#his ability and passing by the stakes for him

[potahun]

im mourning mnh a little bit because i was rly looking forward to her character when she was first introduced but by now if you ask me to say something about her personality (so not even delving into her role in the plot, which i guess will at least have something to do with military action towards the end) im not sure what i can say :< in the beginning, her will being suppressed seemed like a cool plot thing, and she was clearly fighting back against the wedding tournament in her own way, but since then, we really haven't seen her exercise her own will to do much of, well, anything except question mcs about being lin shu and crying...and now she's just... the past love interest who visits him now and then and helps him do exposition of the plot by asking questions. im waiting for her to be delivered from plot shackles so she can exercise her will, please

[nereidprinc3ss]

Happy 2k babe! I have a request for fluffy Spencer smut based on the song "touch tank" by Quinnie! (the song gives me like golden retriever vibes so maybe you could put something about reader playing with his hair in there? I don't know I'm having later seasons fluffy hair Spencer brainrot and I never make requests, obviously feel free to ignore or change things if this is too specific! <3)

hi angel babe!!! i love this song!! and i too am always having later seasons fluffy haired spencer brainrot!! i wrote this super quick, please let me know if its any good, ILY!!! xo

warnings/tags: fem!reader, softdom!spence, sub reader, fingering, oral f receiving, sorta kinda overstimulation, implicit consent, praise n stuff, not proofread, written at 9 pm on a tuesday night, so fluffy

18+ (smut)

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

Spencer is clearly almost asleep on the couch next to you. That’s one of many things you find endlessly fascinating and charming about him—his ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time within minutes. 

So you probably shouldn’t speak. But the stakes are low; it’s barely 7:30 in the evening. 

“Spence?” You whisper. His eyes don’t open, but his thumb goes back to making little passes where it’s settled over your hip. 

“Hm?”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

He smiles, slight but beautiful—yet his eyes remain stubbornly closed. 

“Why not?” 

“’Cause I want you to be awake.” 

“Then you can’t keep playing with my hair like that.”

You pout as if he can see you.

“But I like playing with your hair.”

Spencer hums, and you can tell you’re losing him again as you continue carding your hand through stupidly soft locks. 

“One or the other. You can’t have both.”

“I love you both, though,” you complain. “I don’t know who to pick.”

The grin has been steadily fading from his relaxed face but it flickers back to life for a moment. 

“I’m getting a haircut tomorrow. That should make it easier for you.”

“What?”

It’s the genuine horror in your voice that finally gets him to open his eyes. A little line appears between his brows as he regards you with bleary eyes. 

“What what?”

“You didn’t consult me!”

The momentarily tensed muscles in his face relax and he rolls his eyes affectionately before craning his neck to kiss your forehead. 

“I’m not in the habit of requesting your approval before I make choices like that.”

“Spencer, please don’t cut your hair,” you beg, genuinely distraught. “You can’t. It’s so so pretty.”

“It’s too long, baby. I don’t want to grow it out again.”

“You don’t have to grow it out! Just don’t get it any shorter! It’s perfect how it is,” you insist. Spencer narrows his eyes as you plead with him. But you stand firm in your position. His hair is sort of shaggy, sure—too long to be considered cropped and too short to be considered long. It’s like a beautiful curly halo and it’s perfect playing-with length. “I’m serious. I’m asking you to not cut it short, please. This is what I want for my birthday.”

“Your birthday’s not even—”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top? I love your hair so much and I love you more but I just really don’t want you to cut it, please—”

He’s laughing when he silences you with a soft kiss, and you melt, sighing against him as his hand slides up and down the back of your thigh. When he knows you’ve been sufficiently soothed, he pulls away, still smiling. 

“Oh my god, baby—are you about to cry?”

“Stop!” you whine, burying your face into a throw pillow and screwing your eyes shut. Your nose crinkles up with embarrassment. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and though he’s no longer outright laughing, traces of humor still color his lowered voice as he kisses all over the side of your face.  “I had no idea you felt that way. I didn’t realize I’d be causing you so much emotional distress if I cut my hair.”

You sniffle away any unfortunate emotional reactions and turn your head back to him. He’s ducked down slightly, still peppering kisses over your jaw and neck, and you lace your fingers through the contentious hair. 

“Obviously I’m not the boss of you. If it makes you uncomfortable I want you to cut it. But I really like it how it is.”

He hums against your throat and the vibrations send a chill down your spine. You arch against him unconsciously. 

“You are definitely the boss of me. I don’t know anyone else who I like receiving orders from so much.”

“Hotch,” you whisper, and you can feel Spencer’s teeth against your neck as he smiles and presses another loving kiss to the sensitive spot above your collarbone. 

“Not the kind of orders I was talking about. And I don’t particularly care what Hotch thinks of my hair, honey.” He kisses tenderly until he earns a tiny whimper from you—which sates him enough to raise his head until you’re eye-level again. His hand, however, has other plans—it creeps south, slipping under the waistband of your pajama pants. “What if we compromise? I just get it trimmed so it doesn’t keep getting in my eyes when I have a loaded gun in my hands, yeah?” You nod dutifully, looping your arms around his neck as his fingers dip beneath your underwear. When you don’t reply verbally, he prompts meaningfully, “okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, voice small as you look into his searching eyes. 

For a few moments, when he finally pushes his fingers against your clit and begins rubbing with slow, gentle strokes, his eyes are everywhere on your face—then they focus back on your eyes, watching with that habitually intense interest permeated with a sense of devotion—like he wants to see exactly what pleasure looks like reflected in your irises. Like he could see through them to your brain and watch your dopamine transmitters working overtime. A soft moan escapes through parted lips, which seems to spur Spencer on. He drags more arousal over your aching bud and openly chuckles at your airy sigh of pleasure, unable to resist from giving you a short kiss. 

“Feels good?”

“Mhm,” you breathe. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, kissing you again just as quickly before pulling back to study your face once more. “Pretty girl.”

“You’re pretty,” you insist, with what little brain power is available to you as you rake one hand through his hair. He smiles, eyes pinging between your own and your mouth like he can’t decide where to look.  

“I’m pretty?” he asks, speaking over another quiet, yet unabashed moan. You nod, hips bucking slightly off the couch cushion as he speed up the motion of his hand. The grin widens and his soft amber eyes soften further. “You’re so sweet.”

You give him a moan he can’t ignore and he takes it as a signal to slip two fingers into you, sighing in what sounds like relief just as your breath catches. The way he seems to feel your pleasure will never get less erotic. Once he’d explained it—something to do with mirror neurons—but whatever the reason, watching the way his arousal rises with yours is exhilarating. 

A squeaking sound is expelled from your lungs and your whole body tenses, propelling you maybe an inch upward involuntarily. 

His lips part the same as yours—but only allowing another dry laugh to pass between them. 

“Relax. I’ll come to you.”

You hum as he leans down and kisses you back into the pillow—a proper kiss, this time, lips parted and the tip of his tongue grazing yours—all the while, still pumping his fingers much deeper than your own could ever manage. Each moan and gasp he allows you to release freely, only barely parting from your lips every few seconds to let you breathe and make your noises. When his fingers begin pumping faster, and you can hear it, you whine, knees clamping shut as the small of your back jumps away from the couch. 

“Fuck,” you pant against his lips. 

“Need you to keep your legs open, baby,” Spencer reminds you gently, giving you a peck and a moment to relax as his hand stills. 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit shyly, still wriggling. “Um, can you—can you use your mouth, please?”

Your boyfriend chuckles again and your cheeks get warmer. Momentarily you allow yourself to be grateful that his face is pressed too close to your own for him to be really be looking at you. 

“You still have to keep your legs apart for that.”

“I know. It’s easier when—when you’re not inside.”

The smile in Spencer’s voice when he replies gives you butterflies as if he’s not knuckle deep in you already. 

“I bet you think that’s true.”

“It is!” you whine. 

“You’ve never had your thighs wrapped around your head so tightly your ears pop, have you?”

“That did not happen.”

“Only once,” Spencer reassures you. “And I happen to like your thighs. So no harm done. Go lie down on the bed.”

You let out a small chirp as he withdraws his fingers from you and your waistband snaps back into place against your skin. 

“Where are you going?” you ask suspiciously, once you’re on semi-steady feet and watching him rise from the couch too. At once he kisses your forehead and grabs your ass—the contrast is dizzying. 

“To wash my hands,” he says, popping the fingers that were just in you into his mouth like a preliminary clean up. “Go,” he urges, jutting his chin in the direction of the bedroom door. You hang from him just a second longer, biting back a smile, before tearing yourself away and only half-skipping to the bedroom. 

Only a moment or two after you flop joyfully down on the mattress, he appears in the doorway again, immediately noticing the way you’re practically vibrating with excitement and unable to hide your grin as he approaches. It seems the smile is contagious—he’s sporting one of his own as he climbs over you. 

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs toothily, kissing you once and then speaking again, “I love you so much.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing that makes you feel all soft and shy and giddy and speechless—even as he gives you one more parting kiss and then is sitting up to slide your pants off. 

Maybe even especially then. 

The sweetness dissipates only a little, still hanging thick in the air as you kick your bottoms off, and he leans back down, pushing your shirt over your chest and pressing kisses to your ribs and down your tummy. He doesn’t waste much time, only taking one brief detour to suck a mark and sink his teeth into your inner thigh until your breath catches loud enough to appease him. Then it’s all easy—his cool fingertips trailing up and down the backs of your thighs as he kisses all over and around your core. Intimacy with Spencer is definitely a spectrum, and while you can always feel the depth of his love for you in every touch, right now it’s so tangible, so potent you can feel it in your teeth. 

You coo when one of the kisses finally sticks, lacing your fingers through the hair you love so much and pushing it out of the way as he laps gently at you. He looks as beautiful as always in the golden hour light as it filters through the window, but you’ve always thought he’s just that extra bit prettier when he’s eating you out. 

Visually you’re entranced—it’s only when he begins easing you into the deep end with the flicking of his tongue that your brow knits and you gasp. 

“Spencer,” you whisper, and it melds into a louder gasp. “Baby.”

He hums into you, reaching around your thigh to grab one of your wrists. You allow him to drag your hand from his hair and intertwine your fingers, his hand on top of yours, pressing them against your stomach where he sweeps his thumb back and forth over your knuckles.

The display of tenderness only makes you ache deeper in your belly, singing in airy, open-mouthed praise for him with a moan you know he would describe as pretty. Spencer says things like that often. He always talks about you like you’re an art form. When it comes to talking about touching you, he’s especially poetic. 

When he begins to suckle, your moans get a little more explicit. 

But he likes those ones just fine, too.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, though it’s a little choked, as you writhe just slightly against him. “That’s so good—oh my god.”

The hand that’s not holding yours rapidly changes position—pressing your thigh to the side with his elbow while he slips his fingers inside you once more. 

At that, you really do choke, your body attempting to sit bolt upright but set off balance by the way your hips buck. You moan, loud, lilting, head still lifted to watch as he begins fucking you with his fingers. Your fingers brush through his hair several times before you’re anchoring your hand in it and falling back. 

“Wh—please, baby, I can’t—”

But you can, and you both know it. You always do this; your body sends you signs that you’re over-indulging and fights to escape the stimuli and Spencer has learned to recognize your false flags for what they are. His hand speeds up along with his tongue and you cry out again, fighting to keep your legs open and your hips on the bed as every nerve in your body seems to light up neon. 

“Oh—Spencer I’m gonna come,” you warn, all high pitched and synthesized into one word. He simply hums a long mhm in acknowledgment, and decides at that moment to brush his fingers over that spot inside of you which proves to be exactly the right button to trigger your detonation. 

You can’t help the way you twist then as your orgasm washes you out—jaw dropped as your final keen starts loud, sputters into silence, and melts into an exhausted whine as your hips wind down. Spencer (wisely) adjusts his position, letting go of your hand only so he can sit up as your thighs clamp shut hard. But he’s still pumping his fingers as you writhe, his own mouth hanging open and groaning as you mewl. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, ready to beg him to stop—but as usual, he knows your body better than you do. An orgasm that you had thought was on its way out gets a second life and you can’t even breathe as you feel it so deep within you, pinpointed to one spot of focus, that you have to curl in on yourself, keeling onto your side because it’s simply too intense. 

Either your vision goes black or your eyes are simply closed—regardless, time ceases for an unquantifiable moment, and you come to with Spencer rubbing your back and murmuring your name. 

“What did I do to you?” he laughs, not unkindly.  

Your back arches as mild aftershocks trickle through your system. 

“I don’t know,” you slur. “Dark magic.”

He allows himself to be pulled on top of you once more, and you tangle your hands in his hair again. 

“But you’re okay?” he murmurs, using his dry hand to play with your hair and brush over your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes fluttering shut once more. Then you laugh, sudden and unexpected to both of you. “I think. That was intense. I felt that one in my soul.”

You smile as he exhales a laugh against your skin. 

“Okay,” Spencer sighs after you catch your breath, bumping his nose against yours before sitting up—this time, not allowing you to pull him back down. “I need to take a shower. You should come with me.”

“Five more minutes,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows. 

“But this is your last chance to wash my hair before it’s a whole inch shorter tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you laugh, but it turns deadly serious very quickly. “Spencer, I am not letting you cut a whole inch off your hair. I need that inch.”

“For what?” He snorts. 

You smile big, glad he didn’t see your joke coming for once. 

“Handles! Duh!”

[daceydeath]

Try Again?

