#even though i'm not looking forward to having all those orders either but at least people will appreciate my hard work

[mildmayfoxe]

you guys would not fucking believe it but i just counted all the prints ive been doing in the past week and a half and it's 109 counting some journals i threw some cover prints on. and 43 of them were two color so really 152!!!!! no wonder i've been feeling fucking crazy!!!

[kinardsevan]

so i'm one of those who is really of the mindset rn that this fling needs to be with Josh, and living in that mindset, I wrote this:

Evan glances up across the coffee house with a smile on his face, laughing at Josh’s comment on the petulance of some first responders. 

The relationship that has developed between the two of them recently is interesting, to say the least. He never really saw his sister’s coworker as someone he’d know any deeper than as an acquaintance, but after Maddie was kidnapped by that serial killer, Josh had somehow found a place in his life. 

Initially, it was because of they were in such close quarters while Maddie was missing. Josh could tell he was still going through it after Tommy, and then there was the issue of Eddie leaving also weighing on him. Maddie getting taken was the cherry on top that had nearly broken him, and somehow the other man being there as a shoulder in the midst of it all had been more meaningful than Evan could express. So a few late night coffees after Maddie had been found turned into a hookup, and then one hookup turned into two, and suddenly it had been a few weeks.

Granted, they were both clear on what was happening between them. At best, they were friends now with some really stellar benefits. He really liked Josh, could maybe see something else growing between them if his heart wasn’t still basically smashed potatoes all over the ground. Plus, being around the other man had given Evan the clarity of the fact that his attraction to men wasn’t solely tied to Tommy. If anything, it was simply that the intensity of his attraction to Tommy is what had finally shoved his bisexuality out of the dark and into the open. Hanging out with Josh, hooking up with him from time to time, helped him understand better that pursuing a relationship with another man wasn’t all that different than trying to pursue one with a woman. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Josh laughs, bumping into Evan’s shoulder as the blonde picks up his coffee and danish from the order counter. 

“I’m not disagreeing,” Evan states, lifting a hand in surrender. Josh grabs his things after Evan, and they head towards an open table. Evan has his danish shoved between his teeth and he makes a face with it. 

“Oh that’s priceless,” Josh states, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I need to send a picture to your sister.” 

Evan rolls his eyes, but he turns towards the other man, still walking backward towards the table as he makes the face again while Josh snaps a few photos. He’s still moving when he stumbles into someone, suddenly stepping forward and whipping around, letting the danish fall into his hand as he stammers that he’s so sorry and looking up-

right into those blue eyes. 

Evan gulps as the amusement on his face sinks away. All at once, he feels his heart hammering in his chest as though it’s trying to take flight out of his body and physically attach itself to the other man. 

“I’m so-…E- Buck.” 

It feels like someone’s twisting a fist around his stomach, hearing Tommy say his nickname. There’s no particular intonation. It’s just the fact that he’s called him that at all. It hurts just as much as it did the first time. 

Right at that moment, Josh decides to make his presence known, and he steps forward, shoving a hand out and giving a warm smile to Tommy. 

“Josh Russo,” he states. Tommy blinks a few times before he realizes what’s happening and he shakes Josh’s hand. 

“Tommy,” he answers, his voice soft. There’s the flash of something in his eyes as he glances at Evan, but he releases Josh’s hand a moment later and rubs his own over the leg of his jeans. Evan can’t help but glance over at Josh, who smirks at the gesture. 

“We were just getting coffee,” Evan says, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to make an excuse, or if he thinks Tommy would even care. Either way, Tommy only smiles in response, a small one at that, and nods. 

“That’s- that’s good,” he replies. He moves to step around them toward the counter. “I have to grab mine, actually.” 

Evan turns toward him, mouth open like he wants to say something, but the words don’t come, and he turns back around. 

“Should we sit,” Josh asks after a moment. Evan doesn’t so much respond as he just finishes crossing the cafe to the table they’d been headed towards, and they sit down. 

He doesn’t know what to say, and in that moment, he’s silently thanking God that Josh keeps talking about his entire point he’d been on before their disruption, because Evan isn’t sure he could focus if he tried. As much as he knows its rude, he can’t stop himself from glancing back up in Tommy’s direction, taking him in. It feels like torture and like coming home all at the same time. Seeing him again calms something inside of him, if for no other reason than being able to know that he’s still alive and apparently safe. At the same time, he’s astutely aware of the darkness under Tommy’s eyes, the way his cheeks are more sallow than the last time they saw each other. He doesn’t know the story there, but he wants to. 

He watches with intermittent gazes, glancing over and then away quickly whenever Tommy seems to be looking in his direction. Still, the entire period is over far too quickly, and then his ex-boyfriend is crossing back through the coffee house quickly, walking out with his coffee order. 

“You should go after him.” 

Evan snaps out of his reverie as the door slides shut and glances back at Josh, shaking his head. 

“Huh? W-what?” 

Josh nods, a friendly smile on his face. “I mean it. You should go after him.” 

Evan furrows his brow at Josh. “He broke up with me.” 

Josh lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head at Evan. “So, when I asked all those weeks ago, did you ever actually tell him you’re in love with him?” 

Evan’s jaw goes slack at the question, unsure of what he means. “In love…?” 

“Oh my god, okay,” Josh replies, still chuckling. It’s almost off-putting to Evan. “I recognize the look, Buck. From every time I had to listen to your sister talk about how much she missed her husband when they were split up before Jee-Yun. And newsflash?” He points out the window in the general direction of where Tommy headed off in. “He’s got the same look, and it’s like everyone knows it but the two of you.” 

Evan gulps, considering Josh’s words. For all the things he’d thought about in the time after the conversation at the dispatch center, after deciding to ask Tommy to move in with him, and after the breakup, he’d never rethought the whole “in love with him” question. Still, if he has to quantify the feeling inside of him, make comparative notes to other times he’s known himself to be in love, the only person who even comes close to comparing—and even then it’s a long shot—is Abby. And as he pieces that together in his head, it’s almost too much to bear.

He loves Tommy. He’s in love with Tommy.

Josh nods as he watches the realization cross Evan’s face. 

“Like I said. You should go after him.” 

Evan pushes up from the table suddenly, only to stop halfway up, feeling bad about the sitaution. 

“Listen, I didn’t-..” 

Josh laughs again. “Oh, sweet, sweet, baby Buckley. I have known what this was from day one. I was just wondering how long it was going to take the two of you to pull your heads out of your asses.” 

Evan snorts at the comment, rolls his eyes again but still gives Josh a smile. 

“Besides,” Josh adds. “We can still be friends. I have to imagine the beefy one has gay friends he can introduce me to.” 

Evan laughs. “I’ll see what I can do about that for you.” 

“You better,” Josh replies, lifting his coffee to his lips. “Now go get your man.” 

Evan doesn’t wait a moment longer. He rushes out so fast that he leaves his coffee and bitten-into danish sitting on the table. On the street, he whips his head back and forth, and it takes him a moment to spot Tommy as he starts to round the corner onto the next street. 

Evan bolts after him, crossing the distance between them swiftly on his long legs. Still, when he reaches Tommy a minute later, he’s only a few feet from his truck. His coffee sloshes as Evan turns him around, and when Tommy’s eyes meet his, he has that same sad look in them. 

“Buck, what?” 

“First of all, don’t ever call me that again,” Evan states quickly, a bit breathless. “And second of all…” He settles flat on his feet, looking back and forth between Tommy’s eyes for a moment. Something in him keeps thinking back on Tommy’s obsession with romantic comedies, and the fact that there’s nothing quite more ‘romantic comedy’ than stopping someone on the street and just kissing them. 

So he does. He steps into Tommy’s space and wraps a hand around his head and pulls him in, kissing him with enough passion and determination that if he could shoot actual sparks, they’d both be on fire. For a moment, Tommy doesn’t respond, and Evan isn’t sure if it’s because of the surprise of it all or because he doesn’t feel the same way, but after a moment, he feels Tommy melt, and open his mouth to Evan’s request for access, kissing him back fully. 

Who knows how long the kiss goes on for. All Evan knows is that when he finally breaks away from Tommy, he’s breathless, and so. Fucking. Happy. He presses his forehead against Tommy’s, stroking his thumb down the back of his head. 

“I love you,” he states softly. “I’m in love with you. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you, no matter what you think I need to do to sew some wild oats.” 

“Evan,” Tommy murmurs back. His expression is still pained, and Evan can see the conflict in his eyes. 

“You, Tommy,” he counters. “You. Not someone else, not a different option, or a different life. You. Only you.” 

“You could-..” 

“I could do a lot of things,” Evan states. “I could die on my way home today. I could have an aneurysm tomorrow. I could live sixty more years, all without you because you’re too afraid to give in. I know who I am and what I want, and I know I’m not going to find it anywhere else because the way I feel about you? No one else has ever come close.” 

Tommy stares at him with those sad, expressive eyes, and the want in his expression is so clear that it makes Evan hurt for him. He watches as Tommy’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He’s quiet for another moment before taking a breath. 

“I’ve been back in therapy,” he says softly. “Trying to work through it all. I thought you were moving on-..” 

“I’m so close to not moving on that I can still see the starting line in front of me,” Evan tells him. He lets out a soft huff. “Josh- he- there was a thing. With Maddie. He was there through that, a-and he’s queer, so he’s been a good friend recently.” 

Tommy stares at him skeptically for a moment, as though he’s questioning what all of that means. Except, there’s also the part where he told Evan that he was still figuring himself out and basically needed to see other people, and from that standpoint, there’s not a lot he can do or say, especially when the man is standing in front of him telling him that even after spending time with another man, nothing has changed for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel like-..” 

“I don’t,” Evan cuts him off, gesturing between them. “I’m clear on this. On you. And I think if I was going to change my mind, that would’ve happened by now. The problem is that I kinda can’t stop being in love with you.” 

He watches Tommy gulp, sees him nod. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he rests his forehead against Evan’s. 

“I kind-of can’t stop being in love with you, either,” he replies softly. “Much as I’ve tried.” 

Evan lets out a small laugh and then leans into him, kissing him once more. 

Tommy’s arms are tight around his back this time, keeping him close as he sighs into Evan’s mouth. There’s so much to say, so much to work through from the past few months, so much to be considered in the midst of it all. But love hadn’t been a factor in the breakup, and with it on the table, it’s not something either one of them can turn away from. 

When they break apart again, Evan laughs again, and Tommy laughs with him. They remain close for a moment before Evan finally realizes the back of his sweatshirt is wet. He turns his head and glances at it, spots the coffee stain quickly. 

“Shit, sorry,” Tommy says, turning toward his truck and then back towards Evan. “I uh, I have-…” He blushes. “I have one of your hoodies in my duffel, if you want to change.” 

“That would be nice actually,” Evan responds, a smirk on his own face. Tommy nods and they cross the few feet over to his truck. He opens the back seat and pulls his duffel bag up, retrieving the blue hoodie and offering it to Evan. Evan tugs the wet one over his head, revealing a navy t-shirt that’s sinfully too tight. He swaps pieces of clothing with Tommy, who rests the wet one in his backseat before turning back to Evan. Evan’s smile is wider as his head comes through top of his hoodie. 

“Smells like you,” he states. Tommy’s own smile falters a little. 

“Yeah, I know,” he responds wistfully. Evan steps forward as he tucks his a hand into the pouch of the hoodie, uses the other to curl his finger around Tommy’s chin and pull him into another quick kiss. 

“I can solve that for you, if you’d like,” he states. Tommy is quiet for a moment and Evan is smiling at him again. “You free?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes, unable to stop the smile on his own face. “Yes, I’m free.” 

Evan nods, gesturing back towards the coffee house. “It’s a little early for a beer. Coffee?” 

Tommy glances down at the cup in his hand and then back up at Evan. “Considering half of this one is on your sweater, sure. You still owe me a drink anyway.” 

[eff-plays]

Long Taash storyline rant by an enby 2, electric boogaloo

I think I finally figured out what to say about Taash's storyline so walk with me here.

It smacks a little bit of white lib homonationalism. If you don't know what homonationalism is, it's when Western countries see themselves as enlightened for being "more" accepting of queer folks compared to other cultures, and when this is used to justify racist (particularly anti-immigrant) politics. Usually you'll have far-right wackos claiming to be so so so pro-gay rights that they simply MUST keep the immigrants away in order to protect those sweet fragile white gays, who will surely be totally fine under a fashy regime.

Now, I'm not a sociologist and I might be talking out of my ass by making this connection. But as a nonbinary, non-white first generation immigrant, who was raised by a single mother who wanted to be free of the politics of her home country and thus moved in order to create a better future for me, when I played the Taash storyline, I got the distinct feeling that the writer of it either had a blissfully conflict-free coming out, or that they have no idea how complex the interplay of identity and culture can be. Or that they're a white lib who thinks getting somebody's pronouns right is more important than being an open-minded and fundamentally compassionate human being at heart.

Thing is, I understand what they were going for, kind of. In isolation. It was supposed to be a tragic death where Shathann finally revealed that she accepted her child as they were, right before dying, and it left Taash feeling like they were cut off from her when things were finally looking like they could be fixed. At least they know their mother loved and accepted them at the end, which makes it bittersweet, right?

But that's kind of what pisses me off about this, y'see. Because in practice, Shathann died for the sin of unknowingly misgendering her child, and for attempting to call them trans instead of nonbinary specifically. And she died because it was the easy way out for the writer -- kill the complex mother who comes from a culture deemed problematic in order to avoid dealing with how they'd move forward together, and how their cultural upbringings would clash with yet be mitigated by their familial love for each other. Help Taash choose between Rivaini or Qunari now that their mother's influence and opinions are gone and they don't have to wrestle with her culture anymore, just what they themselves think of it.

I don't think Taash's mother has any actual right to decide which culture Taash belongs to, that is Taash's decision, but the writers know that her influence would still make things more complicated for Taash. And we can't have that, right? Taash has to decide for themselves, as is their right, their right as a queer person to make decisions independent of and not affected by their mother's backwards culture. Their queerness takes priority, nay, dictates how they relate to their nationality/cultural belonging. Anything that might infringe upon that holy self-realization must be removed.

Y'see where I'm going with this? Y'see why it makes me a little uncomfy?

Now for the part where I put my on stink on it. My mom does not get my being nonbinary. She asked me a bunch of really ignorant and gross things when I came out in her attempt to understand it, or rather, refute it. The whole discussion lasted for about 2 panic-filled hours, and I don't think I changed her mind on anything. She still makes uncomfy comments about trans people. She still misgenders me, though this is partly due to our mother tongue not having any gender-neutral pronouns.

And yeah, all of this hurts, no doubt about it. But the thing is? My mom still loves me. She shows it with nearly everything she does outside of this enby stuff, but even with this stuff, she never pushes me to be more feminine. She said she'd switch to my new name if I ever decide to change it. She once apologized for putting "female" for me on a form she had to fill out because there were no nonbinary options. She bought me a perfume for men just because I idly remarked it smelled nice.

And I know what you're thinking, and yes this is a difficult situation to be put in. It's hard, but it happens every day, in families like mine. When your parent was raised to believe one thing, and have for decades, and they're confronted with something new, the switch won't be instant, or happen at all. And I knew that before coming out to her.

I was Taash's age when I came out to my mom, so Taash would've known that, too. And what's even more frustrating, is that Shathann doesn't even resist the revalation, like my mom did. She tries to apply a concept she is more familiar with in order to understand Taash, but since that concept isn't 100% exactly what Taash identifies with, she's in the wrong, immediately. Taash blows up at her for not instantly getting the name and concept of a completely new term dropped onto her head. And all we can do is console Taash on how poorly it went, but whose fault is that? Shathann removes herself from the situation when she notices Taash is about to blow a gasket, because what's the point in discussing anything with somebody who's already rejected your attempts at understanding them, while demanding you understand them?

And before somebody says that I don't "get" what Taash is going through, start reading the post from the beginning but really read it this time. For those who might say that Taash is justified in expecting the worst on account of how Shathann has been raising them up until now, then I raise you this: If Taash knew their mother wouldn't initially get it, why did they blow up when she immediately tried to get it? If they expected her to reject them, why are they still mad when she doesn't? Did they expect her to attempt to use a cultural concept she's familiar with in order to understand their identity, but didn't have an explanation ready to also frame it in a way that'd be familiar to her?

