), it feels like a choice in every definition of the word. Like a development motivated by love all the way down.

WX gets the least traumatic cloak-draping scenes out of the three of them, thank god.

Oh shit I forgot about fixing the Wilderness I'm so glad they didn't lmao.

Ahhh the crossroads moment at a literal (kind of) crossroads right before entering the Bingyi Clan's forbidden area. ZYC suddenly wanting to go alone or back out, stuck weighing the danger to everyone's lives, who they can and can't save depending on his choices. It makes me think of what happens when we let intense love in and it comes with intense fear, makes us freeze up. Suddenly, the stakes are in sharp relief, and the courage to move forward isn't so simple anymore.

"修好了，你也別死" ("Once it's fixed, don't die either.") Head in hands. ZYC's voice here, his expression, that desperation. Yeah I think this episode was so draining because of how all pretense is being stripped away and all that's left is ZYC's profound love for everyone, so raw and vulnerable that it hurts to watch, especially knowing he won't have it easy trying to keep everyone alive.

Kind of love how freely ZYC cries and says the vulnerable things in front of all his loved ones. Like. That's truly his family, his people, his heart.

ZYZ please. Imagine ZYC's grief without you. Please just stay.

Yay 12 seconds of angst-free bickering right before (as someone else called it) the trolley problem

Ok so, I'm not sure how common this interpretation/reading of the following scene is, but it's been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna include it here. If y'all disagree, pls disregard! Basically, when ZYC first turned to PSJ and thanked her, I was terrified for a moment that he would ask her to stay. Because on one hand, ZYC would never, but on the other hand, imo there's a lot of (I think deliberate) ambiguity baked into the scene. In ZYC turning to PSJ right after we're told "one of your friends or all three of them," in him starting the series of goodbyes with the character he has the least onscreen development with, in the finality of what he says to her but also the lack of clarity on just who this is final for, in PSJ's expression and WX's reaction, in the dramatic turning away at the end. Like, until he turns away from her, I think there's room for interpretation on what he's decided to do, and as someone who's grown quite surprisingly invested in the ZYC-PSJ dynamic, I'm kind of morbidly interested in this reading of events.

What might be going through PSJ's head at ZYC's words, if at this moment she hasn't yet realized his self-sacrificial intent? Does she think she's going to be asked to stay? Does she assess the situation, conclude that she's the person ZYC is least close to and perhaps the one least able to contribute in whatever comes next as the only human here, and begin resigning herself to this outcome? Are the tears in her eyes the sole indication of her conflicted unwillingness to die here that makes it through because as he's talking, she's evaluated that this is the best possible scenario for them all (esp for WX) and will commit herself to his decision even if it also breaks her heart to be chosen this way?

I may be taking this and running a bit far with it, but I just think the ambiguity of this one brief moment can create such angsty implications between the lines (as if we needed more angst...) and despite their scarce onscreen interactions, I'm kind of a sucker for the "extremely noble (to the point of tragedy) knight choosing to acknowledge and follow and dedicate their silent loyalty to a leader they deeply respect" dynamic, even if it is understated with all the other relationships going on in this show. Given how reticent PSJ is, it makes a meaningful impact on me every time she displays concern for ZYC, so you know it crushed me to watch her desperately and irrationally (the most pragmatic of them all!) try to shoot at him with her arrows while knowing there's no way it'd work. The way she was the first to act, the sound of nothing but the ice and the stretch of the bowstring. I really do love their platonic bond much more than I expected to.

Oof. The freezing. I don't want to sound like a broken record but I loved TJR's acting here because I think it's so easy for this scene to look awkward as he's stuck facing forward and pretending to freeze haha. His microexpressions as he realizes ZYZ is behind him, as he tries to chase him away with his words, as he's probably burning from the inside out with all that ice. That last tear as his gaze turns hollow. A+

I also love ZYZ's lines about not believing he can't overcome ZYC's powers like yeah this is a newborn demon with no inner core and ice powers that he taught him lmao

Okay, that's a wrap for my thoughts on this ep! I was originally going to include ep 27 reactions here too, but seeing as this is getting a little long, maybe I'll roll 27 into my thoughts on ep 28? We shall see!

[illprotectyou-hearteyes]

To be clear this is not a prediction of a queer romance in the show because I'd never put my hope in a Disney/Marvel production like that but.

I don't know whether to side-eye Loki S2 or myself for the fact that my genuine read on it four episodes in is that the natural culmination is Loki having to choose between Mobius and Sylvie. And choosing Mobius

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

WE CAN DIP IF YOU’RE READY ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere imo), mild age gap (five years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach.

but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room; listening to the sound of the nearby sea. you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture. 

(i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.)

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking at you, looking through you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god; his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod, smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of pancakes on the kitchen table, sugary and sweet, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends. 

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

… except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was nineteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a naive little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

five years later, on a breezy summer evening, you step onto a bustling train platform with your luggage in tow — breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look up at them, and then back down; everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you. 

there she is. with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, a yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other just a month ago — you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko…”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, sulking. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards a familiar house, resting in the distance. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.” 

(… ah. right.)

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb.

from within an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze, the buzz of an old radio spills out. when you strain your ears, you think you hear humming — gentle and sweet.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own. “good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”… i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off, muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own — leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice.

”i bet,” he hums. ”take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot, unable to properly look into his eyes. for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward.

one large stride towards you, as sudden as a lightning bolt, before he leans down to wrap his arms around you. squeezing your waist, with his biceps, not quite as tight as you remember his hugs being; you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can. 

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen. 

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly. 

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves. 

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.” 

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a too-loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for the right words, brain tied up into fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, grounding, and all you can do is gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“… you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet, now. soft and sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. you love her for it.

but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating — but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament. 

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.” 

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm. 

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat. 

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?” 

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes… 

suguru. 

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by... i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers. 

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid. 

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look. 

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe. 

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room. 

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan flowing from his throat. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze, one you aren’t accustomed to seeing. you crane your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him? 

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing, even though you’re anything but.

one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening. 

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more — unable to help yourself — you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“… it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re five years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet. 

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it’s dripping with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it, okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair with a gentle caress. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her. 

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up. that your legs were long enough.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart, and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated, even if you’re completely delusional and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds. 

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thighs, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable. he’s strong. very strong.

the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and, honestly, you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually… some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy. i hope you can understand that.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not some random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he stands a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet. satoru, your first love.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat. you’re not sure he heard you. if he did, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time. 

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think, more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have. 

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you. solemn, steady, a pillar of salt.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking with the sound. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking, if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, and oxygen spills out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“… has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

now he’s just teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm; his voice set to a melodic lilt, as if tempting you to close your eyes. it’s summer, in a quiet port town.

and you adore him again. 

that’s right, you muse, belatedly. loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t ever an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so. if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown yard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom — just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away; at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all, that’s it. that was always it.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts, unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off little ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right. 

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you both. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

[cyxnidx]

HI HI HELLO! I saw ur cat n mouse gamr for Wriothesley and loved the idea so much! I would like to request f! Reader x wanderer (genshin) playing a cat n mouse game as well hehe. And if you dont mind please do write more on the smut part I am very curious on how itll play out 🫢 TY!

CAT & MOUSE 2 !

character pairing: wanderer / scaramouche x f!reader

warnings: smut, degradation(use of 'slut, whore') + a little praise, oral (m!receiving), cat & mouse game, slight bondage (ropes🤭)

a/n: Hi~, apologies for such a late response :(. had to get some sort of inspo flowing. i'm glad you enjoyed, & hope you enjoy this one even more <3.

"where are you, slut." wanderer's tone echos throughout the house.

you're hiding - hiding, being bratty, as usual. getting your boyfriend all riled up, only to leave him to deal with his boner himself.

not this time, though. it seems you've gotten him a little too riled up today.

you slap a hand over your mouth when you hear his shoes against the hardwood floor, hoping he doesn't find you.

now you're realizing its foolish - and your hiding place doesn't make it any better. under the bed, really?

"come out, come out, wherever you are.." he calls again, obviously teasing you. hes so close, so near, yet you don't have sight of him.

the adrenaline rush is addictive. it's probably the main reason you're doing this to begin with. the rush of hiding, and the chance of being caught, and fucked to oblivion?

its addicting.

you notice it goes quiet. it doesnt seem like the wanderer is walking anymore, nor is he calling for you.

theres only one conclusion you can come to when this occurs.

and before you know it, you're yanked up by your ankles and pinned to the ground.

you've been caught.

you fight him, for the fun of it. to give him a hard time, not that you want to win. not necessarily. the whole point is to get under his skin.

finally, he gets you under control, and thats when you notice a rope being held between his teeth. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, while with the other, he works to tie your wrists together.

"scara - let's talk about this!" you whine, only adding fuel to the fire. you knew he wouldn't wanna talk - why would he?

without a word, he throws you onto the bed you once were taking cover under. "not another word, you hear me?" he demands. "say anything more, and I'll stuff that pretty mouth with my cock."

your eyes narrow, analyzing his. lust swirls in his pupils, a gaze of daggers stabbing you. though, despite the betting stare he's giving, you take it as an opportunity to provoke him more.

"well, if you're so bold, do it-"

you're basically cut off at the last syllable of your sentence when he moves you off the bed. his grip is harsh on your waist, and you were on the ground before you knew it.

"open your mouth," he says in a haste, unbuckling his pants and fiddling with his zipper.

"wha-"

"open. your. fucking. mouth." he demands, stroking the bud of precum over his cock as he waits. you let your tongue fall out of your mouth, mouth wide, awaiting to be filled by his cock.

not taking more than a minute, he shoves his cock down your throat, immediately fucking you.

"you," he pants, the warmth of your throat hitting him like a truck. like a pressure he never knew he needed for the minute. "fuckin' slut. always rilin' me up n', shit."

he continues to shove himself down your throat, your gags filling the otherwise quiet house. he grabs a harsh fistful of your hair and your hands go to massage his balls, tempting him to cum down your throat.

his head tilts back. "god, damnit. you're sucha little slut, fuck, taking my cock like a good little girl. mmh, g'na let me cum down your slutty little throat? huh?"

you attempt to moan in response, the tightening gesture throwing scaramouche over the edge, filling your throat with his seed.

he waits for you to finish sucking every little bit off his cock before moving you to the bed. "good little slut, you must like to be used." he mumbles, turning you over on your stomach and arching your back. "g'na treat you how you want, yeah? like the little whore you love to be."

[greenfiend]

Will already has powers…

And I think I figured out exactly what they are.

This is a long theory post. Get some popcorn, get comfortable and be prepared to have some common fandom perspectives get flipped upside down. Nothing is as it seems.

(Trigger warning for some serious subject matters such as: homophobia, SI, m*rder, and CSA.)

Before we begin, let me remind you of what’s seen behind our boy in the photo above.

This post will, indeed, open that curtain. As Murray states, revealing what’s behind the curtain will cause some to feel unease. The unease may be caused by distaste of the theory overall or discomfort of the serious subject matters. So proceed with caution…

To begin, who is Will Byers?

A young boy who doesn’t fit in with the 1980s norms. A boy who escapes through fantasy.

In fantasy he’s a wizard… a cleric…

Outside of fantasy he’s an artist… a creator…

He’s a boy who’s different. He stands out from the rest, yet he manages to remain hidden for the most part. He’s “good at hiding”.

He is a part of a small loving family of three. His mother Joyce and his older brother Jonathan. His biological dad is estranged (more on him later).

Will has a few friends when we begin the show: Lucas, Dustin, and Mike. Mike and Will have a bond that’s different from the others (more on them later).

Will is a young boy who has experienced a lot of trauma, from bullying peers and an abusive parent to being victimized by supernatural forces. There’s a lot going on for him both internally and externally. These also happen to correlate with each other quite frequently. Suspiciously frequently in fact. Which leads me to this conclusion:

Will’s powers involve shaping the world around him based on his warped views of himself, his sexuality, and his mental health. He’s literally “reshaping the [external] world” to match his internal world; “remake it however [he] sees fit.”

Wow okay slow down there, you may be thinking. You’re really saying he has God like abilities? Well, sort of- but he lacks the insight or control over his own abilities at this point. Just bare with me here and keep an open mind as things will get stranger…

Moving away from the deeper aspects of his character, let’s look at something superficial: his name.

William “Will” Byers

The name William means “Determined” or “Resolute Protector” or “Strong Helmet”. Okay.

Byers means someone who lives by a cattle-shed. Hm. Okay.

But wait… let’s go back. What does the name “Will” mean?

Well… there’s multiple meanings but let’s focus on the highlighted one.