Pairing: Chan x F Reader Word Count: 2K Genre: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Swearing

A part two of Why

You needed time to think the scandal was growing and you needed to be sure that you believed Chan or whether you should walk away for good

It had been almost twenty four hours since you had asked Chis to leave your apartment and the first seven, you predicted of many, bouquets of flowers had already arrived at your door. Although you conceded not all of them were from him, one had been from Felix, you were still not sure what to do. You knew about articles on Dispatch titled "Stray Kids Bang Chan Caught Kissing Mystery Woman" and "Stray Kids Bang Chan Takes Advantage of Fan". There were dozens of smaller articles of Chan with the whore sitting on his lap and all of them made your heart break a little more. You believed him but somewhere in the back of your mind you knew that there was always a chance he was lying to you to keep what he already had from slipping through his fingers.

Your phone rang for the twenty eighth time only this time it wasn't Chan or his manager it was Changbin and you knew at least he would tell you the truth, probably. There was little for him to lose, you would remain friends with the other guys whatever happened, you just wouldn't be able to see Chan again. Ever.

"I'm so sorry we didn't stop her" Changbin blurted loudly as soon as you answered the call "Shit we knew she was going to cause a problem as soon as Hyunjin spotted her following us".

"Bin, start from the beginning" you mumbled your voice scratchy from crying. You felt too listless to bother trying to piece information together.

"Hyunjin spotted her while we were filming and she seemed to be following us, when we finished and went out to the bar she popped up again and we knew she was going to cause some kind of issue, the psycho ones always do. But none of us guessed she was going to launch herself at Chan hyung and try to kiss him let alone sit in his lap. She was on him for like 15 seconds before security grabbed her and kicked her out" Changbin prattled before taking his first breath, you understood now why he was a rapper with the ability to speak so clearly but almost so fast you couldn't follow him.

"You were drunk Bin, Chan told me you all were" you sighed sitting on the floor in your lounge unable to even bring yourself to sit on the couch you had been sitting on when he had told you.

"Not that drunk! sure we were all a bit worse for wear but not so much that we didn't panic the moment she jumped hyung" he defended knowing that you knew he rarely got plastered unless he was somewhere that Stay wouldn't see him.

"So a sasaeng followed you around all day and then to the bar and you all did nothing until she decided to sit in Chan's lap and try to kiss him? That's the story you are going with?" you sniffled you had already run out of tears so an almost miserable apathy was all you could manage at that point.

"I'm not lying to you" Changbin's pretty much shouted down the phone frustration evident in his voice "Fuck I have no stake in what happens between you and hyung but I would prefer than neither of you get hurt by bullshit that was caused by someone else".

You stayed silent, your shaky breath probably the only thing he could hear as the moments dragged on before you hung up adding him to the growing list of people you were blocking as the day wore on. You were too tired to deal with this now and no matter what anyone thought you had to protect yourself first.

Another two days passed and another two of the boys had joined your blocked list for not getting the message and blowing up your phone, the list now stood at four members and three managers, you had just hoped that the others would get the hint and either contact you sparingly or just leave you alone until you were ready to deal with it. The articles kept coming, the whore had been sure to give out as much information as she could making the story grow exponentially and Stay were getting angry that the members were being crucified with no evidence to back the claims up. You were now seeing the situation for what it was and to quote Changbin it was just 'bullshit'.

"Holy shit bug are you ok? Everyone is so worried since you just disappeared" Felix asked as he stepped into your apartment with Hyunjin and Minho on his heels. You had invited them over so you could ask them exactly what happened and how Chan was doing, hoping you could finally either tell him that you believed him or to never contact you again.

"I'm better, I just needed some time" you smiled, accepting his tight hug and letting them sit where they wanted "Can I get you anything?".

"No, we brought you coffee though, to perhaps help" Minho offered, placing an iced latte down on your coffee table.

"Thanks Min" you smiled as genuinely as you could. All of the members had been so kind to you after they met you and found out you were with Chan and Minho was no exception to that even though it took him longer to come around.

"Three shots with vanilla syrup" he smiled in return and waited for you to sit down.

"I didn't want to call you and tell you over the phone" Hyunjin started nervously "I wanted to be able to tell you the truth and you be able to see it".

"That's more than I deserve Hyunnie, I've been quite the bitch over the past few days" you felt the skin of your face burning in shame at your admission.

"You were hurt, you had every right to feel what you were feeling" Felix interjected his normally cheerful bright smile replaced with a small shy one.

"We had been filming a Skz Talker" Hyunjin sighed watching you take a sip of the coffee "This girl was following us, but always off camera and only when we were in public, I noticed her after one of the managers was grumbling about her. She seemed fairly harmless just taking pictures and filming us, which isn't as bad as some of the shit they do, so I ignored her".

"Hyunjin pointed her out to a couple of us so I saw her and I'm pretty sure Seung and Innie did too but I'm not totally sure. But she honestly didn't seem as bad as some of the others do so we were probably not cautious enough about her which is on all of us, the managers included" Minho frowned, his eyes sadder than you had seen them in a while.

"When we went to dinner I don't think she was there and then the little bar we went to after that was so small there can't have been more than twenty other people in, including the staff" Felix added cautiously "but granted I hadn't seen her until it happened".

"We had a few drinks, Channie hyung was tipsy and barely at that, and she just appeared and wandered over like she was a friend. He didn't even see her until he sat on him and he was too stunned to even do anything about it, when he didn't react she grabbed his shirt and kissed him which he shut down immediately" Hyunjin continued slowly letting the information sink in. "He just about shoved her to the floor though, once we all yelled and the managers grabbed her Chan hyung just started cursing her out for being a psycho and disgusting, I think Minho hyung called her an whore because he is savage when he wants to be"

"An attention seeking whore but yeah semantics really" Minho confirmed, shrugging casually.

"We were all shocked and Channie hyung just broke down after it all happened and kept saying he needed to see you, he had to tell you but by the time we got back into Seoul and he got here it had already become a scandal" Felix pouted looking like he was the one who had messed up.

"Thank you all for telling me" you smiled halfheartedly, sipping your coffee again.

"Have you eaten today?" Minho asked seriously, looking at you sympathetically.

"I'll order something for dinner in a little while" you nodded your body feeling drained "I promise".

"Are you going to talk to hyung? He's losing his mind over this, not even the rumors and bad press over you not talking to him" Felix questioned as sweetly as he could.

"I'll call him" you again nodded as they all got up to leave, letting you walk them to the door.

"I swear that's the truth" Hyunjin took your hand to squeeze it "Hyung would rather give up his career than lose you".

"I would never allow that Hyunnie" you squeezed his hand back before they walked out and you shut the door behind them. You knew they hadn't lied to you and you also knew that Chan probably hadn't eaten or slept since it happened which made you feel so guilty that you felt your throat tighten. Taking a deep breath you unblocked his number and waited to see if anything happened, opening your food app you ordered something to arrive in an hour knowing that you would forget about it otherwise. Five minutes after the boys left your phone rang, Chan's picture filling your screen and making your heart clench.

"Baby girl?" He whispered his voice croaky "Baby girl please talk to me".

"Hi Channie" you answered him, your voice shaking.

"Oh shit, baby girl I'm so sorry. I've missed you so much and I'm sorry I fucked everything up and broke your heart but I'll do anything, absolutely anything to get another chance. Please. I love you so fucking much I can't breathe without you". He rambled, his voice turning thick as you imagined tears springing into his eyes.

"Channie, you don't need another chance, you didn't lose the first chance" you explained "I spoke to Hyunjin he told me everything and I'm so sorry I doubted you. I should have known you would never do that to me. I should have trusted you more but I was so scared that you might not love me anymore and I already knew you were too good for me so.... I'm sorry Channie".

"No, no, no you have nothing to be sorry for" Chan interrupted "I'm coming round I don't want this conversation to be over the phone. Is that ok?"

"The doors open Channie" you smiled as he hung up and you imagined him rushing around to get to your apartment.

When he arrived you almost cried looking at how tired and wrecked he looked, heavy bags under his eyes, his hair a mess and his cheeks pale. He didn't say a word, just pulled you into his arms holding you so tight that you thought he might not let you go again.

"I love you, I'll leave Stray Kids, I'll quit music, I'll announce we're together whatever you want me to do to prove I mean it" he breathed into your hair his lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"You will do none of those things Channie" you softly protested your voice muffled against his chest "But maybe get more security to stop the insane people getting so close to you?".

"I will definitely do that baby girl" he sighed, his hold on you relaxing slightly "can we try this again?".

"We never broke up Channie I just needed some time, I didn't leave you I just needed space" you whispered "I know I was a bitch and went about it the wrong way. I should have told you what I needed instead of just shutting you out but I still love you very much".

Chan let go of you tilting your face to look at him, his smile so bright that it was almost blinding before he crashed his lips into yours, the emotion behind the kiss a promise that it would never happen again, that his heart and soul belonged to you. Melting against him you knew you would never not trust him again you loved Chan and that was all that mattered.

a/n: I know this took me like a year to finish but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Your likes, comments, reblogs and support means everything to me and I adore you all xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser

[damned-punk]

No Surprises (Kidd x Reader)

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

Content Warning: kissing, fluff

Content Description: Kidd overhears gn!reader discussing something that they want and he decides to make it for them himself ♡

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

The sun sat low on the horizon as you lounged on the deck with your crewmates after dinner. It was the first day back at sea after being ported for a week as the log pose took its time to realign, a fact that left you yearning for a little more time on the island. You’d come across the prettiest waist belt with a snake as the center pendant, golden with glittering eyes. You’d had your hands full with ship supplies and decided that personal shopping could wait until the evening, a well intentioned action that resulted in the belt being purchased while you were away.

“It’s eyes were emerald and the scales were carved perfectly.”, you pouted to Bubblegum and House, “I should’ve just stopped when I saw it the first time.”

“That fuckin’ sucks though… Maybe you’ll find something similar on another island?”, Bubblegum offered as a solution.

“I doubt it.”, you huffed, “Judging by everything else at the booth, I think the owner made the pieces himself so it’s unlikely that another would be floating around somewhere.”

“It sounds to me like you need to find someone to commission.”, House retorted in response to your defeat.

There was only one person that you could think of that had the ability to craft something of that nature, but there was no way he’d waste his time making something so useless. You could almost hear him denying your request, a hurl of halfhearted insults to indicate how much of a bother it would be. Although, despite the conversation only consisting of a party of three, another person had been listening in on your dismay and resolved that he could replicate the accessory with a sense of craftsmanship that would dull that of the booth’s owner. He carried himself to his workbench, red hair falling across his forehead unceremoniously as he brought his goggles to rest over his eyes.

Kidd’s feelings for you had been shifting, deepening as each day passed into the next. What had started as an initial impression of interest had taken full captivation of his heart, bending his iron will to fit in the palm of your hand. He’d wanted to tell you for a while now, he just didn’t know how. He was your Captain and while it would never be his intention, he couldn’t ignore the glaringly obvious power imbalance that would loom over you and he didn’t want a change in your relationship to cause a change in crew dynamics. Too many factors relating to your happiness were at stake and it was paralyzing for him.

It was the reason he stayed pent up in his workshop the entire night, perfecting a golden snake that he hoped to see resting around your waist. It was a visualization that lead his thoughts astray, a break in focus that he had to quickly reel himself in from. Link after link, scale after scale, he fixed and polished components of the belt in a way that he hoped you’d like. Kidd rummaged through several piles of loot he’d amassed through his time at sea, spreading out what seemed to be an endless selection of precious gems to fit for the eyes. He settled on two matching rubies, an unintended homage to himself and as equally befitting of the warm-toned metal as the emeralds he’d noted from your description.

As he sat with the dainty accessory in his hands, a feeling akin to embarrassment spread through his chest. Despite having no good reason, he felt like a fool for making a gift for someone based on a conversation he hadn’t even had with them. Moreover, he wasn’t even sure you’d be enthusiastic about his creation and certainly didn’t want to be at the other end of your disappointment. He tucked the belt away into his palm and stepped out onto the deck to take in some fresh air, the sun just beginning to break across the morning sky. He wasn’t in the right headspace to present you with the belt himself and he sure as hell couldn’t get caught leaving it at your door. He had to act and quickly, it wouldn’t be long before Killer would start breakfast and the ship would reanimate after a rather quiet night.

Kidd approached the door of your cabin and carefully looped the chain of the belt around your door handle. He made his way to his own cabin, showering and lying down to rest even if just for a little while. You woke not long after exhaustion consumed the Captain, going about your own morning routine and eventually making your way to the door. As you pushed it open and crossed the threshold toward the deck, you heard a clanking noise rattle against the wood. Much to your shock and delight, you were met with a gift that you hadn’t expected in the slightest. It was different from the original belt, but better in every way.

You were dumbfounded on how it’d come to find you, especially considering neither Bubblegum nor House possessed the necessary skills to forge something so intricate. Trying on the accessory and finding that it shaped your waist perfectly, you immediately sought out your friends. House was the one to mention commissioning someone to make it but when you pressed her about it, she swore she had no idea where it had come from. Grilling Bubblegum for information also lead to a dead end, but things took a turn when Killer interjected on your interrogation.

“It was left on your door handle?”, he asked for confirmation.

“Yes and I only talked to two people about it yesterday.”, you reiterated, “No one else was on the deck at the time so it’s not making any sense.”

Killer thought back on the night before, reminiscing on the light beneath the door of Kidd’s workshop and the hum of music that seeped from its walls so late into the evening. He’d chalked his behavior up to Kidd’s usual tinkering inclinations, everything clicking for him in that moment.

