#and it's too far out of our scope at the moment

[writteninkat]

Adoration's Abyss | Bakugou , Stalker Reader

synopsis: He was the untouchable star, and I was just another face in the crowd—until I wasn’t. What starts as admiration spirals into something far darker when love turns to obsession, and boundaries blur between devotion and delusion. You really are different from other girls… but at what cost?

w/c: idk i was hoping for 5k, i hope it reached

warnings: stalking

a/n: hey i wrote this while i was at the beach for five days. update on my life: been getting into poetry and essay writing again. finally had the balls to share my work with my friends and family lol

navigation

The moment I saw him, the world folded itself into something smaller, something manageable, as if the chaos of existence could be trimmed to fit within the orbit of his gaze. Katsuki Bakugou: a name that rippled through crowds like a thunderclap, his presence igniting every room he entered with the ferocity of a supernova. He wasn’t just an idol; he was a phenomenon, a living pyre burning too bright for ordinary mortals.

And yet, there I was. Just another face in the sea of adoration, clutching my ticket to the meet-and-greet like it was a lifeline to salvation.

“Hi, Katsuki! I loved you in—”

He cut me off, sharp as a blade but not unkind. “In Beyond the Blast?” His voice was rough, gravelly—a symphony of jagged edges.

I faltered. Did I seem too predictable? Too common? A sheep in the flock of screaming fans? My heart plummeted.

“Pouts are overrated,” I said, forcing a small smile, my voice softening into something calculatedly vulnerable. “I want to be different. Not just like…other girls. I loved you in the Eclipsed show, but also in Burning Hearts, Live Loud, Infrno's Edge...” I trailed off, naming a more obscure project, the kind only the most dedicated fans would know. I even threw in a few lines about a candid interview he once did, where he spoke about how sunsets reminded him of fleeting time.

His expression shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough. The ghost of amusement danced on his lips, and he said, “Maybe you really are different from other girls.”

Inside, I was roaring. Victorious. Outside, I laughed softly, demurely. “Maybe.”

I am so much worse.

When I left the meet-and-greet, I told myself it was enough. To stand in his presence, to hear his voice aimed in my direction—wasn’t that already more than most could hope for? But hope is a greedy thing. It feeds on itself, growing hungrier with every indulgence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His voice lingered in my ears like a song on repeat, the low rasp of it curling around my thoughts. I replayed our brief exchange in my head, editing and polishing it, imagining what I could’ve said to make him linger just a second longer.

And then, of course, I opened the scrapbook.

It started innocently, as these things always do. A collection of concert photos, magazine clippings, interviews. But now, as I flipped through the pages, it felt insufficient. Two-dimensional. Katsuki wasn’t just a face on a page. He was a force, raw and untamed, and these flattened images could never capture him.

I needed more.

When I heard about his upcoming promotional event, I didn’t hesitate. The tickets were sold out within seconds, but I had connections—or rather, I made them. A fan forum moderator owed me a favor, and I cashed it in without a second thought.

The event was in a sleek, glass-paneled venue that gleamed under the city lights. I arrived early, blending seamlessly into the crowd. I wore my best dress—not flashy, but memorable. Just enough to catch his eye again.

This time, I didn’t bother with the front row. No, I wanted to watch from a distance, to see the full scope of his energy. He moved onstage like a storm contained within the fragile frame of a man. His voice electrified the room, his words sparking laughter and applause.

But every now and then, his gaze flickered over the crowd, scanning faces. Did he remember me? Did his eyes pause, even for a fraction of a second, on mine?

I convinced myself they did.

It was after the event, during the afterparty, that things began to change. I wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, but slipping past security was easier than I thought. People underestimate how much you can achieve when you’re polite, invisible, and just persistent enough to not raise alarms.

He was there, naturally—leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. A few people approached him, but he brushed them off with a curt nod or a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And then, somehow, I was beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly, almost shyly. “I’m surprised you’re not the center of attention.”

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he might not remember. But then his expression shifted—a flicker of recognition, like a match striking against stone.

“You again,” he said.

From that moment on, it was as though I had been given permission. Not by him, of course, but by the universe. Surely this was fate, wasn’t it? To have crossed paths with him twice, in places swarming with thousands of people?

I began to learn things. Little things, at first—his preferred coffee shop, the route he took to the gym, the kind of music he played in his car when he thought no one was listening. These were harmless details, gathered with the precision of a collector adding rare gems to their trove.

But soon, harmless wasn’t enough.

The first time I followed him home, I told myself it was a mistake. I had been walking in the same direction, and it was pure coincidence that his apartment building loomed ahead of me. But then I did it again. And again.

His building was tall, sleek, and anonymous, but I found ways to breach its defenses. A delivery uniform, a borrowed ID badge—small deceptions that felt exhilarating in their simplicity.

I never crossed the final line. I never entered his apartment, though I knew exactly which door was his. Instead, I lingered in the shadows, content to imagine the life that unfolded within.

But imagination, like hope, is a hungry thing.

It’s funny, the way routine can warp into ritual. What began as occasional glimpses became a nightly pilgrimage. I knew his schedule better than my own. His habits—oh, how they fascinated me. The way he left his balcony door slightly ajar, as if inviting the wind—or something else. The flicker of his apartment light in the early hours, suggesting sleepless nights.

Once, I saw him standing there, silhouetted against the glow of his television, shirtless and utterly at ease. It felt intimate, watching him like that. Almost sacred.

He would never understand how much I admired him.

I started leaving small things behind. Harmless tokens—an autograph request slipped under his door, a pressed flower on his windowsill. Gifts that could be explained away if he ever noticed. They were never acknowledged, but that was fine. It wasn’t for him to notice. It was for me.

One night, he deviated from his routine. The precision of his life had always been a comfort to me—a series of movements I could predict and follow like a choreographed dance. But that night, he didn’t go home after his gym session.

Instead, he stopped at a convenience store, and I, foolishly emboldened by months of watching, followed him inside.

He was standing by the drink cooler, scanning the rows of energy drinks with a scowl. His hair was damp, his hoodie slung low over his face, and yet he was unmistakable.

I wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not yet.

But he turned, and suddenly we were face to face.

“Oh,” I said, startled into breaking the sacred silence between us. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

My heart thrummed like a caged bird. Did he recognize me from the meet-and-greet? From the afterparty? Did he know I’d been watching him all this time?

“I’m a fan,” I said quickly, keeping my voice light, casual. “We’ve met before, at your event. Twice, actually.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I thought I saw suspicion flicker across his face.

“Right,” he said finally, brushing past me with the kind of indifference that only he could make seem regal.

But as he left the store, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—something that wasn’t indifference at all.

After that encounter, I couldn’t stop imagining what he thought of me. Did I stand out to him? Did he wonder about me the way I wondered about him? The thought was intoxicating.

I found myself becoming bolder. My nightly visits turned into longer stays. I started leaving notes with no name, no context—just fragments of thoughts I thought he might find poetic.

“The stars envy your light.”

“Even storms pause to admire you.”

“You are the reason the sun rises.”

Each one felt like a confession. A prayer.

But then one night, the notes disappeared. When I crept back to his door the following evening, there was nothing waiting for me. No sign that he had read them, or even seen them.

Had he thrown them away? Or worse—had someone else taken them before he could?

The thought burned like acid.

The line between admiration and possession is thinner than most realize. I crossed it without even noticing.

I started taking photos—not of him directly, but of the spaces he occupied. His balcony, his car parked in the same spot every night, the shadow of his figure through the curtains. My phone became a shrine, each image a sacred offering.

But it wasn’t enough.

One night, when I was sure he wasn’t home, I found myself standing at his door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, testing it. Locked, of course. But locks are just puzzles waiting to be solved.

I didn’t go inside—not yet. But I stood there, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the hallway. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the abyss yawning beneath me, daring me to jump.

The day it all unraveled was unremarkable. A sunny afternoon, ordinary in every way—until I saw him again.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

She was tall, elegant, with a laugh that rang out like silver bells. She touched his arm as they walked, her presence so seamless beside him that it made my chest ache.

The world tilted, sharp and unforgiving.

How dare she? Didn’t she know? He wasn’t hers to touch, to smile at, to laugh with.

He was mine.

I followed them, of course. Through the crowded streets, past the bustling cafes and shops, until they arrived at a small restaurant. They sat by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.

I stood outside, watching, my reflection in the glass overlapping with theirs.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hate him. Not just her—him. For being so blind, so careless, so utterly indifferent to the devotion I had poured into him.

You’re supposed to be mine.

The thought felt foreign, even to me. But once it took root, it spread like wildfire.

That night, I found myself back at his apartment building. The familiar routine should have soothed me, but it didn’t. My heart was pounding, each beat a war drum, as I stared up at his window.

The light was on. He was home.

But I wasn’t standing there just to watch anymore. I wasn’t there to leave notes or flowers or to bask in the glow of his existence. No, this time, I had crossed the threshold.

I waited in the shadows until the lobby door opened. A tenant stepped out, their face buried in their phone, oblivious to my presence as I slipped inside. The elevator doors gleamed like a portal to another world.

His floor was silent. The kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with expectation. My footsteps were soft, my breath shallow, as I approached his door.

The lockpick trembled in my hand, but I’d practiced this moment a hundred times in my mind. The faint click was both satisfying and terrifying.

And then I was inside.

It was everything I had imagined and nothing like it at all.

The apartment was minimalist, almost sterile, with only a few personal touches—a jacket draped over a chair, an empty mug on the counter. The air smelled faintly of him, a mix of cologne and something darker, more primal.

I moved slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a holy place. My fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the sofa, the spine of a book on the coffee table.

And then I saw it.

A framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was him, of course, but not alone. She was there, too—the woman from the restaurant, her head tilted against his shoulder, her smile soft and radiant.

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the front door opening shattered the silence.

I froze, the photo still in my hand, as his voice echoed through the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m home,” he said, his tone clipped, probably on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

The click of the call ending was deafening.

And then he saw me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, anger, disbelief.

“What the—?” he started, but the words died in his throat as his eyes dropped to the photo in my hand.

“I just wanted to understand,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Why her? Why not me?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

I stepped closer, the photo still clutched against my chest like a shield. “I’m the one who’s been there for you. Watching, supporting, loving you when no one else understood.”

His face darkened, the anger in his eyes hardening into something sharper, colder. “You need to leave. Now.”

But I didn’t move.

“You don’t see it, do you?” I whispered. “How perfect we could be. How much I’ve given up for you. She doesn’t know you like I do. She’ll never understand you the way I do.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

But I wasn’t afraid—not of him, not of anything. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice steady now. “Not until you see me.”

The argument escalated quickly. His anger clashed with my desperation, the two of us locked in a battle neither could win. He tried to push past me, to call for help, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me.”

He wrenched free, his movements sharp and unforgiving. “You’re insane.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Insane.

After everything I’d done for him, everything I’d sacrificed, that was what he thought of me?

I don’t remember much after that. The emotions—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—all blurred together in a red haze. I remember the sound of something shattering, the photo frame hitting the floor. I remember his voice, shouting, but the words were lost in the chaos.

And then, silence.

When I came back to myself, I was standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving, my hands trembling. He was gone—whether he had fled or whether I had…

I couldn’t let myself think about it.

The apartment felt different now. The air was heavier, the shadows deeper. I looked down at the shattered photo frame, the glass shards glinting like tiny stars.

I picked up the photo, carefully tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Katsuki would understand eventually. He had to.

After all, no one loved him like I did.

The room is cold, sterile. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re somewhere you don’t belong. A single light hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the mirror on the far side reflects nothing but my own weary face.

Well, not just my face.

I know he’s there, standing on the other side. Watching me. Listening.

The officer across from me clears his throat, his expression caught somewhere between pity and disgust. “You’ve said enough. We’ve got everything we need.”

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “It’s not what you think.”

He sighs, flipping through the file in front of him. I catch glimpses of photos—my notes, my gifts, his shattered photo frame. Evidence, they’d called it. Proof of my “obsession.”

“Help me understand, then,” he says, leaning forward, his tone patronizing. “Because right now, it looks like you broke into Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment and—”

“I didn’t break in,” I interrupt, my voice rising just enough to startle him. “I let myself in. He left the door open for me. He knew I was coming.”

