#emphasis. one suspects. on screwing.

[tortoisesshells]

for the five lines meme: “a deed without a name,” for Burke/vicki?

what is it with me and the vampire end of things? from the rvb universe immediately post-confrontation with barnabas.

Vicki had been married in her best dress, adequate to a few years of birthdays and holidays at the Foundling Home and not much else besides; there’d been something – something she knew she ought to feel sharply, or as humiliation – in standing next to Burke, whose tiepin probably cost more than everything she was wearing. If she’d had time to find another dress, she might have picked just such a one as this – old-fashioned, high-waisted, soft as a cloud. Delicate. Musty? It made as much sense as anything else, dizzy as she was, cotton-headed as she felt. Burke pushed the veil off her face with as much care or more as he’d shown then, in the half-second after they’d been called into that musty office, fixing the beautifully-printed scarf that she’d borrowed from Mrs. Stoddard – he’d been so steady, then and his hands were so bloody now, and shaking –

Send me a character/pairing and a title to get five lines of an imaginary fic.

[alexiethymia]

The poetic cinema that it was Mr. Ji’s inkblot he made in anger which caused Chi yeol to discover that he was the one who kidnapped Haeyi and the fact that the first episode dealt with a mostly harmless stalker while the dangerous stalker was by his side all along.

Love or hate the murder plot, I do love the twists, not necessarily with regard to the suspect or motivation, but how it’s a scathing social commentary. Because wow, it really is the adults who are the most reprehensible, huh? Because kids absorb everything around them like a sponge, but adults should know better.

And Mr. Ji, as much as I would love to hate him, I really can’t because he is far too tragic. He’s no mastermind. All of his crimes have been sloppy. Even his choice of weapon - a slingshot and not a gun - show that a part of him is still that abused kid, like his anger and his impulses and the way he can change his devotion to hatred at the betrayal he feels toward Chiyeol. The adults around him really screwed him and his sister over. Even when his sister wanted to do the right thing, all she got from it was abuse. And it’s really dangerous that this kind of abuse is being normalized when justified that it’s for grades or the future of the kid. The adults screwed him up so badly that he could only trust a single adult, and fixated on him in a way to have a connection with his sister. I’m sure he became obsessively protective because of the residual guilt he felt at not being able to save his sister on time. If he had gotten therapy or the support he needed back then, even after he had killed his parent, would he have had a chance to heal alongside Chiyeol now?

The parallels are heavy with Mr. Ji, Seung-jae, and Su-a, and again it is a tragedy that the adults around them pushed them to the brink. Although there was still an element of choice because Mr. Ji still chose to kill his mother and others, I guess Seung-jae had what Mr. Ji and even his sister didn’t have at the time. Seung-jae would have gone the same route if he wasn’t pulled back.

And it’s really refreshing to me this emphasis on found family. It’s not necessarily that blood family is automatically bad, but you shouldn’t let preconceived notions and moral superiority cloud your judgment to the point that you’re already seriously damaging your child because you think you’re doing what’s ‘best’ for them. It’s refreshing to me that Haeng-seon wasn’t submissive towards her sister and was rightly mad because Haeyi is her daughter not anyone else’s. Same with Jaewoo. I’m glad they’re not going to push the redemption arc for their eldest sister just because she’s ‘blood’.

Another refreshing thing about this episode which I didn’t expect but really loved is the communication between Haeng-seon and Chiyeol. Chiyeol takes her concerns seriously because of course she would know Haeyi best. And I really didn’t expect it because most kdramas would have the lead keep it as a secret (another source of danger and misunderstanding), but I love, love, that Chiyeol was genuinely honest about the proof he found about Mr. Ji. I’m sure that even if Haeng-seon thought that Mr. Ji hated her, she didn’t expect him to go that far.

Another reason why I like the murder plot is because I prefer this as a source of tension rather than the usual break-up, miscommunication, long-distance, timeskip plots that usually happen during these final episodes. I would prefer my ship to be communicating as they hurdle outside obstacles together.

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundup (25/12 - 31/12)

TSUKIHIME

Some honestly sweet holiday fluff with the tsukihime cast of op's choosing

FATE/APOCRYPHA

In an alternate world, rather than summon Astolfo, Celenike summons servant Rider Goredolf Musik, driver of the Shadow and Storm Borders, he who's driving skills escaped the apocalypse twice. While everyone else is reeling from the implications that not only was a modern mage able to enter the Throne, but that said mage also was of the Musik line, Goredolf is panicking because if he, a member of Chaldea, was summoned, things are about to get very bad very fast.

FGO

Foreigner's New Years party, go as insane, as horny or as wholesome as you want

Hello fellow enjoyers of FGO! For No FGO January, I present to you all a very simple prompt. Show me your mastersonas! I don’t care under what context, how they’re doing, who they’re fucking, whether it’s wholesome, angst, whatever, I just want to see artworks/stories/whatever of your own original characters. Take this month of No FGO prompts to share what you already have, I look forward to seeing what you all have in store!

as a harmless prank, Mash and a few other servants (can be anyone like habetrot, caster cu, etc) dress up as caterpillars. It’s up to the writer/artist to decide how Morgan reacts to seeing mashu and co. in caterpillar suits.

If there was one place Ritsuka Fujimaru never expected to end up after everything with the Lostbelts and Ordeal Call was well and truly over, and the Earth was back to the way it was supposed to be... it was finding work at NFF Services, working directly under both Koyanskayas, no less. They were expecting to be worked to the bone, given their past interactions, but weirdly enough, they've been just... nice to them? Ritsuka keeps suspecting some kind of sinister plot, or cruel joke, but apparently the Koyans are just THAT invested in the well-being of their employees. Even more so in Ritsuka's case, given that they answer directly to both Light and Dark. It's still weird... but in a good way, they supposed.

Guda twin! Au where Gudako and Gudao meet once a week at Moriarty's bar to just hang and talk. Often these conversations end up being about their individual harems. (Whoever is in each harem is up to the writer but preferred that both are bisexual harems)

ranmaru x takes ritsuka back to her planet, and it’s up to the gudaguda gang to get ritsuka back!

so I found out by a yt short that takeda likes boys and writes passionate love letters to them. how about Kagetora and/or Nobunaga making fun of him for his passion for boys

thanks to the event I need some Ibuki x Habetrot for no reason other than major size difference makes brain go brrr. Smut is optional but there's gotta be emphasis on how wide the height gap is.

smut, While he mostly feeds of dreams. Merlin does occasionally need sex as every incubus does. Being one of the only human's alive, Gudako agrees, thinking that it's just gonna be a quickie. Cut to hours later. Gudako's mind has turned to mush and she's super overstimulated, begging Merlin to stop but he just. Keeps. Going. (yes I'm very horny for Merlin if you can tell)

I just finished LB6 and I have the BIGGEST Mélusine brainrot right now! I would appreciate anything about Mélusine x Female Ritsuka! Thanksss

taigong trying to have a peaceful fishing day but weird shit keeps happening so he says screw it and proceeds to annihilate anything that tries to fuck it up

Koyanskaya of Darkness is perusing her catalogue and pondering what new creatures to add to it when a flash of inspiration comes to her; what better way to add to her wares than to collar her own Light form? (smut is optional but recommended)

smut, Castoria x Tonelico sloppy sex. If they use Merlin's magic dick(tm) or not is up to the author

Agravain, despite what others might think, loved his siblings. He always had difficulty showing it, its true, but he never hated them or anything. This is why he would always send them out on missions. He believed in them that much. And so, Agravain awaits two of his siblings at the execution grounds for the traitor Guinevere when a scout arrives.

ANY

Write the killing blow your servants performed on a boss of your choosing. To give an example, here's mine. It was close to the end, Ritsuka could feel it. The immature Evil was worn down and she had only one retainer left, the other recently slain by Lobo before he was taken out. Taigong Wang and Mélusine fired off their noble phantasms, killing the last retainer before revealing that the immature Beast yet lived. She retaliated with her own, forcing Taigong out of the fight as Mélusine was the last one standing. Ritsuka used her last two command seals to heal Mélusine and give her one final order. "By my command seal, Mélusine, unleash your noble phantasm!" She took to the sky chanting. "My name is Albion. The last dragon who opens the boundary! From Geoffrey to Fromont! Show us the time, Tukedight!" Not taking any chances, she struck while Koyanskaya was still reeling from the blow. Koyanskaya retaliated with devastating strikes as the two realized something. Both were close to death and their next clash would be their last. They pushed themselves to their limit but unfortunately for the immature Beast, Mélusine was much faster. With energy from her weapons forming a dragon's maw, she crunched down on Koyanskaya, finally putting their battle to an end.

CROSSOVER

After Mirei Park's offer and ultimatum, rather than go to Fukuoka, Kiryu goes to Fuyuki and starts a new life there. He becomes intertwined with the local Yakuza and, by extension, the participants of the 5th Holy Grail War. When the events of Yakuza 5 begin, Daigo makes an alliance with the Fujimura Family, and soon, all hell breaks loose. The conspiracy is expanded in scale due to influence from magi seeking to claim the Grail for themselves, and Kiryu must work together with Rin, Shirou, Sakura, and Rider to keep the ones they love safe.

[beevean]

https://youtu.be/fDKZJbOiEQ4?si=k_KZ2dI4EPU3FHyR

https://youtu.be/LSnbb8e7UY0?si=FbAPhkoSgToMQvIb

Behold! The Queen of all time!

(And somehow Lady Pussy Sun manages to be even more one dimensional)

What kills me about this whole monologue is the setup:

Lenore: Please, would Dracula have kept [Hector] around in his own castle if he were that dangerous? Carmilla: *sighs* I would have liked that castle.

They were just talking about Hector, about him stalling and Carmilla suspecting him of being devious (and I would love to know how Carmilla grew to see Hector as suspicious and capable of killing, when she hasn't interacted with him on screen since the beginning of S3 when he was a pathetic sack of flesh) and Lenore "protecting" him by calling him "too simple" (déjà vu), a pretty important conversation for Carmilla because it has been six weeks and this asshole is making a fool out of the entire Council by roaming around her home without doing what he was raped hired to do (and Striga had mentioned in S3 that they couldn't afford to waste time as they had to take advantage of the chaos in the region before the humans reconquered it)... then Lenore just happens to mention the castle when it wasn't even the main subject of her sentence, and Carmilla immediately forgets all about the Hector issue because she just has to rant about her desire to conquer all?

absolutely peak dialogue. flows just as smoothly as chunks of concrete through a tube. i can see why this show is so praised for its writing.

I remember a post I read ages ago, about how Carmilla's insanity speedrun arc devalues the other sisters. In S2, she was pretty much the only ruler of Styria: the others weren't created yet, and she was written as someone who had to burden her trauma all alone. Then S3 introduces this tight-knit group of besties, which genuinely respect and admire Carmilla for being the "spark". Then in S4 Carmilla somehow loses her mind in one fell swoop because the others were too busy to check on her, reverts back to the lonely traumatized woman who fell prey to her own hatred and thirst for power, and the other three decide to turn their back on her with barely any hesitation. You could honestly cut all three sisters and fuse Carmilla with Lenore, and the story would be organically better. I honestly don't know if it looks worse when you watch everything in one go or having to wait one year for this mess.

On top of this, it's yet another instance of show don't tell. Carmilla just tells us about her trauma. "The first part of my life was men taking things from me," this is a chilling line with all sorts of terrible implications, and it's just thrown there without any care or pathos. Because the focus is not on her motivations that are supposed to give her depth: it's to show how insane she is, to suddenly kick her back into main villain position after she twiddled her thumbs for a whole season, and to justify poor widdle Lenore being scared of her, because hey, she's the "good" vampire, and aww she was lied to just like Hector, aren't they true soulmates, isn't this poetic cinema?

When you boil the Styria subplot down, it really is all about that damn woman, and screw everyone else, isn't it.

I said in one post that if I were to rewrite Carmilla, I'd put more emphasis on the fear that pervades her and drives her to react to the world with rage, mistrust and desire to protect herself. I cannot take Carmilla seriously the way she was written. She has the blueprints to be a compelling antagonist and representation of a woman who reacts to her trauma in an "unappealing" way without being woobiefied (and I do seriously appreciate it), but with scenes like this, she really only comes off as the scornful parody of a radfem written by a man that is absolutely not feminist in the slightest.

Oh, and I'll just mention this here:

"Bloody women," they said. "Let them die," they said.

For a setting so inspired by Berserk, and that has long dialogues of low-class men talking about fucking animals, there is a distinct lack of misogyny on screen. Not only the only flashback we get of Carmilla's past shows the day she killed her master and we don't get to see her "nightmares", which means we are not privy to the details of what drove her to be so hateful, we never see any men actually look down on Carmilla for being a woman in power: even Godbrand may be a bit of a lecherous pig, but seems to respect her enough as a person. Again, this cheapens her misandry. I can't take her seriously. She's just ranting that MEN BAD and I'm supposed to think she's cool for it.

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Vapors 1

Kushina had heard that giving birth was a noisy, messy, and painful affair. So far, the pain wasn't much worse than what she encountered in her day-job, she was relatively clean, and the noise was coming from the father-to-be's alternately terrified and thrilled chatter to the long-suffering midwife doing arcane things under the sheet covering Kushina's knees. She heard the muffled phrase, "Hokage-sama, I have done this before," for the third time, and tried not to laugh. It would hurt too much, she suspected.

Poor Sarutobi Biwako didn't seem to know if she wanted to be amused or kick Minato out of the delivery room. Patient woman. She was all but a saint, really.

Kushina gritted her teeth and tried not to react at the faces Minato was making, giving her genin teammate Mikoto a surreptitious hand-sign. It didn't really mean anything- it was an adaption of Minato's personal call sign with extra emphasis. The joke was at his expense, even if neither of them could quite verbalize how he was being teased for his near-panic.

The Uchiha grinned, her reserved nature overcome by her good mood. Kushina's smile became a little wider, until an especially vigorous contraction made her flinch. Her husband's eyes jumped to her face like she was an Iwa-nin with a big stick, looking just about as worried.

"Kushina!" Minato fluttered his hands in that girlish way he swore he didn't do, all but hovering at the slightest sign of discomfort.

"I'm fine," she stressed, working to keep signs of tiredness and effort off her face. "Honestly, 'ttebane, you'd think you were the one doing the work here! Why don't you calm down, huh?"

Mikoto snorted, and then ventured a guilty look at the Sandaime Hokage's wife, who was technically the senior physician present. The older woman didn't pay her any attention, but her assistant Taji-san leveled the Uchiha lady with an expression of amused tolerance that probably did nothing to make Mikoto feel less like a child.

"Hokage-sama!" Biwako-san said sternly, pulling her head up enough to give him a dark-eyed stare. Her tone implied that she was actually talking to an excitable child and not her military leader. "Calm yourself. Please focus your attention on the seal. Your wife is doing her work admirably, and you must do yours."

He probably wasn't meant to hear the muttered, "I always forget how weak and frightened men are, until I see one panic while his wife does all the hard work."

When Kushina looked over, Mikoto carefully pressed her lips into a thin line, forcing down visible amusement.

Mikoto wouldn't even have been present, had it not been for the fact that this birth was strenuous for so many reasons. Childbirth was enough of an ordeal on its own. When the mother was a jinchuuriki and having twins, it was terrifyingly complicated. Mikoto probably wouldn't be much help, but she was a certified medic nin and Kushina's best friend. At worst, she would be an extra set of hands to hold one infant while the more experienced medical ninja were occupied. She had to be there in case something went wrong.

She was probably doing a better job of helping keep Kushina calm than Minato, if truth were to be told.

An ugly smile had frozen on Kushina's face. Unbeknownst to her, it was considerably more worrisome than the screwed-up grimace she wanted to make. She swallowed, hard, and concentrated on pushing.

' I'd say I feel green, but my face is so hot I can only be red.'

Perfect. She really was the tomato woman.

"It's crowning."

Correction. She was the tomato woman half-way through giving birth to twins! Kushina crowed in victory, straining so hard that she was mildly concerned she had popped a vein. Surely it was all downhill from here.

Twins had been an unexpected surprise. As far as she knew, there wasn't an Uzumaki tendency towards multiple pregnancies. She'd blame this happy anomaly on Minato, but the first time she had tried, Mikoto had bored her to tears with a lecture about eggs.

'Eggs… I'm hungry. I could go for some victory ramen.' Kushina licked her dry lips, breathing through her nose. Minato misinterpreted the motion and hastily tipped a bit of ice-cold water into her mouth. She swallowed automatically and gave her twitchy husband a dry look.

Minato blinked down at her, painfully eager to do anything he could to alleviate her discomfort, even as his right hand remained firmly planted on the seal over her belly.

And suddenly she didn't have the heart to call him a dimwit pretty boy. It was too easy of a target, really. She could bully him later.

'He's going to be on diaper duty,' Kushina decided seriously, grinning with far too much teeth. 'I did the hard work for ten months, so I think he can have that minor problem for twenty months.'

Hokage, ho-shmag-e. His job was important, sure, but not as important as their budding family. Twins was an awesome start, actually! It was so exciting, she was minutes away from being a parent. She was going to be the best mom ever. She'd take her babies everywhere and they'd fingerpaint together and she would teach them how to mess up their daddy's hair so that he squawked and flailed and- and- She was so happy.

"Uhhh," Kushina huffed, squeezing her eyes shut. She could do without this part, though.

There was a perfectly timed four-person gasp in the next moment, which Kushina barely heard over the ringing in her ears and the slick, struggling feeling of a decent amount of matter making an ungraceful exodus out of her uterus. Her gut roiled, and she couldn't breathe for a moment, as the second mass –now distinguishable from the first feisty infant—moved down to fill the void where the other had been.

"Girl," Biwako-san called briskly. After a moment, there was a shocked wail. Kushina heaved her head up through sheer force of will, straining for a glimpse. All she saw was Taji-san carefully cleaning what looked like a bundle of blankets, taking measurements and scans of some sort while Mikoto hurriedly copied them down on a clip board.

