#and if it’s gotten this far I may as well admit defeat

[ghost-bxrd]

I wholeheartedly return the sentiment ✨

And I’m sorry, I’ll have to suffer the bombastic side eye after all 😩 but feel free to let me just scream into the void dear 💚🦇✨

Look I have a horrible history of getting way too attached to Jason’s goons, so this is brilliant. Even if Jason hadn’t introduced Little!Bruce as his son, it’s glaringly obvious that the kid’s got Hood wrapped around his little finger and god have mercy on anybody dumb enough to take shot at the boy, because Red Hood sure won’t. The goons quickly realize that the best way to stay alive and well with all limbs intact is by making triple sure that the Anti!Robin (he really needs a better name doesn’t he) is in peak condition at all times. They even organize day-shifts to patrol Hood’s territory to make absolutely sure that nobody takes a go at the kid should he be out and about for whatever stupid reason. They do NOT want a repeat performance of last time, thank you very much.

And omg YES, little!Bruce being keenly aware of how much power Jason has semi-accidentally give him (because he’s still a genius) and by the end of the week he’s roped a couple goons into configuring some kind of outfit-slash-armor for him. Jason thinks his whole hair might be turning white from stress when he catches the anti!robin on the fire escape one night. Little!Bruce fumes through the entirety of the ensuing lecture, but Jason still has enough authority to make him cave to rules he puts down. Partly because he knows that Jason is absolutely NOT kidding about literally tying Little!Bruce up to keep him from patrolling. It’s still Jason we’re talking about. He’s no pushover.

At this point (and let me just say I laughed so hard I started coughing at the phrase “hate boner”) Dick is furiously combing every inch of Gotham for the kid some psychopath manipulated into becoming a junior rogue. Jason thinks it’s hilarious (mostly because we haven’t gotten to the threatening-to-take-the-kid thing yet) and casually drops several hints about the kid’s identity that nobody catches, along with a healthy dose of sarcastic remarks as to how he’s manipulating and sabotaging the boy currently sitting in his apartment and eating a painstakingly put together three course menu while watching Pride and Prejudice.

Batman is also losing his mind because the Red Hood doesn’t make any sense. He kills people, but not as many as he used to only a few months prior. His movements through the Bowery are still erratic and unpredictable, but now there’s a distinct lack of risk-taking going on. Nothing makes sense. Especially the Anti!Robin that appeared seemingly overnight out of thin air. And the Joker’s death, executed in his own cell. But still, his priorities are to keep the children he has left safe, and that means he’s still going to take Hood’s threat of “clipping a little birdy’s wings” dead serious. He will never let one of his children get hurt ever again.

(Jason totally made that threat before his interdimensional trip. He’s got a wealth of other problems to deal with right now than hunt Robin through Gotham. Namely, his personal little Anti!Robin.)

And then after Little!Bruce’s declaration that Robin lives all alone in a huge manor and is living off cheap takeout and with no heat on even during winter, like you said, Jason does a friggin 180 and starts kind of—- chaperoning the meetings between Robin and Anti!Robin. From afar, at first. Just to make sure the Replacement doesn’t try anything funny with his kid. But eventually Tim catches on and tentatively tries to get to know Red Hood too and— that’s it. Jason’s a goner. He’s got a second kid now. He doesn’t make the rules.

The first time Tim comes back to the cave and tells Dick and Batman about his encounter with the two “rogues” and how they’re not so bad and that Hood even bought him a chili dog—- Dick sees red. One kid is bad enough, but now Hood is trying to corrupt slash groom Dick’s baby brother? Yeah, he’s out for blood now.

Interestingly enough it’s Bruce who chooses to put further investigation into Tim’s recount of the night (Alfred’s calm voice of reason helps) because while he’s worried to high heavens, he also trusts Tim. Tim is smart enough to know when he’s being manipulated. (Unless someone offers him hugs and affection free of charge, he’s a goner then. But Bruce isn’t aware of Tim’s home situation atm and how much it screwed with his survival instincts.)

Tim is very annoyed when all his future attempts to meet up with Hood and the Anti!Robin are hampered by an overprotective Nightwing following him at a distance. 🦅

Prompt:

Jason gets booted to another dimension and adopts a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne.

Whom he also takes along for the ride when he’s pulled back into his own dimension.

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[riewritten]

SUGGESTIVE CONTENT AHEAD.

SOMETIMES, there's just this lurking point of concern that Erwin couldn't stop kissing you while you're talking.

"I'm sorry the eggs were burnt earlier," you sighed upon closing the door of his office.

He peaked his head from a huge folder with a smile. Instead of asking you to come over, he stood up and walked towards you.

"Well, it had a distinct smell." But his hands made you doubt if he actually was disappointed. It roamed around your waist, slid up your hands until it reached your shoulders. He pushed you softly so you'd be pinned at the door.

"Yeah. I'm such a terrible cook."

"Uh-huh," he went to your ear and showered it with chaste kisses.

"And when I took a day off for the household stuff." After all, you feel bad as Levi and Hange tease him about having a partner so ignorant of house management.

"Yeah?" He cupped your cheek next then peppered the other side with pecks. "How unfortunate." He didn't seem to hear it, though.

"Are you even listening?"

"I am."

"What did I say?"

"Uh... the egg was burnt?"

"And?"

He chuckled lowly; he had no idea what you said and he didn’t care one bit about it. All he’s concerned for is feel you further. He buried his head in the crook of your neck then landed another kiss. "You smell good today, so much for having the entire kitchen stink."

AND IT'S NOT JUST THAT; sometimes, his hands seem as though it needs to be contained. So much for being known for his composure. It doesn't even matter what his mood is. Throughout such, you can’t help but have the urge do the same in pursuit of annoying him.

"Tired?" you mused as you handed him a cup of tea. He had his head down at the table. After a few seconds, Erwin sighed, shot you a look (and god the pity you had felt when you saw his eyes—so exhausted, so vulnerable, so in need of comfort), then tapped on his lap.

"What's with your lap?"

He let out a tsk. You knew what he meant and he’s not in the mood to tease around. "Please."

You let out a strained chuckle, sat on him, cupped his cheek and showered his face with kisses—from the bridge of his nose which you admire so much, corner of his eyes and lips, his temples, and when you went to the crook of his neck he closed his eyes with a sigh.

Well, he doesn't seem to be annoyed.

And so you did more. You languidly caressed his biceps, down, down, and down until you reached his thigh. You waited for his reaction, perhaps one akin to “What the hell are you on? You don’t do that a lot.” because a tired Erwin is a grumpy Erwin. But much to your surprise, he returned the actions very well.

Before his hands unbutton your top, you stopped him with a glare. “You are tired.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why are you not grumpy?”

“Uh,” the poor man was confused, “do you want me to?”

“You’re supposed to be irritable. Even Hange can’t mess around with you if you’re in the peak of exhaustion.”

He finally understood your agenda of vexing him, then. “Well, are you Hange?”

That was enough answer on your end. He can never be annoyed with you touching him. Admitting your defeat, you huffed and leaned your head on his chest.

BUT WELL, if there's something to remember about Erwin, it's that he's never absolute.

"Can we do it?" He whispered with lips on the crown of your head.

"Do what?"

He didn't answer. You shot your head up with curled eyebrows and stiffled laugh.

Is he perhaps getting shy? Really? When both of you had already gotten this far?

Erwin huffed. He knows what you're thinking about. Don't get him wrong; he's not shy—he'd never be. It's just that both of you have been so direct, may it be from touches or favors. Thus Erwin, for the little chance he could get, wants to make it different even for a moment.

He wants to… well, what really does he want?

Your chuckles tipped into loud wheezing, under complete impression that your huge man is indeed a shy lover boy underneath.

Oh, it really didn't take long for Erwin to realize why. You make that face whenever you see something new. New things amuse you. And apparently, that smile is so beautiful and he wants to see more of it. Erwin can and will forsake anyone just so he could bring you things that you could smile at, and after doing so, he will watch silently in pride—he pulled out that face on you, yes. Yes, he did.

"Am I not allowed to get shy?" Erwin lied as he cupped your face and peppered kisses on your cheeks, up to your eyes, forehead, then towards your ear. He went on until it became ticklish.

"Oh no, you sweet boy," you held back the chortles in consideration. Erwin almost huffed a teasing chuckle. You really tend to believe him so quickly. "What do you want to do, hm? Tell me."

Erwin noted to not be too direct. "Can I love you even more tonight?"

"How would you love me even more?" But it really didn't take you long to understand as soon as his warm hands entered your shirt.

"Heh. Glad you asked."