“I don’t think it was just the three of you on the deck last night… I think this would be a lot less confusing if you asked the Captain about it.”, he suggested, the smile hidden beneath his mask coming forth through his tone.

“Wait.”, the thought of Kidd crafting the belt for you caused your face to brighten, “Do you really think that-… There’s no way.”

“He was up pretty late… I reorganized part of the pantry last night and he was still locked in his workshop when I went to bed.”, Killer nudged you with his elbow, “Go ask him about it and I think you’ll get your answer.”

You reluctantly took Killer’s advice, a feeling of shyness threatening to overtake your usually solid composure. Lifting your hand and leaving three knocks on Kidd’s cabin door, your nerves surmounted as you listened to his heavy footsteps trailing directly toward you. The door swung open to reveal his typical stern expression, features of lingering sleepiness presented as his hair was tousled and he was shirtless. He leant against the door frame, the already noticeable size difference between the two of you becoming exacerbated.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”, you gestured to the belt, still neatly locked in it’s place around your abdomen.

“Why the hell would I know anything about a belt?”, he asked gruffly, averting his gaze which only served to prove Killer’s theory.

“No one else could’ve made this belt, Kidd.”, you grinned up at him, your smile widening as his face glowed a similar shade to his hair.

“There’s no surprises with you, huh?”, he asked, his tone coming across as a bit pouty.

The gesture was so sweet and you just couldn’t help but attempt to wrap your arms around him for a hug. He stood stiff as a brick for a moment, just barely letting himself relax enough to pat your back while a chorus of appreciative compliments crossed your lips. As you spoke, he caught himself staring at them. Much softer than his own and taunting, it was almost like you were asking him to ravage you. These impulsive thoughts had been occurring for a while now, always forcing himself to ignore them.

“Are you even listening to me?”, you giggled at his distant expression, recognizing that he was obviously lost in thought.

He made eye contact with you and gripped your chin in his hand. It wasn’t forceful, but reminiscent of his possessive streak. He leant down and captured your lips with his own, your hands making their way to rest on his chest for support. Without breaking contact, Kidd pulled you into his cabin and kicked the door shut. Following several heated moments, he broke for air and rested his forehead against your own.

“You could’ve just given it to me yourself, weirdo.”, you teased him.

“Watch it.”, he landed a playful tap on your bottom.

The pair of you pestered one another for the rest of the evening, an amusing dynamic that would certainly carry throughout your impending relationship.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 45. the fifth interview candidate

SQUARING HIS SHOULDERS, JAY TRIED TO CALM HIS NERVES AS HE FIXED HIS TIE.

He stood before your full-length mirror, eyes sweeping his figure to ensure his suit was impeccable. Quiet, refined sophistication. His rather unconventional interview was simply a dinner with your father and the other internship candidates at some high-end restaurant. Mr. L/N was kind enough to prepare a car to take Jay to the location, and he even rented out an entire floor at the restaurant for the table to chat peacefully. 

This was already leaving a financial burden hanging guiltily over Jay’s heart, but he couldn’t refuse your pleading eyes the previous evening when you urged him to go out to get fitted into a nice suit. He was certain it was just for your entertainment, judging by the way you grabbed the front of his tie to make out with him with each suit he tried on. 

He just managed to stop you before you paid for the tailoring. Jay slid his card across the table faster than you could, cocking an eyebrow at you when you tried to protest. All he did was grab you by your forearms gently and pull you aside before you insisted on using your card. Plus, he felt bad for inconveniencing the poor employee who drove all the way just to open the shop for you two.

Now, Jay was standing in front of your mirror, wearing the same tailored suit, but he felt a lot less composed than he did yesterday. He didn’t quite feel like himself either. Everything about the person in front of him felt so unfamiliar; even the thoughts billowing about in his head felt foreign to him.

He was seconds away from falling apart, but he had to hold himself together for tonight.

“Nervous?” you asked, peering over at him from your four-poster bed. You were in a black silk robe as you threaded your fingers through your damp hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“It’s just really high-stakes, I guess,” he mumbled, fumbling with his tie before undoing it hastily. He sighed out of frustration, shooting you an anxious look. “I know how to tie a tie, I just—”

“Wait,” you cut him off, walking over to stand in front of him. Gently prying his hands away, you carefully folded the tie into a perfect Windsor knot. “There. You look…”—you bit your lip before smiling coyly—“really good.”

Jay simply hummed in an attempt to hide his delight. “Do I?” 

The guilt from last night was still plaguing him. Jay knew that he needed to push you away, to stop whatever game you two were playing, but he was selfish in the sense that he couldn’t resist you. He just became a fool whenever he was around you.

He could no longer go along with this, though. Jay would finish the interview to his best ability, turn the offer down if he passed the interview, and prepare to disappear from Yale. He felt an ache in his chest at the thought of never being able to see you or his friends again, but he knew it was the only option he had.

Still smiling, you clutched Jay’s tie a little tighter and pulled him close until your lips were at his ears. “I have a surprise for you after you finish the interview.”

And that was exactly when things tended to become dangerous with you, but, again, Jay was too head-over-heels to push you away. He had always been the rational one of all his friends—the one with the strongest willpower—but you happened to always make all of that crumble before him, leaving him at his wit’s end. 

He could smell roses at the crook of your neck. It was almost intoxicating. 

“Nice perfume,” he complimented, which was probably the most chivalrous way he could go about avoiding your risque offer. “Is it new?” 

You let out an elated gasp. “You could tell?”

“Mhm. You usually smell like vanilla,” he observed, bumping his nose against your neck as he breathed in your smell. “This one’s more subtle, but I like it.”

He moved again to look down at you, observing the way your gaze flitted to his lips. The way your eyes softened in the slightest, gazing up at him with an intensity that drew him in, made him feel like was a tug away from snapping completely.

But he couldn’t do this.

He knew he couldn’t.

As he cleared his throat, you asked, “Are we gonna talk about what we are?”

He didn’t respond for a moment—or, rather, he couldn’t. Jay thought he prepared himself for the moment that you asked him such a question, but every possible response in his head had turned into fine dust and sank into nothingness. 

Then, you shook your head fervently and placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him away from the mirror and toward the door. “Forget I said that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up before your interview.”

“No, it’s…” He wanted to say fine, but it wasn’t fine. Of course you wanted to know how to define what was going on between you two, and Jay knew he had to face this question eventually after entertaining you for far too long. How was he supposed to explain that he had to disappear for your own good?

“We’ll talk about it another time!” you chirped, trying to sound overly-enthusiastic to make up for the tension you created. Instead, you held out your fist. “Good luck.”

Jay bumped your fist gently with his. “Thanks.”

After closing your door behind him, Jay headed down the hallway to reach the staircase. The door to your father's study was left open and the light was still on. Jay frowned. Shouldn't he have been at the restaurant by now?

He knocked on the door while trying not to look inside the room; however, when Jay received no response, he peered inside cautiously. Mr. L/N was nowhere to be seen. Jay was about to turn off the lights for him and head out, but something caught his eye at the side table.

An envelope addressed to Citadel Associates.

Heeseung's father's hedge fund.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @zerasari @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowww @enha-stars @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct @hooniesuniverse @enhalov @enhypens-baby @isawritesss

[nayziiz]

Disturbed | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

In the high-stakes world of motorsports, where the roar of engines drowned out all other sounds and the smell of burning rubber hung heavy in the air, Oscar stood as a beacon of unwavering determination. His name was synonymous with calm and resilience, his reputation forged on the anvil of countless hard-fought battles on-track and defying odds by helping keep his team in the running for third in the Constructors Championship. From the moment he first strapped himself into the driver's seat, Oscar had possessed an indomitable spirit that seemed impervious to the twists and turns of the race track.

Race after race, he pushed himself and his car to the very limit in pursuit of glory. Whether navigating treacherous hairpin turns or duelling wheel-to-wheel with his rivals, Oscar never backed down from a challenge. His resolve was unyielding, a relentless force that propelled him forward, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

But for all his unwavering determination, there were moments when he faltered too. It was on one particularly gruelling race day that the cracks in his armour began to show. Everything seemed to conspire against him – mechanical issues, strategic missteps, and a relentless onslaught of bad luck. Each setback chipped away at his confidence, threatening to unravel the very fabric of his resolve.

As the race wore on and Oscar's fortunes continued to decline, a sense of despair settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Doubt crept into his mind, gnawing away at his confidence and sowing seeds of uncertainty. For the first time in his career, he found himself teetering on the brink of defeat, his once unshakable resolve shaken to its core.

Amidst the chaos of the pit lane and the cacophony of roaring engines, there was one constant that anchored Oscar's fraying sanity – her. She was the quiet strength in his corner, the steady presence that never wavered, no matter how tumultuous the storm. Her belief in him was unwavering, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness of doubt.

With each passing lap, she mumbled quiet prayers in the garage. She was his rock, his anchor in the storm, her unwavering support a lifeline in his darkest hour. And though he struggled to find solace in the midst of defeat, he knew that as long as she stood by his side, he would never truly be alone.

As the chequered flag finally fell and the race came to an end, Oscar found himself staring down the bitter taste of defeat. But in the arms of the one who had stood by him through it all, he discovered a glimmer of hope amidst the wreckage of his shattered dreams.

“Oscar, listen to me,” she said, her voice cutting through the chaos of the post-race pit lane like a beacon of clarity. “I know things didn’t go as planned, but you've got this. You've faced tougher challenges before, and you've always come out on top. This is just another step to reaching the top.”

He glanced over at her, his eyes searching for reassurance in the midst of his turmoil.

“But what if this time is different? What if I've finally met my match?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She reached out and gently took his hand, her touch a comforting presence in the midst of his turmoil.

“You're Oscar Piastri,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You're one of the most talented drivers out there, and nothing – not even a bad race – can change that. You have the skill, the determination, and the heart to overcome anything that comes your way.”

In the aftermath of defeat, Oscar realised that his strength did not lie solely in his ability to conquer adversity, but in his capacity to accept defeat with grace and humility. And though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, he knew that as long as she stood by his side, he would always find the courage to carry on. For in her unwavering support, he found the resilience to rise from the ashes of defeat and chase his dreams once more.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

I harp a lot on how I don't think the current episodic release structure for Arknights does it many favors in how it wants to tell its stories, and how it's story manifests for us, but there are some benefits to this type of long form structure, and it's moments that get better with hindsight. It's not impossible to do this in a more contained medium, as this is often a staple of the mystery genre of literature and film, but it is uncommonly employed in video games to great effect, with their contained stories often being played much more straight.

One of the benefits of releasing longer-form content is the ability to both make callbacks and to give additional details that change the meaning in earlier scenes. The most famous in Arknights, at least for me, is the scene in Wei's office in Chapter 2.

In it's original context, this is Wei Yenwu being aloof to the threat of Reunion, not even bothering to properly remember their leader's name. Once you learn though that Talulah is not just Reunion's leader but Wei Yenwu's niece, and suddenly the scene has new context. This is the scene I point to when I want to talk about how much of a slimeball Wei Yenwu is at this point in the story. This isn't him being aloof, this is Wei deliberately holding back information in order to manipulate for himself a better position. By not revealing his stakes, he wants to hold more power at the negotiation tables with Rhodes Island for Lungmen.

Of course he knows the name of the leader of Reunion, how could he not? How could he not remember letting Kaschey go and take her away, prioritizing Lungmen over the safety of his dead brother's daughter? But he's not going to show that to Rhodes Island, a bunch of strangers he intends to use in poor faith.

Now let's talk about a conversation in Chapter 10 you likely haven't thought about in quite some time!

That's right! We're here to talk about Nezzsalem's confrontation with Kal'tsit when she docks with Londinium. This is a really interesting scene that primarily serves initially to offer even more mystique to Kal'tsit and Theresa's assassination. After all, Kal'tsit and Nezzsalem knew each other, they even fought together at least once. The King of the Nachzehrer! He was there when Theresa was assassinated, and here he is now, inquiring about the death of the last pure Wendigo. None of this seems out of the question, but with some more time, it's possible to find this scene strange.

How did he know? Sure, the Nachzehrer thrives off of life and death, but they're more focused on war. The passing of lives to the Myriad Souls is the concern of the Banshees, not the Nachzehrer. Patriot is also not a Sarkaz hero, at least not directly, since he was a Patriot for Ursus, not Kazdel, and he was a supporter of Theresa at that. Given everything we know now, it's pretty unlikely that Patriot would have followed Theresis to Londinium. But it's still not completely out of the question. Babel reveals that the Military Council in its fledgling state knew about where he was.

This is a pretty small aside after Nezzsalem defeats Logos, but it managed to hit me like a brick, because the first thing I remembered was Nezzsalem confronting Kal'tsit about the death of Patriot. Patriot was not just a Wendigo to Nezzsalem, he was something of a son to him. Sure, he might not have been Nezzsalem's only student, but the Nachzehrer are not shown to be a particularly sentimental bunch pretty much ever, so the Sudaram going "Yeah. Your kid" is impactful here. Nezzsalem stands, having beaten Laqueramaline's son in combat, after Aefanyl had proven himself worthy of respect, as an old man thinking about his own son.

This reframes the conversation in Chapter 10. Nezzsalem knows Kal'tsit, it's implied he's known her for a very long time, and it's likely he's seen the different lives of Kal'tsit and likely knew of her involvement in the invasion of Kazdel a couple hundred years ago. So it's now also got that added element of the King of the Nachzehrer coming up to the landship and shaking Kal'tsit by the shoulders going "WHAT DID YOU DO". It provides new context for his anger. Kal'tsit was directly involved in the death of his foster son, just as she was directly involved previously in the destruction of Kazdel and one of the figures behind Babel.