“Mental powers” you say? A name that literally means the ability to make others do things or make things occur? To bend things to one’s will…

When did he get these powers?

I’m not confident in the answer to this but I think he may have always had the powers. Just like his sexuality, he was born this way.

It’s very likely that he was specifically targeted back in the first episode because of this, then was possessed afterwards for the same reason.

I mean… for a villain who wants to “reshape the world”- why wouldn’t he want the powers of a boy with this ability?

As I believe his powers are intertwined with his sexuality, they began manifesting much more once puberty hit. Will likely has used his powers in seasons 1 and 2 but very subtly. In season 3, they become more obvious but still in the shadows (and unbeknownst to him…he suppresses it). They emerge in correlation with his blooming sexuality.

Season 3 is associated with possession, and the concept of free will is a frequent theme. The characters discuss how to look out for people acting out of the ordinary, out of character if you will. Any characters that come to mind?

Hopper was noticeably different this season. Coincidentally, the same season Will desperately held onto his childhood innocence, Hopper acted suspiciously immature.

Will wants El and Mike to break up. Hopper wants El and Mike to break up.

Mike explains to Lucas that Hopper “threatened” him while we immediately cut to Will. What’s Will doing here? He is moving DnD characters on a board. He is manipulating the characters here… playing dollhouse… being a puppet master. This little guy was so jealous of Mike and El that he influenced Hopper to try and break them up!

We are shown other little incidences of Hopper acting Will-like too. He suddenly buys a shirt that’s different than his usual wardrobe- “that’s a lot of color chef”. Will is known for wearing colourful clothes, that’s highlighted as a reason he is seen as “different” and is bullied for it. Hopper has trouble pronouncing an alcoholic beverage, saying “cheeanti” when he is well acquainted with alcohol. While Will is dressed up as Will the Wise, Lucas asks Will for permission to shower- then we cut to Hopper showering. Hopper acts very immature in his jealousy, just as Will does. Both Hopper and Will have big fights with Joyce and Mike in episode 3 of season 3. When El asks “how do we know when someone’s a host?” the scene immediately ends and we are shown Hopper. Will is using Hopper as a host! There’s even more evidence than this but we shall move on from here.

So wait, Will possessed Hopper? Well, not exactly. Hopper was under the influence of Will. Remember what Will said about the mindflayer: “He likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me.”

There was another character acting out of the ordinary this season…

That’s right! Mike.

I’ll come back to him more later but in the meantime, let me offer you this theory:

The rain scene. Now what if I said that Will was the one projecting onto Mike? What I mean is: Will’s internal thoughts “it’s not his fault I don’t like girls!” becoming a reality. Mike never meant to say this- it was all Will’s doing. His internalized homophobia became externalized. It’s oddly fitting too that in the episode with Will’s emotional breakdown, it’s raining.

The devastating depth of Will’s trauma

Within the show, we know our boy has experienced a lot of suffering, but subtext tells us it’s much worse than we see on the surface.

Will’s father is a homophobic and abusive asshole yes, but he’s more than that.

There’s an alarming amount of evidence that this man was not only emotionally and physically abusive but also sexually abusive to both Will and his older brother.

He likely was especially homophobic towards Will because he projected his actual perverse sexuality unto him. He likely dealt with his shame by blaming his innocent young son.

This leads us to: November 6th, 1983. Originally, I do believe that Will died by the hands of his own cruel father. His father likely picked him up from his bike ride home (his bike left behind), ended his life by strangulation, put him in the back of his trunk, and dumped him into Sattlers Quarry (where his fake body was found).

I believe somehow someone was able to reverse this (more on this later). The clock turned back and a new timeline was created. Will was then abducted and brought to the upside down. Instead of heaven or hell, he was in purgatory. Time came to an abrupt halt in the upside down… the exact same time his life ended in the original timeline. This is where timelines diverge.

Now Will’s purgatory is also his internal world, his own mind. The upside down manifests itself as this. It’s dark, cold, scary, lonely, and unsettling. He’s trapped in his own head, where he relives some of his most traumatic memories. We see him being victimized by the Demogorgon (an alternate title for Demogorgon is “The Deep Father” x ) and we also see him being assaulted (in a sexual manner) by vines.

By the time Will is rescued, he is struggling with suicidal thoughts (the song “When It’s Cold I’d Like to Die” tells us this). Poor boy has been in a deep dark depressive state. In season 2, his possession is a real manifestation of his PTSD.

The monsters represent how he views himself- he’s a monster. I’d argue his internalized homophobia is a lot worse than we actually think. It’s not just the homophobic environment around him, it’s also the ongoing rhetoric that the victim will inevitably become a perpetrator. As we see the common occurrence of toxic cycles continuing: he fears he has no agency and will become his own father.

Jonathan can relate, but because he’s solely attracted to women and thus more “normal”, it’s not as bad for him. But Steve really pushed his buttons when he implied that Jonathan is a creep like his father.

So yes, Will sees himself as a monster because of his attraction to men. Thus, he manifests the monsters in the monster show.

Speaking of his attraction to men…

Mike

Will loves Mike, he’s hopelessly devoted to him. Mike feels the exact same way. In the original timeline, Mike ultimately decides to jump into Sattlers Quarry to reunite with his love in death.

Will “jumps”, Mike jumps too. Luckily, a new timeline was created, giving both of them a second chance at life and love.

In the alternate timeline (the show), season 1 sees Mike leave no stones unturned in his search for his best friend. In season 2, we see how Mike normally is with Will. He’s so devoted! He’s always by Will’s side throughout everything. It’s beautiful! This is the authentic Mike.

So. What happened in season 3? Mike’s internalized homophobia?

Well partially I’m sure, but in this post I’m offering an alternate theory: Mike’s behavior is explained by Will’s internalized homophobia.

What do I mean by this?

Well as I said, Will reshapes the external world in the image of his internal world. He doesn’t believe he deserves Mike’s love. He’s scared. He’s been “inventing things” so he can push Mike away.

He obviously wants nothing more than to be with Mike, but due to his insecure attachment style and his internalized homophobia, he’s been the one pushing him away this entire time with his powers.

How has he been pushing Mike away exactly?

He’s been pushing Mike towards El.

Wait, didn’t he help break them up through Hopper?

Well, yes, but the sweet sensitive boy that he is likely felt bad, he regretted his actions after their rain fight fallout and wanted to give his “olive branch” and make amends.

Will believes the best way to do so is to push Mike and El back together. Like Lucas, Will gives Mike guidance by, essentially, being the master to his puppet.

(Above is actually Will’s apology to Mike.)

In Will’s mind, Mike is straight. He would never reciprocate Will’s feelings. So, Will believes that Mike should be happy with El then.

Will literally is putting words in Mike’s mouth here. Look how focused Will is in this scene, and how often Mike turns to him. It’s as though Will is mouthing to Mike exactly what words he (thinks) he should say.

Here Will is at it again! But Mike is resisting. The words aren’t able to come out. Will’s signal is poor, Mike couldn’t fully understand him.

So Will, as misguided but well intended as he is, attempts to bring Mike and El back together.

No wonder Mike couldn’t exactly remember his words…

He’s genuinely confused here!

This leads me to…

This foreshadowing shot tells us that Will is the director here. He fed Mike the script he had to read. So yes, I’m saying that Will did not just push Mike to say those words to El, he forced him to. Mike did not have any agency here.

Now, like me, you may be concerned about this. Will is bending Mike to his will? Won’t the audience then assume Will forced Mike to be gay with him? Pushing that toxic homophobic narrative?

Well that’s the thing- Will is not forcing a straight man to be gay. Will is trying to make a gay man straight! Ahhh trope subversion.

El

So I’m not going to delve too much into El in this post, because El and Will deserve their own post. But I do strongly believe they are much more connected than we think.

Vecna

Where does Vecna fit into this theory? Well for starters, I don’t believe Vecna himself is Will, he is definitely a separate entity. The major difference between Will and Vecna is that Will will no longer be restrained by his shadow, he will be able to differentiate himself from his shadow. Vecna has chosen to become one with the shadow.

Also, like Mike, Vecna is heavily associated with time. Vecna takes time away from others but Mike gives time. I do agree with the Wheeler and Creel being connected theories.

Time

Time is a major theme within the show. As I mentioned previously, Will possesses powers where he can manipulate his environment, his space. Will is space, but he is lacking the 4th dimension.

The upside down is frozen in time, essentially lacking time. It needs time, and it always will! That’s right- Mike is time.

That boy is frequently associated with it. Running late at the beginning of each season, mentions of “turning back the clock”, etc.

Mike “turned back the clock” and saved Will from his original fate. Similar to the scene where Mike jumps off the cliff and is saved by El, Mike reverses his fall by rewinding time. He went all the way back to the night of November 6th, 1983. Preventing the original timeline from occurring.

Mike gave Will the greatest gift of all- time.

Remember time heals all wounds. Wounds being the gates.

Together, Mike and Will are spacetime. Which is beautiful because not only does this mean they are equals in every way but they can literally create their own fantasy world together.

Conclusion

This show has a lot of layers. I tried to really dig deep but still I feel like I just scratched the surface. I will say this though: I am utterly confident that everything leads back to Will. He is the center of the entire show, like it or not. Without Will, there is no Stranger Things. Now of course this is not “the Byler show” but their relationship is incredibly important. Mike’s unconditional love and devotion to Will is a key aspect of the solution to the conflict. He makes Will “feel better for being different”. His love, along with his other friends and family, will inevitably lead to the upside down (Will’s mind) becoming a beautiful place. Instead of rot and decay, there will be blooming flowers and sunlight.

If you’d like to discuss any aspect of these theories with me, feel free! Like I said, I’m only scratching the surface here. Let me know your thoughts.

[one-flower-one-sword]

"You came from a renowned school, an orthodox sect that never traversed the deviant path. Growing up in that sect, you were always told that ascending was the ultimate thing to strive for," Jun Wu continued. "It is very difficult to give up that sort of goal. Falling in with the Ghost Realm was an unfortunate circumstance, an act born of helplessness. Of course you cannot say you are satisfied with your position in the Ghost Realm. It was never what you wanted in the first place."

Yin Yu didn't have enough confidence to deny it. He said weakly, "Chengzhu has shown me grace. He saved me -"

"I know," Jun Wu said. "He even helped you pacify and send off Jian Yu's vengeful spirit after he died during your banishment, am I correct?"

"...Yes," Yin Yu confirmed. "So whether or not I am satisfied with my current position, it's all -"

"That is dissatisfaction," Jun Wu noted. "You are bound by his grace and have nowhere else to go. You are in denial." Yin Yu hung his head and didn't reply.

Vol 7, page 144-145

One of my favorite relationships throughout the novel, even though we get so little information about it, is Yin Yu and Hua Cheng's. Even the above tidbit is mired by the way Jun Wu is trying to manipulate Yin Yu's emotions and how Yin Yu at times responds genuinely and at others plays along to try and find a way to escape.

Once I had finished the novel, I was left wondering why there are so many fandom jokes about Yin Yu being exploited by Hua Cheng when the text seemed to paint a much different picture of what Yin Yu's life and work environment as a god was like versus as the highest ranking ghost city officer. So in this meta I try to examine and compare the two as well as try to draw conclusions about how Yin Yu felt about it all and why.

First of, I think that Yin Yu's longing to return to becoming a god is genuine, since this is what he says after he stops playing along with Jun Wu's manipulation because he's by then gotten enough spiritual energy to attack him:

"I do want to return to the heavens, I do want to be ranked in the top ten!" Yin Yu continued. "But it's completely meaningless if I don't do it on my own! I'm unlucky, I accept that! Admitting that I can't compare isn't that hard!" Vol 7 page 152

Which is interesting, considering this is what he felt like when he was still a god in heaven while Quan Yizhen hadn't yet ascended:

A good while later, [Quan Yizhen] said bluntly, "I don't like it here."

Yin Yu said nothing.

"They think I'm annoying, but I think they're even more annoying," Quan Yizhen continued. "Before, I could train at least sixteen hours a day. Now half the time is taken up by talking and listening to nonsense, by greeting and visiting people. There are people who yell at me and hit me for no good reason, without apologizing, and I can't even fight back. This isn't heaven. I don't like it here."

Yin Yu sighed. "I don't like it here either."

"Then let's go back," Quan Yizhen said.

But Yin Yu only shook his head, "Even though I don't like it here, I want to stay."

Quan Yizhen couldn't understand. "Why do want to stay if you don't like it here?"