🏷 @frenchdyer @watyousayin | SUBSCRIBE HERE

MORE OF THE SWEET SUBTLETIES SERIES HERE

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

Hey, so happy to see request open I really enjoy your work.

could I request prompt number 5 on the sfw fluff list and number 13 from either sfw and nsfw list. With Widowmaker and Mercy separate please.

Thank you so much and have a good night.

Thank you for your request hun!

5. “Do you think me a fool?”

13. “Do you mind if I stick around?” “I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

I hope you like them! I tried my best!!

Mercy

You had gotten back from a failed recon mission. Most of the team were fine, nothing but a few cuts and bruises, but you had gotten yourself banged up after having to fight an omnic head on.

“I swear to you, every time you go out there there is so much more for me to do,” Angela waved her finger at you, but the mirth in her voice as she grabbed what she needed let you know you weren’t in any trouble.

“And who would I be if I didn’t support my local medical practitioner?” You tilted your head at her, a smile coming to your lips. She looked back at you with a similar one, letting out a laugh at the sentiment.

“Support is coming to conferences with me, not letting me practice my stitch work and bandaging, you come around far too often. I may have to intervene and ask the higher ups to send you on easier missions.”

You placed your hand on your chest and let out an exasperated gasp, “Do you think me a fool doctor? It’s not my fault I’m so shootable, plus, even Jack is reeling from this one! It’s not just me!”

“Yes, I know,” she cups your cheek, giving it a small pat and pulling you closer by your chin, “but I’ve gotten extremely close to losing you, and I don’t want you to leave me in my own office.”

Her tone change caught you off guard. She was genuinely worried. You took her hands in yours, rubbing your thumbs over her knuckles.

“I won’t,” you meant it, you could never leave her, “if it makes you feel better, I’ll dial it back out there.”

She wordlessly nodded, coming forward to embrace you. Her touch was gentle, wary of your wounds but still managing to mold perfectly into you.

“Do you mind if I stick around for a bit? I just want to stay like this for a while longer.”

“I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

Widow

Repo day was one of the hardest days for your crew, all of Talon’s field agents brought in their weapons to be recalibrated, repaired, and sometimes even rebuilt. With you being the head of your department, you had a list of the weapons you’d be taking care of personally, while the grunts did all of the… well, grunt work.

“Hey boss!” One of your subordinates jogged up to you as you were headed back from a coffee run, “you’ve got a guest in your office.”

You thanked the man and headed off, opening the door to the one woman you try to get down here every chance you get.

“Amelie? Since when do you show your face during repo day? I thought your rifle would ‘never need fixing as long as it was in your hands’,” you smiled, sitting behind your desk and stirring the mug you had in hand. In all your time together she has only let you touch her rifle once. She liked the maintenance process of it, and you weren’t one to displease her.

“The handlers who unloaded my gun and visor dropped them when unpacking the drop ship. I took a look at them but even I can’t fix it.”

“My wife? Admitting defeat! My, how you’ve changed,” your smile grew into a devious grin as you set down your mug and moved around the desk to get a good look at her equipment.

“Do you think me a fool? I am not admitting anything, seeking other options is just optimizing my success rate,” you could feel the eye roll she gave from behind you as you opened the cases.

“The outside seems ok,”you turned to the assassin, aiming the gun at her forehead, “the scope is completely shot to shit. Did they beat it with a hammer after dropping it?”

Amelie pushed the muzzle away from her face with a scowl, “you should be the first to know not to point weapons at people.”

“The clip is in the case and if I wanted you dead you’d be on the floor,” you blew her a kiss and patted her cheek, “I’ll take a look and have it out before lunch, how does that sound?”

“I would love to be able to just go and have a day to myself, but I would feel better if I watched and learned how to do this myself,” her hand came over your shoulder as you fiddled with her visor watching it try and fail to close,”do you mind if I stayed?”

You shrugged and set the helmet down on your desk,“I would say I need ‘total concentration’ and ‘solitude’,” you turned around in her arms a hand snaking around her waist, “but I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t be going anyway Mon Ceur, I will not take no for an answer.”

[pedroshotwifey]

20 Questions for Writers 📑

I was tagged by @nerdieforpedro. Ty bb I love you ♥ I feel like some others may have tagged me in this a while ago so I send my thanks to you as well 🥰

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Technically, I only have 32. I would personally count all of my collections and challenges as separate fics, but I'm honestly too lazy to format them that way. (mostly thinking ab wcc here)

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

I have a total of 200,985 words right now. Didn't realize I'd hit the 200,00 mark yet!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I think it's safe to say Pedro Pascal is my fandom. I have no objections to writing for any other characters though---in fact, I've actually featured some Oscar Isaac characters in my fics before. I also have an unpublished Marc Spector fic that's been sitting in my docs for a while 🤭

4. Top Five fics by kudos:

Joel Fucking Miller (ao3 link) has 377 kudos. Dom Joel Miller fucks you over a table in this age gap enemies to....lovers(?) one shot.

Favorite Bounty (ao3 link) has 144 kudos. In this series, you unexpectedly hitch a ride with the Mandalorian and begin to grow close to him until you find out his secret.

Beg for it (ao3 link) has 121 kudos. Subby virgin Din is completely at your mercy in this one shot.

Wifey's Christmas Countdown collection (ao3 link) has 96 kudos. Lots of different characters and plots! Some are fluffy, some angsty, some smutty. Some are all three! Love these and I think some of my best writing can be found here.

Cramped (ao3 link) has 78 kudos. Subby virgin Din sitting in a teeny tiny cockpit with you. What more can I say? (gn! reader)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always! It may take me a bit sometimes, but I love interacting with people who care enough to leave comments for me!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Already published, I think I'm gonna have to go with Cuts. I personally love this fic and think it's a bit underrated. (dark!husband Jack Daniels x f!reader)

OOO actually I think Alone Always is gonna take the cake here. (Din Djarin x gn!reader)

7. What is the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

I honestly have a habit of making most endings happy 😂 I don't feel like digging right now so I'm just gonna say What Matters. (Age gap Joel Miller x f!reader) This is also my most popular one shot on Tumblr with over 1,000 notes.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not too much, but I have gotten some shit for little things on TTF. This rly sucks because I let it get to me too much and I end up getting into a slump.

9. Do you write smut?

Do I write anything else?

jkjk, I love writing it all, but smut is for sure one of my more dominant themes!

10. Craziest Crossover?

Probably One Condition. Ezra (prospect) and Marcus Pike x f!reader. Messy dubcon-ish sex pollen one shot. It's pretty fun and got a lot of good feedback!

11. Have you ever have a fic stolen?

As far as I know, I have not. And I'm really hoping it stays that way! I'm just hoping that since my writing isn't super great, most copycats will stay away 🤣

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Have not, but I wouldn't be opposed. I know my friend (@kewwrites) and I have talked about doing fics and eventually crossing over into each other's before.

14. All time favorite ship?

Me and Pedro, Duh!!

Lmao nah in all seriousness, pls don't hate me, but I'm a little obsessed with Dinluke 😂🫣

And I'll go ahead and take this opportunity to say that my absolute least favorite ship is Dinbo 👎

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

omg I don't know 😭 I have some that are very slow going but I don't want to admit defeat because then it's set in stone 😂 Hopefully everything will be finished at some point!

16. What are your writing strengths?

No idea. I honestly think that sometimes I kind of lock in and am able to write immaculate stories, but most of the time they're just meh. Great at description at these times.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

BURNOUT FUCK YOU BURNOUT FUCKK YOU FUCK YOU VERY MUCH

Currently going through an awful streak of it and I'm stressing out because I finally have time to write and am just not able to 🫠

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Fantastic if used right! I love little terms here and there depending on the ethnicity of the character and their first language since it definitely adds to the authenticity. I do like for the translation to be at the end of the phrase/excerpt though instead of at the end of the fic.

19. First Fandom you wrote in?

PPCU! Loml fr

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

This is so tough because I forget them all 😭 And then I'll read them again a few months later and fall in love and be like "this is the best thing I've ever written", and then forget again. 🫠 I genuinely have no idea.

I would love more than anything right now though if anybody would care to drop their favorite fic of mine in the comments of this post or even in my inbox ♥ I think it would help a lot to hear atm!

NPT: @kewwrites @notjustjavierpena @iamasaddie @strang3lov3 @freelancearsonist @janaispunk @beardedjoel @ghostofaboy

[morlock-holmes]

@onecornerface linked me to this paper, which I mostly agree quite a lot with, and lays out some thoughts that I've been having lately in a much more coherent, far less fundamentally angry form than I have. Particularly the fact that the American racial culture wars are primarily waged between rival groups of middle-to-upper-class whites and that the distinction between de jure and de facto segregation is actually important and worth focusing on.

