#anyway yeah. is this allowed? can i be earnest on main?

[lebbys-world]

Secrets, Soba, & Smiles

Todoroki x gn!reader; teenagers in love, fluff, reader gets caught off guard a bit

notes: thanks for all the love on my last post :) im glad that so many people enjoyed my writing !! the kitchen scene is very artem from tot coded, which makes sense bc ive been obsessed with that game recently. anyways, hope you enjoy !! <3

You peered down the hall, checking to make sure it was clear, before walking towards the elevator.

The soft hum of the door opening led you to walk inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor.

You looked down at your phone to check the time, quickly noticing you’d received a follow up text from your boyfriend.

Before leaving your dorm, you had sent him a message letting him know you were about to be on your way up. 

You smiled to yourself as the elevator made its way up the floors, shooting him back a quick reply.

More often than not, you found yourselves having these late-night dorm dates as a means to compensate for the lack of public relationship.

Throughout the school day, you two were just seen as close friends, allowing any suspicions to just be laughed off. After all, there was no sense in blatantly lying about your relationship to your friends.

But if you both feigned ignorance, it managed to keep their suspicions at bay. 

With all earnest, you weren't necessarily trying keeping your relationship with the icy-hot boy a secret from your peers.

You never had concern for them finding out - albeit the barrage of questions and attention may be a bit overwhelming.

If anything, the concern you had was for the general public finding out that two rising heroes had feelings for one another.

You feared the worst case scenario: a villain using your adoration for each other as a weapon.

Maybe you were overreacting, but the nightmare situation it was, you wanted to prevent it in any way you could. So, as a safeguard, the both of you had agreed to just keep things to yourself.

This agreement worked well anyways, as you and Todoroki settled into the awkward ins-and-outs of first time teenage love.

So, yes, for now, things were okay being a sort of ‘secret’.

It was a secret for you two to share.

You were his, and he was yours.

The elevator door opened once more as you reached the fifth floor, stepping out into a familiar, yet different, hallway.

You made your way to your boyfriend’s room, before giving a gentle knock on the door.

Soon enough, the doorknob turned, the door creaked open, and heterochronic eyes met your own. 

You laughed to yourself before commenting, “well, I made it here in one piece.”

He gave you a soft smile back, “yeah, you did.”

That was the smile that always managed to killed you.

A smile that you never saw him quite show to anyone but you.

The way his lips turned in adoration, a genuine love and joy meeting his face. His eyes would crease with that smile, and, every time, without fault, you’d melt at that smile.

It was a smile that felt like it was only for you.

Interrupting your star-struck daze, Todoroki tilted his head.

“I meant to tell you before you got here, but I still wanted to grab some snacks from the common room.”

You stood up straight, pulling yourself back together.

“Oh, I could’ve just picked them up on the way.”

“It’s not a problem; I’ll just go now. You can set your stuff down. I'll be back shortly."

He started walking past you to begin his quick mission, when you followed on his heels. 

“I’ll come with you! Two people are better than one!”

He paused, gave a nod of appreciation, and the two of you carried on towards the main floor.

The short trip there was spent debating what snacks would be best for this late night excursion, with you insisting that your favorite food was the only way to go.

By the time you'd made it to the kitchen, Todoroki had been pleading his case for soba - per usual.

“Look,” he said, now pointing to a something sat on the shelf of the pantry. “They still have some left over. We could probably make two servings.”

He met your eyes with diligence, looking like a young child begging for a toy at the store.

As much as your favorite snack was calling your name, you thought to yourself that maybe some cold soba would be nice as well. 

“Fine, but I’m making the sauce.” You sighed, accepting his pleas. I mean, how could you not when he had given you such a cute look?

He smiled, his invisible tail practically wagging as he pulled out a pot and began to fill it with water. 

Nearby, you opened up the fridge and pulled out a few ingredients to start making into a light sauce.

You swiftly put on an apron, and started mixing things together before feeling complete with your makeshift recipe.

You took a spoon and dipped it in, giving it a taste. Having it meet your own liking, you called your boyfriend over, making sure it would suit his taste as well.

Continuing to stir, you thought to yourself how something about this unplanned cooking trip had just felt so right

It was almost as if you two were a married couple, working on making dinner together after a long day of work.

The idea made you blush.

Deep inside, these calm nights were the kind you hoped the future would bring many more of.

You were about to turn around and call to him again when you were suddenly met with two arms wrapped around your waist.

You let out a small gasp of surprise as Todoroki took the spoon from your hand, following through on your request and trying the dipping sauce you had made.

He hummed a tone of satisfaction and let his head rest atop your shoulder. 

“It’s really good, Y/N. Thank you, for your help.”

At that moment, you thanked God that your boyfriend couldn't see your overwhelmingly red face.

You doubt you would’ve even been flustered if Todoroki wouldn’t have pulled that hugging-you-from-behind cliché.

I mean, heck, he probably didn't even realize he was doing something that even could catch you so off guard.

Your boyfriend probably just thought he was hugging you, sharing his adoration for your cooking and determination.

And here you were, heart going overdrive all over his simple motions.

Having felt your heart rate spike, he let go after a moment, returning back to the care of draining the pot of soba. 

You took a moment and collected yourself a bit, finally giving a delayed reply:

“Yeah, anytime, Sho. It’s what I’m here for.”

He looked at you again, turning his gaze away from the sink, and gave you that melting smile of his.

That smile that makes you feel like everything in the world is okay, even if just in this moment.

Somehow that smile managed to calm your panicked heart, reminding you to take this all one step at a time.

You returned his smile with your own. A smile of your own that you hoped he admired just as much as you did his.

“…”

“...SHOTO, THE SOBA-”

all fictional works are for entertainment purposes only. all rights to characters, media, references, and other third party materials belong to their respective owners. do not repurpose, modify, copy, or repost my work to other sites without permission. © @lebbys-world 2024.

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[gregoftom]

i don't really know how to explain myself properly but i feel like some people are really concerned about Getting A Good Grade In Succession to the point where they've adopted a very cynical view of tg's relationship because being too earnest about them is ~not the point of the show~ or w/e. which is funny because every other relationship in the show is allowed to be nuanced but not theirs i guess? so you have people going "oh their relationship was only ever about them using each other from the start" when that's demonstrably not true and like. i have really mixed feelings about this season so far and i feel like anything could happen with them by virtue of weird writing choices and i hope with all my heart this doesn't end up being the case but even if the finale tries to diminish the depth of their relationship i don't understand the point of Us acting like there was never anything deeper there? but anyway, all this too say that i agree w/ you that the way people are very cynical and dismissive abt tg specifically has rubbed me the wrong way and thank u for your service ❤️

hiii sweet anon!

A GOOD GRADE IN SUCCESSION ASHAKJSA god honestly, i hear you.

i'm getting real tired of this "point of the show" shit bc it's like. just because tg isn't "the point", isn't a main focal plot [which it is, or at least is part of it], isn't integral to character development [which it is too; without tom greg would not be where he is now which is at a point where he actually could be seriously considered as a fucking CEO, without greg tom wouldn't have learned any self respect or self worth/we would never have been able to see him express himself beyond servitude towards shiv], it doesn't mean it can't be explored and considered as a serious part of the show?

media is created for us to enjoy. yes it's there to interpret and discuss but it doesn't always have to be that way? literally you can watch the show just for tomgreg and that is A OKAY. why? because you don't have to justify why you like something! surprise! and yeah i've noticed that too - other relationships get to be seen as nuanced, but not tg i guess. idk why, seeing as its dynamic is something to be studied under a microscope and fun to not only shippers but normies too lmao. clearly there is something more interesting to it than just, oh it's mutual corporate climbing.

exactly! there's even more contexts provided by the scripts, THE SACRED TEXTS lol that provide us with more knowledge and insight into the feelings of these characters, that show us that their relationship goes beyond using each other. there is an element of that of course, but that's not all they are. why reduce them to that when so very clearly on paper we are affirmed of what we thought we could read textually on the screen? it just baffles me.

i'm hoping too anon, like A Lot. from the looks of the trailer i have a. i have a little bit of hope. even if say, tom has to choose between greg and shiv, if he chooses shiv and has visible trouble with it, like it takes him time, it plagues him, it takes effort, it feels like a real decision affecting his life, like. that counts for something you know? that would, to me, not diminish his relationship with greg. obviously it would be heartbreaking after how loyal greg has been to tom, but the very fact that it would be difficult to tom would mean that greg is important to him in some fashion, and the show would be at least acknowledging it by doing that. like, it's that easy. i ain't asking for much. i know what i'd like, but what i would be satisfied/settle with, well i think the bar is reasonable, you know?

i'm glad you understand me! i mean, who knows maybe some of it is people trying to go on the defensive like, "it's the hope that kills you" so they are trying not to have any by lessening it, saying oh there was nothing there, there was no romance, nothing positive, it was all for mutual professional gain and that's it. but like, personally that doesn't work for me. i think you should at least acknowledge its importance otherwise we're regressing right back to the oh it's a mlm ship? never mind then. i'm not about that, i guess.

thanks for the message buddy god speed <3

[waddledab]

wtf pls tell me abt your splatoon mlp au???

OH boy. oh boy. anon I am so glad you asked. putting this under a read more so I don't clog people's dashes lmao (also forgive me for my thoughts not being organized)

ok so this is based on friendship is magic bc that's the only one I've seen and it's like... if the mane six were in splatoon? specifically splatoon 3 bc that's the one I had on my mind lol anyways. freshness is magic

Twilight is an octarian soldier (like, the only one left for some reason) sent by Octavio to investigate the Splatlands about the disappearances of the other Octarians while he says he "won't be too far behind" (foreshadowing)

on the way there she meets spike. he's the "little buddy" smallfry of this. no he will not tell her what spike is short for or why he was in the middle of the desert when he met her

Oh yeah and only twilight can understand him bc she speaks salmonid. he just sounds like gurgles to the rest of the gang

twilight gets a transmission from Octavio basically telling her to go to Splatsville specifically, "blend in, make friends, keep a low profile, whatever"

just outside of splatsville they run into fluttershy (her name is probably different but I can't think of a good one so she's just fluttershy for now). she's a sea slug (kinda like flow) bc look at this image.

it's literally just her. come on

she's heading into town too and it basically goes like the show where she's like "omg is that a salmonid... wowie......."

MEANWHILE in Splatsville:

Pinkie (inkling), Dash (octoling who grew up in the Splatlands), and Jack (inkling) are all friends but they're in a bit of a pickle. they wanna do turf wars but they need a 4th person and the random people they keep getting matched with just don't vibe very well :(

enter twilight. (and fluttershy) (and spike)

Pinkie goes "GAAAAASP HEY HEY WANNA JOIN OUR TURF WAR TEAM"

at first twilight's like "Ugh no" but then spike is like "heyyyyy part of your missionnnn was making friiiiiends rememeberrrrr?"

so she joins the team. fine sure whatever I'm not gonna get attached (she gets attached)

Twilight is a charger main. e-liter menace

Dash is a dualies main because of course

Pinkie is good with all weapons tbh but her favorites are rollers and blasters

Jack mains N-Zap 64 and she is a tacticooler mvp

At one point they're like "Hey twi love the military drip but like you gotta get some drip"

enter rarity. i don't really have a clear mental image of her yet but she is crab. probably hermit crab? tamatoa ass back I know that for sure

she moved to the splatlands from Inkopolis and started a boutique there

she's a brush main btw "hey Earnest you dipshit only inklings and octolings do turf war" nuh uh big man canonically plays turf war AND salmon run so there

(fluttershy doesn't like doing turf war and doesn't have a main for obvious reasons) (but she does cheer them on) (spike does too bc he's not allowed in the Turf War building :( )

anyways. twilight and the gang are now besties. enter cuttlefish.

Dash: hey is it just me or is that old guy staring at us from the sewers

Pinkie: I'm gonna go follow him lol

this action has consequences.

they're all agent 3 now (3.1-3.7) but cuttlefish only has one set of hero gear. "sorry guys you're all shit out of luck" (of course twilight gets it bc protag disorder) and rarity's all "well Fine I can make hero gear for the rest of us"

crater proceeds as normal with twilight, pinkie, dash, and jack each taking one level. twilight is... *unnerved* by the current status of the octarian troops

enter octavio. hes fucking pissed. this is his natural state of being tho

he calls out twilight for being a TRAITOR and she feels bad blah blah blah they kick his ass

again it proceeds as normal but when twilight wakes up. she's alone (except for spike). as it turns out all of her besties landed on different islands somehow bc this might as well happen

Twilight is island 1, jack is island 2, pinkie is island 3, fluttershy is island 4, dash is island 5, and rarity is island 6 working on everyone's agent outfits all along so they got their group swag by the end of it

again story is pretty much the same from there. kill that bear

and so the world is saved with the power of friendship :)

unfortunately celestia and luna don't really exist by virtue of octavio kind of taking celestia's role? rip queens we loved you so much but you were replaced by old men unfortunately. sad

[neroushalvaus]

There's being supportive and there's being a side character/love interest in your own life. The Nick/Charlie relationship is completely one-sided, Nick exists to accommodate Charlie and even his hobbies like rugby and baking are just there to make him more appealing as a wish fulfilment love interest. He has zero flaws. He makes zero mistakes. He's perfection incarnate especially in regards to Charlie. Charlie the protagonist on the other hand is allowed to be very flawed and occasionally undesirable. Nick has to invoke comfort and lust 24/7. That's what makes it unrealistic.

Hi anon! And thanks for bringing me your perspective!

I guess I get what you're saying, but to me the wish fulfillment in Heartstopper isn't a thing that's exclusive to Nick's character? By that I mean that even though the main characters in the series are all teenagers, they are very in touch with their emotions, really mature in their relationships and able to be instantly great partners for their significant others. I think that in some ways Charlie is just as much of a wish fulfillment love interest as Nick is. When Nick is scared of coming out, Charlie is always ready to comfort him and reassure him that he doesn't owe that information to anyone. When Nick isn't ready to have sex, Charlie assures him that they never have to do it if Nick doesn't want to. This constant reassurance and lack of pressure should be present in every relationship, yes, but Charlie is not a partner most of us had when we were sixteen.

Nick doesn't have any flaws as far as I can recall, but to be honest, neither do many of the other main characters in the series. Charlie is insecure, but I wouldn't say he is very flawed, I think most of the characters are portrayed as remarkably nice and patient people. And yeah, that is unrealistic when you consider their ages, but to me it is part of what makes Heartstopper the series it is.

I agree that in the series currently they are at a point where Charlie needs more care than Nick, but in my opinion Nick's feelings in that situation are portrayed very well. To me he feels like a really honest portrayal of a young teenager in his first real relationship, trying so hard to be a good partner to someone who is dealing with stuff he himself is unfamiliar with. Him struggling trying to understand Charlie feels really earnest to me and I'm waiting for season three and how they'll continue to deal with problems together.

Personally I can't agree with Nick existing to accommodate Charlie. Maybe I was watching the show weirdly, but I think on season two he had more life outside of Charlie than Charlie did outside of him? Not that either of them really had many scenes without the other, since, you know, these are the teenagers in love in the teenagers-in-love show. Anyway, I think Nick's bisexual awakening in season one and his coming out plot and his plot with his dad in season two were both generally good storylines. I find him as a character really relatable and him as a love interest really realistic, that's why I find it hard to understand the critique of him being an unrealistic wish fulfillment character.

[diueliz]

(picture is a preview, full thing is here)

So here's a list I made for favourite movies I watched, or in some cases rewatched, in 2021. If I counted right, I watched 130 movies in total (a number of these were short films). This is a selection I made based on what I loved the most and what had major significance for me on a personal level. It's not necessarily deep, there's both stuff that made me go "shit, is this me?", and stuff that filled me with extremely simple, joyous glee thanks to the power of the moving image paired with sound — as well as stuff in between these sentiments. There is more that I really liked/appreciated, so not everything appears on here, but choices are choices.