The officer’s brows knit together in disbelief. “And why would he do that?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph. “Because he needed to see me. To finally realize who I am.”

The officer shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before standing. “You’re delusional.”

The voices outside the interrogation room are muffled, but I can still hear fragments of their conversation.

“She’s nuts. Every detail she remembers—it’s like she’s been living his life alongside him.”

“Obsessed, more like. Did you see the journal we confiscated? She knows what time he brushes his teeth, for crying out loud.”

Someone else laughs nervously. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s freaked out. She’s on a whole other level.”

But then I hear his voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakable.

“She’s different.”

The laughter stops.

“What do you mean?” another officer asks cautiously.

There’s a pause, and I imagine him standing there, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face.

“I’ve had fans follow me before,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They scream, they cry, they cross boundaries. But this one… she’s worse.”

His voice drops lower, and I lean forward, straining to hear.

“She’s worse because she actually got under my skin.”

The officer returns to the room, his expression stony. “This is over. You’re being transferred soon.”

But I barely hear him. My eyes are on the mirror, on the faint outline of movement behind it. I know he’s still there. Watching. Listening.

“I’m not sorry,” I say, directing my words to him, not the officer. “I’d do it all again. For you.”

The officer exhales sharply, shaking his head as he gathers his papers. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He leaves, and for a moment, it’s just me and the silence.

And then the door opens again.

I feel him before I see him. The weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze—it’s unmistakable. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning into me like fire.

“You really are different,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp.

I smile, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’ve won something no one else ever could.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something that looks an awful lot like acknowledgment.

End.

a/n: another reminder to never stalk people. i didn't write this to romanticize stalking, however, this idea's been weighing in my head and i knew i needed to write it down somewhere. here is somewhere. k bye.

[allbeendonebefore]

okay i'm hitting the last post 90's year for research for the princess theatre (the archive ends after 2010) which i dont expect to take me much more than an hour max if that.... and then i have to return to the doc and decide what is missing and how to redirect it. I just do not have the knowledge that the original writer has about film and honestly i think it detracts somewhat from the history of the theatre/edmonton history and I will end up cutting a lot anyway, so I'm trying as much as possible to get examples and reactions of queer films shown there just to give people an idea that yes, actually, they were showing films about gays and lesbians in the 80s, and yes they were featuring films about drag in the 90s and films with trans main characters in 2005 etc etc rather than a treatise on new queer cinema globally because we just don't have the time for an essay within an essay, frankly.

even outside of films shown there were other events where the community either made films at the theatre or held vigils outside of it that are worth mentioning too and I just don't want that to get completely swamped in academic film studies level movements.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

12 / 1,147 words / for @141wh0re. happy birthday <3

nsfw, free use, rough sex, group sex ⬇

...

"Shut your bloody mouth before you broadcast our hiding place to every tango in a mile radius," Ghost snaps. He's got you bent over a crate, your nails digging into the old wood for purchase as his hips grind against yours.

"Then don't be so fucking rough," you snap, though it sounds breathy and thin even to your ears. You shift, feeling his hands squeeze your hips in irritation.

Ghost doesn't falter, but his eyes glitter at your backtalk. He claps his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you're making. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing you onto one leg as he pushes your knee onto the top of the crate. He pulls out and slams back into you, getting back to railing you hard and fast.

“We need you on your sniper, Ghost,” Soap hisses from his spot at the far window. He’s peering down the scope of his own rifle. This building is only two stories high and small enough that any one of you could cross the room in three strides. The body heat alone is getting to you. Not to mention the way Ghost is fucking you like it'll save this mission, his pants pushed down to mid-thigh just as yours are.

"Get back to work, then, Ghost," Price tells him from the nearest window, eye leaving the scope of his rifle for a moment to take you in. "I don't need you two distracting my team."

Ghost grinds into you, a frustrated snarl muffled under his mask. You feel the muscles in his hands flex as he bites back his anger. "Fuck," he mutters. "Alright. Let's finish this."

On the other side of the cramped room, Gaz and Soap kneel at the largest window. They keep their focus, sniping marks with ruthless precision. As they do, Ghost's hips snap into you faster and harder. His teammates are focused on their task; he's focused solely on his.

"You're so tight," he growls. His hand slips away from your mouth, falling to your neck. "I've been wanting you since we--"

"Stop talking," you snap, hyperaware of the implicit warning in Price’s voice and the way Soap and Gaz are shifting in position, getting restless. You’re not sure if they’ve had enough, if they’re jealous, if they’d sooner throw you out the window than entertain another moment of this. "Get it done."

Ghost doesn't bother to argue. He pins you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he fucks you, unceremonious and primal.

You bite your lip and try to stay quiet as Price's judgmental gaze falls over you again. Ghost flattens you even more against the crate and slams into you so hard and fast it creaks and squeaks against the floor. You cry out, writhing. His hips stutter, and then he's coming, slamming into you until you can't think. Your clit catches the rough edge of the crate. The sudden, sharp jolt is too much. An unexpected orgasm crashes over you, and you groan pathetically, clenching around Ghost.

Ghost curses. He slows down, still panting, and slowly pulls out of you. He runs a gloved hand down your back in a quick—but still noticeable—gesture of appreciation.

"Nice," Price mutters in approval. "Good work."

"She’s a good teammate, ain’t she," Ghost says. "Always wet."

You shiver, their words shooting straight to your core. You're sure you should be insulted, not flattered. But your body doesn’t seem to understand that.

Gaz nudges Soap and they glance over their shoulders at you.

“How long was that one?” Gaz asks Soap.

“I’m busy at the moment. You think I bloody timed it?” Soap snaps. 

Gaz looks amused. “Did you not?”

Soap swears under his breath, eye returning to his sniper scope. “Eleven minutes.”

Gaz scoffs. "Could do better."

“Alright, that’s enough,” Price says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Ghost, take up position.”

He disappears from behind you. You pull yourself together and get to work.

...

This mission went tits up right out of the gate. If not for your teammates’ ludicrous skill and focus under pressure, you’d be dead. No doubt. But they’ve been in far worse binds than simply being pinned down inside a rickety, moldy shack by endless enemy gunfire.

Soon enough, the chaos is over, and no more shots ring out.

“Clear,” Soap says.

“Proper job,” Price says. “Regroup.”

You’re patching up a graze on Gaz’s forearm when Price returns three minutes later, frowning.

“Bad news. No exfil for another forty-five minutes.”

“How bloody long does it take to—” Ghost cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere safer to wait it out.”

“After we regroup here, yeah?” Gaz says.

Ghost scoffs. “Why? You in the middle of something?”

“Oh, we’re about to be,” Soap retorts.

You’re hardly paying attention, fastening two butterfly bandages to Gaz’s laceration when Soap’s arm loops around your waist and drags you backward into his lap. He makes sure to drag your core over his thigh, knowing you’re still sensitive enough to feel it even through your pants. You grit your teeth, biting back a groan. He tugs the top half of your combat uniform apart and shoves his hand inside, groping your chest roughly. You gasp, grinding down on his lap unwittingly.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Soap’s breath is hot in your ear. “Real reliable.”

“We don’t have time for fun and games, Johnny,” Ghost says, sounding irritated.

“Easy for you to say. You had yours,” Gaz says. He slides closer to Soap, his eyes fixed on you.

Ghost throws a questioning look at Price. Price leans back on the crate you’d been bent over a few minutes ago. He shrugs, rolling around a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Not a bad place to sit tight. We’ve got a good view in all directions if more tangos approach. Relatively protected and exfil has a clear landing zone through those trees. We stay.”

“You heard him,” Gaz says.

“Arsewits, both of you,” Ghost mutters.

You’re staring at the cigarette in Price’s mouth, eyes half-lidded, when Gaz’s fingers take your chin and tilt your face toward him. “You don’t mind, love, do you?”

A frustrated growl rolls through Soap’s chest, but he pauses mid-squeeze to hear your answer too.

You stare at Gaz, then Ghost, then Price again. “Forty-five minutes?”

“We’ll make it work,” Soap says.

“I know.” You shift in his lap again. Your core is aching, your mind already clouded over with want. “Fine. If… if that’s what you need.”

Soap chuckles into your ear. “Away wi’ that. No pretendin’ you do this because it’s your job. You like it.”

“Fuck off,” you snap.

“Gettin’ to that.” Soap shifts you so he can get his pants and yours out of the way. He notices Gaz’s hand run down your neck enticingly, hears you sigh, and pushes Gaz’s hand away. “Wait your turn.”

Gaz scoffs. “You’ll hardly last long enough to wait on.”

“You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart.”

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[tainbocuailnge]

Another thing that's... kinda odd about the English translation is in the DRK quests, Myste says "A reckoning will not be postponed indefinitely", which is a big line in basically a secret route of the browser game Fallen London. and yeah, it is a cool line and neat to hear it in FF14... it also doesn't really work for Myste? In it's original context, it's about the remains of a dead demi-god-like being, which was cast into a well, seeking a reckoning and leading the player down a route which will irreversibly destroy their character in pursuit of dark secrets.

Which is not what the Myste sections of DRK were about at all, lol.

oh I could rant for hours about dark knight translations. that questline is actually why I first went to scope out the german script, because I heard drk wildly differs between english and japanese and that german generally stays closer to japanese than english does. I translated some of the fray parts here actually, though you'll note I'm a lot more forgiving of the english script in that one because i hadn't reached sidurgu's parts yet löl

german fray and myste are just completely different characters from english. german myste is upbeat and energetic. he loves people who help others and feels a strong urge to help them in turn. he spawned from the dark knight crystal in response to the loneliness of countless dark knights stored within it so he could console them and be their friend, he's basically the will of the soul crystal itself. he tries to alleviate that loneliness by facilitating reunions with lost loved ones but grows frustrated that this only leads to more partings, so he tries to expand his powers to maintain his illusions forever, because more than anything he just doesn't want to leave his dear friends the dark knights alone. he represents the childish wish at the core of every dark knight for a world where nobody has to lose anyone again.

in the part of the quests where you take myste to the sea of clouds there's this bit where in english he talks about his guilt complex and lets slip that this is also your guilt. in german he tells you that he was always with these people who fight hard for others, watching from the sides, until one day he heard a cry of loneliness and since then he's been trying his best to help people too. that's the moment that for me really hammered it in that these languages fundamentally disagree on what it even means to be a dark knight.

in english myste is desperate to atone for everything he's ever done and fray is your self preservation instinct who is kinda mad that you let it get this far, but they have to forgive him because you're all you have as you walk this lonely and bloody path that you have to believe is right. in german myste is your ideal, the desire to comfort those who have no-one else, crying that maybe it's better to forget altogether if partings can't be avoided and fray is your human heart who agrees that parting will always hurt but that is exactly where you find the strength to continue the fight, because it is worthwhile even if it never ends, and the path may be lonely but you will never walk it alone when there are people who came before you and who will come after you who all share this same dream of a kinder world. of course you won't have to leave us, you're our ideal, you're what we do it all for, as long as we remain dark knights you'll be with us. this all flows very naturally into drk-as-shadowbringers-class and ardbert's deal too but since I haven't reached shb in german yet I don't want to say anything extensive about it yet

i still think english drk was cooking with even your repressed feelings being repressed + the part of yourself that wants to protect itself obviously trying to protect itself and thus not wanting to show vulnerability so en fray postures as the stronger one who will protect you instead, and that fray writing in the journal (and only being able to be honest in a place where you're unlikely to look unless you don't know where to go) is incredibly clever. but in the context of how english treats sidurgu and just the way they handle the entire rest of the game really i also don't think that they were intentionally going for this kind of subtlety, it feels to me more like they just thought sincerity is cringe like usual and decided to make everyone cool and edgy (and thus needlessly mean to each other) instead.

and yeah english fucking loves to just yoink lines from other media whether it's appropriate or not. they turned zenos' final words to wol into a hamilton reference in english, "my first friend, my enemy" is a hamilton line, he doesn't ever call you his enemy in any other language (in german he calls you his hunter though which yes is incredibly horny of him). I'll admit I'm not in a good position to judge whatever epic references the german script makes because I'm unfamiliar with german language popular media so I won't spot them unless someone else points them out but I do know that when german fray quotes fight club it just enhances their characterisation as trying to sound cool and intimidating but failing because they're really kind of lame and awkward and can't hide how stoked they are to hang out with you.