Instead, the order of events is essentially this: Shathann raises Taash in an overbearing way and places high expectations of femininity on them > her and Taash clash over this frequently > Taash, knowing how their mother is but feeling the need to come out to her anyway, says they're nonbinary > Shathann is confused yet calm, asks if they're trans > Taash gets instantly upset > Shathann, still confused, leaves the situation > Rook comforts Taash on how bad that went and says their mother will surely come around > Shathann, off-screen, figures out what nonbinary is, dies using the correct pronouns and confirming that she does love them for who they are > Taash is sad their mom dies but hey, at least they know she loved them at the end.

Shathann being a somewhat traditional Qunari, her expecting femininity, are all initially framed as obstacles for Taash to overcome. The overbearing, traditionalist parent must be confronted with the truth and realize their idea of their child is wrong. But before things can get too complicated, too bitter, and Taash has to actually confront this "obstacle", Shathann is instead removed from the equation entirely and killed in order for Taash to have their identity confirmed.

Except in that coming out scene, Shathann's characterization takes a strange, seemingly unintentional turn, and rather than reject her child's identity as the plot structure demands, she tries to understand it through her own limited framework. What's telling is that the narrative frames this as equivalent, that not immediately grasping a new concept and term is the exact same as outright rejecting it. It's framed as it being just another instance of her rejecting Taash's personhood and being dogmatic in her beliefs, but that only works if you're in that white lib mindset of "if you don't immediately understand my specific view of things and use the exact correct words that you might not be familiar with, you're a close-minded asshole and a bigot". If you're like me, whose genuinely very loving mother doesn't grasp the concept of being nonbinary, or if you just have a sliver of basic reading comprehension, you'll realize that Shathann is literally, in that scene, TRYING. But because she doesn't immediately get it right, it's deemed as insufficient, we're made to comfort Taash over their mother's grave insult, and Shathann is then killed for drama, but not before confirming that omg, she got it!! She got the fucking words right, and that means she finally loves them for who they are, which she apparently didn't do before!! All is well!!

Nevermind that Shathann is fine with Taash having female lovers, nevermind that, in Qunari culture, Taash being a dragon-hunting warrior would've effectively made them trans already and Shathann seemingly had no issues with that? (This is probably just a plot hole lbr.) Nevermind that she uprooted her whole life in order to provide a better life for her child, and nevermind the part where she admits she's done a poor job as a mother yet still clearly loves her kid. She didn't immediately get the new words and concepts right!! So she has to use the right words before she dies, in order for Taash to finally know that their mother loves them properly.

It's. Kinda gross. You know? It feels like Shathann, rather than being her own person, is essentially a prop to confirm Taash's identity, while hers is shifted around as the plot needs it. The plot both wants her to be an obstacle for Taash to overcome in affirming their identity, but also for her to affirm said identity. It conflates Shathann not immediately understanding and asking questions as her not accepting her kid, as her not loving her kid. And to fix that idea in Taash's mind, she has to die for them while also using the correct pronouns. That's an insane fucking thing to write.

If Shathann was instantly accepting, then that's boring and low-stakes. We can't have a parent who instantly accepts their kid, we want that family drama and painful coming-out story. Taash needs somebody to assert their identity over. BUT we don't want to deal with a parent not accepting their kid at all, that's just a bummer. So Shathann has to be unaccepting enough for Taash to have a conflict, but accepting enough that Taash doesn't have to assert themselves or fight too hard to be understood and accepted. Because that's just a bummer. And might signal that being nonbinary isn't valid and a-ok and totally cool and epic and awesomesauce and take my upvote and leave my good sir.

What's frustrating is that it could have worked. Have Shathann be like "Well you're a warrior, I thought you were aqun-athlok but didn't want to bring it up" and have Taash be like "No it's different, not like that" and Shathann be like "Ok then explain it to me." And maybe don't have Shathann get it fully at the end, but have her try. Have Taash come back from an off-screen conversation with Shathann and say that "We're good. She doesn't quite get it yet, but I think we'll be ok."

But instead, Shathann gets it!! Woo!! But then dies so. Don't even worry about it. At least Taash's enby-ness is validated with Shathann's dying breath. Because that's what really mattered in the end. Taash being so so so so so valid.

[envy-of-the-apple]

hii!!

i just saw that your requests are open. 🥹

i was wondering if you'd be okay with a request for a Soul Mate fic with a short!reader (5ft - 5ft2) who wears glasses x Yandere!Bakugo?

would it also be okay if the reader was written to be very sweet and caring to other people?

if you're not okay with the request for the reader's height/ glasses/ personality being too specific, then please, please ignore me.

thank you so, so much either way. 🥹

didn't specify which bakugou:))))

Yandere!Bakugou Mitsuki x reader

Doormat

(Warnings: toxic relationship, yandere, possessiveness, manipulation)

You tried to be a kind person.

You looked out for others, you cared deeply for your friends, you tried to make your parents proud of you. Eventually, your reputation became what you wanted it to be: dependable, responsible, kind.

Mitsuki had a habit of taking advantage of that.

"Again?" Suda scoffed.

You give a timid smile. "Sorry, but Mitsuki had a bad day today, so we're just gonna stay over at her place."

"Right." She rolls her eyes. "A bad day. Let her throw her trantrum alone. C'mon, we've been looking forward to this for a month! And suddenly you're just gonna ditch me like this? Those tickets were expensive!"

"I'm sorry," you repeat, truly apologetic, "Is there a way you could get a refund-"

"It's not about the tickets." Suda cuts you off. "It's about her. Seriously, when's the last time we've ever hung out with each other? I know you're in love, but can you really not see the way she's hoarding all your attention?"

Your mouth opens and closes. You don't know what to say to that.

Thankfully, you don't have to say anything.

Hands wrap around your shoulders, and a face nestles into your shoulder. The faint smell of something sweet floats in the air.

"Who's hoarding all your attention?" Your soulmate asks. She kisses your cheek.

Suda rolls her eyes at the blatant affection.

"Hey, Bakugou." She states. Mitsuki ignores her.

"What're you doing, here?" She asks you instead. "I asked you to wait for me after class, right?"

There's an edge in her voice that makes you shift around nervously.

"I needed to talk to Suda about the concert," you reply, "and also I was thinking I could-"

"Great! Since you're done with that, let's go home then." She interrupts, swinging an arm around your shoulder.

When you look behind you, Suda is shaking her head. Your stomach flips.

"A new cafe opened. Let's go there," Mitsuki says.

"Oh?" You give her a glance. "I thought you just wanted to go home. Didn't you say your professor really pissed you off-"

"C'mon." She bumped your shoulder with her own. "That was hours ago. Don't worry 'bout it."

You frown. If Mitsuki had gotten over her gripe so quickly, you wished she would have at least told you. Then, you wouldn't had to have that awkward conversation with Suda.

"Besides, I need to treat my soulmate out now and then, right?" She traces her name on your wrist.

Ah, there it was.

How the universe decided you two were the perfect match, you wouldn't know. Bakugou Mitsuki was top of her class, head of the cheerleading squad, an extremely useful quirk, came from a rich family, made people's heads turn. You were a quirkless nobody. You always feared that your soulmate would reject you because of how useless you were.

Mitsuki just calls you hers.

Maybe that's why you were so lenient on her demanding nature.

She pulls you through the cafe doors. You let her order for the two of you because 'its your first time here, obviously you're not gonna know what's good' even though it's her first time here too. A part of you wants to look at the menu, but she's already telling the waiter something and he's whisking off. It's fine. Besides, she's paying.

He comes back later with something too sweet and way too much whipped cream to ever be considered coffee. You don't complain. It's good. Mitsuki always has good tastes.

"Good right?" She reaches over, flicking away some whipped cream on the side of your cheek before popping her thumb in her mouth. You flush at her brash behavior.

"It's amazing." You honestly say. "Thanks for bringing me here."

She gives an affectionate smile.

"I just love spoiling you, sometimes."

You look away bashfully. She laughs.

It's a nice date. Mitsuki tells you about her project, how annoying everyone in her group is. If you could, you'd listen to her talk for hours.

But someone always tries to ruin it.

You don't know him, but he doesn't cast you a glance. Clearly, he's only interested in one person. He sits next to her with an easy-going smile. Flirtatious. You frown, sucking on your straw.

"Hey-"

"No." She instantly cuts him off. Just like that. No fake coddling, no polite smiles. She doesn't even glance at him. You hide your smile behind your drink. Your girlfriend's funny sometimes.

He puts his hands up immediately, scoffing with an amused smile. Then, he looks at you. Barely a glance. You don't even notice.

Mitsuki does.

The tone instantly shifts. She hisses, red eyes narrow to slits.

"Fuck off." She says, a sharp bite in her tone. You're grateful it isn't directed at you.

It surprises him. He doesn't expect it, clearly. Her voice is enough to jolt him up as he stammers through his words. When he's out of her sight, her lip curls into disgust.

"C'mon." She tells you. "Sick of this place. We're leaving."

You frown, looking down at your drink. She's already done with hers. You're only halfway through yours.

You stand up anyway, obediently following behind her.

She's still seething. You know she doesn't like it when people look at things that are hers. You know that well. When your fingers slip through her own, she relaxes, just the tiniest bit. You give her a shy smile.

Her grip tightens around yours.

You tried to be a kind person.

You looked out for others, you cared deeply for your friends, you tried to make your parents proud of you-

What a fucking lie.

You were just a doormat. You weren't kind, you weren't caring, you just bent over backwards for people. You needed to please others around you like a dog. You needed others to love you so you could love yourself.

It's why you were perfect for Mitsuki. You were too scared to ever say no to her. Hers to mold into her own image, a perfected being.

You were made for her. Of course you were.

You two were soulmates after all. Together forever.

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXVI

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Drinking is mentioned.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV, Part XXV

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

What a greedy, selfish prick.

That was what Satoru thought of himself at this exact instant. That was also what he had thought of himself 0.2 seconds after you had left your spare key on his coffee table. And God, had the sound of the door closing behind you sobered him up, but as much as he had wanted to stop you, stop your hand from letting go of the spare key to his place, stop you when you turned around and left; run after you… he did not.

Why didn’t he?

Because they are right, I am selfish.

That was why he was here, at a bar in Shibuya, a nice small place with an Irish theme and authentic Irish beer, or so the owner claimed. Not that he cared for the decoration or that he would actually drink though.

No, he had had enough drinking for a lifetime after seeing you that night with Ikeda.

Another stupid move. In his defense, he had not expected to see you in a couple days after that, let alone expected you to come to his place. He had assumed you would hate him after all the things he had said, that he had finally given you the definitive push into Ikeda’s arms.

“You are cruel beyond repair, and I’m an idiot for falling in love with you.”

He did not even notice the moment those words had already left his mouth. Of course, he had not noticed his own anger either.

Why was he angry though? Satoru knew you had not made any promises to him. He had told himself a dozen times that you owed him nothing, that you had not given him any guarantee.

But he wished you had, and maybe that angered him. Because you had been his friend for the longest time, you had given him everything a friend can give another, and still, he could not prevent himself from wanting more.

As such, he was angry at himself.

A soft sigh left his lips, and he perceived the bartender's pity look for the fourth time that night. He could understand it, because what kind of man sits alone at a bar for a whole hour ordering nothing but glass after glass of water, rejecting every woman who tried to take the empty stool next to him?

The bartender finally saw the strange white-haired man ask for the bill and put too much of a generous tip on the counter.

If every odd man paid like this, he would not mind serving just water forever.

And Satoru would not have minded staying there forever either, because he did not feel like going home to a luxurious but empty apartment. He had always preferred your place, but that was not an option at the moment.

He knew he would have to face you at some point, sure, but for now, he would delay that as much as possible because he did not want his heart to ache more.

As he exited the bar, Satoru felt better for a second, the cool night air and all the water he had forced himself to drink had cleared his senses and refreshened his mind. Maybe there was a path forward, maybe he could mend things with you. That glimmer of hope lasted three seconds.

Then he saw a disgustingly familiar face across the street.

***

“I don’t know what’s his problem anymore, you know,” Haruki said. Or at least you thought it was Haruki, but the man sitting across from you looked like a version of him on his way to have one too many drinks.

When he had called you that placid evening and pretty much begged you accompanied him to go for a couple drinks because he really needed a friend now, you had suspected he had already started his party, and judging by the look in his eyes, he had kept on the pace until you arrived and persuaded him to slow down on the liquor.

Sure, you and him had gone out for drinks once or twice together before but you had never seen Ikeda drunk. In fact, he had never seemed this eager to drink much.

It was not surprising to find out that the trigger for his sudden unsatiable thirst had been his father.

Of course. Only that man can get you this out of character…

Similarly to when you had been younger and Haruki had looked the unhappiest whenever his father was brought up into conversation, the man before your eyes did not look like his usual bright and amiable self.

Haruki’s hand reached for the glass he had refilled. “He already got what he wanted. He wanted out of the burden of having to raise me, so he sent me away as soon as my uncle accepted receiving me.” He sipped his glass.

“And when he died, he did not even show up at his funeral; all I got was a shitty callback from his secretary saying he wanted me to know everything had been arranged, that my cousins would eventually visit to go through personal belongings, but they would not kick me out, that I had to stay there until after graduating.”

You raised your own glass to your lips. What could you say? Despite never meeting Ikeda’s father in the flesh, you could not picture yourself understanding a man who had forced his sick wife to run away from him, who had sent his own son away as to just not see him, and who had not even shown up to his brother’s funeral.

People can be curses too.

“It must have been hard for you.”

The faraway look he had on could easily be a product of the alcohol in his system, but his words reflected true pain.

“He never called after that… Until, well, today. He suddenly remembered he had a son that could help him make ends meet.” His smile was sarcastic. “Isn’t that convenient?”

He laughed bitterly.

“He’s never…” He was refilling his glass when he looked at you. “Sorry, don’t get the wrong idea, okay? I’m not the type to get thirsty at the mention of trouble. It’s just with him…”

That night, you let Haruki vent, talk about all the things he probably did not tell anyone but that, for some reason, he always found easy to tell you, and when it was late and he was a just bit too drunk to find his way home, you walked him there.

He was not as much of a helpless drunk as Satoru could be, and the walk home had certainly cleared his mind enough to make him remember he had this scrumptious imported tea he wanted you to try. You were no specialist, but you still did not find a good reason to refuse him after the tough day he had gone through, so you accepted. One cup and you would be out.

As you tasted a blend that was not that different from what you had at home, in the opinion of your unrefined tastebuds, your thoughts kept drifting to Satoru, as they had also done while you where sipping your drink earlier.

Was that okay? Was this okay? Should you have told Satoru you were going to meet with Haruki?

He had gone abroad to attend “pesky, silly matters”, he said. He would return in the next couple of days. Meanwhile, he had been a bit out of reach as he always was while traveling, and it was not like you to inform him of every move; he was not like that either, so this should be okay, right?

Besides, Satoru had not given you clear indication that you two were dating now, or that you had finally upgraded your relationship and left behind your days as “more than friends, but less than lovers”. However, given the time you spent together now, the cuddle sessions, the holding hands, the kisses, and the fact that he was sleeping in your bed (although still in the most innocent sense of the word) almost every night, would not recognizing your relationship as something romantic be considered the natural progression?

You wanted to tell him that, that you were ready for it, and that if he was in, you were in.

However, maybe you were too proud to bring it up first. It would feel like confessing again. And even though everything about Satoru’s behavior seemed to indicate he would not reject you, it was hard not to be scared.

The sound of something shattering pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Haruki?” You stood up and walked to his room. At some point he had gone there to look for a book he wanted to show you. “Are you okay?”

You found him crouching down to pick up the pieces of the mug he had been holding not long ago.

He sighed without looking at you. “Sorry, I think… maybe I am more tired than I had thought. It just slipped off my hand.”

You had thought he seemed tired, yes, but when you kneeled to help him clean up, there was also a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “It’s too bad, it was one of my favorites...”

Maybe he was still under the influence of the alcohol, but the emotion he reflected appeared to be genuine melancholy.