'A girl, a girl, a girl,' Kushina chanted over the sounds of Taji soothing the infant, tears welling up from both pain and relief. That was odd, they'd thought the pregnancy was two identical boys, not a set of fraternal twins. Ha. They were going to have to go back to their old list of names. They'd never decided on a girl's name.

Neither of them actually cared about the gender, of course, but it gave her something silly to think about and keep her mood light while Minato worked on ensuring that she didn't inadvertently kill them with her uterus (or something. She was a bit fuzzy on the details of fuinjutsu-uterus interaction).

'Maybe we'll let Mikoto-chan pick, since she's the godmother,' Kushina thought deliriously, heart so light with joy that it might rise out of her chest.

Her hand twitched on the bedsheet. Kushina gritted her teeth and avoided the urge to take her husband's hand. She wanted to touch him right now, but he needed his hands and attention. Not being able to hold his hand right now was a small sacrifice in exchange for safely bringing two little Uzumaki into the world.

'I want to see them so badly,' she thought wistfully, for what had to have been the hundredth time. It'd be the first time she'd seen another Uzumaki since Mito-sama had given her the Nine-Tailed fox.

An ugly groan tore her from her thoughts. It took a moment to recognize that the sound had come from her lips. Kushina blinked dazedly, registering in the back of her mind that Mikoto-chan and Taji-san were having a hushed conversation over her baby-

"Check my readings, would you-"

"Odd-"

"-isproportional ratio of spiritu-"

Was something wrong? Distressed, Kushina tried to sit up on her cushions a bit more, eyes wide.

"Relax," Biwako-san cautioned. "Your girl is healthy. Do not fret. You shall see your children in a moment. You're doing very well, Kushina-chan."

With supreme effort, Kushina nodded. Biwako-san was right. She needed to keep working on her second child, and let the medics handle the first. Still, she noted that Mikoto-chan had finished filling out a chart and birth certificate, and was instead holding the bundle of green blankets that had to be her baby. Kushina could swear that she caught sight of a messy shock of wispy red hair—not a true, dark shade like hers, but something closer to the twists of orange in a sunset.

Then the spot of color was out of her line of sight as the Chuunin crooned, gently swaying with her burden. A beatific smile cracked across the small woman's face as she settled down in the back of the room, as far away from the commotion as possible.

' Mikoto-chan is going to be an amazing godmother. I know it.'

Better than Mina-kun's choice of his scruffy sensei for godfather, but Kushina didn't really mind. She liked Jiraiya. His books were actually pretty funny. She'd used them to tease her genin teammates so many times—Shiba-kun still stuttered everytime someone so much as mentioned the word 'sex', despite having an infant of his own now.

The transition between being pregnant and being a mother was a disorienting one that rocked her body. Not more painful, exactly, but birth and after-birth were definitely memorable sensations. As soon as her head stopped spinning, Kushina heard Biwako-san's voice.

"A boy, Kushina-chan," the satisfied midwife declared, giving the medical check herself. That was odd, but Kushina didn't think about it. "And he's in perfect health!"

'A boy? Aw, well, they can't both be super-surprising right at the start,' Kushina decided with a wild sort of joy. Naruto it was, then. Uzumaki Naruto had such a nice ring to it. She craned, trying to catch the first glimpse of her baby boy before Mikoto spirited him away to snuggle too.

"He's gorgeous," Taji-san added with a smile, beginning to gently towel him clean.

Minato took a deep, shuddering breath. For the first time Kushina saw that his eyes were swimming with unshed tears of happiness. The warm hands on her abdomen gently rose, and for a moment, he looked at her. The adoration in his gaze stunned her silent.

"Biwako-sama," he breathed, turning his head toward the tiny woman with the long brown ponytail. "May I-"

"No," Biwako-san said bluntly. Kushina let out a surprised peal of laughter at the pure shock on her husband's face. "The mother should see her children first. Mikoto-san, are you planning on stealing that baby, or may Kushina-chan see her daughter?"

Mikoto-chan stood with a rustle of clothing as quickly as she could, face burning bright red at the scolding.

Normally, Kushina would have drank in that sight gleefully. But Biwako-san had just nestled her baby boy in Kushina's waiting arms, and was peeling down a soft blanket to reveal-

A blade, sticking out of the front of Biwako-san's chest. Kushina's grip on her son nearly slipped out of pure shock.

Biwako-san gave a surprised gurgle, even as Taji-san shrieked and then fell, hot blood flying over Kushina's bare feet and the wet slap of meat falling against tile was a shocked counterpoint to the sudden coldness in Kushina's arms where a warm baby had been only an instant before. She didn't even register Biwako-san's knees buckling or the sound of Mikoto's sandaled feet skittering backwards.

She was too busy frozen, staring up at the masked man who was holding her baby boy with the business end of a kunai far, far too close to the delicate bundle. Minato was frozen—not in shock, but paralyzed by the underhanded threat. Even by shinobi standards, that was low.

"Oh kami," Mikoto whispered, shockingly loud in the silence.

"Fourth Hokage," slipped out from behind the sleek, abstract mask in a sinfully smooth rumble. Kushina felt like a rabbit, frozen in fear as she hadn't been before or since the day that she was kidnapped by Kumo-nin after her bloodline. "I wouldn't move if I were you."

"Please," Kushina begged, not even knowing what she was asking for. If it was possible, the pain on Minato's face became even harder to bear.

She couldn't tell, but the glance the masked man leveled on her might have been pity or condescension.

"How badly do you want this, I wonder?"

This? This? Not a person, not a sweet baby boy, but an object?

"Come and take him from me."

And then both men were gone. Kushina wailed, in the instant before her mind caught up with her. Mikoto-chan rushed over, red eyes wide and fearful in her pale face. Kushina was already forcing herself to stand.

"What do we do? Wai- Kushina, you can't be up right now! You just gave birth."

"Don't care," Kushina gasped, forcing feeling into her numb legs and ignoring the feeling of wetness against her thighs. She stepped over Biwako-san and Taji-san with a one-minded determination despite the scream of grief in her mind, moving to the streets. "It shouldn't be hard to find the fight. I-"

She cut herself off, shocked despite reason at the sight of four mangled, bloody corpses just outside the door to her delivery room. Had she given it thought she would have known that the ANBU guard must have been defeated, but-

"What about your daughter?" Mikoto asked in a hushed tone, clearly scanning for enemies or traps. "What if he wants her too?"

Kushina whirled on her long-time friend and grabbed her shoulders. "Miko-chan, can I ask you a favor?" she asked with a choked laugh.

Mikoto-chan blinked away tears. "Anything."

"Get my baby to the Hokage tower. There'll be plenty of backup there. I'll meet you as soon as I can, alright? If I get back my son, then that man won't be able to use him against Minato." She leaned over and pushed down a bit of fabric with trembling fingers before placing a kiss to the sweet little forehead she hadn't yet had chance to examine. "Mikoto-oba-san will keep you safe, okay," she promised waveringly, trying not to cry.

"Yes, I will," Mikoto-chan agreed, leaning her forehead against Kushina in the closest approximation to a hug she could manage while holding an infant. "I'll take the underground. Through ANBU."

"Good idea."

With that, Uchiha Mikoto watched her best friend disappear into the twilight with a heavy heart. After a moment, she moved to re-cover the infant and held the girl closely to her chest. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she whispered. "Mama's gonna save the day."

Only then did she realize that the infant was oddly silent—as if she had been shocked into fearful quiet by the rapid events. But she couldn't possibly comprehend what was going on, she was less than an hour old. Ridiculous. It felt like an omen, that even the baby acknowledged the seriousness of the situation. But Mikoto forced those thoughts away and instead took advantage of the silence as a blessing, moving rapidly towards what she hoped was safety.

Of course, when an explosion of red-hot chakra seeped in unholy fury washed across her not ten minutes later, Mikoto wept out loud.

'Kushina, be safe,' she prayed, despite suspecting that her best friend was already dead.

A very confused and unhappy girl in the hospital got her own name two days after the blur of pressure and noise and the swish of pretty dark hair that had defined her first day in the world of chakra and shinobi.

It was lucky that she was even awake long enough to register the incident. The sound of childish wails in the hospital nursery was constant enough that she had learned to sleep through it, and infants seemed to do nothing but sleep. She opened her eyes despite not being able to interpret the human-shaped blurs that moved around her. Her sight was poor, but her keen hearing did her no good because the sounds she recognized as language certainly weren't in her language.

When she was picked up by warm hands and bundled against a bony male chest while the woman who had lifted her hovered nearby, she awoke enough to squint up at the pointy blur that she assumed was a face.

To be fair to her confusion, it didn't really fit the pattern for a face. The top half of the shape was right—there was a shock of light colored hair, a pointy nose, and a dark grey eye. But only one eye. And try as she might, she couldn't pick out a mouth.

The boy holding her had to have one, however, because the slight rumble of his chest coincided with the sounds that bubbled up around her. When an over large hand appeared in her field of vision she grabbed at it instinctively, and followed it back to a much more conventional face. It had two eyes and everything, as well as pretty red lips.

Without a conscious decision, she gurgled and tightened her grip around the finger offered. Red lips split into a tired smile.

The only word she caught out of what the woman said next was 'Aiko', and that was only because it had been in the short phrase spoken a moment earlier by the boy holding her. She fell asleep almost immediately. It took a few more days for her to realize that Aiko was her name.

October fourteenth

"You did not recognize the man who attacked?" Sarutobi Hiruzen repeated, his dry tone implying that he didn't find the statement particularly persuasive.

Uchiha Mikoto bristled a little bit, before Fugaku's calming presence at her side brought her back to earth. He wouldn't want to see her lose her temper. "No," she said, as calmly as she could manage. "I did not recognize him. As I said, he was wearing a mask."

"Just one man killed four ANBU operatives, my wife" –his voice shook- "a Chuunin medic-nin, and led to the deaths of the Yondaime Hokage and his wife not two hours later. You were the only person that he spared who might tell of what had been done. That seems like the kind of man you might remember."

Mikoto exchanged a disturbed look with her husband.

"Are you attempting to imply that my wife has lied about what she witnessed?" Fugaku asked, disapproval and shock warring for prominence in his tone.

There was a moment of silence, and then the Hokage painted on a smile that did not seem particularly genuine. "No, of course not."

That meant yes.

"You must understand, however," he continued, "that the situation is unusual."

"Keeping orphans away from their legal guardian?" Fugaku butted in. "I would say so, yes."

His mouth shut so suddenly that his teeth clacked when the Sandaime gave him a hard-eyed look with the full brunt of his displeasure. The power couple were unpleasantly reminded that no matter how old, no matter how diminished, the man in front of them was their superior in every meaning of the word.

"You are of course aware that the person who released the Nine-Tailed fox had to have been an Uchiha," the Sandaime said quietly.

The world tilted.

"What?" Mikoto let the word fall from her lips without thought for how undignified it was. "That is-"

"Absurd, a children's story!" Fugaku continued, his voice like thunder. "It is utterly baseless, an accusation without merit."

Now that his pride had been offended he went on furiously, and Mikoto squeezed her eyes shut just for a moment. She wished that her husband would keep his temper. He had wanted to come to provide her support in making her arguments, but if he became aggressive, her chances of leaving with her two youngest babies were harmed.

"Please, Hokage-sama," she broke in, her quiet voice forcing her husband to flicker his eyes to her and stop talking. "I do not understand. Kushina-chan made me the guardian of her children. Let me take my babies and go home. They are all I have left of her. Surely you do not claim that I would do less than my best to care for the twins, or that I am incapable. I have the time, the love, and the resources to give them a better life than their parents had."

That was a low blow, and it made the Sandaime cringe, just a little. Kushina and Minato had both been orphaned at young ages. Neither of them would have wanted that for their children. And Mikoto was an excellent mother.

"We can provide everything they will ever need," Fugaku broke in, perhaps sensing that the Sandaime was weakening. "The Yondaime's children will want for nothing."

His statement had the opposite effect it was intended to. The Sandaime's face creased in disapproval. "Uchiha-dono, no one but the clan heads now know that those children belonged to the Yondaime," Hiruzen said stiffly. "We must take that name out of the discussion completely when we place the children. While it was impossible to keep Kushina-chan's pregnancy a secret and many will be looking for her child, any considerations related to their father are counterproductive."

In other words, the Sandaime thought that Fugaku wanted the twins because of the prestige they could bring the clan. He wasn't wrong, exactly. Fugaku would have supported Mikoto's bid for Kushina's children if they were not politically important. But since they were, his interest was piqued.

Her husband's face soured momentarily, but he wasn't fazed. "Then we shall absorb them into the clan without giving hint as to their parentage."

"A blonde boy and a redheaded girl," Sarutobi remarked dryly. "They will not blend in well with your clan."

"We can color their hair," Fugaku dismissed. "I assume that you planned to deny them their name, in order to keep them secret. We can offer them a surname and the protection that comes with it."

"They will become officially known as Uzumaki to honor their mother when the time comes to fill out their Academy paperwork," Hiruzen said mildly, picking up his pipe and tapping at it. "Until then, nameless they shall remain."

Fugaku clearly didn't understand why the Hokage would choose to treat the children as peasant orphans when they could have the prestige of a clan name, but forged ahead regardless. "They would be as my own children," he continued stiffly.

"And then in twenty years Naruto would be Hokage and Aiko-chan would be married to Itachi," Hiruzen said dryly.

Mikoto tried not to wince. That had probably been Fugaku's plan, yes, with the exception that Fugaku probably wouldn't have cared which of his sons Aiko ended up marrying.

The village was nowhere near ready to accept an Uchiha kage. But the child of the Yondaime, raised by the Uchiha—that would be a different matter, one that inextricably tied the clan to the highest echelons of the village for generations to come. It would be the political coup of the century.

But that wasn't what she cared about (though she wouldn't protest too loudly either if it happened naturally). Mikoto did not want to use Kushina's babies as devices for political positioning. She wanted to love them and raise them well in honor of her dead friend.

She realized with a sinking heart that it was too late. Now that Fugaku and the Sandaime were thinking of the twins in terms of their political value, the legal protection of her supposed guardianship and the emotional arguments she could muster would do no good.

'He mentioned that the clan heads all knew of the twins' parentage,' Mikoto suddenly realized, connecting an unpleasant thought. She voiced her suspicion, already knowing the answer.

"Other clans have already petitioned for guardianship," she said flatly.

Hiruzen looked mildly surprised at her leap in logic, but nodded in acknowledgment after a moment. "Yes," he agreed. "They have."

The snub caused Fugaku to freeze in shock for a moment. Their legal petition for guardianship was being blocked by clan politics. All the other clans should have been able to recognize that the Uchiha claim was the strongest and backed down. That they didn't meant that their clan's position was far more tenuous than they had realized.

The Uchiha power couple seemed to take a deep breath as one. "This childish accusation," Fugaku said stiffly, "has poisoned the Uchiha clan's good name." When that garnered nothing but a steady stare, he prompted; "What would you have me do to prove our innocence?"

Sarutobi Hiruzen gave a thin, tired smile that implied there was little that the Uchiha could do, or that they would not like the options. "Find the masked man," he said delicately, skirting around his obvious skepticism of Mikoto's un-collaborated story. "Convince the other clans that the Uchiha were not at fault." His eyes moved to Mikoto alone. "Persuade Jiraiya to give up his legal claim to guardianship."

She pressed her lips shut to keep from gaping at the unfairness there. Jiraiya was long gone from the village, and didn't look to be returning any time soon. It seemed that the Hokage had appointed himself Jiraiya's spokesperson, and he was clearly immune to her persuasion. Becoming the twins' sole guardian seemed all but impossible. Nor would she want to wrest Jiraiya's honorary parenthood away, even if she thought she could cow him or his mentor. However ill-suited he was to childcare, the twins were all he had left of Minato-san. She couldn't do that to him.

"Very well," Fugaku said stiffly, acknowledging the demands without agreeing. "Please excuse my wife and I, Hokage-sama." He gave a faultlessly proper bow that Mikoto echoed dully, though the move was not as deep and deferential as it would have been on another occasion.

Etiquette demanded that she echo the farewell, but Mikoto kept her lips together and merely gave the Hokage a baleful stare before she turned to follow her husband away.

A chill raised the tiny hairs at the back of Mikoto's neck as she truly considered, for the first time, what the Sandaime's stress and suspicions might lead him to suspect of her in particular. As she was the only surviving witness…

It didn't look good for her argument that the Uchiha had been uninvolved.

The fact that she had been spared was puzzling even to Mikoto, however. That unfortunately meant that she couldn't explain it. Kushina had made it out of that room because the masked man had needed to trick her into the open where the Nine-Tailed fox could be released. Perhaps Mikoto had been spared as a smokescreen against his true intentions? Or… had her salvation been in the fact that she was holding the other infant?

Mikoto tried not to let her doubt and confusion show on her face. She wouldn't have killed a woman holding in infant unless there was no other choice, but she had seen that masked man hold a kunai to an infant. Surely he didn't possess such sentimentality and reserve.

'He called Naruto-kun 'it',' Mikoto remembered. 'He had already rationalized that Naruto-kun was a tool for him to use. If he had really intended to kill Naruto-kun, he would be dead.' She shuddered. She hadn't considered it before, but the masked man must have been gentle and conscientious of the burden in his arms in order to avoid harming a newborn while engaged in a fight against the babe's father.

The theory that a soft spot for babies had saved her life was looking a little more likely. That didn't change the fact that the most obvious explanation, to the Sandaime at least, was that the masked man had spared her because she was the clan head's wife.

Being the Uchiha clan head's wife apparently carried much less currency than it had a week prior, however. It was positively unheard of for a custody dispute like this. When Mikoto managed to calm her breathing, she almost couldn't believe what had just happened.

This wasn't the Hokage unfairly refusing her good claim. This was the Hokage illegally retracting the guardianship that she had possessed the moment that Minato and Kushina had passed on. She knew her husband wasn't going to take this well. The Uchiha had fallen far indeed when they didn't receive the legal protection offered to other citizens.