Yin Yu was stumped, and chuckled in spite of himself. He didn't know what to say, unable to explain it to him. How could he convey to Quan Yizhen that reaching the Heavenly Capital was the dream of so many people who sought the path of cultivation, the ultimate end goal? Or just how difficult it was for someone his age to achieve ascension?

Vol 5, page 271-272

Yin Yu essentially seemed to be struggling with sunk cost fallacy, where he put his everything into ascending to heaven and so wants to stay there even though it's making him increasingly unhappy. It's interesting that Jun Wu accuses him of being in denial about his unhappiness in the Ghost Realm, when Yin Yu in the past seemed to be in denial about his unhappiness in heaven. Especially since this is what he was being treated like as soon as his power and influence were in decline:

Yin Yu and Jian Yu were seated next to the "Earth Master." Their assigned seats were considered the edge of the banquet. Yin Yu wasn't eating or talking to anyone. [...]

At the other end of the banquet, there was already a large crowd of heavenly officials fighting to greet Quan Yizhen. The surrounding crowd had completely blocked the person at the center from sight. It appeared that this was soon after Quan Yizhen ascended and established his own palace. He was at the height of his popularity in heaven, in contrast to how he was disliked by most of the present court. Although the two were both Martial Gods of the West, he was significantly more prominent than Yin Yu. The attendees all swarmed over, leaving the table where Yin Yu sat quiet and empty.

Vol 5, page 273-275

I've talked about this in my Yin Yu & Quan Yizhen meta as well, how Yin Yu tries to get by in heaven by conforming and submitting to the elitist power structures it's based on:

Quan Yizhen kept going. "They cussed at me first. I don't even know them. They said I was a low-ranking heavenly official and yelled at me for no reason, then they laughed at me and told me to scram and not to block their way [...]" "Are low-ranking heavenly officials below other people?" Quan Yizhen asked.

"No," Yin Yu replied. Was that true? It was obvious he didn't believe his own words, and Quan Yizhen noticed.

Vol 5, page 271

and how it starts to chip away at the kindness and the moral backbone he showed while still in his sect:

"Shidi, the things you're all saying aren't right." The crowd was taken aback. "I'm going to say something unpleasant," Yin Yu continued. "No matter what path we cultivate, talent truly is an incredible thing. And he is not only talented, he is willing to work hard. If you really think Shifu is playing favorites, then let's work harder to keep up with him - maybe even overtake him. And then things like training halls and supplements will naturally be open to everyone. Rather than wasting time being angry at him, your priority should be training harder. Am I right?" [...]

"You really don't need to mind them. You didn't do anything wrong. It's fine like this." Anyone with clear eyes could see that the other disciples couldn't stand Quan Yizhen. They found fault everywhere, and it wasn't because of his big appetite, or because he wasn't a morning person, or because he was inconsiderate and a poor teammate who only cared about showing off. At the end of the day, what they really couldn't stand was this: he was the last to enter the school, but he received the most. Quan Yizhen nodded. "I think so too." Yin Yu patted his shoulder. "Go train! That's what's most important. Don't think about anything unnecessary." [...]

After watching the two scenarios, Xie Lian praised Yin Yu. "San Lang, that subordinate of yours really is a rare character. What a good heart."

Vol 5, page 262 + 264

Everything Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen already struggled with in their sect - the jealousy, the bullying, the competition for resources - is even worse in heaven, which actively encourages the endless competition for devotees and subordinates as well as the exploitation and mistreatment of those of "lower rank". No matter how hard Yin Yu tries to conform to these structures, they steadily wear away at both the way others see him and also how he sees himself:

After closing the gates, Yin Yu's voice grew louder. "Don't say any more! I don't want to hear it! It's very normal for an ascended heavenly official to establish a palace, so he didn't do anything wrong. Since you get irritated just talking about him, why must you constantly bring him up?" "Please don't think that I'm speaking out of turn, but someone must remind you. Yin Yu, the west is only so big, and there are only so many devotees. He's already taken so much. That wolf yao kill should've been yours, but he stole it! Look at the state of you now - your domain's shrinking smaller and smaller. How much do you have left? Can you maintain your standing if this keeps up?" "How is what he's done theft? It's not like he's forcing anyone to worship him at knifepoint - everyone's willing. Besides, that wolf yao..." Yin Yu sighed and said frankly, "I couldn't have defeated it. It was useless praying to me, so of course they went to him." "I just... I'm worried that if this fight continues, he'll win and leave us with nothing," Jian Yu said bitterly. "Fuck, even those lower-ranking officials only care about their own advancement - each one of them coming up with empty excuses to quit and slipping away to serve under other heavenly officials. What a bunch of no-good asshats!" Yin Yu sighed again and sat down on a prayer cushion. "What fight are you talking about...? Why care for such things? Those who want to leave will always leave in the end, and those who want to stay will naturally remain. I didn't ascend to fight for power with anyone, nor squabble over domains, nor quarrel, so why can't you let this go?" Vol 5, page 277

This is a stark contrast not only to the kind of standing he had while he was still in his sect:

Yin Yu pushed them away, urging them to leave. He sighed. "You said yourself that he's insane, so why bother with him?" It was easy to see that Yin Yu's words held weight with his peers at this point in his life. Although the crowd was still upset, they left as told. Vol 5, page 257

But especially to the kind of authority and respect that his position in Ghost City offers him:

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the ghost crowd. They immediately parted, forming a path, as if someone of importance had arrived. Xie Lian came to his senses and saw a tall, black-clad figure walking straight toward him through the path created by the mob. That person yelled, "Settle down. Let him go!" The black-clad figure, like most of the ghosts on the street, wore a mask. It was a funny mask, with a face that was contorted as if it was smiling woefully. The mob muttered under their breath, "It's the Waning Moon Officer!", and they released their hold on Xie Lian at last. It seemed this black-clad figure was someone significant in Ghost City. Vol 2, page 99

It's also worth mentioning at this point that I think people forget that Yin Yu does not always necessarily work alone and has to do everything by himself but that he has his own subordinates:

After taking a moment to contact his subordinates in Ghost City, Yin Yu meticulously reported the general directions of each sighting.

Vol 7, page 48

Another very important thing to take away from the argument between Jian Yu and Yin Yu is that while still a god in the heavens, Yin Yu had no confidence that he'd be able to fight a wolf yao, yet in the amnesiac extra, he shows no signs of hesitancy or fear when Hua Cheng orders him to go after the monster that stole Xie Lian's memories:

He was still trying to process what he'd learned when he heard San Lang say, "I need to attend to him right now and can't leave. Catch that monster before tomorrow night and bring it to me." "Yes, sir. Shall I leave it one last breath?" the man in the ghost mask asked quietly. San Lang put down his brush and glanced at what he'd written, which he then crumbled up and tossed away, apparently unsatisfied. "Leave it a few. Make it spit out what it swallowed, then crush its worthless head to dust. Make it slow and painful." His tone and expression were both quite frightening, yet Xie Lian didn't find him repulsive or alarming. The man in the ghost mask acknowledged San Lang’s order and was about to take his leave, so Xie Lian quickly dodged away and hid. Vol 8, page 226-227

Which leads me to another important point - the amount of trust Hua Cheng shows Yin Yu by the kind of missions he sends him on. If he didn't have a high opinion of Yin Yu's abilities, he would never send him after something like a monster that had eaten Xie Lian's memories, given how incredibly important Xie Lian's wellbeing is to Hua Cheng. There's many other examples too - like how Hua Cheng trusted Yin Yu to help with tricking Shi Qingxuan and Xie Lian into saving "Ming Yi", or how he entrusted the Earth Master Shovel to him. But Hua Cheng also does not ask the impossible of him - when they're all trapped in heaven and Yin Yu started to dig tunnels with the Earth Master Shovel to try and free Xie Lian and the others so they could recover and become strong enough to escape, Hua Cheng cautions them against it because he correctly deduces that "you'll be seeking your own deaths if you try to break out under Jun Wu's watch." (Vol 7, page 130) Even though Yin Yu is with Xie Lian, Hua Cheng doesn't expect him to get Xie Lian out on his own, because he knows how powerful and ruthless Jun Wu is.

For extra emphasis, let's compare Hua Cheng’s regard for Yin Yu and his abilities to the way Jun Wu never even deemed to speak to Yin Yu while he was a god because he was so very much "beneath" him:

"My dear Yin Yu, I do not think I have ever chatted with you like this before. Isn't that right?"

"I guess not..." Yin Yu replied cautiously.

Even back when he was the martial god who ruled the west, his base of believers wasn't strong, his merits were few, and his rank wasn't impressive. He wasn't the lowest ranked of the heavenly officials in the Upper Court, but he was still below average, so he'd had almost no opportunities to interact with the Heavenly Emperor - the highest of the high.

Vol 7, page 142-143

Keeping all of that in mind, it's very interesting that Jun Wu tries to tempt Yin Yu to his side by offering him the position of his right-hand man:

Finally, Yin Yu asked, "In the Upper Court, I... What... would my position be?"

"Ling Wen will be my left hand, and you shall be my right," Jun Wu said. "There will be none above you besides me."

Vol 7, page 149

When that really is a position Yin Yu already holds - he's Hua Cheng's right-hand man. Now, one could argue that Yin Yu does have less power and prestige in the position of a ghost realm officer than he would have as a god - there's no believers worshipping him - but I think the point is that he doesn't answer to anyone but Hua Cheng, that there's no one else competing with him for that position, no one else among his subordinates that Hua Cheng puts this much trust in, and that there's no one else besides Hua Cheng himself who is demonstrated to hold so much authority and respect in Ghost City. And with all of the above, it's really important to keep in mind that Ghost City is the one single autonomous place in all the three realms and that its Chengzhu is the one single being whose power and influence is rivaled only by the Heavenly Emperor himself.

And said Heavenly Emperor damn well knows Yin Yu is Hua Cheng's right-hand man, which is I believe a big part of the reason he tries to flip Yin Yu by dangling this exact position in front of him. As I've talked about before in other posts, Jun Wu hates Hua Cheng deeply for various reasons. There's the whole thing where Hua Cheng is the unmistakable proof of a believer that never leaves their god, the very thing Jun Wu felt entitled to but didn't receive. But in this case I think him wanting to tempt Yin Yu away from Hua Cheng's side is about how bitter and salty Jun Wu feels about the fact that Hua Cheng holds more sway over all three realms than he does - evidenced by the way Hua Cheng doesn't just have followers in the Ghost Realm but the Human Realm as well, and even the gods, while they fear him, also can't help but admire him and strike deals with him in secret (Vol 1, page 157-160). That Yin Yu, a banished god, would (just like Xie Lian) rather be loyal to Hua Cheng than Jun Wu - that must have angered him a lot because it's something he'd take quite personally.

This is, I think, also the root of why Yin Yu has so much trouble seeing his position in the Ghost Realm for what it really is and why he still longs to be a god despite how unhappy he was in the heavens and how badly he was treated there - he can't see past the prejudices about the Ghost Realm in general and Ghost City in particular that he has internalized. Prejudices that Jun Wu actively weaponizes every time he speaks to Yin Yu, by repeatedly insinuating that being a ghost city officer is a shameful thing to be:

"Surely you do not actually like being a mere pawn in the Ghost Realm?" [...] "Falling in with the Ghost Realm was an unfortunate circumstance, an act borne of helplessness." [...] "You are bound by his grace and have nowhere else to go." [...]

Vol 7, page 144

Which makes it all the more satisfying when Yin Yu tricks Jun Wu (or attempts to, at least) and ultimately rejects both his offer and his authority, and also calls Jun Wu out on the way he tried to manipulate him:

"My Lord... My... No, not My Lord! You! Why must you keep reminding me of that?! Why do you speak like you actually understand me?!"

Vol 7, page 151

Jun Wu is deeply enraged by his defiance and rejection - in general, but also because it reminds him of Xie Lian's defiance against him:

Jun Wu turned around with a casual sweep of his hand. "Exhilarating. You and Xianle must get along well."

Vol 7, page 152

This brings me to my final point - which is that choosing kindness and righteousness even in the face of criticism and rejection, of personal loss and suffering, is what Jun Wu hates the most, and what ties Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu, and Yin Yu and Hua Cheng together. Hua Cheng was drawn to Xie Lian because Xie Lian chose to treat him kindly when everyone else abused and rejected Hua Cheng and pressured Xie Lian to do the same. Similiar things can be said for Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu, since Yin Yu was the one to ask his sect's shifu to take Quan Yizhen in when he came across him as a seemingly abandoned child, and who repeatedly defended Quan Yizhen from the other sect members' judgement and bullying, even though this earned Yin Yu their ire as well. Yin Yu, too, values kindness very highly:

Yin Yu sobbed. "If I wasn't destined to be perfect, I at least wanted to be perfectly kind. But... I couldn't even manage that." (Vol 7, page 156)

Therefore, though we get very little information on their first meeting, I think kindness is also what drew Yin Yu to Hua Cheng, what made him stay loyal to him even when tempted/threatened by Jun Wu, and what made him go right back to working for him after the events of the main story. Because while we get only this one mention, I think a great deal can be gleaned from it:

"Chengzhu has shown me grace. He saved me - "

"I know" Jun Wu said. "He even helped you pacify and send off Jian Yu's vengeful spirit when he died during your banishment, am I correct?"