It also adds some depth to Nezzsalem's acceptance. He died a warrior, maybe against one of the most fitting opponents upon all of Terra, and knowing that Patriot chose Kal'tsit quells that anger.

It's all neat. There's more that can be extrapolated from this, such as this providing something of an explanation for Patriot's military ability and potentially even his witchcraft, but those aren't as important or interesting to me. Chapter 14 is a story in a number of ways about the burden and threads of individuals who have lived an immensely long period of time, individuals who have found immortality in one way or another, and the ways that these lives ultimately intersect and weave with one another, and Patriot is another one of those patterns weaved through time.

[kurishiri]

02 . . . william & v.s. darius

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: none.

Kate: Wh—? What do you mean, me for a reward——

In response, Will narrowed his eyes, the color of blood, with an alluring smile on his lips.

William: It is a charming idea, although I have no intention of handing our dear little robin over.

W: If I emerge victorious, would you let me do as I like with you, Kate?

Darius, too, wore a smile as bewitching as that of an angel’s, his honey eyes sweetly tempting.

Darius: And should you become mine, I suppose I’d take you back home with me.

D: How about we have so much fun together that returning to England won’t even dare cross your mind again?

Kate: W-wait, hold up, that kind of thing...

This unexpected turn of events sent my heart racing in confusion, when——

The two of them glanced at one another before bursting out into a hearty laughter.

William: Ahaha, it was a joke in good fun, Kate. It’s not in my slightest interest to offer people up as prizes.

Darius: Ahaha, you take everything so seriously, miss fairytale keeper. Color me veeery intrigued.

Kate: Ehh? Okay, that’s enough ganging up on me, you two.

K: That said, though, I am interested in this match, so if it’s alright, could you let me prepare the prize for the winner?

William: What a wonderful suggestion, thank you. Of course I am more than alright with that.

Darius: Agreed, I’m happy with anything as long as you are the one who chooses it, miss fairytale keeper.

Kate: Please leave it to me then!

——From the first throw, the two made a splendid display.

Darius: I expected no less from you, William.

William: I could very much say the same of you. I’ve learned yet another new thing about you today.

Horseshoes were not only heavy, but also bore a shape that made it difficult to throw well,

but both Will and Darius were able to throw them at the stakes they were aiming for with ease.

Kate: Will! Darius! ...You’re both doing really well!

With such clear skill, I could hear exceptionally loud cheering along with murmurs of praise.

“Wow, they make it look so easy,” “I feel like I’m being sucked right in,” “Those two are so cool”...

(They both don’t seem like they’re going to miss a mark anytime soon. At this rate there probably won’t be a winner and... ah.)

It was then my eyes stopped on something a child who had been passing by was selling.

(Okay, that’ll be the reward!)

I chased after the seller to buy the item I had my eye on, and on the way back——

I ran into a store that was selling another thing that could work.

(And with this... it can just be a gift from me to him, not for winning a match, but rather for the memory.)

I went back to where the two were as the match was drawing near the end...

Kate: Here you go! A reward for the winner. ——In other words, the both of you.

I brought out two cups of chilled lemonade.

Darius: Hm? Wait a minute, you wouldn’t know whether the results ended in a tie until the end, yes?

Kate: Ah, about that...

K: From the very first throw, I could see that you and Will were around equal footing.

Darius: ...Ho-oh?

Kate: And I was thinking if there’s no gap in ability, you can only really leave the rest to luck or how strong one’s desire is to win——

William: ...

Kate: But even in luck and desire to win, I felt you two were on equal footing for those as well.

K: So, I took a bet that it would end in a tie, and I prepared two prizes.

Darius: And what were you going to do if it hadn’t ended in a tie?

Kate: Were that to happen, of course the second lemonade would be for me!

William: Ahaha, that is very much like you, little robin.

W: I will graciously take the lemonade then. Here’s to the little robin who has won the bet, cheers.

Darius: I see you have a strong hand in these games as well. Thank you, and cheers.

Seeing the two drinking the lemonade, enjoying it, my cheeks became more lax.

——At that moment.

Something bumped into my back then.

Slightly dirty boy: Be careful where you’re walking!

The boy turned back briefly to spit out those words before quickly leaving.

Kate: S-sorry, you too! Be care——

William: Let’s chase after him.

Kate: Huh?

William and Darius had already begun running after him, and in the next beat I followed after them.

Darius: Miss fairytale keeper, was anything stolen from you, by any chance?

The boy’s back appeared and disappeared among the throng of people, and while chasing after him I checked my pockets, and——

Kate: ! It’s not here!

The present that I had gotten for him was gone.

I paled in realization, and Will, seeing this, whispered in a calm voice.

William: So I see you do hold it. He may be a child with connections to that organization.

W: ——That which is stolen is bound to return to its rightful owner.

Kate: R-right, anyway, let’s get him!

Darius: Hehe, this is just like Fangen.

D: ——Except that the child’s the one who is ‘it,’ I suppose.

The boy skillfully maneuvered his way through, slipping through the small gaps between the crowd of people and wagons.

And I could recognize the route he was taking, so——

Kate: I’ll go around from here to cut him off!

I separated myself from the crowd to block off the path of the boy, who had come out from under a wagon.

Kate: Stop right there!

The boy seemed startled before changing directions, but there...

William: As expected of our little robin.

This time, surprised by Will, he once again changed directions...

...only to run into Darius.

Darius: Seems like it’s your loss. Ah, and over there is the little miss fairytale keeper.

Kate: There’s no use running now!

Now surrounded in three different directions, the boy panicked.

Slightly dirty boy: ...gh, take this!

The boy took a basket adjacent to him and knocked it over.

The plums that were originally stacked like a mountain scattered all across the street, hindering our path.

Kate: Awawa!?

I caught the basket that had fallen with the plums a moment later.

William: Ahh, could you hold it like that, Kate?

Will deftly picked up the plums one after the other, throwing them into the basket I was holding.

Darius: Could you hold the basket toward me as well, miss fairytale keeper?

Darius, too, picked plums up in a carefree manner before tossing them into the basket, not a single one falling back to the ground.

(Wow, these two are really good...)

In that time, the boy had ran into a side street with agile movements.

Kate: Ah, that path——

After the plums were all back in the basket, we continued our chase once again, and as my memory served, we were nearing a place where the path diverged.

Kate: From a distance, it looks like a straight path.

William: So I see. The boy thought to use this to try and deceive our eyes.

Darius: And had you not told us, miss fairytale keeper, we may have very well just gone straight without a drop of hesitation.

D: ——That said, it is also very possible that, on the flip side, he did actually go straight.

William: The boy is also watching the little robin’s movements, after all.

Darius: Then how about we split into two teams here?

William: Indeed. Then you and I can each tackle a path. Which leaves our little robin.

Darius: ——Miss fairytale keeper.

Both of them turned toward me at the same time, and I gave my answer...

to be continued…

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

← prev william🌹 → darius🪽 →

full masterlist 🌹🪽

[maisiestyle]

"Ned Stark's Precious Little Girl"

Arya is a mix of both her parents. But as her story unfolds, with every new chapter and book, Arya has moved beyond her parents and into a far more dynamic character.

Ned was a role model to Arya, she loved him more than almost anyone (she loves Jon most of all). She holds on to Ned's memory now more than any of his children.

Ned is stubborn, quick to anger, loyal to a fault, and deeply devoted to his family to the point where he sacrificed his honor and died for his children.

Both Arya & Ned had a dislike for Southern culture. Which is double odd considering Ned was fostered in the South: That was never truly his place. Whereas Cat and Sansa are very much creatures made for the South.

Treatment of the smallfolk and not judging those lower than their station... That says a lot about their character, something Ned, Lyanna, Arya & Jon have all shown in the books.

Arya & Ned are similar but different as well. Where Ned was lacking, his ability to not see the truth in the lies around him - Arya has developed beyond that point. Ned was too slow and unyielding until it was too late and he died. Cat was to heedless, prideful, and emotional - that cost her life. At the beginning Arya was a mix of both her parents BUT her journey so far has made her grow and develop where her parents had not. By Book 5, Arya is extremely artful and considerate, patient and willing to face the truth in all its ugliness, adaptable and fluid like water - a changeling. That's how she'll survive where her parents did not.

While Sansa is learning how to flirt, organise a glorified party and remain passive and isolated.

Arya lives out in the open, has escaped death and captivity by her own wits, travelled all over Westeros leaving her memory imprinted on the people she met along the way, and her unyielding desire to never be helpless again which brought her to Braavos. The Sealord of Braavos stood up to a King and his dragons and won - all he did was whisper the "faceless men" and King's Landing yielded - that is true power. Arya will return to Westeros having grown in many ways. But like her father and mother, her family will always be her guiding light.

I love how the Northmen constantly connect Arya to Ned and want to fight for them both:

When White Harbour (a place Arya has visited twice with Ned) hears of "Arya Stark" marrying Ramsay.

“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity…and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.” - (Davos, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

As "Arya" suffers in Winterfell, they connect her to Ned:

"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya." ... What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." ...

"Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears.

~*~

The northmen want to fight for Arya:

“Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya’s home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? […] Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton…but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. - (Reek, A Dance with Dragons)

[…]

Lord Arnolf shoved himself up, a vulture rising from its prey. One spotted hand clutched at his son’s shoulder for support. “We’ll take [Winterfell] for Ned and for his daughter.” - (The Sacrifice, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." - (Dance with Dragons)

[somanyratsinthewalls]

How would you feel about doing a Sanji/Law/Reader fic? Ideally NSFW? Pretty please?

Three's A Crowd

I love both of them so much! Thank you so much for this request!

Three's a Crowd

Pairing: Law x afab!Reader x Sanji

WC: 2500

TW: unprotected sex, oral sex, threesome, three way, eiffel towering, degradation, kissing, alcohol consuption. I love them!

——

“Are you on drugs? You think YOU saved the day?” The attractive redhead, Nami of the Straw Hat Pirates shouted at the man with the overalls and long nose. The Heart Pirates had allied once again with the Straw Hats and found yourselves all aboard their ship celebrating your recent victory. 

“You all would have been mincemeat had it not been for the GREAT Captain Usopp! You should be thanking me!” Clearly fueled by alcohol, Usopp continues embellishing a story of todays events. 

You, having had several glasses of sparkling wine but still remembering this man cowering in fear several times over the past few days, chuckled at his story. You look down and realize your glass is empty and rise from the table to go refill it. You cross the deck on your way to the kitchen and swing the door open. Inside you found the Straw Hat’s chef at the kitchen island preparing more food and drink. You also found your captain (and lover) leaning forward on a stool gesticulating towards a small reindeer. Law had told you earlier that this was the Straw Hat’s doctor. They were engaged in conversation about the latest medical research on smoke inhalation victims.

You give Law a wink and a quick squeeze on the shoulder as you pass him, heading towards the half drunk wine bottles on the kitchen counter. Law responded with a subtle caress on your knee as you walked by. Law never advertised your relationship, but never let you doubt your status. He loved you. Law worshipped the ground you walked on, but wouldn’t let anyone but you know that. You liked it that way. You wanted to make your own way as a fighter and a pirate, not be known as Trafalgar D Water Law’s girlfriend. He knew that, too. You trusted each other enough to do your own thing in public without having to stake claims in front of others. 

You reach the counter and grab a bottle of that mouth watering sparkling wine. 

“Ah, y’n, ma belle. Please allow me to get that for you!” Sanji, the Straw Hat’s chef immediately dropped his paring knife in order to pour you another glass of alcohol. He was such a flirt. It was almost desperate. There was a difference between pursuing a woman and what Sanji did. He groveled and pleaded for even a glance from a beautiful woman. He was so unlike your confident, casual lover. 

“Oh Sanji, I’m a big girl I can pour for myself!” You giggled as he snatched the glass out of your hand, filling it almost to the brim with bubbly goodness. 

“After seeing your skills on the battlefield today, I have no doubt of your abilities, but please let me treat you after a well earned victory!” The cook passed you back your glass with hearts sparkling in his pupils. You smiled and took the glass and drew in a large sip. The flavor was exquisite, they must have brought out their finest stores for the occasion. 

“mmm… you all certainly are treating us tonight. I do appreciate it.” You wink at the blonde, grab his hand and squeeze it briefly before dropping it. You held his gaze for a moment and watched as a singular blood droplet fell from his nose. 

“The pleasure… ma cherie… is all mine!” He fawns over you as you turn to head back outside to the deck and return to the festivities. Before you could make it to the door, you felt a strong hand grab your wrist. 

You were pulled backwards and forcefully seated on a denim clad lap. 

“Oof!” You exclaim as you landed on Law’s thigh. The reindeer doctor had excused himself some time during your conversation with Sanji. 

“Y/n-ya…”  Law purrs into your ear as he slowly strokes your back with one hand, keeping his other on your wrist. “Do you like him?”

You were taken aback. Of course you didn’t “like” the cook, you were in love with your captain. 

“Obviously not, honey. No one could ever please me the way you do.” You say in a whisper as you take the side of his face in your hand. 

“But you find him attractive, no? It’s hard not to…” Law moves his hand from your back to your thigh and skims it up your side under your pink pleated skirt. You couldn’t help but now imagine the Straw Hat’s cook with his face between your thighs… 

“You always said you wanted to try a third…” Your boyfriend hooks his thumb under the thing waistband of your panties and snaps it against your skin. You jolt into him, unconsciously grinding your sex against his thigh. “you’d like that… wouldn’t you, pretty girl?” 