You tried to help him pick up the pieces of the broken mug, but he stopped you, placing aside the ones he had picked up and taking your hand. “Leave it. Don’t want you to get hurt.”

You looked at your hand in his ,and the fractured handle of a mug in your palm that he then gently removed.

A flash of your youth crossed your mind. Your hand in his.

The first time Haruki had held your hand you had been walking him to the station so he could take his train home after work. It had taken you by surprise, but you had let him. There was something comforting about holding another person’s hand. Back then, the only boy you had held hands with like that and felt that close to was Satoru.

Yes, he had popped in your mind at that moment too, just as now.

Back then, if Haruki had leaned closer as he was doing now, you would have had little to no reason to stop him, but now…

“I can’t.”

Haruki blinked and you felt his hand tighten around yours. “You can,” he said and leaned closer.

You thanked half a life of training for the strength you possessed to stop him with just one arm on his shoulder. “I said I can’t, and I don’t want to.”

When your eyes met his, it seemed the fog in them was clearing. “Sorry. [name], forgive me.” He stood up and sat on his bed. “Please forgive me. I’m don’t feel like myself now.”

You had already guessed so. He was not the type to get out of line. For that, you could forgive him. And he was still your friend, and he was in pain. For that, you could comfort him.

You sat next to him and patted his back as he let some too long suppressed tears out.

Haruki swore he was not the emotional drunk type, but that night he allowed himself to be, to cry for the loss of his mom, for the kind of father he had, for a love lost in his youth, and for the shadows of his past.

By the time the sky seemed to match his mood, and you commented how weird it was to have rain this time of the year, he felt a bit better, so he asked you to stay.

He would not mind sleeping on the couch, because why would he send you home under the rain? No, even if you did not love him as you had in the past, you would always remind him of summer.

***

“Anyway, that’s what happened. I'm sorry I caused a misunderstanding.”

“And the reason you are telling me this is because…?” Satoru did not want to look at Ikeda, so he focused on the coffee he had gotten at the small convenience store the man in question had persuaded him to go into.

“You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. I just…” Ikeda sighed.

When he had recognized him across the street, Satoru had felt the flight or fight response kicking in. In one hand, Ikeda Haruki was the last person he wanted to see in the entire world, so he had thought of just leaving as if he had seen nothing, but when the man himself had recognized him too and held his gaze, Satoru had wanted to throw a good punch at him.

He was having this inner debate when Ikeda crossed the street and greeted him.

Apparently, he had been in a restaurant nearby with his coworkers, and when he had seen Gojo, he had thought he should at least say hi.

The idiot.

But when Ikeda said he had actually been wanting to talk to him, Satoru agreed to listen. That is how they had ended up at this small table with two untouched cups of cheap coffee in front of them.

“I just thought you should know what happened.” Haruki shrugged. “And that is, basically, that nothing happened, and I don’t think it will, because they...”

Ikeda wanted to tell Gojo you loved him, but that was still a hard pill to swallow, and it was probably not his place to say it anyway.

"That's none of my business." Satoru's words may have sounded uninterested, but a sharper look would see right through the facade. And Haruki was sharp.

"You are infuriating," Ikeda said and realized immediately that his statement had made Gojo finally look at him. "You always have been."

"What are you...?" Gojo started, but the other man did not let him finish.

"You try so hard to pretend you don't care when you do, and when you know they care just as much."

As much as Satoru wanted to believe it, needed to believe it, those here Ikeda’s words. What were yours?

Did you really care as he did? Did you really love him?

When Haruki heard him say nothing, he stood up and took his still full disposable cup of coffee, although he had no intention of drinking it. “Well, I guess it is up to you.”

Satoru thought Ikeda would leave, but he then turned and looked at him. “Gojo, just one more thing...”

Satoru directed his eyes at him.

“This time don’t be a coward.”

***

When Satoru got out of the shower later that night, or rather, extremely early that morning, despite the awkward encounter with Ikeda, he did feel calmer. It had certainly not been the nicest talk between acquaintances, but it had given Satoru something to hold on to, a possibility his heart had adhered to for a long time.

He just needed to talk with you.

That thought made him connect his cellphone to a charger after it being dead for over a day. He had just not bothered to look through his messages, so the screen lit up with notifications. Among those, one caught his attention: a missed call from you, from just a couple hours ago?

Odd.

“Why would they call in the middle of the night?” he wondered aloud to himself.

Satoru was going to check if you had left a voice mail, but right then, a call from Shoko came in.

“Gojo?” Shoko asked when he picked up without waiting for Satoru to say anything. “It’s [name].”

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

Note: Sorry for being gone like that... I've missed you all. As for more important matters... Anyone caught up with the manga?

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XXVII

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[sandy-the-glader]

Hi!! If it’s okay, can I please request an Adrian Chase x soft and innocent!fem!reader where they are coworkers at Fennel Fields, him being a busboy, and she is a waitress. The two of them have feelings for each other, Adrian just trying to get the confidence to ask her out. A group of guys come in every week are super loud, rude, and also make Y/n (who is taking their order) very uncomfortable, and when Y/n turns down their advances, they say some very mean things and make her cry. Adrian is absolutely FUMING, literally having to hold himself back from going at them right then and there, instead following her to the kitchen try to calm her down (in his own Adrian way), promising to “take care of it” . She 100% thinks he means kicking them out, but the group of men get a “visit” from Vigilante… the group “disappears” without a trace “, never to bother Y/n again.

Adrian softly kissing a very relieved Y/n when the men don’t return to the restaurant, she doesn’t know about Adrian’s Vigilante side nor does she know the fate of the group of men, but Adrian takes it as a compliment nonetheless

The Protector

Character: Adrian Chase x InnocentFem!Reader

Type: Fluff/Comfort, Angst

Length: 2.7k words

Summary: Request above!

Trope: Best friends to lovers, Co-workers to lovers

A/N: I have not done anything for Adrian in a while and I love him so much aaaaaaa! I bent the request ever so slightly. Also, let me know if I should make a part two of this but it’s Adrian’s POV 😉

"God that group is back." I hissed. "How do they always manage to get seated in my section?" Me and Adrian eyed them from the kitchen.

"I don't know but they never tip well either. I think all the tattoo ink got into their brains or something." Adrian glared at the noisy group. I smiled at his joke. He always lightened the mood and I was forever thankful for that.

"God it's twenty minutes until closing why do they always come in here late?" I grumbled folding my arms.

The group was dreadful and I have no idea how they haven't gotten in any section but mine yet. They've been showing up the past 3 weeks on Saturday nights and past close. Me and Adrian had plans ruined because of those guys. I've been working here for 1 year and a half (Adrian for longer) and I've never had a worse group of customers.

Usually, the worst is an old lady who asks for the manager when the food isn't exactly to her liking. Or a group of teenage boys who don't buy anything they just sit there and be as loud as possible.

Sometimes me and Adrian went to see movies together on Fridays or had plans with friends and I loved it. That's what made me look forward to the end of the week but with this lousy group of 40-year-old biker guys trashing the tables and leaving sometimes a zero-dollar tip was starting to have the opposite effect on me.

"You know I can take the table for you. I know they're pretty shitty guys." He looked at me and I shook my head softly. His green eyes dazzling in the heat lamps made me almost take back rejecting the offer. When he looked at me the way he did it made my heart flutter. They were so careful and easy.

"You take over my shifts all the time Adrian. The least I can do is deal with one unpleasant table. I can do it." I looked back at him with determination. Besides he was only a busboy, not a waiter though I'm sure he could do the job just fine.

It was true though. Every time I was sick he took over no questions asked. Sometimes he even encouraged me to call out sick when all I had was a cough. He was my best friend after all but he always went above and beyond with the way he treated me.

Sure my other co-workers were nice like Taylor treated me nicely but never as nice as Adrian. From the get-go, he was kind to me always guiding me to where things were or making small talk with me to help get me though my shifts. He was never afraid to give me a hand in anything I needed.

He looked very unsure of my decision but he didn't protest as I left to deal with said table. Though I could still feel his eyes glued to my back. I pushed open the door and

I strode over there with a sudden burst of confidence. I could do it. Then when It's all over me and Adrian can go back to his apartment and watch movies all night like usual.

As soon as I reached the table that confidence slowly started to melt away.

They were a group of 5, all big-looking, and they were like I said a biker gang. Sometimes I hate my job.

"Hello I'm Y/n I'll be your server today can I get you any drinks to start with?" My hands trembled as they gripped the sides of my apron. Whistles filled the air as the men's eyes wandered across my body. Some even leaned over to get better looks at me.

"Looking good honey!" I laughed nervously trying to be as polite as I could to them.

I felt so incredibly uncomfortable. I felt my cheeks getting hot. I was even embarrassed to be close to them. I cleared my throat trying to get them to reply to the simple task at hand.

"Waters for all of us." What I was sure the group leader spoke out. "Please, baby." He added. His group let out an array of deep chuckles. I felt sweat start to appear on my skin. I smiled and walked off in the back. As soon as my backs were to them my smile vanished off my face.

Oh god, it's barely been 5 minutes with them and I already want to leave. Once I got back there Adrian was still standing in the same spot looking at me with a pleading look.

"Don't look at me with those eyes." Those pleading begging green eyes.

"You can still take my offer you know." He pressed his lips together. "Because you look like you need that help. It's not like a bad look or anything but you look kind of helpless. In a good way." Adrian rambled. I've known him for so long I could decipher any message he gave me.

"It's fine I can handle it," I said firmly. I wasn't going to let them get the better of me. Just seeing and having Adrian here made it better.

He was a complete nerd and I loved having someone like that. I loved hearing him talk about DND and all of his hobbies. Then I got to start doing it out of work too.

We even set up a DND campaign at one point. It was a little confusing at first but playing with him made me understand. The memories of us together made me way more relaxed.

I poured those glasses of water and put them all onto a tray and held it with one hand. I pushed the door open almost spilling them in the process and walked back to the table.

"There she is!" One of them shouted. I placed all of the glasses on the table without a word trying to keep my cool.

I watched some make extremely disgusting gestures. Just 20 more minutes and you can go home. Just 20 more long excruciating minutes.

"She's a beauty isn't she fellas?" The main one asked. I swallowed thickly not excited for their replies. I did not have the energy for this today.

"Oh definitely would talk her home. You single honey?" One of them eyed me.

"Uhm yes, I am I'm just not looking for anything like that right now." I lied trying to get him to understand the message.

"Nah she's lying they're always in the market." My feet wouldn't move. I felt scared. Uncomfortable. Where's Adrian? I shouldn't have taken this table. "Come give me a chance honey!" He begged. Can't this guy take a hint?

"No, thank you I'm sorry." I tried to stay as polite as possible. "What would you guys like to-" I was instantly cut off.

"It's not like her makeup hides much." They laughed. I felt ashamed to be here.

"And she could smile more. Where's our cute smile sweetie?" I couldn't smile to save my life. I would not give them what they wanted. My lips trembled.

"Nah her smile would be ugly too we can't ask for something she doesn't have." The table erupted in laughter.

"Look at her she's a doll. She could get any guy she wanted."

“Maybe she’s a slut. No wonder she's not in the market she just sleeps around!” Barked another.

I looked up to see Adrian cleaning some dishes from a couple tables in front of them.

He was looking at me because he had clearly heard that nasty remark. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked red with anger. He was seething and I could see his hand gripping the rag he was holding tightly.

Then the dam in my eyes broke. Tears started to brim my eyes and I stormed back into the kitchen quickly. As I left I heard them start to laugh louder. I shoved open the outside door and sat on the picnic bench we had out there.

I leaned my head in my hands and let the tears spill over my cheeks. I couldn't think about anything other than their words and how humiliated I felt. I felt like screaming at them but I just couldn't. That wasn't how I was.

Who did they think they were? Coming into our restaurant and treating me like shit for what reason? Do they have nothing better to do with their life?

I heard the door swing open and I tried to cover up my sniffling but it was no use. It slammed shut and I heard quick footsteps trot over to the bench. I already knew it was Adrian so I let him sit next to me. As soon as he put his arm around me it all came rushing back out.

"Hey hey, I'm right here." He whispered softly, I wrapped my arms around his back and in that moment he was all that mattered. I just wanted to have Adrian by my side. He awkwardly patted my back.

"Thank you." I wiped my cheeks which now had mascara smeared down them. "I'm a mess," I complained to him. He didn't say anything he just kept holding me. I knew he could struggle with comforting and with words in general sometimes. "You don't have to stay here you know. I'm already in trouble for abandoning my table i don't need you getting into it too." I frowned.

"Oh no, I'm staying." I snuggled myself into his side. "They don't deserve you. They're dicks who don't know how to treat women and that feels like a crime. They had no right to insult you like that." I nodded trying to listen to his words but I still felt shitty. "And that's like so not cool." He said and finally, a small smile spread across my face. He let out a built-up sigh of relief that I was starting to feel a bit better.

"I know. It still hurts though."

"No matter what those guys say they're so wrong." I looked up at him and he was already glancing at me. "You look so beautiful without makeup. I'm not saying you look bad with makeup on I mean like the complete opposite." I started to grin at his ranting.

"Thank you A. It means a lot." He enjoyed the small nickname. He continued to rub small circles into my back relaxing me.

"But those guys will never bother you again." He said still heated by the situation. "I'll make sure of it and because I really like you okay?" He confessed. "And seeing you hurt like that hurt me." he stared at the ground.

The confession threw me off. I always stressed about him liking me but hearing those words fall from his lips felt bewitching. I pulled away from him and looked at him eye to eye.

"Oh fuck I mean!" His cheeks grew pink. "Like I like having you as a friend not like in like I've been crushing on you since I've laid eyes on you and have been dreaming about you or anything because that would be like..." I leaned closer to him and brushed my thumb against his cheek. His face was warm and soft beneath my hand. "crazy." He whispered finishing his sentence.

"Don't lie to me right now Chase." I frowned. He sighed as he realized he'd been caught.

"Okay yeah, maybe I really like you." His eyes never once left me. "And maybe I have been dreaming about you since I first saw you."

"You better not be joking with me right now. Or I will continue to cry ."

"Okay um do not cry again please I already handled the first time poorly. But I am certainly not kidding." I moved my hand from his cheek to his hand which was much larger than mine.

"You better not be because I like you too." He blinked a few times trying to determine if I was the one joking around this time. He moved a stray piece of hair out of my face and tucked it neatly behind my ear. His eyes flickered down towards my lips and back up to my eyes. Was he really about to kiss me right now?

He swiftly closed the gap between us and captured my lips in a phenomenal kiss. Maybe he wasn't all nerdy after all because damn he knew how to kiss. Sure I have barely kissed anyone my whole life but he made it feel so right. He slowly pulled back to look at my face.

"Was that okay? If it wasn't I can totally like stop. I don't mind at all." I squeezed his hand and hugged him.

"It was perfect. Thank you." For having such a shitty night he made me realize the better. Like how the stars seemed to shine just a bit brighter than before and the moon was glowing just a little more than it just had. All because of Adrian

"How about I go deal with them and I also go grab our stuff since it's about time we clock out we have a fun relaxing night tonight?" He proposed.

"I would love nothing more."

"Good. Now you wait here!"

-

Once I got inside his apartment I immediately collapsed and melted into his couch with a loud dramatic sigh. He had probably the most comfortable apartment imaginable.

"Oh shit." I heard him hiss.

"What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to drop by the store after our shift to grab some things from the store..." He trailed off looking sheepish.

"Go ahead, Adrian. I know it will be all you talk about if you don't." He nodded before muttering a quick 'thank you' and leaving.

I had a really long day in general so as much as I wanted to I did not feel like waiting up for him. I left my work bag on the couch and wandered to his room.

His bookshelf overflowed with books and tabletop games, His bed was slightly messy from the morning, and it felt like him. I dug through his dresser to find this shirt that had a cool-looking dragon and a D20 on it. I took off my apron and work shirt and threw it on. I really hope he doesn't mind.

I threw my shoes somewhere on his floor and crumbled onto his bed. God his blankets were so soft.

-

It had been an hour before Adrian finally made his way home. He took off his mask and suit and tucked it away in the hall closet once he got home. He'd deal with all the blood later.