Vol 7, page 144

It's not just he helped me, it's he saved me. And not only that, Hua Cheng, in a sense, saved Jian Yu as well by helping him move on, which I would assume was simply because Yin Yu wished for his friend to let go of his resentment and not become stuck as a vengeful spirit. What I think is really important to keep in mind here is that not only was Hua Cheng under no obligation to save Yin Yu, he had, objectively speaking, nothing to gain from it. He Xuan was already in the heavens by then and giving Hua Cheng intel. and Hua Cheng didn't show off that he had a banished god working for him either - he let Yin Yi wear a mask, and for years, no one (except apparently Jun Wu) knew where Yin Yu was or what had happened to him, evidenced by the way Quan Yizhen kept looking and kept asking about him to no avail (Vol 5 page 235).

We don't really get Hua Cheng's side of the story but I think the fact that he doesn't speak about it speaks for itself - aside from keeping things close to his chest in general, he tends to not talk about the things he does out of kindness and/or his own sense of justice. We see this for example when Xie Lian only finds out why the group of cultivators is after Hua Cheng when he overhears them saying that Hua Cheng chose to shelter both the pig spirit and the prostitute ghost who had chosen to take revenge on humans who had used their positions of power to hurt others (Vol 5 page 28-29).

This is therefore more speculation than analysis, but I can imagine that this whole scenario - a god with a good heart who gets abandoned by the heavens with only a vengeful spirit by his side - even though the exact circumstances that led to it differed, might have held enough similarities to what Hua Cheng personally witnessed of Xie Lian's banishment that it would bring out that same urge to help and protect in Hua Cheng. The fact that Yin Yu says Hua Cheng saved him really can't be overstated in my opinion, considering that Hua Cheng, understandably, has usually nothing but feelings of either indifference or hatred for all of the gods aside from Xie Lian and the Rain Master.

To sum up - the power structures in heaven encourage workplace harassment, bullying, and endless competition for resources and support, and this causes Yin Yu not only increased stress, isolation, and unhappiness, but also puts a strain on his inherent kindness and righteousness as he starts to give in under the pressure to conform. By contrast, his position in Ghost City is dependant on nothing but his loyalty to Hua Cheng, on Yin Yu's own choice to stay with him, and offers him an unprecedented amount of respect and trust. It is heaven, really, that is repeatedly shown to mistreat and exploit its officials, especially those of lower rank, not Hua Cheng.

[minhosimthings]

OMG, HOW ABOUT THE OTHER HYUNG LINE??? LIKE HOW THEY WILL TELL U THEY WANT TO FUCK U??

Alright I included Jay's too so that I can link this in my masterlist! Also damn anon that brain of yours is sexyyy.

Heeseung isn't as shy or respectful in bed as Jay is. Although he respects your boundaries, he forgets what the word means once he's in between your legs.

So he takes a much faster approach, sneaky and slow like Jay (because the hare never won the race) but applicable more faster than Jay's.

Heeseung, being Heeseung would love to ask you up front, because you, knowing what he's like, would immediately say yes. Or atleast that's what Heeseung thinks until he gets another idea in his mind to test you. Being the playboy material he is, Heeseung would drop more major hints than Jay. Some of which include, squeezing your ass every minute, trapping you in certain places like leaning over you to get the paprika from the shelf behind you, or even straight up dry humping you. Heeseung loves seeing you crack slowly, he loves seeing you on your knees begging for him, like a servant begging for freedom. It's one of the things that got him off, often, seeing you being so intoxicated for his dick.

"Ah-ah fuck baby." He'd moan, loving how your mouth wrapped around his dick as soon as he told you your pussy will get filled with his cum once you sucked him off. Heeseung's mind went straight to his cock once the sight of you going on your knees so fast hit his eyes.

"Such a good girl for me aren't you?" He'd say, thrusting his hips harder into your face, his dick basically choking you as it hit your throat, "Going dumb for my cock." And he would go absolutely mental as soon as he cums inside your mouth, "Swallow it up baby, I know you like that don't you?"

To wrap it up (like Hee's dick), Heeseung is a sadist, a degrading yet praising, sadist. He wants to see you crack, to get on your knees and worship him like a God.

Jay is a very respectful person and always knows never to push your boundaries, especially when it comes to sex. But I feel like there's always a blue moon when he craves your pussy wrapped around his dick, giving him every pleasure he's ever wanted. But he'd be shy to ask you directly cause he doesn't want you to think he's some sort of sex hungry person.

So he approaches you as if he's a slow poison, creeping up and taking the kill when you are completely unaware.

Jay would drop hints, subtle hints, maybe a flash of his abs here, or 'accidentally' wearing a tight turtle neck with his rings on, which he knows will make you weak. He wants you to crack first, to ask him if he wants to have sex, instead of him doing it himself.

And you, being the world's greatest wife girlfriend, will crack, because who wouldn't after seeing Jay in all those nice rings on fingers which you so desperately wanted inside of you?

"If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just asked, princess." Jay would smirk at you, after seeing how a simple movie night, with you grinding against him, has now turned into a heated session on the couch, with you trapped under Jay's rough pace on you, his dick pushing deeper and hitting the spot he knew always made you crazy.

You knew he wanted this, and you knew you could have just made him into a needy whiny baby, but feeling him inside of you, nice big dick rubbing against your walls as you felt that tight knot in your stomach,made you think that next time he did all this, you were just going to let him fuck you on the ground.

So in conclusion, Jay doesn't ask. He makes you ask.

Even though Jake is classified as an introvert, I have very high beliefs that Jake would be the only one out of all of them whose going to ask you straight up. He isn't someone who liked dropping hints or riling you up. He wants sex? He gets sex.

Romantic isn't it? Atleast in his eyes it is.

Just imagine, you and Jake going to some party, and he's bored out of his soul, the only thing in his mind, his hardened dick inside your wet cunt. He always did slide in pretty easily.

So he casually strolls towards you, whose talking to your best friend, and wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck, while whispering in your ear, "Bathroom, now."

And that's the story of how you're currently mufling your moans in the bathroom as Jake's tip rubs against your pussy. He always did love teasing you.

"Shh baby, can't let the others know can we?" He'd say, as you basically scream, when his dick stretches you out without warning. He's ramming his hips into you, holding your hips steady as your unsteady breat does nothing but encouraging him more. One hand covering your mouth, one hand squeezing your waist, adding to your pleasure.

"Ah-ah fuck darling, you're so tight for me today." He moans, feeling you clench perfectly around his dick. He can feel the pressure in his tummy, he wants to let go into you.

Jake would make sure to make your orgasm last as long as possible, a treat for fucking you so abruptly in the middle of a party, which quite frankly speaking you weren't really enjoying much, until your boyfriend's sudden sexual surprise.

Jake's an extroverted introvert. My man ain't shy to tell you when he needs your sweet cunt.

Sunghoon..... Do I hear the greatest sadist in all of Enha's hyung line?

Sunghoon is a tease, a great one, and the man owns it. So he'd be a mixture of Heeseung and Jay, but he'd use more, how do I put this, oh yeah drastic methods.

Maybe he'll dig out that pheromone perfume he's been hiding in his drawer, or maybe he'll feed you a shit ton of chocolate (he's heard it induces female hormones a lot), or maybe he'll just resort to fucking himself with loud moans in the bedroom, just so you can hear your poor boyfriend's resorts to fucking himself and then go and ride him a bit.

If he uses pheromones instead, which is more likely, since, again, he's a sadist, he'd spray it crazy everywhere. Maybe on your bedside table, on your necklace, on himself. And you'd go crazy, not understanding what in the atmosphere was making you want to fuck your boyfriend so hard.

"Aww baby you want my cock?" Sunghoon would tease, throwing you onto the bed, and binding your hands above your head, "You can have my fingers first."

Fingering you, so that he can stretch you out, Sunghoon loves seeing your scrunched up face when he edges you to the brink of insanity.

"Aww you want to cum? Too bad baby, you don't get to cum that early."

He's obsessed with the way you whimper when he teases you with his tip, lining his precum all over your pussy.

"Look at you, going dumb for my cock." Sunghoon would smirk, feeling your fingers desperately pinning him to yourselves. He didn't even have to thrust much, with you pulling him to yourself.

Male ego is often fragile and for Hoon, oh it's an egg. Much like Heeseung, he adores seeing you crack into insanity. Sunghoon's a sadist. Drastic methods are his thing.

[nanabansama]

Tsukasa Is Tsukasa

Recently I discovered a poll asking if people thought the Supernatural Tsukasa and the Red House Tsukasa were different, and the results surprised me! A majority of voters thought they were not the same. Not only that, but I've seen many people in the fandom start believing they are separate people, if they hadn't already believed it before.

I think this stance can very easily be explained by the scene in Chapter 111 where Amane comes to the conclusion that the Tsukasa who went missing isn't the same as the one who came back:

While people might be divided on the details, the conclusion is basically the same: whatever that is inside of him, it's not Amane's brother.

And I can see why they think this! In fact, it used to be a popular theory back during the release of chapters 78-82 when we didn't know the specifics of what happened. Heck, we still don't know many of the specifics...and many people continued believing the Tsukasas were different anyway!

There's decent evidence to support this, too. When Tsukasa returned, he had sharp teeth and supernatural powers. He knew that Kunishige's wish was that the head priest would die. He's demonstrably different from the innocent little Tsukasa that sacrificed his life for Amane.

If that wasn't enough, even his own mom came to the conclusion that Tsukasa wasn't her son! This is basically the same conclusion Amane comes to in Chapter 111. That's 2/3 of Tsukasa's family members thinking some evil entity is larping around in his skin--not a good look!

In any case, while I could try and convince you guys there are two Tsukasas and the Tsukasas are different, that's not what I'm here to do. If you read my blog you already know I'm 100% on the side that Tsukasa is Tsukasa and always has been, and nothing AidaIro has shown me so far has been convincing enough to change my mind. In this post, I am here to argue that the Red House Tsukasa is the same as the Supernatural Tsukasa and that he merely works in tandem with the ancient god living inside him.

1. Chapter 82

This is the chapter when a lot of people dropped the theory that there are two Tsukasas, including me. (Yes, I used to believe there were two Tsukasas--people change!)

Kou and Nene had determined that the Red House Tsukasa was the real Tsukasa and that the one Amane killed was a fake. They come to this conclusion because this Tsukasa was trapped in the Red House for 50 years and acts a lot nicer and sweeter than the one we know.

The issue is, Kou tells this Tsukasa that Amane is going to kill Tsukasa and die at the age of 13...and unbeknownst to Kou, the seemingly innocent little Red House Tsukasa is EXCITED at the idea! Tsukasa, thankful to Kou and Nene, helps them escape the house but stays behind. This scene is when a lot of cool stuff happens.

First, we learn that Tsukasa wasn't actually trapped in the Red House and he always knew how to get back home, but that he never left because he was worried about what would happen to Amane. However, once Kou told him that Amane wasn't happy after Tsukasa left and that Amane kills not just Tsukasa but also himself, Tsukasa realizes he doesn't know that much about Amane and wants to learn more. The most shocking part of this scene to me was that Tsukasa's excitement at dying was very similar to the lighthearted way the Supernatural Tsukasa brings up his death with Amane.

Second, we see Tsukasa not only has the entity he sacrificed himself to to save Amane stored in his chest, but that he holds a conversation with it.

The entity being shown in his chest is actually a popular argument for the "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" theory, but I feel this scene proves otherwise. Tsukasa is not the unwilling host of this entity, as one might expect, but instead almost treats it as a friend. They have a sort of symbiotic relationship going on, and Tsukasa makes the decision to go back wholly of his own, despite them both knowing how to get back the entire time. He even says "let's go back TOGETHER," which supports the idea that they work together and that it isn't simply piloting a Tsukasa meat puppet.

We can argue Tsukasa is the victim to the entity's machinations, that the entity needed Tsukasa to do it willingly or that the entity took full control of Tsukasa after he succumbed to the flames or what not and tricked him, but so far AidaIro has only shown cooperation between these two characters. It's not unreasonable to suggest that Tsukasa gaining supernatural powers after he comes back isn't a sign that he's a different being entirely but that he's just working with one.