You whimpered. Law chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes, y/n-ya. I’ll talk to him. Go out, enjoy the party. Meet me in our room in an hour or two.” Law gave you a prompting squeeze on the ass under your skirt. 

You clenched at the prospect of having your first threesome, especially with such handsome, powerful men. You obeyed Law’s orders and hopped off his lap and headed back out to the deck. 

Once back on the deck you brought your wine glass over to where Nami, Zoro, Brook and Robin of the Straw Hat’s were seated around a small bonfire enjoying the beautiful starry night. You joined their conversation and settled into your chair. 

“OK y/n so I gotta know…” Nami looked at you and took a long sip of her drink.

“Mmm? What?” You set your glass down and sit up to look in her direction.

“Why don’t you have to wear a stupid jumpsuit? Like, how come everyone has a uniform but you?” Nami inquired genuinely, her words slurred from the buzz she was feeling. Caught off guard, you belly laughed. 

“Haha! Mostly because my boobs don’t fit!” You laughed at your own joke, Nami and Robin laughing at it as well. Zoro didn’t get why it was funny and Brook was paralyzed at the thought of your breasts struggling to fit into a pair of off-white coveralls. 

After your riotous laughter with the girls died down, you caught your breath and responded. 

“No really, though, Nami, when you’re fucking the captain, you can wear whatever you want.” 

Nami shrieked in surprise and Brook shrieked in disappointment. You were laughing to yourself as you overheard Robin clasp her hands together and giggle “good for you!” 

Moving past this topic, you chatted with the Straw Hat’s for quite awhile and drank your fill of sparkling wine. You eventually excused yourself to the guest bedroom aboard the ship you were sharing with your lover for the time being. Feeling heated from Law’s earlier preposition, you went to the mirror and fixed your hair and applied perfume. As you spritzed the nape of your neck, the door opened. 

Law entered your shared guest room and appeared behind you in the mirror. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck and peppered it with open mouth kisses. 

“Is he… coming?” You ask with breathy sighs punctuating your words as your lover sucked on your neck. 

“mmm… impatient, are we, little one?” You could feel him smirk against your skin. 

“You know I only need you…” You breath out as Law firmly grabs your hips and grinds them into his pelvis. 

“I know that too… But why not have some fun while we’re here.. right, y/n?” He was so confident in your love for him that he felt that another man wouldn’t change your relationship. The way you screamed on his cock every night, there was no way you’d ever find anyone more satisfying. He knew you had always wanted to try taking two men at once, and he loved you so much he couldn’t deny that for you… 

“I… I want that…” You whispered to Law. 

“Good.” Law smirked and picked you up and laid you down on the bed. He hovered over you and slammed his lips onto yours into a drunk, needy kiss. Law strips all of your clothes off your body and takes his off as well.

As you and your lover were making out on the bed you heard the door open. You pulled away from Law’s hungry lips to notice a meek Sanji sliding into the room. 

“I.. Um…”

“Here, Black Leg-ya. Come kiss her.” Law was never one to waste time. Law raises his body off yours, leaving you fully exposed for Sanji. 

Sanji waited for a moment and looked into your eyes. You nodded at him. He walked towards you and stripped off his suit down to his dress socks and his tight, black boxers. Sanji climbs on top of you and stares at your wet, kiss-swollen lips, silently asking for permission. The answer you give him is leaning up into his face and taking his nervous lips with yours. He relaxes into your kiss and slides his soft, graceful hands up your sides. You moan into his mouth. 

Sanji slips his tongue into your mouth as he explores your naked body with his hands. He groans into your lips when he finally feels your pebbled nipples with his fingers. 

“She’s ready. Take her.” You open your eyes and look over to the side of the bed where Law was intently watching the cook savor your body. 

“You-you’re sure, Trafalgar? This isn’t a trap?” Sanji pulls off your lips to look at your lover. 

“You better get inside her before I change my mind.” Law begins to stroke his cock languidly, eyes meeting yours. You whimpered at his serious eye contact. Wordlessly, Sanji pulls off his briefs and climbs back on top of you and spreads your legs. Sanji spits into the flat of his palm and slaps it onto your naked cunt. 

“Aaah!” You shriek out at the sharp contact. Sanji lewdly spreads the saliva all over your hole and labia before lining himself up with your messy hole. 

“Tell him how much you want it, y/n-ya. Tell him what a filthy little girl you are, wanting so many cocks…” Law was sitting next to you, slowly fisting his cock as he used his other hand to push your sweaty hair past your forehead. Your body was on fire, you wanted someone ANYONE to fill you and you wanted it NOW. 

“Yes, Sanji! I’m a dirty girl! I want to feel you inside me, please!” You whined out at the cook.

“As you wish, Mademoiselle…” Sanji groans as he pushes his throbbing cock inside of you, raw. Both you and Sanji moan in pleasure, both having been teased by Law for so long. After a few moments of getting used to the sensation, Sanji begins to thrust shallowly inside of you. 

You moan out at the luxurious feeling. Law appears next to your head on the bed, standing above you. Law grabs your cheeks with one hand. 

“Is he making you feel good, sweetheart? You like Black Leg’s cock? You’re drooling… how embarrassing… I guess we should stop that, huh?” 

And just as you open your eyes, Law’s hard dick was tapping against your lips. You obediently open your mouth for his large member. His tattooed hand guides the tip of his dick past the threshold of your throat.  You gag and moan while Sanji continues to batter your pussy. 

“Thaaaat’s my girl… show Black Leg what a talented little fuck doll you are.” You sputter around Law’s cock and babble at him unintelligibly. You pull off of Law's cock for a moment.

“Yes… Sir… I want… To please.. you!” You spit out breathlessly at your lover as the Straw Hat Cook pounded into your aching cunt. 

“Ma Cherie… Such a beautiful little pussy, the best I’ve ever had!” Sanji proclaims with hearts in his eyes. He raises his right hand to rub at your clit. The cook’s eyes  shift for a moment… “Traffy you have to share her, let her stay here for awhile…” Sanji chokes out as he looks at your captain.

“It’s a one night only event, Black Leg-ya, get your fill now.. she belongs to me.” Law punctuates his statement with a hard thrust down your open throat. You were laid on your bed, Sanji thrusting into your abused pussy while Law shoved his cock repeatedly into your mouth. 

“Then I’m filling her up, Traffy…” Sanji picks up the speed of his thrusts and firmly grips your hips. You shriek in pleasure, feeling your orgasm creep up on you. 

“No, that was part of the deal!” Law almost yells at the cook across your body. Both of the men speed up their thrusts. Tears were pouring down your face with mascara onto Law’s cock, not concerned with their argument. You felt one of Law’s hands leave your neck. 

“ROOM! SHAMBLES!” Suddenly your world was light blue. The pleasure in your cunt and the feeling in your throat didn’t go away, but it changed slightly. You kept sucking on the cock in your mouth like your life depended on it. You look up and it was Sanji who was thrusting his cock into your mouth. You gagged and looked down at your stuffed pussy. 

Suddenly it was Law stuffing your cunt, not the chef. Law grabbed your hips and angled them upwards the way that you like. You moaned out around Sanij’s cock.

“I’m-mmmpphh- Cummminn-!” Without warning, your cunt pulses and spasms around your lovers cock, getting the familiar comforting feeling of the love of your life filling you. 

“Ahh Fuck you guys-!” Sanji shouts as he cums down your throat, his right hang pulling you by the hair onto his cock. You swallow it, just as Law has always taught you. 

“good girl… now take the rest…!” Law slams his hips into yours and empties his hot seed into your cunt. 

After the 3 of you had caught your breathe, Bothe Sanji and Law tucked you into a bath. 

Sanji gets up to leave the bathroom.

“Thank you, both of you…” He was so awkward. It was like a dog who had finally caught a car tire. He didn’t know what to do now that he finally got what he wanted. Law sponged the soap onto your shoulders and looked towards the door. 

“Next time we meet, Black Leg-ya… Be ready to do it again.” Law smirked as Sanji nodded and left the bathroom zipping up his trousers. 

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

Idea inspired by this art!

tags: sorcerer!Gojo Satoru x f!reader, au is kind of medieval, mentions of men grabbing reader out of home, burning at the stake, reader is mistaken as a witch but she is a prophetess, it’s giving castlevania x howls moving castle vibes, Satoru is a bit cocky but we love him (might do a pt 2?)

There’s a nice cottage outside the city, 15 minutes away by foot, you live in a home with your mother and brother (your father actually passed from a brutal cold three years ago, leaving you to tend to the home and seek work). It started off as a necessity, advising the horse racing, chicken fighting gamblers on what animal to place your bets on. your reply? intuition. that chicken has sturdy legs, that horse has agile movements. excuses that granted you money for the time being, for your gifts. an ability passed down by the women of your family though yours outweighed the abilities of your mother, so you remained unadvised. using your intuition to get by the day.

Word gets around that a young lady such as yourself is not married. 19, 20, 21, and now 22– you’re questioned behind your back by your neighbors at how you could possibly remain unmarried. It had been 6 months since men started disappearing in your route by your home, reportedly last seen by the lake not far from your home.

You had been labeled as an unmarried bloodsucking siren, a cursed demon who takes the bodies of young men, and although all that is false, it does not help your case that you’ve remained indoors most of your life and the fact that you’ve advised others in the world of gambling.

You were a sinner, sentenced by the court, but before that happened, a large storm broke 7 days before the fated event.

It was windy, dark, and rainy that your mother had frantically put everything away. “I’ll get the lights from the back shed!” you called, putting on a coat, a second for safe measures. the rain pours hard that it overcomes the splish splash sounds of your feet. When you’re walking towards the fence to the main road, and into the back of your home, you catch a man. wet, crouched, and seemingly pained from all the walking he did. the nearest town by foot was over an hour away, and waking in this weather surely meant he could catch a cold.

“I am sorry to burden you, miss...” the voice calls, head hooded from your eyes, “but is there any shelter I can rest for the night? I... I don’t have any-“

“It’s fine,” you speak, soft and understanding before you pull him gently by the arm, “come follow me,” and you lead him to your shed, making a bed of hay for him before you’ve taken your first coat and placed it over the hay for him to use as a blanket or mattress. the man behind you stands silent as you pull out to light a candle for him, turning to him, “it’s not much,” you say, “but you can stay here. It’s better than spending the night outside, right?” with not another word, you hand him the candle and grab the supplies you were originally here for. “stay here, I’ll be right back.” you direct softly, shortly before leaving the shed. at home, you take out a bowl and serve some leftover stew and some bread that you would have eaten in the morning, opting to give it to someone who could have needed it more than you.

“there’s some stew in here,” you say, handing the man a bowl and bread with your other hand. it’s at this moment you notice how unbelievably pale his hands are, almost like the statues outside the cathedrals. it almost leaves you speechless, and he notes. “Thank you, miss...?”

you give him your name without much thought. finishing your arrangements in the shed before you turn to him. “feel free to stay the night, or until the rain has settled. whatever will facilitate your journey, sir...?”

“Go-“ suddenly, he’s surprised that his bread has slipped past his fingers until you’re on your knees picking it up quicker than he can. It isn’t until you look up that your eyes meet his, a breathtakingly striking pair of azure eyes, bluer than any water or sky you’ve dreamed of, it leaves you silent. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, and the sound of his ragged voice reminds you where and what you’re doing. suddenly shy and remembering you’re a maiden, you’re quickly at your feet wishing him a Goodnight without another word, closing the door behind you.

He’s gone the next morning.

Several days pass and the talk of you around town grow more and more. you’ve asked your mother to keep your brother inside so as to protect him, but on the evening of the 7th day you’re harshly pulled from your home, leaving your mother with teary eyes as you’re feeling like the life out of you is being squeezed out with the way so many men manhandle you. pulling you, shoving you, shouting insults, you’re suddenly the main talk of the town as they expose you on the streets calling you horrible names: whore, slut, demon, murderer, and more. the names don’t cut as deep as the memory of being pulled away from your home.

“Burn the witch!” Cry out many, and you’re roughly shoved against a stake before rope is tied around your midsection, burning roughly against your soft skin it hurts. the town mayor gives a speech, then the priest calls your execution necessary for the good of humanity, blaming you for the deaths of over 12 men in a 6 month course. mother’s shout at you and men renounce your existence as worse than satan himself.

everyone wants you dead. and suddenly, the fire runs around you.

“God,” you call out, “please let these people see past their mistakes! you of all people know I didn’t do anything! please save my mother and brother from this fate! please spare their eyes from this shame, this torment they will carry- and please make my end as quick as possible so that I can look after them.” a long moment passes as your head is now dropped low, not long before you hear a chuckle.

“Well, that’s certainly not the type of monologue I’d expect from you.” calls a voice. he tilts your chin up to face him after your silence. you don’t know if you’re hallucinating, the fire is bound to burn you any second and your lungs burn. in front of you stands a man. tall, handsome, and pale. white hair and pink lips like the kind you’d see in paintings. and his eyes? they strike a familiarity you’ve seen before.

the man before you grins, and you can’t help but put your whole faith, even your idea of god on him as he looks at you with such admiration.

“So you’re the girl they call a witch, huh?”

amusement crosses his eyes. and yet again they are breathtaking, finer than any blue mosaic you’ve seen. possibly holier than any church you’ve stepped foot in.

“I’m not a witch, I... I’m a visionary,” you reply, trying not to grow dizzy from the fire around you. when you turn to look elsewhere, no one seems to acknowledge the man in front of you. were you hallucinating?