He walked through the hall and pushed open the door to see his best friend asleep on his bed in his shirt. He couldn't be happier to come home to this. She finally looked at ease snuggled beneath his covers.

Adrian scooted himself into his bed and joined her. He placed a small gentle kiss on her forehead and spooned her.

"They won't hurt you again." He whispered before allowing himself to drift off to sleep with her in his arms.

-

I waited afraid week after week to see that group come back but they never did. Nor the week after that or the next. I soon started to get curious about what Adrian meant when he said he'd "deal with them." Did he get the manager involved? Did he really have that strong effect on them? Maybe he even beat them up. He's too soft for that right?

Anyway, I was just happy to be with the one I've crushed on for so long. It felt good. Better than anything has ever been.

Tonight we were staying in on the couch while we waited for the popcorn to finish in the microwave of his apartment. The smell drifted through the room making me even more hungry than I was before.

"I'm glad they're gone." I looked up at him. His glasses glowed from the light of his phone.

"Me too. I hate seeing you upset." I leaned on his shoulder and my eyes wandered quickly over to his phone. Just a quick peek it wouldn't mean anything. He was texting Chris who according to him was his guy best friend. I had met him a few times for drinks after work and he was a pretty alright guy. I scanned the words and...

I finally got to use the chainsaw on those guys :)

What does that mean?

[ohkkotsuu]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. maki zenin

ৎ୭ PAIRING: maki zenin x f!reader (she/her pronouns, afab anatomy)

ৎ୭ ABOUT: having maki as a girlfriend is to be treated like a spoiled princess! nothing but the best for her favorite girl.

ৎ୭ CW/TW: SFW. no-curses au, maki is kind of despised by the zenin clan but she still has A LOT of money, this is like a sugar mommy fantasy im not gonna lie but with TONS of affection and no sex. reader is the daughter of a lesser family. everyone is around 21-26. reader is not exactly a bimbo, but i wrote that thinking about a bimbo-way of acting. this is kinda of nonsensey?

ৎ୭ A/N: english is not my first language and I wanted to write about Maki buying stuff to her gf. this is my first time posting anything I write, im sorry!! i hope you like it.

MAKI is used to disobeying zenin clan's orders. she owes them nothing, and never will. despite her insistence on breaking the rules, they refuse to let her out of the gilded cage that is this family. so she makes things difficult for them.

she thought things couldn't really get good. that even with her eternal struggle, she would still be forever subjected to a putrid rockbottom with no escape. no light, no guiding star. there's when you show up.

the first time she sees you is at a diamond viewing party. of course, a jewel auction for the three clans to squander their wealth, but also for the heirs — the real diamonds — to come forward and form bonds. if not for the arranged marriage, then for the fun and drinking. the illusion of choice gleaming in the eyes of those naive ones makes maki's stomach turn.

most heirs are annoying. she has no idea where mai is (and frankly, she couldn't care less), the youngest boy of the kamo clan is being annoying. everyone is completely stressing her out, not realizing it's all lambs heading to the slaughter. in their lives there is no real life or joy. they will enjoy their families' dirty money, but they won't be happy. everyone is pretending everything is fine, and it's getting on maki's nerves.

so, she grabs a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray and leaves the party, her feet leading her to the most secluded place in the house: the garden. only issue is, you had the same idea. sitting on an elegant bench and surrounded by flowers, there's you. it looks like a damn movie scene, she thinks when her heart skips a bit. you don't seem willing to put on a mask to please your family either, if you're sitting on a cold night alone in an elegant garden.

she can see you're trying not to shiver, but the sleeveless dress they've chosen doesn't help against the biting cold. at least the zenin gave her a white (fake) fur coat courtesy. then she walks over, takes the fur off her shoulders and puts it on yours. you look up at her, frowning. you look cute when you frown, she thinks.

“you're going to freeze to death here. keep the coat, I don't need it.” she says simply, sitting beside you without asking. but she didn't need to ask. you were happy.

maki took a sip of champagne, and you took a moment to study her. the black dress hugged her curves and showed off her muscles well. she had an aura of confidence, her hair shorter than most women's. it looked like she'd been through hell and come out stronger. though, you thought, not even Dante could have written such a beautiful, angelic figure.

“so, i'm Maki.” she introduces herself with a smile. you smile back at her. “and you are?”

and that's how it started — the gateway to her paradise.

maki hangs up the phone without a second thought. she doesn't care which idiot wants to marry her. she has everything she needs right here, now, in front of her. she wants to focus on that. you're in an expensive mall coffee shop, finishing your orders when she gets the call. another marriage proposal, another refusal.

“Maki?” your soft voice pull her out of her thoughts. it's like being called by an angel. because that's what you are. her angel. “are you alright?”

“yes, darling, don't worry.” she gives you a reassuring smile and moves her hand to rest over yours on the table. it makes you smile and one day, she swears she's going to combust over your smile. it is the most important smile of her life, the smile she will protect without hesitation. “is the coffee good, angel?”

the petname makes you flustered. you nod, sipping on the coffee. it's the kind of stupidly expensive store, even for a coffee shop. the seats are comfortable and the food is simply delicious. your girlfriend loves to spoil you, after all.

“yes! it's so nice.”

“perfect, dear. do you wanna go to that clothing store after you're done with your food?”

maki can go a little overboard sometimes, but spending money on your favorite things is her way of her showing love. gift giving. moreover, it's an excuse for her to see you trying on nice clothes, feeling good, turning around to show her the extent of the fabric. to her eyes and her eyes only.

the store is so fancy, and has every kind of dress, and it's perfect. she totally let go of her schedule, because no matter how many boring meetings the zenin want her to lead — sitting on a comfortable fancy sofa and watching you twirl in cute dresses is a much better way of spending her time.

“Maki, look! this one is so pretty!” the dress you show her, your favorite color, is amazing on you.

maki is sprawled out in the elegant sofa with light-tone pillows. the whole appearance of the store makes her much more evident, the dark green hair and the black and white laid-back suit make her look powerful. but that's the fun in your dynamic: she's the resting bitch face girlfriend, and you're the one in a cute dress, spending her money like it was your own. because is. all of her is yours.

“yeah. it is.” she smiles softly, raising one of her arms and moving her index finger to call you. “babe, come here. you like this one, right?”

you nod, coming closer. god, you're so pretty, she can't help but think.

her heart is yours, completely in love with all the ways you act. her soul is intertwined with yours, fate decided to bring you together permanently, that's the feeling she has. she is absolutely and completely lost when it comes to you — no one can take her love like you do. and nobody can love her like you do.

maki holds the hem of the dress, feeling the fabric between her hands. she meticulously evaluates, but her biggest focus is on your smile, your happiness — and of course, the dress actually looks great on you. it's a perfect win-win: you look comfortable and pretty.

“so let's take this one too and a couple others. pick whatever you want.” she moves her head to look for an employee. next to your girlfriend, on the same sofa, there is already a pile of dresses of your size. “excuse me, my girlfriend wants to see more dresses like this.”

she says the title with possession, smirking. she grabs one of your hands and bring it close to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“anything else you like, angel? buy anything you want. we'll be using my card.”

anything for her favorite girl.

©OHKKOTSUU on tumblr.

[sepdet]

Killing Time Excerpts #6

McCoy and Spock discuss Kirk, and Kirk narrowly avoids becoming a redshirt.

Note: I had forgotten just how good this book is. I'm skipping over plot and fun scenes with other characters, including McCoy, Scotty, Chapel, and some OCs. Try to find and read the whole novel, whether a pdf of the rare first edition or the easier-to-find second edition with the Kirk/Spock vibes toned down.

But my mission here is to bring you the Kirk/Spock stuff, since I have the uncensored 1st ed.

Context: McCoy and Captain Spock have figured out they're living in an alternate universe, where people are suffering hallucinations or mental breakdowns as bits of their other selves "slip through." McCoy has seen glimpses of the other reality via voluntary mind scans of several crew members, and he's noticed a recurring figure...

––––

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe nothing," he said before the Vulcan could respond. "But once you take a look at those vid-scans, I think you'll understand why I'm a little . . . concerned about Kirk."

"Please explain," the Vulcan entreated, leaning forward curiously.

"I can't be sure, of course," the doctor replied hesitantly, "but Kirk does bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the images on that tape." He leaned back, biting his lip thoughtfully. "And I also found out that you ordered Kirk to report to Sickbay last night."

"He did not choose to do so," the Vulcan stated, not particularly surprised.

"Apparently not," McCoy confirmed. "But if you questioned him about it, he'd probably give you a lot of static about his ignoring an order being grounds for immediate discharge, and you wouldn't get much insight into the real problem." He paused. "But Kirk did come staggering into my office early this morning. And let me tell you, Captain, he looked like early death and plomik soup warmed over. At first, he wouldn't tell me what was wrong, wouldn't let anyone touch him— but then he started demanding lidacin."

"Lidacin?" Spock repeated quietly. "Why should he . . .?" But then the answer came. Once under the influence of the powerful tranquilizer, the human would not dream; certain electrical impulses to the brain would be deadened; the slippage would not be as severe to the conscious mind. Far from a cure, but nonetheless an effective placebo. He looked at McCoy.

"In answer to your question," the doctor replied, "I didn't give it to him. But when I asked him to get on the table, he started backing up as if I'd just told him I was an ax murderer. It took me and four orderlies to get him down, and a double dose of coenthal to calm him down long enough to run a full exam." He paused. "When I got through with the tests, I found out that this kid's got some serious problems no one discovered before." He shook his head, slipping into a moment of thought. "I'd love to see a vid-scan on him, though I suspect he'd rather walk on hot coals than submit to anything."

Spock felt himself tense. Again, McCoy's suspicions about Kirk confirmed his own. The ensign was somehow important. "Precisely what type of . . . problems did you discover, Doctor?" he asked at last, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

McCoy's expression slowly transformed to a worried frown. "First of all, he's been addicted to lidacin for quite a while—and not the stuff we use on the ship, either. Don't ask me where he's been getting it, but he's been injecting himself with a ninety percent solution for at least six months. Hell, Spock, it's no wonder he's been acting like a zombie half the time."

Spock remained quiet for a moment. "I presume you will begin treatment of the addiction."

McCoy nodded. "Sure, but it'll take time," he reminded the Vulcan. "The main cure is abstinence—and that's not going to be easy on him, either. And while I don't personally approve of anybody's drug addiction, I approve of those Orion stitches-and-needles rehab colonies even less—which is where he'd end up if anyone other than you or me found out about this. But now . . . "

"I see," the Vulcan said softly, feeling a deep personal regret that the young ensign's life was such an apparent turmoil. The human was different, compelling . . . and somehow connected in a critical way to both universes. The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow in silent consideration. Perhaps Kirk was even the key to whatever answer existed. . . .

"The only course of action I can suggest," McCoy continued, calling the Vulcan back to reality, "is that we try to keep this under wraps—especially from men like Donner. If Kirk wants out of the Fleet as much as he claims, then he might go out of his way to make it known that he is a drug addict—just to get that discharge."

The Vulcan glanced up. "Apparently not," he countered, "or he certainly could have availed himself of that opportunity while still at the Academy waiting for active posting." He shook his head. "No . . . Ensign Kirk has chosen to be here; and I do not believe it is entirely by accident."

McCoy considered that. "In other words, you think he may be calling your bluff—trying to see how much he can get away with?"

"I am not certain," Spock replied, "for I have never understood the human capacity to say one thing when another thing entirely is desired."

McCoy grinned. "Like Brer Rabbit and the briar patch."

A look of confusion took shape on angular Vulcan features. "Brer Rabbit?"

But McCoy only laughed. "Never mind, Spock," he muttered. He sobered then, forcing himself back to more immediate problems. "The main thing right now is to get started on a treatment program."

"Begin immediately, Doctor," Spock instructed. In the back of his own mind, he realized he was taking a severe chance with his own career—and possibly the safety of the ShiKahr—based on a feeling alone. But transferring Kirk now would serve no useful purpose. I'd make one hell of a lousy ensign, Spock. The phantom words returned, spoken as clearly as if the man had been standing directly in front of him.

McCoy nodded almost to himself, noticing the distant stare in his captain's eyes. "I dunno," the doctor murmured. "Maybe I'm just looking for an answer under any rock—but there's something about him . . . something worth salvaging."

"Precisely what injuries did you find?" the captain asked presently.

McCoy scoffed. "He's been through a lot, Spock—most of it during the time he spent in prison on Earth. Several broken bones; all healed now. Scar tissue on the left lung from bronchial pneumonia—not terribly surprising, considering his weakened condition and prison living conditions. Lots of bruises," he added, "and a few lacerations." His tone darkened. "All fresh, I might add. But the physical injuries are just the tip of that proverbial iceberg."

"The Talos Device," Spock remarked, tone bordering on contempt.

"The Talos Device," McCoy confirmed. "That damned thing was used pretty extensively on him—so it's no mystery why he won't submit to a vid-scan." He shook his head once again. "And it's no wonder he was trying to pry lidacin out of me. He probably has nightmares left over from the Talos Device that would make a Klingon concentration camp look like a sixth-grade prayer retreat by comparison." He paused. "I've prescribed benzaprine orally for him—and that should curb the effects of the withdrawal within a few days." But his eyes darkened with concern. "The only problem is that he's going to have to come down to Sickbay every night to get the pills. I don't dare trust him with a bottle of the stuff; it'd be like candy next to the stuff he's been pumping into himself. He'd overdose in a day's time."

"Leave the medication with me," Spock suggested. At the very least, it would be an excuse to question the ensign further—and under a more gentle pretense. "Also, it would be too conspicuous if he were seen going to Sickbay every evening; even a man with Donner's limited intelligence would not have difficulty deducing the reason."

McCoy seemed dubious, but nodded. "I'll drop it off in a couple hours," he replied, rising from the chair. "Anything else, Spock?"

The Vulcan thought for a moment. "Negative, Doctor," he replied at last.

"Well," McCoy concluded, moving to the door. "Since I've still got a few hours of correlation to do on this data, I'd better get back to my beads and rattles. . . ." For a moment, the doctor jolted internally. It seemed so natural . . . like a memory of a dream . . . Spock calling him a witch doctor . . . while someone else stood in the background suppressing a smile. He shivered, and wondered if he, too, was beginning to slip. Someone else. The third side of the triangle. Golden-haired, golden-eyed human. But before he could ponder it further, Spock rose to see him out.

The Vulcan studied the doctor. "I had always suspected that your medical practices were something less than scientific," he murmured, though he also felt an odd sense of deja vu connected with McCoy's peculiar statement. He wondered briefly if it was McCoy who had always been at his side—and though that image brought a certain truth, he recognized that it was not entirely accurate. The images whisper-walked through his mind. Blue and gold. Warmth and companionship. Stolen moments when the firm Vulcan mask did not have to fit so tightly.

Somewhere, he told himself, he would find that reality again . . . or create it.

[…]

It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. Reaching for the discarded uniform shirt, He glanced at the chronometer. Two A.M. But before he could even begin to pull the uniform into place, the buzzer sounded again, more insistent . . . and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Ensign Kirk standing in the hall, bright hazel eyes flitting nervously back and forth from the corridor to the interior of the dimly lit room. He did not speak as he stepped inside, doors closing with a whoosh behind him.

The Vulcan studied him for a moment, quickly detecting the embarrassment hiding behind an outward expression of defiance. For the briefest of moments, the Vulcan wondered what in all possible worlds had brought the human to his doorstep at this hour of the night; but slowly memory returned, and he remembered the pills McCoy had left with him a few hours earlier. Without preamble, he reached into the second drawer of the desk, retrieved the bottle of benzaprine, and dumped two capsules into the palm of his hand, feeling unaccountably nervous in the human's presence. He proffered the pills in Kirk's direction, but still the ensign did not look up.

"Guess McCoy told you about my little . . . problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone—and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes. Somehow, shirtless, and with hair slightly dishelved, the Shi'Kahr's legendary captain appeared almost vulnerable in the dim lighting. . . almost reachable.