[dreamties]

Polyam! Ghostface Comforting GN! Reader About Their SA

A/N- yeah. hiii. it's billy !! im back. again. plz read with caution- there is no mention of the assault itself (it is alluded to many times; there are no intimate details), still. you know yourself best. stay safe lovelies <33

I tried keeping the assaulters identity neutral- but let me know if i messed up and used he/him pronouns at all and i'll edit the post :3

Billy is unable to understand the full scope of your traumas, however, he understands that it runs deep, that if your anything like he is that you feel it in your bones and the ache of your body.

Trauma is so personal and crushing. He wants nothing more than to take that away from you, endlessly lift your spirits, he wants to make you feel whole again. Loves you too much to see you like this.

He can't do that. As much as he and Stu can do, they can't erase what has already happened. He will be there as much as he can, for whatever you need. He has always been devoted to his loves- it increases tenfold when you open up about your assault.

Stu automatically wants to kill the perpetrator, takes Billy aside to tell him all his gruesome thoughts- until Billy stops him. Tells him, roughly, to shut up. You don’t know what you're talking about, man. Our little love needs to make that choice on their own.

Billy talks about it with Stu beforehand obvi. Billy wants to wait for you to ask them about killing your assaulter, while Stu would go to you and ask straight up if you want to be the one to kill them (if you want them dead. He won't understand if you desire to keep them alive tee bee aich, but he'll honor your choice).

Stu just like. He doesn't get it. He doesn't handle it well at first. He's far too brash and laughing- well. Not laughing, he knows enough to realize that would have been a bad move. Though he seems to not know enough as he's all jokes still.

Both boys are so emotionally stunted- Stu has only had to comfort girlfriends before (which, he was admittedly not the best at. He stole apologies and one liners from movies) and the brief vulnerable moments that Billy allows himself to show. C'mon, give him a pass, okay? He's trying :(

Stu's comforts are all hugs and cuddles and gifts- depending how you react to those things, maybe he won't have to branch out too hard. Either way you'll need more than one source or level of comfort- Stu WILL learn new things for you, though.

He has a hard time if you don't want physical touch! He gets all whiny about it and it pisses you off, you have to give him a stern talking to that it's NOT about him and he has no right to act like that. Psssh whatever . . .

(he's really sorry though. He promises)

He buys you so many things, as if that will ever make what happened okay. He hopes you appreciate it though. He'll get all sorts of comfort items, food and stuffies and stuff that he KNOWS you love. He'll buy it in bulk if he has to lol

For learning things, it's hard on all of you, but he and Billy will try their darndest to be emotionally available (just for you, babe!!). Billy is good at listening, Stu needs to get better with it.

Billy just listens to what you have to say, and I think on really emotional nights he opens up about his own trauma. He opens his wounds so you know he genuinely cares and is committed to you. Regardless of anything and everything. Billy will make himself a permanent fixture in your life, always.

(again really not that Stu wouldn't but it's so different y'all)

ALSO NIGHTMARES OHMYGOD

If you have nightmares they'll stay up with you until you're ready to fall asleep (or at least try).

They make it an all-nighter and pretend they were always planning for movie night. If you want to watch something that's not horror? Yeah, that's okay!

Most of Stu's VHS collection is horror lol

Though he does have some buddy comedies and cheesy romcoms. He owns one or two mysteries cause Billy likes them.

Anyways !!! Have your pick darlin' <333 They won't judge or complain

Admittedly they aren't great with panic attacks. Billy gets anxious- what if he makes it WORSE? He'd hate himself for it. Stu is surprisingly good at grounding you though :D

All in all- it's an adjustment for everyone. They're gonna be there for you forever though, okay? Good luck getting rid of them <3

[zcinderone]

An ironically conspicuous yet never exploited(except by me as far as I can see) dot that connects everything which could be the ultimate layer of secret to unravel the true identity of Arei's murderer...

It's Levi and this is where the final piece of puzzle comes to make sense of itself: the Monotv recruiting Teruko do CAULKING scene!!!

This is such a detailed and prominant plot that so far made 0 sense as to its connection to the case. Monotv must have enlisted a helper to clean up the mess left in the gym. Since he can't even do caulking, it is 100% valid for the narrative that there are something in this mess he can't handle. This helper would have abundance of time to figure out the mechanism and took the tape. (whereas both Ace and Eden only had cursory glances at the scene also in a rather shocking and intense scenario to figure out how Nico's mystrious setup worked)

(Monotv specifically mentioning he needs help to do certain chores)

Apart from the 4 involved in Ace's case, the only one awake/available late at night was Levi(and we never know for what purpose the story writer specifically left only him awake and readily came out to check the commotion either). This connects everything.

Think about it rationally. It makes absolutely no sense for those involved in the previous case to make an imitation of their own. On paper, only 4 people knew what happened, and Nico ran off leaving the only necessary tool(tape) to replicate this. Should any of the 3 try to imitate a crime only they knew and able to replicate, they are basically yelling they're the only targets from the get-go (and isn't this what's happening right now?)which is beyond absurd. However, if a third party does exist, it changes everything, they would have everything to gain from pulling an imitation since the premise would exclude their possibility permanently.

Based on the aforementioned points, I will make a tentative prediction about one event we are likely gonna see in ep 15（or 16 depending on pacing）: A scrum debate will happen soon, concerning whether or not Ace&Eden really is the only option scope for imitation crime, for they will most certainly discuss the very reason why they imitate and promptly realized the absurdity thereof. The narrative would seem really off if they don't dabble on why, accepting imitation for the sake of imitation. Some will take the stance that such attempt would be illogical for a rational conspirator in the first place, others will insist on the lack of direct evidence of a third party.

(I just realized the dev could've intentionally let Ace kick the tape out of sight because they have much greater incentive to do so but it's very close to premiere so I won't elaborate since either way my theory itself is the same)I am basing this theory on the assumption that the tape went missing under the dialogue box cg is dev's mistake, because the tape on the ground scene always includes Ace on the ground and the moment he stood it changed which feels too abrupt and dev might just forgot to add that, and there is not a single scene that showed the tape missing without such blockade.

More importantly, there were some clues to back my assumption in the "i'm not fxxing dead!" scene. The tape is placed rather near in front of Ace, a little to our right. Yet, when he stood up he knocked Eden out to our left. It would seem shaky if we take this alone by face value as it could just be a dramatic effect, but what happened afterward is the camera itself clearly turned left to film Eden gradually standing, and turned right to focus on Ace and then turned further right to focus on Teruko, which clearly suggested the actual positioning is: Eden Ace (tape?) Teruko (tape ?) . Problem is, the tape still exitsted right before, and went missing right after Ace stood up under the Teruko "yeah i figured" dialogue box, few secs before Eden stood up, therefore her positioning would exclude her possibility of getting it. And Ace couldn't get it either since four eyes were, and the camera was mostly on him, even depicting him reaching his wound with two hands.

I think If the dev did had such meticulous intent for this hidden scene to be the key to locking the culprit, they would most likely be equally meticulous about either the tape's positioning or Ace's act to make unequivocal sense that one of them would have a clear window to obtain it, which in turn suggests they probably never had such intention to begin with.

Also, we got to consider factoring in complementary details like the starched clothes ball(Levi was the only one who mentioned being in the laundry room some time at night in ep10),Eden mentioning "someone's been following her" (I'm 100% sure this is what the dev planted to make sense of why a 3rd party could overhear Eden&Arturo&Arei event), Arei's missing glove(both Eden and Ace wears glove, Levi doesn't), enough strength to throw the rope near the ceiling(they emphasized early in one scene how high the ceiling is and eden is the smallest girl) Whit trying to make an argument about another motive Levi could have for killing Arei yet got cut off, and trying to redirect the crew's attention back to Levi's secret itself for some reason and got cut off again in ep13 11:22 12:44 (this i think is super super important and it seems only I was mentioning this). These solid details are all adding to the likelihood of Levi, and I really can't find as many other details to back Eden or Ace.

I also had a secondary theory back when ep13 dropped might worth mentioning: could the fish simply be symbolic? Sleep with the fish(godfather thingy)? Levi's background story suggests he is very likely involved in mafia conficts. J even asked him if he was "in" the mafia to which he prompt answered No. But very interestingly the dev specifically gives him a pondering "..." scene immediately after his respond to show he seemed to be thinking about the definition of his involement, then J pushed him to elaborate and he digressed.(starting from ep13 1:28) And Levi did have Italian surname.

I don't have that much confidence in this intepretation alone to begin with as I thought it is a bit old school. But since my major theory makes sense, this one doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

[curio-queries]

I agree, I think the main character was always meant to be their relationship. I think when they were planning the show that must have been a discussion, because it would be self-evident once they were traveling together, same as it came out so strongly when they were in BV3 and walking around together. Obviously the jeju episodes were hijacked so to speak (but imo mostly served to show us the incredibly intimate bond Jikook share), but yes, the main character is that, it is meant to show us them, as they are. They said this too in their first intro.

I also think it was a way for JM to make up to JK for his busy period, and spend quality time being free to travel together. They obviously say that to open the show, so it is not a reach. But, it is more than that, I think he truly does care about JK and his happiness. He also says that a few times in jeju and in Sapporo so far, as long as JK is happy, that is what mattered, and I am like that in my relationship. It truly shows how much they both care for each other.

I love that in episode 6, all they really do is check into their hotel, eat snacks, go to a 7/11, eat more, talk, go to bed. Then JM is there calling JK into the bathroom to take a selfie because 'they made memories here'. it is so sweet, because really all I think he is referring to is them being together, enjoying the normal/mundane things. Then they go on to do more of that, walking the snowy streets to go find food, coffee and ride a train. Things a lot of us will take for granted, often complain about probably. I know they had a lot of staff to protect them/look out for their wellbeing, but we have. to remember they are used to that, and so for them, it is just being out and about on a normal day, doing normal things, together.

Hi anon,

I'd definitely be interested to learn a little more about the scope of AYS and how it developed. I've still been thinking about the idea of the relationships as the main character and how that could have developed throughout the production. It's been a while since I've watched Bon Voyage but I don't think the same could be said there. BV is absolutely modeled after typical travel shows where the journey/destination becomes the chief focus.

I do think there was space for the Jeju eps to open the focus to all three members' relationships and I do believe it was mostly successful. It's one of the reasons why all of the pool segments didn't feel repetitive, there was a different mixture of members each time: taekook, jikook, vminkook. Even though they recreated some of the same bits in each subsequent scene, they weren't cut our of the edit because it didn't feel like repeat moments due to the changing dynamics and thus fulfilling the goal of exploring the differing relationships.

On a complete sidenote, while we're sharing lovely bursts of joy from ep 6, let me share mine about the memories moments as well. I have a family history of memory loss-related illnesses so I've always been hyperaware of my own shortcomings with my memory and made my peace with the likelihood that I will have my own journey on that path as well. There was a phrase I heard years ago that has given me a lot of comfort: our character has still been influenced by those we love even if we lose the memories associated with them.

This episode spending so much time talking about making memories in such a sweet way just reminds me how much Jimin and Jungkook want to have eachother influence their character. They have so many extraordinary events in their lives and while they may not remember the exact day-to-day detail, they have absolutely helped shape the other's character. I just think it's especially lovely.

[marlynnofmany]

Rematch

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

“Since it has been brought to my attention,” said Captain Sunlight, “And it will not STOP being brought to my attention—” She frowned at Blip. “—The last race involved an unfair head start, and I need to mediate the beginning of this one. You absolute children.”

I looked from Blip and Blop, who stood with their chins high and muscley arms folded, to Zhee who did the bug alien equivalent. His pincher arms weren’t pinching anything at the moment, and he’d angled his torso to raise his head above the rest of us. Neither he nor the Frillian twins looked ashamed.

Paint gave me a look of sympathy from where she and Mur waited by the smallest hoversled of the three. “Best of luck.” Their load of deliveries was a stack of lightweight boxes, easy for a short lizardperson and tentacle alien to handle.