Her heart sunk low even as she arrived home and took solace in cuddling Sasuke and breathing in his sweet baby scent. The situation seemed grim, but she wasn't giving up. This wasn't over. It didn't matter if the Hokage disagreed: she wouldn't leave those children alone, even if she couldn't take them in. There had to be something else she could do.

[nicklloydnow]

“The classical liberal or libertarian emphasis on individual rights can only be transferred to the realm of international relations with great difficulty. One might be tempted to analogize states to individuals. Just as an individual can do whatever he wants until he intrudes on the rights or interests of others, countries should be left alone as long as they mind their own business. But states are often run by leaders who achieve and maintain power by violating the rights of others. Maybe there is a practical or utilitarian case for applying the principle of sovereign equality to a state like North Korea and declaring Kim Jung Un the ultimate representative of the people he imprisons and starves, but there certainly isn’t a straightforward deontological case for it.

In the area of geopolitics, then, I find myself falling back to utilitarianism, and dispensing with talk of rights all together. All states are inherently suspect as moral entities, with some being better or worse than others. And individuals generally have zero control over what policies their governments adopt, making the doctrine of collective responsibility just as pernicious here as it is in the frameworks of wokes and Marxists.

That brings us to the Israeli-Palestinian dispute. Some will talk of the “right” of Israel to defend itself, or the “right” of Palestinian self-determination. But Israel’s right to defend itself means killing a lot of innocent people. And the Palestinian right to self-determination is just a fancy way of saying men with guns telling other people what to do because of where they happen to live, which given the record of Arabs I’m sure they would screw up much more than most other states have.

With utilitarianism, we might at least hope to make some progress, unlike what tends to happen when we engage in endless debates about who has the right to do what.

(…)

What seems certain is that there is no decent future for the people of the territory as long as the current leadership is in charge. Hamas will not only continually attack Israel, but keep its own citizens poor, repressed, and subject to reprisals. The question of what to do about this seems like a classic dilemma in which we have to ask ourselves whether we want to inflict short term pain for a greater long term good.

Israel controls the flow of food and electricity into Gaza. It should leverage that, along with air and bombing campaigns, in order to achieve a different kind of government. Kicking many of the Palestinians out and finding new homes for them would probably be the best of all worlds, as no matter how much trouble they might cause in Europe or Egypt, it won’t be as bad as them staying in Gaza. Israel making life so unlivable that they leave, while working with the US to pressure other countries to open up their borders, seems like sound policy. The population of Gaza is 2.5 million. Whatever the outflow is, it should be manageable if it is treated as a global problem. Turkey alone currently hosts 3.7 million refugees.

Anti-war types will make the argument that repression hasn’t worked up to this point. Yet given the power disparity between the two sides, Israel has been remarkably restrained. The 2008-2009 Gaza War, for example, led to 1,000-1,500 combatant and civilian deaths, a tiny fraction of the population. We can analogize this to the struggle against crime in El Salvador, which I’ve previously written about. People for a long time said you can’t just arrest your way out of the problem. Then Bukele came along, went much further than everyone else while ignoring the human rights crowd, and suddenly the murder rate plummeted.

It’s obvious that a real siege of Gaza, where food, medicine, and electricity are cut off indefinitely, would harm a lot of civilians. But it would hopefully build pressure to encourage other countries to let many Palestinians leave. Of those who stayed, the situation would eventually become so dire that something would have to change. Israel would be wise to extract at the very least a demand for recognition before it lifts the siege. Direct governance is probably impossible, but they could eventually perhaps hope for their own Kadyrov, which could in the best case scenario be the first step towards something better down the line once the death cult of Palestinian resistance is extinguished.”

“Top Israeli officials said they intend to retain security control of Gaza for an indefinite period to prevent new militant groups forming once Israel finishes its war with Hamas, but said they have little interest in administering Gaza the way the U.S. sought to govern Iraq two decades ago.

Israeli Foreign Minister Eli Cohen, in his first interview with a foreign media outlet since the start of the war on Oct. 7, said Israel has no desire to impose a civilian administration on Gaza. Once Hamas is toppled, Israel is looking at turning over responsibility for governing the territory to an international coalition, including the U.S., the European Union and Muslim majority countries, or to local political leaders in Gaza, he said.

“We don’t want to govern Gaza. We don’t want to run their lives. We just want to protect our people,” Cohen said.

That may include keeping soldiers in Gaza if Israel deems it necessary, along with tight controls on what goes in and out. “We will need to verify that weapons will not enter Gaza from any border,” including from Egypt, “and we’ll retain our right to work against any terrorists who want to build bases there,” he said.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu expressed the same sentiment. “I think Israel for an indefinite period will have the overall security responsibility, because we’ve seen what happens when we don’t have it,” Netanyahu said, in an interview with ABC News on Monday evening.

Cohen and Netanyahu were careful not to describe Israel’s future role in Gaza as a military occupation, suggesting the details of the postwar security arrangements are still in flux. They also left unanswered many important questions, including whether the Israeli military plans to control the whole strip or just a portion of it.

(…)

Advising Israel to avoid a similar course, Washington has said the Palestinian Authority—the Western-backed government that governs most Palestinians in the occupied West Bank—should take control of Gaza once Hamas’s rule is ended. Hamas violently pushed the Palestinian Authority out of Gaza in 2007.

Netanyahu’s government has an antagonistic relationship with the Palestinian Authority, however. Senior members of his government oppose its existence in the West Bank, let alone in Gaza, blaming it for inciting radicalism against Israel through its school system and compensation payments to families of Palestinians who are killed or arrested while attacking Israelis.

(…)

As long as Israel controls security in Gaza, it also will be difficult to persuade the Palestinian Authority to resume civilian control of Gaza, as it did before Hamas pushed it out. Nor will Arab governments or even the United Nations be likely to step in to underwrite a temporary civilian administration if Israel is continuing to attack pockets of Hamas cells still operating in the densely populated areas of Gaza City and other areas of the strip, analysts and former Israeli officials said.

“Nobody wants to come in—that’s the situation we are facing,” said Tzipi Livni, a former Israeli foreign minister and deputy prime minister. At the same time, “it’s not in Israel’s interest to stay in Gaza long term.”

(…)

For Israel, there are few good options about what to do with Gaza in the long term, say current and former Israeli officials. In the past, Israel didn’t push for decisive control of the strip, instead tolerating Hamas as a necessary evil on its southern border to prevent more militant groups taking root there. The Oct. 7 attacks changed that paradigm.

Even if Israel can secure Gaza and exit relatively quickly, it may need to keep substantial forces there or on the perimeter of the strip with the option to go back in, in order to prevent Hamas or a successor militant group from regenerating, analysts said.

(…)

With Hamas’s civilian administration gone, the task of providing food and shelter to its displaced residents would fall at least partly on Israel if its troops occupy Gaza, but Israel itself has shown little interest in assuming responsibility for governing Gaza once the conflict is over.

“I really don’t think that is our job,” said Shimrit Meir, a former Israeli foreign policy official, referring to the calls for Israel to answer how it plans to administer Gaza after the war. “If the international community is worried about Gaza, it should take care of Gaza.”

(…)

Cohen said Israel would reject any pause in the fighting until Hamas releases the some 240 hostages it and other militants took on Oct 7. “For us there is only one we will agree to a humanitarian pause—the release of hostages,” he said.

The U.S. also has been exploring options for the future of the Gaza Strip, including the possibility of a multinational force that may involve an international peacekeeping component that would come in if Israel succeeds in defeating Hamas. Along with seeing the Palestinian Authority re-establish control over the strip, U.S. officials say one of the aims of the war should be to revitalize negotiations on creating a Palestinian state in the West Bank and Gaza, alongside Israel.

“At some point, what would make the most sense is for an effective and revitalized Palestinian Authority to have governance and ultimately security responsibility for Gaza,” Secretary of State Antony Blinken told the Senate Appropriations Committee last week.

Many analysts consider that scenario unlikely, noting that the Palestinian Authority, weakened by corruption and headed by an aging leadership, has at best a tenuous hold even on Palestinian areas of the West Bank.

(…)

Netanyahu’s prediction of a continuing military presence suggests he and his commanders are now worried about exiting Gaza too quickly—or that limiting the duration of the military campaign to pave the way for the eventual return of the Palestinian Authority, as the U.S. wants, could backfire.

But staying too long in Gaza brings its own risks for Israel’s forces, including the risk that their presence could fuel an insurgency among Hamas’s remaining fighters and other militants, much as the U.S. faced in Iraq.”

[haymarketvtubestuff]

<transphobia, homophobia, implied abuse, divorce mention>

<fictional work>

A priest, a minister, and a high school English teacher and part-time witch walk into the home of a regular of St. Mark's Catholic.

One wouldn't be faulted to think that was the worst setup for a joke, but, at the same time, one wished it was a joke. Once Ariel stepped in, behind Rev. Burkhardt and Msgr. Canterbury, she felt the humor leave her entire being. That's how unhappy the house felt. Crosses, nativity sets, photos of two parents and a child living happily that were not up-to-date with reality.

"Mother filed for divorce but wasn't able to retain custody," Msgr. Canterbury remarked, his voice clinging tightly to what jolliness it usually carried. "Normally, the Church wouldn't condone divorce, but ..." He cut himself off before adding to the gloom and pain of the situation. Canterbury could only look to his Methodist colleague, who sensed the anger that dusted the house. All three agreed to silence before speaking with the father. Ariel gestured a request to scope the house while the men asked the parent further questions.

It started as a call to Msgr. Canterbury. The parishioner's child exhibited erratic behavior. Tics that were out of the ordinary. The occasional swear that was never heard from the child's mouth prior. Then came the angry remarks about the absent mother. The father complained how it was "out of the ordinary and unladylike behavior" at points, but assumed that it was "her being a teenager".

Then came the smashing of furniture. The overturned trash cans. The graffiti in an unknown script that, for the English teacher, had a tinge of familiarity. Her familiar, Fruma, had thought the same but couldn't place it themselves. She was brought out of her contemplative fugue by the parishioner, who was describing their child's actions and previous behavior while seeming to use the word "daughter" as a punctuation mark.

The emphasis was already suspect to Ariel, but, when both Burkhardt and Canterbury silently looked to her, the conclusion was already reached by the three. Something else had happened here.

Ariel was glad that she wasn't wearing her "armor", as she called her customized fatigue shirt, and instead still had on her work khakis and a blouse-like polo. The father's rhetoric screamed "queer basher" to the point where even the archbishop would balk at what was implied.

Searching through the house for more damage, more assistance to find the extra influence (or influences) on the situation gave Ariel the chance to clear her head. She kept going back to the scribbles - pictographs, more likely, but were these an untrained hand of an adult or a child? The media was clearly not blood, which ruled out supernatural changes. No, this looked like ...

"Red permanent marker," Ariel said to no one in particular. An easy fix with dry-erase marker and a wet cloth. This was the hand of one of the people in the house.

The time needed to find the child's room was minimal, as the door was completely gone from its hinges.

Not broken off with evidence of the door having once been there in one piece - removed. The pin was removed, leaving only the leaves that were screwed into the door frame.

The aura that came from the room had a texture to it. Ariel sensed frustration, violence, terror, but only the vaguest hint of malice.

There was also a sense of ... loneliness. Longing. A want for something.

Whatever was going on here, the witch knew she had to be ready. She removed her loafers and stepped into the child's bedroom, expecting a mess of rage and destruction and shocked to see it nearly barren.

A bed. A desk with a chair. A vanity, and a chest of drawers for non-hanging clothes.

Nothing else. Nothing here screamed the experience of a teenage girl. No ... something was removed from here other than the door. Many somethings. Stripped from the room, even.

"This child's privacy was revoked as well as this?" She muttered under her breath, hoping that whatever else was here would not pick up her knowledge.

"What did you say?" A non-human voice. Ariel spun her head in the direction of its origin - the child. The scraping timbre of the voice seemed both natural and in the first stages of practice - an amplification of two combined voices.

It was time for the witch to do her part. In her mind, Ariel uttered a line -

"Fruma, you're up."

She waited for a response. A deep, leonine growl and a feminine, feral voice answered -

"Ready whenever you are, baalat-ov."

Ariel snapped the fingers of her left hand. Immediately, a flash of void enveloped the whole of the small bedroom. A dustless swirl of clouds settled as her other form made its debut before the teenager.

Ariel was still in her khakis and polo, but an outsider would spot five things different about her -

Her blonde, normally pixie-cut-length hair was fuller, wilder, and shoulder length.

She no longer had ears where they should have been. Instead, her ears were a little higher up on her head, more pronounced, more rounded. It was more like a lioness's ears - brown-blonde fur matching her own natural "fur".

She had grown a full lion's tail. Ariel was thankful she wore pants that rode her hips so to allow for the change.

Her hands were altered so to incorporate claws and paw pads while still retaining humanoid form.

While she had more leonine features elsewhere, Ariel still had the same issue as any other sheyd or sheydah taking human form - chicken feet.

What the child saw from the front was the sixth change - Ariel's left eye, normally matching its neighbor in bluish silver tone, was now amber in hue. The child, however, did not waver in its stoic expression that still, as Ariel's students might put it, "gave resting bitch face". Ariel decided to set the tone.

"My name is Ariel Haymarket, son of Avram Haymarket, son of a rabbi, and Elisheva Chapman, daughter of a line of sorcerers who could commune with spirits. I here to advocate for the child of David Cavendish and their safety."

A pause. The child's expression had changed on the last expression to shock, though Ariel couldn't determine if the reaction was from the child, the spirit, or both. Ariel continued.

"I am also Fruma, the Righteous, known also as HaP'rai, the Savage One. I am both a human advocate and witch and a Sheydah. If you wish to discuss terms or the circumstances, I need to know with whom I am working."

Another pause. The child's expression returned to its prior state, then drooped - along with the child themself. A cold wind and hellish screaming filled the room (sensations Ariel was not unfamiliar with), the latter echoing through the house and joining other voices. Ariel and Fruma came to the same realization -

There's more of them???

Before Ariel, a new scene developed. A gray mist formed into a solid being. A feminine figure with long, wild hair that went down to its hips. Armored, stained with blood, armed with ancient weaponry. More screaming.

Once the presence made itself known to Ariel, she recalled a description by Maurus Servius Honoratus -

Eumenides was their name in hell.

Dirae in heaven.

Furiae on earth.

No wonder the pictographs looked familiar. There was no point in trying to read the message because even a scholar wouldn't be able to. It was enough for Ariel to recognize that the language was Linear B.

The message itself was no longer important.

There were furies in the house.

And one of them is possessing this man's son.

(to be continued)

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I'm a Gen-X / Millennial cusp, a Xennial. And, yes, indeed. However, I do want to put in that, on occasion, I just enjoy fighting. It depends upon the forum. I am a longstanding (decades longstanding) blog-commentator / community member on Slacktivist. Yes, it's on a religious-blogs collective. No, it's not trying to get you "saved." It is Progressive Christian. It is more about the weirdness of American politics than anything, with particular emphasis on the intersection of American religious life on said. It's basically an ex-evangelical blog. The commentary is made up of a variety of people, everyone from fellow Progressive Christians to Atheist to Pagans. The only unifying factor is that we're "libs" and "leftists." It started out and still goes into being a book-blog, lit-crit, specific to the apocalyptic series, Left Behind. We have inside jokes. "GIRAT" (Greatest Investigative Reporter of All Time), "Nicky Mountains" (Nicholae Carpathia, the books' oddly-named Antichrist). I found the place because I'd read about half the series back when I was an evangelical-wanker and upon waking up from that, was eager to see them eviscerated. We get trolls. Most often, they are named "Frank" for some reason. There was a guy named Frank who kept on cracking in no matter how many times he was thrown out. There are some others that we suspect of being Frank under different names because of his posting style. There have been others that do not share the posting style, but, weirdly, have "Frank" in their name somewhere. At least "Rocket," who actually gave us death threats, ran off with his tail tucked between his legs. I remember one or two turbo-fedora-atheist trolls there, but by and large, they're religious conservo-droids. And they are FUN to engage! I mean... They do seem to raise the hackles of some board members, but, for me, at least, they never actually make me angry. They're just...stupid. I honestly feel like a cat batting around a toy mouse with them! Or a wounded mouse! Or at least people who stepped onto an intellectual battlefield, but left their gray matter at home. And when they show up... I'll just fight them for a while. Until I get bored. Until I've battered the catnip mouse under the couch and I hear the can opener. I sometimes block them then. Sometimes, I do not in case they come back to amuse me again. When the threads get too long though, we've had some members who've warned "If you do not block the trolls, I'm blocking you," and in order to keep the peace and to keep seeing input from people I like, I'll control myself and refrain from engaging. For a while, we got troll-flooded with people whose goal was simply to break the threads by puffing up sizes and screwing up the Disqus formatting. We learned to just block and ignore these. But that isn't as much as a problem anymore. So... if "Frank" shows up again, he's there to be my chew-toy. Select your trolls carefully. Never let them get you angry. Let them amuse you if you are so inclined.

Sometimes we could all use a reminder. (source)

[fedonciadale]

We agree that Brienne deserves better than Jaime but does the author think so? And what about Brienne? What does "she deserves better" even mean? What do you think of her attraction towards him? Is it supposed to be positive or a result of her low self-esteem / bad taste in men? If Jaime ends up screwing up, I can't see how she could still love him.

Hi there!

To me "deserves better" means that Brienne is in essence a good person who is trying her best and not just playing at it. And she would deserve someone as good as Samwell Tarly. That is my opinion, but of course that does not mean that Brienne will get a Samwell Tarly. If Brienne gets Jaime, then she will get him because the author decided that their arcs lead there - and you can argue for that, there are hints, but it is not a foregone conclusion.

I've said it before, a satisfying ending does not necessarily mean that people get what they deserve and it certainly does not mean that the author's fav will be rewarded - I just remind you that Frodo sort of deserved better but his ending was prepared by the author from the moment he left the Shire and dreamt of the Western Shores.