I consider this a little appreciation or love letter to things that contributed in making my year richer and fuller. I won't be giving my motivation for the picks here, it's just a little gesture that has meaning to me. I don't usually do things like this, but it's been a challenging year. One of the things that made it also rewarding is, well, this, and the memories I have attached to these movies, the people I watched them with.

Details and more under the cut.

The list (ordered by watch date):

The Hitcher (1986), dir. Robert Harmon

Stendalì (Still They Toll) (1960), dir. Cecilia Mangini

A Rough History (Of The Destruction Of Fingerprints) (2016), dir. Ayesha Hameed

Fake Fruit Factory (1986), dir. Chick Strand

A Question Of Silence (1982), dir. Marleen Gorris

The Dawns Here Are Quiet (1972), dir. Stanislav Rostotsky

The Servant (1963), dir. Joseph Losey

A Magical Substance Flows Into Me (2015), dir. Jumana Manna

Funeral Parade Of Roses (1969), dir. Toshio Matsumoto

Jawbreaker (1999), dir. Darren Stein

The Blackcoat's Daughter (2015), dir. Oz Perkins

Velvet Goldmine (1998), dir. Todd Haynes

Prometheus (2012), dir. Ridley Scott

Alien: Covenant (2017), dir. Ridley Scott

Sunshine (2007), dir. Danny Boyle

Colossal (2016), dir. Nacho Vigalondo

Ravenous (1999), dir. Antonia Bird

Man With A Movie Camera (1929), dir. Dziga Vertov

Treevenge (2008), dir. Jason Eisener

Titane (2021), dir. Julia Ducournau

Priest (1994), dir. Antonia Bird

Over The Garden Wall (2014), dir. Nate Cash

Angels In America (2003), dir. Mike Nichols

Totally Fucked Up (1993), dir. Gregg Araki

A few honourable mentions: other Mangini works (like Divine Love (1961) , The Bridle On The Neck (1974), Being Women (1965)), that I let Stendalì, the one I felt the most, represent; other works in the Eating/The Other programme on Another Screen (which is where I watched basically all the shorts I saw this past year), I picked Fake Fruit Factory to be on this list but I'd like to also mention Popsicles (1984), The Sandwich (1977), Melons (1988), and The Sweet Number - An Experience Of Consumption (1969) — which is basically all of them; then, Eva's Man (1974); Islands Of Fire (1955); Your Father Was Born 100 Years Old, And So Was The Nakba (2017); Diabolique (1955); Censor (2021); Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai Du Commerce 1080 Bruxelles (1975); Autour De Jeanne Dielman (2004); Pig (2021); Il Demonio (1963), another good rewatch; The Return Of The Living Dead (1985); Demons (1971); The Outsiders (1983); Stand By Me (1986); The Blood On Satan's Claw (1971); The Blob (1988); The Ash Tree (1975); Alice (1988); Young Frankenstein (1974); Child's Play (1988); Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990). And that should be it!

[luxeavenger]

This Dog Is Going To Get You

This is just some Bucky and Alpine fluff I wrote because I needed a break from my other WIP's. There‘s no warnings, except talk of food/eating.

I wrote this on my phone, please forgive any errors.

Words: 1180

I do not consent to having my work copied, translated, or posted on any other site. The ONLY places my work should appear are @luxeavenger on Tumblr and Ao3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

If you enjoy this, please reblog it to help others find it!

“Sir, you aren’t allowed to bring that in here.”

“I’m not a sir, and she’s not a that. She’s an Alpine.”

“You still aren't allowed to bring a cat in here.”

“Buck, just take her back out to the bus. We won’t be long,” Steve says.

“Nobody else is on the bus though, and she gets lonely when everyone’s gone.”

This time you try, “Bucky, baby, I know she’s lonely. And I know that upsets you, but this is a restaurant. You know you can’t bring her in here. We’ll only be an hour, if that. You can give her a bowl of that smelly food she likes, and leave some toys for her. She’ll be fine.”

“They can’t even see her in my coat anyway,” Bucky mumbles petulantly, even as Alpine pokes her head out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket and bats the flap out of the way with one fuzzy paw, as if she needed to see what had gotten her daddy all worked up.

“James Buchanan Barnes, first of all, how dare you make me use my mom voice, and second of all, you know Alpine can’t come in here. So you take her back to the bus and come back, or you take her back to the bus and stay with her. What’ll it be?”

He opens the flap of his coat, “Mommy is bossy, in’nt she, ki-kitty?” Alpine gives an earnest puurrp and Bucky nods at her sage wisdom. He finally relents and turns back toward the bus.

He flops down on the couch with her, and coaxes her out of his pocket. She’s starting not to fit in there anymore, he muses.

“Are you getting cramped in there, baby girl? You’re growing up, huh?”

She puts a foot on his chest and headbutts his chin, giving a little trill by way of an answer.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?” Alpine curls up next to his leg and watches him intently.

He takes his jacket off, and examines the panel where the inside pocket is. He pulls his boot knife, and neatly excises the entire pocket. Effectively leaving a hole in the liner, and a space which could easily accommodate Alpine, even well into adulthood. He’d have to reinforce the hole he made so it didn’t rip, but that's a problem for another day.

“You hungry baby?”

She looks at him with excitement twinkling in her blue eyes. He pulls a leftover turkey sub out of the mini-fridge. He sits down with it, and she lifts a paw up, and pats his leg with it gently.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he reassures her. She keeps her paw in the air, just in case he needs further prompting.

He opens the bread, and fishes out a piece of turkey. Pinching it between his fingers he offers it to her. She smells it daintily, before deciding to eat it.

He takes a big bite of the sandwich, and makes a disappointed noise. The whole thing is just a cold, mushy mess. He takes another bite, trying to force himself to like it, and offers another piece to Alpine. She turns her nose up at it and climbs into his lap. She headbutts his stomach until he skritches her cheeks.

“Muurph,” she says, before rolling over and showing him her stomach.

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s fucking nasty.” He wraps the wrapper around it again and tosses it into the trash. She grabs his human arm and play fights with it, hugging his wrist with her front paws, and kicking at his forearms with her back, while she nibbles at the meaty spot at the base of his thumb.

“Excuse me, ma’am. That’s offensive. I may be made of meat, but I am not food, young lady.” He scoops her up with his vibranium arm. “Ha! Can’t eat this one, can you?” She flops down with her head in his hand and starts making biscuits on his chest.

He sits for a few minutes, with Alpine nodding off in his arm, and tries to pretend he’s not starving. His stomach growls and startles Alpine from her nap.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he pouts.

She looks at him expectantly, like she’s waiting patiently for him to come to the right conclusion.

“You know what? Fuck it.”

Alpine jumps up with a brrrp, as is to say, it’s about time.

He opens the hole in his jacket so she can climb in, and he shrugs it on.

This time he strides in quickly, bypassing the waitress who’d sent him away, and sits down with the band.

Everyone already has food, so he takes the empty appetizer plate. “So what are we having?” he asks, as he proceeds to steal a little food from everyone's plate. Everyone except Clint, who tries to stab him with his fork.

“Why is Alpine still in your coat?” you hiss.

“Because she’s hungry,” he sniffs. “She attacked me and tried to eat me. It was vicious and unprovoked, and I no longer feel safe in my own home.”

“Then why’d you bring the Jabberwocky with you?” you giggle.

“I was worried she may kill an unsuspecting stranger if someone tried to break in. If you can live with that, then kudos to you, you soulless harpy, but I can’t live with such senseless violence on my conscience,” he sniffs.

He looks around for anyone who might object to the cat in his jacket, and finding no one, he opens the flap and offers Alpine a pinch of bacon from Nat’s BLT. She snatches it from him hungrily. “Hey, watch it, you. The vicious thing was just a joke, okay?”

He cuts a small sliver off one of the scallops he’d swiped from Scott. Again checking for waitstaff and finding none. “Pspsps, it’s your favorite. Don’t you bite me, demon.” He slips the scallop to her, and she takes it gently this time. “Who’s daddy’s good girl?” he coos.

You lean over and whisper, “It’s me.”

He glares at you. “Don’t you start.” You stick your tongue out at him.

Someone clears their throat, and everyone looks up to find the waitress that kicked Bucky out in the first place. Everyone’s eyes move in unison from her to Bucky.

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “this isn’t the bus! Why didn’t you guys tell me? I feel terrible, miss,” he stands to leave. “You’ll have to forgive me, I did a lot of drugs in middle school, and I’m hopelessly confused because of it.”

She glares at him the whole way back out to the bus, and he waves to her cheerfully before he climbs the stairs.

Plopping back down on the couch, he sighs, “Right back where we started from, huh girl?”

He helps her out of his jacket, and fishes around in one of the pockets.

“But this time I come bearing gifts!” He opens his hand to reveal an assortment of meats he’d pocketed before being booted.

She purrps her approval before taking the first slice of turkey.

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[hopefullystillatheatrestudent]

i'm so excited about you taking asks again ahhhh okay so. if you'd absolutely had to choose. what would be your top 5 cockles moments, and why? thank you ily <3

here’s the thing: there are so many routes i could go down with this, because cockles moments come in all shapes and sizes and formats. these include moments from their panels, their bloopers, the footage we get when they don’t even know they’re being recorded, stories being passed down from photo ops & autographs(one of my personal favorite ways to get cockles, tbh, because they’re all insane), and social media(tweets to each other, instagram posts & comments, etc.). 

SO! since many a list like this has already been made, and i want to stand out from the crowd, what i’m gonna do is definitively give the number one spot to each of these five categories.(i might even throw in honourable mentions because they’re so despicably in love that they warrant that. i really put my whole pussy into this, guys, i hope you’re happy.) 

disclaimer: these are my own personal opinions. but that also means i’m right. so. enjoy. 

number one: top cockles panel moment

so we’re starting off with a bang, because how do you even BEGIN to rank what atrocities jensen and misha commit at jibcon. every single one they’ve had is damning in it’s own right, for different reasons.

however, considering just how much unabashed fuckery they’ve given us to sift through, it’s a good thing i do have a personal favorite despite it all. it’s heartwarming, the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen, AND it’s jarringly cinematic - mainly because it has a whole ass arc to it that was years in the making. it might even be surprising to some people, but my favorite cockles panel moment, and what i consider the one that encompasses their entire gut-wrenching journey from 2008-2013 in the most sweepingly romantic gesture possible, is this one.

i want this burned into my retinas. i am not even joking. when i'm through with my explanation, let me convince you why this is thee most romantic cockles moment of all time.

first, some history: people call this the resume off, but many seem to forget the botched attempt at a resume off a year prior. and yes, you guessed it: it's during their break up. it's a juicy time period for a reason, guys. it came across as exceedingly one-sided and VERY awkward. let me refresh your memory as to just how bad it was, and just how hard jensen was trying and ultimately failing at winning misha over: the funniest part of the whole resume off in 2013??? every joke/bit had literally already been made/done. they were just going through the motions again, but the difference THIS time...is that misha reciprocated jensen's energy. it. is. fascinating. i want to get into it more detail in another post, and i'll link it here when i'm done, but the main takeaway, i think, and the main difference that showcases how much they've grown in a year, is that in jib 3, misha flat out refused to do an accent, and this time around, he indulges jensen for literal minutes. when i tell you they're crazy, they're crazy. i can't wait to actually dive into it later.

ANYWAY, the resume off culminates in this moment here. and, like, a million things happen in this gifset. actually, more like a million and one. the music starts playingneediremindyouthatthesongissingingintherain(h e l p), misha starts dancing, jensen 'perpetually fake grumpy' ackles lets misha think he's not going to join, misha sits down defeated, but no!!! that was jensen's plan all along(look at his stupid fucking smirk) and he offers his arm to his dance partner who immediately grins like a fool, jensen then leads misha into their kick step, they perfectly synchronise and let loose, and are then very clearly having the time of their lives, hanging off of each other with joy and ease. from their expressions alone i can tell that this moment is so. so. so. so! much more than what initially meets the eye. i mean-misha is fighting back the biggest smile i've ever seen. to me, it reads like jensen is offering something to misha, something that misha kind of gave up on expecting, and him offering his arm like that is like, a surprise to him in the best possible way(and it's so not platonic, let me just say that.) as soon as jensen did that, it ushered in a new era of cockles. this panel is jensen and misha's favourite for a reason, and i think this moment is the biggest clue as to why.

whew!!! ok. that took a lot out of me and that was only point one. moving on,

number two: top cockles blooper moment

cockles bloopers hold an extremely special place in my heart, because it shows just how fucking disastrous jensen and misha are. they are so goddamn infatuated with each other that they HOLD UP PRODUCTION ALL THE TIME TO FLIRT WITH EACH OTHER(???). let me repeat. let it sink in. jensen ackles; arguably one of the most professional actors on that show who puts everything he has into each scene, with mountains and mountains of notes to prove it: would rather hold up production to flirt with misha collins. this sounds fake. it's not. he does it. all. the. time. and here's the thing guys!!! i'm gonna let you in on a secret!!! misha loves it. he loveesssss it. on top of that-misha collins: overlooked because he's pranked and people assume he's unprofessional as well, but his only pranks are in retaliation/off-set, and he rarely if EVER causes problems if he can help it....lets himself get carried away when it comes to jensen making kissy faces at him!!! are you actually kidding me!!! i mean. misha. it's just a face. you've seen it a million times. i don't buy that it triggers something in you that strongly....you like it, and you like jensen's reaction. you can't fool me!!! lisa berry's face in that one gifset shows just how fed up the crew is with their gross, coupley boyfriend antics.

i could pull up so many examples. sooooooo many. but my favourite was sealed since the moment i saw it.

i actually already wrote an analysis on it but i can't find it :(((( which SUCKS because i really unpacked the whole thing. i'll try to summarise.

basically, a backstory is part of this too!!! jensen and misha both had a really really hard time with this scene(because it's explicitly romantic there i said it), they sat down for hours and poured over their scripts together, they were super super nervous going into filming, both of them, jensen especially, were super hard on themselves for their performances not being true to their characters but they both complimented the other's work(boyfriend moments fr). so, yeah. they weren't confident going into shooting. and how do they get themselves to feel better???? by cuddling each other, apparently.

a lot. a LOT. happens in this specific blooper. to the point that i saw it years before i knew about cockles and it raised all sorts of flags for me.