I was paired up with Zhee for delivering a large and well-packaged sculpture, while the Frillians had a load of heavy machine parts. Everything had to be delivered to different areas of this space station.

And apparently Zhee’s head start in the last unofficial delivery race had been deemed cheating, so the twins wanted a rematch.

“I will remind everyone,” Captain Sunlight said as she put a scaly hand on the door controls, “To be more careful than fast. Anyone who causes problems of any sort — bumping into people, causing damage — will be the automatic loser. Do not make our ship look bad. Clear?”

We all agreed, with a range of enthusiasm. Captain Sunlight directed us into an arrangement outside of the ship that would let both of the big deliveries take off simultaneously. Paint and Mur gladly held back, admiring the spaceport while I took the position Zhee suggested and the twins likewise got ready. Luckily for everyone, the place wasn’t too crowded. Our route to the main concourse was clear of obstacles.

Zhee hissed a whisper: “Don’t slow me down.”

“I’ll do my best,” I told him. “I can ride on the sled if I need to.” We both knew he was a faster runner than me. I’d already scoped out the best place to hop on and still be able to reach the hand brake.

“Ready!” said Captain Sunlight. “Smell! Go!”

We took off, with me trying not to be distracted by Heatseeker phrasing while Blip and Blop whooped happily and Zhee left a string of determined hissing behind us. The only pedestrian nearby, a green Mesmer taller than Zhee, saw us coming and stepped well out of the way.

“Thank you!” I called as we passed, leaving the spaceport for the main concourse. I didn’t hear an answer.

There were more people out here, walking and otherwise moving under their own power as well as using various hover-things. Blip and Blop peeled off to the right with taunts about how they would get back first; they were the best; etcetera. Our destination was to the left. At the sharp turn, I was glad the statue was strapped down tight.

The concourse was wide and well-lit, with plenty of space for us to dash down the middle while more casual station-goers strolled along the sides. Lots of Mesmers, lots of stores and restaurants, lots of running still to do.

When Zhee’s speed started to make the sled slide past me, I sprinted for a few steps, then leapt onto the sled, grabbing the straps. It bounced a little, but didn’t skid. Whew. Zhee didn’t comment either, which was a bonus.

Soon enough, I hopped off again to help steer around a corner, then alternated between running and riding. We were making pretty good time as far as I could tell. Nobody had yelled at us to slow down. I wondered how Blip and Blop were doing.

Then all thoughts were panic as the gravity cut out. My urgent footfalls against the floor launched me upward, and I clutched a strap for dear life. The sled was rising too, and Zhee was hissing wildly, and oh this was the worst place for it to happen. We’d just run onto an overpass.

The long drop below was far too close; we were drifting over the railing. But Zhee caught the railing with his long bug legs, pinchers holding tight to the sled and leaving deep grooves. I held in a scream and scrambled to the front where the controls were. Between the two of us, we steered back over safe ground. With no idea what the gravity would do next, I kept a hand on the height control for the hover engine.

It was good that I did. Scant heartbeats later, the gravity snapped back on. I settled the hoversled back down without crashing into the floor or crushing Zhee. The sculpture was still in place. I hadn’t peed myself. Success all around.

“Are you okay?” I asked as we skidded to a stop and I relearned how to breathe.

“Yess,” Zhee hissed. He was breathing hard too, but it looked weird since what passed for his nostrils were in his torso. Shouts filtered in from all directions. “Let’s proceed.”

“Carefully,” I said. “How about I stay right here?” I knelt next to the controls. There was just enough space.

“Agreed,” said Zhee. “That kind of hiccup could happen again.”

It did, though smaller this time. Just enough for us to catch a little air, in a narrow corridor this time. Another soft landing. We’d almost hit the ceiling that time though, and I didn’t like the idea of testing the sculpture’s packaging that way.

Moving at a reasonable speed, we passed a number of people (mostly Mesmers) who were having their own adventures with the gravity. Lots of scattered belongings and a couple minor injuries. I was selfishly glad that we wouldn’t be staying long. And that our ship had its own gravity generators.

New problem. “Stop,” I told Zhee when I caught sight of the roadblock up ahead. Lots of fallen metal crates — cages? Oh no. Open cages.

“What?” Zhee asked, then he saw it too. We slid to a stop. Nothing moved ahead of us: no people, and no sign of what the crates had been holding. Was it too much to hope that they’d been empty before they broke open like that? Every single door was popped open. Shoddy design, not able to stand up to a little gravity shakeup.

I gauged the size of the cages. “We’ll have to move those to get past. They’re too big to hover over.”

Zhee rattled his mandibles in a way that sounded annoyed. “Whoever owns these should be out here cleaning up their mess.”

“Maybe they’re busy catching whatever escaped,” I said.

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could almost feel the stern look he gave me. “This is not the time to offer your services as animal handler. We’re on a schedule.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I said. “I just hope they’re not dangerous.”

“If they are, hopefully they’re off being dangerous somewhere else. We’re almost at our destination.”

We really were; I’d almost lost track. The map had said the high-end collectibles dealership was right around the corner.

Still no one in sight. I climbed down. “Let’s move these to the side.”

We parked the hoversled and set to hauling the cages. They weren’t too heavy, and didn’t look like the kind of thing that dangerous animals would be kept in. But I knew better than most people that not everyone who shipped fauna around in cages did it the smart way. Several memories of animal cargos causing trouble on our own ship flitted through my head as I worked.

“Hm,” Zhee said. “These are destined for the same dealership as our sculpture here. I hope there’s someone free to sign for it, not off chasing creatures.”

I found him glaring at a logo that I hadn’t recognized. “Want me to go check? Or would it be faster stay and move more crates?”

“Go ahead and scamper over there,” Zhee said with a dismissive wave of a pincher arm. “I’ll clear a path.” He hauled another cage to the side.

The corner was close, and would give me a clear view of the dealership’s entrance. I dodged between cages and took a look.

I immediately regretted it.

Spiders the size of large dogs filled the corridor, clustered around something that I thought for a horrifying moment was a fallen person, but no: bag of food. Which was ripped and scattered everywhere, torn into by the eager creatures like lions on a zebra.

I froze in place long enough for Zhee to pester me for an update. “Well? Anyone there?”

“Anyone, no,” I said in a voice that was mostly level. “Anything, unfortunately yes.”

Zhee scraped another cage across the floor. “Details, please.”

The nearest spider looked toward me at the sound, then went back to the food.

“The escaped animals are over there, eating food that was probably meant for them.” I looked up. “They’re blocking the door.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“I don’t know,” I had to admit. “I’m unfamiliar with this exact species, but they look an awful lot like an Earth animal, just terrifyingly large. And some of those can kill a person with a single bite.”

“Great.” Zhee rested his pinchers on another cage without moving it. “Are our clients hiding inside, then, and this delivery was for nothing?”

“Maybe.” That door was definitely shut tight. It was a back entrance though, not the main one with big display windows, so it was possible that whoever was inside didn’t know about the escape yet. “We might want to call security.”

“So they can call in a professional animal handler?” Zhee asked with some sarcasm, picking his way through the remaining cages.

I frowned at him. “So they can come in with body armor and whatever sedatives these things need to get them back in the cages. Assuming the doors still shut all the way.”

“The cages are fine, just cheap,” Zhee said, shutting one with a leg as he passed. “What kind of creatures are we talking about? Will they attack if we try to sneak past?”

“I couldn’t say,” I admitted. “The ones on my planet are definite predators, but I’m no expert on the behavior of anything this large.” I moved over so he could see, taking one more look at the nightmare fuel crawling all over the hallway.

Zhee looked. He was silent for a moment, then he rotated his head in that creepy buglike way to stare at me with the full force of his compound eyes. “Those are cleaners.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Cleaners,” he repeated. “For cleaning up pest infestations, spilled food, and fungal growths?”

“What?” I asked. “Those are the cleaners you guys use? I thought they were robots!”

“Why would we use robots to clean when there are animals happy to do it for us?”

“We do!” I exclaimed. “You’ve seen the Roomba fleets! You didn’t want me to get one for our ship!”

“That’s because you’d tape a knife to it.”

“I would not.”

“Unconvinced,” he said. “And anyway, you have a small predator for catching pests on the ship, which is entirely reasonable.”

I squinted at him. “Didn’t you think a cat was a waste of resources?”

He waved a pincher arm. “Only if you wanted the animal purely for sensory reasons. Humans have a strange obsession with soft fur.”

“Spoken like someone with an exoskeleton,” I said with a shake of my head. “Okay. So these things are safe to walk past? No deadly venom, not going to bite me, who does NOT have an exoskeleton?”

“Of course not. Look.” He stepped around the last of the cages and walked out into the swarm of giant spiders. I watched from my safe spot. Sure enough, they moved out of his way with all the docility of a flock of recently-fed chickens. He came back.

I stayed where I was. “And you’re sure they won’t react differently to another species?”

Zhee tilted his antennae in a way that suggested he was laughing at me. “You can ride on the hoversled if that will make you feel better.”

“Well,” I said. “Someone’s got to be at the controls in case of gravity hiccups. Speaking of which, I should get back over there now.”

Zhee was definitely laughing at me, but he didn’t argue as I picked my way through the remaining cages and took a seat stubbornly on the platform that floated safely above the floor. Zhee moved the other cages. Then he pushed and I steered, and the immensely creepy giant spiders paid us no mind.

Zhee rapped on the door with a folded pincher arm. “Delivery!” he annouced. “Also, your cleaners got out!”

A harried-looking Mesmer appeared at the door, a darker shade of green from the other one and very exasperated at the sight in the hallway. He immediately called for someone else to come deal with the mess out there, never mind the mess indoors.

I stayed on the hoversled. I handed Zhee the payment tablet from its storage pocket, he got the guy to sign for the delivery, and more underlings were summoned to deal with the statue.

I finally got down at that point, helping Zhee undo the straps and use the hoversled’s gravity platform to move the heavy sculpture to the floor. Much to my relief, the station’s gravity behaved itself while we did so.

And most of the spiders had been rounded up by then. That helped too.

The clients maneuvered the sculpture through the door on their own little hoverpad, just barely clearing the top. It was still wrapped, so I had no idea what it was a sculpture of. Could have been spiders. I hoped not.

Zhee shoved the payment tablet back into its slot. “You might as well ride on the way back too.”

I opened my mouth to say the floor was clear of creepy things now, but I realized he was probably talking about the gravity. Or possibly my running speed. Oh yeah, we were still in a race. “Sure,” I said.

So I sat cross-legged on the empty cart, diligently minding the controls while Zhee pushed it past where the spiders huddled in their cages, some still crunching stolen kibble. Mesmers moved one cage at a time through the door.

Where the cages had fallen, scrapes lined the walkway. Zhee picked up speed as we passed, and I got a good grip on the nearest strap tie. I may have held it a little white-knuckledly as we crossed the bridge.

There were more pedestrians out and about now, dealing with fallout from the space equivalent of a minor earthquake. Luckily for all of us, there wasn’t a repeat. We made good time once we got to the main concourse, nearly flying when we reached the spaceport.

But despite Zhee’s fleet feet and my careful leaning around corners, Blip and Blop were waiting when we arrived. They had even sprawled out to lounge on the cargo ramp with canned drinks and a bag of shrimp sticks they were passing back and forth. Their grins were wide.

“Hey, what kept you?” asked Blip, raising her drink.

“Didn’t have trouble with the gravity flux, did you?” Blop added.

Zhee scowled as we came to a stop. “The pathway was blocked by broken cages and escaped animals.”

“Really!” Blip said, sitting up. “Good thing you had the animal expert with you.”

“Yes, good thing,” Zhee agreed, giving me a look.

I finally got down from the hoversled. “You will be happy to know,” I announced, “That I was not tempted to keep one as a pet.”

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Thoughts on the "Kris and Ralsei wielding a sword together" concept art

I know I am like two years late to this party but guys I only learned of this like a month ago let me react to the content ok

This art is fascinating to me, for a couple of reasons.

Long post below the read more!

Firstly, it speaks to the strange connection that Kris and Ralsei seem to share. Between the theories that Ralsei is Kris's old headband, his resemblance to a Dreemurr, and the enormous pedestal he places Kris upon, this is another thread that links these two in an intrinsic way, and suggests they will both have something important to contribute to the story as a whole.