I can imagine several outcomes where the Jaime-Brienne relationship can come to a satisfying ending: Jaime knighting Brienne would be very nice for example. It could also be satisfying if he dies for her in an act of true chivalry and asks her that at least she will cherish his memory. There are many possibilities.

As for Brienne's attraction: I think it is of course born of the circumstances. Brienne has been ridiculed for a long time and somehow she is resilient enough to carry on.

We as readers flinch when Jaime insults her at the beginning of her relationship, but what is interesting is that he often holds back and does not say the quip that comes to his mind out loud - so Brienne does not know he thought that.

And then he saves her from certain death, accepts her wanting to wear male clothes and armour, presents her with a sword and tells Loras to his face and in her hearing that she would easily best him. It hardly needs any emphasis that Brienne has never experienced that before. It is only natural that she likes him, even if you could argue that he shows no more than common decency. Just remember that Brienne is accustomed to the likes of Randyll Tarly....

So, in a way her infatuation is not due to the fact that she knows Jaime very well, but the side she sees is actually likeable. She changed her opinion of him and now she is convinced that she now knows the real Jaime - which is a natural conclusion. If you have worked something out you tend to be convinced. I think all in all her crush on Jaime - which she is aware of and slightly ashamed of - is rather positive than negative, an opportunity for her to grow however the outcome will be.

I think their relationship would only have a true chance if Brienne changes her opinion a second time and learns to see his flaws again. I think she might just do that. It might lead to her being disappointed or it might lead to her accepting him (even if only as a friend). And that does depend entirely on how they will meet again.

I suspect we will see Jaime at the Red Wedding 2.0. where Lady Stoneheart will exact her revenge. And this might be a traumatizing event that will decide where Jaime and Brienne's relationship will go.

Whatever will happen I think it will be far better for Brienne than what we had on the show. The knighting ceremony was nice but the one night stand was awkward and I'd rather not have that.

Thanks for the ask!

[shihalyfie]

Kizuna itself vs. the two versions of the novel

Written on request from a friend who wanted to remain anonymous. This is more of an editorial than a meta, and while I usually have a policy of “this is an analysis blog, not a review blog” it goes into more of my personal impressions and opinions than usual, but it’s something I write hoping to be helpful.

There are basically three “official” full versions of Kizuna: one being, of course, the movie itself, one being the Dash X Bunko version of the novel, and one being the Shueisha Mirai Bunko version of it. While it’s certainly not to say that any of the three is an “incomplete” version of the narrative, if you really want as full of a picture of the story as possible, somehow, each of all three versions of the story happens to have really important information that the other two do not. If I had to pick only one of these three versions to recommend to people, I would of course pick the movie itself; it’s obviously the base story everything else is based off of and was the one the production centered around as a priority, but the novelizations have a surprising amount of info that provide a lot of insight into the movie’s story and themes.

I get the impression that the creation of Kizuna involved making a lot more story and background details than could fit in a 95-minute movie, so these novelizations, which were based directly off the original movie script, ended up being an outlet for a lot of these details (and as much as I could be harsh on the movie itself for being a bit “reliant” on extra material, I have to admit that Adventure and 02 were both like this too -- a lot of our current understanding of the series comes from the Adventure novels and drama CDs -- so frankly I’m thankful we at least got this with a 95-minute movie instead of a yearlong series). On the flip side, while I'm not going to say that the novels are completely and utterly inaccurate representations of the movie, in a perhaps too-close approximation of Adventure and 02's writing style, this is a movie where even the nuances in a single line or split-second moment carry heavy implications, which become much blurrier or harder to identify when they’re presented differently (or not even presented at all) in the novel’s context, especially when they emphasize very different things from what the movie itself was emphasizing.

The short version of this is that I believe the Dash X version contains the greater amount of “plot and story” information but significantly misses out on the emotional themes and presentation, whereas the Shueisha Mirai version abridges and cuts chunks of content but is much better at conveying the intended message. More on this below the cut. (Note that the following post spoils Kizuna’s plot events.)

The movie itself

Since the following parts are more “in comparison to the movie”, I’m not going to go too much into this in this section, but one thing I will say is that the official English subtitle translation for the movie is really not great. Even if you take out nitpickiness about the fact it misses several significant nuances (the difference between “unchangeable fate” and “changeable destiny”, or the fact that Gennai refers to partnership dissolution as a “case” and not like it’s something that happens overall) at really plot-important moments, some lines (thankfully, usually not plot-important ones) are just straight-up incorrect. And worse, there’s evidence the official English dub was based on that translation! (I’m not faulting the people in charge of the dub for this, but whoever handed them that translation to work with.)

The dialogue in the Dash X Bunko version is transcribed effectively word-for-word from the dialogue in the movie (or perhaps vice versa, given that the novel is based on the original script), so I highly recommend checking that version as a reference for dialogue or if you want to do any intimate analysis on it. I don't want to go as far as to suggest not supporting the official version of the movie because of this, but at least please be aware that the translation used there is not entirely reliable.

Dash X Bunko

If you talk about “the Kizuna novel”, this is the one that people usually tend to be referring to, for two reasons. Firstly, it was translated shortly after the movie’s release, and due to the unfortunate circumstances of Kizuna being delayed in accessibility outside Japan for several months, this basically served as the only comprehensive source of info about the movie outside Japan for a very long time. Secondly, in Japan, this one was marketed as “the one for adults” in contrast to the Shueisha Mirai one being “for kids”, which meant that a lot of people assumed that the latter one was just an incredibly stripped down version that was otherwise disposable or replaceable. (This is very, very much not the case, and is extremely ironic when it comes to a movie that partially centers around the dangers of looking down too much on things associated with childhood.)

When it comes to “plot and story info”, this is the one that probably serves as the best reference (especially for fanfic writers or those who need a refresher on certain plot events or to look up something quickly), and probably has the most “comprehensive” listing of plot events surrounding the movie. The dialogue in it is a word-for-word recreation of the movie’s script, and actually includes more scenes than the movie itself does, including two that I suspect to be deleted scenes (a detailing of the specifics behind the initial plan to pursue Eosmon, and a conversation between Koushirou and Tentomon) and adaptations of the first and second memorial shorts within their context in the movie. It also contains some interesting background details and extra context for some things in the movie that you might think would normally be animation flair or something, but take a very interesting implication of story importance if they’re going out of their way to write this in the script. (There’s a scene where Agumon and Gabumon appear in front of their partners when they’d been behind them a minute before, and it’s easy to think this might be an animation error, but not only does the surrounding context make this unlikely, the novel itself actually directly states that their positions had changed.) Given that, I think it was very fortunate that this novel was available to us for those outside Japan waiting for the actual movie to come out, because this level of detail was very important to have on hand rather than fragmented spoilers on social media.

However, the part where I think the novel is significantly deficient in compared to the actual movie (and also to the other version of the novel) is that it describes the plot events in too blunt of a manner and doesn’t bring out its themes very well. (It’s kind of like having a long and very detailed Wikipedia article plot summary; it definitely got all the hard facts down, but the emotion is gone, which is still a pretty significant issue when media’s all about the feelings and message in the end.) While “considering the movie to be more cynical than it’s probably meant to be” happens regardless of which version someone’s working from, I’ve talked to perhaps an unnervingly high number of people who started with the novel and were absolutely convinced that the movie’s message was about adulthood sucking and needing to just accept it, until they saw how the actual movie pulled it off and the surrounding atmosphere and realized it definitely was not. (I think one really big factor here is that a lot of the visual imagery makes it extremely, extremely hard to miss that Menoa’s mentality is completely screwed up and her way of seeing things was dubious to begin with; prose descriptions really just don’t capture the way they slam this in your face with visual and musical cues during the climax of the movie.)

You can figure this out from the novel itself, but you have to really be looking closely at the way they word things, and on top of that it’s hard to figure out which parts you should be focusing on and which parts aren’t actually that important -- in other words, the “choice of priorities” gets a bit lost in there. Even the little things lose a lot of value; it’s theoretically possible to use the novel to put together that Daisuke is wearing his sunglasses indoors during his first scene, but you have to put together the context clues from completely different paragraphs to figure this out, none of which compares to the actual hilarity of visually seeing him wearing the thing in a very obviously dimly lit restaurant because he’s our beloved idiot. (For more details, please see my post with more elaboration on this and more examples of this kind of thing.)

I wouldn’t say that the movie itself isn’t guilty of (perhaps accidentally) having some degree of mixed messaging, but I would say this problem is rather exacerbated by the novel’s way of presenting it due to its dedication to dropping every single plot detail and event without much in the way of choosing what to contextualize and what to put emphasis on (as it turns out, treating practically everything in the movie as if it has equal weight might not be a great idea). So, again, for that reason I think the novel serves as a good reference in terms of remembering what happened in it and knowing the movie’s contents, but I also feel that it’s really not the greatest deliverer of the movie’s message or themes at all.

Shueisha Mirai Bunko

The second version of the novel was not translated until several months after the movie first released, and shortly before the Blu-ray and streaming versions of the movie itself came out anyway, so my impression is that on this end a lot of people don’t even know it was a thing. On top of that, even those who know about it often dismiss it as the “kid version” -- and to be fair, it did baffle quite a few people as to why this version even exists (Kizuna is technically not unacceptable for kid viewing and its plot is still understandable regardless of age, but since the movie is so heavily about the millennial existential crisis, it’s not something kids would really relate to). So a lot of people tended to just skip over it...which is really a shame, because it contains some interesting things that actually aren’t in the other two versions at all. For instance, did you know that, as of this writing, this is the only thing that plainly states the specific explanation for why Yamato decided to become an astronaut, for the first time in 20 real-life years?

While there are still some things that weren’t in the movie proper (mainly the Eosmon initial plan and the adaptation of the second memorial short), for the most part, the actual events are somewhat abridged compared to the movie and the Dash X version, and other than a few stray lines, there’s not a lot of extra information that would be as helpful for referencing the events of the plot. The version of the novel here is rather broadly interpretive of the scenes in the movie, so several things are condensed or taken out (and, amusingly, because it’s assuming that the kids reading this don’t actually know the original Adventure or 02, it has to describe what each character is like in a quick one-liner).

However, interestingly enough, it’s because it’s so heavily interpretive that it illuminates a lot of things that weren’t really easy to glean out of the Dash X version. For instance:

Some scenes are described with “other perspectives” that give you info on someone else’s point of view. (For instance, we see more of Yamato’s perspective and thoughts when he has his first phone call with Daisuke, or a bit more detail in the process of how Eosmon kidnappings work.)

We get a lot more information on what’s going through everyone’s heads during each scene, and what emotions they’re feeling at a given time. (This is something that you could at least get to some degree in the movie itself from facial expressions and framing, but would often be a lot blurrier in the Dash X version; here, it’s spelled out in words.)

When things are abridged, you get a clearer idea of what the intended point and theme of the scene was because it’s stripped down to include only that part. In one really interesting case, the scene with Agumon finding Taichi’s AVs has a “censored” equivalent where Taichi’s pushed to a corner because he can’t find anything non-alcoholic in his fridge -- so when you look at the two versions of the scene and what they have in common, you can figure out that the point isn’t that it was a lewd joke for the sake of it, but rather that Taichi’s forcing himself into boxes of “adulthood” that are actually meaningless and impractical.

Some of the descriptions of the characters, scenes, and background information make it a lot more obvious as to their purpose in the narrative (it outright confirms that Miyako being in Spain means that her personality is getting overly enabled there).

The scene where the circumstances behind Morphomon’s disappearance are revealed makes it significantly less subtle what the point is. In the actual movie, a lot of this involved visual framing with Menoa seeming to become more and more distant, but in this version of the novel they basically whack you over the head with the final confirmation that Menoa is guilty of neglecting her own partner, which contradicts her own assertions that “they were always together” (maybe not emotionally, it seems!) and helps clarify the commonality between her, Taichi, Yamato, and Sora in what exactly led to their partners disappearing.

Bonus: this version of the novel really wants you to know that the ending of the movie is about Taichi and Yamato fully having the determination to turn things around and lead up to the 02 epilogue. (The movie’s version of this involves the extended version of Taichi’s thesis and the credits photo with Yamato obviously next to a rocket, while this novel’s version involves more detailed fleshing out of how Taichi and Yamato decided to use their experiences to move onto their eventual career paths and what kind of hope they still have at the end. The Dash X version...didn’t really have a very strong equivalent here.)

In other words, while this version of the novel isn’t the greatest reference for plot or worldbuilding, it does a much more effective job being straightforward about the intended themes and message of the movie, and even if the scenes in it are much more loosely adapted, it’s much better at adapting the emotional nuances of the things that would normally be conveyed via visuals, expressions, and voice acting. (Although I would still say that the movie itself is the best reference for that kind of thing, of course.) If you just want lore or plot ideas, I don’t think it’ll help you very much, but since this series is so much about characters that had their ways of thinking fleshed out in such incredible detail, and about strong theme messaging, this is all still very valuable information in its own way.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 8 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren’s brother did not outwardly react when Wen Ruohan announced what happened.

He merely stared, face as impassive as a stone washed clean by the river, his posture and position impeccable from the little glimpses Lan Qiren kept stealing of him – he was trying to keep his head ducked and his gaze firmly on the ground, trying to demonstrate penitence, but he couldn’t quite resist looking. He assumed that his brother’s seeming indifference was a mask for the rage he undoubtedly felt, seeing his little brother screw up what would have otherwise been a perfect discussion conference for the Lan sect.

It seemed like a reasonable conclusion, given that Lao Nie was taking up all the slack of reacting with rage without any such mask whatsoever.

“He’s little more than a child!” Lao Nie shouted.

“Little more, perhaps,” Wen Ruohan said smoothly. He was enjoying himself, Lan Qiren thought. “But regardless of how close or how far he is, he is adult enough.”

“He can’t marry or inherit –”

“He shed blood in a night-hunt, and that means he can swear oaths, which is all that’s relevant here. It isn’t as if I married him.”

“He’s sixteen! If someone removed sixteen years out of your life, Hanhan, you wouldn’t even notice the absence!”

“True, but irrelevant,” Wen Ruohan said. “And don’t call me that, Sect Leader Nie.”

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, you little –”

“You are unharmed?” Lan Qiren’s brother asked Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, who’d been spectating the increasingly fraught back and forth between the two sect leaders, turned to look at him, surprised to be addressed.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I only had a headache, and Sect Leader Wen took care of that.”

“You call me da-ge now,” Wen Ruohan reminded him, turning briefly away from his argument to do so. “Your oath, remember.”

“Does he even remember swearing the oaths?” Lao Nie hissed. “You know how these Lan drink – you and your damned need for control! Just because you can’t get it one way, you have to try another, is that it, Hanhan?”

“Sect Leader Nie, if you really find it impossible to be civil -” 

“If you are unharmed, then we can return to the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren’s brother said, ignoring them both. His voice was as distant and cold as a winter breeze, piercing and lifeless; it reminded Lan Qiren a little of his father, and he shivered. “We will determine the remainder at that time.”

“See?” Wen Ruohan said goadingly to Lao Nie, whose scowl only deepened. “If even his own sect doesn’t object to it –”

“They didn’t not object, they’re refraining from making a statement; it’s not the same thing. ‘Even ten years isn’t too late for a gentleman to get revenge’ – !”

“I should like to see them try.”

Lan Qiren felt a sudden sense of relief, heralded by a bright and abrupt clarity: of course Wen Ruohan hadn’t sworn brotherhood with him on his behalf! He’d only done it because he’d seen Lan Qiren together with Lao Nie, found that the sight offended his vision, and immediately decided to disrupt it. Never mind that Lao Nie didn’t have any intentions beyond the casual mentorship of any older cultivator to a junior – Wen Ruohan was well known for his paranoia, his irritability, his tendency to seize on crazy ideas. And, of course, there was his jealousy, a trait to which he had himself admitted…

A treasure sword used to prop up a table, indeed. It wasn’t about Lan Qiren's merits or the Lan sect’s supposed failings at all. The only table Wen Ruohan was concerned with was Lao Nie’s!

(And that certainly did explain the whole bizarre ‘Hanhan’ thing better than any other hypothesis Lan Qiren had come up with.)

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure it was better, exactly, to be a pawn in a strange game between sect leaders, but it was at least more familiar. As a younger son of a politically minded Great Sect, he was more like a daughter; being used for some scheme by the adults around him had always been his destiny, barring some tragedy or especially indulgent parents – the former was unlikely, the latter he lacked – and so his fate was set.

Of course, it would have been better not to be in a game involving Wen Ruohan at all, but he supposed that there were worse options.

After all, if Wen Ruohan’s primary interest was in tormenting Lao Nie, he probably wouldn’t demand Lan Qiren’s presence in the Nightless City all that often – probably just enough to show that he could – and Lan Qiren would be allowed to continue with his plans for his future. It might even turn out to be something of a benefit. After all, a musician with limited martial skills, traveling all alone, could always use strong friends that were nearby, and the Wen sect’s reach far exceeded that of the Lan sect…

Anyway, comparatively, Lan Qiren disliked far more the idea of being stuck in the Jin sect with its inexplicable devotion to worldly affairs (and when it came to Jin Guangshan, word was that that usually meant literal affairs…), and he would have undoubtedly gone utterly mad in the Jiang sect, with its emphasis on freedom and lack of any rules to explain anything. And of course, regrettably, the Nie sect wouldn't have done such a thing to begin with, secretive as they were...

No, it wouldn’t be so bad, Lan Qiren tried to convince himself. It wouldn’t be so bad at all.

The illusion lasted exactly as long as it took for the leaders of the five Great Sects to retreat to finalize their discussions on business – with Sect Leader Jiang and Jin stepping up to keep Sect Leaders Wen and Nie from each other’s throats, even as Lan Qiren’s brother ignored them all – and Lan Qiren returned to his proper place among the other Lan sect disciples.