1) stop pulling my face towards your crotch(as a thinly veiled request that misha would, in fact, move jensen's face towards his crotch, considering it was jensen moving himself there in the first place. also, why so comfy down there guys???) 2) you're my baby daddy i know(in the most intimate voice i've ever heard please) 3) i know, i know, i love you too i didn't say i love you i know but you wanted to say it etc. misha's right, of course. that's what jensen meant.

it just reeks of comfort, familiarity and intimacy between the two, and it's a moment that is extremely sweet and silly at the same time. they're so <3

number three: top cockles found footage moment

WONDERFUL category. truly the culmination of the cockles experience. many people have said that shipping cockles doesn't work because 'they're just onstage you dummies!! they're playing it up for the audience!!!' here's the thing, love. i could not disagree with you more. once you climb your way up the cockles ladder, you soon learn that they are, in fact, playing their dynamic DOWN, not up. they really are just Like That™, and they could not care less about the paying audience, if we're being honest, considering how much time they take to giggle with each other and refuse to let the audience in on the joke. and i love them for it <3

anyway, my point is that this category is for all you naysayers out there, all you 'jensen and misha's relationship is just for show and is real life queerbaiting'(?????lordhelp???) oh yeah? ok, explain this.

he. he. he calls jensen sweetheart. literally enough said. there's nothing to really add here, except, misha and jared then immediately engage in damage control. jared's method is distraction and misha's is retconning('get out of the car, dude') this was what got me to buy into the cockles dumpster for GOOD good. you don't call your buddy sweetheart accidentally and sound so completely earnest while doing it! especially not when that buddy is jensen ackles!!! you think he would let any of his friends call him that? do you?

one more thing; if it was a slip of the tongue, little mouth thing or whatever, you think jared wouldn't have jumped on it immediately??? i can hear it now. 'did you just call him SWEETHEART???' yeah. that's what i thought. you know why he didn't? because it was too revealing.

number four: top cockles autograph moment

i mean, i think we all know what it's gonna be, and if you don't, well, do i have the piece de cockles resistance that is gonna send you over the edge.

if you haven't heard of this story by now, as a cockles, truther, i'm gonna go ahead and get you to read it, because there is no possible heterosexual explanation for any of it, and you're fooling yourself if you think otherwise.

spoiler alert: it's the story where phones weren't allowed in an auto session, jensen nuzzles himself in misha's hair, leans his full body weight onto him, holds his hand, etc. etc. i'm imploding just repeating this back, actually. also, just, the sheer amount of stories from photo ops where they tackle hug each other or slap each other's asses or sing romantic songs to each other or almost kiss is, frankly, a lot. if i could wish for anything, it would be to witness them in person.

and finally,

number five: top cockles social media moment

this one is super difficult, because there's obviously a lot to choose from. but you know what? full send, i'm going with this one:

i just. what to say about this. how often do misha and jensen watch sunsets together for it to qualify as ‘always’ ??? why are sunsets synonymous with their relationship??? that’s like??? a very romantic thing????? ‘this guy’??? the fact that it’s a CANDID??? i don’t know guys.

that could have been better but i am TIRED so. there you go rose ily

[autisticandroids]

here is that “the world of supernatural is tiny” post i’ve been promising

the thing about supernatural, the thing at the core of a lot of our collective frustrations with supernatural, stuff like side character culls, what-if-there-was-an-even-bigger-gunism, the lack of institutions and governments and interpersonal politics, the nonsense worldbuilding, the fossilization of the brothers’ relationship, all of that, is that the world of supernatural is incredibly small. like it really is just... two brothers against the rest of the world, or eventually team free will against the rest of the world. 

and this is in every aspect of it.  this is why the side characters must be culled, obviously, and not just culled: it’s why the side characters never ever get the focus they should, why an episode told from bobby’s point of view is as weird and unique as the fucking episode told from the car’s point of view, why the side characters almost never become meaningfully part of the narrative. and the culling/squashing of the side characters is why the brothers can never develop: the only meaningful relationship they’re allowed to have long enough for it to grow and change is with each other, and eveeeeentually cas, and eventually eventually jack, but mostly just each other. if they were allowed to have more meaningful relationships with the outside world, they wouldn’t have to turn to each other for everything and ultimately fail, or take out all of their problems on each other.

this is why the solution to the problem of the season is always an even bigger gun: it can’t be building a bigger army, nor can it be diplomacy, because both of those require opening the world slightly to outsiders. it needs to be a weapon wieldable by a single person that they can use to destroy the enemy, or, at best, quid pro quo a deal made with one very powerful ally who can singlehandedly destroy the enemy.

this is why there are no governments or institutions, and no truly ambiguous parties: every powerful force is, in the end, a single person, or an organization with a single all-powerful charismatic leader. there are no organizations with organizational interpersonal politics. like, do we know the names of any of crowley’s underlings’ names? NO! why the fuck don’t we, he’s supposed to be the king of bureaucrats, mr. organizational. but nope! he’s just a despot like everyone else. do we know any of naomi’s underlings’ names before she fakes her death? raphael’s in season six? abaddon’s? fucking...... who else, every other big bad i can think of is just crowley. i digress. anyway in the end it’s always just one big scary guy with a big scary power, and sometimes that power is “an army” but that’s just. a superpower. it’s exactly like having a big raygun.

and like this is one of the reasons why the worldbuilding on spn is so nonsensical like. on top of the normal bad tv scifi reasons. it’s because nothing on spn exists in a society, everything exists in atomized isolation because the world can only include one thing which isn’t the winchesters at a time. there is no such thing as a wider world on spn.

and like here’s the thing. here’s the thing. there are good things about spn’s tiny, closed world. in particular, it allows really a lot of tight character focus on the protagonists and their closest relationship(s). like, if the world of supernatural was bigger from the start, would dean winchester still be the most compelling, most tragic character on television to me? i don’t think so. he wouldn’t have the depth.

but the thing is, you can have both. supernatural could have started in a tiny, closed world which slowly opened and blossomed to include both a larger universe and an ensemble cast. it almost did, but then it lost its way.

like, the first two seasons of spn are an intensely personal story, all about a family and its trauma. and all about the brothers, and their father. then the third season is about the fallout from the conclusion of that story, still personal, still all about the brothers. 

but then season four comes along. the story is no longer quite so personal. now it’s about saving the world. it’s about heaven and hell. and along with that, the cast opens up, too. ruby and cas become main-ish characters. this is exactly the right direction to be going in, a natural progression towards a bigger world and a larger cast. bobby, too, becomes a main-ish character, though he was already headed there in s3, and he doesn’t get the screentime of ruby or cas.

then, season five: we start to wobble. the world continues opening up: we’re still at a global scale, but now the supernatural is having an effect on wider society. in season four, we were preventing the apocalypse, but no one was seeing it but us, and maybe a few small towns. now there are demon omens on the news. but the cast is stuck again. ruby is dead. bobby does have a slightly increasing role, which is good. cas is there, but he’s also less of a character and more of a useful tool. and no one new is added. in fact, two of the people who it would be most natural to add to the cast - ellen and jo - are killed off for shock value. 

but then we really go down hill in six and especially seven. the world continues to open: six is about the fallout of five, a concept which i love! you can’t have an institutional war machine like heaven thwarted in its billion year purpose without a bit of fallout. conceptually, that’s wonderful! that’s why i have a good season six au. but by execution, it’s a mess, because the world of supernatural is actively shrinking again. in order to do the premise of season six well, your world needs to have a society in it, and season six can’t manage that. like, it should have been an exploration of the supernatural world with a sociological bent; a look at how averting the apocalypse, eve, social unrest in heaven, affected the paranormal parasocieties of spn. but it couldn’t manage that.

worse, the cast is also shrinking. cas isn’t around much anymore, lisa is there but she doesn’t really get to be a person, more just the idea of a wife, and side characters are dropping like flies. they killed off rufus for no reason!

then in seven it’s even worse! because the world is still opening! the supernatural world is finally crashing into ordinary society in earnest. godstiel killed homophobic pastors! he etched his own face in stained glass! he actively went around interfering in normal society! and then the leviathans came along and totally broke down the supernatural/normal distinction. they use ordinary societal channels to acquire their power! they’re politicians and corporate executives! they put their poison in the corn syrup! 

but in terms of felt sense it’s closing. the winchesters are not living in the society that’s being attacked, they are totally outside it, alone in the world. isolated. and the leviathans are still defeated by shooting their leader with an even bigger gun!

and here’s the thing: this still could have eventually built towards something, a larger universe for supernatural. with sera gamble and her side character murderboner out, season eight could have dealt with the fallout from seven in a way that kept the universe big and built the cast back up. instead, jeremy carver gave us kevin tran only to kill him a season and a half later, and decided to just completely drop all of sera gamble’s new worldbuilding, which in the case of season six is kind of understandable, since she made a total hash of heaven, but in the case of the leviathans is deeply, deeply frustrating. like, where was the fallout from that! did it change society at all? the answer, it appears, is no.

after this, the world of supernatural is fairly static. it’s neither opening nor closing. heaven and hell are constant forces, occasionally there are other threats, but everything stays basically the same in the carver era, and the dabb era too even though dabb made a few strides towards increasing the size of the cast with mary and jack.

but yeah. basically the universe of supernatural is tiny, and that’s why it’s frustrating. once again we come back to the basic problem of supernatural being that it simply is not star trek.

[dandelionflower]

She tours alone

Marinette had gone to sleep right after finding a hidden path back to the manor, thank you, Culpa the kitty, and woke up feeling refreshed. Since today they were going to be touring the ballrooms, she elected to wear her ‘composers outfit,’ inspired by Nickolas Lafin, an incredible musician who lived in the manor.

Nickolas was primarily a conductor, but he often composed his own symphonies and gavots as well. Despite his incredible work, Lafin wasn’t much of a prominent character in the manor’s history and instead was reported to mainly follow his girlfriend, Anya, around. After Anya drowned, it was said that Nickolas spent all of his free time in the attic, until eventually, the boxes and trunks fell on top of him and killed him instantly.

Marinette had on a long blue coat with black and white music notes dotted along the bottom. Her shirt was crisp and black, matching her pants perfectly. She also had on a pair of rectangular earrings and red bowtie that matched Nickolas’ favorite.

After a quick breakfast where Marinette checked in on Allegra again, Grace picked them up to check out the ballroom. Adrien sidled up to her with his earnest smile and the two walked hand-in-hand next to Alya and Nino.

“Alya seems a bit shaken, is she okay?”

“She’s okay, just had an allergic reaction to the ice cream she got.”

Marinette looked at Alya again. She was leaning heavily into Nino’s side and was giving wary glares at any cup or water container she saw. She’d have to make sure she didn’t get dehydrated.

“...and here is the grand ballroom!” Grace pushed open the doors with a grin. “It’s a bit dusty since we haven’t exactly been hosting any parties lately, but with a little elbow grease it’ll be spectacular!”

Marinette looked at the dark, dusty room. Thick curtains covered the windows, but it allowed for a small sliver of light to illuminate the flecks dancing from the ceiling to the floor. Even in the faint lighting, she could tell that it was beautiful; all pastels and silvers and golds.

“What a dump.” Lila commented to Alix and Kim beside her. “Prince Ali’s ballroom is much better than this waste.”

“Actually,” Grace’s wide smile sharpened into something vengeful, “even in its current state, the Culpa ballroom is still considered one of the most lavish ballrooms in the world. Prince Ali’s ballroom isn’t even ranking.”

“I- ah well, it must have been remodeled since the last ranking.” Lila floundered, and after she looked at Adrien’s sympathetic face, Marinete almost felt bad for her.

Grace was looking casually at her phone. “Seems that the last ranking happened just a few days ago. That would have been when you were in Paris, correct?”

Almost.

“I guess I must have forgotten which ballroom I was thinking of.” Lila shrugged. “There’s been so many.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Grace mumbled with shrewd eyes. She perked back up. “Anyway! I was thinking, as your project for your visit, you can produce a replica of the infamous Ross ball. We can have people working with flowers, costumes, music, and guests.”

The class murmured their agreement already turning to their friends and discussing what they wanted to wear.

“Ooh! Can I wear a suit?” Rose bounced on her toes, hand waving.

“Of course! We have dozens of old clothes that could easily be refitted for you and everyone else! We just need a-”

“Designer!” Nino shouted, pointing down at Marinette’s head (tall people, disgusting). “We’ve got one right here!”

“Great!” Grace didn’t seem surprised at all, even though a teenage designer isn’t someone you meet every day. “Your main job will be refitting and redesigning all the costumes for your friends. That sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” Rose’s suit would of course need to be a pink, but a faint floral print on it too would look beautiful. Making it period accurate would be tricky, but the internet had all kinds of references for suits and dresses.

“We’ll need people for all the other tasks I mentioned, but for now just look around the room and check out the closets for anything you may need for the ball.”

The four of them immediately gravitated to the closets at Alya’s behest and Adrien’s adventurous spirit. There were instruments of all kinds and colors; it was like a sculpture and Marinette felt all kinds of inspiration welling up in her.

“Not much in this room.” Alya remarked. “Let’s check the next.”

“I used to really like music.” Adrien said as he followed Nino and Alya out the door. “Still do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Marinette stayed behind, pulling out her phone to take a few pictures. A rustle from behind the cello caught her eye, and she glanced back at the open door. Another rustle, and she committed to it, stepping forwards to investigate.

“Meow.” Culpa was sitting prim on top of a drum. He was looking at the ground then at her like he just noticed another being was in the room.

“Culpa!” Her hands reached out to rub the cat’s ears, fingers vibrating with the feline’s contented purrs. “Hey, kitty. What’re you doing in here?”

Culpa offered no answer aside from leaning further into her hand and purring louder. She’d take it. After a few minutes more of petting, Culpa batted her hand away and moved towards the very back of the room, tucking into a thin passage she hadn’t noticed in the dark. When he realized there wasn’t a presence behind him, he turned around and mewled for her attention.

“Right, right. Coming.” She slipped her phone in her pocket and slipped into the passageway, which was just wide enough for her to stand comfortably in.

She followed Culpa’s flashing blue eyes through the tunnel until she stepped into a wider, well-lit hallway. Unlike the closet or the ballroom, the hall was absolutely pristine. Both of the walls were decorated with portraits, and Marinette took her time inspecting each one.

It was the Culpa family. Each one through the ages until it ended with the image Culpa showed the most attention to; Felix, eyes cold, unseeing on the canvas. Right next to it was a small framed photograph in black and white; Bridgette and Felix, laughing while leaning against each other.

She lifted the picture and smiled down at it. It was much better than the painting; it showed much more emotion. And that dress! Marinette could totally design a dress like that. It would look beautiful in pink.

“It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” Allegra was standing in a doorway a bit behind her. She hadn’t noticed her come in.

“Yeah, they both look so… so happy. Why wasn’t this room a part of the tour?”

“We didn’t want people touching this part of the manor’s history.” She shrugged, walking forwards. “It just seemed right to keep it separate from the rest of it all.”

“Yeah, I get it.” This place seemed- sacred, in a way. She followed Allegra out of the hall and watched her lock the door.

“How’d you get in there anyway?”

“Oh, I found this cat and he led me through some passageway in the back of a closet.” She pointed over her shoulder to Culpa who… wasn’t there. “And he’s gone. That’s weird.”

“A passageway, huh? That’s cool.”

“I thought so too. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea to just go through it without telling anyone though, huh?”

“Probably not.” Allegra agreed

They walked a while longer before they were back at the ballroom. Alya and Nino were talking near one of the back doors that lead to the closets and looked up just as she walked in.

“Girl! Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over, come on! Adrien’s playing the piano.” Alya grabbed her and dragged her through the hall of closets. When she passed the one with the instruments, she glanced in, trying to catch a glance of the passage to show Alya.

She didn’t see anything at all.

.......

The rest

@merry-madness @calliopeia @drama-queen-supreme @kaydenth3gayden @mcheang @nomiegnome @never-say-donuts @vixen-uchiha @miracul0us-multishipper @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @chocolatecustarddanish @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @digitalmagpie @ilseofskadi @nerdy-and-a-little-birdy @minty-goose @nataladriana9 @aestheticnpoetic @constellation-king @animegirlweeb @persephonebutkore @ahalloweengirl @r0sebutch @marinettepotterandplagg @beelzzebop @akalovelymaybe @pleasefollowmeuwu @angelost4r @constancetruggle @speaknowtome @some-oxymoron @nerdy-scifi-birdy @purplesundaze @aestheticnpoetic @neptuningkai @2confused-2doanything @goggles-mcgee @grumpy-kitten-vixen @artemisdragona @lookatthestars1 @demonicbusiness @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @vice-artist

[tempenensis]

Lele-san! *sobz* I made the mistake of wandering around on Tumblr and found movie leaks and (｡ŏ﹏ŏ) maybe I'll end up stopping after the Yuuta Vs Getou part. MAPPA went all-out with the animation and made the delivery of Sakurai-san's (should I say Getou's?) lines as tear-jerking as possible ( ⚈̥̥̥̥̥́⌢⚈̥̥̥̥̥̀) but Gojo looks weird whenever he's acting calm thanks to this studio anyway... When I think about it, Getou's defection is very sad. The case is kind of like he was too earnest and then in the context of his world view, shit hit the fan. He was still a good person at his lowest but after "recovering" it *gestures wildly at Getou monkey-exterminator Suguru*. Even then, he could still gather followers ("Oh! A good man!" -Suda Manami & Co.)