Secondly, what it says about their relationship at the point this might happen. Their equal wielding of the sword seems indicative of an equality between them, which is striking due to the fact that in the lore Ralsei provides, Darkners exist only to serve Lightners, and Ralsei's entire character so far seems bent towards serving his friends any way he can. So the fact that both him and Kris get equal billing here suggests there will come a point in the story where he comes to view himself as equal, rather than subservient, to his friends, and particularly to Kris who he venerates above all others.

Thirdly, what this says about the nature of balance between light and dark. Somewhat related to the above, we can think of Kris and Ralsei as stand-ins for the concepts of Light and Darkness respectively. Typically these concepts are framed in a master-servant dynamic, with dark(ners) serving the light(ners) - or otherwise in an adversarial manner, particularly with the Roaring and the mention of "shadows subsuming the light". But here, there is true equality, and true balance between the two forces. This suggest that light and dark have united to combat a foe that far eclipses the scope and threat of either, whether that is the Roaring, the Angel's Heaven, or something else entirely.

Fourthly, the fact that this is not a happy occasion. Both of their faces are solemn (although Ralsei does look like he's pulling the o_O face a little here) - there are no smiles, this is not a moment of triumph. Something really important is going down, and both of them are ready to do whatever needs to be done here.

Fifthly, the implications for Ralsei's character and the philosophy of Deltarune. Kris wields a sword in combat, but they only use it to FIGHT. We know that the sword can change shape to become a shield, which would fit Ralsei's more pacifistic nature better - however, here he seems ready to FIGHT. Perhaps because he has run out of other options, or because their foe is so great, so powerful, that there is no way to parlay with them as equals.

And sixthly, and most importantly, the direction they are facing, and the object of their focus. Rather than facing rightwards as in a typical enemy encounter, or away from the screen where a larger threat would typically emerge (think GIGA Queen or perhaps even the Dark Fountains), they are facing towards the camera. Further, look at their gaze, how they are staring directly at the screen. Directly towards us, the players.

And so, unless I have failed to consider something, or there's some hidden element we're not currently aware of, I believe this is depicting the moment where Ralsei and Kris have decided to take up arms against the destiny that binds them, to fight against the very concept of control that a player typically exerts over a game's characters. We are too powerful, too alien, to negotiate with - no ACT will satiate our desire to continue playing Deltarune, to push these puppets forwards to see what happens at the very end. And so, these two have no other option but to try and FIGHT us, to overthrow our control and oversight by force.

This is the point, I feel, where Deltarune stops being a game, and we will have a choice to make - to let them win, and assert control over their own destinies once-and-for-all, or to FIGHT back, cement our power over these characters and make them dance to our tune to the story's bitter conclusion.

A bit of a stretch, perhaps, deriving all of that for a crudely-drawn piece of concept art. But those are just my thoughts. I'd be curious to see what conclusions anyone else has drawn from this curious piece of art!

[melanieph321]

Hola linda, cómo estás? Me está encantando el reto de los 10 días jajaja. podrías agregar algo obsceno de Dusan Vlahovic? ❤️❤️

Sí, claro ❤️

10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 6)

Dusan Vlahovic x Reader - Take A Chance

+18

Summary - Dusan asks Reader to go out with him. But you turn him down not once but twice.

Enjoy! 🙈

"Why are we here again?"

"Because we're single and need boyfriends."

"I'm not single?"

"And I don't need a boyfriend."

"Please guys, we've been over this."

A night out with your friends always began with the same old bickering of which bar you should go to and what people to talk to at the selcted bar.

It was getting old.

Not to mention, super annoying.

Especially since you've sworn to cut out brainless men from your life. Of course, this didn't leave you much to choose from. Nevertheless, no more men, and no more lazy hookups. Too bad your best friend India thought otherwise.

"Women should at least be getting laid three times a week, single or not." She stated, the three of you scoping out for the hotties upon your entrance to a buzzing location.

"So we're here to get laid? Why didn't you just say so?" Hailey frowned. However, by saying we, she really didn't mean herself. As of last month, Hailey was in a happy relationship with a guy named Frank. You liked Frank, who knew how to make a great cup of coffee.

"Because Hailey, that's what guys say, not girls." India emphasized, resulting in the three of you laughing your way over to the bar.

It was a fancy new place, opened not too long ago. You had actually been asked to come here before. However, the person who asked you out was a complete asshole, resulting in you declining his offer more than once.

"Y/N, is that you?"

Speaking of the devil.

"Well, well, well, guess you've changed your mind about me?" Dusan smirked.

He was one of those guys who always found a reason to mention their net worth sporadically in the middle of a conversation. Same for the price of his latest investments. Like a watch or a brand new Jeep.

Dusan Vlahovic was a wanna be Wolf of Wall Street kind of guy. Except, Dusan played professional football for a living, which might count as an explanation for his out of touch for a woman's desire, considering that he often had hundreds of them throwing themselves at him during a night out like this.

Everyone but you, of course.

"You must have smelled my new perfume." He chuckled cheaply. "It's the new Dior fragrance. I'm actually their newest brand ambassador."

"Cool." Your friends expressed. They were clearly taken aback by Dusan's God complex. The way he stood tall and erect, like a rooster in the morning. He had slick back hair, with a few wild hairstrands irritating his eyes.

Overall, he was gorgeous. Your type, even. However, his personality was honestly so arrogant that it had become unbearable to reject him as many times as you had. Unfortunately, he was always given a new chance to ask you out, considering that the two of you lived in the same apartment building not too far away from this very bar.

"You girls should come over to our table." He suggested. "My friends and I are happy to put your drinks on our tab."

India and Hailey shared a smug look. You, on the other hand, let your eyes roll into the back of your sockets. Dusan caught your moment of dread, winking his eye at you before leading you and your friends to his table.

The three of you were quickly introduced to Dusan's mates, four guys, a copy paste when it came to their swayed shoes and unbuttoned shirts. They also wore watches, shiny bedazzled watches that most likely told the time. But how would one know with all that bling blinding the eye at every glance.

"So...." Dusan said as he slid into the seat next to yours, resting his arm on the back of your chair. "Does this count as our first date?"

You snorted. "Keep dreaming."

His eyebrows rose with interest, your habit of rejection another game for him to play. After a few drinks shared between you, Dusan took it upon himself to tugg your chair towards him, for the two of you to sit closer together.

"Just looking after you, baby. We wouldn't want you to get too tipsy and fall off your chair, now would we?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"You're such an asshole." You said, but noted the slurring of your words. Perhaps you did have too much to drink? That's what you get for trying to keep up with India, an avid drinker since your university days.

"Guys, I've got to go. I'm sorry."

"Hailey, no!"

You and India jumped out of your seats to persuade your friend to stay. However. Hailey's night was over. She had a warm bed and a boyfriend waiting for her at home. You longed to return home yourself. To wash away your sins and tuck yourself into your very own cozy bed. However, you couldn't leave India, who unfortunately took an interest in one of Dusan's friends. The two of them were bound to go home together. You just had to stay until they did. In the meantime, you had Dusan, persistently mumbling temptations in your ear.

"I'll take you to Paris someday."

"Oh, yeah, and what would the two of us do in Paris, France?"

"The usual." He shrugged. But then a dangerous smile widened his lips. "But once we are done being tourists, I'd take you back to our hotel room, five stars, of course...." You rolled your eyes. "There I'd have my way with you in the elevator, making you scream my name before we even arrived at our room."

"The elevator, you say?"

"Yes, the elevator." He purred, his voice deep in your ear, his lips close enough to carress the pulse beating in your throat. "I'd have my fingers so deep in your pussy that if I wanted to I could make you a squirter, even if you told me that you aren't one."

"I—." Out of all the tasteless endearments Dusan could have whispered in your ear, this one definitely took the prize. But at the same time, your legs crossed under the table, smothering the flaring heat between your legs.

It must be the alcohol you convinced yourself. Yes. Your terrible ability to consume alcohol without stumbling after two shots was really deceiving your mind tonight. How else would you explain the fact that you let Dusan take you home while India and Dusan's friend disappeared in an Uber together at the end of the night?

The alcohol worsened your judgment of Dusan, convincing you that he wouldn't take advantage of the situation.

"Fuck, I think I'm going to throw up."

"You are? Fuck, my apartment is closer than yours."

He really played his cards well, convincing you to step out of the elevator two floors below yours. However, you were grateful to reach a bathroom in time for you to empty your guts. Too bad your top got ruined in the process.

"Here, let's get you out of this."

You even let the asshole undress you, watching him throw your vomit stained clothes into his washing machine. You then waited patiently for him to return to the bathroom with a clean shirt for you to wear to bed.

His bed.

"Why are you even doing this?" You asked, watching Dusan as he tucked you in.

"What? Help you?" He frowned.

"Yes, and flirt with me so desperately even though you can get any ine of those girls in the bar we just left."

Dusan hid his smile while he fluffed the pillow beside your head. He then maid you raise yourself to sit so he could tuck it comfortably behind your back. "There." He said, complecant, leaving his hands to rest on each side of your head.

You were close.

Too close for comfort considering the smell of vomit on your breath. Who would want to kiss you now? Certainly not Dusan.

Yes. It was indeed embarrassing to admit that a microscopic part of you wanted Dusan's lips against yours. Maybe the alcohol enhanced your attraction for him. However, your stomach was already fluttering as the two of you sat close together in the bar, Dusan's deep and rich voice whispering in your ear.

"God, Y/N." He scoffed.

"What?" You perked up, afraid that he didn't like what he saw as his eyes were upon you, studying you like a puzzle.

Dusan shook his head, a sly smile on his lips. "You really believe that I left the bar without the girl that I wanted."

"Well, didn't you?"

"No Y/N. You're the girl that I want."

"I am?"

"Yes." He chuckled, raising his hand to pinch your cheek. "I've been dying to have you for months. Ever since we first road the elevator together. All I've wanted is for you to take a chance on me, but every time you've turned me down."

"I'm sorry." You squealed. "I really don't know...." That was a lie. You were done with brainless men. You said so yourself. Dusan, however, perhaps wasn't one of them.

Who are you kidding? Of course he was. He looked eager to kiss you despite the vomit on your breath.

"Dusan?"

"Yes?" He watched you lick your lips, the swipe of your tongue making his dick twitch below his pants.

"I want you to..." You were shy to say the words.

"Yeah?"

You perked up, adjusting the way you sat in his bed. "I really want you to...."

"Y/N, if you don't tell me what you want from me, I might go crazy." He laughed.

You emphasized the words, making sure not to slur on any of them. "Dusan, I want you to make me squirt. Please make me a squirter—."

You barely finished the words. The last thing you saw was Dusan's eyes widening before his head ducked under the covers.

"Dusan." You squealed, his lips tracing softly down your legs, causing you to throw your head back with laughter. "Please baby, not so fast."

"Baby?" Dusan's hair was tousled as his head popped out from under the covers, a boyish grin occupying his face. "You called me baby."

"I did." You smiled.

"I like that. Keep calling me that."

Another fit of laughter escaped your mouth as Dusan's head returned under the covers. His pursuit to make you a squirter started off with a couple of soft kisses to your thighs. He then moved on to reveal the soft hair covering your pussy, parting the small strands with his tounge. He did so until his tounge knocked against the bud of your clit, making you moan his name as your head flattened against the pillow, digging you deeper into a sea of utter excitement.

"Dusan."

"Fuck Y/N, you're so wet already." He started teasing you with his fingers, driving you closer to the eruption of your soul.

"Please, don't stop." You pleaded, spreading your legs with width for Dusan's fingers to sink deeper into you. He came up to kiss you, his fingers remaining inside, pumping in and out of you like a well-oiled machine.

"Dusan, please. I'm not clean." You turned your face away from his lips. However, Dusan kept returning for more, threatening to pull his fingers out of you.

"No, please. Don't." You begged, pathetically so.

"Then let me kiss you." He laughed. But didn't kid when it came to wanting your lips against his own. He was good at it too, finding a rhythm in the way that his fingers moved inside of your pussy to match the way his tounge moved inside of your mouth.