2. Mother Doesn't Always Know Best

This one will be a quick section, but considering Mother Yugi is basically the origin of "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" I wanted to cover why I think she's wrong.

In Chapter 79 Kunishige recounts how Mother Yugi took Tsukasa to their shrine because she thought her son was possessed by a demon after being spirited away. Kunishige thinks she's crazy at first, and so do the priests, who find nothing wrong with Tsukasa. Put a pin in that btw.

However, Kunishige later learns she was onto something because Tsukasa is not only an incredibly unsettling child but he correctly predicts the death of the head priest of the shrine and tells Kunishige his wish, for the head priest to disappear, would be granted tomorrow. This proves Tsukasa has otherworldly power, since he knows Kunishige's wish without Kunishige telling him, and also might have the ability to grant wishes, something the entity in his chest is shown to be capable of.

Now, I personally think the fact that the priests found nothing wrong with Tsukasa is HUGELY in favor of my theory. I understand how you can argue that the entity somehow avoided detection because it's powerful, or because there was nothing left of the original Tsukasa or something, but I still think the fact the priests detected nothing wrong is extremely weird. What if that's because Tsukasa is still in control?

I think the fact Mother Yugi was convinced Tsukasa isn't her son and wasn't persuaded otherwise is important, too. In fact, I think it might directly correlate with the conclusion Amane makes in Chapter 111. I think Amane is more or less coming to the same conclusion his mother made, something he hadn't wanted to believe at first but eventually, finally, succumbed to. I have to imagine his mother's insistence that Tsukasa wasn't Tsukasa left a big impression on Amane, and it's something that's bothered him for years.

I can't exactly blame them both, either. By the time Tsukasa came back, he'd lost a lot of his innocence. Keep in mind that they think Tsukasa was gone for six months. Any normal 4-year-old kid might have been traumatized by leaving his family for six months, but Tsukasa just acts creepy and possessed. And despite him meeting Nene and Kou 50 years in the future, it's possible it really was only six months for Tsukasa! Time worked differently there. Still, it's not hard to see how the extreme circumstances he was in might have changed him. Not only was he stuck in a haunted death house, he later learns the wish he granted for Amane wasn't Amane's true wish and that Amane kills Tsukasa. This is all pretty life-changing information, and when you tack on the fact that he's buddy-buddy with an ancient man-eating god, it's really not that surprising Tsukasa has changed so dramatically, especially when he's still at the tender age of 4.

3. Behavior

For something that's supposedly replaced Tsukasa entirely, it certainly gets very personal with Amane, doesn't it?

I said before that Red House Tsukasa in Chapter 82 acts similar to Supernatural Tsukasa. How they find delight in death. But I don't think this is the only point of similarity between them, either. In Chapter 81, Red House Tsukasa is under the impression that Amane hates him.

In Chapter 111, after Amane tells Tsukasa he hates him, Tsukasa tells him he already knew that.

Mind you, this line comes seconds before Amane comes to the conclusion that Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa.

Think about it. Tsukasa tells Amane that he knows Amane hates him, echoing a sentiment that the Red House Tsukasa shares. And Amane, after hearing this, comes to the conclusion that this Tsukasa is an impostor.

Isn't that... really sad?! I mean, I'm not going to say that Amane's whole reasoning for Tsukasa being a fake is that he thinks Amane hates him, but...before this scene, Amane was saying he couldn't destroy his yorishiro because he cared about Tsukasa too much. And for Tsukasa to say something he's thought ever since Amane pushed him as a little kid, and for THAT to make Amane say he thinks Tsukasa is fake... it really shows they've never understood each other at all.

Tsukasa's never been shown to get extremely upset about being hated by Amane, either, so you can't say Amane is right just because Tsukasa is laughing in Chapter 111. Tsukasa initially seems shocked when he was pushed, and overall seems a little sad about it in Chapter 81, but he still remarks that Amane hates him with a smile. He's selfless about it. And later, when he learns Amane kills him, this feeling gets more complex. Despite Kou's attempts to convince him otherwise, I think Kou's reveal only made Tsukasa more convinced that Amane hates him, and this is shown in Chapter 111 when he laughs about it. It's just a funny joke to him at this point.

I...genuinely cannot reconcile this behavior with Tsukasa being a fake. I just can't! Why would the entity be this personal with Amane? Why would it share opinions that the supposedly "real" Tsukasa had? If AidaIro really is trying to write a story about a little boy being replaced by a supernatural entity, then they could at least do a better job of making them act different. TBHK makes it clear that supernaturals can experience human emotions just as strongly as actual humans, so it wouldn't surprise me if the god has its own personality and feelings, but for them to just...be the exact same as the human it replaced? I'm not buying it.

There is no difference between the Red House Tsukasa and the Supernatural Tsukasa that can't be explained away by the fact that people change as they grow older. Everything about Tsukasa's character arc as I've presented it is completely logical.

Conclusion

With so little info on the ancient man-eating god, it's kind of impossible to reach a proper conclusion at this point. All we really know about its personality is that it hungers for flesh and will grant any wish in exchange for it. With this in mind, it's incredibly easy to see why people think the god and Supernatural Tsukasa are one and the same, especially when the cast tends to treat them as such. I could just as easily write a post in favor of them being different as I could of them being the same.

And I think this is what AidaIro ultimately wants! I think AidaIro wants us to second guess ourselves. If I know anything about Aidairo, it's that they like to keep up on our toes and shock us with surprising twists. Who really knows what they have hiding up their sleeves?

Still, I feel the theory that the god replaced Tsukasa raises more questions than answers, and I hope I managed to explain my side of things.

[tawfu]

cw: sub alhaitham, dom reader, gn reader, mild dacryphilia, enemies with sexual tension gone right, foot jobs, hand jobs, choking, begging, light sadism, coming in pants, dumbification

wc: 1.6k

Summary: Sometimes, even the scribe of the Akademiya needs a reminder of where he belongs.

You hate Alhaitham. 

 

You hate the way he carries himself with that arrogant air surrounding him, and each time he opens his mouth, you want to punch a hole into his skull. It’s such a pity for a man as handsome as he is, but you’ve grown used to it. 

 

Due to your field of work, and how well the two of you work professionally, you are constantly assigned to partner up with him. The both of you are very dedicated to the task at hand and usually, whatever annoying remark he throws at you, you can handle. Unfortunately, you’re not always in a good mood, and Alhaitham, being around you so often, always seems to know it. To him, that’s the best time to push your buttons.  

 

Today was one of those days. You and Alhaitham were assigned to work through and sort out different documents and archives, and prepare materials for a meeting between the sages of the Akademiya. “Where should I place the documents about the Knowledge Capsules?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. 

 

“One as skilled as yourself should know something so simple,” he replied with a slight scoff. Oh, here we go again. 

 

“My foolishness doesn’t comprehend the talent of a scribe such as yourself, hence my question being directed to you. O mighty scribe, would you fucking answer it already?” you say, standing up to wave the documents in his face. Despite knowing you were playing into his cards, entertaining him with your reactions, you couldn’t help but express your annoyance. You’ve had a long day, and playing games was not something you were in the mood to do. 

 

Grabbing your wrist, he looks up at you with a slight smirk. “Come now, there’s no need to be so emotional. The point of a discussion is to arrive at a conclusion, is it not?”

 

“Then quit your attempts at patronizing me all the time. I’m not in the mood to play games,” you reply, snatching your wrist off of his hold. 

 

“Is that so. Well, let’s get back to work then, shall we? Considering you’re the one who interrupted me, after all.” He looked back down at his papers, seemingly satisfied with his reply. You swore he looked like he was about to burst with laughter from your anger. He was mocking you. 

 

“I fucking hate you.” 

 

“Mhm,” he replied absent-mindedly, going back to sorting out his own documents laid on the table. 

 

You’ve had enough of him. Reaching out with the hand that wasn’t holding your papers, you grabbed Alhaitham’s jaw roughly, making him look up at you. Gods, he was so pretty it only served to irritate you further. There was a hint of surprise that disappeared as soon as it appeared. 

 

“Look at me when I fucking speak to you. It’s proper etiquette, isn’t it?” To your annoyance, he started grinning. He clearly thinks he’s won. 

 

“I’ll kill you,” you spoke again. 

 

“Go ahead.” 

 

There was a moment of silence between you, your eyes locking with his. Even now, with him looking up at you from his chair, his cheeks being squished together roughly, he was trying to win, to assert dominance. 

 

Fuck it. 

 

Fuck him.  

 

You lean down and smash your lips to his, and he lets out a yelp that was almost inaudible, having once again been caught by surprise. He gave in quicker than you thought though, shutting his eyes and kissing you back with a sloppy hunger you weren’t expecting from him. 

 

Alhaitham was an intelligent man. Was he expecting this? Did you play into his cards again? Deciding to enjoy the moment rather than dwell on it, you bit his bottom lip before going back to kissing him with fervor, licking his lips as if to ask for access to his tongue only to pull away once his mouth opened for you. 

 

Panting, you looked at each other with half lidded eyes. Fuck, his lips looked so glossy and inviting, you wanted to dive back in, but unfortunately, that thought dissipated the moment he opened his mouth to speak. 

 

“If you wanted me this badly all along, you could’ve just told me,” he breathed, speaking as if he didn’t look debauched from a single kiss already. 

 

Sliding your hand downwards, you took hold of his neck, and leaned in to whisper. “You know... It’s about time someone puts you in your place, you arrogant mutt.”

 

Fuck, your words were so harsh, and since when did you look so dominating, looking down at him like that? And why did it make his dick throb? In an attempt to regain his composure, he cleared his throat as he spoke, “Is that so? Enlighten me, how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

 

“My dear scribe, I trust someone as smart as you would know. After all,” you prod his legs open with your knee, before lifting it and placing your shoe on the base of his erection and nudging it. “You’re already hard. Do you like this treatment?”

 

Looking down at where your foot met him, he gulped before attempting to look up at you again, only to turn his head to the side at the way you stared down at him. Dissatisfied with the lack of response, you applied pressure to his balls, making him jerk up and look at you with widened eyes. 

 

“H-hey, how about we get back to work now…” He cringed at the way his voice came out, shaky and breathless, but the smirk forming on your face and the way you’d been touching him only made him harder.

 

“How about no? It’s true, Alhaitham. I did want you all along. I’ve been dying to see you like this. How could I not?” You lean into his ear, continuing as he tried his hardest not to squirm, “The way you speak just screams of someone who wants to be put in their place. And don’t get me started on how you flaunt that tiny waist and those tits of yours with the tight clothes you wear.”

 

You could see the goosebumps forming on his muscular arms from the proximity of the two of you and your hot breath on his sensitive ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but he could only breathe out heavy puffs of air as you lifted his head up by his throat and began to leave open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. 

 

“Go ahead, tell me how badly you’ve longed for this. There’s no need to keep putting up a front, I’ve already seen how perverted you are. See?” You look down, and his eyes follow yours only to find that he’s been subconsciously humping your shoe. Fuck, if he felt pathetic before, he feels like a complete degenerate now. But… he couldn’t stop. His mind was becoming hazy from everything, and he didn’t care anymore.

 

“I want this. It feels so good. Please,” he breathed, watching as the precum leaking from his slit started to form a wet spot in his pants from the delicious friction.

 

“There you go darling, good job,” you whispered, and finally decided to help the poor thing out by moving your foot along with his thrusts, causing him to buck up and let out a whimper that surprised the both of you with how desperate it sounded.

 

Moving your hand from his neck to the back of his head, you pulled it backwards, and Alhaitham let out a hiss in response, but the way his hips sped up told you how much he enjoyed it as you smashed your lips to his once more. Your other hand traveled along his torso, leaving feather-like touches all over it, contrasting the desperation and roughness of your makeout. 

 

Not daring to pull away, Alhaitham moaned into your mouth before muttering incomprehensible words. For a man like himself, he was surprisingly needy and quite adorable. It made you melt a little on the inside. You took the initiative to pull away first so he could speak, looking at him as he attempted to catch his breath.

 

Aw. His eyes were getting teary.

 

Cupping his face gently, you let him speak. “I’m s-so close. Wanna cum. Gonna cum,” he panted, words all slurred as he got drunk on the pleasure you were so graciously providing him.

 

“You can ask me nicely, can’t you? One as skilled as yourself should know something so simple,” you mocked, and his face burned with embarrassment as the knot in his tummy kept getting closer and closer to snapping. He liked it. It felt good being the one who’s played with.