Also I found some other blog which said Getou wasn't fully aware of the true extent of his own CT which allows for the extraction of cursed spirits' CTs AND that when Kenjaku was talking about the CT during the Shibuya Arc he was addressing Getou too (skeptical). Then was the part where he made the curse user think of his dog in the Hidden Inventory Arc just simple summoning + manipulation of the cursed spirit?

Ahaha thanks for reading! This looks like a wall of text...

These days I try to go to the main tag as little as possible, because, yeah, people will post anything without knowing the risk or consequence. I am already spoiled a lot *sigh*

Getou's story is very well written. But at the end, what he wanted to do is just impossible idealism.

Getou was aware of that to some extent. He could control the curse spirit's curse technique. When he fought Touji, he used the technique of the scissor woman. I think what Kenjaku means is the extent of curse technique extraction that Uzumaki can do. Getou only mastered Uzumaki after he rebelled and couldn't do it during Hidden Inventory arc, and Getou only used it for low-level spirits for the number. Maybe he believed "quantity over quality" for Uzumaki, in opposite of Kenjaku who used it to perform Mahito's strong curse technique

[doorsclosingslowly]

They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?���

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Another Life

Hi guys!! So, I mentioned in the last chapter of TPWP that I had a short-ish one shot about IshiMondo following Mondo murdering Chihiro in the canon universe. I will warn y’all that this... this is a sad fic. If I were posting this on AO3 (which I will, eventually, I think) there would be the Major Character Death warning, so... yeah. 

Anyway. I just wanted to say something real quick before getting onto the fic. Feel free to skip if you don’t care. But y’all will realize as you read that this is not really my usual style of writing. I tend to prefer to be big on the details and emotion, since that sort of thing is what interests me most. This story, though, is more... barebones. I’m telling more than showing, and there is one main reason for this. This fic... it’s sad, but if I wrote in my usual style, it would be devastating. For me, at least. I got the idea for this fic months ago, maybe even before TPWP, just a quick “I wonder what an interaction between Mondo and Taka would be like after Mondo killed Chihiro would be like.” 

I immediately dismissed the idea once I went down the path and realized how sad it would be, though. I love writing angst, right? I don’t think I’ve ever written a single story without some measure of angst or sadness. It’s just... what I do, ya know? But the one thing I cannot stand is hopelessness. It’s why I don’t like Danganronpa much, since it’s such a hopeless story, even if some of the students get out. It’s hopeless, and more than that, it’s pointless. The death and all that. There’s no reason for it at all, and I just... I hate stories like that, with no hope of a true happy ending. And this idea... it ends kind of hopelessly. I hate that sort of thing. 

But I couldn’t stop thinking of this story. It kept coming back, again and again, and eventually... I caved and knew I had to do something. So I wrote this. I swear, it was supposed to be short! Just 1,000-2,000 words that explained the idea, to get it off my mind. I’d have posted it here and been like “hey guys, see this weird idea I had??? Man, wouldn’t it be crazy if I wrote this???” But then! I started putting more details in, like I always do. And then dialogue showed up. And by the time I finished my first writing session and went off to work, sending the story from my phone to my computer to check the word count, I had written over 6,000 words. And I wasn’t even done. Only then did I realize... this was a fic, dear god. Not my usual kind of fic, but... a fic nonetheless. I finished writing it then, and then went back to add some more detail to the first 6,000 words to make it at least a little like a fic.

Now, I know this was a long explanation, but I just... I’m anxious about this fic. It’s been on my mind for ages and I don’t know if I like the style. I oddly think it fits the story, though, given how messed up Mondo would be after what he did, so there is that. But I just... if y’all could please let me know what you think, I would appreciate it. I do plan on posting this to AO3 and FF . net eventually, but having feedback would help, if y’all wouldn’t mind. If y’all like this style of writing... I may be able to get more ideas out without taking months to write the whole thing. It doesn’t preclude me from writing full fics eventually, but it allows me to get more ideas out. So just... let me know, yeah? 

.

Anyway! Here’s the fic! The main warning is that there is a major character death, since this, ya know... follows canon. It follows Mondo’s POV, and there is very mild sexual content. More referenced than truly shown, but it is there. 

Enjoy! 

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

Another Life

 Summary: Mondo finds himself outside of Taka’s room following the events in the boy’s changing room, his head a mess and heart even worse. While he knows he doesn’t deserve it, he finds comfort in Taka’s arms anyway.

  Mondo finds himself leaving the exercise slash changing room in a daze, his body having rearranged the furniture to respect- respect Chihiro and his gender on autopilot, his head a complete mess and feeling so incredibly sick. He has always hated himself, more so after what happened with his brother, but he is positive he has never hated himself more than he currently does, the phantom sensation of bright pink blood staining his hands lingering, even though he has scrubbed them clean a dozen times. 

 In his distraction, he finds himself meandering through the halls without any real idea of what he’s doing, where he’s going, his brain not quite registering what he’d done, his mind wanting to reject it even as he knows he’d done it. While he has always hated himself and his tendency for violence and anger, he’d once never seen himself as the kind of person who could murder anyone, especially not someone smaller and weaker than him. Not even when he was at his angriest and wanted to hurt someone desperately. And he doesn’t know how to handle the reality of what he just did. 

 While walking aimlessly, he realizes that he somehow has found himself back in the dorm hallway, stomach clenched and angry, wanting to throw up but doing all he can to not do so. He tries to force his feet to walk over to where his dorm room is, but finds his legs won’t let him, his mind warring with his body. He is exhausted, has never felt so tired, but he doesn’t know if he can stay in that room by himself all night long. He... he truly doesn’t. 

 It takes him a minute, but he eventually realizes that he’s been standing outside Taka’s room for several long minutes, just staring at the little depiction of the kid on the door, staring like his life depends on it. For the first time since- since, he... he feels something. Anything. He has no idea what that something is, but... but...

 Before he can tell himself not to, his hand is rising and ringing the doorbell, once, twice, three times, before falling back to his side dully, hating himself somehow even more for likely waking Taka, but not knowing what else to do. What even is he supposed to do, now? After... after...

 A few moments pass and Mondo is just about to bail and leave Taka alone, forever, when the door opens, a sleepy but still overly concerned looking Taka standing there, taking Mondo’s breath away. The kid is wearing his sleep clothes, a white and ragged undershirt and a pair of white briefs, nothing else. Mondo has seen Taka naked before, since Taka had insisted that they ‘bare themselves to each other’ a few days before, but somehow... somehow this seems even more intimate. Seeing Taka wearing so few clothes, all sleep warm and scraggly haired, and… and…

 He gets jolted from his thoughts when Taka hesitantly and yet still earnestly asks if he’s alright, inviting him inside without a single thought, not a single care for his own safety or- or anything. 

 For some reason, that angers Mondo greatly. And while he does find himself entering the room, his legs forcing him forward despite himself, he can’t help but yell at Taka, his frustration at all of it coming out. He snarls at the kid, low and angry, asking him why the hell he would ever open his door for anyone during this stupid ‘game,’ let alone let them into his room in the middle of the night, his fear and frustration coming out in a way he doesn’t want, doesn’t want at all. 

 Rather than get angry, though, Taka just stares at Mondo with wide eyes as he rants, and when Mondo is finally done, his exhaustion overcoming him again, Taka... Taka calmly and confusedly replies that he only opened the door because he could see through the peephole that it was Mondo, saying quite earnestly that he trusts Mondo completely and knows he has nothing to fear from him. His guileless and innocent words make Mondo feel disgusting, the reality of what he’d just done hitting him, and he finds himself getting angry again despite how tired he is. 

 He yells at Taka again, then, words that he doesn’t even register but that just burst out anyway, all his anger and frustration releasing from him as he rants. Taka just lets him, a small frown on his face, but when Mondo starts saying that he is a monster and only a goddamn, fuckin’ monster, Christ, Taka apparently has enough and marches over to Mondo, ignoring the deadly (and scared) glare that Mondo gives him in warning. And then... then, Taka places his hands on Mondo’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, a small and yet encouraging smile on his lips as his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm and trust, destroying Mondo entirely. Fuck...

 “That is untrue, kyoudai! I used to think you were only a criminal and a no-good biker, but I have seen the best of you this last week and I know that you are more than that! So much more! You are kind, and caring, and gentle, and very, very good! I know I have nothing to fear from you, kyoudai, no matter what! I understand you have self-esteem issues, my dearest kyoudai, but you needn’t worry! I trust you and always will! I promise! A man’s promise!” 

 The words utterly destroy Mondo, his insides clenching and breaking and hurting, and he wants to cry but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t have the right, not after what he had done. But he can’t help the way his stomach lurches at the earnest look Taka gives him, his heart beating fast, and he knows exactly what it is he feels for Taka. Has known from the moment he set eyes on him in the main hall, so much at odds considering their respective talents, but it was so clear to him even despite that. He never has felt anything like this for anyone, certainly not so soon after meeting them, but... but he does. He most definitely, truly does. 

 At the time, he had even had an absent thought of how Taka just seemed so familiar to him. How— even though he knows they’d never met before; he’d most certainly remember a person like Taka— it was like he knew him intimately somehow. He’d tried pushing it away, especially considering the twisted game they were being forced to play, but he’d never been able to fully push the feeling inside him away. And when they’d had their sauna battle and became kyoudai, he knew he couldn’t deny how he felt for Taka any longer, even though it had only been a couple of short, stressful weeks that they’d ‘known’ each other. 

 But... as stressed out and scared and terrified as Mondo currently feels, he can’t help the desire that rises inside him, looking into Taka’s wide and trusting eyes. Part of Mondo wants to destroy that trust, to break Taka and prove to him that Mondo is just a monster that doesn’t deserve anything good, but he finds he just can’t, the thought of it breaking him more than he’s ever been broken before. And when he sees Taka’s eyes dart down to his lips after several long minutes of staring into one another’s eyes, Taka’s lips parting on a shaky breath... Mondo’s slim hold on himself breaks. 

 Leaning forward, Mondo kisses Taka angrily, firmly, somehow finding a way to hate himself even more for doing such a thing when he sure as hell does not deserve it, not after what he did. And yet, despite his anger, and self-hatred, and pain, pain, pain, he quickly finds himself softening the kiss, since— even with how angry and scared he is— he doesn’t want to hurt Taka. Not now. Not ever. 

 Taka doesn’t kiss back, though, not even after several long, long moments. It’s just as Mondo is pulling back, heart pounding and breaking and aching, thinking he’s ruined everything and that Taka will finally see how much of a monster he is, will hate him, fuck, Taka...

 Taka lets out a soft noise, the sound not at all something Mondo can decipher, before he kisses back. Messy, and clumsy, and clearly inexperienced, but Mondo sure as hell doesn’t care. Not one single, goddamn bit. Not when Taka is as enthusiastic and passionate as ever, his lack of experience getting more than made up for by his enthusiasm and passion. 

 Mondo finds himself walking Taka backwards, Taka following willingly, trustingly, until Taka’s back is pressed against the wall, Mondo kissing him like his life depends on it. And, in a way, he thinks desperately that it does. It truly, truly does. 

 Because he knows. Right? What’s going to happen in the morning. That someone will find the body and a goddamn trial will begin, and while Mondo had done all he could to cover his tracks, he knows he’s not the smartest person and that there are likely so many fucking things he missed that a smarter and more capable person would have noticed. And he knows that... that if they don’t, that if no one notices and they accuse wrong and Mondo doesn’t get- get executed, then... then the whole class will. And that includes... includes...

 Taka pulls back from the kiss first, and Mondo is terrified that it’s because he somehow knows what Mondo did and that he’s disgusted by him, that he hates him, oh god. But before he can utter anything, any apologies he doesn’t deserve or sorrow he shouldn’t be allowed to feel, he feels Taka’s hand gently touch his cheek, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t felt begin to fall. Taka is looking at him with such gentle concern that it breaks him again, and he wants to destroy everything, wants to scream, and rage, and cry, but Taka is talking before he can, and Mondo can do nothing more than listen, desperate and aching. 

 “Mondo... it’s okay, kyoudai, really! Do not cry, I... I wanted to do that. Very, very much! ... I do not know how to explain it, but from the moment I met you, I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. I... I have felt, er... things for you since that very moment! Things I’ve never... never felt for anyone else... aha. B-but please, kyoudai, do not cry! It... it’s okay, Mondo. I promise. I guarantee it! We will get out of here, you’ll see! No one would ever actually kill over something as silly as a secret, and then that darn bear will see that we will never do as he asks, and then we will be free! All of us, kyoudai. N-no one else will die and then we... w-we can be together! If you... i-if you would want that, a-aha...” 

 Mondo feels broken again at Taka’s enthusiastic words, despising himself as he sees how earnestly Taka believes this, even still, even after having learned that one classmate had tried to kill the other, only to get killed herself. Even after being forced to watch as another classmate got pummeled to death by baseballs, and another skewered by spears. 

 Mondo has a moment to despair for Taka and his trusting nature, and he wants so badly to yell. To scream at Taka and ask him what the hell his problem is, ask him why he is being so delusional, but he finds that he... he just can’t. And as he looks deeper into Taka’s eyes, as he looks closer than he’s ever looked into anyone before, he... he sees that Taka isn’t entirely being truthful. He can see the fear that is swirling within him, can see the lie that is in his words, even if Taka doesn’t allow himself to see it. 

 And he realizes... he realizes that, while Taka may be naive, may be trusting… he does know what is happening, in some regard. But... but he is doing all he can to pretend that it’s okay. That this will all end up okay. This is just- just his way of coping, telling himself lies that it will be okay, even though part of him knows that it won’t. Knows that... that there is a very real possibility that he will just... die here. 

 A reality that Mondo suddenly knows will happen to himself come morning. 

 Because... because, if he doesn’t get found out... if he doesn’t get accused properly by the class, if the trial goes in his favor... then Taka will die, Taka and the rest of their class, and that idea is suddenly so wrong to Mondo. That... that Mondo should survive at the expense of their class. At the expense of Taka. He...

 He doesn’t know. If he’d be able to confess himself, be an active participant in his own death. While he’s always tried so hard to be strong and brave, he’s plagued by the truth that he’s not, not really. Not at all. But he knows he can’t let Taka die because of his mistake. His murder. And in that moment... he knows. No matter what, he will die the next day. That day, really, it’s so late. As he looks into Taka’s eyes, seeing the hidden fear that lurks within them, the terror and anguish the boy tries so hard to hide... he knows. 

 And he knows that he doesn’t want to die without knowing what Taka feels like. God... 

 Surging forward, Mondo kisses Taka again, desperate and needy and full of pain, but so good, too. And Taka kisses back, just as desperate, just as needy, making noises that drives Mondo out of his goddamn mind, but he doesn’t stop. He feels himself lifting the thin undershirt Taka is wearing, tossing it over his shoulder as he lets his hands explore the warm and smooth expanse of Taka’s chest. He feels hard, harder than he’s ever felt before, and he wants so, so bad. He presses his hips to Taka’s and moans when he feels an answering hardness, Taka letting out a small shout at the feeling. He knows that Taka is enjoying himself, knows that the boy wants it too, which is why he feels so confused when Taka pulls back, his eyes wide, shaking his head slightly. 