That must have been it. A combination of Dusan's fingers and mouth, a rhythmic machine that sent unbearable vibrations down your spine. Vibrations that turned into a violent twich of your pussy walls clenching around his fingers that kept penetrating your reaching edge.

"Dusan, please. I'm gonna...."

"Yes, baby. You're almost there."

"I'm gonna...."

"Yes, sweetheart. Hold on to that feeling for me."

You arched your back with the ripping sensation. A violent feeling of pleasure and pain bottled up into a narrow pipe of anticipation.

"There you go. Good girl."

A loud whimper left your mouth when you exhaled, the orgasm leaving you like a fever dream. Dusan tugged his fingers out of your pussy, holding up his drenched hand to show off the results.

"Congratulations, you're a squirter."

Your hands covered your face, embarrassed yet, happily satisfied.

DON'T MISS - 10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 1)

(DAY 2)

(DAY 3)

(DAY 4)

(DAY 5)

[inchidentally]

was originally writing this as tags on this photoset of Carlos but god no I need to write it out properly bc god knows carcar carloscar fans need more in our tags <3<3

also part blame falls on @wisteriagoesvroom as a carloscar enabler in chief !!!

AU where Carlos is already with Ferrari when Oscar was with Prema and they cross paths in Italy at the same facility while both filming media…

the Prema boys can't resist sneaking over to the next room to watch the big boys at Ferrari - maybe get an autograph or a picture! and Oscar has to suddenly grip his hoodie in front of himself when he sees Carlos looking like THAT. and then Carlos spots the pretty pink thing with the sweet mouth huddled with his friends, and the devastating fucker actually winks at Oscar. Robert and Logan look like their eyes are about to fall out of their heads and Fred is suppressing spasms of laughter but all of them freeze when Carlos saunters over to them, still wearing that second-skin hi vis top that clings all the way down to the grooves of his groin.

and maybe Carlos casually introduces himself to them and poses for selfies. but as the boys are scolded back to their own room for filming, maybe Carlos wraps a big tanned hand around Oscar's wrist and ohhhh my Carlos' fingers overlap so deep around the fine bones. his voice casually offers to take Oscar for dinner that night bc he's heard a lot about this impressive kid and he always likes to scope out the guys he'll be racing against one day. but his eyes are saying that he'd like to get to know the intimate skin of Oscar's thighs where they meet his ass.

Carlos goes so far as to meet Oscar at the shared accommodation and with a huge effort Oscar keeps the other boys from going all googly eyed out the window. Carlos is dressed in just a linen button down and dark trousers and it makes Oscar self-conscious about having borrowed a blazer from one of the race engineers to wear over his only pair of nice pants and a white collared shirt he's had since school. Carlos' Ferrari is as cool as he is and Oscar feels at ease finally in gushing about it all the way to the restaurant. Carlos seems to maybe be laughing a little bit at him but Oscar doesn't mind. and when Carlos says maybe he'll have something just as nice one day soon, Oscar lifts his chin and returns that 'maybe he'll have something even nicer'. it's clearly the right thing to say because Carlos tips his head back and actually cackles. he says "I knew I was going to like you, guapito" and slaps a huge hairy hand over Oscar's upper thigh.

Oscar had expected to be taken to a nice, cozy trattoria or some obnoxiously exclusive spot with celebrities "off duty" that Carlos would probably ignore. he wasn't expecting a small table in the intimate outdoor garden terrace of a restaurant that doesn't even have a sign out front. there's a heavenly breeze that didn't seem to exist outside the magic of the six tables placed comfortably apart from each other. the entire space is sinking into a pinky-orange dusk with only lanterns and candlelight illuminating everyone's faces.

Carlos is actually even funnier than he seems in the videos Oscar's been watching since he was probably too young to have a crush on someone Carlos' age. he's also crazy smart and can keep pace with Oscar in discussions about aerodynamics and the stuff that he knows a lot of other drivers don't want to be bothered about. he's also intimidatingly cultured and well-traveled and yes, unavoidably part of exceptionally elite society. there are strong divergences in their experiences both in and outside of racing but Oscar tilts his chin up with pride and refuses to feel embarrassed about chasing sponsorship money. he can see Carlos assessing him in those moments and his smile looks warm, not condescending.

two other things Oscar discovers about Carlos: he has no understanding of personal space, and he's got an iron constitution when it comes to potent wine. Oscar had tried to keep up so that he didn't seem like a total baby but still had to alternate his sips with water. Carlos had chuckled and stroked the hot open flat of his hand over each of Oscar's red cheeks, mumbling something in Italian to the waiter and they both grinned at Oscar knowingly.

the delicious food and heavy scent of earth carrying over from the countryside make Oscar feel sleepy and slightly dreamy as night settles around them. at some point, their chairs had scooted closer together and Oscar leaned more and more into Carlos' casual touch. Carlos' eyes are fully black in the dim light and the flame of the candle on their table is the only light reflected in them. his hand had gripped the back of Oscar's neck jokingly but he'd kept it there, massaging slightly. Oscar had hummed and then the fingers slipped up to cup the base of Oscar's skull, rubbing circles over the soft, closely cropped hairs.

Oscar can't even blame the wine he'd given up trying to enjoy an hour ago when he steadies himself with a hand on Carlos' thigh and pushes a closed-mouth kiss against Carlos' lips. he can't stop the whine when Carlos pulls away after a moment, leaning back in to whisper "not here" into his ear.

and maybe Carlos hastily pays up and guides Oscar with a big warm hand curled around where Oscar's waist dips narrow and lean. and maybe Carlos turns the car in the opposite direction of Oscar's accommodation, throwing a questioning look at him, to which Oscar replies by sinking lower into his seat and cupping himself lazily where he's been thickening up for the better part of an hour. Carlos swears heavily under his breath and speeds up to get to his apartment.

and Carlos crowds Oscar inside, carefully not putting his hands anywhere untoward as they climb the public stairs but never taking them off of him either. Carlos is on him the second he turns the lock on the door, pryng Oscar's mouth open with the kinds of kisses Oscar remembers seeing on his mom's favorite shows but that he didn't think existed in real life. how could anyone feel confident in taking someone else's mouth like that?

Carlos may not be much taller but he's broad and strong and muscles Oscar to the bedroom with ease. Oscar probably gets a surge of panic over wanting to make sure he gets at least one fantasy lived out in case Carlos doesn't like his body or changes his mind or gets a call from some supermodel who wants to come over and he boots Oscar out.

so he pulls away and actually begs to be allowed to blow Carlos, not even caring that his voice broke on the 'ple-ase'. and that's how Carlos ends up hastily throwing an accent pillow down on the floor for Oscar to kneel on while Carlos leans back on his arms on the bed with one hand curled in Oscar's hair, urging him on. it's seeing Oscar's arm moving furtively out of sight and realizing that Oscar's getting off just from energetically but inexpertly blowing him that gets Carlos to climax. he apologizes because he hadn't even warned him, but the sight of Oscar shuddering through his own orgasm and moaning with his open mouth overfilling with Carlos is honestly worth the rudeness.

reasoning that someone Oscar's age has practically no refractory period, Carlos hauls him up onto the bed and strips them both. he grips Oscar behind both knees and lays into abusing the flesh of his inner thighs that have been on his mind since that afternoon. he pushes Oscar's legs up even higher to get his teeth and tongue on the exact crease of thigh and cheek and works each side until the skin is red raw from his stubble. Oscar is making these small, broken-off noises that are driving Carlos crazy and he drops both legs to work his way up to Oscar's beautiful pecs. he assumes no one has ever paid attention to this area before now because Oscar nearly bucks him off the bed with how intensely he reacts.

and Carlos has probably gotten hard again so he swipes his lube from the bedside table and jerks them both off one-handed while worrying one of Oscar's nipples red and sore. Oscar comes again and Carlos has to kneel up and finish all over Oscar's pale, pink chest. some of it hits Oscar's chin where some of Carlos' come had already started to dry from before.

and maybe there's a moment after they've both recovered enough to think where Oscar is about to awkwardly as for a cab or maybe a ride back but Carlos gets ahead of it and tells him to text his friends and Carlos will drive him back in the morning.

and Carlos smirks when Oscar hovers his fingers over his phone, clearly unsure of how to phrase it. "go ahead and tell them all about it, it'll drive them crazy"

and Oscar smiles to himself as he types out who he's with and why and what they've done and then gazes up at Carlos who is holding Oscar's chin between thumb and forefinger, wiping down his face with a warm cloth.

"you're going to be bad news for me, Oscar. I can tell.”

there is a seriousness behind it that Oscar is too young and inexperienced to hear. instead he smirks and digs a knee into Carlos' side.

"you bet I am"

[outofgloom]

THE MADNESS OF TURAGA

“Where are your Matoran, Bahtu? I’ve seen no one on the hike up here.”

The Turaga fiddled idly with his stick. His eyes wandered around the empty village.

“They are...they are gone, old friend.”

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

“Gone where? And why? What happened?”

“They were...broken.”

“Explain! Who did this?”

“Now calm yourself, my friend. My nerves are not what they used to be.”

The Toa stepped forward, lowering his voice.

“Tell me what happened, Bahtu. Was it Zygl--”

The Turaga began to speak gravely:

“It started with small things, you see. Day by day. Small changes. Small...deviations. A lost minute here or there. A construction made slightly different from the Standard. A repair completed with...I don’t have the word...”  The Turaga gestured limply, “...a ‘flourish’, maybe, as the Great Beings might have said. Maybe that.”

“I don’t underst--”

“--All still workable, to be sure,” the Turaga continued unbothered. “Still workable, but...but deviant, you see. Not according to the Great Standard. The Saa Nui is very demanding if us, as you know. And to stray would be disastrous.”

“So you say. And what then?”

“Oh, what then...let me see. Well, then came other strange things. The Matoran would...would talk to each other. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Not simply transmitting information, I mean, but...but talking for its own sake. I would catch them sometimes, coming around a corner, speaking about something or other that was clearly beyond the scope of that moment’s Duty. And though I corrected them, still they persisted. Even worse: they whispered instead. So many whispers. The village was full of whispering, day and night. I could not stop them all.”

“Go on.”

“Oh yes, yes, and then there were questions.”

“Questions are not out of the ordinary.”

“Of course not, no...but these questions were different. They began to ask all manner of things, inane things, like ‘Why do the sky-stars burn out at night?’ or ‘Where does the Great Spirit live?’ Once, one even asked me ‘Why should we work to fulfill our Duty?’”

The Turaga shook his head, “I was aghast, as you may imagine. I did not know what to say! I sent that Matoran away to work on the mountainside, away from the others, for a time, lest they...lest they ‘talk’ about it.”

“I still do not see what--”

“--And that’s not even the worst of it! Oh, my friend, one day...One day, they asked me for names. New names. Can you imagine it? Each and every one of them I named when they were brought forth from the eles raliska--gave them the embodiment of their Duty, their place in our world, and they thought they knew better! I could not bear it then. So...I sent them...away.”

“Where? To work on the mountainside?” The Toa looked up, scanning the hills in the distance, “Where did you send them?”

“No...to be mended.”

A light breeze made the thorn-trees rattle on the edge of the village. The shadows of the crumbling huts crept longer. The Turaga stopped fidgeting.

“You sent them to--”

“--To Him, yes! It was the only thing to be done.”

The Turaga began to gesture agitatedly, his words pouring out faster: “I put forth the summons, you see, and the Great Crabs came up from the sea, and--”

The Toa stepped closer, cutting him off:

“You know that few have ever returned from His Land. You know this.”

“Oh...I know. But it was right. They were too far gone. It would have been a disaster if I hadn’t. And if they do not return, then...well, more can be called up, if Mata wills it, and I will give them their names, and...”

“How long ago.”

“I...oh...perhaps some days--”

“--all of them?--”

“--...or years?” the Turaga mused. “My timing is all off now, you see, without the rhythm of their work. But it will soon be put right. Soon. Do not worry.”

“Years...” The Toa shook his head, “So you have been here alone, all this time. Doing nothing.”

“Waiting! Preparing! It will all be put right soon. Soon! You’ll see.”

“I cannot see that. The village is...”

The Toa looked around at the ruins of the village once more, lapsing into silence.

“They were broken, old friend. I could not let them suffer in that way. It was not right.”

“Did they fail in their work?”