“Did he really put you in the Fire Palace until you agreed?” one of them asked, then was promptly elbowed by at least three of his fellows – it was poor Lan Yueheng that had asked, naturally; he was extraordinarily good at mathematics and extraordinarily bad at just about everything else, including both tact and following the Lan sect rules. Lan Qiren had gotten on quite well with him in the past, each one happy to have an audience to listen to their rambling without caring too much if the other side was really listening, but Lan Yueheng was Lan Ganhui’s mother’s sister’s son, the two of them raised together like brothers, and in recent years the latter had a habit of restricting the former from spending too much time with Lan Qiren, the favorite subject of his mockery.

“No,” Lan Qiren said stiffly, and turned his face away in sudden upset. He had almost managed to forget that his new sworn brother was reputed to enjoy spending his free time torturing people, enough so that he had an entire prison devoted to it.

The older brother guided, the younger brother obeyed – what was Lan Qiren supposed to learn from Wen Ruohan? How to be cruel and pitiless, how to hurt people, how to increase his cultivation by doing all manner of dirty things?

Even if he didn’t learn such things, wouldn’t people assume it of him anyway?

“But I heard –” Lan Yueheng persisted, then hissed when someone stepped on his foot.

“No,” Lan Qiren said, stronger this time. “Do not speak behind the backs of others, Yueheng-xiong.”

“Oh. Right.”

Someone muttered killjoy under their breath, but that wasn’t exactly new; his brother thought he was one, and he was popular, so others often followed his lead - and anyway, perhaps he was. At any rate, they all stood around in awkward silence for a little while before someone decided to recount one of the incidents in the main event competition once again, their voice a little over-loud in the silence, and a perfectly anodyne conversation about Qingheng-jun’s performance started up in earnest to cover over all the things they did not say.

That, too, was not new.

Truly, life would be easier if everyone would just listen to the rules, Lan Qiren thought wistfully. The nice written-down ones, just those, and never mind about all the unspoken ones, the ones that everyone seemed to intuitively understand except for him – he tried his best to learn those, too, and to extrapolate from one situation to another, but unspoken rules seemed as changeable as a puff of cloud. It was simply impossible.

In the end, the sect leaders finished up their business and each of them took their leave from the Nightless City, just the way that always happened. Before he went, Lao Nie put his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder and said, “Write to me if you ever need anything at all,” while glaring at Wen Ruohan, who smirked back; Lan Qiren’s brother did not glance at either of them and merely walked off, his hands behind his back and his posture straight and tall as a tree. The other two Great Sect leaders, Jin and Jiang, exchanged glances of their own and headed off their own way without a word, choosing, quite prudently, not to get involved.

Lan Qiren saluted to Lao Nie and, slightly more hesitantly, to Wen Ruohan, then followed after his brother. To his relief, Wen Ruohan didn’t stop him, only watched him go, his eyes glittering malevolently - his gaze a palpable weight. It wasn’t quite like the first few times they’d met, where the pressure almost felt like the other man was exerting power on him; rather, Lan Qiren suspected, the weight he was feeling was only the weight of all the new expectations that had fallen onto his shoulders as a result of his new brotherhood. 

The ride home was excruciatingly awkward.

It was not a short journey, and Lan Qiren did not speak to his brother once the entire time by mutual unspoken agreement. He might not have noticed such a thing normally, but his brother’s usually cool aura was positively frigid, driving Lan Qiren to silence even when he might have otherwise spoken on mundane matters such as the weather or travel conditions.

Lan Qiren even suspected that if he had dared to try, his brother might have used the muting spell on him.

Naturally, the other disciples followed his brother’s lead – poor Lan Yueheng looked especially torn up over it, and at one point Lan Qiren found a book on abstruse geometry hidden under his pillow in what was probably a well-meaning gesture of solidarity – and Lan Qiren was stuck in that uncomfortable place where he finally had the peace and solitude he often longed for when stuck in a crowd while also simultaneously feeling awful about it, struck with a sudden desire for the company of his family, however cold it might be.

When at last they returned home in the late afternoon, Lan Qiren knew from experience what to do next: he went straight to the hanshi, where his father was waiting for their report, and knelt in penance outside. If the trip had gone well, he would have helped his brother settle the final matters relating to their trip – putting back anything borrowed from the sect’s stores, registering everyone as having arrived with no one lost on the way, that sort of thing – but since it hadn’t, his duties were limited to…well, this.

It was unpleasant, but then, it was supposed to be.

He waited for over a shichen in unmoving silence. The remainder of the sect tiptoed around him, with the disciples that had remained behind sending him sympathetic looks that suggested that they didn’t know exactly what had happened but were burning with curiosity to find out.

It was already dark by the time his brother arrived.

When he did so, he walked right by Lan Qiren without looking and went inside.

There was no written rule against eavesdropping, although there were several unspoken rules about it that were sometimes but not always applicable, but even when (guiltily) straining his ears to the utmost, Lan Qiren could only hear the vaguest murmur of voices within.

It was only after some time – towards the end of his brother’s report, no doubt – that there was a brief uptick, a surprised exclamation (possibly “what?!”, although Lan Qiren’s father was soft-spoken enough that even an exclamation was too muffled to be properly audible), and Lan Qiren braced himself.

After a little longer, the door to the hanshi opened.

“Qiren,” his father’s voice drifted out. “Enter.”

Lan Qiren got up, a little unsteady from all the kneeling, straightened himself out and walked inside, his hands folded behind his back. He would have knelt again, but his father waved for him to keep standing, frowning thoughtfully at him as his brother drank the tea they had been sharing.

“You swore an oath of brotherhood with Sect Leader Wen?” his father asked, his face frustratingly neutral.

Lan Qiren nodded, then amended: “I do not remember doing so. He offered me a toast, and would not allow me to reject it, and then the next morning, he informed me that we had sworn an oath together and showed me the written version of the oath.”

The paper in question was laid out on the table in front of his father. Lan Qiren’s brother had confiscated it after Wen Ruohan had showed it to him, and Lan Qiren hadn’t figured out a way to ask to see it, though he desperately wanted to know whether they had sworn one of the classical brotherhood oaths or if they’d added their own clauses. It seemed like a thing Wen Ruohan would do, yet the idea had only belatedly occurred to Lan Qiren, which meant he hadn’t properly examined the oath while he’d had the chance.

His father hummed thoughtfully.

“There’s no reason to doubt Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren’s brother opined. “He is meticulous in his schemes. Even if there were, the announcement was public; I would not have our clan be known as oath-breakers.”

“Public and unrefuted,” Lan Qiren’s father said, and Lan Qiren blinked because he almost sounded disapproving – but his father never disapproved of anything his brother did, as far as he knew. “Still, you are not wrong. There are few more decisive than Sect Leader Wen. Once he settled on his course, he would not leave such a gap through which one could retreat, not even for himself…Qiren.”

Lan Qiren straightened.

“You were unharmed?”

He blinked at the unexpected question, the same his brother had posed.

“I only had a headache,” he said hesitantly, vaguely aware from the way his father looked at him and his brother did as well that his answer was not what they were expecting. “From the liquor. Nothing else.”

“Did anything else hurt?” his father pressed. “Your body?”

Lan Qiren thought back. “My upper arms,” he said, remembering. He’d thought it was from the uncomfortable bed. “And my right knee. They were a little bruised, I think, but it went away after Sect Leader Wen shared spiritual energy with me.”

His father frowned and twisted his fingers in a gesture; an array opened beneath Lan Qiren’s feet, and the places he had mentioned, as well as his palms and forehead, began to glow.

The marks on his arms, glowing with the pale echoes of Wen Ruohan’s qi, were in the shape of hands.

(Wen Ruohan had commented on Lan Qiren’s enthusiastic telling of the Lan sect rules while intoxicated, to the point of seeking to hold him down as an unwilling audience. Had Wen Ruohan had to physically restrain him from causing trouble as well?)

“The disgrace was minimal, then,” his brother remarked, and when their father said nothing but dismissed the spell Lan Qiren abruptly realized that they were trying to figure out if he had, in fact, been deflowered, just as Wen Ruohan had teasingly hinted that night. He had not shared with anyone that he had woken up in Wen Ruohan’s bed, too mortified to do so, and now that the suggestion had been seriously raised, he was even more determined never to do so. “Not that that will help the rumors.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought – surely people wouldn’t think – wouldn’t assume –

Wen Ruohan had no reputation for liking young boys. He wasn’t even known to cut his sleeve!

(Lan Qiren didn’t know what he himself liked. He’d thought he’d have more time to figure it out.)

“We do not guide our sect according to rumors.”

His brother put down his teacup with a little more force than necessary. “Is it the sale or the price that you object to, Father?” he asked, voice far sharper than it should be when speaking to an elder, least of all their father. “See what I have accomplished for our sect, and without even the official authority of being vested as sect leader! It is just as you taught me! Am I to flinch simply because he shares my blood?”

“It is not what is taken,” their father responded, his voice a little sharper than usual as well, but not by much; he might as well have been commenting disapprovingly on an unfortunate turn in the weather. “But that it is Wen Ruohan who takes. His greed knows no boundaries, his recklessness grows by the year – today Qiren is unharmed and your plans may proceed, but what of tomorrow?”

“Have you thought of any better use to put him to? His role is to serve the sect!”

“As a disciple of the Lan sect,” their father said. His tone was still mild, but his voice was icy enough to make Lan Qiren shiver in a confused sort of fear that he did not quite understand. “Not as a plaything for Wen Ruohan.”

By all rights, Lan Qiren’s brother ought to now kneel and beg forgiveness from his elder, his sect leader, his father, but instead he only shook his head. “An oath of brotherhood goes both ways,” he reminded their father, speaking to him as if they were equals. “Sect Leader Wen announced to the world that he swore an oath with a child – does that not also mean that responsibility for his safety and wellbeing falls equally on his shoulders? Any harm to him stains Sect Leader Wen’s name as much if not more than ours.”

“Are we to let outsiders educate our children, then?”

“One cannot compare a foolish younger son to a brother, voluntarily chosen. He chose it, not us; everyone knows this. Any mistakes Qiren makes will fall heavier on his shoulders.”

Their father frowned deeply enough to carve additional lines into his prematurely aged face. “You plan to use Qiren as a lever, then, and extract concessions for every slight.”

His brother shrugged, almost careless in his arrogance. “If Sect Leader Wen chooses to give me such a handle over him, am I meant to refuse? For all his clever schemes, he is also known to be moody and impulsive, easily lured into rashness…I see an opportunity here, not a trap. You chose to give me responsibility early, to have me help you make our sect stronger, greater; that is what I was born to do. You gave me power and I have done well with it, done exactly what you’ve asked me to do. I’ve made you proud - haven’t I?”

“But what of the risk that Wen Ruohan might ignore public opinion and harm Qiren regardless?” his father pressed, not answering. It wasn’t really necessary, of course; he was always proud of Lan Qiren’s brother, no matter what he did - his eldest son was his treasure, the only thing he cared for; it was as fact as undeniable as the direction in which the sun rose each morning. “The Lan sect does not buy riches with blood.”

“I have thought it over, Father,” his brother said quietly. “It is only a risk that he might be harmed, not a guarantee; it’s not as if I am sending Qiren to the Fire Palace myself. And there is the hope here, not of riches, but of glory for the sect –”

“Glory for the sect?” their father asked, voice rich with meaning Lan Qiren did not understand. “Or for yourself?”

“Are they not one and the same?” Lan Qiren’s brother was unmoved. “In the future, it will be mine, and so there is no difference - whatever you say now, that is what you have always shown me. Besides, Qiren will agree.”

Lan Qiren did not take a step backwards when they turned to look at him, though he dearly wanted to. His hands were still behind his back, gripped tight enough to hurt; he suspected when he looked later on he would find blood beneath his fingernails, dug in deep into his flesh.

“Well?” their father asked of him, though his gaze settled somewhere above Lan Qiren’s head as it always seemed to, as different as night and day from the tender and forgiving looks he gave his eldest son even in the midst of their argument. His voice was so cold that Lan Qiren could feel it against his skin like the bitter winter wind. “What do you say?”

Is it the sale or the price that you object to?

It’s not what is taken, but that it is Wen Ruohan who takes.

Have you thought of any better use to put him to?

His role is to serve the sect.

“I do not see what choice there is,” he said dully, his eyes focused on his father’s face just as his father’s refused to focus on his, foolishly still looking for the affection he knew he would likely never find. In his father’s mind, he had only one son – even his objections on Lan Qiren’s behalf, however mild, were nothing more than what he would have said on behalf of any Lan sect disciple. Even Lan Qiren, foolish and bad at people as he was, could see that his father’s primary concern over the approach his brother had suggested was its potential impact on the reputation of his brother and his sect. “I swore an oath. Even if I do not remember it, as a matter of personal honor, I will not allow myself to be foresworn.”

“There,” his brother said, his voice rich in satisfaction. “You see? The choice is made. It is only what we do with it now that matters.”

Lan Qiren bit his lower lip to keep himself from doing something stupid, like asking do either of you care about me at all.

“Very well,” their father said indifferently. “Then it will be as you say. Qiren.”

“Father.”

“You will spend the night kneeling in the ancestral hall to consider the consequences of violating the prohibition against alcohol and the injunction to maintain your discipline. In view of the circumstances, no other punishment will be imposed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Dismissed.”

As Lan Qiren left, he heard his father ask his brother to tell him about the riding competition.

He did not ask about music.

[seaswalllow]

run this by me again, James says.

the wood counter is gleaming, by now, and the fact that Jay hasn't told him off for scrubbing it raw is... well. it's not the best of signs.

Jay is resting his forehead in a hand, massaging it slowly.

Anteros says he saw you, except... wrong. and that not-you said that there's more doors or whatever opening. obviously, there's a problem with this, because you were at the Inn the entire fucking day, with several eyewitnesses.

James... doesn't say anything. he turns this new piece of information over, very, very carefully. the Seaghas always were the talk of the town; but usually it was because of political favors or suspected murders, not because the favored eldest was going mad.

not that anybody would've really been surprised. a family that dedicated to maintaining the old blood was bound to have a few screws loose.

so: the facts of it.

has he, James says, and then pauses. this has to be worded delicately. has he seen Henrik?

the withering look Jay gives him could put Syl to shame.

he won't go if he breaks an arm; you think he'll go for a paltry issue like seeing an apparition of his brother made of fire?

that's new. backtrack.

made of what?

fire, Jay says, and now there's that familiar bite of irritation. the Seaghas always did put an emphasis on a united front, even when quarreling. he can't be too harsh.

as kindly as i can say this, he starts, and Jay holds up a hand. he falls silent.

Anteros won't tell anybody else about this, he says wearily. he barely scraped himself out of that last fraud accusation with the Rensons. if something like this gets out-

he's good as dead in the water, James finishes with a sigh. is that such a bad thing?

slowly, painfully slowly, Jay lifts his eyes to him, and James considers that he might've misstepped. see, the thing is: of the two, Anteros always did act the most like a hunter. always watching, always quiet, always... unsettling. Jay had to make people like him where he lacked the authority of the eldest Seagha- but it's times like these, James thinks, that people forget that Anteros is not the only one with a painful bite.

you can't survive on only sugar when your very family is determined to leave you in the shadows.

is that such a bad thing, Jay asks slowly, that my brother might become all but the village's pariah, the laughingstock, that he might be fucking losing it? or that he's gone and fucked himself over so badly that a god has gone and found him?

James sighs again. he's doing that a lot, right now. it's frankly more of a swear-worthy than a sigh-worthy situation, but he's coping where he can.

he didn't want an argument. he really, truly didn't. not with Jay, with whom he had a rare kind of camaraderie at being the youngest- relegated to the shadows but confined to duty. not with Jay, who stands to lose the most if the furtive whispers James is overhearing behind the bar's counter, late at night, aren't the product of an overactive fantasy.

he's not been himself ever since fall, he tries to reason, gently. you look at him and it's someone else in his skin. the stress is getting to both of you.

he watches as Jay slumps in his chair. always the last to accept defeat, always the slowest to concede.

if he loses this career, Jay says quietly, he's going to be destroyed. but he's destroying himself with it. and if that thing comes back, he's going to kill himself chasing it. what do we do about it, James?

James does not have an answer for him. Jay's mouth tugs into the thin lines of an unhappy frown as he continues to shuffle the mugs on the shelves.

we hope that whatever opened that door doesn't open it again, he settles for. we hope that this small village wets your brother's appetite for power, and that he never speaks of it again.

[setsunasknife]

After looking at several images of adult Rin and the opening 2 of Yashahime, I feel almost positive that the feet running through the fire in the opening are Rin’s.

The feet and legs are too long to be either of the twins, and the only other barefoot character that would make sense is Rin. The feet clearly look like a woman’s because they’re so dainty. The only reason I think you don’t see her kimono/under kimono is because she’s pulling it up to run faster.

This goes on my list of “Reasons Rin absolutely was with her children before the fire and everything got screwed up during the fire”. I’m also starting to suspect that Riku may have taken part in separating Rin from the twins. I don’t see why Rin would be away from her children otherwise. I feel like Riku and Towa need to have a larger conflict about his involvement in messing up her life.

Plus, I feel like the scene of Rin “disappearing” from Kaede’s was to make us think she got kidnapped but in reality she had to leave quickly and tell no one of her whereabouts. Rin had to protect her children and that was priority number one no matter how much she loves Kaede and the others.

Also I feel like a LOT happened during that fire. There is a huge gap of time and gap in memory that we’re clearly missing. How do we get from sleeping Setsuna to sleepless no-memories Setsuna? AND considering how much emphasis they put on “Why did I let go of her hand?!” there has to be an explanation. Maybe Towa saw her mom/dad and booked it to safety? We must remember that she was a little 4 year old girl who was likely very scared and just wanted her mama/papa to keep her safe.

Anyway, there’s many questions that need to be answered just about that one night and I’m excited to see what season 2 brings! We shall see this fall!

[hermannsthumb]

If you're still taking requests!! Fake Dating situation where Newt and Hermann go to a public event together. they're used to being mistaken for a couple at the Shatterdome, so they expect to be mistaken for a couple at the event. But then they meet someone who definitely Does Not mistake them for a couple (because homophobia) and assumes they're just Very Good Friends. cue Newt and Hermann aggressively pretending to be a couple.

always and forever taking requests!!! this is such a fun one, THANK YOU

--------------

“We’ll have to go in eventually,” Newt says.