 Taka then says how they shouldn’t, that it’s improper, that they’re not technically even dating. He insinuates that he wants to wait until they get out before they do things, which upsets Mondo, since he knows that that won’t happen, no matter what Taka is deluding himself to believe. But Mondo... Mondo can’t find it in him to burst Taka’s bubble, not when it’s his last night on earth. The last time he’ll get to spend with Taka. Yeah, he really, really wants to go all the way with Taka, to not die a fucking virgin, but he also doesn’t want to pressure Taka. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway. Not after what he did. 

 So, Mondo nods, reluctantly, wondering if he should just go or not. If it wouldn’t be better to just... leave now and not hurt Taka anymore. 

 But then Taka is smiling at him, grabbing his hand, and... and then Taka is kissing him. It’s awkward and clumsy, the boy clearly not knowing what he’s doing, but it’s so endearing to Mondo that he can’t help the warm chuckle he lets out, even if it’s a bit watery. Taka pulls back with a small pout, looking a little annoyed, and Mondo fixes that by grinning brightly, stuffing down the fear inside him, and kissing Taka properly. Taka just lets out a happy sound, annoyance forgotten, and returns the favor in kind, enthusiastic as ever. 

 Mondo loses himself in the sensation and is a bit shocked to find— several minutes later— that at some point the two of them have migrated over to the bed, lips not parting for a single second. Mondo doesn’t mind at all, though, and finds that he can’t help how he pushes Taka down onto it gently, muttering promises that he won’t go too far, he swears. Taka nods absently at the words, seeming too far gone to even care anymore, but anytime Mondo’s hands accidentally wander too far south, he can feel Taka jolt, which reminds him to keep this PG. It still feels incredible to press down onto Taka as he kisses him, though, knowing then that there is nothing else he ever, ever wants to do in life. 

 Sometime later— Mondo has no idea how long since time has never meant less to him— he and Taka find themselves lounging together on the bed, Taka’s head on his bare chest, Mondo’s duster and tank top having been discarded at some point. Taka is drawing absent designs on Mondo’s chest, humming happily. Mondo is holding onto Taka tightly, his fear and terror running rampant through him, but it’s manageable when he’s holding Taka so close. 

 At some point, Mondo manages to let out the words that have been building inside him since he- he did that, his weakness and fear voiced at last. 

 “I’m scared, Taka,” he finds himself muttering, closing his eyes, breathing deeply and evenly. “So... so fuckin’ scared. K-know ya think we’re gonna get outta here, that no one is gonna- gonna fuckin’ kill anymore, but... I dunno. Yer so fuckin’ good, man. Believin’ the best in people, but I... I ain’t like that. An’ I... s-shit. I’m so fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna die. I don’t... I don’t wanna die, man. I... I...”

 Mondo begins to cry then, hating himself yet again for it, but Taka doesn’t judge him. He just shushes him softly, pulling him close, shifting them so that Mondo’s head is on Taka’s chest now. Mondo’s hair had fallen out of his pompadour at some point, his eyeliner smudged off, and he’s never felt weaker, but somehow... somehow, he doesn’t mind. Not when Taka is there, shushing him softly, kissing his forehead tenderly, eyes soft and caring. He can feel how Taka is shaking, knows that he’s also scared, but damn if Taka lets that be known. Mondo has a moment to think that Taka is probably the strongest person he’s ever met, heart aching, before Taka is speaking. Soft and shaking, but still so incredibly determined. 

 “You won’t, kyoudai. N-neither will I. We... we will both make it out of this, you’ll see! You and me. Me and- and you. We will get out and we will spend the rest of our lives together. We will finish school and then we will go to university, and I will get a job in politics while you- y-you get a job wherever you would like. We will get married and have children, if we want, and pets, and... and we... we will... we will be happy, kyoudai. Happy. And... and together. I- I promise, kyoudai... Mondo. I... I promise...” 

 Mondo can hear the way Taka’s voice tremors, can hear the uncertainty and the doubt even despite the confident words, but in that moment... in that moment, he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if that’s actually possible or not. He doesn’t care if he and Taka can have that; if he deserves to have that. He just... he doesn’t care. 

 Instead, he smiles. It’s small at first, but it gets wider and wider the more time that passes, and soon he is laughing. It’s brittle and fragile, but it’s more than he thought he’d ever have, after... well. After what he’d done. He lifts himself off Taka’s chest and looks down at him with liquid soft eyes, smiling with all the love in his heart. 

 And in that moment... he knows. Knows that he wants that. A life. With Taka. And- and had this whole thing not happened... had they met in better circumstances, better times… they could have had that. A life. A love. Him and Taka; Taka and him. Together forever. He loves Taka, truly and fully, and there is no one on this earth he can imagine ever loving more. And maybe it’s the desperation of the situation, maybe it’s not actually real, but he... he wishes that it could be. Real. That they could have discovered together if it could have been real.

 (And in some part of him, deep, deep inside... he knows that it is. He doesn’t believe in reincarnation or things like that, but he knows that this is not the first time he has met Taka. The first time he has fallen in love with him. He doesn’t know what that means, but it’s such a strong belief inside him that he can’t find it in him to contradict it. Not at all. Not even a little.)

 And then... while Mondo really wants to be closer to Taka— to feel him, in every sense of the word— he respects Taka’s wishes and keeps his hands to himself. And instead, he... he finds himself talking. He’s still leaning up on his arms, looking down at Taka, while he continues the story Taka had created. Of their life together. He mentions that he would become a carpenter, fixing and creating things rather than always breaking them. That they would live in a shitty apartment that is broken down and crappy at first, but that they would eventually make enough that Mondo would be able to build them a house, large and perfect, built exactly for them and the family they will have. He mentions that they will adopt at least two kids, a boy and a girl, though he wouldn’t mind more. Says that he will spoil them all rotten and do everything he can to ensure that they will never know the hardships that either of them has faced. He talks about the dogs they will own, and the cats too, and other animals, all the animals, their home full and bright and happy, and...

 And Taka continues when Mondo’s voice breaks, saying that Taka will start a garden outside, one that he will tend to when he’s not working on his campaign. He will grow fruits and vegetables and herbs that he will use in his cooking, since he apparently enjoys cooking and baking and things like that. He will also grow flowers and other ‘useless’ plants, just because he thinks they look nice, their house full of color and life at all hours. 

 Mondo finds his voice again and talks about how he would want to start a charity, something to help kids who grow up in rough neighborhoods, giving them options in life other than street gangs and crime. He talks about how his brother always wanted to do that kind of thing, and that he wants to do it in his stead. His voice gets thick again, but it’s okay, because then Taka is leaning up and kissing him, so he doesn’t have to talk anymore anyway. 

 Mondo has no idea what time it is when they pull back, Mondo shifting them again so that they are facing one another, arms around each other as they cuddle close together. He knows it’s late, thinks it might almost be time for that bear’s fucking morning announcement, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He just holds Taka closer, imagining the life that they created together, a life that could have been theirs— would have been theirs— if only... if only. 

 At some point they start kissing again, Mondo not knowing who starts it but not really caring. The kiss starts lazy and slow, but is soon getting heated again, Taka’s hands wandering all over his chest, driving Mondo crazy. Eventually Mondo has to grab Taka’s hands desperately in his own when they travel too far south, Mondo letting out a desperate noise as he whispers hoarsely that if Taka doesn’t wanna go farther than this tonight, then they should prolly stop. 

 To his absolute shock, Taka gets a concentrated look on his face, like he’s thinking deeply about something, and then... then...

 Taka takes his hands back from Mondo, and then...

 Mondo lets out a strangled curse when he feels Taka’s hand brush against him down there, Taka blushing bright red but looking as determined as ever. Mondo asks him softly what he’s doing, heart racing, and Taka grows even brighter red, but he doesn’t back down. He just hums, softly, and looks Mondo in the eye. 

 “I... I do not know, kyoudai. I just... I want... hm. I’ve never. Um. Wanted. Not before. But I... with you... hm. I-it is improper, I know, a-and we don’t have to- we... we have time, I know, but... but I...” 

 Mondo stares at Taka with wide, wonder filled eyes as Taka trembles, his hardness pressing against Mondo’s as they mold themselves to the other’s body. Part of Mondo feels nervous about what Taka is saying. Thinks that he should deny him, should say that Taka should wait, if he wants. But the bigger part of him... the part that knows the future they made up is just that, made up... the part that knows that they both will not make it out of this alive, since Mondo fucked that up already... 

 It can’t quite find it in him to deny it. Not when he knows this is the only chance he will ever get. Ever. 

 And so... he kisses Taka again. Deep, meaningful. And he lets his hands wander. Taka lets out noises, enthusiastic and happy, but desperate, too. Needy. And Mondo thinks he knows why. Knows that Taka knows. That this isn’t okay. That neither of them is okay, but fuck, will they pretend they are. 

 As he slowly pulls down Taka’s briefs, doing his best to not psych himself out, he has a moment to think about how familiar this all feels to him. He’s never done anything like this with anyone, certainly not Taka, but as he grabs Taka in hand, listening as Taka lets out a loud shout, desperate and needy and fuck, he... he knows this is not the first time this has happened. He doesn’t know how he knows, but... but he does. Somehow, that thought comforts him. Greatly. 

 And when he feels Taka’s hands hesitantly touch him, trail over his body, and hesitantly remove his pants and his boxers, Taka trembling but oh so passionate and determined still... he wishes— not for the first time— that none of this had ever happened. That he’d never come to Hope’s Peak, that Taka had never come to Hope’s Peak. And he doesn’t wish that they’d never met, fuck he doesn’t wish that, but... but maybe they could have met somewhere else. Taka had mentioned once that his father is a police officer. Maybe... maybe they could have met during one of the times when Mondo was inevitably arrested, Taka visiting his father and seeing Mondo, but not feeling afraid, not at all. Maybe Taka would have spoken to Mondo, then, earnest as ever. Maybe he would have offered to help Mondo out, to help him leave his life of crime and settle into a good, meaningful life. And Mondo knows that if that had actually happened in real life, he’d have punched the kid’s lights out, but in this fantasy... in this fantasy, he accepts, and Taka smiles so beautifully at him, and they find a way to have their happy ending. Without this nightmare, without the threat of death looming over them even as they touch one another so softly, so gently, the first time they’ve ever done this but also not. 

 He pushes the thoughts aside as he gears up the courage to grab himself and Taka in hand together, Taka moaning loudly, Mondo moaning as well. Part of Mondo wants to go further, wants to take all of Taka, but he finds he can’t. Not when he knows what is going to happen in a few short hours. Not when... well. Not when. 

 But he allows himself this. Allows himself and Taka to build up a steady rhythm together, Taka practically sobbing as Mondo holds him close, shushing him even as he feels like he’s about to fall apart himself. He doesn’t know why Taka is crying, if he’s just overwhelmed or if he, too, realizes what this is. That this isn’t the first in a long line of times they will do things like this, but that it... it’s a goodbye, Mondo’s way of holding a part of Taka, even as he lets him go.

 Mondo doesn’t know what will happen in the trial, but as he holds onto Taka so desperately, he knows he will not be winning. He still is so afraid, doesn’t know if he will be brave enough to do what he knows he must, but... but he also knows he can’t be the reason Taka dies. He honestly would rather die than do that. It’s comforting to realize, in the oddest, strangest of ways. Death is so much easier to digest when he places it in the context of saving the man that he loves. And he does. Love him. So, so much...

 Eventually Mondo feels himself getting close, and feels that Taka is getting close too, so he allows himself to whisper into Taka’s ear. Whisper all the soft and gentle words he has kept hidden inside his heart his entire life, the words he’s always had to hide in order to survive the rough and dangerous lifestyle he was always forced to lead. He whispers how amazing Taka is, how Mondo is constantly astonished by how good and kind Taka is, how Taka is prolly the best person he has ever met. He whispers that he knows Taka will change the world, that he will be the best of all of them. That he already is. 

 And he... he whispers how much he loves him. How he knows it’s too soon to say shit like that, but that he- he means it. He also whispers his sneaking suspicion that this was not the first time they met, that he’s loved Taka far longer than just a handful of stressful, terrifying weeks, that they... that they belong together in a way that is intrinsic inside them both. 

 And while part of him is embarrassed by the words, thinking himself a weak and pathetic sap, the majority of him can’t find it in him to care. Not when Taka is letting out a shout, cumming against him while a few tears leak out of the corner of his eyes. And Mondo... Mondo is cumming not long after, collapsing on top of Taka, breath heaving as he rests, doing his best to not crush the love of his fucking life. 

 But Taka doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t seem to care at all, not when he leans up and whispers in Mondo’s ear. Voice shaking and trembling but still, always, endlessly determined. He whispers how he feels the same, that Mondo is the best person he has ever met. How, despite his gruff and harsh exterior, Taka has never met someone so kind and caring before. How he loves Mondo, too, more than he would ever think possible, certainly not after such a short amount of time. And how he, too, has the weird feeling that this was not the first time they’ve met, the first time they’ve fallen in love. 

 Taka asks him, then— voice small and trembling— if Mondo believes in reincarnation. If he thinks that... that they’ve lived a life together before, and that this is just them meeting up again. And that... that they will meet up again one day, in another life, far from Hope’s Peak and killing games and death that is both senseless and cruel. And Mondo doesn’t know, has never believed in an afterlife at all, but as he pulls back and looks down at Taka’s face, the boy looking so desperate and terrified, he... he can’t help how he smiles. And laughs. And leans down, kissing Taka again, the millionth time even if it really shouldn’t be. And he...

 He nods. He agrees. He says that yes, he does. He does believe in reincarnation and that they- they will find each other one day. Should they... well. Well. That one way or another, they will have their happy ending. He promises. He... he promises...

 He can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed by the sappy words, the desperation he knows is plain in his words and eyes. He knows it’s getting so fucking late, knows that the fucking announcement will come soon and that the body will be discovered soon after, but... but he doesn’t want to leave. Never. Never. Never. He doesn’t want to think too much, doesn’t want to think about what will happen in a few short hours. Doesn’t want to let this one small piece of happiness he’s found get ruined because he couldn’t handle being fucking soft. 

 And so, he doesn’t. Doesn’t ruin it. He just lays down on his side, next to Taka, and pulls him close. They are naked, bodily fluids drying unpleasantly on their skin, but Mondo doesn’t care. He just pulls Taka close and holds him, Taka resting his head against Mondo’s chest again, like earlier, fingers tracing patterns on Mondo’s skin again and again and again. Mondo is exhausted, so tired, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Doesn’t let himself sleep, knowing that this is the first and last time he will ever get to hold Taka like this and wanting so badly to savor it. And- and he knows Taka feels the same. Knows that Taka doesn’t sleep either. And Mondo... Mondo wonders if he suspects. What Mondo did. The reason why Mondo is so scared. He thinks the Ultimate Moral Compass can’t possibly suspect, thinks that Taka would never be willing to be so close to him if he- if he knew— but. But...

 But... when the fucking announcement comes, seven coming way too fast for his own good... when he feels Taka stir sluggishly, the boy clearly not wanting to get up but his sense of duty likely making him... 

 Taka whispers to him. Soft. Gentle. As Mondo takes a washcloth and cleans them up, he hears Taka’s whispered words. And he... he... 

 “Please know, kyoudai, that I... I will always love you. No matter what happens. No matter... n-no matter what happens. Nothing will ever make me love you less. I swear, m-my... my love. I... I promise.” 

 Mondo stares at his kyoudai, heart beating both fast and slow, a contradiction that somehow makes perfect sense to him. He’s exhausted, hasn’t slept a wink all night, but for some reason, he’s not afraid. Oh, he knows he will be. Once the announcement is made that a body has been found. Once everyone is called to the girl’s locker room, once they see the dead body he left lying on the ground beside a splotch of bright pink blood. Then the fear will return. Bright and fierce and terrifying. He will mourn himself, mourn Chihiro, mourn everyone who is trapped in this sick and twisted death game.