"The doctor informed me of your addiction to lidacin," the Vulcan confirmed presently. Kirk was such an enigma. He could never predict when the human would react with anger, when he would be embarrassed, when he would board himself up inside that stubborn wall and be completely unreadable. And the fact that he'd only met the ensign recently didn't aid the uncanny sensation of helplessness. "And in response to your second question," he continued, "I thought it would be better for all concerned if you came here rather than Sickbay." He paused, then took another risk. "You . . . obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are . . . experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker. He felt his heart quicken just a little.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last, meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

And Spock felt himself weaken under the human's scrutiny. Spock glanced away from the intense hazel globes. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have . . . discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow . . . a critical factor in the survival of this . . . universe." His throat was suddenly dry; gambling was a game best left to humans.

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that's a heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'm a critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room to the discarded shirt. Yet he knew that no amount of clothing could cover his psychic nakedness; Kirk could strip him to the marrow with a single question."I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I . . . feel . . . to be true." He forced himself to look up once more, demanded his eyes to remain locked with the human's. Somehow, he hadn't expected this. If he had been the intimidator before, it now seemed as if their positions were reversed; Kirk was questioning him. And yet . . . it felt right, normal, secure. He relented to intuition. "As I have informed you previously, there is a strong possibility that we shall not survive beyond this week. For the moment, it appears that we have, as you humans might call it, bought some time. Yet I shall not hesitate to point out to you—confidentially—that we are still not fully knowledgeable as to what we are facing nor how to . . . correct whatever damage has been done." He paused, wondering if he was making the correct decision. But holding back would accomplish nothing—and perhaps worse. He swallowed, wondered what the human was thinking, what thoughts were traveling through the quick mind. "At any rate," he continued presently, "we have been diverted to the Canusian system." He held the intense eyes. "And I have tentatively scheduled you into the landing party."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked simply.

The Vulcan hesitated, steepling his fingers in front of him, wishing the action would accomplish the serenity for which it was designed. "Your early Academy records indicated that you were quite adept at diplomacy, Ensign," he replied, choosing a formal approach. "And since several members of the crew are temporarily . . . disabled . . . I find it necessary to utilize your services."

Kirk stared at the Vulcan, a smile slowly coming to the handsome face. "Suppose I refuse?" he asked pointedly.

The eyebrow rose once more. "In that event," the Vulcan replied, "I would have no alternative other than to expedite your immediate discharge from the Fleet." He paused. Poker indeed. "You would be transported to the space-port on Canus Four and eventually to an Orion colony," he bluffed. He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the desk. "The decision is yours, Jim."

Kirk rose from the chair, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He turned away from the Vulcan, and felt a flare of the old anger. But it quickly faded as respect for the commander chased it away. "And what makes you think I wouldn't jump at the chance?" he wondered.

"You are not a fool, Ensign," the Vulcan responded. "I believe you are . . ." He hesitated, warring with feelings which suddenly welled in on him. "I believe you are . . . as displaced in your present role as I perceive you to be," he stated finally. "And that you . . ." But it wasn't easy to say; a lifetime of discipline and logic fought for survival. ". . . that you will . . . find the strength within yourself to . . . aid in this matter."

Kirk shook his head once again, then turned to face the Vulcan, wondering if it was even possible to trust again. He started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words still suspended in his throat. Something stirred inside him. . . something ancient, yet something familiar. He took a deep breath. "All right," he conceded at last. And somehow, it didn't injure the fierce pride nor the stubborn ego as he'd half-expected it would. "For all the good it'll do, I'll go on the landing party."

The Vulcan nodded almost to himself. "Thank you," he murmured, recognizing the illogic in his words. Yet he also recognized the need for that simple reassurance. "At our present speed, we shall be entering Canusian orbit early in the morning. Please report to the transporter room at 0800 hours."

Kirk nodded, feeling suddenly awkward as he noticed the two capsules of benzaprine on the Vulcan's desk. He turned toward the door.

"Ensign?"

He stopped, but did not face the Vulcan.

"Do you . . .?" But his voice trailed into silence.

Kirk shook his head in silent negation of the unspoken question. "Tell Doc I flushed 'em down the john," he said quietly, and slipped into the corridor before the Vulcan could reply.

Once outside the captain's quarters, he leaned heavily against the bulkhead, eyes drifting shut. Someone else had made him say the things he'd said. Someone else had walked through his mind. Absently, he twisted the plain gold Academy ring on his left hand as he sank to the floor and began to tremble. Someone else . . . I believe you are as displaced in your current role as I perceive you to be.

He took a deep breath, running one hand down the smooth metal body of the ship. She . . . silver woman-goddess. It was time to change . . .

After a moment, he rose from the cool bulkhead, listening to the pleasant drone of the engines. Reality breathed . . . more easily now.

[…]

He reached into the closet, withdrawing a red, silk uniform tunic.

But Richardson quickly came over, snatched the red shirt away and tossed it across the room. "Here," he said, digging deeper into the closet until he found a blue shirt. "Live a little—and a little longer, Jim," he urged.

Kirk's brows questioned.

And Richardson shrugged. "Let's just say that on this ship—or probably any other—you don't want to wear a red shirt on landing-party duty."

Kirk shook his head with a laugh . . . and quickly pulled the blue shirt over his head.

* * * * *

The landing party, consisting of five members, beamed down to the computer-specified coordinates only to discover themselves in a swampy area. Large trees resembling Earth cypress grew in abundance, and steam-demons rose off warm puddles like ghostly fingers reaching for the silver-gray sky. On the distant horizon, thunder spoke ominously, and an occasional flash of black-fingered lightning ripped its way through clouds.

Captain Spock observed their surroundings with an expression bordering on exasperation, then turned to survey the landing party. McCoy and Kirk stood to one side; and Donner—an unfortunate last-minute replacement for Alvarez—and Ambassador Selon of Vulcan waited on the other side. And were it not for the logical portion of his mind, Spock might have thought himself in a nightmare. A damp, musky smell drifted to his nostrils, and already he could feel the seepage of stagnant water leaking into his boots. In an almost human gesture, the Vulcan sighed.

The nightmare became considerably more vivid, however, when he began to sense that the landing party was being quite closely watched; even Ambassador Selon, who had been attached to the ShiKahr for three years, seemed nervous.

Spock took a step forward. "Tricorder readings, Ensign Kirk?"

Kirk glanced at the hand-held device, following closely at the captain's side. "Some sort of interference, Captain," he reported. "When we first beamed down, I was detecting humanoid lifeforms within a quarter of a mile; but the readings just suddenly shot off the scale. Possible effect of the storm."

The Vulcan nodded, but before he could even begin to draw his phaser as a precautionary measure, he discovered himself in the midst of a rain of spears and arrows which appeared from everywhere and nowhere. He vaguely remembered giving the order to disperse, and was peripherally aware of Donner's voice barking orders into the communicator for emergency beam- up.

The last thing he saw before he felt something sharp slide into his back with remarkable force was the familiar twinkling effect of the transporter yanking McCoy and Ambassador Selon back to the safety of the ShiKahr. Apparently, transporter circuits were being affected by the storm as well, he thought disjointedly. He could only hope that Donner, Kirk and himself would be next, for he doubted either of the humans would survive should they be captured by the tribal, warlike Canusian primitives. The one thing which didn't make sense, however, the Vulcan realized, was that the savages couldn't have known when and where the landing party was to beam down . . . unless . . .

Instinctively, Spock reached for the phaser as he felt himself falling. If he could hold off the attack until the transporter technician could recalibrate the controls . . .

Through vision blurred with increasing pain, he could see the primitives closing in—only six of them, he realized—three with spears trained on Donner, three with crude weapons leveled on Kirk.

Without knowing precisely why, the Vulcan slid the phaser into the lethal mode, rolled to his side in a wave of agony, and took careful aim, sending three of the savages to join their ancestors in oblivion.

"Jim!" he yelled as he saw the determined expression on Kirk's face. He didn't see that the human had already drawn his own phaser with surprising speed. "Jim!" Another flash of lightning—phaser blast.

The spears started falling again, like lethal rain from the sky.

It was his last conscious memory.

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe nothing," he said before the Vulcan could respond. "But once you take a look at those vid-scans, I think you'll understand why I'm a little . . . concerned about Kirk."

"Please explain," the Vulcan entreated, leaning forward curiously.

"I can't be sure, of course," the doctor replied hesitantly, "but Kirk does bear a remarkable resemblance to some of the images on that tape." He leaned back, biting his lip thoughtfully. "And I also found out that you ordered Kirk to report to Sickbay last night."

"He did not choose to do so," the Vulcan stated, not particularly surprised.

"Apparently not," McCoy confirmed. "But if you questioned him about it, he'd probably give you a lot of static about his ignoring an order being grounds for immediate discharge, and you wouldn't get much insight into the real problem." He paused. "But Kirk did come staggering into my office early this morning. And let me tell you, Captain, he looked like early death and plomik soup warmed over. At first, he wouldn't tell me what was wrong, wouldn't let anyone touch him— but then he started demanding lidacin."

"Lidacin?" Spock repeated quietly. "Why should he . . .?" But then the answer came. Once under the influence of the powerful tranquilizer, the human would not dream; certain electrical impulses to the brain would be deadened; the slippage would not be as severe to the conscious mind. Far from a cure, but nonetheless an effective placebo. He looked at McCoy.

"In answer to your question," the doctor replied, "I didn't give it to him. But when I asked him to get on the table, he started backing up as if I'd just told him I was an ax murderer. It took me and four orderlies to get him down, and a double dose of coenthal to calm him down long enough to run a full exam." He paused. "When I got through with the tests, I found out that this kid's got some serious problems no one discovered before." He shook his head, slipping into a moment of thought. "I'd love to see a vid-scan on him, though I suspect he'd rather walk on hot coals than submit to anything."

Spock felt himself tense. Again, McCoy's suspicions about Kirk confirmed his own. The ensign was somehow important. "Precisely what type of . . . problems did you discover, Doctor?" he asked at last, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

McCoy's expression slowly transformed to a worried frown. "First of all, he's been addicted to lidacin for quite a while—and not the stuff we use on the ship, either. Don't ask me where he's been getting it, but he's been injecting himself with a ninety percent solution for at least six months. Hell, Spock, it's no wonder he's been acting like a zombie half the time."

Spock remained quiet for a moment. "I presume you will begin treatment of the addiction."

McCoy nodded. "Sure, but it'll take time," he reminded the Vulcan. "The main cure is abstinence—and that's not going to be easy on him, either. And while I don't personally approve of anybody's drug addiction, I approve of those Orion stitches-and-needles rehab colonies even less—which is where he'd end up if anyone other than you or me found out about this. But now . . . "

"I see," the Vulcan said softly, feeling a deep personal regret that the young ensign's life was such an apparent turmoil. The human was different, compelling . . . and somehow connected in a critical way to both universes. The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow in silent consideration. Perhaps Kirk was even the key to whatever answer existed. . . .

"The only course of action I can suggest," McCoy continued, calling the Vulcan back to reality, "is that we try to keep this under wraps—especially from men like Donner. If Kirk wants out of the Fleet as much as he claims, then he might go out of his way to make it known that he is a drug addict—just to get that discharge."

The Vulcan glanced up. "Apparently not," he countered, "or he certainly could have availed himself of that opportunity while still at the Academy waiting for active posting." He shook his head. "No . . . Ensign Kirk has chosen to be here; and I do not believe it is entirely by accident."

McCoy considered that. "In other words, you think he may be calling your bluff—trying to see how much he can get away with?"

"I am not certain," Spock replied, "for I have never understood the human capacity to say one thing when another thing entirely is desired."

McCoy grinned. "Like Brer Rabbit and the briar patch."

A look of confusion took shape on angular Vulcan features. "Brer Rabbit?"

But McCoy only laughed. "Never mind, Spock," he muttered. He sobered then, forcing himself back to more immediate problems. "The main thing right now is to get started on a treatment program."

"Begin immediately, Doctor," Spock instructed. In the back of his own mind, he realized he was taking a severe chance with his own career—and possibly the safety of the ShiKahr—based on a feeling alone. But transferring Kirk now would serve no useful purpose. I'd make one hell of a lousy ensign, Spock. The phantom words returned, spoken as clearly as if the man had been standing directly in front of him.

McCoy nodded almost to himself, noticing the distant stare in his captain's eyes. "I dunno," the doctor murmured. "Maybe I'm just looking for an answer under any rock—but there's something about him . . . something worth salvaging."

"Precisely what injuries did you find?" the captain asked presently.

McCoy scoffed. "He's been through a lot, Spock—most of it during the time he spent in prison on Earth. Several broken bones; all healed now. Scar tissue on the left lung from bronchial pneumonia—not terribly surprising, considering his weakened condition and prison living conditions. Lots of bruises," he added, "and a few lacerations." His tone darkened. "All fresh, I might add. But the physical injuries are just the tip of that proverbial iceberg."

"The Talos Device," Spock remarked, tone bordering on contempt.

"The Talos Device," McCoy confirmed. "That damned thing was used pretty extensively on him—so it's no mystery why he won't submit to a vid-scan." He shook his head once again. "And it's no wonder he was trying to pry lidacin out of me. He probably has nightmares left over from the Talos Device that would make a Klingon concentration camp look like a sixth-grade prayer retreat by comparison." He paused. "I've prescribed benzaprine orally for him—and that should curb the effects of the withdrawal within a few days." But his eyes darkened with concern. "The only problem is that he's going to have to come down to Sickbay every night to get the pills. I don't dare trust him with a bottle of the stuff; it'd be like candy next to the stuff he's been pumping into himself. He'd overdose in a day's time."

"Leave the medication with me," Spock suggested. At the very least, it would be an excuse to question the ensign further—and under a more gentle pretense. "Also, it would be too conspicuous if he were seen going to Sickbay every evening; even a man with Donner's limited intelligence would not have difficulty deducing the reason."

McCoy seemed dubious, but nodded. "I'll drop it off in a couple hours," he replied, rising from the chair. "Anything else, Spock?"

The Vulcan thought for a moment. "Negative, Doctor," he replied at last.

"Well," McCoy concluded, moving to the door. "Since I've still got a few hours of correlation to do on this data, I'd better get back to my beads and rattles. . . ." For a moment, the doctor jolted internally. It seemed so natural . . . like a memory of a dream . . . Spock calling him a witch doctor . . . while someone else stood in the background suppressing a smile. He shivered, and wondered if he, too, was beginning to slip. Someone else. The third side of the triangle. Golden-haired, golden-eyed human. But before he could ponder it further, Spock rose to see him out.

The Vulcan studied the doctor. "I had always suspected that your medical practices were something less than scientific," he murmured, though he also felt an odd sense of deja vu connected with McCoy's peculiar statement. He wondered briefly if it was McCoy who had always been at his side—and though that image brought a certain truth, he recognized that it was not entirely accurate. The images whisper-walked through his mind. Blue and gold. Warmth and companionship. Stolen moments when the firm Vulcan mask did not have to fit so tightly.

Somewhere, he told himself, he would find that reality again . . . or create it.

[…]

It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. Reaching for the discarded uniform shirt, He glanced at the chronometer. Two A.M. But before he could even begin to pull the uniform into place, the buzzer sounded again, more insistent . . . and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Ensign Kirk standing in the hall, bright hazel eyes flitting nervously back and forth from the corridor to the interior of the dimly lit room. He did not speak as he stepped inside, doors closing with a whoosh behind him.

The Vulcan studied him for a moment, quickly detecting the embarrassment hiding behind an outward expression of defiance. For the briefest of moments, the Vulcan wondered what in all possible worlds had brought the human to his doorstep at this hour of the night; but slowly memory returned, and he remembered the pills McCoy had left with him a few hours earlier. Without preamble, he reached into the second drawer of the desk, retrieved the bottle of benzaprine, and dumped two capsules into the palm of his hand, feeling unaccountably nervous in the human's presence. He proffered the pills in Kirk's direction, but still the ensign did not look up.

"Guess McCoy told you about my little . . . problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone—and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes. Somehow, shirtless, and with hair slightly dishelved, the Shi'Kahr's legendary captain appeared almost vulnerable in the dim lighting. . . almost reachable.