Next to him, Hermann silently fumes, apparently unable to decide whether to continue tugging at his stiff collar or grinding the bottom of his cane—over and over, in a sort of circle—against the sidewalk, leaving streaks of black rubber behind. “I hate these damn things,” he says under his breath, though it’s unclear whether he means his outfit or the event. Hermann’s dressed up tonight in a suit that’s hilariously oversized (even for him) and fraying in places, with a bowtie that he’s knotted crookedly. Newt wonders if the suit’s a hand-me-down from his brother. “Begging for funding, as if we haven’t anything better to do with our time. As if we’re not working for the better of all of them. It’s bloody degrading.” He works his jaw angrily. “And if that isn’t enough—everyone always makes—assumptions—about us.”

Oh, okay. The event. “Assumptions?” Newt says.

Hermann lets out a hiss of air between his teeth. “Assumptions,” he repeats, delicately. “About—ah—the certain nature of our relationship.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Oh.”

At the last one of these things they went to, someone (actually generous enough to open their checkbook for once) asked Hermann whether they should make it out to the PPDC or Dr. Gottlieb and his husband. At the one before that, a dinner event, the name placards at their table said Dr. Newton Geiszler-Gottlieb and Dr. Hermann Geiszler-Gottlieb. Before that, at a more casual affair at an up-scale bar, some tech hottie sent Newt a martini, before hurrying over and apologizing in person that (gesturing between Newt and Hermann) he didn’t realize Newt was with someone. Newt really wishes Hermann would just get it through his head already that introducing someone as your partner and dropping the important research part of it tends to hold drastically different connotations outside of, like, the group of people who know them on the Shatterdome base, because that would clear up probably sixty percent of the confusion. If not just so he can pick up a few numbers at these things for once. Still, though—for some reason it’s never really bothered him like it clearly bothers Hermann, but Newt supposes he’s not exactly a catch by any standards, so it makes sense. “I just don’t know where they get the impression—” Hermann begins, and Newt interrupts him.

“Yeah, well, you should take it as a compliment,” he says. “You could do a lot worse than me.” He opens the door for Hermann and ushers him in. “Seriously, we’ll be late if we don’t go in now, and that makes it, like, twice as awkward.”

As usual, they have to sit through some incredibly boring speech about how they’re sitting among some of the best scientific minds of the century right now, how they’re honored to play host to their colleagues at the PPDC, how the buffet will opening shortly for dinner, and then a different person gets up and makes another speech, and then another person with another, until finally the first person gets back up and promises that closing remarks will be in three hours, and how they should all enjoy themselves until then. Claps. Under his breath, Newt says to Hermann, “Doubt it.”

“Which side shall I take, then?” Hermann sighs. He’s probably the only one in the room not clapping. He told Newt a while ago that he doesn’t like to put on airs, and especially not in the service of flattering someone’s ego, and he’ll only clap for a speech if he feels it deserves it. He’s such a weirdo.

Newt surveys the room, considering. Luckily, people tend to flock together in similar little groups at these things. Birds of a feather shit. “Left. Everyone on the right is too young and hip-looking, so that’s out of your range.” He gets a cane to his shin, and grins even has he winces. “Kidding. Let’s just do it together, it’ll make it more bearable.”

Their first target is a forty-something marine biologist who’s very excited to meet Newt— “I followed your research on jellyfish for years!” she says. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight!” —and who is more than happy to promise donating a little to help fund the war effort. Their next is someone younger than both of them, whom Newt suspects is heir to his dad’s tech company or something, and who is easily guilted into promising even more than the biologist. “We’re having a lot better luck than usual,” Newt says, as they watch the kid hurry away to mingle with a group of other twenty-somethings. “Do we look more, like, respectable tonight or something?”

“It’s the open bar,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, probably,” Newt agrees.

“And anyway, we’re still terribly behind on our goal, so there’s no use getting too pleased over ourselves,” Hermann says. He sniffs. “If you still want that bloody—whatever it was—kaiju spleen, we need at least—”

“Okay, okay,” Newt says.

He nods at a small group standing by one of the buffet tables, holding half-eaten plates. People tend to be in better moods when they’ve eaten something. Hopefully more generous moods too. “Let’s try them,” he says.

Hermann is the one to initiate the conversation this time, launching at once into a variation of the little script he and Newt penned so long ago the night before their very first gala. “Good evening,” he says. They get a few polite smiles and nods of acknowledgement in return. “I’m Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, and this is my partner—” Newt tries not to groan. “—Dr. Newton Geiszler. We’re here representing the PPDC tonight. I don’t suppose we could have a moment of your time?”

The mood of the group changes immediately, but why Newt can’t figure out; it’s like they suddenly go hostile on them. Hostile, and tense. Newt is suddenly astutely aware of how each of the three dudes have a good few inches on both him and Hermann. “The PPDC?” the guy in front says. He's not smiling anymore. Maybe they all supported the jaeger program defunding or something. “Sure.”

“Er,” Hermann says. He clears his throat. “Newton—that is, my partner and I work for the kaiju research division at the PPDC’s Hong Kong base. As you may well be aware, the latest cuts to the PPDC’s budget have been quite dev—”

“So you and your friend,” the guy says, with a little more emphasis on the friend than Newt would like, “are going around asking for donations? To help buy pencils or something?”

“Well. Essentially,” Hermann says. He doesn’t seem to have picked up on what Newt did, though he grows visibly nervous anyway. Outright hostility isn't anywhere near as common as indifference at these sorts of things. “Though, pencils is—er—a vast understatement.” He casts a furtive, desperate glance at Newt—a help me if Newt ever saw one. “My partner—Dr. Geiszler—simply doesn’t have enough funding for the samples he needs to study—and donations would certainly help with our funding for other necessary supplies—"

“I sure we’d love to help you and your friend,” the same guy says, and there’s no missing the emphasis this time, “but we’re a little busy at the moment. Please come back and talk to us later, though.”

Hermann clamps his mouth shut. Newt narrows his eyes, and in a move bold enough to surprise even himself, snags Hermann’s arm and links his own with it. “Sure thing,” he says loudly. Hermann goes rigid and stiff under him. “Come on, babe, let’s get something to eat. I know how you get when you’re hungry.” Then, before he can stop himself, he brushes a single kiss at Hermann’s cheek, and tries not to laugh at the looks they get.

He waits until they’re out of eyesight (Newt having had to sort of drag Hermann along with him) to drop Hermann’s arm. Hermann hasn’t moved a muscle since Newt touched him, and even now, he just sort of blinks at Newt. “What on Earth—?”

“Dude,” Newt says. “That guy was a total jerk. He thought we were together, and—”

“He did not,” Hermann says. “He kept calling you my ‘friend’. It was a bloody nice break from what usually happens, I might add, and now you’ve gone and—”

“Hermann,” Newt says. He sighs. “You’re, like, totally missing my point. He thought we were together.”

“But he called you—”

“Yeah, exactly,” Newt says.

Hermann blinks a few more times. “Ah,” he says.

“No way in hell do we need his money,” Newt says. “Anyway, sorry about the—” He touches Hermann’s cheek, and then gestures to Hermann’s left arm, which is now just sort of hanging limply at Hermann’s side. “I just wanted to screw with him. I won’t do it again, though—”

“No!” Hermann says quickly. The tips of his ears go red, and he fumbles as he grabs Newt’s arm again. A sudden warmth situates itself like pressure over Newt’s chest, identical to the kind that’s creeping up his wrist where Hermann’s fingers just grazed his bare skin, and he’s struck with the sudden bizarre urge to duck his head and blush himself. Since when has Hermann had this kind of effect on him? “What I meant to say is—” Hermann licks his wide lips. “He might still see us. We ought to—to keep up the ruse.”

“To really screw with him?” Newt says.

“For what other reason?” Hermann says.

Newt forces himself to keep a smooth, neutral expression as Hermann unwinds his arm to lace their fingers together instead, with a lot more awkward fumbling. “Uh-huh,” he says. He remembers how soft and smooth Hermann’s cheek had felt, so unlike his own, which can never seem to hold a clean shave. How nice Hermann's hand feels in his now. He’s definitely going to have to unpack this later. “Yeah, that’s—good idea, Hermann. Let’s do that.”

[1994sunflower]

heaven to you. (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

word count: 8.1k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, a lot of cursing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink (really mild), choking, dirty talk, pain kink (slight), size kink, thigh riding, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, throat fucking, impregnation kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of drugs/drinking, maybe more but nothing too big just pretty filthy ngl

summary: your high school classmates come over to michael’s house in hopes of being friends with the famous bad boy on campus. this includes your one-sided high school crush that may not have been so one-sided after all. unfortunately for him, michael is not someone to piss off. fortunately for you, michael’s anger and jealousy isn’t always so bad, at least for you.

part two

+

“Tell me again why we’re going to this guy’s house?” Justin asked his two childhood friends. At least, they were up until high school. Now, as they went to different colleges, they felt more like strangers. But that was part of the reason he took the multi-state trip down to their university: to mend that rift.

“We’ve been telling you man, Michael is the man on campus to be friends with.” Chris punched one of his hands into his other palm for emphasis.

Charlie nodded beside Chris, both standing in front of their front door, ready to go. “He gets into the best parties, gets the hottest chicks and is the most feared guy on campus.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Chris opened the door, shaking his head. “Yeah, dude. No one messes with him because he’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“He’s done it a few times already.” Charlie added.

“There’s rumors he used to be involved in a gang or something and that’s why he’s like that. Either way though, he gets whatever he wants.”

Justin’s lips curled up a bit in disgust. He came from a wealthy background, wealthy family and wealthy school. Though he never let that get to his head and he never looked down on someone because of it, this stark contrast to his normality was difficult to shrug off.

But he did as he followed both Charlie and Chris out.

Charlie was still raving about ‘Michael’ as they walked out of the cramped dorm room to the unfamiliar winding paths of their university. “I mean, imagine being friends with him. You’ll get all the benefits he gets.”

“I’m sorry, if you aren’t friends with him, how are we going to his house?” Justin trailed behind the two slightly.

Chris looked back, “Turns out his best friend is in my accounting class and he invited us over to play video games. How lucky is that?”

“Yeah, lucky.” Justin looked away. He wasn’t going to admit that as they crossed the street across the student union, the whole concept of meeting someone with a reputation as rough as this Michael character was daunting and just a bit scary. In fact, it didn’t take a genius to look at the three boys all wearing vineyard vines khakis and polos, and know they didn’t mesh well with what he supposed Michael was like.

They didn’t even mesh well with the college neighborhood they were entering. The small houses looked worn and crumbled down and the streets were even worse. The only thing that calmed his nerves was the knowledge that the scariest people on the block were tired college students.

“Have you even talked to him before?” Justin kept asking questions to calm himself down and stop himself from looking around at the neighborhood in disdain.

Charlie shrugged, “I talked to him at a party once, he didn’t say much though.”

Chris smirked, “I walked with him to class once.” He paused. “Well, I was walking with his friend, Ashton? And he joined. But it still felt cool. Everyone was staring and making way for us - well him”

They filled in all the holes in knowledge of Michael. How he never lost a fight (even though he was involved with them often - evidenced by his perpetual bloody knuckles), how he rarely went to class (and when he did, how he sat alone, always), how his fashion consisted of black, chains and more black and finally, how he would go home with a different girl every party (but how that didn’t happen anymore as he had a girlfriend, though her identity to them remained a mystery).

Justin nodded as he listened. But as more and more was added to the infamous Michael, he felt less and less inclined to meet him.

Time, however, to turn back had run out. Because as his friends turned into a rubble pathway leading up to an equally rubble house, he knew he was about to be face to face with the myth, the legend, Michael himself.

The things he would do for his friends. If he didn’t hold such a sentimental place in his heart for the boys he had grown up with, he definitely wouldn’t be there, standing in front of a (turning green) door, waiting for an answer. They were different, it was obvious in high school that they had become different types of men; he valued education, science, and was a romantic at heart while they valued alcohol, parties and were willing to screw anything they found ‘hot’.

But that didn’t deter him from valuing their friendship.

It occurred to him that the only thing his friends had failed to fill him in on was Michael’s appearance. So, when the door opened and a boy slightly shorter than even Chris, the shortest of them (though Justin was 6’5 and Charlie was 6’0 so really, Chris being 5’11 wasn’t that short) and messy brown curls covering his head and forehead, he was shocked to say the least.

But that didn’t last long as Chris dapped him. “Ashton! What’s up man?”

Ashton smiled big and nodded in acknowledgement to the rest of them. “Nothing much bro, took you a while.” But he moved back into the small house, a signal of welcome for them to come in but close the door behind them.

So, as Chris and Charlie followed Ashton in, talking about who knows what, Justin made sure to shut and lock the door before trailing behind.

The house was bigger than he pictured in his mind. The living room and kitchen were divided by only a pillar and the counter. But it was spacious enough to fit a flat screen (granted, it was on the floor) and a black winding couch (granted, it had cracks all over it). The only light came from the kitchen and the tv, which was set to the beginning of the game.

Ashton already sat down on the couch, grabbing a game controller casually from behind him. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had it’s sleeves cut off to the point where you could see his whole side torso through the giant holes. His gray jeans were equally ripped and Justin was sure his shoes would be too, if he were wearing any but just gray socks adorned his feet. He had spiked bracelets on his left wrist. Maybe this was the reason his slightly tanned, innocent face looked strange. His big eyes and friendly smile was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of his body.

Chris looked around as his large figure slumped beside Ashton, “Where’s Michael?”

Ashton didn’t look at him when he answered, “In his room with his girl. He’ll be out soon, I think. That is if they don’t start going at it.”

Charlie laughed as he sat on the other side of Ashton, picking up a controller from the ground. Justin was left to sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch, closest to the kitchen. He felt out of place, just like he suspected and it didn’t help the darkness that surrounded the room, even through the lit kitchen and blue tv screen.

He didn’t get to think much on it, though, because not a few minutes after he sat down, did the bedroom door behind the couch open up. Light streamed into the dimly lit room.

Justin stood. It was a force of habit, really. He was used to standing up whenever someone knew came into the room to introduce himself. But when no one else stood, with Ashton not even bothering to look behind him, he felt awkward. It was too late to sit back down, though.

Charlie and Chris looked back, though, with big grins. “Hey, Michael! What’s up, man?” They said as if they were close friends.

And thus, Justin came face to face with Michael himself. And this time, he looked exactly like what he expected.

Michael was towering, though his height was nearly equal to Justin’s. His shoulders so broad that they nearly filled up the entire doorway of his bedroom. His t-shirt was plain black and so were his jeans, which had three chains adorning them. Two sleeves of tattoos ran down both of his arms to his hands and fingers , one of his hands reading F U C K in big bold letters, with a few peeking out on his neck as well. His black messy hair matched him well and fell onto his forehead.

But through that intimidating appearance, none of those things were what caught Justin’s attention. No, it was Michael’s eyes that did it. Though they were light in color, somehow they still seemed dark. The coldness in them was frightening. There was no hint of warmth, of friendliness, in them. In fact, as Michael held direct eye contact, saying nothing at the still standing Justin, the aggression his eyes held was enough to make Justin take a step back.

It was that step that seemingly broke the trance Michael had put him in. Because just like that, Michael looked away and moved forward into the living room. He nodded in acknowledgement at Chris and Charlie, still silent, before shouldering past Justin to go to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled beer, opening it with his bare hand on his way back.

Justin was going to sit back himself as he saw Michael head to the couch but was stopped by a second, much smaller figure exiting Michael’s room.

The girl was petite, especially compared to Michael, standing at a proud 5’1. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle and hung perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a dainty white sunflower dress that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin which made her, along with her kind smile and bright brown eyes, look like the epitome of innocence. Quite the distinction from Michael who seemed to personify danger.

She was beautiful.

And she was his good friend.

“Y/N?”

+

Your legs were stationed at each side of Michael’s torso as you straddled him. Your hands were cupping his face and while one of his hands was on your ass while the other was gripping your long hair, pulling just enough for it to be pleasurable.

Your mouths melded into each others deeply and you couldn’t tell which one of you were more desperate for the other. You’d been making out for a while and your body was on fire. You felt like his touch was both burning you and exactly what needed at the same time.

It only took one slow grind of your hips against his that did it for him. He flipped you over so that you landed directly on one of his thighs, the chains of his jeans rattling in the process. His body was flush to yours, you could feel his hardness against you.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, just how you knew he liked it. And you were awarded with a deep groan and a taunting smile before his lips returned to your body, this time to your neck. You moved your head to give him more access and as he got more into it, sucking and biting, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. You knew he was going to leave a mark (probably many) because he liked to have something that claimed you as his.

One of his hands wandered to your lower body, traveling under your flimsy dress to flip it over. He gave your ass a swat to command you to move. He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your hips starts moving, slowly at first against his jean-clad thigh. But as the pleasure started to build up at the friction, you began moving faster, desperately, moaning loudly.

Michael watched you silently, a smirk on his face. The only touch was his hands on your hips, guiding your pace and your movements. Otherwise, he just watched you get off on him.

“Did you wear this dress for me?” You nodded desperately against him, wanting nothing more than push against his finger but knew better.

His hand pulled your hair harshly, hard enough that it hurt but that just made you moan louder. “I asked you a question.” He growled, he had begun to move his leg up and down, making everything that much pleasurable.

Fuck. “Y-Yes, all for you, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Was all he said before his lips claimed yours again. His kisses were fervent as he bit and sucked on your bottom lip. Your hips were still moving violently against his thigh and you could feel your climax start to build up. It was almost too hot for you to handle. But you could tell he was going to give you what you wanted soon.

Or he was. A loud banging came from his bedroom door across the room. “They’re here!” Ashton’s voice rang to you from behind the door.  

You sighed deeply as you pulled away from Michael and away from your release. Michael groaned and fell, face first, into the mattress. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe later.” You giggled, pushing him up to lay on his back. He looked up at you and a mischievous smile, the one you had grown to love, adorned his face.