 

“Please. Please let me cum, I need it. Please?” Gods, the desperation in his eyes as the tears finally started falling sent jolts down your spine. Hearing him finally beg like he was made for it felt so much better than all the times you’d fantasized about it.

 

Pulling him in for one last kiss, this one gentler as you left small pecks all over his plump lips, you removed your shoe from its place, causing Alhaitham to jolt his hips into thin air as he whined. He quickly went quiet though, because you replaced it with your hand, cupping his cock and rubbing it in tandem with his thrusts. You’d graced him with something better to rut against and it made him go dizzy as he whispered chants of thank you’s into your lips, attempting to catch them into a kiss but ultimately failing.

 

“Go ahead, cum for me like the dumb puppy you are,” you whispered back, helping him connect his lips to yours while his mind went on auto-pilot and his hips stuttered before he came into his pants with a loud moan.

 

Helping him ride his high out, his eyes had shut from the intensity of his own orgasm, but your thumb rubbing his tears away from his flushed cheeks caused him to open them once more to the sight of his cum having seeped through his pants and your hand being stained.

 

Absent-mindedly, he took hold of your wrist and started licking your hand free from his own filth, wincing at the taste of himself but being too out of it to care.

 

You really hate Alhaitham.

And now you hate how the beautiful face he makes when he orgasms would be etched into your mind permanently.

[chaostroberry1]

Hi, it's me again. How are you? I hope your day is great 😊 I am back to ask another request 🤭😅 Sorry if I ask too much this week 🙇‍♀️

Anyway, this time is about ror Poseidon (wanted to do Beel, but I am scared you already had enough with many Beel story 🤣🤣).

It was isekai-ed reader (kinda or sort off) like the reader is a witch and had read RoR, her favorite is Beelzebub. She hope she can went to RoR universe at least wanted to hug her bias once. But what she get is... she got asthraled (forgot the word. It was like your soul or ghost someshort of spiritual come to another place but you are kinda invisible and cannot be harmed since you are ghost and all.) instead you fall down to Poseidon lap.

Ror Poseidon of course angered and threw trident at you, only for it to just flew through you and you are unharmed. Unfortunately for both of you, you seems stuck with him because you try to get away or him get away it always end with you being dragged by force to him. He is very annoyed by not only because you are human but also because you insistent on wanting to meet Beelzebub. You both banter daily and all.

He grow fond of you, and deep down scared if you will suddenly move back or meet Beelzebub as he know your love for the flies (lowkey he though you are in love with the devil and not love him as a fans). And the day came where Poseidon cross with Beelzebub and he find himself so jealous at how you fawning over Beelzebub resulted in his very first argument with you and you huff and the reader having enough just kiss him... only to find herself go through him. Come the fluffy live between you two. The reader love teasing Poseidon who act as if he is not affected on outside but when it was only two of them, he is a big cuddler and softy.

Can you please made headcannon and story about it? It was up to you if it going to be after or before Ragnarok. Thank you so much. Have nice days and wonderful days 😘❤❤❤

Hi hun💕 thank you for this, it's so cute 😭 seeing a jelly Poseidon is actually funny to think abt ngl

Poseidon mini story+mini headcanons

Poseidon × isekai-ed!witch!reader

You find yourself scrolling through your phone, reading the newest chapters of record of Ragnarok, your all time favourite manga. Or maybe just something you read to pass the time, whatever. You fawned and giggled over your favourite character, specifically, Beelzebub. Poor baby, you wanted to give him a hug and kiss his face all over, since he didn't deserve any of this.

You so wanted to go there, but that was impossible. Your worlds were completely different, and he was fictional. He wasn't real. Or so you thought.

When you went to bed that night, your final thoughts being your bias, you suddenly open your eyes again, this time, the surroundings were different. It was all so colorful, like you were being sucked into a portal that led to someplace else.

"is this a dream?" You mumbled, before suddenly, you dropped, letting out a little squeak, looking up. Then...you saw the face of an angered god, who was just as surprised as you. But more pissed tho.

You landed on the lap of the tyrant of the sea, Poseidon. Great, just your luck. What the hell and how the hell did you end up on his lap? You couldn't even process when he took his trident.

You floated away, letting out little panicked sounds, as he got up, throwing it at you, only for it to pas through you, as you looked at him wide eyed. "Mortal, who do you think you are to commit such an act towards a god?"

When he heard your explanation, he let out a "tch" deciding to stop, before ordering you to leave, which you gladly did so. Well, that didn't go so well for you. With a magnetic force, your body was brought back to Poseidon, who looked at you like you just called him a bitch and slapped him in the face.

"I told you to leave."

"if you can see, I am struggling to!"

You recall reading a book about things like these, and you then start to connect the dots, coming to a conclusion that your soul had been transported to a completely different world, while your physical body was back in the other.

You and Poseidon tried to part ways, but no matter what you did, you kept being forced back to him. As mucha s he wanted to believe that you were faking it, you really looked like your were upset and struggling badly. So now he was just stuck with you.

At first, he found you annoying, the way you'd just float around while he walked, his movements always being watched by the little ghost on his ass, man this was a pain. You were a pathetic human, and your whines to meet Beelzebub were so irritating. But all that was passed him. It slowly came to him that he grew fond of you, he found himself entertained by watching you float around stupidly, and just be on his back all day, begging him to go near an ice cream truck so you could eat something tasty.

But when those thoughts came over him, another thought presented itself. What if you broke free from him, and set out to find Beelzebub? That, that really wasn't a nice thought. But the day came where by absolute luck, he walks passed Beelzebub, and he immediately looked behind him to find you squealing and fawning over the lord of the flies.

Poseidon had many fan girls, so why couldn't you have just been one of them? Before you could get near Beelzebub, Poseidon immediately distanced himself from the god, forcing you with him, making you pout and whine.

That was his last straw.

You were his now. So why do you look at other guys like that? It's obvious that you were sent to him for a reason. That resulted in an argument between the both of you. Before you finally had enough and decided to kiss him. You didn't know why, but your body acted on its own, what's worse is that you passed through him, as he stared at you with wide eyes, slowly calming himself. Before telling you to touch him.

You were confused, and still embarrassed, before you touched him, his body slowly turning spirit like, just like you. He had read about it before, and knew exactly what he was dealing with. And now that he knew the side effects, and everything else, he went over and kissed you, kissing you with so much passion. Knowing that nobody could see both of you. And from there, you both started a relationship.

The effects wore off, and he became a touchable and physical being once more. Looking at you, and then softly speaking. "You're mine now. Understand? That's an order."

Your heart beemed, you knew you loved beelzebub..but this exchange with Poseidon had completely altered your way of thinking.

He's not so bad after all...

________ random mini headcanons._____

- bro still does his best to make sure Beelzebub ain't anywhere close to you. Like literally he hates it when he even thinks about Beelzebub and you having an interaction. Nobody stealing his bae.

- he's cold and all, but when y'all are together, he's so needy.

- even if ur a ghost, you will either be floating round him, or be on his lap.

- sometimes, his brother's find him talking to himself, unaware that you were chatting with him. They fr thought he had an imaginary best friend.

- jealousy issues frfr

- when you told him about how you thought there could be a chance where you'll eventually be transported back to your world— mans was pissed. He would do so much to avoid that from happening, ordering servants to find anything about things like these, just to avoid it from happening.

- yes I mean everyone.

- he couldn't afford to lose you. Not when you are one of the very, VERY few people he had took a liking to. So anyone that posed as a threat shall be demolished.

- he hates how your eyes dart immediately to anyone who looked even the slightest bit of nice. Like he's literally over here wtf.

- I jus know that whenever you're hungry, he'd order his servant or smth to get him the most randomest shit like your favourite food, ice cream, or whatever you liked.

- people who serve it to him are dumbfounded when they see that Poseidon, THE Poseidon, is requesting...a dessert???

- only for him to stare at it with the most uninterested resting bitch face known to man. Until the food suddenly dissappears out of the blue without the god moving an inch. But they can't question it tho.

- and yo ass is just munching on the food, happily floating around and thanking him.

- his servants or anyone for that matter would be even more surprised when he started ordering them to buy stuff like clothes, jewelry, and all....

- was their god keeping a secret mistress??? But then again...they cannot ask. Or their heads would be served on a platter.

- he's a good boyfriend and hubby, y'all's marriage would come in so randomly after he just states in in a meeting with the other gods. Explaining everything and then dropping a "we're getting married in a few days"

- dang. Oh well, didn't matter. He was just happy that he was gonna seal the deal with you. All his, and he'd make sure you'd become immortal too, just like him.

____

@17kurodaayumu this was fun!

[thewertsearch]

EB: and now i have all these sweet wind powers. EB: which is how i am making this car fly! GG: ohhhhhh! GG: that makes sense GG: dave had mentioned you reached the god tier

I think it’s funny that becoming a god hasn’t changed John’s personality, nor his modus operandi. He’s just as meandering as he's always been, and reaching the God Tiers simply enhanced his ability to meander.

If your Title does relate to your personality, then this would make a lot of sense. Perhaps you always get a power that helps you follow your own natural inclinations.

GG: but he did not say what it involved D: GG: he probably didnt want to make me worried EB: maybe, or he was just being some sort of aloof coolkid. GG: or that!

It’s nice that John and Jade are fully on the same page in this conversation, with access to more or less the same information. That’s pretty rare in this session, and it’s particularly rare with Jade.

For a long time, she was in the lonely position of knowing more than everyone else - and then, when Descend ruined everything, she was forced into the equally lonely position of understanding jack shit. When John declared that they needed to get Jade into the loop, there was real weight behind it, and it’s gratifying that we’re finally here.

GG: i wonder what space powers would be like?? […] GG: oh well EB: maybe you shouldn't rule it out though? EB: i mean, you did mention your dream self isn't COMPLETELY dead, remember?

I’ve been thinking about this.

See, the main problem with a Jade/Jadesprite merger is that when John died on his Quest Bed, he was completely supplanted by his Dream Self. There was no more Real John.

This wasn't a problem for him, because both Johns appeared to be the same person, with the same memories and consciousness. When John abandoned his realself, he didn't lose anything, apart from his sylladex.

Dream Jade, however, has completely diverged from Jade. They're clearly different people – so if one of them was erased in the merger, we’d be losing a unique individual.

Yes, if Jade died on her Quest Bed, her two selves might fuse into one entity, with both sets of memories - but there's no guarantee, especially when a Sprite is involved. There's a decent chance that Jade's ascension would destroy one of her incarnations, and that's too great a risk.

GG: why dont you tell me about your new friend? GG: he sure seems to be enjoying that horn! […] EB: he is just this silly guy i met when i woke up here. EB: he seemed to be curious about me and followed me around for a while. […] EB: also, another thing about him… EB: he has the queen's ring! […] GG: thats great! john you have to get that ring from him! EB: i've tried! i asked him politely for it and everything. EB: but he is very protective of it!

The Ring would be incredibly useful, if it wasn't destined for Earth.

As it stands, any attempt to use it is fraught with risk - and permanently separating it from WV would almost certainly doom the timeline.

EB: i think he is supposed to keep it. GG: you do? EB: yes. once i saw something in the clouds. EB: it was hard to tell what was going on, but i saw him! EB: im pretty sure it was the future, and he had the ring, and… […] EB: and then the cloud stopped showing me. EB: but i am pretty sure that some day… EB: he will have to wear it!

It doesn’t sound like John actually saw WV wearing the Ring. Seems more like he saw him holding the Ring, and jumped to the 'obvious' conclusion.