I'm trying to think how to put certain thoughts in order, but over the last few years I have been increasingly fixated on the fact that de jure segregation and affirmative action have both been resolutely defeated in the law here in the US.

The defeat of segregation has been the quicker and more complete; I cannot bring to mind any attempt to revive Jim Crow or repeal the Civil Rights act.

Affirmative action, in contrast, has not been completely excised from the US but it seems to be well on the way out.

My followers will know that I like to piss people off by asking for a legislative or court victory for Affirmative Action that happened in the last half century. I think the closest I've gotten was a California ballot measure that didn't pass and maybe, like, one Supreme Court decision that was kind of a mixed bag rather than being entirely restrictive from the early 70s.

Both these situations strike me as incredibly weird, and people hate when I say that, because they sense a kind of dismissiveness lurking behind the assertion that these total legal defeats are weird.

Which frustrates me because it makes them incapable of even admitting that anything happened.

I cannot name any other important culture war issues like this. Roe V. Wade dates to very close to the Civil Rights Act, and American conservatives never once stopped working at overturning it through the courts and legislatures, and, as we know, they finally succeeded.

The same kind of continual push for legislation and court victories can be observed for every other culture war battle I can think of. If I asked you to name one legislative or court victory for anti-gay activists in the last fifty years you could probably name several off the top of your head, e.g. Prop 8 and the Defense of Marriage Act. If I asked you to name similar victories for pro-gay activists you'd cite Lawrence V. Texas and the Respect For Marriage Act.

Gay rights battles have been fought in the courts and legislature and continue to be fought up to the present day, just like battles over Abortion, drug use, gun rights, etc.

But the same is not true of Segregation or Affirmative Action. For example, current Supreme Court precedent bans the use of official racial quotas in college admissions. Affirmative Action advocates could pass trigger laws requiring such quotas, which would go into effect as soon as they could get friendly court judges to overturn current precedent. The same is true of white supremacists who want to bring back the bad old days.

But they don't.

When I point this out people get very angry and say, "Just because something isn't done by the courts or legislature doesn't mean people don't still do it. Here's an example of some private citizen doing something really egregious! Everybody knows that you don't get results by going to the courts or the legislature anymore! Please ignore all the states that are now banning abortion!"

I disagree. If something is a huge, controversial culture war flashpoint, but only one side has won any legal victories in a half century, that's actually so anomalous that I genuinely cannot come up with a third example after Segregation and Affirmative Action.

I think this is related to a conviction that destroying segregation and affirmative action are held (By different political groups) to be the key to achieving racial harmony.

It may look like segregation was defeated so thoroughly that nobody could possibly advocate for it seriously anymore, but that hasn't led to an end of racial strife. Since racial strife is caused by segregation, if it's still around that means segregation and race hatred must have somehow gone underground. Those feelings must be as strong as they were in the 60s, but now they're hiding and we have to do more and more psychological work to figure out where they're hiding.

And an essentially exactly analogous process happens for affirmative action.

Essentially, on the left the feeling is that if we had actually rooted out race hatred from the white psyche, we'd have racial harmony and equality.

We don't have racial harmony and equality, therefore the white psyche must still be riddled with race hatred, and we need to find it. It must be expressing itself through white chefs that want to cook soul food and tourists trying on kimonos, and we need to treat people who do those things as the racists they are.

On the right, the feeling is that the psychological problem is the ability to conceive of race at all; the way to racial harmony is colorblindness and particularly color-blind policy.

We don't have racial harmony and equality, therefore the affirmative action mindset must be heavily embedded in the left-wing psyche, and we need to find out where it is hiding. People hide it behind innocent-sounding phrases like "diversity" and "inclusion" and we need to run anybody who uses those phrases out of town on a rail.

Our whole approach to race in this country is devolving into increasingly hysterical attempts to force (white) people to have the correct attitudes about race.

Step back for a bit and the fact that we are trying to make it illegal to cause a white person to feel guilt about history has a sort of bizarre, 1,001 Nights fairytale quality about it. Like some fairy story where it is illegal to remind the Emperor that he will die someday.

I think I am coming around to the idea that racial strife in the US is no longer caused primarily by defects in the individual (white) psyche, and that our efforts to keep finding those defects are kind of the same mindset that convinced Soviet leaders that all failures were caused by sabotage.

[lec743]

Darksiders Consept Thing-y with Death (2)

She was quietly singing to herself as she road with Death on Despair. She was leaning languidly against his chest and he could feel the vibrations of her voice through her and into him. It was a comforting feeling even though he'd never admit it.

His siblings were off doing their own jobs that he ordered them to do and the two of them had gotten one of the ingredients needed to bring back humanity. The experience went smoothly. Yes, there were enemies to defeat like there always are, but with her there with him to figure out the puzzles it went by a lot quicker. She may not be able to physically defend herself too well in a straight fight, but he'd be remised if he didn't acknowledge how smart she was.

The two of them were headed to the rendezvous point and may make it there before any of his siblings will. As they traveled they came across a rocky landscape with steam. Soon running water could be heard and large pools of hot water surrounded them and made the air much warmer. She stopped singing and leaned forward.

With a little gasp she said, "Hot water!" Then she turned around with a big smile on her face and added, "We should stop and take a bath!"

"No. We don't have time for that."

She scoffed. "Don't have time? I don't think humanity is going to get any dead-er Death. And the whole balance thing you're worried about, isn't going to get any worst if we take thirty minutes to get this thick layer of demon blood off ourselves."

"We can do that at the rendezvous spot."

"But not with hot water. Come on! It's relaxing." She began to shift around so that she could slip out from Death's grip. He immediately moved to grab her by her waist but she slipped too far, that all he grabbed was her shirt and she freely slipped out of it, and landed on her one foot and hands.

Death sighed. "The Horsemen do not have time to relax." He watched her shake her hands out from the pain of landing on hard rocks.

Again she scoffed as she crawled to the nearest heated pool. "Sounds more like to me that you don't make time for yourself."

Death hopped off Despair to wrangle her and the horse followed him while taking the shirt from his hands and into her mouth. "Don't be childish. We have a mission."

"The only one who's being childish here is the person who refuses to take care of themselves just because they're a Horseman." She was testing the water with her hands and pulling them out quickly when it felt too hot, quickly moving on to the next nearest pool.

Death followed in a slow pace. Hoping that if he let her wear herself out trying to find the perfect pool he'll be able to scoop her up with out trouble.

"Oh! This one feels nice!" She exclaimed as she had her arm in the water to the shoulder. Her face looking rosy from the heat coming from the water.

Death bent down and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style. "Okay. You've had your fun. Time to go."

"Absolutely not!" She wriggled in his grasp but she couldn't break his firm but gentle hold. "You haven't even gotten to be in the water yet."

"It's not needed."

"Fine. Looks like I have to take things to the extreme then. Any final words, Death?"

If it was physically possible, Death's eyebrows would have risen high above his mask with how confused he was by that statement. "What?"

Instead of giving an explanation, she whistled and snapped her fingers in four rapid snaps. Death heard Despair whiney loudly before the heavy hooves started running on the rock floor. When he turned to see what is wrong with her, he felt her run into him with her shoulder and he fell into the warm water of the natural pool. In his shock he had let go of the human woman and quickly resurfaced as he sputtered behind his mask in shock. The human was laughing gleefully and Despair was whiney-ing in such a fashion that it seemed like she was laughing with the human. Waving the human's shirt in her mouth like a flag.

Death stood in disbelief and in hot water. "You turned my horse against me."

"Oh don't me so dramatic. No I didn't. She and I are just on the same page. We both think you should take a break." She was taking her now wet pants off. Leaving her in only the little loin cloth around her hips and the strips of cloth around her breasts. She laid out the pants on the ground near where she was sitting. "Doesn't the water feel nice?"

Death pursed his lips underneath the bone mask and stood rigidly as he watched her slip her shoulders under the water with a satisfied sigh. He wanted to argue more, but how does one argue with their own horse... He silently sloshed over to the human and sat down next to her, not bothering to take off anything, not seeing the point in trying to dry what was already soggy. He watched her rub the water on her skin and through her hair before speaking up again.

"I know you've been spending time with our steeds ever since you've decided to join this mission, but I'm wondering how long you've been training them to listen to you."

She snorted. "I don't think they listen all that much to me. They only do what they want to do and Despair was wanting to listen to me for the time being." She turned towards his horse, who was standing sentinel behind them, still holding the shirt in her mouth and the human raised a hand up to her and Despair leaned in to put her nose in her hand. "You're such a good horsey. Loving Death so much. Huh!"