“Or we can continue.” His hand was already reaching to your wrist to pull you up to straddle him again but you held back, shaking your head.

“Mikey, you have guests.” But still, you leaned over and pecked his lips quickly.

Michael groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Fuck them. I don’t even know who they are, they’re Ashton’s friends.”

You smiled at his attitude. Your hand was tracing his neck, following the ink lines. It was a vulnerable position he was in, and something he only ever allowed you to do. When he was with you, it was so easy to forget how different he was with other people. How mean he could be. It was almost comical to see the difference in how he was right then to what he was just a few minutes ago.

“Be nice.” You chastised. “They’re here for you too, don’t bother trying to kid yourself.”

You heard Michael whine, “Come on, baby girl.” He took a hold of your wrist again. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he easily towered over you and he used that to his advantage. Pushing you against the wall next to his bed, he cupped one of your cheeks. His hand took up much of that side of your face, “Let me get you off.” His voice was deep with want.

You’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t wet. The way he was looking at you, the way you felt so small in front of him, you wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with you. But as you heard the front door close, you couldn’t. Not only would it be embarrassing because you were never quiet, Michael made sure of that, but it would be impolite.

Michael would never admit it but you both knew the guests were here for him. He was somewhat of a legend throughout the campus, especially among frat boys and wannabes. No matter your disdain for people like that, they came all this way for him.

So you pushed against his chest just slightly, knowing that would be enough for Michael to let you go. And when he sighed and moved away, you got up from his bed and moved to where there was a mirror hanging next to his closet. Your hair was a mess and so was your makeup. You looked fucked out and you were in awe for a moment at how Michael managed to make you this way with just a make out session and a dry hump.

Fixing yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at the pouting boy, still cross armed on his bed. Turning to him, you motioned for him to get up. “Come on Mikey.”

He stood and immediately, you had to crane your neck to look up at his big height. Even his shoulders engulfed your entire figure. Michael knew what he did to you so it wasn’t much a surprise when you felt one of his hands wrap themselves around your neck, the one with his bruised knuckles, but not hard. “After this, you’re mine.”

You think your smile was enough to tell him how excited you were at that prospect.

Michael gave you a weak smile. He didn’t tend to smile much, even when it was just the two of you. In fact, except the fact that he was a lot chattier and warmer with you, he was still always in his head and rarely expressed much emotion outside of bed besides anger, horniness and the rare affection. But you were okay with that. Your emotions were enough for the two of us.

He gave you peck on the lips, “I’ll see you out there.”

You nodded up at him, smiling before going back to fixing your makeup and adjusting your dress. Ashton had a couple of friends over ever now and then. Most, if not all, coming to see Michael. Though, you tried to not be there whenever they came over, Michael seemed to prefer it for you to be with him. To give him something to actually look forward to. He hated meeting new people and he hated their interest in him. He was popular without wanting to be. So you were often there to remedy that and you became the center of his world in those moments. Though, really, that was how you were most of the time you were with him.

Only a few minutes passed after he left the room that you followed him out.

But as soon as you left the room, you stopped when you saw someone standing in the living room, looking at you. In that same instance, you recognized him. Justin. A good friend from high school and an even better human being.

As your name left his mouth you grinned, coming closer to hug him. It had been so long, years, actually. The last you saw him was at your graduation when you swore you’d miss him. And you had. After all, he was the boy that plagued your heart all throughout high school - not that he’d known.

“Justin!” The hug was quick and you had to get on your tip toes to do it. You could tell he was just as surprised to see you. He was smiling wide and his eyebrows were shot high like they did whenever he was interested in something.

But just as soon as you pulled away, the weirdness of the situation seeped in, “What are you doing here?”

Justin blinked as if he, too, just became aware of the weird circumstance you were meeting in. “I, uh” He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to answer and gestured to the couch. “I came with Chris and Charlie.”

Your brows furrowed further as you glanced at the couch where, sure enough, your high school classmates sat, looking back at you. They waved, slightly confused. You tried to ignore the fact that even Ashton had torn his eyes away from the tv to stare at you two. Which, considering how hard it was to take Ashton away from his video games, was saying something.

All you could think was that you wanted to crawl into a hole. The boys that you always said peaked in high school and made you so upset when they transferred to your university were now at your boyfriend’s house, trying to be his friends. It was truly a worst case scenario.

Excluding Justin. It’d been so long since you saw him, it felt nice to be in his presence again. You appreciated him as a person and the kindness he radiated - even to you, someone so much lower in economic status than him.

“But I thought you went to Washington?” You fiddled with one of your bracelets as you spoke.

Justin nodded, stiffly. “I do, we’re just on Spring Break a few weeks before you so I thought I’d visit.”

You smiled, “You should’ve gotten in touch!”

You think the situation had gotten a hold of him because while he otherwise would be rambling on with questions and stories, Justin had gotten quiet. “But why are you here?”

You blinked. Now you felt uncomfortable. It was as if you finally noticed everyone’s eyes on you, including Michael’s glaring ones. Yeah, this is definitely the last time you were going to be there when someone else was coming over.

Ashton turned back to the tv and scoffed, “Please, she practically lives here.”

Your nose crinkled when you smiled and made your way to Michael, who had taken a seat and motioned you into his lap. You shrugged, looking at your high school classmates. “This is my boyfriend’s house.”

Justin sat down slowly, his eyes just as wide as Chris and Charlie’s. Most people on campus knew you were Michael’s girlfriend. So the shocked reaction had been diminishing. You were almost starting to become used to not seeing it.

Almost.

You don’t really blame them. You are very different. Michael is aggressive, angry and cold while you tended to be bubbly, shy and school-oriented. But that’s what you liked about each other. You just fit so well together. Opposites attract, right?

Ashton spoke up again, knowing Michael would likely not talk the entire reunion if he could help it. “How do you know each other?”

You took one of Michael’s hands in yours, your hand looking almost minature in his large one, and traced the tattoos you loved so much, “We went to high school together.”

Ashton nodded, “Oh the private one?”

Charlie nodded, glancing at Michael before looking at you, “I didn’t know you were dating Michael Clifford.”

You smiled weakly, we’re not friends, that’s why you didn’t know is what you wanted to say.

Michael took a chug of the glass bottled beer in his hands. It was like a silent signal because after, the three boys began playing their game.

You made a grab for the beer but Michael moved it out of your reach, his free hand slapping the side of your thigh in warning.

Your eyes widened. “Michael!” You hissed under your breath. Not in front of everyone. But he just stared at you, unsmiling. The only hint of humor came from his twinkling eyes.

He didn’t like you trying anything he was into: drugs, cigarettes, weed, alcohol. It was all off limits to you and he made sure everyone knew it. It was his way to preserve your innocence, even if dating him made that seem sort of like a paradox. Sometimes, though, it was fun to mess with him even if you were never interested in actually experimenting with the things he did.

“So, Michael…” You were brought out of your own little world by Charlie. “Are you going to Epsilon’s party tonight?”

“No.” Came Michael’s curt reply, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your arm.

Ashton was the one who saved the moment (and Charlie’s feelings) by filling in Michael’s blanks. You think that’s why they were such good friends. “Michael hates parties. He’d rather be here with Y/N and do it like bunnies.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to die or if you wanted to kill Ashton. Maybe both.

Because as soon as those words left his mouth to your high school classmates - and high school crush - you felt your face heat up. You didn’t have to look to know that Michael was smirking.

You saw Justin blush and look away and for a moment, you felt worse. There was something about feeling completely humiliated in front of someone you hold at such a high regard that does that to you.

Ashton and Chris both exclaimed at something on the tv at the same time your phone chimed. You unlocked it to read the text.

kelly (stats)

hey girl! are you on campus? i’m at the library and wanted to see if you wanted to work on the project.

The project. It was due in a few weeks and while you had finished your portion, the rest of it was definitely not done. You sighed, knowing you’d have to go and lose the rest of your day with Michael.

You felt Michael shift under you, moving up from his slouched position to be able to read your text fully. He kissed your shoulder when he did.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered to which he nodded. You got up from his lap and moved to the kitchen, moving to call Kelly and sort out the details.

“Hello?”

+

Justin’s eyes followed your movements as you left to the kitchen, though certainly not missing the way Michael’s hollow eyes watched his every move. Michael, sitting slouched, didn’t even stop staring when he took a chug of his beer, the red of his healing bloody knuckles on full display.

Justin definitely understood what made Michael so scary on campus. What he couldn’t understand is why Y/N was with him. Sweet, innocent Y/N. Had you changed so much in three years that this is who you would fall for?

He could feel Michael radiate hostility but Michael remained quiet, simply choosing to observe Justin, which somehow seemed more terrifying.

When you came back into the room, Justin actively tried not to watch you. He kept his eyes on the tv with his only glimpse of you being your bottom half as you walked by him, your dress falling to just below your mid thigh. He couldn’t help but listen to his friend’s chiming voice as you spoke in a lower tone.

“I’m going to go to the library to finish up a project.” He couldn’t hear what Michael answered, if he even answered. But he heard you continue. “No, I might just walk. It’s still light out. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

Then, as if the afternoon didn’t already feel surreal enough, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, bend down and plant a kiss to Michael’s lips, one of your hands were on his abdomen, holding you up. It almost felt jarring to witness. Not only to see Michael allowing such a thing but to see the girl that had taken up much of his mind, and heart, in high school willingly put herself in that position with a man like Michael. It had taken him a while this afternoon just to put the pieces together and understand that Y/N was Michael’s girlfriend but to see it laid out in front of him was disturbing nonetheless.

When you straightened up again, you regarded the boys in front of you with the kind smile Justin knew so well. “I’m heading out, nice to see you guys again.” Though you didn’t really sound like you meant it.

Justin didn’t think his next actions through. All he was thinking was that it was an out. An out to leave this house that made him so uncomfortable and an out to not be in the same room as Michael without you to mend the tension.

So he stood up without much thought, “I’ll head out with you.” And as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back immediately. They came out wrong. He knew it and so did everyone else in the room, evidenced by the pausing of the video game and the multiple set of eyes on him.

You blinked up at him, processing what he said for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean, I left my phone back at Chris’ room so I was going to leave anyway. I was just thinking I’d give you some company.” That didn’t sound any better either.

But he trudged through the awkwardness of his phrasing by refusing to look at Michael. Justin had a feeling that would make everything a million times worse.

But you didn’t fail him, “Oh, sure.” You smiled warmly, looking back at Michael quickly before moving towards Justin and the door, “We can catch up on the way.”

Chris and Charlie were looking at him with wide eyes as he left, likely cursing him out in their heads for messing up any chance they had at being Michael’s friends. But as he followed his friend back out to the open world, outside of the dark and cramped house, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

+

You looked up at the tall blond boy beside you as you walked down the sidewalk that would lead back to campus. You were still in awe that he was there beside you, walking and talking to you after so long. Well, not so much talking. You think he was still up in his head about the situation.

“So did you really leave something in Chris’ dorm room?” You smiled knowingly up at him.

To which he let out a chuckle and lowered his head sheepishly, “No, I…I just had to get out of there.”

You nodded like you understood, which you did. You talked a lot when we were in high school and you knew his limits, what he was used to. “Yeah, I know that house can be a lot for some people.”

“It’s just cramped.”

You didn’t say it but that kind of bothered you. It wasn’t a mansion and while it wasn’t exactly nice, it was cozy and it felt like home. Michael made it feel like home. But you knew Justin couldn’t see it that way. He was the richest boy in high school, after all. And popular because of it. Though, looking back, you couldn’t think of a time where he had let that get to his head.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked over at you. His blue eyes clouding with worry.

Now, it was your turn to chuckle. “Yeah. It’s okay, a lot of people have the same reaction.”

“It’s just different, I guess. Have you heard his reputation at all?”

You got on the bus that would lead straight to the middle of campus at that point and found two seats right next to each other.

You nodded, “I guess. But Michael…Michael’s different from what you think. He can be sweet. You just have to get to know him.” You tried to tame the big loving smile that was threatening to explode at the thought of Michael, the version of him that you knew. You were well aware of how vicious and even cruel he could be, gaining him the rumors that constantly swirled around him and now even you. But he wasn’t like that with you.

“I heard he’s in a gang.” Justin whispered.

Your eyes shot up at him in alarm, “Of course he’s not.” Unfounded rumors like that did bother you, they whittled down all of Michael’s past struggles to be theatrical entertainment for those looking in, not to mentioned demonized him even further for no reason. Though they never really bothered Michael, you had too much respect both for him and for yourself to be okay with them.

“I just don’t think I expected him to be your type.” He explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Well he wasn’t, not at first.” You calmed down and instead bit your inner cheek, trying to decide whether you should let him in on your little secret. “Actually, you were my type. I had a huge crush on you in high school…”

“What?-”

“…Don’t worry, I’m over it now.” you quickly added in when you I felt him freeze behind you in surprise. It was embarrassing but it didn’t make much sense keeping it from him anymore.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with honesty. He pulled at the collar of his polo shirt.

You shrugged, “I made sure of that. I don’t know, you were just so nice to me even though you were so out of my league. You were rich, popular but so respectful and socially aware. Plus you weren’t a republican.” You laughed before looking down, “And I was the shy scholarship kid.”

It was obvious Justin was trying to think of what to say so you helped him out, “But you know three years of college really changes you. I’m a lot more outspoken now and I found a great boyfriend.”

Justin nodded, still seemingly shocked, “That’s great.” His voice was soft and, as you made eye contact, there was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t read.

But you didn’t have to think of it much because you got to our destination and you both made your way off the bus, onto the campus you loved so much.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around?” You were already moving back slowly, desperate to get to the library quickly so you could head back to Michael faster.

Justin nodded, not moving to go to the dorms, “Yeah, I’ll be here for two weeks or so.”

+

You practically skipping when you reached Michael’s house again. The sun had set and part of you were upset at how long it had taken you in the library. But as you opened the door to Michael’s room and saw him laying on his bed, headphones on and wearing a black hoodie with only the tattoos on his hands peeking out, those feelings disappeared and were replaced with much more primal feelings.

Michael, slipping off his headphones gently, seemed to mirror your feelings because just a bending of his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, was enough to have you closing the door behind you and nearly jumping onto him.

You were smiling but asked before anything else, “Ashton-?” You always felt bad he had to deal with you constantly at each other with only thin walls separating Michael’s room from his.

“He went to that frat party.” Michael muttered, uninterested. His eyes were instead trailing your body, figuring out which way was best to take off your dress.

You were on all fours as you crawled your way to him, stopping when you were in between his spread legs. “You should’ve gone.” Even if you didn’t love parties, they were still a big part of who he was, before dating you he would be at them drinking the night away every other day, and a part of you felt bad for taking them away from him, even if unintentionally.

But still, he couldn’t look like he care less when he reached over and pulled your dress up to uncover your ass, his hands trailing down the curve of you sensually before giving you a small spank that made you jump in surprise. “I have better things to do.”

Now that deserved a reward. Your hand rubbed over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Michael’s hands undid his belt, the sight of that action almost making you want to moan right then and there. Your hands trailed up to undo the button and zipper. He eagerly pushed his hips up to help you take his jeans and boxers off.

His long and thick length stood out horizontally and you felt your mouth watering already at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

One of his hands took a hold of the gold necklace you were wearing, twisting it and pulling at it to force your face closer to his.“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” 

When you first started having sex, you were shy and inexperienced. Words and talk like that would have had you shaking nervously. And while you would still likely react that way in public, with enough time with Michael and in the privacy of his room, you didn’t even blink when you answered.

“Always.” Your hand wrapped around him before you took his dick into your mouth. Michael groaned immediately and threw his head back, eyes closed. This only proved to spur you on. You took him as deep as you could, stopping only when his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back.

But the vibrations only seemed to have him moaning louder and led to one of his hands to collect your hair and push himself back into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good, take it.”

You didn’t even notice when he had taken off his shirt and hoodie. His tattoos, which ranged from his fingers to his entire torso and neck were on full display and you felt yourself get wetter at the intricate ink that adorned his beautiful body. It was a contrast to your body that was completely bare of any tattoos.

Up until then, he was still controlled. When you looked up at him with the innocent eyes you knew drove him wild and moan against his length as you bobbed your head, his control snapped. There was something about you looking pure, especially in that angelic-looking white dress, at the same time you were doing something so dirty with him that sent him ablaze. Even more knowing that you were only like that for him.

Immediately, he tightened his grip on your hair with both hands, holding you in place. He thrust up into your mouth at a fast pace, fucking your mouth harshly. His groans increasing in volume. He thrust into your mouth deeply, your nose nearly touching his stomach, and kept himself there. Your throat closed tightly against him.

“Do you like that?” Your jaw hurt and you felt tears in your eyes as he pulled out enough for you to breath, his cock was messy with your spit. Then he continued, thrusting into your awaiting mouth and murmuring dirty nothings under his breath. You wanted to trail your hands down to your pussy to soothe the ache it had for him but you refrained. “Do you like me using your mouth like a dirty fucking slut?”

You moaned involuntarily. You needed him. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties. Michael gave a sharp tug at your hair and pulled you off of him. He tilted your head back painfully to lock his eyes with yours.

“Do you like being used like a toy?” His voice was cold and mean but it was a turn on. You nodded your head submissively and one of his hands reached down to your cheek, giving you a sharp slap. Enough for you to feel the sting and enough for it to feel good. “Open your mouth.”

You did what he said immediately. Your tongue poking out in anticipation. Michael leaned down before spitting into your mouth. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt another slap at your cheek.

“Dirty whore.” Michael muttered under his breath before pinning you down to his bed, tearing your dress off as soon as hit the mattress and then doing the same to your bra and underwear.

Part of you wondered what had gotten into him. Being rough and kinky in bed isn’t something out of the ordinary for you two but he usually wasn’t like this out of no where. Not that you were complaining.

On all fours, you swayed your ass to him enticingly and looked behind you with a virginal smile, “Fuck me, daddy.” You said innocently.