WV held the Ring for his entire Exile, and never used it once. I’m actually a little skeptical that he will wear it, at this point, especially since he's started dreaming about how much he doesn't want the thing.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Beast-Yeast Episode 6 Predictions

Felt like popping in and listing off my ideas/predictions for the next half of the update before going back to work:

Burning Spice will not take the Soul Jam back right away. Against his better judgment, he will simply toss Golden Cheese down the cliff and lay back again. Both just to watch her suffer/squirm, and because he really is disappointed in their fight and wants more out of her, so he's being nice and giving her one more shot to get up and prove herself to him

Golden Cheese will be taken in by the kulfi monkeys, who will be extremely grateful for her essentially sacrificing herself to save one of their own (especially after they sort of threw her out of their village earlier). They, or at least that elder, will come to see that she's the god mentioned in their prophecy and will do what they can to nurse her back to health so she can get back in the ring and defeat Burning Spice once and for all

Smoked Cheese will reach the logical conclusion regarding the spices in the air being the ashes of fallen Wild Spices, and use them to create a whole army of zombie soldiers to hold the Spice Swarm at bay while Golden Cheese VS Burning Spice 2: Electric Boogaloo happens

Golden Cheese's revelation will likely be inspired by her reflecting on saving that kulfi monkey kid. Perhaps by touching on her previous thought "they're just like my treasures", on reuniting with Smoked Cheese, and on the people she's met on her journey in Beast-Yeast. She may think back to Burning Spice telling her "you will crumble and become dust, like all those trinkets you held dear" and realize that no, she shall not, for she still has trinkets to protect - her cheesebirds, Smoked Cheese, all of her citizens still waiting to be revived back home, and now, these spices she's come to care for so quickly and accepted as her own. She has endured great suffering, but she cannot and will not stand by and allow it to be inflicted on others while she's actually there to stop it

Golden Cheese's awakened form will take after Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun and leader of the Egyptian pantheon

Specific additions to above point: Awakened form will either A) look like the bennu bird (or the bennu heron), mythical animal/being in Egyptian mythology considered to be the soul of Ra himself, who rises from the ashes each morning and is seen as a symbol of creation and rebirth, B) be accessorized by all kinds of priceless jewels and minerals, as a more frank/simple nod to her love of wealth and opulence, or C) have technological augmentations of some sort as a nod to the digital version of the Golden Cheese Kingdom. (It could also be D) all of the above, but I doubt it)

Golden Cheese will win (duh), but Burning Spice will be less upset than anyone thinks. He will be glad that he finally managed to face the formidable opponent he'd always known Golden Cheese to be and was waiting to fight in the first place. Of course he'll be angry that he's been denied the return of the missing half of the Soul Jam, but... damn it, he had a blast and he can't be mad about that. But he'll be back eventually, of course... for the Soul Jam, but also - perhaps even more than that - to fight Golden Cheese again, because now he's got someone to keep him from being bored forever

The Wild Spices will be swayed to Golden Cheese's side and perhaps even want to fully become her subjects, as they respect strength/power and she just kicked their boss's ass pretty soundly so... (Not sure about Nutmeg Tiger, she'll probably be stubborn and stay under Burning Spice but secretly have her faith/loyalty shaken, if not completely shattered) Further proof of this occurring is the loading screen quote "The Wild Spices worship the Great Destroyer out of fear. But what if... they desire something more...?" Golden Cheese is that "something more". They'll see it. They'll turn away from Burning Spice and seek her leadership instead.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who's thought of these, but I wanted to jot them down anyway. Let's see how it goes.

You all have to come back here and like/reblog if any of these turn out to be correct.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

The first time I saw Stede held at gunpoint by Chauncey, I believed it might be a night terror. They’re repeating the Nigel guilt-ghost motif, I thought. Or even his fever-induced nightmares. This is what Stede does. Big emotions writ large shouting the worst parts of his self-loathing. The words Chauncey says is probably the exact noise playing in Stede’s head. In fact he ‘completely agree[s]’. The repeated death-injury to the eye, and Stede’s subsequent amnesic journey home, barefoot in underclothes, just seemed to play out perfectly as a full-blown, hallucinatory panic-attack.

And then I realised the consensus was this event likely occurs, it truly happens within the narrative. Stede also remembers both Badminton brothers alongside the line ‘I’ve been the cause of death.’

Fast forward to 204, and Stede doesn’t mention the event to Ed during the couch scene. I’ve said before it wasn’t the right time to say ‘…but, Chauncey’. However, it did happen, didn’t it? And Stede does need to tell Ed eventually. Because then it might mitigate some of Stede’s responsibility… right?

Well, I’m not sure we’re looking at it from the best angle.

Chauncey arriving at the barracks to kill Stede is likely meant to be understood as real within the fictional setting of the show. But this is a magical realist world, and Chauncey’s turning up did not occur in the same way as it would in our reality. There is a different significance and meaning.

I think two seemingly-contrary things can exist here: Chauncey really did show up of his own choice, and Stede is somewhat responsible for his showing up, because this could be read as a metaphysical event. Stede partly manifests Chauncey. The show often uses mirrors as a way of exploring identity, and Stede is right in the middle of an identity crisis. Chauncey is an accurate reflection of Stede’s internal chaos, a judgmental dark angel on his shoulder. And until Stede is able to go back to Bridgetown, and deal with the guilt and mess of leaving his family, Badminton brothers, cousins, and half-uncles are going to keep showing up, insulting Stede at the deepest level, then Darwining themselves in front of him.

The lesson here, I think, is we help create our own reality: if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got. Stede needs to change his internal narrative to free himself from this twisted pattern.

It’s not that Stede deserves the bullying of the Badminton brothers; he absolutely doesn’t. But his state of mind lays the groundwork for the external manifestation of his thoughts within this universe. Chauncey is the personification of Stede’s self-loathing, and Stede co-creates the situation, somehow drawing Chauncey (and Nigel) towards him. As a character within a fictional world we are being asked to watch Stede’s transformation after this event, and one of those changes is his breaking this particular cycle.

That is why I’m not too bothered if Stede ever tells Ed about Chauncey. Like someone once said similarly of god, if Chauncey didn’t exist, it might be necessary for Stede to invent him. Chauncey’s intervention gives Stede a sort of permission to act as he does. There is no mitigation for Stede here. He has to own it, no matter how distorted his thinking at the time; and he does just that to Ed later without resorting to sackcloth and ashes.

The complexity of what happens that night might well be outside of physical reality. It’s Ed returning from the gravy basket largely unscathed. Or Buttons becoming a bird. It isn’t easy to understand fully because the laws that govern our reality are suspended here. But our role as viewers isn’t to reach a definitive conclusion or worry ourselves in circles over narrative gaps. It’s to consider what the Chauncey event triggers and then leads to.

This is Stede’s rock-bottom. From here on in, we see character growth in which Stede overcomes a good portion of the self-loathing lurking within his soul, replacing it with a kinder internal narrative, and helping him in turn to love and be loved. And Stede has also hopefully exorcised the possibility of any future Badminton visitations.

Stede returns, and he returns a better man than he left because he did much of the internal work he needed to do.

He changes his stars - and Ed’s. That’s all that matters.

[el-tur-el]

manibus adhuc mollior.

In celebration of 100 followers.

Pairing: AFAB!Tav/Rolan

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, canon-typical depictions of gore and violence, angst. 18+, Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2,861. Read it on AO3.

            The admittance of their feelings for one another had been agonizingly unceremonious; hurried, teary murmurs – quiet and resigned, as if to admit such a thing was to sentence the other to death. There was little time for grandstanding or lavish gestures, the Elderbrain visible in the sky, half the city in ruins. If he had had it his way, he would have courted her properly, he would have wined and dined her. Stargazing and stolen kisses and the slow thaw of their hearts behind their sternums.

            It seemed that lately, not much of anything ever went his way.

            He kissed her, then, and it felt more like a farewell than anything else. Firm and solid, a silent plea for her to come back to him. To not make their first be their last. Please, Tav, just this once, try not to get yourself killed. Please. He had half of a thought, selfish and unbidden, to ask her to stay. To set aside the heroics, to choose him over saving the world.

            But that wasn’t possible. This had always been her fight, and it would be her that saw it to its bitter conclusion, whatever that may be.

            The waiting feels like agony; an ache in his sternum that he has not felt since the Shadowlands when he was waiting to see if Tav came back with Cal and Lia. Hungry, feasting upon premature grief, a blossoming sorrow here before its season. He has no reason to be distraught – she may come back to him in one piece yet, a savior, bright and beautiful and brave. He’ll tend to her wounds and she’ll let out that stilted, relieved laugh that she so often does; the one where it cuts off into a choked, strangled sort of sob. And he’ll hold her. And they’ll have forever at their fingertips, a yawning expanse of possibility far larger than even that of the Weave.

            Or she’ll die, and he will once again learn to navigate the dying embers of loss.

            Hours blur into one another, and he finds himself restless. Pacing the library of the tower, suddenly so terribly unsure of how to take up space. He tries reading, but he cannot bring the words into focus sharply enough to comprehend them. He tries sleeping, but every time he closes his eyes he is haunted by images of her body, spattered with crimson, arms bent at odd angles, eyes lifeless and hollow.

            He settles for waiting on the ground floor, salves and elixirs on standby for her return. He will take care of her. He will prove that he, too, can be gentle. And he will never take her for granted ever again, he swears it.

            All plans of being a doting savior go out the window when she shows up to the tower. Her hair is matted with grime and viscera, her hands shake ever-so-slightly, and he’s certain it is the first time he’s ever seen her so visibly shaken. He assumes that it’s because of the fight, that the very foundations of her being have shifted from such a profound battle – she saved thousands of people, she is, by all accounts, a hero. Surely that is not a title won without hardships.

            But she’s pulling him into her arms hurriedly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as though he is the last thing keeping her grounded on this plane. And her voice trembles as she breathes against his skin, “I wasn’t sure – Gods above, I thought that I might have lost you.”

            “You were worried about me?” He winds his arms around her and holds her firmly. For once he cannot find a biting remark, a scathing retort; she is here, and she is alive, and he’s never been one for religion, but he is thanking every pantheon known to man in this moment. “You were the one out saving the world, Tav. I was worried sick about you.”

            “You? Worrying?” She pulls away from him to look him in the eye, her gaze something bright sparkling beneath the blood and the dirt. Her lips tilt up into a lopsided grin. “I never would have guessed that the revered Master of Ramazith’s Tower would be so prone to something as mundane as feelings.”

            “Yes, well, you have a remarkable knack for making me act rather out of character.” His hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb smoothing over a nick on her skin, his voice far, far softer than he thinks he has ever allowed it to be.

            He would move the heavens for her if she asked him to.

            They stay like that for a long moment, with her leaning into his touch and an unspoken understanding hanging between them. Words are wholly insufficient here; Common does not hold the syllables required to articulate the relief that weighs in his chest.

            “Are you hurt?” He asks quietly after a while.

            “Nothing that Shadowheart couldn’t heal.” She murmurs in response. “Just some bruises and cuts here and there. I’m fine, Rolan, I’m here. You can stop worrying. I came back to you.”

            “You came back to me.”

            “I promised you I would, didn’t I?” She smiles, soft around the edges.

            “So you did.” A quiet chuckle bubbles up from the back of his throat. The moment feels charged in a way that he cannot quite place; thick and heavy and suffocating. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear that the gloss to his vision is from tears, not weariness.

            She kisses him.

            It isn’t nearly as frantic and demanding as their first – shared in the tense moments before conflict, a demand for more to come. It is gentle, as she so often is; it feels much like coming home. Warm and relaxed, a promise of sorts. He meets it with equal tenderness, his eyes fluttering shut, a breath he did not know he was holding let out into the soft press of her mouth. His tail wraps around her waist as if of its own volition, staking a quiet claim. Alive. Mine. Together.

            She pulls away for a moment, her breathing a little heavier, ghosting against his face; she’s still millimeters away, looking up at him through her lashes, and he silently files the image for later.

            “You should get cleaned up.” He whispers.

            “I should.” She agrees, but then her lips are on his again – hungrier, this time, as if searching for proof that this moment is real; that she survived, that he is flesh and blood before her. Her hands curl loosely into the front of his robes, and he pulls her closer, one hand finding purchase on the space between her shoulder blades, the other tangling in her hair.

            He cannot be bothered to care about the blood – it’s nothing that a simple cast of prestidigitation cannot fix. He focuses on the shift of her ribs with every breath that she takes in, revels in the rise and fall of her chest where it is pressed against him. The feeling of her tucked into his arms, of her kiss, is far headier a blend than any glass of Arabellan Dry.

            Alive.

            She’s fumbling with the ties of his robes, and he remembers himself – where they are, the ash-choked air that seeps in through the cracks at the bottom of the front doors. The smell of flame hanging heavy around them.

            “Tav,” He rasps, pulling away and sucking in a breath. “We shouldn’t – not here.”

            “Why not?” Her hands pause their movements, and his protestations nearly go by the wayside when he sees how utterly debauched she looks in this moment; her lips spit-slick and flush, her pupils blown and eating away at the soft color of her irises. “This is your home, I thought we’d established that?”

            “I know, I just – I would really rather not have our first time be me pressing you against a desk like some depraved animal.”

            He’s thought about what it would be like to have her plenty of times now; what she would look like tangled in the soft silk of his sheets, her hair splayed out around her like a halo, her eyes screwed shut as he disassembled her piece by piece. Put her back together again. He would take her time with her, he would be reverential, he would show her the gratitude that he failed to in the past.

            “You’re a wizard.” She laughs, warm and husky, and the sound goes straight to his stomach. Pools there, cements itself. He feels ungentlemanly in the way his blood is rather quickly rushing southwards.  “Can’t you just… conjure up a bed or something?”