Despair nickered quietly as she leaned into the petting.

Death looked away from the fawning and sighed into his hands. He's in so much trouble. He promised himself he wouldn't get attached and now look at him. He's sitting in hot water because his horse is just as much around her finger as he is.

"Hey. Don't pout. We'll move on soon. Just take a moment to breath will you," She asked him as she put a hand on his shoulder.

He moved his hands from his masked face and placed them on his knees. She then pulled on his arm and said, "Death, let me do your hair. Come on."

She maneuvered him to sit with his back to her and pushed him down a bit to show him that she wanted him to lay his head on the surface of the water. Once he was half floating in her lap, she began to gently untangle his long, greasy, black hair and scratch at his scalp in a soothing motion.

Death was tense at first, not really sure what to do with himself, but as she hummed to herself while she worked on grooming him, he found himself relaxing more and enjoying the hot water and her ministrations. He sighed as he leaned more into her. Then all too soon she was done.

"Okay, Mister Party Pooper. We can go now."

She lifted him up from behind as he tried to steady himself, feeling disoriented from how relaxed he had gotten. It made her laugh.

"You okay, Death?"

"I'm fine... You feel better?"

"I do. It's nice to have hot water, huh?" She asked as she climbed out, grabbing the shirt from Despair and using it as a towel.

Death only gave a noncommittal hum and he followed her out. He waited for her to get dressed and get a new dry shirt on. Then when she was standing on her one foot to attempt to reach Despair, he pushed her back into the hot spring. He smiled under his masked as she stood up sputtering while moving her newly wet hair out of her face!

"Death!"

"Pay back."

"Ass!"

He chuckled at her indignation as he helped her back out of the spring.

[unovanhunny]

how about a small snippet of what INgo says/does while high on catnip?

When he found Ingo, it was more than obvious that someone had found catnip. Emmet was pretty sure they hadn't had any on the ship for a while, so that meant Ingo got this from somewhere. His money was on Elesa since they had just stopped by to visit her the previous day.

The leisurely and possibly bad-for-his-back posture was the first hint, he spine twisting in a way that may have been okay for a cat, but would probably cause more pain in the long run. The second was the very steady rumbling purr Emmet could hear eminating from Ingo's chest as he wiggled slowly. The third was the way that Ingo's pupils were blown so wide, the usual silver color was almost lost entirely. And lastly, the scattered green remnants on the ground were unmistakable.

"Ingo-"

"Emmet! You're back! I missed you!" Ingo excitedly called out, cutting his brother off before he could say anything.

"I was not gone long."

Ingo squirmed until he was upright again and moved over to Emmet, throwing his arms around his brother's shoulders and pressing their chests together so Emmet could feel the purr. And then he started rubbing his face against Emmet's face with enthusiasm.

"It wasn't long? It felt like forever." The pout in his voice was obvious and Emmet could only let out a sigh through his nose and wrap his arms around Ingo's waist.

"It was maybe 40 minutes, I was just getting groceries." He would be lying if he said he didn't like this attention though, and Emmet didn't lie. Even if he could, his tail was making it far too obvious with the way it wagged excitedly at the affection.

"Well the groceries have been gotten, so now I have you all to myself, right?" The big eyed gaze that Emmet had gotten used to seeing when Ingo wanted something was somehow even more effective than usual. With an overdramatic sigh, Emmet had to admit defeat. Which wasn't exactly anything he was fighting against anyway.

"Yes, I am all yours. What will you do with me now?"

"Lay down with me. I require cuddles and you're the only one who can provide them." As he spoke, Ingo reluctantly pulled away from the hug to take Emmet's hand in his own and pull him along towards their bed. Emmet went along without question, his smile widening as they went.

Ingo pulled Emmet down and before he knew it, Ingo was curled against him, head on his chest, arms and legs tangled around him and tails entwined. That purr wasn't stopping anytime soon and Emmet could feel it resonate through his whole body. He had to press a kiss to the top of Ingo's head, causing the other's ear to flick.

"I'm glad you're home. I love you."

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 2 - 49er

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Female!OC

Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.

18+!! | 2,228 Words | Third-person omniscient | Dark?fic/Angst/Eventual Smut | AU/AT | Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Mention of childhood sexual, physical, and emotional abuse, underaged alcohol use

A/N: This chapter is cute and so stinkin sad at the same time bc these BABIES UGH. I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings. I wrote this entirely as a trauma dump.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter list

"You got this big jacket on It's got a pocket for your halo, I Can never tell you that you're wrong We're in the East like a sunrise" -"49er" by 99 Neighbors

 "I'll kill you, scoundrel!" Simone yelled as she swung her stick through the air. It was quickly met with another branch of the same size, in hands only slightly bigger than her own. 

"You'll never defeat me, Merciless Moni!" Marc shouted back. 

The pair played like this far more than they would have admitted for teens their age. The sticks were their lightsabers, and they were Jedi and Sith in their imaginations. They beat the sticks together a few more times, making the sound effects of them hitting each other with their mouths before Simone found an opening and lightly jabbed Marc in the chest like she had stabbed him. "Ah! I'm hit!" He exclaimed, falling to his knees. 

"That's for slaying my master, Count Spector." She proclaimed. "The Sith prevail!" 

Marc clutched his chest and dramatically fell forward, causing the crunchy leaves on the ground to kick up with the air. 

Simone stood for a moment, puzzled by his ability to stay that way for so long, and tapped his arm with the toe of her black Chuck Taylor shoe. Marc grabbed her ankle as planned and dragged her to the ground with him. 

Once over the initial shock of having hit the floor of the woods, she burst into contagious laughter that caused them both to become inconsolable for several minutes. Marc's laughter slowly died when he noticed day-old bruises on Moni's left wrist when her oversized brown bomber jacket sleeve fell up her arm. She saw his eyes peer at them like he meant to find them, and she quickly covered them back up. 

Marc knew Moni's mom was crazy, but he was always at a loss for why. It was a question Moni never knew the answer to, either. 

Marc pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to Simone. "Nice job on the bus note, by the way. Looks just like if my dad wrote it." He was trying to find a new topic to focus on. Simone took the paper and put it in her pocket,

"Well, if he would stop forgetting to write them, I wouldn't be so good at it." She joked. Marc knew it was a joke, and Moni knew why his dad was forgetful. 

"He's just... busy." He said, rolling onto his back. Moni copied the move, and for a moment, they were both blissfully looking up at the blue sky and spotted the same puffy white cloud that looked like a bear.

"So's my mom. I've gotten way too good at her handwriting." Moni said, slicing through the quiet. 

"Be careful with that. Your mom's scary." 

"I'm not scared of her." Moni lied, trying to put on a confident face. "She only tries to scare you because she thinks you're only my friend so you can deflower me." She said, adding an exaggerated Cuban accent to the word "deflower."

"Psh, weird." Marc scoffed playfully. Though he had a bit of a crush on his friend, he couldn't imagine she felt the same way enough to break her own rules. Nobody else had precisely what they had; that was all that mattered to him. "Who would wanna do that with you?" 

Simone backhanded his shoulder for the comment, laughing. "You're no Adonis either! She says she likes you, but that's probably because your dad's the rabbi." Marc ticked an eyebrow up,

"Your mom's Catholic." He stated matter-of-factly. Moni rolled her eyes,

"Religious brownie points or some shit, I don't know how it all works. Anyway, mamá keeps threatening to send me to live with my tío because of your theoretical conspiring, but I'm pretty sure the only dealings my unc wants in my flor don't involve keeping it intact." 

Marc hated Moni's uncle. They only met once at Moni's quince, where he went on and on about her becoming a "fine and filled out young woman," He had a bad feeling about the old bastard from then on. Even with Moni trying to joke and make light of the subject like she was, it still got under his skin.

"Your tío's a fuckin' perv." Marc declared with disgust without hesitation. 

"She doesn't see him that way."

"If she did send you there, I'd break you out myself."

"Whatever, Spector. You don't have the cojones. You couldn't even break into my house." Moni said with a laugh. She relaxed the side of her face on the ground to look at him, and for a split second, she noticed how handsome her friend was with the golden sun beaming above his face from a distance. 

Her trance was only broken by Marc sitting up, 

"Wanna bet?" Marc challenged. Simone gave him a smile fit for a deviant before spitting into her palm and putting it out for him. He spat into his own, and they shook.

Simone and Marc got to her mom's house, which stayed locked up until she returned from work. Moni instructed him to try to get in from the back while she pushed the front. 

They frantically pulled up on all of the windows to the house, trying to beat the other inside, when Marc remembered that the window to Moni's room was probably unlocked. He quickly circled to the side and pushed up, opening the pane just enough to slide his body through. 