 (But not Taka. He- he can’t mourn Taka, can’t let himself believe that this beautiful and wondrous boy will ever, ever die. Even if it’s so fucking likely, since like hell would Taka ever kill anyone. Maybe- maybe he’ll find a way out. Or whoever is keeping them here will realize how twisted they are and let him out. Or- something. Something. Even if it’s too late for Mondo, it won’t be for Taka. He- he knows this. Has to know this.)

 But for now... for now, he doesn’t worry about it. He just... lets himself exist, his heart beating for Taka and Taka alone. He doesn’t let himself think about what will come or what will happen. He just... loves Taka. Plain and simple.  

 So, he smiles. And he nods. And he whispers the same words back, even though it’s not the same, not the same at all. 

 He watches with all the fondness and love in his heart as Taka gets dressed in his ridiculously complicated uniform, aching for what he will never have, and yet yearns for dearly. He’s fighting the fear inside him as hard as he can, but once he is dressed in his clothes from the day before (he doesn’t care, fuck he doesn’t care) and Taka is in his uniform, it’s not like he can help it. The fear. The dread.

 It only gets worse when, right before they are able to leave the room together, they get accosted by Monokuma, who is being all vague and unhelpful, even going so far as to make insinuations about them, but one thing is clear. Something happened. Not that it’s a surprise to Mondo. He... he already knew that. 

 And... it seems Taka did, too. Mondo looks at him, the fear kicked up a hundred-fold, and sees that the kid’s face is a blank mask. Mondo has never seen Taka look so... emotionless before. It makes him nervous, but before he can ask if he’s alright, or maybe try and beg for the forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve, Taka smiles at him. Bright and guileless, with no hint of strain. 

 (Mondo wouldn’t have suspected that Taka could be such a good liar. Perhaps, when it’s important. When it matters. When... when.) 

 “I think we should head to the bath, kyoudai. Before breakfast. I remember you mentioning how much you like morning baths!”

 Mondo stares at Taka for a full minute, heart aching, but Taka doesn’t seem to show he knows anything at all. And yet... Mondo knows he must know something. Taka is so big on rules and order. He is the one who insisted they all meet for breakfast every day. He wouldn’t miss that. Especially not when something clearly has happened. Not when... shit. 

 But Mondo doesn’t deny it. He just nods stiffly, his smile shaky on his lips. Taka smiles brightly back, before marching over to the door, opening it, and exiting quickly. Mondo stares after him for a moment before following, not wanting to waste a single second more. 

 The walk to the bath doesn’t take long and, thankfully, they don’t run into anyone as they make their way over. Once inside, Taka immediately goes to the men’s section of the bathhouse, not saying a word, but his back is loose, not tense. Not like Mondo’s is. 

 Mondo watches as Taka strips, his breath getting taken away as he sees the beautiful boy before him. He only is spurned into motion when Taka looks at him over his shoulder, head tilted curiously. Mondo strips quickly after that, very relieved that there are no security cameras around. He can feel Taka’s bright red eyes watching him as he removes his clothes, heart racing, doing all he can to pretend that this is okay. That this is normal.

 It isn’t. It can’t be, he knows it can’t, but if Taka is doing all he can to pretend, then... then so will he. 

 Taka insists that they quickly rinse off before entering the bath itself, as is polite, and once that is done, they enter the bath together, talking softly about random bullshit, light and easy. They don’t mention what Monokuma insinuated. They don’t mention anything like that at all. They stay close, practically touching, but they don’t do much more than that. Mondo knows that Taka wouldn’t approve, and he doesn’t want to pressure Taka into anything. Not ever. Especially not now.

 After a little while, they exit the bath, dressing in their uniforms again as soon as they are able. They then leave the bathhouse and head to Mondo’s room, since Mondo still has to make himself up. Part of him doesn’t really want to, as tired as he is, but he knows it would be suspicious if he didn’t. Plus... if this is going to be his last day alive (and it will, oh god, it will), then he might as well look presentable. Right? 

 It takes him the usual twenty minutes, during which Taka watches him, his body loose and his eyes soft. They talk again about everything and nothing, and for a moment, Mondo can pretend. Pretend that this is fine. Pretend that he’s okay. Pretend that he hadn’t... h-hadn’t... 

 But then the announcement comes. And his heart sinks. 

 They found the body. God fucking dammit, they found the body. 

 The next hour is a blur to him, Mondo following after an unusually quiet Taka in a daze. Mondo does his best to not show how terrified he is, but he thinks he fails. With Taka, at least. And Taka... Taka doesn’t do anything to show that he’s suspicious. He doesn’t give Mondo any looks, doesn’t frown... doesn’t really do much of anything, really. It makes Mondo feel disgusting inside, but... but he doesn’t know what to do. Goddammit, but he’s only sixteen! He... he didn’t fucking ask for this! Any of this! G-god... f-fuck...

 When he and Taka enter the girl’s locker room, Mondo wonders how he will be able to fake his shock when he feels so dead inside, but the minute he enters... he realizes he won’t have to fake shock. He won’t have to fake anything, really. 

 Because that... that is not how he left Chihiro’s body, holy fucking shit.

 W-what... who... who the fuck did that, he wonders, trying to mask the shock a little, hoping it looks like someone who is appalled at the disgusting way Chihiro is being suspended and not... not. Mondo... Mondo may have killed the dude (oh god), but he sure as shit hadn’t done this disrespectful bullshit. But who... who did...?

 For one split, heart stopping second, he wonders madly if Taka did it. If he... if he did it because he knew, he knew, he... he somehow knew and wanted to try and cover it up, or throw people off Mondo’s scent, or- or... something. Anything. 

 But he quickly dismisses that thought because a) it’s absurd, Taka is too fucking good and moral to do shit like that, b) Taka looks as shocked as all of them, and no matter how good he may be at acting, Mondo knows he’d fucking suck at covering up his own crime, and c) Mondo spent pretty much the entire night with Taka, going straight to his room after- fuck. After. So... definitely not Taka. But then... who...? He doesn’t know, fuck he doesn’t know. He can barely think, feeling so tired and scared and afraid. 

 (He had noticed Taka’s momentary look of relief, though. As soon as they entered. As soon as he saw the body. It had quickly morphed to sorrow and pain, but Mondo had seen the relief when Taka had glanced at him, and Mondo... Mondo thinks he knows why.)

 (After all.)

 (He sure as shit wouldn’t have done that monstrous bullshit to anyone. Least of all Chihiro. Anyone who knows him would know that. He may be a biker [and now a murderer], but he has more honor than that.)

 (And maybe... maybe, with that in mind... he could actually get away with this shit. F-fuck...)

 (Yeah, Taka would die, they’d all die, but... b-but...) 

 Mondo is volunteered to stand guard again with Ogami, the class assuming he’ll do it like he’d done last time, even though he really wants to be anywhere but here. Especially when Taka goes off, eyes determined, saying he’s going to find out who did this and see that they are brought to justice. Seems Taka has stopped suspecting him entirely, then. F-fuck... he can’t leave, though. It would be suspicious, especially since he was the one who volunteered last time. So, he... he doesn’t leave. He just... stays. Stomach sick, hating himself as much as ever, he… he stays. 

 The hour of the investigation is simultaneously the longest and shortest hour of his life. Shortest because he knows this will be the last hour of his life, his fear making time seem like it moves faster than it should. Longest since he’s trapped in the room with his fucking murder victim, forced to see the horrifying way some sick bastard had mangled the poor dude’s body, the worst disgrace in death. He wants to rip the poor dude off the bar, wants to show him the respect he fucking deserves, but he can’t. That detective chick is still observing the body, and if he does that, he will instantly be indicating himself. And- and while... while he knows he will be caught, should be caught, he... 

 He can’t help the goddamn fucking hope that is blooming inside him. The hope that he’ll be free. The hope that he might actually be able to escape this living nightmare. The hope that he... he could...

 Eventually the hour ends, and the class is forced into the goddamn fucking courtroom, and Mondo is forced to listen to the farce of a trial. It gets discovered relatively early who disrespected Chihiro’s body (revealing that fucking Fukawa is Genocide Jack. Or Jill. Or... whatever), but then... then it turns out it was Togami who mangled the dude’s body, for... whatever fucking reason that sick fucker had. Which infuriates the shit out of him, hating Togami almost as much as he hates Monokuma and himself, hating him for being so uncaring about someone being fucking dead. 

 Everyone latches onto the idea that it was Togami, though, even Taka, which shouldn’t relieve Mondo as much as it does, goddamn him, but... but...

 But of course. Fucking Naegi, that goddamn bastard... he has to be suspicious. And Mondo gets it, okay, he does. No one here actually wants to die. But... but he...

 In the end, it was a slip of the tongue. One mistake that will end up costing him his fucking life. He’s never put much thought into the words he says, the strain too frustrating for him to bother with, and it’s fucking fitting that that specific personality flaw is what kills him, in the end. 

 Blue. Fucking... blue. Blue was once a favorite color of his, though red has quickly been replacing it lately. But just... fucking blue. 

 Taka tries to deny it. Mondo thinks that’s what kills him the most. How desperately Taka tries to defend him. Refuting everything Naegi says. Denying it all. But Mondo had seen it, too. The doubt. The way the kid’s eyes had widened when the class caught onto his trail, darting over to Mondo quickly once, then away. The... the fear. The... all of it. Just... all of it. 

 But... but Mondo is tired of lying. He honestly hates lying, it makes his head hurt trying to hold onto so many tangled webs. And he didn’t get any sleep the previous night, anyway, and hasn’t eaten at all. And he’s just... tired. So very, goddamn tired...

 So... he gives up. He gives in. He confesses his truth, the deadly secret that he can’t ever undo, and it... it’s hard. Not even because he knows he’s signing his own death sentence, but because of Taka. Because of the anguish he sees on the kid’s face, tears and snot flowing freely down his beautiful face, not that Taka seems to care. The kid asks him why, and he... it’s the least he can do. To confess. To just... explain. 

 And that hurts, too. All of this just... it hurts. But it’s not a sharp and angry pain. It’s like... pressure. Inside him. He... he killed someone. Someone who had trusted him. Someone who had admired him. He... even if he had survived, he’d never have been able to live with himself. Not in the long run. Especially not if his cowardice led to the death of so many others. Of Taka. He may be a monster, but he... he’s not that much of a monster. 

 So... this was for the better, he thinks, heart aching as that fucking bear reveals his secret anyway, the one he’d been willing to murder to keep safe. He finishes his confession, tells everyone what he did and why, and it… fuck, it’s hard, but it’s the absolute least he can do. He keeps looking at Taka even through the pain, through his final confession, even though Taka cannot look at him. Taka hadn’t voted for Mondo, hadn’t been able to do it, the bear had said. That breaks him even more, honestly. F-fuck...

 And then... before he knows it, it... it’s time. Punishment time. And Mondo... Mondo finds that he’s not as scared as he thought he would be. He apologizes to Taka, the kid looking absolutely destroyed, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough; can’t ever be enough. He has so many words to say, declarations and apologies and promises. In the end, he has time for none of it. But he... he does get one thing in. Other than his apology. Other than... than...

 “See you in the next life, Taka. Hope it ain’t anytime soon.” 

 Mondo isn’t able to hear Taka’s response to that, as he’s too busy getting dragged off by that goddamn fucking bear. He does his best to appear calm as he is chained to the back of a motorcycle, as that goddamn bear sits in the driver’s seat, wearing a mockery of his uniform. His heart is pounding, and he knows this is it. It’s like the moment before his brother pushed him out of the way all over again, but this time... this time there is no last-minute rescue. This time there is no freedom, no release. This time... 

 This time he... he dies.

 But... well. 

 At least he dies on a fucking hog, like he always imagined he would. 

 There’s some measure of comfort in that. 

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

A/N: So, that’s the story! I think y’all can kind of see why I didn’t want to write this how I normally write. And I’m sure y’all picked up on this, but yes, them feeling like they knew each other was definitely because of the memory loss. I have a degree in psychology. I learned a ton about memory during school, and one thing is that memory is located in so many places it’s almost impossible to completely lose all of your memory. Even if you lose your episodic memory (your memory of personal events, like birthday parties or what you did last month), you tend to keep your semantic memory (your memory of facts and things, like what the Pythagorean theorem is, or who Napoleon is) as well as some sense memory. Mondo and Taka were totally a Thing before the killing game. I honestly don’t believe in reincarnation, but I think it was comforting to Taka and Mondo to think about. 

(It also would make seeing Alter Ego Mondo so much worse, oof.) 

This story, technically, could fit into canon, I think. I even rewatched Mondo’s death to make sure, and while some things were a bit off, I tried to keep things mostly like in canon. The only real difference was Mondo’s last words to Taka, I think. 

Anyway, I hope y’all liked it! Let me know if you liked the format and maybe I’ll do more things like this to get more ideas out. I have one in the works, tentatively, so we’ll see. Bye! :-D 

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Seventeen

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Seventeen: Broken Families

“Sup, G Flat,” Xavier-Yves greeted as he descended the stairs into the main cabin of the Liberty.

Adrien grimaced but mentally reminded himself to be nice for Luka’s sake.

“Hi, XY. Luka’s actually not here right now. He’s out with the Capitaine, and I don’t think they’ll be back soon,” he informed, hoping that that would be the end of his exposure to the popstar for the day.

XY shrugged, taking a seat on the opposite limb of the L-shaped couch from Adrien.

“That’s okay,” XY assured as he made himself comfortable, spreading out like a starfish and pulling his laptop out of his bag. “You probably don’t know this because you’re still pretty new here, but I have the okay to just kick it here whenever I want.”

Adrien nodded, internally cursing his lot in life. “I see. That’s cool.”

“Yeppers,” Xavier-Yves agreed, barely paying Adrien any mind as he started up his audio editing program.

Adrien set aside the book he’d borrowed from Luka, seeing that he wasn’t going to get any more reading done in XY’s presence.

“How long do you think you’ll hang out?” Adrien inquired, trying to sound interested rather than rude and impatient for Xavier-Yves to leave.

XY shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe a couple hours? Probably until this evening.”

Adrien mentally swore.

“I’m hiding from my dad,” XY added voluntarily.

Adrien frowned. “Why?”

XY clicked his tongue. “He’s trying to set me up with some actress. You know. For publicity and all that.”

Adrien shuddered. “My father made me do that a couple times. I’ve always hated that kind of thing.”

“Dude, I know!” XY exclaimed, looking up from his computer screen. “Sucks, right?!”

Adrien nodded. “I mean, some of the girls were okay, and I may have even been able to like one or two of them in earnest if we’d met more naturally and it had been our decision to date, but…those arrangements are so staged. I always resented them as just one more thing Father was making me do against my will and completely ignoring my wishes about.”

“Tch. Yeah,” Xavier-Yves scoffed. “Trust me. I hear you.”

Just as suddenly as the conversation started, it ended, and XY seemed to go back to his laptop.

Adrien gave his book a sidelong look, debating whether to take it up to the deck to continue reading in peace.

Before he could come to a decision, XY broke back into Adrien’s thoughts.

“…So…you’re bi or what?”

Adrien gave a start. “What?”

“You said you could have liked some of the girls your dad made you date,” XY explained, “but I always thought you had a thing for Luka…so are you bi or in denial or what?”

Adrien stared at his love rival for a moment, trying to determine whether he should be affronted by XY’s abrupt demands for personal information.

Xavier-Yves looked at Adrien expectantly with seemingly no malice or agenda hidden behind his words.

It was then that Adrien remembered what Luka had told him about XY’s penchant for coming across as rude due to his lack of normal socialization—something Adrien could, unfortunately, relate to.

Adrien decided to take XY’s question in good faith and answered, “I think I’m probably bi.”