"The doctor informed me of your addiction to lidacin," the Vulcan confirmed presently. Kirk was such an enigma. He could never predict when the human would react with anger, when he would be embarrassed, when he would board himself up inside that stubborn wall and be completely unreadable. And the fact that he'd only met the ensign recently didn't aid the uncanny sensation of helplessness. "And in response to your second question," he continued, "I thought it would be better for all concerned if you came here rather than Sickbay." He paused, then took another risk. "You . . . obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are . . . experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker. He felt his heart quicken just a little.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last, meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

And Spock felt himself weaken under the human's scrutiny. Spock glanced away from the intense hazel globes. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have . . . discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow . . . a critical factor in the survival of this . . . universe." His throat was suddenly dry; gambling was a game best left to humans.

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that's a heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'm a critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room to the discarded shirt. Yet he knew that no amount of clothing could cover his psychic nakedness; Kirk could strip him to the marrow with a single question."I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I . . . feel . . . to be true." He forced himself to look up once more, demanded his eyes to remain locked with the human's. Somehow, he hadn't expected this. If he had been the intimidator before, it now seemed as if their positions were reversed; Kirk was questioning him. And yet . . . it felt right, normal, secure. He relented to intuition. "As I have informed you previously, there is a strong possibility that we shall not survive beyond this week. For the moment, it appears that we have, as you humans might call it, bought some time. Yet I shall not hesitate to point out to you—confidentially—that we are still not fully knowledgeable as to what we are facing nor how to . . . correct whatever damage has been done." He paused, wondering if he was making the correct decision. But holding back would accomplish nothing—and perhaps worse. He swallowed, wondered what the human was thinking, what thoughts were traveling through the quick mind. "At any rate," he continued presently, "we have been diverted to the Canusian system." He held the intense eyes. "And I have tentatively scheduled you into the landing party."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked simply.

The Vulcan hesitated, steepling his fingers in front of him, wishing the action would accomplish the serenity for which it was designed. "Your early Academy records indicated that you were quite adept at diplomacy, Ensign," he replied, choosing a formal approach. "And since several members of the crew are temporarily . . . disabled . . . I find it necessary to utilize your services."

Kirk stared at the Vulcan, a smile slowly coming to the handsome face. "Suppose I refuse?" he asked pointedly.

The eyebrow rose once more. "In that event," the Vulcan replied, "I would have no alternative other than to expedite your immediate discharge from the Fleet." He paused. Poker indeed. "You would be transported to the space-port on Canus Four and eventually to an Orion colony," he bluffed. He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on the desk. "The decision is yours, Jim."

Kirk rose from the chair, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He turned away from the Vulcan, and felt a flare of the old anger. But it quickly faded as respect for the commander chased it away. "And what makes you think I wouldn't jump at the chance?" he wondered.

"You are not a fool, Ensign," the Vulcan responded. "I believe you are . . ." He hesitated, warring with feelings which suddenly welled in on him. "I believe you are . . . as displaced in your present role as I perceive you to be," he stated finally. "And that you . . ." But it wasn't easy to say; a lifetime of discipline and logic fought for survival. ". . . that you will . . . find the strength within yourself to . . . aid in this matter."

Kirk shook his head once again, then turned to face the Vulcan, wondering if it was even possible to trust again. He started to speak, then closed his mouth with the words still suspended in his throat. Something stirred inside him. . . something ancient, yet something familiar. He took a deep breath. "All right," he conceded at last. And somehow, it didn't injure the fierce pride nor the stubborn ego as he'd half-expected it would. "For all the good it'll do, I'll go on the landing party."

The Vulcan nodded almost to himself. "Thank you," he murmured, recognizing the illogic in his words. Yet he also recognized the need for that simple reassurance. "At our present speed, we shall be entering Canusian orbit early in the morning. Please report to the transporter room at 0800 hours."

Kirk nodded, feeling suddenly awkward as he noticed the two capsules of benzaprine on the Vulcan's desk. He turned toward the door.

"Ensign?"

He stopped, but did not face the Vulcan.

"Do you . . .?" But his voice trailed into silence.

Kirk shook his head in silent negation of the unspoken question. "Tell Doc I flushed 'em down the john," he said quietly, and slipped into the corridor before the Vulcan could reply.

Once outside the captain's quarters, he leaned heavily against the bulkhead, eyes drifting shut. Someone else had made him say the things he'd said. Someone else had walked through his mind. Absently, he twisted the plain gold Academy ring on his left hand as he sank to the floor and began to tremble. Someone else . . . I believe you are as displaced in your current role as I perceive you to be.

He took a deep breath, running one hand down the smooth metal body of the ship. She . . . silver woman-goddess. It was time to change . . .

After a moment, he rose from the cool bulkhead, listening to the pleasant drone of the engines. Reality breathed . . . more easily now.

[…]

He reached into the closet, withdrawing a red, silk uniform tunic.

But Richardson quickly came over, snatched the red shirt away and tossed it across the room. "Here," he said, digging deeper into the closet until he found a blue shirt. "Live a little—and a little longer, Jim," he urged.

Kirk's brows questioned.

And Richardson shrugged. "Let's just say that on this ship—or probably any other—you don't want to wear a red shirt on landing-party duty."

Kirk shook his head with a laugh . . . and quickly pulled the blue shirt over his head.

* * * * *

The landing party, consisting of five members, beamed down to the computer-specified coordinates only to discover themselves in a swampy area. Large trees resembling Earth cypress grew in abundance, and steam-demons rose off warm puddles like ghostly fingers reaching for the silver-gray sky. On the distant horizon, thunder spoke ominously, and an occasional flash of black-fingered lightning ripped its way through clouds.

Captain Spock observed their surroundings with an expression bordering on exasperation, then turned to survey the landing party. McCoy and Kirk stood to one side; and Donner—an unfortunate last-minute replacement for Alvarez—and Ambassador Selon of Vulcan waited on the other side. And were it not for the logical portion of his mind, Spock might have thought himself in a nightmare. A damp, musky smell drifted to his nostrils, and already he could feel the seepage of stagnant water leaking into his boots. In an almost human gesture, the Vulcan sighed.

The nightmare became considerably more vivid, however, when he began to sense that the landing party was being quite closely watched; even Ambassador Selon, who had been attached to the ShiKahr for three years, seemed nervous.

Spock took a step forward. "Tricorder readings, Ensign Kirk?"

Kirk glanced at the hand-held device, following closely at the captain's side. "Some sort of interference, Captain," he reported. "When we first beamed down, I was detecting humanoid lifeforms within a quarter of a mile; but the readings just suddenly shot off the scale. Possible effect of the storm."

The Vulcan nodded, but before he could even begin to draw his phaser as a precautionary measure, he discovered himself in the midst of a rain of spears and arrows which appeared from everywhere and nowhere. He vaguely remembered giving the order to disperse, and was peripherally aware of Donner's voice barking orders into the communicator for emergency beam- up.

The last thing he saw before he felt something sharp slide into his back with remarkable force was the familiar twinkling effect of the transporter yanking McCoy and Ambassador Selon back to the safety of the ShiKahr. Apparently, transporter circuits were being affected by the storm as well, he thought disjointedly. He could only hope that Donner, Kirk and himself would be next, for he doubted either of the humans would survive should they be captured by the tribal, warlike Canusian primitives. The one thing which didn't make sense, however, the Vulcan realized, was that the savages couldn't have known when and where the landing party was to beam down . . . unless . . .

Instinctively, Spock reached for the phaser as he felt himself falling. If he could hold off the attack until the transporter technician could recalibrate the controls . . .

Through vision blurred with increasing pain, he could see the primitives closing in—only six of them, he realized—three with spears trained on Donner, three with crude weapons leveled on Kirk.

Without knowing precisely why, the Vulcan slid the phaser into the lethal mode, rolled to his side in a wave of agony, and took careful aim, sending three of the savages to join their ancestors in oblivion.

"Jim!" he yelled as he saw the determined expression on Kirk's face. He didn't see that the human had already drawn his own phaser with surprising speed. "Jim!" Another flash of lightning—phaser blast.

The spears started falling again, like lethal rain from the sky.

It was his last conscious memory.

-------

Next time: Well, I reckon we were about due for Kirk and Spock rolling around on the sand fighting. Spock, you naughty Vulcan, you're supposed to establish a SAFEWORD first...

[purplesoulcollection]

Unnatural Love

Part 9 (1) Synopsis : Name has being transmigrated into the world of I'm Not That Kind Of Talent without ever reading the novel. She's not being reincarnated as a human but as a devil as well. Hi There! I want to let you know that this fanfiction story isn't solely my creation. I borrowed the concept from @quqiwo2. I haven't actually read the novel either, just some spoiler to the end.

I hope you'll excuse my spelling and grammar mistake, because English not my first language.

I find myself wishing I had made a different decision earlier. Even if I have no other options available to me now. Because...

"Everyone, this is Adele, my fiancé." Deon said while introducing me to the servants who work in his house. I can easily guess their reaction only with seeing their face; they were shocked and completely skeptical about it. It seems like being known as the Emperor's dog really weigh heavily on his personal life at all.

But their gaze still makes me so nervous...

"Young master, you got engaged to a woman without holding a big party. This is a crime for us." An old butler suddenly responded to Deon. Is he Head Servant here? Because usually the oldest and most strikingly dressed is the head servant.

"It can't be helped, I liked her first."

"Then why does your fiancé wear your clothes like this? You are the noble, why can't you treat her to some lovely clothes?"  He seems to notice my baggy clothes, which are actually Deon's, but you know what? They're super comfy!

"I'm in a hurry to go home, after all we rode horses to get here. It's impossible if she wears those heavy dress." He lied very easily, thanks to his experience.

But here I am, speechless with his flawless lie.

"Young master, you are so mature that you can have a fiancé now. This old man is touched for you." The old butler wiped away a single tear with a cloth in his pocket.

I, who watched the drama, just smiled awkwardly while holding both hands. My hands finally changed color to normal human skin color too.

I’m really looking forward to seeing my reflection in the mirror!

Traveling by horse by the way is just a lie. To have a good reason to wear Deon's clothes because all I have is inappropriate clothes and to blend in with my camouflage as a human woman.

We walked into the human world, and ladies in this world is not known with their strength to walk that far away…

"At least let us change your fiancé's clothes into something more normal to wear!" But the butler still insisted to change my clothes.

I think my clothes really inappropriate in too many ways in his eyes.

Deon looks closely to my clothes too before he said "... Okay."

That was the moment when the maid pulled me away to put on a royal-era dress complete with a corset. I shot him a look of betrayal, but he turned his gaze away from me. He knows he's wrong.

‘Deon, you traitor!’

But at least, I can asked them to not to use corsets. They obeyed and told that it's fine if I don't wear a corset at home, but if I have to go to a party you must wear that.

But I'm confused, for some reason they already have women's dresses here. Is this what his mother left behind?

But it suits me somehow???

Is it possible that it could be like that....

But the more confusing one is…

Why do I have to be the doll of the servants here?

They mentioned that their goal was to find the perfect dress that would suit me best, all while considering my body measurements.

To reach that goal, I need to be caught up in the chaotic debate and wearing a disheveled outfit for nearly three hours.

"This lady looks best when she wears a blue dress!"

"Wrong, madam it looks best when you wear red!"

"Purple is good too!"

I'm tired. Can I just rest even though it's still early? Moreover, I didn't even sleep in order to come here.

“Can you take me to my room? I'm tired of traveling.“

My tired eyes are definitely craving some rest right now. My body also feel so sleazy after all of this.

"We'll escort you right away." They turned away and started talking softly. I have no idea what they're discussing, but my yawn makes me completely indifferent.

Then I went to my room, took a shower (thank goodness this wasn't the era of kingdoms where servants had to bathe their masters), slept like a log.

I fell asleep so fast that I didn't realize one thing.

Whose room is this?

"She’s sleeping?"

'Yes young master. She’s not even touch her lunch yet."

After a moment of silence, Deon tapped his finger on the teacup several times before finally speaking up.

"I'll take care of it. You can deliver her lunch in my room."

"I understand young master."

Only after saying that, Remember go away from Deon.

And after he sips his last drop of tea. Deon got up and went to his room. As soon as he opened the door, he could see Adele sleeping soundly without being disturbed by his presence.

He approach Adele and swipe her bangs from her face. Her expression radiates an otherworldly tranquility. Looks so peaceful and beautiful.

Adele's sleeping face was the new thing he saw in Adele. Adele in the devil's world always looked so alert, nervous, kind of sad.

She always looked like the outsider even if she's devil too in his eyes. Her nature does not reflect the nature of the devil.

He isn't joking when he said Adele looks like a human. Maybe she's born in wrong body. Not that he really care about her race.

Maybe she's suitable enough to be a human here.

She didn't even flinch when his finger touch her face. Maybe she's so tired or she's heavy sleeper.

Whatever the reason, he still wants to touch her face. So he stroke her cheeks and looking at her face before he kissed her. In the lips...

I saw a white roof when I woke up.

I also felt a soft mattress that I haven't felt for a long time. The maid mattress in the Devil's palace doesn't use much foam.

Sometimes I have insomnia because I'm not used to it, I can only fall asleep when I'm tired, no matter the place.

"Already up? " That noise is coming from my end. I'm twisting my head in surprise. The first thing I see is his red eyes staring at me so closely.

"D-Deon, what are you doing here?"

"This is my room."

HIS ROOM!! Not in the guest room!?!

"Could it be that the servants don't know that we sleep separately? That's why we were put together? We have to immediately ask for separate rooms!" I am speaking frantically.

I can't sleep here; I need to leave immediately. But before I could get up, Deon grabbed me and I stopped.

"Don't."

Only then I looked at him, his eyes looks so fierce. Make me flinch unknowingly.

"Why, we're just dating. It's not worth it to sharing a room like this."

"But we already love each other. Why not?"

His expression appears completely oblivious, contrasting sharply with my anxious thoughts.

"Privacy... Don't you want that from me?"

"In fact, I would be happy if you could accompany me here."

I'm blushing. He is the natural charmer for me with his good looking face and the sincere words.

Hm...

Why is Deon's pitiful face so cute? So dazzling...

Why his face have to be this good? I can't even compare to him!

Is it time to give up? Moreover, the highest quest was also more embarrassing than this. If my quest isn't done, I can't return to my world.

Finally I nodded and Deon was very happy.

To Be Continued

I cut part 9 into 2 parts. Enjoy the story...

[whumped-by-glitter]

Day 6: Nonhuman whumpee / Reluctant Whumper / "Run!"

Bonus Alt Prompt: Forced to Hurt

Day 5 Here <

⚠️CW: Whipping, Blood, Captivity, Muzzles, Mention of Past Torture, Non Sexual Nudity.

Let me know if I forgot anything, but it should be pretty tame today.

This week was very busy, sorry I'm so behind!

story under the cut!

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Youngest lightly hit the back of their head on the white cinderblock wall they were leaning against. The sound was the only thing breaking up the monotony of the white room. This was almost worse than the waterboarding several days before, at least they thought it was just a few days before. A week or more could have passed for all they knew.

Thunk

Thunk

There was nothing to do here but ruminate on their regrets. They wished they could take back those last words they said to Leader. They recalled seeing the pain in Leader’s eyes when they said them. They wondered if Leader would come break Whumpee out and just leave them to rot. It’s what they deserved after all they had done after all.

Thunk

Thunk

Thunk

They wondered if Whumpee was in a cell somewhere just like this, maybe even on the other side of this wall. They wondered what torture Claudio put them through. They wondered if they were alright.

Thunk

Thunk

The back of their head was beginning to go numb from repeatedly against the wall. They sighed and stood up. They stretched and began to pace the limited area. They had counted the tiles multiple times, there was about 30 and a half. They could stick their arms out in either direction and touch wall. They continued to pace in little circles to warm up, having never been given new clothes.

All at once the door to the tiny cell was flung open. A guard threw some clothes at youngest.

“put these on, you’re coming with us,” he ordered. Youngest could see another guard just outside the door.

They hurried and dressed, grateful for anything to cover up. The guard that was in the entry of the room then stepped into the threshold to bind them with shackles and cuffs.

Youngest fought back hard with every bit of strength they had. They scratched and clawed, getting punched several times in the process. Youngest  even biting the guard and drawing blood.

The guard hissed, drawing back. They looked livid. “Feral mongrel,” he growled, leaving the room, door slamming.

Youngest slid down the wall, shaking from the adrenaline and fear. Relief flowed into their chest, replacing the earlier anxiety. At least they were safe for now.