When Marc dropped into her bedroom, nothing took him by surprise. He had been there dozens of times already: outdated baby pink walls, dark stained wooden furniture, posters of Radiohead and Wu-Tang Clan, but one thing was out of place: her teddy bear Loser Jones was on her bed, not her dresser. He grabbed the bear to tease her for sleeping with it when he noticed a slice in the back fabric and a small slip of folded paper fall out. 

Marc picked up the note and unfolded it to find words beautifully scrawled into it in blue ink, but the words themselves, directly written in Moni's handwriting, took him by surprise. It was a lazy poem, not that Marc knew the difference, but the subject was sexual and addressed to-

-You.

He didn't know who "you" was meant to be, but he felt his skin flush at the sight of the innuendos and outright filthy words made to read so delicately. 

"Going through my stuff?" Marc was startled out of his fixation by Moni watching from the doorway. He realized that was exactly what it looked like, with the bear in his left hand and the paper in his right. 

Moni felt a hint of embarrassment at him knowing about her biggest secret but played it off cooly as he responded.

"Uh, no, I-"

"They're shitty, I know." She interrupted as she made her way over. Marc shook his head,

"The one I read was good!"

"Right." She said, taking the note from his hand and stuffing it back into the bear. There must have been a whole treasure trove of this stuff inside poor Loser Jones. "Let's have some real fun."

 Marc watched Moni sneak a bottle of tequila from the cupboard and an empty plastic water bottle she had seemingly stashed away for this. Expertly, she took a red dry-erase marker from a junk drawer and made a line where the liquid came to on in the glass bottle before filling the plastic halfway with the liquor. 

She eyeballed the pour perfectly, not spilling a single drop from the wider mouth. Marc held onto the water bottle while Moni refilled the glass bottle with tap water precisely to the red line, closed the bottle, and wiped away the marker before putting it right back where she got it. 

The pair hiked to the creek, taking off their shoes and socks and rolling their pants above their ankles to trek alongside the chilly rushing water. 

Moni was the first to take a sip from the bottle and made a face, surprised by the burn, before passing it to Marc, who did the same. 

"People drink that shit straight?" Marc asked in revulsion. "That's what I imagine lighter fluid tastes like." 

"It's just as flammable, too," Moni replied with a giggle, thinking about how she wished she liked it so she would appear more impressive and grown up. She knew Marc wouldn't like the liquor, but a tinge of guilt for having him try it with her struck her heart. "I can't believe you let me do this to you."

"Do what?" He wondered.

"Turn you into a bad kid," Moni said, looking down as her bare toes squish through the muddy terrain below them. 

"Can't turn me into what I already am," Marc said, seeming sure. Moni picked her head up and shot him a glare,

"Shut up, dude. You're a good boy."

"Mom doesn't think so." 

"Well, don't listen to your mom. Your dad thinks you're good." 

"He's part of the problem." She heard Marc mumble. 

It was clear to Moni that he really believed it, and with all these years of being around him, she couldn't imagine him as anything other than the best person she'd ever known. If his parents couldn't see it, at least she did.

"Okay, I think you're a good boy, and I'm corrupting you." She told him. Marc's heart fluttered at her belief in him, but he didn't appreciate her depreciation of herself. 

"No, you're not! You're great, Moni." He declared passionately. 

Moni was taken aback by the change, "You're the last one on earth that thinks so-" As she spoke, she slipped on a slick rock and fell into the shallow water with a sploosh and a yelp in shock. The fall didn't hurt, but the water rushing around her legs and bottom was colder than she realized. 

Marc reached out to help the girl back to her feet, but Moni had other plans. Instead of attempting to stand, she pulled him down with her in a stiff yank and laughed as the chilly stream also took him by surprise and wet his red polo shirt.

"Payback for earlier!" She yelled. 

"It's freezing! You're nuts, Moni!" Marc exclaimed as he tensed up. Moni gathered herself to her feet, laughing hysterically to the point where she didn't feel cold anymore.

"One of the many things you love about me. And I love that you put up with me." She stated, holding her hand out to help him in solidarity. They were square. 

Marc understood the gesture and took her hand, speaking as he hoisted himself up. "So, that's what it is? Never crossed my mind that I must put up with you because I love you!" He said, taking a tone that would make a lightbulb over his head seem suitable. Moni's heart stopped at the sentiment, but she kept her friendly teasing.

"Damn right! That'll be our pact. We have love if we have each other." She declared, holding out an extended pinky. Marc wrapped his own pinky finger with it. 

"Deal."

The pair returned in the opposite direction to retrieve their socks and shoes on the topic of running away and where and how to do it. Moni noticed Marc's teeth chattered as the breeze cut through his damp shirt. Not feeling as cold, she took off her jacket and handed it to him.

"Somewhere... beachy." She said with a grin. Marc eyeballed the bomber for a moment before taking it without question.

Am I that easy to read for her?

"Like Palm City beachy or Malibu beachy?" He spoke back up, slipping the coat on one arm after another. It was pleasantly warm, absorbing much of Moni's body heat and dispersing it to him. As big as it looked on her tiny frame, it fit him near perfectly.

Moni also noticed this, thinking of how good it looked on him.

"Palm City! Malibu's too swanky." 

"You'd be the famous writer and document my adventures." He stated. Moni rolled her eyes, 

"Shit, if I'm not on the adventures with you, I'm not writing fuck all for you!"

"Of course, you'd be there." He said as the pair stopped walking. They had arrived just outside the patch of wood closest to Marc's house, "Damn, you gotta get home." He started as he noticed the sun nearly disappearing. Moni nodded in agreement, and Marc pulled her in for a hug goodbye. His shirt was still damp, but she didn't care much. 

This hug lasted a bit longer than usual as they relished in the warmth and affection of one another before Moni finally backed up and began her route back home.  

"Hey, Moni," Marc called out to her. She pivoted around, still walking backward. "I love you, ya know?" He told her. Moni recalled what they had said earlier, but it didn't stop the blush from rising to her cheeks at the words. They had a deal, and he was upholding it. 

Moni nodded in delight, "I love you too, Spector. Catch you later." She called back. As she turned back around, one thing popped into her head.

What a fuckin' sweetheart.

It didn't even occur to her that he still had her jacket until she was halfway home.

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Storm of Echoes by Christelle Dabos, trans. Hildegarde Serle

“'A little more than that, even.'”

Year Read: 2023

Rating: 3/5

About: There are spoilers ahead for the rest of The Mirror Visitor series. In their hunt for answers on God and The Other, Ophelia and Thorn have turned their attention to the Deviations observatory in search of the Horn of Plenty. Ophelia decides to submit herself as a patient, knowing it could put her in more danger than ever. Meanwhile, minor arks and chunks of land continue to disappear as The Other gains a greater foothold. If they don't find the key to defeating him and God soon, it may mean the end of the world-- again. Trigger warnings: character death, torture, war, body horror, guns, injury.

Thoughts: This kind of fell apart by the end. Dabos excels at world-building and creating small but intricate plots in the first two books, but there are major issues with the over-arching plot of the rest of the series. My sense is that she tried to replicate that trick in the last two books with diminishing returns, when what the series really needed was either a) to stick to smaller, more manageable plots that can be wrapped up in one or two books, or, b) to dispense with the distracting minutiae of the world-building and small plots and focus fully on the over-arching story. The Storm of Echoes tries to pay attention to both and ultimately does justice to neither.

The first half of the book is exactly like the last two in setting up a series of small, elaborate obstacles for Ophelia and Thorn to reach their ultimate goals, without moving the bigger plot forward much. The second half is almost wholly focused on the problem of God/The Other, but the issue is that it's gotten so elaborate and unwieldy that half a book just isn't enough time to unravel it. Characters appear and disappear seemingly for convenience rather than development, and there were a few too many dramatic reveals where someone was apparently someone else all along. With all the identity switching, echoes, and inverses, I'll admit I got pretty confused a couple times, and I'm still not sure I had it all sorted by the end. I'm not sure Dabos did either.

While it's a bit shaky on plot, overall the series does world-building and character very well. I'm not a big world-building person, but I did very much enjoy spending time in this one, which is unlike anything else I've ever encountered. I have a lot of love for the Arks, and I would have been happy to stay focused on those without ever involving God/The Other. I also enjoyed Ophelia and Thorn's romance so much. It's a proper enemies to lovers, and I love how far they come over the course of the series. He's such a brusque, off-putting love interest, and the sides they bring out in each other are always complicated and interesting. The ending isn't quite as satisfying as I was hoping, since it leaves some things a bit open-ended, but I'll fill in the blanks as it pleases me. I'm happy to have read these, and a little more than that, even.