XY cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean you think you’re bi? Isn’t that something you just know?”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably under Xavier-Yves’s scrutiny. “I think it’s confusing because the media really only shows men and women ending up with one another, so that’s how I thought it had to be when I was growing up. I didn’t realize guys were actually an option until later, and I’ve mostly just been interested in girls so far. I mean, I can tell if a guy is attractive, but Luka’s the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to in practice, not just in theory.”

XY blinked several times, trying to parse Adrien’s response. “…So…you’re bi?”

“At least as far as Luka’s concerned,” Adrien confirmed with a shrug.

“You make my head hurt,” XY announced. “You’re just thinking about it too much.”

“Maybe,” Adrien chuckled, musing that XY might have accidentally stumbled upon the truth.

Xavier-Yves shook his head. “I’ve always known I was gay. I never even looked at girls as a kid.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. “I-I’m sorry. I always assumed you were bi. Well…after I found out about your feelings for Luka, anyway. Until then, I thought you were straight.”

XY rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “That’s because my dad says I have to stay in the closet.”

Adrien’s jaw descended several centimeters. “He what?”

XY nodded, setting his laptop aside and angling more towards Adrien. “My dad says that gay doesn’t sell and that all of my fangirls will stop buying my music and coming to concerts if they find out I only like dudes, so I can’t tell anyone I’m gay.”

Adrien blinked dumbly, finding himself wondering if his own father would react similarly if he found out about Adrien being queer. A lot of people in fashion were, so maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but…somehow, Adrien got the feeling that Gabriel would probably prefer it if Adrien kept that fact to himself and found a nice female partner.

“…I’m sorry,” Adrien mumbled, suddenly seeing past the annoying, inconvenient aspects of XY to the very real person with problems and feelings and dreams underneath.

XY shrugged. “Is what it is. Just don’t you go tellin’ people.”

“I would never do that,” Adrien was quick to assure.

XY gave a snort as he nodded. “Good.”

“…So…you’re not allowed to date?” Adrien inquired, morbid curiosity getting the best of him.

XY shook his head. “Nah. Dad would flip. It’s okay, though. I’ve never been really into anyone before, so it was, like, whatever.”

Adrien’s eyebrow arched. “What about Luka? You seem pretty into him.”

“Luka’s different,” Xavier-Yves confirmed with a passionate punch to the words. “He’s the one, you know?”

Adrien dropped his gaze, wilting slightly because he knew that fact all too well.

“I’d come out, if he wanted me to,” XY continued. “I don’t know. Luka’s kind of quiet and private, so I don’t know if he’d want to make it all public, but he’d at least want to tell his friends who he was seeing, so it would get out there eventually. I wouldn’t care, though. He’s worth it.”

“You really care about him a lot,” Adrien whispered.

“You bet I do,” XY insisted. “You know how annoying and dumb I am.”

Adrien’s head jerked up at the blatant self-deprecation.

“Not a lot of people like me. A lot of people pretend to because they want something, but they don’t actually like me,” XY snorted.

Adrien suddenly felt a chill at hearing circumstances that so closely echoed his own.

“Luka didn’t like me at first, and he had a good excuse not to, but instead of telling me to get lost when I came to ask him to teach me about loving music, he put up with me,” XY recounted with a soft look of gratitude and affection in his placid blue eyes.

“He was really patient, and he taught me and helped me be a better person. My dad taught me a lot of bad things.” His eyes dropped to the floor as he confessed his past shortcomings. “I didn’t know they were bad until Luka told me so…so I owe him a lot. I’d do anything for him.”

Adrien nodded passively, averting his gaze as he wondered if Luka wouldn’t be better off with XY than himself.

Xavier-Yves could give Luka fortune and industry contacts, and while “Roth” wasn’t the most well-liked surname in Paris, it was worlds ahead of “Agreste” which had become synonymous with “dirt” a month previously when Papillon’s identity had been revealed.

Maybe Adrien should step aside romantically and focus on being a good, supportive friend to Luka.

“I’d do anything for him,” Xavier-Yves repeated solemnly, “…even if that meant bowing out and supporting his happiness with you.”

Adrien’s head jerked up again, and he gaped at XY in disbelief. “What?”

XY shrugged. “The most important thing is that Luka is happy, yeah?”

Adrien nodded, still not understanding. “Yes. Absolutely. But…what does that have to do with me?”

XY shook his head. “You’re important to him. We’re both really important to him. I can’t tell you how many times he’s asked me to try to play nice with you these past few weeks because he wants us both in his life, and he wants us all to get along.”

Adrien’s lips rounded into a small “o”.

XY nodded. “I want him to be happy. Even if you win, I want him to be happy, so I’m gonna try to be friends with you because it’s important to Luka.”

Adrien slowly began to nod. “Okay. I can’t promise I’ll ever really like you much, but I’m going to tolerate you for Luka’s sake. So, let’s make this work, okay?”

“Deal,” XY agreed with a wide grin, holding out his fist to Adrien for a fist bump.

Chuckling, Adrien leaned forward and touched his fist to XY’s.

“…So,” Xavier-Yves remarked after the moment had passed. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Adrien shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“How good’s your English?” XY asked, grabbing his laptop and opening up his video library.

“Not fluent, but I should be able to watch a movie without subtitles,” Adrien replied, moving to sit next to Xavier-Yves.

XY looked up at Adrien and tipped his head to the side. “You ever heard of Abbott and Costello?”

Adrien frowned, searching his memory banks. “…The comedy duo?”

XY nodded enthusiastically, a wide grin quickly spreading from one cheek to the other. “They’re super dope. You’ll love them. Let’s watch In Society. It’s got one of my favourite routines.”

“All right,” Adrien easily agreed, reasoning that he owed it to Luka and himself to make an effort. “Sounds good.”

 A little over an hour later, Luka returned to find Adrien and Xavier-Yves in a pile on the couch, leaning on one another to keep themselves upright as they chortled, “He’s not dead, Lady! He’s hiding!”

“I see you showed him Abbott and Costello?” Luka remarked, announcing his presence.

XY pushed himself up to grin adoringly at Luka. “Yeah. We were just thinking about watching another. Wanna join us?”

“Sure,” Luka chuckled, coming around to their side of the couch.

Adrien scooted over to make room for Luka between himself and XY.

“After all, it’s not every day that two of my best friends are able to spend time together without wanting to kill one another. We should do something to celebrate,” Luka reasoned.

“We’re not that bad. We just…verbally snipe at each other sometimes,” Adrien giggled, quickly snuggling up to Luka at exactly the same moment XY wrapped his arm around Luka’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” XY seconded. “The only friend of yours I want to kill is that Jacob loser.”

Luka groaned, rolling his eyes.

Adrien lifted his head to look around Luka at Xavier-Yves. “Jacob?”

XY nodded. “That bassist in his band. He’s Luka’s ex.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “We can’t be civil with Luka’s exes?”

XY’s eyes narrowed. “Jacob’s one of the four he slept with.”

“Oh,” Adrien replied flatly, his opinion abruptly changing.

“Yeah. Those ones are dead to me,” Xavier-Yves snorted.

“Can we not talk about my love life?” Luka sighed, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s really not that interesting. Let’s watch the movie.”

XY clicked his tongue. “I beg to be different. I am super interested in the people you’ve slept with.”

“Prune,” Luka groaned. “Drop it. I’ve been the adult in this household since I was ten. I’m allowed to sleep with whomever my little demi heart loves.”

“Would you sleep with me?” XY wondered curiously.

Luka’s cheeks flushed as he pointedly avoided Xavier-Yves’s gaze. “No comment.”

“Would you sleep with him?” XY pressed, jabbing a finger at Adrien.

Luka choked on air, making a wheezing sound of distress.

“No comment,” he managed with some effort.

“How about a threesome?” Xavier-Yves suggested amicably.

Adrien burst out laughing, snuggling in closer.

“For the love of whatever you hold sacred, start the movie already before I strangle you,” Luka pleaded.

“I could be into that,” XY replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Luka threw his hands up in the air, exclaiming, “Aaaaah!��

This caused Adrien to laugh even harder.

XY joined in.

[noonaficcorner]

Rose-Colored Boy | Part Four

Paring: Mark Tuan | Reader

Genre/Rating: Friends to Lovers |  Fluff, Smut (later on), Slight Angst

Warning: Language

Summary: Working as a Nurse, Y/N's favorite pastime is getting lost in her favorite online game with her online gamer squad. After 2 years of online banter, Y/N finally gets the chance to get closer to and meet her online friend, Mark Tuan. With many things in common and the same twisted sense of humor, one thing still remains a mystery: Mark's career that causes him to constantly travel out of the country. Still, Y/N decides to take a chance on what could be more than just friendship and meets Mark for the first time. (New Summary thanks to a friend)

NOTES: Quick update!! I was really inspired and cranked this chapter out quick. I’m already working on the next but not sure when it will be up. I’m busy at the end of this month. So fingers crossed I get the next out in August.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

Everything you owned was crap. It was either scrubs or jeans and a t-shirt. It wasn’t like you didn’t have nice outfits. However, when you looked at all of it thrown across your bed in panic, you couldn’t seem to find anything decent. All of it felt dull and lackluster for what was about to happen. As you picked up what you deemed the cutest pair of jeans you owned, a black skinny pant with nicely placed rips, you started to realize why Mark kept his secret for as long as he did. Knowing who he was to the outside world made you start to question yourself even more. It made you wonder if you were enough to even just be in his presence. People pay thousands of dollars to just give him a hi-five and here you were, cursing him out for 2 years over the internet for free. If only they knew…

Holding up shirt after shirt to your chest, each one making you even more disgusted than the last. There had to be something that didn’t scream ‘try hard’ or ‘disgusting creature’. Snatching literally the last shirt out of your closet which happened to be a high-low blue striped button down, you threw it on over the black cami you already had on. It was almost time for you to leave the house without being late and if you started this whole process over again, you wouldn’t even go.

While you looked in the mirror finalizing the touches on your make-up, you realized that this isn’t some sort of date. Why were you putting so much effort to receive an apology? Blinking those wayward thoughts away before you went down another hole, you grabbed your purse and rushed out of your freshly messy apartment.

You had only been to Mark’s place once, but the muscle memory was there because you had played the scenes over in your mind for almost a week. It felt like you were standing in front of the intimidating high-rise in no time. Your body was moving through mind fog as you punched in his code and waited to be buzzed up. Even the elevator ride felt like an out of body experience. It wasn’t until the door was opening and you looked up and saw Mark that your soul snapped back into you and you could focus.

“I hope it wasn’t a hard trip.” He said as the door widened and you crossed the threshold. It had only been six days since you last saw him, but the purple in his hair was almost gone and his dark roots were starting to show. Realizing that the hair choice probably wasn’t his, but was for his latest album, made your lips turn down slightly. He picked up on that and thought it was a non-verbal answer to his statement.

“I could have gotten you a taxi if the train was too crowded…” He trailed off.

“No, no. The ride was fine. I was noticing that your hair is a little different from last time.” You mumbled as you both hovered around each other. You could feel a slight pain start to form between your shoulder blades from all the tension in the room. Both of you locked eyes and it felt like you had entered a staring contest, and neither one of you were losers. It wasn’t until his hand reached out and took your wrist and led you to the living room and onto the couch, that you regained your senses.

“I’m sorry. I’m so freaking sorry.” His words came out rushed and pained. Your lips parted to respond but Mark held a hand up to stop you.

“Let me get this out first. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Honestly, I thought that the moment I opened that door and you saw me, you were going to freak out cause you recognized me. When you didn’t, my plan went to shit and I fell into the comfort of just us hanging out. Believe me when I say I had every intention of telling you about my career. I just didn’t know how to come out and say I’m an idol singer.”

“Rapper.” You interjected. Mark’s head tilted slightly and confusion dipped his brows.

“You said idol singer. From what I looked up, you’re not really a singer. You’re the main rapper and lead dancer of the group. It also said you’re the visual which makes sense cause…” You waved your hands in front of your face to indicate your point that he’s gorgeous.

Mark’s laugh filled the room and it was exactly like those compilation videos you found of his laugh. A slight smile tugged at your lips as the atmosphere in the room started to lighten up. You were still mad and will probably be for a while but the big mad feeling was almost completely gone.

“So you did research? I bet the internet had some crazy things to say. Sin, I’m sorry that I wasn’t the one to tell you everything from the beginning. When you’re in the business I’m in, it’s hard making friends who aren’t also in the life or after you for something else. I was selfish because I really liked what we have or… had. I got addicted to the ease of just being myself with you.” He went on. His eyes dropped down as he talked about your relationship in the past tense. The wall that you unconsciously started to build since your last visit shook. Maybe it was the earnestness in his tone or the way he used your online nickname, but at that moment you kind of just wanted to hug him. Instead you did the only thing you could do in this situation.

“Now that you said that, are you gonna show me some of your backflips? They looked really impressive on youtube.” You smirked as his head shot up and looked at you in surprise. The smirk turned into a full smile and the tension started to melt away when his toothy grin appeared.

“I can even teach you some moves but I don’t know your flexibility level.” Mark joked and that’s how the rest of the afternoon went. He started to talk about how he joined the company and his trainee period. I knew it was hard on young kids but hearing it first hand made you want to throw on a cape and save them all from the heartache. When he calmed down your anger, Mark talked about  the traveling he did all over the world with the group. He talked about how they were more than just bandmates and more like brothers. Even mentioning some stories you found through your ‘research’, but hearing them from him made them ten times funnier.

“Remind me to never get you upset where you can throw a laptop at me.” You joked. The sun had gone down outside and now you both were sitting on the floor, take-out containers covered the table. Hours had passed and you only realized how many when you tried to hide a yawn and Mark check the time on his phone.

“Time flew by. I guess you have to get going soon?” His eyes were like tea cups as they looked over to you. The last thing you wanted was to have this good time end but you had worked a full shift yesterday and had to be on in the morning as well. It didn’t help that you left your apartment in such a mess, it looks like it was probably burglarized.

“Yeah… I’m sure your roommates want to come home too. What did you tell them that made them give you the place to yourself?” You asked as you started to clean up the mess created. Piling the dishes into one, Mark took them from you and moved them toward the door.

“Most of them had schedules, so the house was gonna be empty anyway. Though I did have to promise Yugyeom and Bambam that I would treat them to meat soon. Are you going to take a taxi? It’s pretty late.” Between his worrying, you both cleaned up rather quickly. In no time, you looked around and the space was back to normal and Mark was standing with his hands pulling at his hoodie sleeves. You noticed that he did that when he felt unsure about something or wanted to word vomit.

“I’ll take one just because you insist. But what is it, sweater paws?” Reaching forward and tugging on the hood strings, you asked him. It was clear why he had so many fans. The half smile he gave was a weapon of ovary destruction and shouldn’t be used all willy nilly. How rude…

“I’m glad you came over. I’m also glad we’re talking again. And now that you know everything , I have a work thing tomorrow. It isn’t long though. Just need to go film a spread for a magazine. I’ll be back by next weekend. Promise.” Mark picked up your bag and played with the strap of it before closing the distance and looping it over your head, adjusting it. The height difference between the two of you wasn’t gigantic, but it was enough that had your neck tilting back a bit.

“It’s okay. Remember, I’m used to Ghosty McGhostington. You don’t have to worry too much.” Before you could even stop yourself, your thumb reached out and smoothed the little wrinkle between his brows. The level of skin-ship you were exhibiting wasn’t the norm for you. But the way he didn’t recoil from your touch allowed you the brief moment of insanity and for you to place your hand casually on your strap without looking like a crazy person. You thought you saw a hint of a smile on his lips, but it was so faint, you’re sure you imagined it.