They soon returned, however, the other guard slid in immediately behind the first, holding something. Youngest tried to fight again, but their efforts were in vein. once the handcuffs were on the second guard approached with whatever he had in his hand.

Youngest began to struggle again as they realized what it was, but the first guard had them held tight.

“I’m not some kind of animal!” they gritted their teeth and thrashed their head.

It was all futile though. In the end youngest felt a leather strap being tightened and buckled around their head as a metal cage closed in around their mouth and nose. They could hear the distinct click of padlocks behind their head.

‘muzzled!’ they thought angrily, glaring daggers at the guards. The edges of the cage were already digging into their face from it being buckled too tight.

The second guard then retreated from the room to give them space. The first guard add shackles to Youngest’s ankles and shoved them forward out of the room. Shackles caused them to trip and fall, the guards just laughed cruelly before hauling them back up.

They were taken to some kind of courtyard through a set of solid steel doors a short ways down the hall. Youngest raked their eyes over their surroundings, the yard couldn’t have been more than maybe 20 feet squared. The dirt under their feet was a reddish brown, looking like clay. The solid windowless brick of the building went up about 8 feet, before pushing in, creating a ledge. The rest of the building continuing up had windows. Their eyes landed on a figure standing on the ledge, peering down at them, Claudio.

“Nice of you to join us, Dipshit!” Claudio mocked, “that’s your new name by the way, dipshit.”

Youngest just glowered up at their captor, trying to look menacing through the ridiculous muzzle strapped to their face.

“I heard you were quite a wild animal, gave my men quite a hard time. This would have been much easier on you if you had only played nice.” Claudio snapped and another captive was drug out.

Although the dry dust created too much of a cloud for youngest to tell who it was, their heart stopped. They feared it was Whumpee.

The form was dropped next to them. Relief and fear rushed through Youngest when they discovered it was not Whumpee…. ‘Where were they?’

Their gut further twisted when they realized that although the person was not Whumpee, it was in fact still someone they recognized. “Andrew?” Youngest questioned, eyes widening, also relieved to find they could speak through the muzzle. The man was part of the Intel division at the same agency they worked at. At least they were pretty sure it was Andrew; it was hard to say for certain under the bruises and cuts.

Andrew made a muffled noise through his gag.

“Now then Dipshit, I believe this is a friend of yours? They won’t seem to give us the information we want about your headquarters, so you’re going to get it out of them.” Claudio nodded at the guards to unlock Youngest’s handcuffs. “I owe you a huge thank you by the way, we only captured him because they were out confirming your whereabouts.” The arms dealer grinned wickedly.

One of the other guards that had brought Andrew out was securing the man’s wrists to a post as youngest was being handed a cat-o-nines flogger, studded with metal.

Guilt flooded them. Youngest began to shake, they couldn’t, this, not this! They would take waterboarding a hundred more times before this. Youngest shook their head, trembling, and threw the flogger into the dirt.

 “I will not cooperate with this.”

“you’ll do it Dipshit, or I’ll just have you both killed here and now,” Claudio retorted calmly.

Youngest took a deep breath trying to steady them self. “Fine, alright, I’ll do it,” they grumbled, reluctantly taking up the flogger. They did their best to reason with them self that them doing it was probably better than some guard doing it.

‘crack’

They threw the first lash, aiming just to hit Andrew with the tips of the falls to avoid doing damage with the spikes. They looked over to the guards, then to Claudio who just nodded for them to continue.

‘crack’

This one drew a little blood, but Andrew was still silent and had not reacted.

“Harder, you hit like a child, dipshit,” Claudio taunted.

“Stop calling me that!” Youngest screamed, anger gripping them. They lashed out with the whip out of frustration with everything they had before they even realized what they were doing.

‘CRACK’

Andrew screamed, being hit with not just the tips this time, but the entirety of the falls. Blood trickled down their back.

Youngest immediately dropped the cat-o-nine, crying at what they had done. They had hurt someone innocent, they had hurt one of their own!

“Good, just like that you dumb little dipshit. Keep going!” Claudio ordered.

Youngest, swallowed, fighting down their emotion. They had to keep going to keep them both alive.

‘CRACK’

‘CRACK’

‘CRACK’

Blood was now flowing down Andrew’s back. He was shaking from the pain.

‘CRACK’

Again and again, he made the flogger come down on the other man’s back. He had lost count around 20 but was urged on.

Andrew’s pained screams had become broken sobs, his voice long since cracked from screaming.  Youngest’s clothes were splattered in blood, the whip was coated with it. It looked like something from the horror movies Whumpee and themself used to watch together. But this wasn’t a movie, this was real life, and worse, this was their doing.

Youngest dropped the whip for the last time. They began to hyperventilate. Trembling from head to toe, they slowly sunk to the ground, falling to their hands and knees. They wretched at the sight of their ally’s blood. The blood that they had drawn. They were supposed to be the hero, how could they do this.

“Continue Dipshit.” The order felt like ice in their veins. They simply responded by shaking their head.

“I said keep going!”

“I-if I continue, they will die.” Youngest choked out.

“Then they die, you don’t stop until I say.”

Youngest again resisted, not moving a muscle. They didn’t even bother to wipe the blood splatter that was on their face.

“Have it your way then,” Claudio hummed, pausing for a moment, “slit the spy’s throat.”

The guard nearest to Andrew began to step forward, service dagger in hand.

Youngest began to scream, “stop! No! Stop! NONONONO!”

their vision began to haze. Soon the screaming almost sounded like it was coming from someone else, and they were watching events unfold as if they were an observer. They saw themself begin to go out of control but were helpless to stop it. Their body gave off a faint glow as they cried out, desperate to halt the execution that was about to unfold right before their eyes.

All at once everything fell pin drop silent. Everything was frozen in time. They felt their throat and chest burning, and an eerie feeling crept across their mind at the sight of statues that were once moving people.

Suddenly things began to move again and Youngest realized the burning in their throat was from their own screaming. They then gasped in air, realizing their longs were aching because they hadn’t been breathing.

They found they were all of a sudden toe to toe with the guard holding the dagger. They punched with every ounce of strength they could muster. To their complete shock, the guard went flying against the wall behind him. He could hear yelling, the four guards scrambling, more getting called in.

They snapped Andrew’s chains; they could tell they were quickly losing all control. They felt themself going nuclear. Using their last moments of clarity, they grabbed the intel officer and rushed to the far door, ripping it open and throwing them through it.

“RUN!” Youngest yelled. They hoped the confusion they were creating would at least allow them to escape.

@whumperofworlds, @whumpsandbumps, @3-2-whump, @pigeonwhumps.

Day 7 Here >

That was the last thing they remembered clearly before everything got fuzzy.

*I did not have a beta reader for this, please let me know if there are errors. The word app on my phone sometimes glitches and I don't always catch it on my read throughs.

Event Prompts Here

My Event Masterlist Here

[momowoah]

To add to the seemingly endless list of Chenford/Buddie parallels: both couples had moments before they dated (and before they even truly realized their feelings) in which they opened themselves to the possibility of that relationship and truly considered moving forward with it for the first time. (aka 7x01 is to Buddie what 3x14 is to Chenford) (long-ish post)

In the S3 finale of The Rookie, Lucy and Tim are finally out of their T.O.-Boot relationship, which opens up the possibility of them having something beyond that. Lucy even acknowledges that in 3x09 when she fake confesses her feelings for Tim in order to prove she can handle UC work. Even though the confession wasn't serious, it did bring up the fact that it could've been; Tim specifically actually had to consider how he'd respond to Lucy actually having feelings for him, since he believed her. This whole ordeal resurfaces in 3x14, first when Lucy flirts with him while UC, and later when they talk at the wedding, the first time both of them manifest being interested in each other and in pursuing a relationship. Lucy breaks away from Grey and Nyla to go talk to him (and they exchange looks over it); Tim checks her out; they bring up the flirting; Tim asks Lucy to save him a dance. It feels like they crossed a line, it feels like it's going somewhere, and it probably would've if not for all that happened after. 4x01 basically confirms that by showing both Lucy and Tim laying in bed(/couch), wondering whether or not to get up and go towards each other after a hug and an almost kiss. Although the show never acknowledges what would've happened if either of them had gotten up (and we know at least Lucy would've, because she was getting up when Tim interrupted her), it is heavily implied that during those two episodes they were interested in each other, but it ultimately led to nowhere (at the time).

(Unrelated kinda but we can also establish a parallel between Chenford and mid S2 Madney here. Jackson's death ruined what they could've had back then, but they still managed to have something else.)

(Btw this paragraph will be a little chaotic and I'm too lazy to reread it and organize it sorry but I swear it makes sense) We get this kind of subconscious-ish realization of feelings and openness to a possible relationship with Buddie too. For Buck, that happens in S7. I can't find that interview again for the life of me but remember when OS mentioned a few weeks ago that Buck felt something when he thought Eddie and Marisol had split up in 7x01? I think that was the moment when he finally opened himself to the possibility of dating Eddie (even if he didn't realize that's what he was doing). He had broken up with Natalia after he had realized that their relationship would always be about his death rather than his life and was actively trying to understand how he had changed since dying (if we go by his 6b plot). I think the fact that Eddie was missing from his coma dream is specifically significant for this reason. Eddie was the one major relationship in his life that Buck didn't confront during the coma. He was absent, because Buck wasn't ready to deal with what he meant to him yet. By S7, we see Buck way more open to dealing with his feelings, evidenced by the fact that he finally figured out his bisexuality and by how light that whole plot was/is. Buck was ready to deal with it, even if subconsciously, and I think a part of that was him finally opening himself up to the possibility of Eddie. His vibes in the locker room in 7x01 are a lot like Tim in 3x14 - he wasn't overtly flirting, but he was trying to take that step forward, willing to take that step forward, and only didn't bc Eddie told him he was still with Marisol. Unlike Tim, though, I don't think he has fully closed that door yet. He's redirecting these feelings to Tommy for now, but he's still there with Eddie. He just needs some time to figure it out.

When it comes to Eddie, I think this moment came much earlier and lasted a lot longer. His feelings finally came close enough to the surface (even if they didn't surface completely) when he got shot. In that moment, he reached for Buck, and he never truly stopped. He broke up with his girlfriend really soon after that; he avoided going on dates; he pulled Buck closer to his family life (s5/6 domestic Buddie my beloved) (also by revealing the will); he actually pretty much took Buck out on a date. Eddie was moving towards a romantic relationship for almost two years, completely open to dating Buck, until the cemetery scene. Buck thinks he's finally found his place with Natalia, and Eddie decides to stop pursuing him because he realizes (wrongly in my opinion but shhhh) that he'll never be able to be that person to Buck, because Buck has yet to realize that Eddie does see him and that Eddie sees him all the time. However, he resumes his pursuit in 7x01, because Buck breaks up with Natalia, and that means that Eddie still has a chance. Even Buck's relationship with Tommy points towards it, because it means Buck can feel like that about a man. So Eddie pulls Buck back into his family life by asking for advice and help with Christopher (and probably also through whatever is going to happen with the Diaz family now), starts to fuck up his relationship with his girlfriend (by moving too fast even though he doesn't want to, which was what killed his relationship with Ana), avoids his girlfriend, and indulges Buck's every idea (as seen through the bachelor party). Since the 7x01 locker room scene, he's been fully open to Buck, and Buck has been fully open to him. In conclusion: Buddie will be canon by the end of 8A.

[paullovescomics]

First, an aside. I still did not get Absolute Superman #1. I got to the comic shop around 17:30, and the second printing was sold out again. There was a just a blank spot with at card that said "one per customer". I'd thought about emailing the store that morning, but then work got busy and i forgot. So i made sure to put in an order for the 3rd printing, but that doesn't come out for like a month. Oh well.

***SPOILERS***

Absolute Batman #2 -- The significance of the thing with the bats that opens this issue escaped me until we see a bit more of it later in the issue. They are covering him, protecting him. They're his armor, and he makes his literal armor in their image. That's cool. Also, those first two panels where young Bruce is calling for his dad, and his dad's body is slumped against the other side of (what i'm assuming is) the door, having put himself between his son and the shooter; and there are bullet holes in the door -- that is some heartbreaking stuff. If this is ever adapted to film, the director would be stupid not to steal that.

The narration by Alfred works well. This idea of Batman continually charging forward, never relenting, is compelling. It's true to the character. It's an effect of his trauma and it's enabled by his drive and abilities. It's a strength and a weakness. Of course we know it's going to eventually go wrong. He'll meet some foe that he can't bowl over, an opposing force that makes him stop; or, his body will inevitably falter and a canny villain will be there to take advantage of it. Either way, he'll be caught off his game, and then we'll see how clever he can get when things are desperate. That might be more exciting with this iteration of the character, since we haven't seen it with him before.

This version of Alfred is growing on me. Normally, I don't like the super spy version of Alfred. I just think that a superhero's world gets more shallow when everyone in it is some type of badass. You need different kinds of people to add more life and variety, and to let normal people contribute in relatable ways. But I guess because this is a fresh start, and we're not learning that he was secretly a badass all along, even though he didn't act that way for decades, etc., but he's just still a super spy, it's working for me. It definitely helps that he's tired and suspicious of his controllers, and that he sees in Bruce someone he can put some hope in.

We get a little time with Gordon, Barbara, and Bullock. Barbara being a cop is interesting. The Batman Beyond show had an older Barbara as chief of police, but I don't remember seeing her as a regular officer before. She's sympathetic to Batman here, so I assume she's become some version of Batgirl, but who knows. Bullock certainly looks different, but I can imagine the familiar Bullock becoming this guy if he were born later, or at least going through this phase before he becomes the deeply disillusioned guy that he is in his classic version. I also like the interaction between Gordon and Martha. If Jim becomes Batman's ally here, and Martha learns what Bruce is doing, there could be some very interesting conversations between them in the future.

The poker game is fun. I hope that the journey to villainhood for these guys takes a while. If we really get to know them, and their turns to the dark side are well told, we could be in for some very emotional tragedy.

I've said before that I wasn't all that hyped for the Absolute series, because there was a chance that they'd just be gritty and no fun. I'm glad that's not the case. There is a tone here that is different from the regular universe, though I'm not sure what to call it yet. But the inclusion of things like the Bat-axe, and this issue's "Batman AF" and the fact that Bruce not only somehow stole and hid a massive, multi-million-dollar construction vehicle (the owners of which are definitely searching for in manic fashion) but also tricked it out with bat-themed armor enhancements reassures me that we are far from po-faced grimness.

And that last page! I can't wait to see young Bruce and Selina getting into trouble. That Bruce is good friends with criminals is so interesting. Where will that go in the long run? Is he sympathetic to "petty" criminals because he knows first hand that some of them come from places where there aren't many options? So only the murderers and the capital V villains need to have their heads bashed in? It would make sense if this version of Bruce was very conflicted about that stuff, and constantly found it difficult to draw that line. So much to mine in this set-up!

[dollsonmain]

I don't like calling off work but I work in a position that I interact with MANY people every day and getting those people, not to mention my coworkers, sick would be a dick move.

Today would be order day for deli stuff but I'm not there and I have no idea what we do or don't have in stock because stuff keeps being moved around when I'm not there.

That's frustrating for EVERYONE. Last week Manager was like "don't make many burgers because we're about out, and don't put any in the hot case at all" and I was like "I saw a whole unopened box of burgers in the other freezer so as long as we have enough bread, we can keep up on burgers" and she was like "what the hell how did I miss that" and I was like "that's not where it's supposed to beeeeeee!!!!" then last week I was like "hey, we're about out of buns are more coming soon?" and she was like "yeah I put in the order on monday" and when I went in on thursday there were HUNDREDS. OF BUNS. IN THE COOLER. We needed like... 1 hundred for the week.

Still baffling we go through that many buns in a week but at least 5 get put into the hot case every day, and if they don't sell, then at least those 5 are discarded every day.

That Guy said that he's heard from other coworkers of his that they've been sick over the holiday, too, so he certainly brought it home from work.

I'm glad my symptoms aren't nearly as bad as his, and honestly I would probably have gone to work in this condition because I can, I can function distressingly well while ill, but am smart enough to not??? I guess??? I will probably be going to work tomorrow. I do feel better, now, though still headachey and scratchy-throated so we'll see in the morning.