“They deviated. It was necessary.”

A long silence followed.

“I see now,” the Toa said at last, in a quiet voice.

“Ah, that is good. You are a Toa, after all! Of all beings, you would understand. It had to be done, to keep the order of the world. It is what we are made for, you and I.”

Lesovikk’s hands closed slowly, slowly into fists, clenching until the armor of his gauntlets creaked. His gaze narrowed to a point, fixed upon the small, pathetic being before him. The wind died.

“I am not a Toa anymore.”

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

31 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 8

...

Peering down into the building from the adjacent rooftop, Soap sees you--his soulmate--through his sniper's scope. You. Here. On the wrong goddamn team again.

He mutters a curse into his radio.

You’re standing guard at your client’s back—a man who coasts under the radar as far as his criminal reputation is concerned, but a smuggler effective and dangerous enough to put him on the CIA’s hitlist. He’s hidden from view. Probably been told to stay away from windows for the night. You're obviously working security, outfitted to the nines as you would be on any job, rifle in hands, scanning the foyer for threats. You're unaware of 141’s snipers setting up on the rooftops outside.

Soap’s eyes darken. He doesn’t deal with internal conflict when he’s working. When things get complicated, he uncomplicates them. Right now, there are three thoughts in his head: 

One--he misses you.

Two--you blew him off to work for this scum.

And three--he needs to get his feet on the ground right now. You'll be lucky if all you get is an earful once he gets his hands on you.

He switches on his radio. "Got eyes on the target. LT, you in position yet?"

"Affirmative. In position," Ghost says, his voice gravelly and cold over the radio from his position on a neighboring rooftop. "Waiting on the signal."

Soap stares you down through his scope. His leather gloves creak and tighten around the handle of his rifle. It pisses him off how easy it would be to take the shot. If he were anyone else, you would be dead in moments. 

On the other hand, he could kill your client--your protectee--here and now. To hell with the mission parameters. It would be easy.

He sighs, flipping on his radio again. "Permission to infiltrate, Captain? Spotted a friendly inside."

Gaz's voice crackles over the radio instead. "Friendly this time, is she?" His tone makes it clear he’s spotted you too.

"Don't be jealous, Garrick."

"Positively green with envy, mate," Gaz replies, dry and sarcastic. "Too bad she’s not friendlier. Be helpful if you could actually get her to talk this time. Not to mention the other stunt you pulled."

Soap smirks and adjusts his scope to keep you in his sights. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

Gaz scoffs. "Plausible deniability is for paperwork."

"Aye. Maybe I’ll mention in my next report who tipped me off about her bein' our hostage, too."

There's a beat of static. "Got nothing to say about that."

Then Laswell's voice cuts in. "Kyle has a point. The building is locked down tight and it’s gonna be hard to get a clean shot. If she's with our target's security detail, that’s our ticket inside."

"And if she's not willing to help us out?" Price asks.

"Depends on how persuasive Soap is willing to be."

"I might've picked up a technique or two last time,” Soap says.

The radio crackles as Price takes in a deep breath and sighs it out through his nose. Somehow, he makes it sound stern.

"Intel is intel," Ghost says.

“Failing that, bribery’s always a solid bet for a merc,” Gaz adds. “If they don’t shoot you on sight.”

"Right, then," Price says. "Soap, regroup with Ghost. Prepare to infiltrate. Gaz and I will take overwatch. Ghost, keep on comms. We'll find you the main breaker switch. Soap, I need you to keep things quiet, you hear me? Mission objective is priority. Do not, under any circumstances, be seen."

Soap's blood is already pumping hot. He’s never loved overwatch. He’d rather be close to the action--get his feet on the ground. Get his hands on you. "Copy, Captain. Ghost, I'm aimin' for the north corner. Meet me in five."

…

You mill about at your post, feeling twitchy and unsatisfied. This job is, on first glance, the same as any. Your PMC hired you and a few other mercs out to act as bodyguards for a man with more money than morals, if the size and clientele of this gathering is anything to go by. 

You shift your weight, scanning the overdressed crowd for threats. You wouldn’t hate it if this party were cancelled early.

"Stand up straight," your teammate snaps. "You're working. Act like it."

You scowl, but say nothing.

"Don't make that face at me," he says, bite in his tone. Horangi. Like he’s so patient. He's on just as short a leash as you, and it's pissing him off just as much. The difference is he has the seniority to take it out on you. 

"I don't know how you do this without feeling like a caged animal," you mutter.

His eyes follow a woman in a tight red dress as she passes by. Obviously, he knows what he'd rather be doing.

"A cage with a paycheck," he replies. "Some things you learn to tolerate."

You scan the room again. Your protectee is still here. That's good. You're hoping he takes his sweet time before he goes downstairs to start the so-called afterparty. 

You glance at Horangi again. "You know where the cargo is? Downstairs?"

"Last I heard. I got the east wing of this floor," he says. If the idea of that cargo is bothering him, he hides it well. He’s a good merc and he does what he’s told, like it or not.

You were a good merc, too, up until three weeks ago. Worrying about what rich idiots get up to isn't what you should be doing. You're supposed to keep the client happy. It's not your fault he can’t party without doing illegal shit.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to check on it."

Horangi’s eyes narrow, flicking to you. "No, you’re not. Stay put."

"Fine. I'm going to the bathroom, then."

"Fine," Horangi snaps. "Go to the bathroom, and make sure you come right back. And don’t talk to anybody."

You walk away, rifle in hand, making your way into the back hall. You pass into the dim sconce light and swear you see something through the enormous glass windows as you walk by them. But there’s nothing there.

The lights flicker once. A beat. Just long enough for you to notice before they even out again. 

You pause at a flicker of movement near the side door up ahead. You have a split second to wonder why there’d be nobody securing the side door before the lights go out.

When you turn and head back for the foyer, you stop short. Down the hall, where you just came from, looms a familiar shape. The white skull on his mask pops out of the shadows. 

You don't make it back to the foyer.

Before you have a chance to react, your body armor is yanked hard from the back. You're pulled backward into an adjacent room and shoved hard against the wall. You expect the bite of steel against your neck or your temple, but it never comes. 

“Quiet, now."

You register Soap's familiar accent before your eyes adjust to the dark. "Johnny?"

"That’s right," he says. He's still got that way of speaking that's almost a purr when he's being quiet.

It suddenly feels like a long time since you’ve felt the heat of his body, pinned tight between him and the wall the way you are. He’s coiled tight, all lithe muscle and restrained strength. His eyes glitter with that wild, predatory look. It’s decidedly dangerous and tantalizing.

"I missed you, darlin'. You're gonna make this simple, aye? I know you can," he says.

You swallow the immediate urge to comply. Holy hell, you forgot what that feels like. "You need to stop greeting me like this," you hiss.

"I'd love nothin' more than to greet you in a different way, but you've got to start makin'  smarter decisions first." He leans all the way in and presses his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling you in his full tactical gear. 

You muffle a sigh. He makes a quiet, content sound. 

"Besides, I kinda like this way of greetin’ ya. You make this little noise."

The radio on his neck echoes to life. You hear a tinny voice come through, saying something about an objective.

His eyes shut tight as he listens, one hand pressed firmly against the wall beside you. He doesn't back away yet. He's been dreaming of this for too long--laying his head on you and letting the sound of your heartbeat drown out everything else. It just can't fucking happen yet.

You feel, rather than hear, his low, annoyed grumble as he replies. "No, I copy. Just keep your bloody heads on."

You concentrate, trying to make out the voices of his teammates. It sounds like Ghost's voice.

Soap groans, his fingers flexing and gloves squeaking against the wallpaper. “I’ll be there in a minute, LT.”

You shift slightly. "Why are you here?"

A muscle twitches in Soap's jaw, and he pulls back so he can look you in the eye. "Should be askin' you the same thing. You’re on guard detail for a bloody criminal."

"It's a complicated situation."

"Then uncomplicate it."

You open your mouth to reply, but Soap's radio crackles back to life. This time, you can make out the words.

"Target located." Ghost's voice.

"Attaboy." Price. "Get him isolated. Third floor, east windows."

“Won’t be that easy,” Ghost replies. “He’s surrounded by civilians. Security’s thick.”

You tense even as Soap begins to relax. You fist your hand in the collar of his tactical vest, trying not to sound frantic. "Do not kill him. Johnny, listen to me."

Soap's expression turns grim, and he looks down at your fingers. Then he reaches up to cover your hand with his. "I know he's your client, but there's a reason we're here. He smuggles weapons. Big weapons, and not to anyone friendly. Just take it easy and let us clean up."

"No, listen," you snap, pulling him a millimeter closer. "He has the cargo here. It's not weapons. It's people."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / [part 8] / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[tobiasdrake]

Does Perfect Cell have Agency?

Cell is... difficult to get a read on, as a character. The extreme jankiness of the Android arc left us with an oddball of a villain whose level of wickedness doesn't seem in line with the scope of his motives.

Cell is a weird character for me because he just seems... unfinished but also overly symbolic moreso than a literal person.

What does PIccolo actually want? He wants to kill everyone because he's mindlessly evil. After he reincarnates, the question "What does Piccolo actually want?" becomes a major facet of his journey.

What does Frieza actually want? He wants to kill planets and sell them for profit because he's a real estate speculator, and also to be immortal and untouchable. This extreme want coupled with the callousness with which he pursues it is what fuels his unbelievable cruelty and heartlessness, and makes him the most evil person in the Dragon Ball universe.

What does Majin Buu want? Again, this question becomes a major facet of his journey and opens up new sides to him, because Buu himself doesn't know the answer to that.

Which. Brings us to. What does Cell want?

He likes to spook. He wants to have fun. He's a spooker looking for a good time.

Cell's primary goal is to a) become really strong, and then b) prove his mettle by testing himself against the greatest fighters in the world. He's a tournament arc villain presented with the gravitas and stakes of an epic adventure villain.

It's wild because everybody here wants to get really strong and then prove their mettle by fighting Goku. That's what this whole social dynamic is about. That is literally the main goal that everyone in this group pursues. Well, except Trunks and Gohan.

In a sense, Cell's just... one of the guys. Like. He's a rotten dirty bastard to be sure. But it's not like that's a barrier for entry into this group.

"I WILL KILL AS MANY PEOPLE AS I HAVE TO AS LONG AS YOU ARE ONE OF THEM!" ~TFS

So his goal is to get strong and fight strong guys. But. Like. Who's isn't?

And he's a cruel, sadistic monster. But. Like. We're fine with that. Vegeta's our bestie and Piccolo joined this crew way before he reformed too.

This guy could legit just be hosting the Tenkaichi Budokai. (And he DOES.) In terms of overarching character, nothing about him reads "Epic villain that must be stopped at all costs". So Toriyama really had to ratchet up the moment-by-moment horror to make him fit.

What Cell wants is not that big a deal. Get strong, fight strong guys, and also he's an asshole about it. So he's given a vile mechanism for attaining the strength he needs. In his base state, Cell can drink people to gain their power for himself.

He's basically Piccolo if Piccolo were born a parasitic vampire instead of a flesh-and-blood Namekian? It's weird. His whole introduction where he walks out and explains his entire character so Toriyama's pal will get off his back about the Twins is weird.

"Hi there, Piccolo. Did you know that I'm an evil bio-android from the future who wants to absorb the Twins to become really powerful? Also I eat people and I have the genetic makeup of five of the most powerful warriors in the universe, as well as having all of their techniques and abilities. I think that about covers everything. Toodles!"

So we have a character whose primary goal is to defeat the two characters who, up until this point, were billed as the antagonists and are currently seeking to kill Goku as we speak. Like. That's Trunks. Cell is Trunks again. So to make it read as sinister and bad, the means for him to achieve Trunks's goal requires him to kill people in visceral and horrifying ways, and also he's a jerk about it.

This is far from the worst thing a Dragon Ball character, even the ones on the protagonist side, has ever done. But it's so viscerally horrifying that it feels like the worst thing they've ever done.

Then again, that guy was part of the 1% so maybe it's deserved.

Truly, Cell is a champion of the underclass. He's literally eating the rich. What's not to like?