[coffee-or-murder]

For the interview asks:

Effie- 7, 17, 26

Daffodil- 12, 16, 33

Effie doesn't have a portrait because I cannot for the life of me settle on her gd face. More under the cut.

Effie- 7, 17, 26

7. You have the key to immortality in your hands. But not for free. If you want it, as a price, your worst enemy also gains immortality. Is it worth it?

Effie puts her hand to her chest, bright green eyes gone comically wide as she gasps lightly.  “I would never leave my Tempie behind! Now that she’s in my life I couldn’t imagine living that long without her! If we don’t die together in bed, old and loved, I won't know what to do with myself,” she says, pulling her hand back far enough from her chest to examine her neatly kept bright pink glittery nails. “Besides I would never give the cunt the satisfaction of living such a long life. Sort of defeats the whole purpose of me ruining it doesn’t it? No satisfaction if she just kept on living forever afterwards. Sooner or later her suffering would be so totally stale.”

17. Have you ever gotten sheer joy out of hurting someone else, either physically or mentally? To whom and why? Did it scare you?

She thinks about that for a long moment, twirling a lock of hair as she rolls the thought around a bit. “You know I have. It’s like….like the kind of satisfaction that comes from breaking down someone who spent their leisure time destroying other people's entire lives,” Effie says with a small shrug. “Unfortunately I can’t tell you who, that’s what NDA’s are for. You totally get it. I know they’re such a pain but an NDA is an NDA. Anywho I was totally within the bounds of the law when I did ruin them. Just because there was some social backlash doesn’t mean it wasn’t right. I’m not worried about enjoying it. My Tempie would stop me from going past the point of no return, if not by her direct action then my love for her would keep my reigns held tight.”

26. Is your personal happiness more important than anything else in the world? Than fame? Than the happiness of others?

Effie snorts, entirely unladylike, and covers her mouth as she grins. “While I am a bit of a hedonist with some things, there’s stuff I totally admit is more important than my own personal stuff. Tempie’s happiness for example. Fame doesn’t mean all that much if the people I care about aren’t cared for anyway.”  

Daffodil- 12, 16, 33

12. If someone else stole something and you stole it back is that a good deed, a bad deed or one of equal worth? Are you better than the original thief?

Daffodil leans her chin on one curled hand, lilac eyes sparking with mischief. “Have you been conversing with my dearest ever new delight? This seems quite like its source may stem from the ever turning mind of our captain Magpie,” she teases lightly, leaning back as she settles more into her seat. “Larceny can be many things, righteous or disreputable depending upon many factors the one may not always be in total dominion over. I do not believe either deed has any effect on the other really, and as long as our architect does not make a game of pilfering my family's good silver, I do believe I will leave the burglary in the hands of the professionals.” 

16. Have you ever contemplated killing someone? Who and why? Would you ever act on it? Are you frightened you might?

Daffodil looks directly at, or perhaps through, the interviewer as a sharp smile sets her gaze alight. “Darling I am well versed in many a trade. Death is not a stranger in my business, nor will they ever be. They dine at my table as easily as I at theirs,” she purrs, maintaining frankly too much eye contact as she speaks, lilting soprano voice gone low and even. “Those who attempt to harm my muses will find that I am quite the composer of final ballades, and I relish the opportunity to share my song, even if I should not deign to stoop to their level. I would not wish to upset my lionheart with such a slaughter, or draw too much undue attention to my privateer, so it is a rare song I sing in its familiar refrain.” 

33. If you could wipe certain memories from your head, would you? Why would you? What memories?

She plays with the thought for a long moment, twisting it to see different sides, before ultimately shaking her head. “No. The music would be poorer without the most varied experiences. My muses provide all the comfort I would require regardless of what the machinations of those in a higher power may thrust upon the path.”

[plumblossomcafe]

Ch.8: Abyss Mage, Hurdle, Empty Abode, and Light Guiding Ceremony

I'm a just continue with the Mondstat Arc since I put a poll but since I have a lot on my plate in my life I'm not gonna continue actually updating the story since I don't know what other things that will come up, yeah sorry

After time passed since what occurred at Starsnatch Cliff, everyone met up at the Dawn Winery to talk to Diluc to see what information he has gotten

Diluc: The Abyss Order... Enemies of the human race. Even the underground networks rarely come across any information on them. With that said, it was a bit of a hassle, but I managed to dig up a few clues.

Venti: Really? That quickly? You really are well connected, Master Diluc.

Paimon: Come to think of it, Mr. Big Anemo God Barbatos — why exactly do you need the help of mere humans...?

Venti: Ahh... How do I put it... "The Seven" as people now know them, were once known as "The Seven Archons." Each archon presides over their own part of Teyvat. That is the role the archons play. Only in performing this duty can we attain power, but I don't like the idea of "ruling" Mondstadt — and I don't feel Mondstadt would really like it either.

Y/n: Basically, the people's faith twords their archon, gives their archon the power and strength that you know from history

Jean: "Go forth and establish a city of freedom without rule." We have not forgotten Barbatos' wish for Mondstadt.

Paimon: Jean... You're such a devotee! Maybe someone got a little too free and is just too lazy to care...

Y/n: Did your pea sized brain not understand Emergency food? *pouting*

Paimon: *stamers*

Venti: Ahh... However, it may have come to be... I haven't been back to Mondstadt for an extended period of time. Without a doubt, I am now the weakest archon among The Seven!

Aether: And yet you sound almost proud... Guess that's why you're god to the City of Freedom...

Venti: Aww, you flatter me.

Diluc: Oh, such a humble god... Is it a blessing or a curse?

Y/n: I think it's a blessing. Why would you think it's a curse?

Diluc: Let's get back to the topic at hand: the common enemy of all mankind. We have tracked the Abyss Mage to the vicinity of the winery.

Jean: I can not stress enough how important it is to not let it escape.

Aether: Let's hunt it down!

After defeating the Abyss Mage

Y/n: "I didn't like the fact that it was a Hydro Abyss Mage...."

Venti: Huh? What's this... After the Abyss Mage was defeated, a certain energy dispersed from its body... It seems that energy was being used to cut off the connection between me and Dvalin... Aether, do you know of Stormterror's Lair?

Aether: I think I've heard people talking about it in Mondstadt.

Venti: Of course. I believe the people of Mondstadt all know of it. After Dvalin woke up, he took the ancient ruins as his lair. As it was with the storms that previously cut Mondstadt off from the outside world, the entrance to the ruins is also sealed by a special barrier. But now, as the energy dispersed from the Abyss Mage, I was able to read the rhythmic flow of how the barrier's magic was woven. I must admit, it sounds even more horrendous than a chorus of hilichurls, but......It should be enough to let us break through the storm barrier and reach Stormterror's Lair.

Diluc: Which means we're going to confront Dvalin? I'm fine with that... Jean is the one who wishes to avoid any direct confrontation.

Jean: No. When there are no other options left, it is my responsibility to alter our course of action. If slaying him is our only choice, I will gladly become the knight that leads the charge.

Y/n: Fortunately, we have yet to need to go that far.

Diluc: Hmm?

Jean: By that, you mean...

Venti: She means that the Holy Lyre is not our trump card. Our real trump card? Aether, of course.

Paimon: Aether?

Aether: Is it because I purified the Teardrop Crystal?

Venti: Agreed. But you have a much more precious forte. The impurities in the tears and the curse that binds Dvalin belong to the same maleficent power. Which means...

Paimon: You Tone-Deaf Bard, don't you see how crazy this is? You've seen what Dvalin is like when he's ticked off! Aether will be swallowed whole before he even gets to lift a finger!

Diluc: ...Hey. Nice plan. It's worth a shot.

Jean: I am with you both, Honorary Knights!

Paimon: Ho~! So we just need to fight monsters from the abyss... and a dragon! No pressure or anything.

Diluc: Humans aren't without their strengths. Let's go.

Venti: And so... The epic actions of brave heroes finally leads to this eleventh hour.

At the barrier of Stormterror's Lair

Paimon: It's a storm barrier! It looks so dangerous...

Venti: Let me at it. Although this wooden lyre is all I have... I don't need the lyre to break through this kind of storm barri— Ah, wait, what is that?

A group of hilichurls appears

Jean: Enemy attack! Prepare yourselves!

Venti: The stage will need to be cleared before I can begin my performance. Generally speaking, such chores are not the concerns of the performer himself...

Jean: Wait. What's going on? Something's not right. There shouldn't be any hilichurl camps in the vicinity of Stormterror's Lair...