            “I could,” He muses, but decides that such a gesture would be wholly insufficient in displaying his adoration for her. “But we have time. Let us go upstairs.”

            The only magic he allows himself is a quietly uttered cantrip to clean the viscera from the both of them. He is all nerves as he closes the door of his bedroom behind them, suddenly feeling much more like a bumbling, awkward virgin than a prodigy of any kind. And she, always perceptive, picks up on the unease immediately. She settles herself onto the edge of his bed and beckons him to come sit beside her.

            His lips do not leave hers this time as they undress quietly; he is far easier a task than she is – armor is really rather difficult to remove, even more so when all logical thought has gone out the window and every ounce of blood in your body is focused between your thighs.

            When he does pull away to catch his breath, he’s afforded the opportunity to drink her in in all her glory. Bare and breathless before him, her skin a canvas littered with freckles, with cuts, with bruises. Some old and scarred, cigarette-paper thin reminders of the hardships she’s faced. Others new, likely from the ferocity of the fight today, scabbed over and tender still.

            She is the most stunning creature he has ever laid his eyes on.

            She looks apprehensive before him, suddenly a being of profound shyness, and he works to soothe that insecurity immediately; gently, he guides her to lay down on the mattress, and his lips find the soft slope of her neck. She sighs, soft and sweet, and a hand comes to his shoulders, fingers brushing over the leathery flesh of one of his vestigial wings. So sensitive, so unused to touch, he hisses out a breath between his teeth, sensation crackling through him – electric and bright and sharp.

            “Sorry.” She murmurs at the sound.

            “You hardly need to apologize. I rather like it when you touch me.”

            That seems to encourage her; she grows a little bolder, hands skirting over his skin – down his back, the meat of his flanks, the just of his hipbones. Touches every ridge and dip – and there are plenty – with a level of reverence he had never even considered he could be regarded with.

            Her nails graze over the base of his tail, and he has half a mind to be embarrassed by the sound that the action pulls from him; high and needy, his hips rolling against her thigh. She seems to gather some sort of satisfaction from that, because she repeats it, and he has to busy his mouth with other pursuits to keep the last scraps of his composure. He traces a path down her body, open-mouthed kisses against every bruise, every cut; this is not intimacy, this is worship – this is him posturing before her, heart split wide open, vivisection on full display; the edges of him ragged and weeping, hers to feast from as she pleases.

            He comes down to the soft expanse of her thighs, and her hands on him still, her breath hitching in anticipation. He looks up at her with heavily-lidded eyes as he kisses his way up them; a press of teeth here, a touch of tongue there. One her hands slides into his hair, fingers shaking as she gently grasps the strands – not hard enough to pull, but gentle enough to ground herself.

            “May I taste you, Tav?” He rasps, the words rumbling in his chest, his voice hoarse.

            Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and she nods, her other hand grasping loosely into the sheets beneath her. He leans in and presses a kiss to her mound before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up her slit. She keens, and the fingers tangled into his hair curl around one of his horns, gently tugging him closer.

            He takes her apart slowly, his tongue against her clit, his fingers curled inside of her. She’s a babbling mess, one hand fisted in the sheets, her hips bucking up into the contact. He uses the forearm of his free hand to hold her down gently, each movement laced with heavy deliberation – making mental notes of every sharp inhale, every ragged breath, every whimper.

            He sucks against her clit, and she falls apart without warning. Her head tilts back in a silent cry, her hand clawing against the base of his horn, unsure of whether to pull him against her or push him away. He slowly works her through it, looking up at her as he does – she’s beautiful here, flushed cheeks and heaving breath, white-knuckle grip against the sheets.

            He makes his way back up her body as she comes down, crashing his lips unceremoniously against hers. A jolt goes through him when she moans into his mouth at the taste of herself on his tongue, one of her hands resting on the nape of his neck, the other on his shoulder.

            “Fuck me.” She breathes out against his lips, hoarse and needy. “Please.”

            “Yes.” He pants, and one of his hands comes down to spread her open, the other lining himself up with her. She hooks her leg over his shoulder, and he sinks into her – slow, they have time, he has to remind himself. All they have now is time, he supposes.

            He lets out a choked sound as he bottoms out, one of his hands landing beside her to steady himself. He’s sure he’s a sight, hair falling in his face, having come loose from its tie at some point in the beginning of them kissing. His cheeks flushed, his lips parted, eyes screwed shut.

            “Rolan.” She manages, breathy and thin, her nails digging into his shoulders. He would do anything to hear his name in her voice like this time and time again; drunk on it, lost in it, drowning.

            The time for tenderness has passed. He is reduced to a thing of desperation, the need to let himself have this – to prove that this is real, that she is real – overrides all coherent thought. He rolls his hips against her, no longer having the wherewithal to have shame for the sounds he makes. They blur together anyways; the soft pitch of her moaning, the breath of his groans.

            “Fuck, Tav.” His free hand comes down between her legs, the pads of two callused fingertips finding her clit. “Want you to come for me again. Please.”

            “C-can’t –“ She tries, her voice breaking.

            “You can. You will.” He presses a little more firmly, circles a little tighter. The movement of his hips has become a stilted thing, rhythm quickly leaving him as he nears his own peak. “Please, love. Let me have it, let me feel you.”

            Her breath hitches and her muscles tense, and then she lets out a choked, sharp sound that sounds more like a sob than anything else. He falls apart with her, his hips stuttering, his nails digging into the sheets. He has a moment to settle himself next to her before his strength gives out, and his gaze is hazy as he looks up at the ceiling, his chest heaving with the effort of his breath.

            “I love you.” She breathes out into the stillness of the room, tucking herself against him, her cheek resting against his chest.

            It somehow feels more monumental than the sex, this proclamation – they’d disclosed feelings, yes, but that word, the heaviness of it, had not been uttered by either of them. It feels insufficient, to summarize the ache in his chest that he holds for her with a single word.

            And yet, at the same time, it feels like it is the only one that is correct.

            “I love you too, Tav.” He presses his lips to the crown of her head, his arms wrapping around her, holding her close. “Please don’t go rushing into danger again. I rather like this.”

            “The sex?” She asks with a tired laugh, her lips splitting into a grin.

            “Not just that.” He rolls his eyes at her, his usual snark replaced by something far more boneless, something with far less teeth. “You, in general. Being with you.”

            The sincerity of it makes her stop, and she regards him with a softness that makes his stomach twist into knots. “I promise I won’t go anywhere this time, Rolan. I promise.”

            And he, probably foolishly, believes her.

[not-that-n]

I think Kotor 2 is a really funny game when it comes to the average analysis of it's themes, because it managed to create such a compelling antagonist that most people just kinda get lost into trying to analyze her words and actions through her apparent philosophical stand when she is just written to be a great hypocrite, something that they almost always fail to mention in the average analysis of Kreya's character.

Like she makes some points, that sometimes helping others without thinking about your actions can hurt them more than you could imagine and says some other things that are almost true but she frames them as a philosophy of might, you shouldn't help others because you are depriving them of their strength, because through suffering there's growth, through struggle you reach enlightenment, through individual freedom you reach apotheosis. She then reaches the conclusion that God, aka the Force, is the biggest chain of all and to be truly free is to kill the force, to reject fate completely.

She acts like she has some sort of moral high ground over the sith and the Jedi when in reality she is not much different. In a way, she does have some beliefs she follows without question, she still uses the force and if you ask her about it she admits the hypocritical nature of her argument, first comparing to a poison and then saying that that's just an argument of an old woman trying to justify it. She always talks about how there are no chains, how you must be completely free of fate because there's no determinate outcome, whatever happens being a result of your strength, yet she still betrays you by the end because there must always be a Darth Treya, there must always be someone that directly betrays the order in it's moment of need. That's fate, that should, and will, always happen.

I always read her admiration for the player originating from our achievement of her goals without becoming hypocrites like she is, something I'm sure she is aware of as hinted by her dialogue in her last fight. The player rejected the force, reject fate, through strenght of will alone, using it more alike a weapon than a dogma, but the player, in a way, still uses the force mostly as a way of unknowingly influence others, their strength is not in self isolation in pursue of the strength of an individual through the death of morals and complete freedom, but instead in connection with others.

In the dark side ending the player becomes Kreya, a hypocrite that acts on their own desires, on their own impulses, because they can, afterall they had the strength to reject the force once so they are strong enough to do whatever. On the light side ending the exile takes the correct path, not following Kreya but transcending her, becoming better than her, understanding that you can overcome the chains of fate not through individual freedom but through connection, in the light side ending you archive what Kreya never could.

I always read Kotor 2 as a story of abuse and trying to grow out of it, in this case Kreya being the abuser, breaking both Scion and Nihilus causing them to become what she hated the most, and the player character being her new target, the exile being able to either follow the narrative's themes and be able to grow despite the abuse or fail and become the abuser themselves, perpetuating the cycle, the chain, that I always read as what the force is supposed to symbolize in this story.

Kreya is a spiteful person that believes that she can not grow, that she can not change and become better, she accepts herself in her own hypocrite nature because of this belief, she understands that through her own argument, one of complete freedom and transcending any chains that bind us, she is a failure like the rest of her students because she follows her own chain, she believes she most perpetuate the cycle of abuse.

That's the reason why I always disagree witht he concept that Kreya steals the show from both Scion and Nihilus because both of them are different outcomes that the exile could have become, both are victims of abuse that thought they couldn't change.

There's this one study I always think about, how kids that came from abusive households were more reluctant to let go of their parents, and Scion reminds me of this, rejecting Kreya at every opportunity but being unable to let go of her, she defined who he became as a person, a failure in both of their eyes. That's why he is so mad when you are going to confront Kreya, he thinks of you as her favorite, as the one that didn't become a failure, as someone who could reject and grow from their abuse when he couldn't. And I always found so interesting that the way you beat him os through words because, well, because you try convincing him that he can change, that he can grow, you beat him not through a fight, through a show of strength, but through showing, arguing, that the abuse he went through is not an unmoving chain, that he has the capabilities of change. And he doesn't believe you, never does, he would rather die than think about that, that admit you are right, he reacts the same way Kreya does, dying rather than admit they were wrong. It feels incredibly tragic that this happens because you know it could end up in another way, you are that other possible outcome.

And Nihilus is a simpler character because most of the content related to him was cut, but I always read him as the complete rejection of Kreya, as doing the exact opposite of whatever she said even when it still ends up hurting him, becoming a shell of what he was once. That said, most of that is just me guessing something that would fit with my reading of the themes and is never actually said in the game, it's kinda hinted but I admit there's not enough information to confidently say that.

Anyways, my point is that I find kotor 2 quite a compelling story and, while I understand why most people only ever discuss Kreya, I feel slightly disappointed that most discussions of the game never really talk about anything else the game presents

[sgt-cookie-2]

If I were in charge of DC comics, I'd let Jim Gordon just straight up throw hands.

Just have Batman offhandedly mention a minor career as a fresh-out-of-school professional boxer. Something low key, but suitably impressive. Four professional bouts, all turn 1-2 victories by KO. That sort of thing.

Mention he still gets top rankings even in the unofficial police tourneys, only being beaten by other professional boxers-turned-cops. Have Batman give a curt laugh and mention that even he uses one or two of Gordon's "tricks".

And then just let Gordon show it off. Sure, he's an old man now, not really in the game. But some street punks? Nah, Gordie's got this one and just lays an absolute smackdown on them. Three guys? Three punches.

Of course, let him get overwhelmed, he's not Batman, but like. Gordon came to be the top dog in a police department so corrupt, it somehow overflowed into something resembling legitimate cops suddenly started manifesting (I.E, Harvey Bullock). How the hell do you think he got there without some young, paid-off asshole to trying to turn his skull into abstract art? Beating the little shitbag, before tossing him back out as a warning. Gordon may need guns, but he's always packing at least two, you know what I'm saying?

Have some villains actively keeping their distance against a pissed off, adrenaline-pumping post-middle age man who still has the muscle tone of a minor greek god and as got as close to becoming the bohdavista of boxing as there has ever been bastard of "I will fucking get you" that stands before them there and then.

And then the fight's over. And you remember that Gordon's well past his prime. Old aches, pains, injuries. Have him shake off his punches, massage his hands, complain about having to "take it easy". He's not defenseless, sure, but he's not as durable as he once was.

So yeah, let Gordon throw hands. Let him spar with Nightwing and get one off on him every time they do. Let him bond with his adult daughter in something they both enjoy. Let him have good days where one time in a few he tries, when sparring with Batsy himself, Gordon catches Batman off-guard.

In conclusion: Let Gordon throw hands.