I jest. Point is, Cell is a villain of vibes more than anything. In practical terms, Vegeta gleefully slaughtered entire planets and Majin Buu exterminated 80% of the world's population for fun. In fact, Buu even single-targets people and turns them into food to chomp down on too, so he and Cell have a lot in common.

To be perfectly honest, Buu feels like a second draft of Cell with more time and thought put into his character.

So, logically, eating a bunch of people isn't that big of a deal relative to some of the other shit that people we're hanging out with have done. Hell, we spend a portion of this arc helping to power up Vegeta to stop Mr. City Devourer over here.

"Hey best buddy, you're a remorseless monster who's slaughtered billions of people and is only chill now because you're stranded on Earth with no better options. Want to come with me so we can make you a hundred times deadlier and fight this guy who wants to eat the Androids that destroyed the world in the future?"

And then Cell's over here like.

"All done eating people. Thanks y'all." Like a parasitic version of the Genki-Dama. Uh. Cool. Glad we could help. Let's go Dragon Balls them all back to life and then I guess we're done here?

It's the vibe. Cell's wickedness is a vibe. It's in the means he needs to undergo to achieve the ends of becoming strong. It's in the sadistic personality he shares with 4/5 of his genetic makeup (two of whom are in the protag party). And it's in his long-term plans for what to do after the tournament when he runs out of strong guys to fight.

It's like they ran out of ideas for why we even need to fight this guy once he ate the Androids and completed our mission of defeating them and thwarting Trunks's future. So Cell's like, "By the way if we don't defeat me in an epic climax, I'm going to aimlessly wander the globe killing humans individually forever, I guess."

No real ambitions of any kind beyond "Get strong, fight strong guys". He just. Is a dick.

This is sandwiched between vanquishing the CEO of Galactic Genocide Incorporated and fighting a god-killing abomination who made the heavens themselves run red with blood. Cell wants to get strong and fight strong guys, and he'll become Jason Voorhees if we don't deliver. That's it. That's the entire plot. It's so weird. He's the ultimate despicable monster villain up to this point but it doesn't really feel like he should be.

Cell isn't really a character, so much as he is an idea. Specifically, he is a summary of Goku's entire journey up to this point, all rolled up into this one asshole. He is Goku, and also the major villains Goku has fought.

He is the Tenkaichi Budokai.

He's a limit-breaking Super Saiyan who becomes stronger through Namekian Fusion of others like him and also regenerates and gets Zenkai boosts.

He is the concept of everything that Dragon Ball has ever been.

Hey remember when Piccolo-Daimao blew up that one district during a live broadcast? Do you remember? Cell is Playing the Hits, The Character. But with purpose and intent.

This is why it's hard for me to get a read on Cell. Because who he is isn't so different from much of the cast but what he needs to be is something else: He is the complete assessment of the journey Goku's undertaken over the course of his life, presented all at once for Gohan to surpass.

The physical embodiment of what Gohan must overcome to be his father's successor.

His character, his motives, his ambitions, his desires, it all takes a backseat to the simple utilitarian purpose of providing a symbolic nemesis to mark Gohan's ascension. Hastily assembled once Toriyama decided that was going to be the real actual plot for realsies no takebacks this time.

It's hard for me to assess Cell because I feel too strongly that he needed a second draft.

Which. Like. Apparently Toriyama agreed.

As a character and as a story, Majin Buu is hit or miss but he hits most of the same beats as Cell and really does feel like Toriyama trying to take a mulligan on this entire villain concept.

Mileage may vary on whether he pulled it off.

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 9: Lost at Sea before the Finale

Sigh. I had high hopes for this episode, which reached it's apex in the main conflict with Rak's dad (our honorary big bad). But yet again it's at a crucial juncture in the story, where writing and execution have fallen short when it really mattered.

Despite building tension for the past few weeks in service of this moment, it's swiftly deflated with little fuss. I thought the contract-tearing scene would provide a riveting layer of complexity for our characters to navigate. But it's barely a hiccup. The entire pay off we've been hurtling towards just unceremoniously fizzles out.

Here are my observations as to why this episode missed the mark (some of which I hope to dig into when I do a full review of the series).

The 'saviour' plot device. Where a character repeatedly saves the day in service of other characters (regardless of their credentials to do so). This is the role they've boxed Mut in. He swoops in - solves, fixes, pursues, soothes. He's faultless. He's unwavering. He's Rak's hero in shining armour. This isn't fundamentally bad except his capacity is reduced mainly to just that, and the cost is little to no development of his own. I take enormous issue with this because I dearly love Mut. He has great scope for a far more compelling trajectory. We had wonderful insights into his outlook on life in the earlier episodes, which have since taken a noticeable backseat. We are yet to see significant exploration of Mut's struggles, flaws or weaknesses. There appears to be some focus on this in episode 10, but why so little so late?

The women are rendered superfluous. Which isn't helped when we already have a lacklustre GL portrayal. As things go awry - Kwan, Vi and Mook are varying degrees of 'just there'. I would have loved to see the plot utilise the women who know Rak best, to contribute towards bringing Jak down. But the show's priority to aid Mut's heroic efforts, means the women are left with very little to do.

Mut VS Jak. If you compare the two men, Jak is taller and in fairly good shape. Physically, you'd expect more resistance in a fight. When Jak goes down, he barely tries to get up (even when Mut's back is turned). Thus, the outcome of the fight feels unearned, especially if we are to believe this man has violent tendencies that have traumatised his children. (He may not be murderously insane, but still volatile enough to maim his own son). By being so easily overpowered, the takeaway ends up being: 'oh, we needn't have worried'. And this exchange didn't have to be strictly physical either, it could have been psychological. Jak could have taunted Mut like he did in the café, and tried to chip at his resolve. Alternatively, if Rak were the one to overcome his father (in a bid to save Mut), it would show that Rak's love can power through his fear, and he'd gain that lesson through his own agency rather than Mut telling him he should no longer be afraid. (Another symptom of this series is subjugating Rak to a huge degree of passivity).

I'm not sold on Jak's character motivations, based on what we've seen. He's not quite smart or menacing enough to be a calculated sociopath, and he's a shade too conniving for an apathetic loser. If he's as lazy as we've been told, why would he go this far to secure Prin's money, when he's already syphoning finances from Rak and his mother? Couldn't he just sit back and continue to leech with no effort? If his desperation were a result of poor spending, it would at least ground his motive. Or if he's fuelled by the thrill of tormenting his family, we'd need to see mental depravity. Instead, much of Jak's actions feel - dare I say - 'because plot'? (Make your villains more formidable and their eventual downfall will pack more punch).

The few too many plot conveniences. The sillier one being how on earth Rak left the house without anyone noticing? The enormous glass staircase which sits front and centre in an open plan property makes it near impossible to go undetected. Unless he parkoured from his bedroom?

I'm gutted because the show veers towards the more questionable choices at their disposal. The set ups are there. The ideas are there. The parameters are there. It's what they decide to do with them that sadly misfires. This has caused my investment in the story to plummet towards the latter half.

I continue to watch for Fortpeat, and I feel for them because they've worked so hard. There's some lovely acting sprinkled throughout this episode but at this late stage in the series, the plot should be driving things home. Whereas the metaphorical tide keeps moving those goal posts in and out of sight. I hope they can at least round things off on a high note next week.

[riddle-me-ri]

Firstly, I've loved your writing so far! So, before the request I wanna say keep up the good work, you're doing great! 😁 Would it be possible to request something with Jigen having to pretend to be married to the reader for the sake of a heist? Like a "the person we're robbing frequents this couple's retreat and Lupin's called dibs on Fujiko" kinda thing xD (if the concept floats your boat of course. There's no pressure to say yes if not)

a/n: awww omg thanks!! I appreciate the support! I've only started writing for Lupin and gang so it's always relieving to hear I'm doing well lol. And yay my first solo Jigen request and such an adorable idea too! This was so much fun to write! Hope you enjoy!

Jigen Daisuke x Reader - Better Half

Jigen Daisuke could usually get behind many of Lupin's far-fetched plans of master disguises and acting out various roles in order to obtain a massive gain…

But this felt like a certain line was crossed.

Apparently this trillionaire liked to daylight as a loving and doting husband to his wife of supposedly twenty years (but by nighttime he's as gangster as they come with trades and transfers in all sorts of despicable activities).

Lupin figured it'd be best to scout the target when he was most vulnerable and more focused on holding a facade…hence why you four were at a romantic couples’ retreat and Lupin obviously snatched up Fujiko for the role as his “wife”.

If Jigen wanted to find out intel on his own and not look suspicious, that meant you and him had to be false spouses.

Deep down, Jigen knew this was truly the least of his actual worries, and he believed Lupin had an ulterior motive to this plan.

The gentleman thief was aware of Jigen's feelings for you, often teasing Jigen for them, and this just seems like another prominent example of that.

It didn't help that you were playing the role to a T.

“Hey honey, I've got the hotel keys. Do you wanna head up to our room and get settled in?”

Jigen shook his head to stir himself out of his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, let's go…”

In a split second, Jigen quickly grabbed your luggage along with his-this definitely looked good, right?

“Oh, thank you! You sure you got it, sweetheart?”

Just how in the hell did those pet names just slip so easily from your lips? It almost sounded…natural.

“Yeah, I got it, lead the way…” Jigen choked on returning the pet name pattern you had, but you didn't seem to mind as you nodded and led the two of you to the elevator.

Once the elevator doors shut, you exhaled heavily.

“Sorry…I, uh, didn't mean to lay it on so thick…just wanted to set it up from the start, you know? Not cause any suspicion.”

Jigen shook his head. “Nah, don't apologize. You're selling the part well– it just may take me a minute to catch up.”

“No worries, we'll be fine. I’m more concerned about Lupin and Fujiko…mostly Lupin keeping his focus.”

Jigen huffed. “You and me both…”

~~~~~

After you two dropped off your luggage you both decided to scope the place.

Jigen wished he could pat himself on the back for how well he kept his cool.

On top of you wearing a swimsuit that revealed more of your skin than usual, you remained determined to stay in the role of a doting and loving spouse.

The intentions of what you were saying blurred between being genuine and just a line.

You kept your body next to his, whether it's by wrapping your arm around his, holding his hand, or your hand resting on the lower end of his back.

All the while, Jigen tried not to get too attached to your affections…albeit in the back of his mind he had to admit he could get used to all this…

Somehow, Jigen managed to stay neutral despite the overwhelming heat that scorched up inside.

His mind was reeling despite the tranquil disposition he gave off from just lounging in a beach chair, waiting for the target or Lupin to show up…

“Jigen?”

Your sweet voice brought him back to the moment at hand.

“Hm?”

“Fujiko just sent me a message…” You got down on your knees beside the chair and leaned closer into Jigen's ear.

“She's found the guy's room…apparently the bastard isn't all that loyal to his loving wife…” You began to whisper in his ear.

Jigen listened intently until out of his peripheral vision, and he saw the very man you were discussing.

He was about to warn you when you suddenly wrapped your arms around his neck.

You pulled his head closer to yours, and you kissed his cheek.

“Thanks for saving me a spot, sweetie!” You swiftly laid down on the chair beside him.

Jigen didn't react immediately as he watched the target move over to the hot tub on the other end of the swimming pool and out of ear shot of you two.

“Nice save, but was that necessary?”

You shrugged. “Why else would a partner get close to their hubby?”

“I'm beginning to think you're enjoying this…”

“And if I am?” You questioned before you could think about the implications.

Jigen brushed his hair to the side to look at you incredulously.

“Well, I guess I can't stop you…”

“Of course you can, just tell me to stop…if you want me to.”

Jigen sighed but didn't answer.

You leaned forward off your chair towards him and ruffled his hair teasingly.

“We can discuss this later, but right now, let's check out that guy's room. Fujiko said he keeps a safe somewhere in the penthouse room…”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Jigen sighed.

“Oh now you use the pet names.” You snickered as you stood up from your chair.

Jigen shrugged as he followed you. “I learned from the best.”

You chuckled. “Sure, you learned from your better half!”

Jigen tsked but still held an amused side smirk.

It wasn't an ideal start to this new development, and he still planned on giving Lupin shit later for this whole setup.

However, Jigen knew he'd also have to thank his friend for giving him a slice of what could be and now what finally will be once this heist is over.