After defeating the swarm of Hilichurls

Venti: Ahh... The hilichurls usually do not venture into areas with high elemental concentrations. It puts a heavy burden on their bodies.

Diluc: The Abyss Order must be manipulating them behind the scenes, yet they shouldn't have been able to determine that we would come. They're presumably spreading their forces to halt our plans.

Venti: Without further ado... I suppose I can play faster if my only audience is the wind.

Venti disperses the wind barrier by playing the lyre

Paimon: It actually opened! You're not entirely useless, Tone-Deaf Bard!

Jean: This is it. We are now entering Stormterror's Lair. Watch yourselves. Let's move.

While approaching Stormterror's Lair

Paimon: Looks like this is the front gate to Stormterror's Lair. The gate is enormous compared to us... But still, Paimon wonders how Dvalin gets in there with a body that huge?

Venti: He doesn't walk in. He flies in.

Paimon: ...Oh. Hmm, you do have a point.

At the entrance

Paimon: It's stuck.

Venti: It's stuck.

Paimon: Hey, check out that roof. Is there a giant hole in it?

Venti: Hmm... I suppose we could make use of that wind current.

Paimon: Let's make a detour then. Heading up!

Venti: Let's make a detour then. Heading up!

Paimon: Hmm... Do you think there will be Abyss Mages hiding in the ruins? Either way, if we do run into one, we will let the victorious Master Diluc do the—

Diluc: Do not underestimate them just because I have beaten one of them before. I'm not boasting. I'm simply saying there is more to the Abyss Order than a few mages.

Venti: Correct. That's why I tagged along, after all. Well, that — and also for your safety.

Aether: Why are you so diligent?

Venti: Ah, why am I so diligent? Too diligent for a poet, in fact!

Paimon: So says the person that made zero effort to search for the dragon tears and drank in the tavern all day! Paimon doesn't get it. What part of you is remotely diligent?

Y/n: Says the floating emergency food that wines all the time

Paimon: Hey!!!!

When approaching the wind current

Paimon: Look! A wind current. It might lead us to the top of the tower.

Y/n: Good idea

At the top of Stormterror's Lair

Venti: Oh, we can't advance any further. The ruins seem to be guarded by ancient seals.

Paimon: Is this the work of Dvalin?

Venti: No. These ruins were once part of an ancient city. Dvalin just happens to be nesting in these ruins for now. These ruins even predate the existence of The Four Winds. Mondstadt is a city without a ruler. However, before it was... It was ruled over by a tyrant. Anyway... I'll sing you that story when we have a chance in the future.

Diluc: The markings on this seal... If my archaeological knowledge is not mistaken, this appears to be a light actuator. If we retrieve and reintegrate all the parts, we should be able to get it working.

Jean: We should be close to completing the ceremony for this actuator. Let's put the last part back and see.

After activating the actuators, the seal of the tower was taken off

Venti: Looks like we're right. There are three more halos circling the tower...

Jean: Which means there are three more corresponding light actuators to activate. I can see one from here. The rest must be scattered within the ruins around here. Let's go find them.

Paimon: ...Why did Dvalin pick a place filled with puzzles and seals as his lair? Doesn't he get annoyed coming back home?

Venti: He doesn't walk in. He flies in.

Paimon: ...You do have a point.

The rest of the activators were soon activated, and the three remaining halos soon disappeared, unlocking the tower completely

Paimon: It's done!

Y/n: It looks like that place leads deeper inside.

[pit-of-maggots]

.:_ ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ ᝯׁɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅꪀׁׅꫀׁׅܻ᥎꫶ׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅ ᥎꫶ׁׅꫀׁׅܻꪀׁׅꫀׁׅܻzׁׅ֬ꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ _:.

' Ballo di Carnevale. '

Pierre Bergaigne (1652)

"Che pagliacci... mi chiedo se a Spagna é anche cosí.. disonorevole."

( ' what clowns... I wonder if in Spain it is also so.. disgraceful. ' )

The High Priestess of the Sons of Gluttony cult was repulsed and unamused by what the city of Venezia, the popular 'Floating City' or 'City of Canals', displayed in front of her.

Masked individuals, some fancier, more regal, than others- coated the streets. And they weren't even at the heart of the event yet, they'd just gotten off the train.

The High Priest, on the other hand... was seeing stars. He was absolutely fascinated by such beauty surrounding him.

"Hai perso la ragione, Beatrice?! Quest' evento é il piú lussuoso che possa esistere nel nostro paese! L'unico che realmente merita la mia attenzione... "

( ' have you lost your mind, Beatrice?! This event's the most luxurious one that's existed in our country! The only one that truly deserves my attention... ' ) He trailed off as he turned to look at his companions. The four heads of the Gluttony cults had all reunited for quite the big event: Concetto Faunus's birthday, the beloved broodfather, the High Priest of the Sons of Gluttony. And he'd always loved the Carnival at Venice... always so refined, fashionable, so... him.

"Especially... on such an important date~ is that not right?" The man retorted with a noticeable facade of sweetness, when he really just felt bitter that the woman seemed to have something to complain about every single time.

Beata grumbled quietly, seemingly admitting defeat that, if she had nothing nice to say, then she should keep her mouth shut. Besides, today Concetto got to make the rules, it was his day.

Concetto proudly smiled, chuckling in response to her silence. "Very well~ and try to turn that frown upside down, will you? For little old meee?" He teased.

Before the woman could scold her companion, Elizabeth's furious screams could be heard from a distance as she was damn near about to throw a punch into some poor guide's gut before Adam restrained her-

The unfortunate soul that dared arouse her wrath tried to calm her down, already sweating profusely, "Signora, p-per favo-" buuut of course he was cut off.

"CHÉ VUOL' DÍ CHE LA FESTA DE' MARIE É GIÁ FINITA!? FISA!"

Beata sighed, unamused as she went to intervene while Domenico watched in silence as he hid behind their High Priest; Faunus quietly muttered some prayers in the name of Lurcher Barathrum as he too watched, holding his stomach.

( ' WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT THE FESTA DELLE MARIE HAS ALREADY FINISHED? CUNT! ' ) She seemed absolutely furious to find out that the Festa Delle Marie, a re-enactment of the traditional Venetian beauty contest where twelve gorgeous women would dress in the finest Venetian fashion to present themselves to the Duke of Venice, the Doge. Unfortunately, this parade only takes place during February 3rd... and during that date uh- well, let's just say that Eve had been busy with 'fae business' that may or may not have involved murder, otherwise she would have come here long before Faunus' birthday...

" ( ' forgive her ' ), la perdoni, Sr.; the trip has been quite the headache for all of us." Beata excused as she stared daggers at Eve, before shoving the little woman and her husband far away from the shivering man and attempted to de-escalate the situation as she comforted the individual while Adam practically dragged his wife away, trying to comfort her too- eventually, she stopped trying to fight him and just went limp with a frustrated sigh, allowing to be dragged around like a ragdoll. Sure, they loved drawing attention at events, but not in this way, damn it! Should they embarass the High Priest on his birthday, both cults would never hear the end of it from him nor Barathrum for such blasphemy. But Elizabeth had a bad habit of being impulsive and not thinking before speaking, so... Beatrice had to come clean the mess for her before it got worse. (When she was around to do so, of course)

...

"And I even wore my best dress!" Eve whined in exasperation to her beloved spouse while she ranted, looking down at her clothes: she wore her best pink bouffant gown with butterfly wing patterns all over it, a cream colored poet's shirt underneath, and a matching bandeau pink veil, decorated with red roses. She also wore a customized Colombina mask of a cream coloring pallette too, adorned with gems. The hairnets that held up her hair, giving them that classic horn-like shape, were of a dark green pallette.

"Amore, you can still show off your beauty!" Said Adam, kneeling down to be at an eye level with his wife, gently lifting her mask. "and the mask contest's still going, if you would like us to participate in it~"

Adam too wore a mask, a Pulcinella, to match Eve's; he wore a classic nobility outfit: a dark green coat with matching pants, yellow waistcoat with a white cotton shirt with decorative cuffs underneath, a pink cravat with red patterns.

Eve looked down to the ground a moment, inhaling and exhaling deeply before looking back to Adam.

"Maybe..." she replied, still sounding somewhat disappointed and sad. "Yeah..."

"Would you like to go eat som-"

"YES! OHHH YES!" And just like that, her mood immediately shifted upon merely hearing the word 'eat' leave her husband's lips. And it was like the entire ordeal never happened in the first place. But before they could run off to the nearest place that made any food- two dark, thick tentacles wrapped around their waists, and they got pulled towards the remaining group by Beata.