“So you’re another one of the freaks, huh?” He says, eyes laced with interest. “That’s why they have you here. even when you didn’t murder all those men.”

“I didn’t,” your coughing takes him by surprise and he remembers how sensitive humans can be, “I... I didn’t hurt anyone,”

“I believe you,” he says, lowly. “Tell you what. I’ll save you from this fire, and in return you can help me find out what on earth became of these men. put an end to this. deal?”

you nod, not remembering what happens moments later as the man wraps you in his arms, making you drown into a deep sleep before he kisses the crown of your head. the fire erupts and sparks behind you both as you both rise like shooting stats, terrifying the townspeople behind.

“From now on, you’ll live a life free of torment,” whispers the sorcerer, bringing you into the comfort of his cave.

[lucidsjournal]

GINTAMA REVIEW

After finishing Gintama: The Very Final, my journey with Gintama has officially come to a close, and I must say it has been an amazing ride. Within this post, I will discuss my overall thoughts and feelings about various aspects of the series.

The Groundworks of Gintama:

First, I wanted to talk about my experience with the comedy episodes because I think they are the heart and soul of Gintama. Though at some points the comedy episodes were underwhelming, they steadily improved and became funnier as the series progressed. Some of the best episodes in Gintama are comedy episodes, many of them being filled with life lessons that can genuinely resonate with your own experiences.

I also think a lot of the comedy episodes are excellent because they lay down the foundation for the series by introducing so many new and interesting characters that you dive into. This is also accompanied by exploring many aspects of their lives and relationships with one another, portraying them as a close-knit, if unconventional, family. Seeing their dynamics play out is a joy to watch and though they may joke around and tease one another, they are always there for each other when it counts. As you grow attached to these characters, the serious arcs become even more impactful. Especially in arcs like Benizakura, Four Devas, Shogun Assassination, and so forth. During arcs like these, the stakes are raised higher than ever and the characters' unity in the face of common threats are deeply moving and satisfying.

Gintama's Mastery in Character Revelation Through Vulnerability and Tragedy:

Gintama has a rather large cast of characters, and despite its size, it manages to gently draw you in and make you care about these characters through these individual and personal moments. A lot of the times the show depicts these characters in a more vulnerable fashion and could even change your perspective on them through further context. A good example could be seen with the character Oboro, who is initially depicted as this intimidating assassin who is loyal to Utsuro. But as the show progresses, more is shown about his character and the tragedy surrounding him. Through the presented flashbacks, it is revealed that Oboro lost everything and was saved by Shouyou, eventually becoming his first student. Later on, when Oboro is assumed to be dead after protecting Shouyou, he comes across Shouyou again. But during this instance, Shouyou is seen with new students at the school that Oboro inspired him to open. It is pictured how abandoned Oboro feels when he sees his former teacher with other students, believing that Shouyou no longer even recognizes him. So essentially, this envy and sense of abandonment he felt is what drives him to betray Shouyou and assist in his capture.

As Oboro's character continues to unfold in his final moments, it becomes clear that his deepest desire is to be with his teacher, Shouyou, and the other students as a sort of family. This scene provides so much more context and depth to Oboro's character in painting the regret and sadness he feels. It is such a tragic underline to his character, which only strengthens his dynamics with the other characters, especially with Takasugi.

This ability to effectively provide substance to these characters, often supported by flashbacks, is something Gintama has done consistently well. This could even be seen as far back as in the Mitsuba Arc. Throughout the Mitsuba Arc, Sougo's character past is explored as well as his relationship with Toshi and the newly introduced character, Mitsuba, Sougo's sister. Up until this arc Sougo is shown to be primarily sadistic and conniving, who seemingly holds a grudge towards Toshi. But throughout this arc, we delve deeper into Sougo's character, revealing a vulnerable side to him as he mourns the passing of his sister, which emotionally impacted me a lot.

What Gintama Means To Me:

So I have rambled for a while on well Gintama is able to explore these characters in an emotionally resonant matter. But what does Gintama mean to me? Well to me, Gintama is fundamentally about finding the will to persevere through any struggle and tragedy we may experience, an idea that is strongly supported by the bonds we form, giving us purpose and the strength to overcome any adversity.

The idea of what it means to live forever is something that is a motif throughout the series, as it demonstrates how people's influence and impact on each other leaves a lasting imprint on their souls. This can be shown within the Yorozuya themselves, where upon meeting Gintoki, Shinpachi is bewildered by him and follows in his footsteps to learn the way of the samurai, and this bond that Shinpachi forms with Gintok is strengthened and immortalized as the series progresses.

Kagura, who initially lived with Gintoki solely because she needed money to go back to her homeworld, realizes how much she has enjoyed her time with Shinpachi and Gintoki. Ultimately staying back with this newfound family of hers. The impact Gintoki had on Kagura could be seen through the fact that she has picked up so many of his mannerisms and habits, such as picking his nose and his sense of humor.

While also referring to Gintoki as her, "earth father" on a couple of occasions.

Kagura and Shinpachi to me, share a sibling-like bond. Shinpachi, is the older, rational brother, while Kagura is the younger more brash sister. These two characters have such different personalities and backgrounds, yet still function as siblings. Much of their personalities clash and lead to frequent bickering and playful jabs as many siblings would. Yet beneath all of that lies a deep affection and willingness to support each other through thick and thin. One of the greatest examples that showcases their bond would of course be in Yoshiwara in Red Arc. In this arc, lies a powerful sequence where Kagura loses herself after seeing Shinpachi being beaten up almost to death, which then leads Shinpachi to having to save her as well by reminding her of the bond they share. It was such a touching moment to me and showcased how strong their relationship has become.

As you can tell, I love seeing the character interactions between the three of these characters. There are so many memorable ones and it only shows how much you become attached to them. The emotional beats never seem to miss and it is something that continues to be strengthened as the show progresses.

Gintoki Sakata, Gintama's Soul:

So I talked about Gintoki a bit previously, but I wanted to talk about him more. This will tie into the previous section in what Gintama means to me because I think Gintoki encapsulates the whole premise of the show best. Through Gintoki, we see how deeply the Yorozuya and the many other characters in the series have impacted him, just as much as he has on them. Not only that but it is revealed in the Red Spider arc that another character had a significant influence on him, his teacher Shouyou.

It becomes clear that Gintoki carries the teachings he learned from Shouyou. When the two first met, Gintoki was merely a child who was thrust into a life of killing by circumstances beyond his control. Gintoki had no clear purpose besides trying to survive by defending himself. As the two grew closer, Shoyou laid the foundation for a much different path for Gintoki, one where he would have a purpose. This sense of purpose would lead Gintoki to use his sword to protect his very soul. What this means is that Shouyou was essentially trying to prevent him from succumbing to emptiness, which would only lead to despair. Shouyou himself struggled with this, as Utsuro, his other personality, greatly encompasses. And despite experiencing the death of Shouyou at his own hands and among other tragedies, Gintoki honored the teachings of Utsuro by finding the will to persevere. He started all over again and found this new sense of purpose in The Yorozuya and the entirety of the Kabuki district, forever living on within all the souls he has touched just as much as those very same souls influenced and saved Gintoki from falling into despair.

He encompasses what Gintama is all about, as someone who is constantly met with adversity. Gintoki continuously fought himself, tying into what Kamui said to Gintoki during the Battle Rakuyo arc, that Gintoki was not fighting Kamui, but was instead fighting something else.

This essentially means that whenever Gintoki is fighting someone, no powerful how they are, he is battling himself- facing his weaknesses, fears, and the prospect of becoming empty. This is exactly what Shouyou had taught him. Instead of running away from his weaknesses, he fights them head-on in battle. By doing so, he is simultaneously protecting the bonds he made with countless characters. These bonds have molded him into the new name he now possesses "Yorozuya Gin-Chan," a name that symbolizes the connections he treasures and fights to defend.

It also contributes to why Gintoki is such an endearing character who is so empathic to others who have lost everything and still can provide them with the hope to keep moving forward and fight against their inner weaknesses, just as Shouyou had taught him. He is one of the most life-affirming characters I have experienced and he has so many moments that moved me, especially times when Gintoki comes in to save the day and provide some wisdom that not only applies to the characters he is talking to, but to us as the viewers. There have not been a lot of characters who have been able to have this level of impact on me, but I am thankful that Gintoki Sakata for being one of them.

To Be Hollow:

Within this section, I wanted to discuss more on Utsuro and Shouyou. To me, Utsuro is one of the most nuanced and compelling antagonists I have seen in anime. Supported by a demanding and engaging presence in the same vein as other phenomenal anime antagonists such as Johan and Dio. Similarly to Gintoki, he also masterfully encompasses the ideas of Gintama. But he serves as the direct contrast to Gintoki. Utsuro is physically immortal due to the Atlanta in his body. He eventually became "empty" or “hollow.” Such that he was exposed to the worst of humanity, and was not able to form meaningful connections and memories much like Gintoki and the others did. Unfortunately, he tragically fell into despair, lacking a clear set purpose apart from destruction.

 The Shouyou personality, on the other hand, represents the hope and humanity that resides in all of us. Despite all of the suffering we have endured we can instead strive to change, and fight against our inner “Utsuro."

And though Shouyou eventually lost, he was still able to save and pave the way for his students. Gintoki himself is the actualization of that hope and so I believe Shouyou was able to reach 'true immortality' by bonding with the students he saved just as much as they saved him. He continues to live on within them. I think this just makes Shouyou/Utsuro's dynamic with Gintoki so much more interesting. Especially considering how it recontextualizes the first time Gintoki and Shouyou met. In essence, Shouyou saw himself in Gintoki and realized how dangerous the path he was taking. So by influencing Gintoki, he was able to prevent another 'him' from being born.

Utsuro's Last Stand

The final confrontation between Gintoki and Utsuro/Takasugi marks one of the best fights I have seen in anime, with an absolutely devastating conclusion for Takasugi. The idea of Utsuro taking hold of Takasugi's body was an amazing twist. It initially places Gintoki into such a fascinating predicament, forcing him to fight the shadow of his mentor in his dying friend's body, Takasugi. This tragically parallels the moment when Gintoki was previously forced to kill Shouyou in order to protect his friends during the Joui War. The recurring motif of true immortality is made clear during this fight and it makes Utsuro's conclusion so much more satisfying. This is supported by the reappearance of Oboro, who despite being dead, is revealed to be inside of Takasugi's body alongside Utsuro. This is because of the promise Takasugi made to Oboro, and though Takasugi briefly knew him, he understood his pain and frustration in wanting to be with the other students. So by honoring Oboro's death and working to fulfill his wish to stop Utsuro, Oboro continues to live on within the body of Takasugi, strengthened by their shared resolve. (I'll touch up on this more in a bit as I discuss Utsuro's conclusion).

The Death and Reincarnation of Takasugi:

So as we know, Gintoki was in a position where he had to fight his mentor and friend, Takasugi. Takasugi is well aware of the burden of having to slay down his mentor and friend on Gintoki, which drives some of the reasons why he inevitably sacrifices himself.

Upon Utsuro's death, we see a stunning sequence where Gintoki and Takasugi are on a boat, with many butterflies and petals surrounding the two of them.

Even though Gintoki knows Takasugi will soon die, Gintoki still clings to this idealized dream, one where Takasugi will still live; explaining that he would have loved to enjoy a drink with him. But this is rejected by Takasugi, who reminds Gintoki that even if he still lives, they would still be fighting against each other as rivals. Gintoki himself is aware of this because before the fantasy appears, he mentions that this was inevitable, that Takasugi had not grown at all. Yet Gintoki still fantasized about this possibility, and it made this sequence so much more tragic for me. Afterward, Takasugi places his hand into the water, dissipating the idealized dream and showing him the true reality before them, that he is going to die. There is nothing Gintoki can do about it. During this sequence, Takasugi reminds Gintoki to keep persevering and maintaining the many relationships he has made. He even states, "There is plenty left to protect with that thing, right" where it briefly pans to Gintoki's sword. This ties into the whole idea of what Gintoki fights for, as recontextualized during the Battle Rakuyo arc as I discussed above. Takasugi's desire for Gintoki to let go of this dream and continue forth in life just makes his sacrifice even more significantly moving to me. Now towards the end of the film, it is revealed that Takasugi was reincarnated.  

Initially, I was not sure how to feel about this because I felt as if it might contradict and diminish the significance of Takasugi's death. Then as I continued to reflect on the scene, I began to see how it incorporates some of the show's messages, while strengthening Takasugi's dynamic with Shouyou. The “reincarnated” version of Takasugi that is shown, is a new version of himself metaphorically, similar to how the Shouyou personality was birthed from Utsuro. Essentially, he was given an opportunity, a second chance to find purpose. This new version of Takasugi that emerged has the possibility of not being blinded by hatred and a desire to destroy. It also helps that Shouyou was the one who bestowed this gift on Takasugi, in hopes that he would truly strive for a new path. Through this interpretation of mine, it feels more rewarding considering Takasugi's sacrifice against Utsuro and I believe it still respects the sequence of Takasugi passing in Gintoki's arms. It also ties into the whole idea that it is never too late to change. Though it may have seemed impossible initially, this could provide hope that Gintoki may one day reunite with Takasugi and fight him anew, but with a Takasugi who is not blinded by his weaknesses.

My Favorite Sequences

When reflecting on my favorite moments in the series, three stand out. The first was Utsuro's final say in Gintama: The Very Finale, which was truly incredible. His speech sums up a good bit of what I have talked about previously up until this point, that being the connections and relationships we form give us meaning and ensure that we will live forever.