He didn’t say anything as he flipped you over quickly and ran the head of his dick teasingly along your entrance, slapping it onto your pussy twice. A load moan of his name left your mouth when he finally entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting at a rough pace into you. Your moans were cut off and stuttered at the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” One of Michael’s hands reached up to your throat and pressed tightly. The feeling of his inked hands around your throat amplified the pleasure. Your walls clenched around him. “No matter how many times I fuck you"

You saw his eyes be fixated on your breasts, the way they bounced up and down fully in pace with each of his thrusts. He leaned down and wrapped his warm mouth around one of tits, flicking and twirling his tongue around your nipple.

Your eyes closed involuntarily and your back arched in pleasure as he continued to slam his hips into yours. The only sounds in the room were the sound of skin slapping, your moans and his grunts.

“If only those boys could see you now, their innocent little classmate, so submissive and desperate for my cock, letting me fuck you like my bitch.” Michael’s voice was taunting and you could barely get your mind out of the haze of pleasure to question what he was talking about.

“But they’ll never see you like this. This is the only cock you’ll ever get, your first and your last. No one will ever be able to please you like I can. Do you think that blondie can make you feel this good?” You closed your eyes in pleasure, too far lost to even understand what he was saying, just shaking your head in answer. You were blushing like crazy at his words, which only served to make him thrust faster.

“Look at me.” He hissed and you did just when his thrusts’ vigor increased even more which left you whimpering and writhing underneath him. But still, you opened and kept your eyes on him, your mouth open as moans filtered out of you. “Tell me you’re mine.”  

Though your mouth was open, you couldn’t formulate words. But Michael’s hands on your throat pressed harder and his other hand slapped your cheek as a warning, “Tell me.”

“Y-Yours. I’m yours, Mikey. Only yours.” His mouth was on yours in a heated kiss while his pace never faltered as he pistoned in and out of you.

“That’s right.” Michael praised, “Mine.” Then he said something he had never said before. “I’m going to knock you up, get you nice and pregnant. Everyone would know then, that you’re fucking mine.” He almost sounded delirious with the prospect.

He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it. Even if he did, you were on birth control. But you moaned loader just at the thought of his love for you reaching those lengths.

“You want that, little one? Want me to fill your tight little cunt with my cum?”

A chorus of “Yes, yes, yes” left your mouth, you couldn’t speak anymore than just repeating that. The thought of being pregnant with his child and the reminder of just how small you were compared to him was enough to put you on another planet.

“H-Harder.” You were shaking as he complied with your request, his thrusts moving faster and rougher into you. Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso and scratched at his back, desperate for a way to express the nearly overwhelming pleasure you felt. He hissed in pleasure at the pain, his body above you engulfed nearly your entire figure.

“Open” His rough voice commanded and you opened your mouth obediently. Moaning again as he spit into your awaiting tongue once again.

Your throat was starting to be raw with your screaming and begging to come. “Cum for me, princess.”

You clenched your walls as you came around his big cock and that seemed to be the only thing that took for him to release after you.

He released inside you, filling you and leaking out after he pulled out. “Such a good girl.”

He was still coming when he pulled out and ribbons of cum adorned your face, which you graciously accepted. Michael watched your face and groaned to himself when you licked some of his cum off that was at the corner of your mouth and swallowed.

His eyes were closed in pleasure for a moment before he released his grip on your throat. You didn’t doubt the image before of you, blushing and covered in his cum did wonders for his libido.  

He cleaned you up but you had a feeling it was just an excuse to be able to give you a passionate kiss. “You did great, baby girl. I love you.”

His praise made your heart swell. “I love you, too.”

Before you knew it, your kiss had gotten much more frenzied and his hand was trailing to your sore entrance. But you stopped before it could lead to a round two.

“I’m sore.” You mumbled before nuzzling into chest. His arms wrapped around your body protectively and kissed the top of your head, gently, so different from how rough he was just a few moments before.  

You looked up at him quizzically just to see that he was already looking at you. “So, are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Michael looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes, moving up so you were at eye level with him. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, noting how his eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You know what I mean. What wound you up so bad?”

“Nothing” But at your pointed look, he sighed in defeat and muttered, “Those little rich boys. The tall one, he’s into you and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You sputtered, “Justin?! No way is he into me.” You shook your head, giggling as you leaned back to lay your head on his shoulder. “Actually, in high school, I was the one into him.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You knew it as soon as Michael’s eyes hardened and his body stiffened. “What?”

Shaking your head, you stuttered out, “But I got over that years ago, he’s just a friend.”

But Michael couldn’t let it go, “You liked him and he was in my fucking house? He left with you for fucks sakes Y/N.” He moved as if he was getting up and you placed a hand on his chest to stop him (only doing so because he let you, otherwise his strength would quickly overpower yours). If he were to go after Justin, there would be little you could do to stop him from beating him to a pulp.

You kissed him deeply to calm him down because you saw his eyes start to shut down. They started to look like the same eyes he had in public, the cold, angry ones. And you couldn’t let him go there, not with you.

“We were only with each other for a few minutes, we took the bus.” You reasoned with him.

Michael locked his jaw tightly but he was starting to calm down, “That bitch ass couldn’t even look at me but I was watching him. He kept looking at you like he knew you, like he knew you how I know you.”

He looked at you then, with a mocking smirk. “Like he knew how sweet and moral you are and that you shouldn’t be with your big bad boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t see you begging to have your mouth and pussy filled by your mean boyfriend’s cock. Or that he didn’t know I was the one that took your virginity,” He moaned at the memory, “What do you think he would say if he saw innocent little Y/N like that?”

You didn’t have to be looking at him to see the delight in his bright eyes and sneering smile. It was obvious he enjoyed corrupting you.

You whined at his words, embarrassed, as if you didn’t hear much worse things come out of his mouth when you were underneath him or even when he was in fights with others.

“Are you sure Ashton isn’t home?” You changed the topic.

“He’s out.” Michael repeated, “Why, did you want him to join?”

He was teasing you, you knew he was but you whined again, blushing (something you knew he loved) and shook your head no.

He chuckled, a warm and joking chuckle, “Good, because I’m not sharing you. Remember that.”

Michael settled you in between his legs comfortably, giving you his phone to busy yourself with games or take photos. He kissed the top of your head, that reached just to his chin. Meanwhile, he grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from his nightstand, placing the white stick in his mouth and lighting it. The scent overtook your senses uncomfortably. But you were used to it so you didn’t do much besides raising your hand jokingly, to ask for a puff.

But Michael, who never took those things as a joke, squeezed your thigh. “I don’t want you getting into the shit I’m into.” He said, “I want to keep you pure for me.”

Because as much as he loved corrupting you, he loved your innocence even more.

+

so i think i’m going to make this into a two part series with each part having two stories involved. if that makes sense, let me know what you think!

[lexiepiper]

Reflection

Hey @danthectoman, I was your backup Truce gifter! I hope you enjoy this bitter(sweet) Dan thermos fic!

I know my blog’s formatting sucks, I haven’t been able to change it yet, but you can read it on Ao3 or ff if you’d prefer.

.

There wasn’t much else to do but seethe.

His body, compressed down to mist, strained against the smooth metal walls. He pressed, and prodded, and tried again and again to pop the seal, but it held eternally firm, and he was left with nothing but thoughts in the darkness.

So he softly settled, like low-lying fog across fields, and sulked.

His anger pulsed at first, and every time he thought about things, his core would flare and he would pound himself against the lid once more. Still, it never budged, and he always ended up sinking back into simmering stillness before his thoughts caught up with him and his fury inevitably swelled again.

It was a dark, stagnant cycle, and he didn’t know how long it had been going on until a tiny thought wormed its way through the haze of agitation. Jazz would be disappointed.

It caught him off-guard, and he paused in yet another attempt to break the seal.

She would be, wouldn’t she?

The thought held a bite of anger, and he coiled in readiness to throw himself against the lid again, but before he could lose himself in his rage he managed to picture her. Time had worn her smooth, and she was little more than long red hair pulled away from her face with a teal headband, and fragments of smiles and hugs that always carried more love than he ever felt from anyone else. He pooled again at the bottom of the thermos, trying to fit the glimpses of memory back together. He couldn’t picture her fully, but the more he tried, the more she slid into place in his mind.

His parents followed quickly, and sorrow pricked his core when he realised that he couldn’t remember what his mother’s smile looked like, or the scent of the aftershave that his dad had worn. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to think about them, and now this tiny effort was far too late.

The deep, hollow ache in his core flared up, like an old wound that never really went away, and he curled in on himself. He wanted to stop thinking about them, to make the yawning emptiness fade into the background once again, but he just couldn’t stop himself… His family sprang back to the forefront, whose faces were blurred by time, and who had never known the truth about him. He wondered if things would have been different, had they known. He tried to picture it — ghost hunting with his parents, or making ectocookies, or trying to dodge Jazz when she ruffled his hair after he had easily caught The Box Ghost yet again.

The imagined scenes brought a fresh wave of pain. He’d never told them, and now they’d never know, because they were dead. They were dead, and it was his fault.

He had no physical body to cry with in the thermos, but he burned with the thick heat of grief, and Dan wrapped his misty form tighter around his core. He stayed there, pressed against the cold circular floor of his prison, while his core trembled and his mind dwelt on the little things that made up the people he’d lost. If he thought about it, he could almost smell Sam’s shampoo, or picture the shape and colour of Tucker’s glasses. He didn’t remember if Jazz’s shirt had been black or white that day, or if his parents had been holding hands when they walked into the meeting. He spared a small thought for Mr Lancer too, but then returned to trying to recall what his mother’s perfume smelled like.

He dug deeper into his memory, and every resurfacing detail felt like pulling out a splinter. It was painful in the moment, but once he stopped fighting the memory, and allowed the thoughts to linger, the pain was not so much that of continual hurt, but more akin to the ache of healing.

Sam’s shampoo had been a vegan one that smelled like roses, and Tucker’s glasses were large half-moons with black frames. Jazz’s shirt was also black, his mother smelled like orange blossoms, and right there at the end, they had been holding hands.

He missed them.

He missed them, and there, coiled as compressed ectoplasmic mist, he realised that he still loved them.

He had no mouth or throat, but Dan’s amorphous body clenched and spasmed in the closest thing to a cry, and he tried to remember as much as he could.

He reached for old memories, of the sound of screeching locker doors, and that his mother would always fold his socks so that the edges lined up perfectly, and how sand felt when it crunched and squeezed between his toes, and Dan realised that his family and friends weren’t the only people he missed.

He missed rain on his skin, and the taste of lime, and the way it felt to sleep in jeans after a long day, and a million other little things that made up the sum of life.

He missed Danny.

He missed himself.

He’d never thought that before, so swept up in the rage of abandonment, and then… then the rage of bloodlust. His core shivered, and he tried not to think about it. He tried to dredge up those nicer, softer memories, of picnics and sunsets and life, but every attempt was swept away by the sheer force of blood-drenched gloves and dying, screaming souls.

He’d started with himself, and then had never stopped… but now that he’d been stopped, and left in a soup can to rot? Now, he had time to think, and the more he thought, the more he remembered.

People had been so easy to kill. At the time, it gave him a rush of excitement, of winning the hunt… but now, if he’d had a stomach, it would have been rolling with bile. Unlike the hazy memories of happier times, he could picture every person he’d killed in crystal clear detail.

They rushed him, breaking through the mental walls that he tried to throw up, until all he could do was cower at the bottom of the thermos and face how each of them had looked in their final moments. Each terrified expression drove shards of revulsion deeper into his core, and these visions continued in an unrelenting wave until he had revisited every single victim, and felt the horror and guilt that had been so absent when their lives had ebbed away beneath his cruel fingers. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was over, all he could do was lie there and steep in the blood that stained his soul.

He wished he had never done it.

He would do anything to have never done it.

As soon as the thought presented itself, Dan felt a vibration stutter through his prison. The thermos shuddered, and then the compression was gone, and Dan burst out of the darkness into a light that burned his eyes with its sudden intensity after so long in the darkness. He curled in mid-air, pressing the heels of newly-formed palms against freshly-made eyes and hissing in discomfort.

When he finally came to himself, the first thing he noticed was a soft, repetitive ticking. It was strangely familiar but misplaced, like the wrong lyrics being sung to a familiar tune. Dan shuddered, dropping his hands and squinting in the light. His core fluttered with the strain of his unrelenting emotional storm, and if he were a weaker being he might have worried about it collapsing due to stress.

He glanced around, frowning at the sight of a ghost screwing the cap back onto the thermos.

“Who are you?”

The ghost regarded him with red eyes, one of which was struck through by an impressive scar. “You know who I am.”

Its voice rasped like sand shifting, and brought to mind the endless dunes of a desert, eternally changing with the ravages of time.

He did know. “Why now?” Dan snapped, but the snippiness was somewhat lost from his tone as his core heaved with fresh guilt. “When I first learned of your existence, and searched the Ghost Zone, I could never find you.”

The ghost didn’t respond, and Dan shook his head as anger finally began to trickle back into his core. It pushed the guilt aside in its demand to be felt. “You… you hid from me!” he shouted, flinging out an arm for emphasis. “You knew what I would do, but when I came to find you, to… to fix this,” he gestured to himself, “you left me on my own! What did that other Danny have that I wasn’t good enough for, Old Man?!”

The ghost of time rippled, and his form changed into a younger man. “Come,” he said, and floated through an open archway set in the wall.

Dan paused. The room he’d been released into was nothing more than a small alcove, with a pedestal that must have housed the thermos up until now. Frustration bloomed in him, but it was quickly overcome with a spark of disbelief.

He was free?

After so long, it felt impossible. He immediately yearned for open spaces, whether the expanse of the Zone or the wide blue sky of Earth, it didn’t matter. He just had to get out of here.

He could run, but if that strange cloaked ghost with the ticking clock in its chest really was who Dan suspected, then he doubted that he’d get very far. Besides, it’s not like he had anywhere that he could run to, anyway.

Loneliness ripped through him, and Dan clenched his teeth and flew through the archway before the crushing grief could come pouring back. “Hey!” he shouted, speeding to catch up with the figure that was floating leisurely down a long, narrow corridor lined with large clock faces that all displayed different times.

The other ghost reached a door recessed between two massive clock faces just as Dan caught up. “Come, Daniel.”

The simple address struck him like a blow, and Dan recoiled, his hand flying to his chest to clutch at the HAZMAT. “That’s not my name,” he choked. “I’m not… him.”

The time ghost paused with a hand on the ornate doorknob. “Maybe not the way you used to be,” he demurred, “but in many ways, Daniel, you’re still you.”

Dan’s core clenched, and the shadows behind the clocks deepened as his hair flared in an inferno of white flames. “Don’t you get it, Clockwork?” he shrieked, the slight tether of self-control crumbling away. “I killed people! Millions and millions of innocent people! I murdered children, and can still see their faces, and feel their blood dripping off my hands! I am not your precious Daniel!”

Clockwork’s hand dropped back to his side, and he turned so that they were facing each other. His gaze was soft and achingly sad, and the ticking of the clock inlaid in his chest sparked a pang of longing that Dan didn’t even know he could still feel.

He shoved it away. “Why didn’t you save me?” he choked, and his core felt like it would smother him. “You saved him, with your time travel and your second chances. What was so special about him, anyway? Why did he get them back, while I became his lesson?”

Clockwork folded his arms across his chest. The watches lining his wrists flashed in the brilliant light of Dan’s hair. “Saving comes in many ways, Daniel. If I wasn’t going to help you then you’d still be in that thermos.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.

Sad red eyes bored into his. “Don’t you wish that you could take it all back?”

The question pierced him to his soul, and Dan faltered, sinking so that his feet hit the tiles. His knees buckled and he sagged, leaning against the wall and grasping his chest as a half-forgotten sound squeezed where his ribs should have been and wormed its way up his throat and out through gritted teeth. It took a moment to recognise the sob for what it was, and by then, another one had broken out as well.

He tamped down on the emotion, blinking burning eyes and leaning heavily against the wall. “Yes,” he choked. “I… I want nothing more.”

The ancient ghost sighed, and it sounded like the faraway chime of a forgotten clock. “Come,” he said again, reaching for the handle once more and swinging the door open. “You are my ward, Daniel, no matter what form you take. I would fight all powers in the realms to give you peace.”

Dan blinked as an undeniable warmth wrapped itself around his core. “Oh,” he breathed, and for a moment, the pain melted away and he felt like Danny Fenton for the first time in what could have easily been a thousand years. It was nice, but overwhelming in its abruptness, and he sank to his knees. “But… but I’m still half Plasmius,” he managed to say past the swelling comfort that cocooned him like a blanket.

Clockwork shrank until he was in the form of a child, his eyes once again level with Dan’s kneeling form. “Without that half, you’re not stable,” he said, and laid a tiny hand on Dan’s shoulder. “You were stronger, and absorbed him. You have his powers, and his temper, but beneath that, you’re still Daniel Fenton.”

The comforting warmth continued to thicken around him, and Dan screwed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against Clockwork’s shoulder. “Are you adopting me?” he choked as he recognised the bonds forming between their cores.

He felt the other ghost nod. “Technically, you’ve been my ward for over a thousand years now. I just had to leave you in that thermos until you came to your senses.”

“What, you left me in time out for a thousand years?” Dan retorted, but the words lacked any bite.

Small fingers brushed through his flaming hair, and he forced down a shudder at how unexpectedly nice it felt.

“You needed to experience regret,” Clockwork explained, and gently pulled back from the hug. “You had to want to change the past so badly that you’d do anything. You weren’t going to change until you were ready to.”

Dan leaned against the wall again. He still felt wonderfully warm and cared for in a way that he never had, not even during his distant, fleeting time alive. “I do,” he said, and tried not to think about how cheesy this all was, “and I will.”

Clockwork smiled then, and the scar that slashed through his eye crinkled with the expression. He reached out a hand and Dan grasped it. “Come,” he said, shifting into the form of a young adult and pulling Dan off the floor with the change. “You have some time travelling to do.”