Not looking forward to walking to work in 20F weather.

Either way I have this feeling that I don't need to go back to work ever because it's done and that doesn't make sense. That kind of work needs redone constantly. I guess it's because I've gotten more comfortable with the job itself and feel like I've completed an objective?

Manager mentioned that I've come out of my shell at work and pointed out that I'm doing t-rex arms a lot. That is a pretty good indicator that I've gotten used to an environment that I'm in. Mask less, t-rex arms more. She pretended to throw something at me the other day and I went noooo and flapped my t-rex arms and she lost it.

I've heard that's a thing people with ADHD do; get bored with a job and jump from one to another, like trying to do craft projects and having many WIPs running at the same time, never finishing anything.

I like having income even though I just spent a huge chunk of it, and I like having work.

I like having an excuse to leave the house and a job that puts me into micro-social interactions that aren't too taxing, especially after spending the past nearly 20 years basically alone, only interacting with Son and That Guy. I talk to all the people for a short time each day, Manager will chat with me a little bit but mostly leaves me alone out on the floor because she can, and she does admin stuff in the back (or sleeps...).

I like that I can get to this job though I don't like that to get to it I have to walk a good ways. I don't like that the only way I can have a job at all is to walk, and living in a detached suburb, that's very limiting. Even if I got a bike or something, I'd still be limited to this suburb.

I don't like how it hurts (so much...) and how I can't work on my hobbies much or keep up with my house even less, now.

I don't like how all my free time now coincides with the time that That Guy is home and he expects me to sit and watch him play video games, which is why I do yarn stuff so much. Can do that from the couch.

I haven't vacuumed in weeks.

I ran out of yarn.

I don't want to have to quit my job because it's consuming my entire life. I can barely move after work.

[invinciblerodent]

man, i know it's not ideal party comp to have two warriors and a mage, but I'm really looking forward to playing Veilguard with Neve and Davrin as Verbena's main party

like, i'm really looking forward to seeing all the dynamics developing, but specifically those two, they really have stuck their pins very deep into my brain

I headcanon that with the both of them being Shadow Dragon operatives, while they didn't know each other, Ver and Neve must have known OF each other: Neve from what I've seen and heard seems to me like she's more of a planner, one to direct the flow of their efforts and supervise, while Ver is a very "boots on the ground" type of person, working both in the setting up, and the knocking down of the pieces with her work as something of a double agent for them. It'd be unlikely for them not to have ever heard word of the other, or used the other's work as a jumping off point, but they've also never personally met, which is why, though unfamiliar, there should be sort of a base level of a strange kinship between them from the start.

(Who knows, Neve maybe even recommended Varric to try and contact Mercar, because she knew that Ver is discreet, and maybe a bit rough around the edges, but principled, and one who Gets Shit Done.)

(She probably really didn't bargain for the mess she's about to have to deal with in Ver, lol.)

Though they are both from Minrathous and parts of the same faction, I'm really interested in how different their approaches to the whole situation are going to be. Because by virtue of simply not being a mage, Ver's experience of Minrathous is very different from Neve's.

Ver in my mind right now is Soporati, raised primarily lower class (I hc that though the background blurb says she's a foundling, she actually lost her parents at around 10 years old), she grew up playing with Liberati children, the most significant figure in her background is a Liberati (and an elf at that), and so her relationship with the underbelly of Minrathous is very personal and intimate, which is partly why she took up work for the Shadow Dragons.

While Neve, just by virtue of being a mage, is either a Laetan or even an Altus (afaik we don't know which yet)- which has to inform her relationship with the city at least somewhat. Even if she is of a lower class of mage (though being as powerful as she is, I doubt that- I don't remember if it's in her short story and I'll have to re-read it, but so far I personally think she might be an Altus, though probably not one with blood ties to the Magisterium), she is still a mage, thus inherently she is head and shoulders above Ver in class.

It'll be super interesting to see how that might affect their relationship, and whether Ver acting as sort of a "leader" (even though Neve is clearly basically the same, only "better") is going to work with their dynamic. My hope is that it'll be sort of a parallel to what my Inquisitor's friendship with Sera was like: shared sentiments, vastly different backgrounds, this time the other way around.

While with Davrin, I've not planned ahead much, but I'm definitely feeling the prickles of theirs being a relationship that's strengthened by their shared senses of duty and principle.

I gave Ver sort of a wariness of Wardens in general (partly because in Tevinter the Order doesn't really have the reputation they have in Ferelden or even Orlais, and partly because I headcanon that in her past, she has seen quite a few hopeless people be scooped up by the Order and then never return), but she'll probably be fairly quick to overcome those reservations as they get to know one another, and see that their understandings of right and wrong aren't really that different.

And then there's also the angle of the whole Dalish elf/Tevinter human kerfuffle in history. With the reveals of Dalish history that we're about to get, I really wanna see them both grapple with how all that they thought they knew about their peoples was wrong, and find solace in the confusion through one another.

Just. One more day, I'm vibrating at a frequency so high, that I'm almost certain I'm going to wind up wiggling out of my skin by tomorrow morning

I'm gonna. Go. And, uh. Bake pumpkin bread or something jesus chrust

[elizmanderson]

2024 wrap-up, part 2

part one | part three | part four

this year has been much better than last for reading! I did notice last year as I reviewed my reads that I wasn't reading a huge diversity of authors. so while I never set numbers-based goals for my reading, I did set the goal this year to make sure at least 50% of my reads were books by authors of color

I had SO MANY BOOKS by authors of color on my TBR already and even owned many of them, so I made sure to prioritize those books this year. and it was easy to hit 50% by making sure that any book I read by a white author was followed by an author of color (although I made a spreadsheet in November to make sure I was still on track). I'm a mood reader, but these books cover so many different genres that it was easy to diversify my reading once I prioritized that

another thing I tried this year but was less successful at was to prioritize reading in general by deciding to read one book a weekend

(this probably wouldn't work for a 500+ page book, but I have so little energy for such books anymore even though Lowercase E adored them)

the year started off strong with books finished in a single sitting on a Saturday morning/afternoon. but once April hit, my year got busier and I sort of never recovered

overall, however, I did read more consistently than I did in the last two years. while I don't have numbers for the last two years, so far this year I've read 37 books, which I'm 82% sure beats either 2022 or 2023 (which is nice even if I don't make numbers goals anymore)

top reads of 2024

The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson

not my usual genre (horror/dark fantasy), but a friend was clearing out her shelves a couple years back and the cover grabbed me. this was my first read of the year and is STILL one of my tops reads. holy shit it was so good. the worldbuilding was really cool, the book had a Gothic feeling that I always love (if I read horror, I usually reach for Gothic before other subgenres), the romance was just SO well done. partway through the book I found myself thinking, "wow, the only thing this book is missing is some queer characters" AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED THAT VERY CHAPTER. this book was so good that I went online as soon as I finished it to buy Alexis Henderson's next book, House of Hunger.

note for anyone who hasn't read the book: apparently it's the first of at least an intended duology. the second book is postponed indefinitely, but honestly the first book can be read as a standalone. so if you're a "I won't read a series until it's done" person, I urge you to read The Year of the Witching nonetheless

...made myself want to reread this but alas I'm in Georgia visiting the parental units, and the book is back in Ohio

maybe I'll make it my first read of the year again lmao

link to The Year of the Witching on BookShop

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera

all I can say about this book (aside from how masterfully done it is) is that I reached the end, flipped the page, found "acknowledgements" staring up at me, and said OUT LOUD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE POLE STUDIO* "wait what that's it???????" and then YELLED about the book to my instructor and other students

*class had not started yet, I finished the book while waiting bc I'd arrived early

there's apparently both a prequel and a sequel, and I am both looking forward to and scared to read them

link to They Both Die at the End on BookShop

Arsenic & Adobo by Mia P. Manansala

actually I read the entire Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mysteries to date, which should tell you how good the first book was! I love a good cozy mystery, and the whole series is great. also: Tita Rosie and Jonathan 5ever oh my god they're so cute together and Tita Rosie deserves the best. if you're the type of mystery reader who likes recipes at the end of your book, this series is for you

I think there are five books so far with a sixth on the way! it's helpful to read them in order since the community in each book does build on the characters introduced in the previous book, but being cozy mysteries the plot doesn't super depend on you having read anything previous

(apparently she also has a YA mystery coming up?? hell yeah)

link to Arsenic & Adobo on BookShop

Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers by Jesse Q. Sutanto

OBVIOUSLY I've been looking forward to reading this one ever since I learned about it, because it's a little old lady getting into shenanigans. oh my god it exceeded my wildest expectations. I love Vera SO MUCH. I laughed aloud a lot, I cried a lot, and I worried over who the murderer might be because of the multiple POVs and the found family...each member of which had a good reason to want the murder victim dead :,) I'm still devastated (positive)

we're getting a SEQUEL and I cannot overstate my excitement to get a second Vera Wong book

link to Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers on BookShop

...I was going to do a top five but honestly there are SO MANY good books left on my spreadsheet that I don't think I can choose between them to list just one more. so let's look ahead to next year instead

upcoming books I'm looking forward to

A Witch's Guide to Magical Innkeeping by Sangu Mandanna

adult cozy fantasy featuring an undead rooster and elderly lesbians, so this is probably my number one book I'm looking forward to

Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man) by Jesse Q. Sutanto

adult cozy mystery and OBVIOUSLY I'm looking forward to this one

This Ends in Embers by Kamilah Cole

YA fantasy sequel to Kamilah Cole's debut So Let Them Burn

The Ashfire King by Chelsea Abdullah

adult fantasy sequel to Chelsea Abdullah's debut The Stardust Thief

(okay, I also listed that last one last year or the year before, but in my defense it kept getting pushed back)(actually so did the first one, but the first one wasn't on my radar last year)(the point is, I'm looking forward to both of them, and both of them are DEFINITELY FOR SURE coming out in 2025)

tune in later for part three!

[heyclickadee]

Things about "The Outpost" that are still killing me:

1. That airstrip was huge. And by the time we see Mayday and Crosshair on it they've been walking across it for a while, at the rate they’re going. The TK troopers don't see them at first, but once they do, they gather, see this:

These two men, barely on their feet, clearly in pain, one of them unable to keep holding on to his crutch anymore, staggering towards them inch by inch, looking towards them for help--not a single one of the TK troopers offers any kind of assistance whatsoever. No one calls for a medic, no one rushes forward to carry Mayday. They all just stand there and watch. And when Nolan tells them to go, they do, because they probably don't see the clones that differently than Nolan does.  

Yeah, Lieutenant Nolan is an asshole. He went from, "I'm probably going to dislike this guy," to, "LOATHE," in my book with a single line. He's a pathetic officer-wannabe who genuinely thinks of the clones as machinery he can push around and direct how he likes. He doesn't see the problem with kicking around someone like Mayday--someone who technically outranks him, I think--or the danger inherent in goading someone like Crosshair, because he doesn't see either of them as reasoning, emotion-having people who may just retaliate if pushed far enough. He's a snake and he deserved what he got. But his malice is more than matched by the TK troopers' apathy.

2. The way that there's ice and snow frozen to Crosshair's armor on the landing strip, and the fact that Mayday can't quite make it to the end of the tarmac, nor is Crosshair able to continue carrying him. They're both so cold and tired. They've both hit their physical limit and it would have been enough if anyone had cared to help.

3. Crosshair is--literally--stripped of everything that marks him as an imperial soldier or a soldier at all by the end of the episode, and most of it is stuff he casts aside himself. His CT number (in a way, when he gives Mayday his name), his helmet that he doesn't even look for (there as SO MANY good helmet metas out there, so I'm not going to get into it), his rifle (which he gives to Mayday to use as a crutch and doesn't retrieve when Mayday drops it), his backpack (I'm guessing it got too heavy so he threw it away to keep carrying Mayday), and even his armor, reflection mirror...sticker...things, and sidepiece (all of which are taken from him after he blacks out. I'm not real happy about the fact that the scientists at Mount Tantiss changed his clothes while he was unconscious). Of course, the last few function a little bit differently than they first ones do. The CT number, the helmet, the rifle, and I guess (?) even the backpack (though to a much lesser extent) are all Crosshair intentionally putting his imperial identity aside in order to help someone he sees as a brother and re-humanizing himself in the process. The last couple--the armor, the sidepiece--that's the writers telling us how vulnerable Crosshair is in his current situation.

4. The SNOW and the way it interacted with the CHARACTERS was just *chef's kiss* Credit to Joel Aron and the effects department, you guys knocked it out of the park.

5. Likewise, while I'm really glad The Bad Batch does list the names of the animators at CGCG who worked on each episode in the credits (because guess what--not every animated show does this. Sometimes they just list the name of the studio), I really want to know which animators were responsible for animating Crosshair this time around. Or at least Crosshair's shots, since the way I think it often works is that an animator will be assigned a series of shots and be responsible for animating everyone in those shots, because oh boy, was that a performance. Crosshair's animation has always been standout, I think partly (partly) because he's a character that doesn't actually talk that much, and says stuff he doesn't mean at least half the time, so there has to be a certain level of clarity and nuance in his performance for the character comes across the way the writers intend (and partly because being an ultra-expressive but taciturn bundle of emotions is a big part of Crosshair as a person). But the team working on this episode took something that was already great and kicked it up another level.

6. I want to know if Jennifer Corbett, the board artists, layout artists, the other writers, the directors, and others high-fived each other when they came up with the ice vulture symbolism and the rock-wings shot. I want to know if they knew we'd go crazy over it.

7. Mayday. Literally everything about Mayday. Mayday my beloved. *cries*

8. The look on Crosshair's face when he's about to pass out and sees the TK troopers coming still messes me up, because it's the closest thing we've gotten to a real smile (one that actually reaches his eyes) pretty much since he was teasing Echo in the med bay in "Aftermath." Crosshair's someone who's come across as to me passively suicidal since the moment he turned around after the droid fight in "Return to Kamino" and saw Hunter and the rest pointing their guns at him. Passively--meaning that he's not going to actually do anything, that he doesn't actually want to die, he’ll survive however he can, but that he's not exactly planning for the future, either. He'll just keep doing what he's doing until it (almost definitely) kills him. And. I mean. Crosshair's not stupid. He knows what killing Lieutenant Nolan means for him. I'm not saying that Crosshair didn't expect to wake up afterwards, or that he wanted to not wake up, but I am saying that he did decide that avenging Mayday and defying the Empire in whatever small way he could was worth dying for. And that he was very, very tired.

9. I'm so! Glad! That Crosshair's growth wasn't centered around Omega, Wrecker, Tech, Hunter, or Echo. We already know that he cares about them. Showing us the lengths he'll go to help a relative stranger instead and making that his breaking point does so much more to tell us that he's grown.

10. The thing that sticks with me most, though, is the fact that this episode wasn't just sad. It wasn't just unrelenting tragedy, or even like "The Solitary Clone," where overriding emotion of the whole episode is despair. I mean, yes, this episode is sad. It's tragic. You have Lieutenant Nolan's cruelty, you have the malice of the Empire, you have the apathy of the TK troopers, the dehumanization of the clones, the soul-crushing way in which Mayday and Crosshair find out that the clones were always going to be replaced, that inevitability, the futility (on one level) struggle that ends in Mayday's death. 

But it's not just that. There's warmth, too. There's camraderie and a little bit of humor. Mayday, a survivor starting to see how pointless it all was, and Crosshair, who's so desperate for companionship at this point that he'd pack bond with a rock, snark back and forth at each other a little bit like old friends. Heck, this is the episode where we get the most profound act of compassion we've seen in the show so far. Mayday didn't have to disarm that mine and save Crosshair, but he did, and it matters. No, Mayday didn't make it, but Crosshair carried him through a blizzard for two days and made sure he didn't get left behind or die alone, even if he couldn't save him, and that matters. Yes, Crosshair's a prisoner now, but he chose to avenge Mayday, grab hold of his own humanity again, and told the Empire where to stuff it, and that matters. Kindness and defiance have their own meaning, even if they don't change the outcome. But the fact that this episode is more than just sad is, I think, why it's so harrowing in the first place.