"You uncivilized animals." She spat as the dark appendages quickly retreated into her form, disappearing into the darkness of her robe.

Both her and Faunus were glaring at the married couple like a disappointed parent after catching their child with their hands in the cookie jar. Domenico on the other hand... seemed to be in another universe entirely, as they rested their head against their preacher's side, eyes closed, and currently stroking his belly lovingly. Still... this did not deter Faunus in the slightest from scolding the other two Priests, nor did he seem to mind really.

"Have you completely forgotten we must be present at the Pit of the Beast in less than an hour? Beatrice's children and most of our flocks are going to be there to attend their last sermon before our days of feasting in my celebration." He aggressively whispered to them, as to not draw attention from heretics on the matter.

The Pit of the Beast ('La Fossa della Bestia') was an abandoned church, lost in time like so many other buildings in Venice. Many cults of dæmonic faith claimed it for their own long ago, renamed in Shai's honor- leader of the celestial rebellion, mainly to arrange important meetings or re-schedule sermons; the Gluttony cults were one of them. It was where Bishop Angelo Maria-Antonietta, one of Beata's twin children, often did his sermons to the local Venetian Gluttony members or initiated new members.

"N-no, Signor Faunus!" Adam stuttered. Eve stepping in front of him to speak her mind: "Of course we did not! It was the heat of th' moment, th's all! T'was.. my fault..." She reluctantly admitted, pouting and looking down to the floor, clutching a clawed hand around her husband's waist. She sighed.

"O Chosen One, forgive us..."

That little ego stroke for the High Priest seemed to get both of them on his good side again rather quickly; his expression softening up as he inhaled deeply, taking his time to revel in being called one of his favourite nicknames. Beata, on the other hand... was unphased, knowing how easily it was to get the man to forgive even the sheer blasphemy of public embarassment they nearly put him through, with just a few words that appealed to his selfishness. If looks could kill, both Eve and Adam would've been impaled multiple times by her intense gaze.

"You are forgiven." Faunus eventually declared with an eyeroll, "but let this be the last time it happens, vi avverto." ( ' I warn you. ' )

Beata remained quiet as she continued glaring at the both of them as they quickly nodded their heads.

"Very well, Domenico- pay attention." He ordered as he gently held the younger man's hands and pulled him off of him.

"We'll be going to the Pit, do what we must do, and then we shall finally begin our commemoration, si? No more time to waste in foolishness."

...

Their trip would last until the end of February, during this time... Lisa and her band were paid to look after the Faunettes at the mansion, sometimes being visited by Beelzebub himself (he wished to meet what were essentially his grandchildren!). However... Lisa & co. do not exactly like to play by the rules, and it's not like Faunus or his butlers would know... if there was someone else, a 'friend of theirs' willingly looking after them; playing music is their passion, they love to sneak out to do some casual live-show in town... if they have someone else look after the Faunettes (potentially, your muse).

Meanwhile, Faunus & co. are going to be in Venice, many of the cult members lurking around, as well as... some other familiar faces. The Priests only want to have fun, drink, dance, eat and perhaps cause mischief... or get intimate with any pretty individual that tries courting them. (You may have your muse join in the fun with any of the Priests OR the one cult member often glued at Faunus' side, Domenico! Stuff them with food or vice versa, have a gothic, fancy masquerade dance together! Or you could disrupt the party somehow... and arouse the attention of a CERTAIN monster hunter keeping watch over these foul creatures~)

But... be careful, should you choose to try to court Adam or Eve! They will not say that they are married, and instead will play the game lying that they are single, pretend they show interest in you... until (you think) you are alone with just one of them, but in the end, it might just result in your demise. (Eve will devour your muse; you can survive if you manage to entertain her).

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

~

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights. 

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

~

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter). 

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking. 

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly. 

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

~

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened. 

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

~

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second. 

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King. 

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year. 

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

~

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

Head over to This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!

[aurora-313]

I got interested at Bleach again recently, and sadly, some of my favorite characters in Bleach is very minor characters, include Kaien and Masaki. I came across your fic just about a week ago, and thank you for the great works. I think I read each and every one of your fic at least four times last week. I never knew I needed some good Ichigo-Kaien cousins relationship, and your works scratched an itch I never knew I had.

So, how long do you planned to write your works? Most Bleach fic writers hate lost agent arc (I dont like it either, but the concept of fullbring is good. I just hate Ichigo's final fullbring design), and you jokingly said something about BB!Kaien flirting some of the female quincies on other asks. Nepenthe starts even before turn back the pendulum arc, so it may take a completly different course of actions from canon. The twin fic, you said it will go under a rewrite, didnt even started soul society arc. I am just curious how long I can enjoy your fic.

And I admit I am curious about how Kaien will play out in some of the anime only arcs. I am manga only reader, and I dont really watch anime in general, but I am seriously considering to watch the anime arc only episodes. Im pretty sure that you will skip those parts, but can you show us what do you think of them?

I'm glad you're enjoying what I've written so far.

Kaien is a criminally underused character and he was one of my favourites for a good long time. I genuinely believe he and Ichigo would've gotten on extremely well, and that Kaien would've been the big brother Ichigo never realised he needed.

For Black and Blue, obviously its going to be canon divergent by virtue of Kaien's living status and his speed-running Ichigo through 'How To Train Your Hollow'. Events will not marry up to the canon timeline. At least not completely, Aizen will face the music - that's a given.

Truth be told I actually dislike Thousand Year Blood War. And in my story, several character's fates set in stone. Many of which run heavily contradictory to the events of TYBW, so I'm electing to ignore that arc. If I touch the Quincy conflict... I'd probably rejig a lot of lore for my narrative.

Tangentially, regarding the flirting with a Quincy joke? BB!Kaien already has an endgame love interest. Hilarious as that would be, they are not a Quincy.

Lost Agent Arc is... one that I've grown to appreciate as I've gotten older, but back when I was reading Bleach week by week, I found it completely insufferable and I spent most of my time bemoaning 'Hurry up and give him his powers back, Kubo."

Though, frankly, I never bought why Ichigo had to lose his powers in the first place, especially when the Hyog had established weaknesses within it which would’ve allowed victory by attrition. And Duex Ex Final Getsuga hits a wrong note with me no matter how you slice it. You can’t describe it as anything other than an ass pull and hand of the author at play.

My conclusion as an adult looking back; Lost Agent, I sit comfortably on the fence. Its okay. Not offensive, not inoffensive, just average. That being said, I have touched on Ginjo Kugo's existence in BB, so that might be another thing I'll have to explore as part of the epilogue. Or in a side/sequel story.

However. My dislike for TYBW aside, I do intend to write independent What-If scenarios for certain events that take place; Kaien's reaction to Ukitake's sacrifice, what Sternritter I'd of had him fight. Things of that nature.

My intention for Black and Blue is to conclude the Winter War with Aizen's defeat and have the Zanpakutou Rebellion arc (anime only) function as a winddown with some rejigging to make it fit into BB's narrative. Then a 'Where are they now' epilogue some years or decades hence because after this hell, these guys have earned their happy endings.

Once More To See You Again I'm focusing on transforming it into a cohesive narrative with some liberties taken with worldbuilding. Rather than have Rukia be persecuted for creating a Shinigami Substitute when there's clearly provisions for one; she pleads guilty to interfering with the Cycle of Souls and reassociation with a reincarnated soul. In OMTSYA Rukia is trapped in a catch-22; Report the Shinigami substitute which reveals the reassociation and end in both their executions, or request a transfer, which leaves a substitute undocumented and unsupervised and end in both their executions. Dealing with that conundrum is going to be interesting. :)

(That, and I didn't like Kaien's aspects fighting each other during Ashewallen. Especially considering how Ichigo's aspects only ever desired to protect him.)

That will last until at LEAST the end of Soul Society. But I do have ideas for interactions with the Visoreds, other Arrancars and how Hueco Mundo would go down. Let's face it: Neo!Kaien vs Aaronerio!Kaien would be a delicious match-up and great character exploration.

Nepenthe was inspired by Cywscross' Swinging Pendulum (but really, what Bleach Time-travel story isn't these days?) - but I wanted to take all the usual time-travel clichés attached to Ichigo and play them completely straight. Rather than pretending, Ichigo does legitimately have amnesia. Rather than hiding his power, Ichigo was injured in such a way that he needs to regain his powers the old fashioned way. Effectively, I dumped him in the past with a clean slate and I look forward to seeing how he adapts to living with and as a Shiba.

But to answer your question: So, how long do you planned to write your works?

For as long as people keep reading and commenting on it, I suppose. :)

There's a criminal lack of Kaien content. I aim to rectify this.

[angry-geese]

Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he’ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.