This is Utsuro's acceptance of this idea. He initially saw a glimpse of the power of immortal bonds through Gintoki's perseverance during the Silver Soul Arc. But the difference is that he ran away and rejected this idea completely because he still believed his belief in humanity was correct. He could not accept it because he knew it would invalidate his actions up until this point and his very identity perhaps. But Utsuro can no longer run away now and there was no turning back.

In the end, he was proven wrong. He saw how humanity can persevere through impossible odds and these characters embody those ideas so well. Oboro who was dead, was now revealed to be alive in the end, attempting to stop Utsuro. Takasugi who sacrificed himself to not only honor Oboro's wishes but to save Gintoki and what he was protected. Though Takasugi is dying, it is revealed that the bonds he shares with Gintoki are stronger than ever, and though Gintoki will ultimately slay his friend alongside the shadow of his mentor, Gintoki will preserve as he always does. This made Utsuro's plan of hollowing Gintoki by forcing him to slay his mentor and friend useless in the end. It is through these sequences of events that Utsuro finally understood what immortality really was, something he tragically never experienced despite being physically, "immortal." The second is when Gintoki reunites with his teacher, Shouyou. It is a beautifully cathartic sequence that feels like the culmination of what the entire series has been building up to. Watching Gintoki share what he has accomplished and the purpose he found within the Yorozuya was incredibly moving. The Yorozuya, a group that helps people no matter what the issue is, whether it is walking someone’s dog or saving the planet, embodies the essence of what Gintoki has become, the little monster who became human.

This leads seamlessly into my third favorite scene, that being “the skies have cleared up,” which I think brilliantly serves as the Final Say of the series, highlighting how Gintoki has let go of all of his burdens, guilt, and pain, fully embracing a life that has been enriched by the countless relationships he has formed. Beautifully showing the idea that it is never too late, that you can still fight your weaknesses, form meaningful connections, and strive to live a life that is colored by the bonds we create. This scene also compliments the scene with Gintoki and Takasugi on the boat so well, because it shows how Gintoki carried on Takasugi's wishes. Letting go of his pain, essentially being 'rebirthed," paralleling to the rebirth of Takasugi shown in the film. Which will make their reunite all the more beautiful.

So that is everything, for now, it is quite evident that Gintama is a special series to me. It is probably my favorite anime at the moment lol. I really hope you guys enjoyed this. These are just my rough thoughts, I may expand on some of the ideas I have brought up here in the near future :)

[thoughtsfromlayla]

☾ The Prince of Stories and his unbridled ability to avoid all possible clichés.

Summary: After an unsuccessful hunt of a rouge nightmare with your new teammate Dream of the Endless, the two of your find solace in a inn. It doesn't go to plan, nothing ever goes to plan.

Notes: ~1.5k words, we love you Meowpheus we all say in unison

Warnings/Tags: Dream x MonsterHunter!Reader, mentions the Blair witch, Morpheus is one dense motherfucker

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous <==> Next

You’re wet. And not in a fun way if you’re allowed to complain about it. You’re drenched, head to toe in late-night London rain, your hair stuck to your scalp. Your clothes are starting to turn itchy against your skin as you bring your hands to wipe away the accumulation of rainwater that clung to your face. A horse-drawn carriage runs past the two of you and drenches you further in mud and water. Great.

You risk a peak at Morpheus, who does not seem at all bothered by the rain. If you squint your eyes, you can see that the rain doesn’t even touch him, rather the water droplets simply pass through him. 

The inn you walked in was warm and dry, perfect for your tired and aching bones. It takes you no time to spot the innkeeper and you drag your soggy shoes over to him, placing your hands on the table with rushed desperation.

“Room and board, please,” you ask. 

The innkeeper looks between you and Morpheus, noting the disheveled state, and nods. “One room left, but… single bed, not suited for non-marital couples.” 

“Yeah, whatever, give me the key,” you don’t even bother to think on it, you are not going back out there. You slam down a silver coin and snatch the metal key from the innkeeper.

Your footsteps are heavy on the stairs and everyone else will think you are the most undesirable young lady of the ton, but do you care? No! This dress is damn heavy when it’s full of rainwater and your boots are soggy and muddy and your corset is digging into your ribs and this cloak was starting to overstimulate you like no other. 

After arriving in the room and tossing the key onto some old dresser, you head straight for the bathroom, ridding your clothes with desperate haste. The clothes stick to your skin and it’s like trying to separate the fruit from its syrup in the jar. Slow, antagonising slow as fitful and you’re on the brink of tears. From under your dress, you pull out the small crossbow, and whip, and silver bolts, and—huh, when did you snatch this stake? Your monster hunting equipment is the only thing you take care of as you gently place them on the bathroom counter. 

Dream, meanwhile, stands in the middle of the room like a shadow that came from no light. He is perfectly dry and warm, not that something as trivial as weather could affect him. Your footsteps had left wet footprints all over the floor and he simply watches them dry while you finish your bath. 

“I needed that,” you sigh as you come out. “You can bathe now, if you need it.”

“I do not need to bathe,” Morpheus says slowly. 

“Okay, gross, but that’s your decision, I suppose,” you grumble. It’s now that your attention draws to the bed. The singular bed in the room. It was large enough for two, if two people were pressed up against each other chest to back. “One bed…” you observe out loud. 

“As the innkeeper mentioned.” Morpheus’ voice comes out like a mocking reminder. You weren’t really paying attention to what the innkeeper was saying. 

“It’s…” you sigh deep, your bones are tired and you just want to sleep. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want your royal highness to sleep on something that hard.” You continue to mutter to yourself as you grab one of the pillows and setting it in front of the fireplace. 

“No need,” Morpheus says slowly, stopping your actions. “I do not sleep.”

A beat of silence passes between you, the goose feather pillow still in your hand as you give a confused look to Morpheus. “You’re Dream of the Endless. You personify the sleeping mind, the unconscious, the dreams of humankind.”

Dream nods once.

“And you don’t sleep?” You probe further, the very notion baffling to yourself. 

Dream nods again. 

“Okay, whatever, good night,” you mutter to yourself. Maybe if you were more awake and less beaten down by the weather you would ask more. But, for lack of a better term, you don’t give a fuck right now. 

Your tired body slips easily into the bed, the sound of the fireplace cracking and the water slamming into the window with distant thunder easily lulling you to sleep. Except for the towering figure standing in the middle of the inn room. 

You sit up, gripping the wool blanket in your hands. “Can you… I don’t know, not do that?”

“What?”

“Stand in the middle of the room when I’m trying to sleep. Act more human, you’re in the human world now.” You look at him, tired eyes raking his figure up and down. 

“What would a human do?”

“Sleep, but you don’t so go downstairs and drink or—”

“I do not partake in alcohol,” Morpheus interrupts.

“Go shopping then,” you offer instead.

“I hold no monetary properties, they are useless to me.” 

“Oh, my God.” You want to scream into your pillow but instead, you take a deep breath. “Go stand in the corner or something, shit!” You sneer, feeling impatient, and fall back onto the bed, turning away from him. 

You take another deep breath, trying to ease the frown that’s etched onto your forehead. You’re going to get wrinkles before you’re 50 at this point. The floorboard creaks slightly under Morpheus’ footsteps as he does as he’s instructed, standing in the corner of the room. Still, he watches over you as you drift off into his realm.

He doesn’t probe, despite his growing desire to do so, knowing that the day you’ve experienced was hard and demanding indeed. He gives you no dreams, letting you simply sleep and rest. Hours pass and he remains in the corner, vigilant as ever.

A particularly harsh and loud boom of thunder wakes you up, the sound close enough to rattle the window panes. You wake with a start, your heart racing in your chest and your fingers wrap around the dagger you kept under the pillow. You swallow as you realize there was no immediate danger, that it was merely the storm. 

Morpheus was no longer standing in the center of the room, much to your surprise. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t listen to you at all. What you find isn’t any better and a scream that you let out is covered by another boom of thunder. 

His figure, black and nightmarish extends like tendrils that crawl along the brick walls of the tavern. His eyes are set on you, not even reacting to the way you screamed at him and when you look back on this moment, you’ll remember that he even rolls his eyes, but in the presence you’re adrenaline is only telling you to get out. 

“It is Morpheus, simply,” his voice is quiet and calming against the storm. 

At his announcement you stopped your scream, dropping your head into your hands at the realization. His actions remind you of another supernatural creature you hunted a month ago. The Blair Witch was one of your most terrifying adventures and you weren’t even successful in eradicating her. To this day, she still hunts the forest of Blair, her silhouette follows you everywhere you go. 

“You scared me,” you swallow your beating heart. 

“You instructed to stand in the corner,” Morpheus reminds you, his voice rumbles just like the now distant thunder. After seeing the sweat coating your hairline, he lets out a small huff. “It was not my intention.”

“Can you… turn around or something? Staring at me is weird and… creepy,” you grimace. 

After a few moments, Morpheus turns, his shoulder sagging as he turns his back to you. After another few silent seconds, you click your tongue. “Never mind, that just makes it worse. Somehow.”

You lay back down on the bed, a grunt leaving you at the force. You stare the the rotting wood of the support beams of the roof above you. Tracing your eyes over the natural swirls and rings in the logs but that doesn’t bring you sleep. You’re acutely aware of Morpheus’ presence in the corner and your mind recalls to the Blair Witch. You got a few hours of sleep, it’s fine, you’ll live. 

“Mrrrp?” A trill interrupts your dooming thoughts and a fluffy black cat eclipses your vision of the roof. 

“Morpheus?” You ask quietly, his paws pushing down on your arm and it felt like the weight of the world on both of those legs. 

Morpheus bunts his head against your cheek in confirmation before making himself a spot between your side and your arm, curling in on himself. 

“I can work with this,” you sigh, feeling your muscles relax. Your hand rests on his side, feeling the silky long fur and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Morpheus purrs, the sound cradling you back into sleep.

As always, thanks for reading :)

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous <==> Next

[soupthatistohot]

BSD: An Absurdist Analysis - Ch. 114.5

Fyodor: The Unkillable Devil

[BSD Absurdism Masterpost]

So, I was mostly correct in my speculations from last month's chapter! I'm really proud of this, though I will admit that my theory wasn't a complete match to what ended up happening

I assumed that Fyodor took on the guard's lifeforce, but it was Bram who he body-swapped with, which makes for a much for interesting (and higher stakes) situation.

Admittedly, this post is going to be a bit less analysis and more me sharing my thoughts and questions, because not much has changed from what I said last month: Fyodor being practically unkillable is the ultimate absurdity for him as a villain -- how do you defeat a literally immortal super genius?

It's just made even worse now by the fact that it is Bram's body who he's "subsuming." It puts considerable distance between himself (now in Japan) and Dazai (in France), who is the only human being capable of killing him due to his nullification. This is deeply ironic in that Dazai was so goddamn close to killing Fyodor, if only he had delivered the final blow himself, he would have succeeded. That's dramatic irony for ya!

The ultimate absurdity lies within the fact that Dazai was so close to victory the entire time; Fyodor was in genuine danger throughout the whole prison break thing (because either poison or Dazai could have actually killed him), but one lapse in judgement has now left Dazai relatively powerless.

There is also absurdity in the fact that Fukuawa, Fukuchi, Aya, and Teruko are basically incapable of stopping Fyodor not only from subsuming Bram's body, but from carrying out his plan with the tripolar singularity. They don't even have enough time to enact a last-ditch effort to stop him before he stabs Fukuchi.

Jumping back to the reveal of Fyodor's ability, this chapter has left me with some questions about Fyodor's plan:

Why allow Sigma to learn of this? I see no really good reason for why Fyodor didn't kill Sigma when given the chance. The only thing I can think of is that he wanted to distract Dazai, ultimately knowing that he would eventually go back for Sigma and try to figure out why he was passed out, killing some time. Still, this doesn't really make much sense to me, as killing Sigma would have done practically the same thing. Also, at that point, there's really no reason to distract Dazai, the deed has already been done. My only other idea is that he figured that once he was able to subsume Bram, it wouldn't matter if Dazai knew about his ability, so he allowed Sigma to obtain this information in order to let Dazai know of his loss. Still, this doesn't make any strategic sense in the way that keeping Dazai in the dark for as long as possible appears to be the optimal course of action.

Does Nikolai know about Fyodor's ability? If so, it would explain the usage of the poison in the prison break challenge, given that his ultimate goal is to kill Fyodor. It might also explain why he considers them to be "besties," because he's one of very few people who know the true nature of Fyodor's ability. This is complete speculation, though, as it could really go either way.

Did Fyodor know Chuuya was faking it the whole time? Because if not, I think Chuuya was his fallback plan. If he truly believed Chuuya to be a vampire controlled by Bram, then at any point he could have ordered him to kill him, but I think the only thing that stopped him from doing so was his desperation to have Dazai killed as the only person capable of actually taking his life. If he did indeed know Chuuya was just acting, though, I wonder if he had just thought far enough ahead to know how things would go and needed Chuuya to be present to get to that conclusion. I'm really curious as to how much of this plan was actual foresight and how much was improvisation.

As for the tripolar singularity... well I think we know where that leads, given that the anime gave us a little preview to future events.

I'll admit that the concept of the singularity is one of the things I least understand about the BSD lore/universe, but this certainly raises the stakes. I might be wrong about this, but aren't there theories that somehow Akutagawa and Atsushi's abilities combined are able to supersede singularities? In this way, they'd be the only hope against Tripolar Singularity Fukuchi (which I've got to assume works much like Arahabaki in that Fukuchi is not in control anymore).