“I’m calling you a car, and before you say something, don’t. And text me when you get home, okay?” You wanted to argue that you were independent and didn’t need him to do that, but a part of you thought it was sweet. In all honesty, when it was just you and him talking and playing around like you’ve done for so long virtually, the idea of him being a celebrity was a foreign concept. He was just Mark to you.

Once he was finished punching in some numbers on his phone and you came out of your own head, he walked you to the door. That smile you thought was just a shadow was now plastered on his face and it had the chain reaction of making you smile in return. Your hands squeezed harder on your bag strap because every fiber of your being was telling you to just reach out and hug this dorky guy smiling at you. But instead you held your hand out for a hi-five like the loser you were becoming.

“Thanks for inviting me over and I'm glad we cleared things up. Uh, hit me up if you get some free time. Or not, it's whatever.” Shrugging off the awkwardness, Mark connected with your hand with a look of confusion and before he could say anything, you darted from his apartment. It was becoming a habit of yours to flee every time you were there. Your flight or fight response was out of whack because with anything else in your life you were all about fighting. However, wherever Mark was concerned, you flew out of there like a bat out of hell.

By the time you were walking through your door, you were so distracted by thoughts from your day that you forgot that you left your place in a state of utter disgust. The vibrating of your phone made you forget all about the clothes covering almost every inch of available surface because of course it was Mr. Tuan himself in your inbox.

Mark: U made it?

Sin: You* and yeah, just walked in.

Mark: Ha ha ha. Are you tired?

Sin: Depends, why do you ask?

Mark: Wanna get online for like an hour? I’m a bit wired and we haven’t properly played in a while. Miss it…

Sin: Don’t you have a flight to catch in the morning?

Mark: Yeah but I can sleep on the plane. Are you scared I’m gonna kick your ass? ;-)

Sin: Signing on right now so get the lube because I’m about to tear you a new one.

And just like that, Mark brought you back to a comfortable mindset. The root in which your friendship grew from.

Finally, it was Friday, but you were antsy as hell. The clock was ticking down to the end of your shift, but it felt as  if it was moving as slow as if you were sinking in a mudflat. Bora and Ahin, another first year resident, were finishing up your shifts so the three of you could do your weekly Karaoke night. But it wasn’t only the promise of a night of chicken, beer and bad singing that had you anxious. Mark was coming back from his trip tomorrow and it had you on pins and needles.

The two of you had been texting while he was away. You were sure it was more than he should actually be doing during a work trip, but now that there weren’t any omitted truths between you, he would tell you about everything that was happening, within reason. When you asked for pictures, he couldn’t give you any official ones, but he did snap a few selfies of his face filled with pretty eyeshadows and lip tints. He really did clean up well.

As you were changing out of your scrubs, your phone pinged and like a pavlov response, your hand reached and opened your texts with Olympian speed.

Mark: What are you doing Sunday?

Sin: Washing my hair, shaving my back, catching up on sleep. Lol why?

Mark: Sexy. I need a favor from you.

Sin: If it involves money, we might need to reevaluate our friendship.

Mark: No money involved, but I would like it if you said yes.

Sin: Okay you’re being cryptic. Are you sick?

Mark: No. But will you say yes before I ask?

Sin: Sure, what is it?

After asking that, the little dots jumped across the screen as he typed his response. You stood there in your jeans and scrub top, staring at your phone like a crazy person. What did he have to ask that was so important? Bora and Ahin walked into the locker room and started to change themselves while you waited.

“What’s going on? Your face is all scrunched up?” Ahin asked as she hung up her lab coat. Just as you were about to tell her, Mark’s bubble appeared…

Mark: Will you go on a date with me? Not as a friend, but as a woman. A date date.

Your heart dropped into your stomach with a clatter. When you heard your name being yelled by Bora, you looked down and realized that it wasn’t just your heart that dropped, but also your phone on the floor. Quickly dropping down and picking it up, you looked at the words over; Woman. Date. You sucked in all the oxygen you could manage and sighed.

“Well shit…”  

[piratemadi]

please make your critical post of supernatural those are literally the only posts about supernatural i care about, especially since i side eye the heck out of the many people who give supernatural a pass because they ship two boring white dudes (dean and castiel) PLEASE

omg ok nobody make fun of me for posting an earnest criticism of this show i enjoy critical analysis and being a hater

i think most of why this show sucks has already been covered pretty thoroughly but these r the main things abt it that piss ME off.

the racism runs so SO deep. supernatural is supposed to be an exploration of americana thru horror (and i’ll give them that. like the idea of deconstructing america and all its fallacies thru horror is genius and in competent hands it would be absolutely incredible. but anyway) but it only really scrapes the surface of what is inherently horrific about americana! something like that is supposed to be an INTERROGATION of monstrosity and how america (and western society more broadly) creates monsters out of human beings and how white christian morals are established as the ONLY acceptable morals and how anyone who falls outside of those norms (non christian, non white, lgbt, people with substance use disorders, prisoners, the poor, indigenous people/cultures etc) are monsterized, so to speak, because of an oppressive and unloving colonial society. like u cannot have a horror narrative abt monsters attacking family values and white suburban life without invoking some very old and racist conventions! but instead of subverting that supernatural just reinforces it! it consistently fails to make any kind of real statement because the most demonized parts of society are the people who are also treated the WORST in canon! native american beliefs are stolen and turned into stupid bogeymen without the show ever featuring a native character or seriously grappling with the inherent violence of america as a colonial state, black men are consistently portrayed as angry and evil while black women are treated like shit (dean’s happy ending at the end of s5 is with a white woman he fucked one time instead of with the black woman who he was in love with??), impoverished people are mostly ignored and when they’re not theyre monsters (theres one episode centered around a poor rural family that commits murder and cannibalism. no supernatural stuff or monsters. just poor people. thats the scare).

theres this consistent fixation on preserving american suburbia, on saving “normal” (read: white middle class) people and it sets up this dynamic of like. the “real world” is the white middle class and then there’s hunters including our mains who defend that “real world” against monsters and demons, which is just Everything Else. and the writers PRETEND to struggle w the question of monsters and what makes one but they just toss it around without ever actually committing to answering that question with compassion or narrative coherency. they have multiple episodes about characters who were raised human, who want to be human, but have to be killed because of an inherent evil nature. there’s a plot in the early seasons about how one of the main characters has demonic powers, and instead of saying that doesnt make him inherently bad and he’s allowed to fully access all parts of himself without being fundamentally evil, they consistently frame intrinsically neutral traits as inherently evil specifically because they go against a christian ideal of morality! and eventually he learns to suppress these powers and that’s that!

and then it establishes christianity as the guiding principle of america, not in a way of like “american culture and history is deeply steeped in white supremacist protestantism that has led to incredibly fucked up views on god and love and morality and thats what we have to deal with as people who live here”, but in a way of like “the christian god is real and he’s a white guy who fucking hates you.” which like. Ok. they bastardize and trivialize any religions that arent christian while building the entire series on christianity. Ok. like i guess its possible to write stories about white christianity without implying that every other religion is full of shit but supernatural did not do that on any level

its also just. really poorly written. i genuinely loved the first season i thought it was really well paced and that the characters were introduced really well like the first season is a GOOD horror story in terms of family as horror and the inherent terror of americana. but the pacing and the character development started tripping up in s2. by s3 they started raising the stakes Exponentially which honestly is such a kiss of death for good fiction like every season mounting a bigger badder antagonist than the last one is the surest way to kill a story bc it means the earlier entries in that story become basically meaningless in the face of the new bad guy. u dont need to raise the stakes to write a good story! a well written story abt the horror and drama of a close knit and unhealthy family caught up in something they don’t really understand isn’t Less emotionally resonant than, like, having to stop the world from ending, because at the end of the day its Fiction and none of it matters beyond what u can make the audience really Feel. im not gonna feel sorrow if 7 billion fake little people die. i didnt cry when the death star blew up whatever planet it blew up. what DOES make me feel sorrow is a few truly well written characters whose relationships are complicated and tragic and whose motivations i can understand and whose inner lives i can imagine. raising the stakes destroys a good story and thats exactly what happened to supernatural (not that the racism and misogyny and american protestant moralizing wasn’t killing it already)

also, the misogyny makes the female characters basically impossible to watch. like not a single person on that show is a good actor (except sterling k brown love u king u were the best actor that show ever saw) but they didnt even give any of the women anything to work with. its literally so cringey to watch any woman onscreen except maybe like. bela talbot and she was treated like utter shit.

god. you know that expression dont fall in love with potential? i dont do that w people i do it w fiction. i came off black sails and the untamed and frankenstein and i watched the first couple seasons of supernatural with my friend and it was like...there was so much room for it to SAY something about monsters and how society creates them thru violence and how deeply horrific american protestantism is. like theres so many questions and concepts that it brought up that it never actually SAID something about. shithole of wasted potential. and yeah dean and castiel is stupid there i said it

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

In response to the Jane ask, I totally agree! Her song, as vague as it might be in the newer versions, is very much about emotional abuse and her realizing/reflecting on it. In the other versions this is arguably even clearer! Besides the list in the first verse, there’s a line in the student run version that always get me, in the second verse after “with out my son your love will disappear”. Usually in the lastest version it’s “I know it isn't fair, but I don't care”, which can be a sign of even tho she knows that he has hurt her at this point, her love will still be there for her son. But the student run it’s something like “you’ll let us fall apart, try to break my heart” which I think is much more powerful in showing more of her self awareness at what would happen to her. Also that opening monologue before about if she was really loved or just checked all the boxes on a list before she could make him angry, she knew that he would be willing to destroy her if she didn’t do as he wanted (Cause Anne wasn’t some death that would never happen again and that only happened cause Jane was there, he was to said to have threaten Jane with the same fate cause of the pilgrimage of grace incident (also well it did happened gain two queens later). Also just a slight unrelated thing, I can sorta understand why people blame Jane for Anne’s death but also not really. It was a whole campaign against Anne, and we only know that Jane was yeah trying to be queen due to influence from her family and others trying make sure she was but I don’t think it’s her fault Henry (and others) decided the best course of action would be to kill Anne. Though I am not a big Tudor researcher, this is only from multiple weeks and hours of searching and learning cause of curiosity and someone could fact check me but that’s what i interpreted the history as. Random rant over) Also the fact (and I’m pretty sure this is true in the newest version), she says “loved” most of the time. The past tense is important there, cause yeah maybe she did truly think she “loved” him. And he may have been the only one she ever “loved” but that cause she probably didn’t get a chance to love someone else (when Henry says it’s you, it’s you after all). This is just speculation though, I can’t assume what a 500 year old historical figure was truly feeling but a character in a show is different and ready for analysis. For that I say that maybe she did “love” him but it easily could have been out of fear or wanting to just deal with the cards dealt to her. But at the end she realizes where she wants her love to be directed towards, and that’s her son and in “Six” her new found family.

And fun fact about her part in “Six” (I kinda learned from something on tumblr but can’t remember who but either way here it is.) it’s 200% about the queens as her family, with her pun at the end being the main signifier of this. “You could perhaps call us the Tudor Von Trapps” is a reference to the Trapp Family Singers, an Austrian singing family (if you see the wiki for them, they are apparently the inspiration for sound of music, Neat!). So from that you would think “oh she’s talking about Henry and her kids with him having a band” but then she says “Just kidding! We’re called the Royalling Stones!”. A Rolling Stones references and they were made by friends forming a band, so that can be associated that the queens are said friends in this case but also part of family that has grown! Also Rolling Stones have a song called heart of stone, seriously this is the most clever joke Jane had during the show and it makes me, a pun/joke lover, very happy to see this be such a character trait that it’s in the damn description for her character for an auditioning sheet (check out Citadle Theather and Six the Musical in google, i think you’ll find it.)

Anyway sorry about this long ramble, it’s just that even though I totally can see how people view Jane as “weaker” in terms of some writing choices made, I still think there’s a lot to talk about with not just her current incarnation but also the other ones as well. I wish some changes werent made to her song, but she is a still strong character about the effects of emotional abuse and maternity. There’s nothing bad about talking about those things, your right that it doesn’t make her any less feminist. Anyway ramble over and I hope you have a lovely day :)

Hello hun!

Please don’t apologise for rambling! I’m always so interested in hearing other opinions on the queens and I love the opportunity to discuss any queen at any time! Frankly, I’m just impressed you got the whole essay into one message! Have they gotten rid of the character limit? Sorry, not relevant to the question.

(Also sorry for how long this took to answer! Uni happened sort of happened and I didn’t want to half ass my response to such a well thought out ask)

I adore the older versions of Heart of Stone, especially the student run version! I completely agree that Seymour feels so much more aware of her place in Henry’s life in the older versions. In the older version she knows she wasn’t Henry’s true love (even though she loved him) and she knows her worth is completely dependent on her ability to give Henry a son. She literally says “nothing lasts forever, I’ll fade away”. That is such a powerful statement and I wish that line was still in the song! I still think these themes are in the new version, but they’re nowhere near as explicit. Plus the character development in the student run feels much more explicit, with Seymour saying “soon I’ll have to go, I’ll never see you grow” instead of “him grow” in the new versions. She’s clearly speaking to Edward in the older version, so the last half of HOS in the old versions (at least in my eyes) is actually directly speaking to Edward and not Henry as many people think. I still think this is true for the new versions, illustrating Seymour’s character development as she breaks away from Henry and rather concentrates on her son, but again I don’t think it’s obvious in the new version. The older version just felt so much more powerful and I think it presented Seymour as much more as a victim than the newer version...which I argue is true! Seymour was as much of a victim as any other character in the show and I think she deserves more sympathy than the show gives her, and for as much as I love the newer versions of six, you can’t deny that Seymour is reduced to a joke for half of the show. The student version is such a genuine and earnest version of Seymour, and I can’t help but love her. It’s definitely a testament to the actresses from the student run that their characters are still on parr with professional versions of the show!

(Im so sorry I don’t feel like I’m adding anything to your analysis, but you’ve really summed up my feelings perfectly! )

Weirdly, I think that the student run and studio run play with the idea of having a “heart of stone” better than the modern version. I love the contrast between the material things that Henry can buy versus the natural world. Material things can fade, but the natural world (and Seymour’s love) transcends that. It’s a really nice use of juxtapostion in that song and I just don’t feel like the newer versions play with those images as much as the older version.

I do sort of get why they changed it (I think Seymour spends upwards of 10 just listing different objects, which is powerful in its own way but I do think audience members could get bored of those verses) but I wished they had still somehow managed to keep the theme that Seymour as explicit. I still think it’s there in the newer version of the song, but I don’t think it’s anywhere near as obvious as the older version. It would make HOS more like AYWD in a way, and that would be brilliant. Six shouldn’t be afraid to tackle different forms of abuse.

I personally can’t comment on the whole Anne Boleyn vs Jane Seymour thing because I just don’t know enough about the situation. However I don’t think any of the wives should be burdened with the blame of what happened to their predecessors. It wasn’t their fault.

Also I’d never thought of the tudor von trapps vs the royalling stones indicating that it was a found family rather than a blood family, but it’s actually such a neat little detail and I think it makes complete sense! I have always maintained that Seymour’s “family” doesn’t have to be related by blood. Found family is just as meanigful and as important as a bloof family, and Seymour finding her place with the other queens and calling them her family rather than Henry is very powerful in my opinion. I just don’t think the “my family’s grown” lime has to be as literal as people take it. Thanks for bringing that line to my attention though!

Seymour isn’t a “weak” character, both in term of the writing and in terms of character development. As much as I love the older versions of Seymour, I still like the new versions and appreciate that Toby and Lucy decided to allow Seymour to be a motherly character and have that be treated as an equally empowering thing as the other queens. Some women want to be mothers and that’s okay!

Anyway thank you so much for this ask my love! I really enjoyed thinking about Seymour (since she’s not a character I talk about a lot). Sorry again for taking so long to respond ❤️❤️❤️