We also now can now assume that Akutagawa (and assumedly anyone else who was turned into a vampire) becomes un-vampirified because Bram ceases to exist when Fyodor takes on his body, so this explains how we get to the above situation.

That's all I got for now! Please feel free to add to my analysis and discuss the questions I've asked, I love talking about this stuff with y'all! :)

Edit: Ok so of course almost immediately upon posting this I thought of more things to add in terms of how this all relates to absurdism. The concept of Fyodor being unable to die is not only absurd from the storytelling perspective of him being BSD's ultimate villain for so long, but also on a personal level for himself.

One of humanity's defining qualities is mortality -- the idea that we all die eventually, whether we like it or not. For Fyodor, this isn't true, though. His ability is a curse that traps him into living so long as people try to kill him. This further explains his ultimate motive of wanting to eliminate all abilities, probably because he recognizes many abilities to be curses and also that abilities have potential to be abused by those in power, whether for "right" or "wrong" reasons.

The irony in this is that Fyodor is doing just that, he has used his ability to remain alive far longer than he should have, and is thus able to carry out his plans. Yes, he believes what he is doing is for the good of humanity, but as the reader, we also know that this is not his decision to make. He has become the very thing he's trying to fight! This can be seen as Fyodor giving into the absurdity of reality, rather than actually rebelling against it, which makes him the antagonist to our absurdist protagonists, who refuse to give in and continue to push back against life's absurdities.

Fyodor's problem (and I think I talked about this in the chapter where he "died") is that he wants to control the absurd reality, but that is just not possible. You can't control meaninglessness, all you can do is not become a part of it, which Fyodor fails to do in his effort to not do so. It's a complete paradox.

Hopefully what I'm saying here makes sense, I am currently running on like five hours of sleep (which not a lot for me) and black tea lol

[yesimwriting]

Sick Day

Set in the Final Girl universe, but it is a stand alone fic that can easily be read with no context :)

Summary: Billy and Stu don’t get why they’re so antsy about the latest addition to their friend group being absent from school. Sure, they talk about her more than they talk about anyone else, but not seeing her for one day isn’t enough to justify panic, right? Guess that doesn’t matter, because they find a way to justify checking in anyways.

a/n if you haven’t read final girl and this makes you curious,, the main fic and extras can be found here: Final Girl Series 

fun fact, this is chronologically set at some point after ‘first impressions’ but before the main series, if you haven’t read either that’s fine, it’ll still make sense, i just like building “lore” lol 

also if there are any typos i’m sorry, i’m stuck wearing a wrist brace for a little while, especially while writing

also this was really fun to write so i might do some more mini fics in the final girl universe in between full chapters, it’s more low stakes and is a good way for me to work on adding to their dynamics,, so if you have any ideas/requests for final girl universe specific stuff pls feel free to ask! 

----

It didn’t take Billy long to realize that part of your appeal comes from the fact that you’re not as predictable as everyone else. Maybe it’s because you’re still new, but that’s easy in Woodsboro, where lifelong friendships are practically assigned by the locker you’re given on your first d of middle school.

You’re also a contradiction. Almost everything you’re feeling is visible on your face, but what you’re thinking isn’t as easy to guess. It balances you out, keeping you from being unknown enough to be threatening but still letting you pop enough to keep you from blurring into the background. 

That’s part of the reason he picked up on your routine so quickly. What he knows about you isn’t as concrete as what he has on the people that are a part of his plan, but he knows enough. More than he intended to. He memorized your classes without meaning to and knows the time you get to school and the approximate time you leave. It’s useful, he tells himself, you’re around Sidney and Tatum all the time and him and Stu are still working on fitting you into the plan.

Sure, they’ve decided that you fit as their potential final girl, but it’s rocky. You bring out something panicky in him and some days it’s too much to be around you and know you have the ability to affect him. It’s not the same, not at all, but Billy can’t help the way it reminds him of what his mom’s distance used to make him feel. At risk. And Billy knows Stu, knows that he probably thinks about you twice as much as he brings you up and that there’s such a thing as Stu liking someone too much. 

When there’s uncertainty, it’s easy to fall back on routine, and you stick to a relatively simple one. You get to school riding close to late more often than not, during your study hall you tend to study outside unless Randy doesn’t use it as an excuse to leave early, then you bother him in the library (something Billy doesn’t get), and you take a little longer at your locker at the end of the day. Billy also knows you’re not one to skip. 

You’re never not at school (which may or may not have lead to an increase in the regularity of Stu and Billy’s attendance). You’re too hyper focused on your grades to not show up without a reason. So when Billy passes by your locker right before the home room bell rings and you’re not there it’s weird.

Billy knows you really must not be here when his eyes land on Stu, who’s staring at your locker. Stu walks you to most of your classes and always walks you to homeroom. 

“She’s not here,” Billy summarizes flatly. 

Stu turns his head, a little unsure. “Or she went to class without me.” 

The jab would be subtle to anyone else, but Billy knows what Stu’s getting at. “She’d still be at her locker, she’s always running late in the morning.” Billy focuses on hearing his words, tries to feel them. “We can check her homeroom.” 

A casual enough suggestion. Still not overly concerned. Stu has to walk past your classroom to get to his anyways and Billy takes that route sometimes. With that justification, the two walk down the hall and peak through the door’s long window as un-notably as possible. You’re not in your usual spot, at the desk right behind Casey Becker, who you talk to from time to time (a potential future problem they’re both aware of).

By lunch, it’s confirmed that you never showed up. You’re not in the first period you have with Stu or the third period you have with Sidney and Billy. Tatum brings it up first. Where’s Y/n? Sidney shrugged and mumbled about how you weren’t in second period today. It only took a minute for the girls and Randy to brush over your absence with a simple she must be sick. 

That got under Billy’s skin a little and he couldn’t figure out why. You’re almost weirdly into the whole school thing--everyone here could likely list your top 3 colleges--and stubborn. Even if you’re only absent because you’re sick, you must be pretty knocked out to not be here. But why should he care about you being really sick or your friends being relatively dismissive? 

“Isn’t she a little...Annie Wilkes about school?” Stu’s question comes out casually enough.

Randy looks up, “She’s not that bad.”

Stu blinks, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Randy was quick to defend you even though Stu’s seen him call you worse to your face. Maybe that back and forth is a sad attempt at flirting. “Easy, no one’s saying anything bad about your girlfriend.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“Knock it off, Stu, they’re basically related,” Billy forces the words out as casually as he can manage.

Sidney picks up on the joke, mumbling some comment about how they do sort of act like siblings, which gets Tatum off on some tangent about her brother. The conversation doesn’t circle back to the person that’s missing.

In the english class you share with Billy and Stu, the teacher hands back an old essay and gives out a homework packet. The two of them exchange a look. That’s a good enough excuse to stop by your house...if they...wanted to, which they don’t because it’s not like your absence is that relevant.

Billy talks to the teacher after class anyways, saying that he could make sure you get the graded essay and homework. You’re friendly enough that he’s sure he’ll be able to get it to you before you come to class and it’s never a bad idea to have options. Stu doesn’t say anything when Billy gets the papers and neatly places them in a folder. 

----

There’s all this energy and there’s no real outlet for it. Stu doesn’t know what it is, he can’t tell what he wants to do with it or what’d make it feel better. He’s felt versions of it all day, having it drop and morph into an off-brand version of that dark, craving feeling he gets at the thought of feeling a knife plunge into someone and rise back up to an antsy-ness that’d better fit a kid in line for a ride at a theme park.

The energy reaches its peak on the front steps of your porch, but the feeling doesn’t settle on a particular charge. It remains focused on the more positive side of the spectrum, but it’s undercut by some of the urgency of the other urge. 

He had been the first one to bring it up after school, when Billy and him were finally alone. It had started relatively detached, things are still weird when they mention you outside of certain contexts. They’re so used to being open about other things that the fact that they’re both almost shy about something--someone--is twisting. It’s a feeling they’re still learning to take in larger doses. 

They had spent a little too long trying to find an angle to justify a pop in to themselves. It’s one thing to think about you, to talk about you, to like you even. But it’s something else entirely to openly care. To worry about why you’re missing school or if you’re sick. 

Eventually, want won and Billy finally said something that stuck. She can’t be a final girl if she’s dying, and we need her to trust us, to like us. 

This is stupid. A flaring feeling in Billy’s chest has been yelling at him to stop since the idea first formed his mind. It’s a distorted echo of his father’s voice. 

Billy swallows once, forcing himself to finally knock. The only thing more pathetic than what he’s doing is lingering, coming here and then turning back. 

The seconds pass and with each of them, they both feel worse about their decision. And then they hear the lock click and the front door opens and they see you. 

You look more tired than usual and the blanket that’s practically swallowing you whole makes you seem smaller, more vulnerable even though you’re more covered than usual. You squint at the sunlight in a way that makes them think you’ve spent the day in intentionally dimly lit spaces. It takes you a second, but once you finally register them, it’s visible. You’re grinning, practically beaming. 

Billy feels the reaction in his chest. It strains uneasily beneath his ribs, not much unlike what he imagines a heart palpitation could feel like. He briefly thinks he might be able to hold the discomfort against you, but even that thought mostly fades. 

Stu’s flooded with the strange desire to wrap you up in bundles of blankets the way that his mom used to when he was younger. The few times it happened, it was weirdly comforting. He can’t remember the last time she took the time to make sure he was warm until his fever broke, but he knows his dad put a stop to it at an early age. Too needy, too dependent.

“Hi?” It’s partially a question, and your voice hints at raspiness. 

Snapping back into reality, Billy answers, “You weren’t at school.” Your eyebrows draw together and Billy realizes that that wasn’t the easy reaction he thought it’d be. It’s too open and implies concern. 

“Yeah, I kinda have a cold-fever-something. It’s a bug my mom brought home from work. I thought she was being dramatic, but it totally knocked me out.” You lean against your front door. If you sense either of their conflicts, you give no indication of it. “Karma, I guess.” 

Stu lets out a laugh at that. “Karma? You were that mean?” 

Your lips pull into an almost-smile. “The universe seemed to think so.” 

“You think the universe gave you a punishment cold, but your mom’s the dramatic one?” Stu’s biting down a grin, all concerns about showing up melting. 

You glare halfheartedly, “You can’t be not-on-my-side when I’m sick. That’s like...against friend...rules.” Your eyebrows draw together. “That was--that was really lame, forget I said that.” 

The reaction is so warm and you’re doing your best even though you’re clearly still not feeling well and Billy feels an awful swell of what’s likely fondness. “Not sure I want to.” 

Rolling your eyes, you relax even more of your weight against the doorframe. The shift is small, but Billy can’t help but note it. Are you just being casual or are you that tired? “You’re both here to cause problems.” 

“We’re here to be nice.” The look on your face says you might be a little out of it but you haven’t lost IQ points. “We got our essays back and some homework. Billy picked up yours and I drove him to school, and because one day felt way too long to go without seeing you...”

Your laugh is punctuated by a brief cough you burry into your elbow. It’s not like you’re coughing up a lung, but it is a little concerning. “You guys grabbed my stuff?” 

The genuine surprise in your voice sticks out. “Yeah,” Billy slides his backpack off of his shoulders and starts unzipping it, “One of those friend rules.” 

Billy finds his folder as you roll your eyes. “Funny.” 

“It’s what I’m known for,” he keeps his voice flat, and the sarcasm feels a little off, but you smile and that makes it a little easier.

He hands you the papers, his fingertips brushing against yours. “I see why.” 

“I never get that many gold stars.” Stu leans forward, re-reading some of the notes scribbled on next to your grade. “Maybe you should invite me over, tutor me...”

Your nose wrinkles. “Shut up.” By now they’ve learned that that’s the closest you’ll come to retreating.

Stu exaggerates a frown, “What? Bringing you your stuff doesn’t get us invited in?” 

The redirect is a bit of a stretch, but you’re used to the jumps and you’re tired enough to not read much into it. Not as much as Billy does, who’s a little surprised because he and Stu never talked about what they’d do after. He decides that it’s harmless enough. 

Turning your head a little, it almost feels like a part of you forgot there was anything to be invited into. “I don’t want to get you guys sick.” 

It’s such a you response. Always considerate, polite. Billy looks past you and into the house. There’s no noise indicating that anyone’s in there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re alone. Though the one time he came over to work on a project, he briefly met your mother and was given the impression that she likes making her presence alone. There’s also your mother’s boyfriend, who wasn’t around when Billy came over but based on your comments, he’s not sure being alone with him isn’t worse than being alone. 

“Are you okay?” The question comes out of Billy a little unexpectedly. “You don’t look too...” 

You glare. “Thanks.”

“Not like--” Billy cuts himself off with a sigh. Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. “You look too sick to be alone. At least say your mom’s here.” 

Billy takes in the details of your reaction even though he already has a good idea on what you lying looks like. Harmless, white lies often used to seem more okay with things than you actually are. He sees something similar in the way your chin tilts upwards slightly. “I’m fine.” 

That’s all the confirmation Billy needs. You’re definitely alone. The lack of lie and attempt at dismissal is oddly endearing, especially while you’re like this, leaning against the front door and squeezing your blanket a little tighter. Wait--are you colder? It’s warm out today and there’s not even a breeze. 

A half thought embeds itself beneath Billy’s skin. He gives in, extending an arm slowly. You’re just as confused until Billy’s turning his hand so that the back of his palm is facing you. “I’m--Billy, it’s--” 

The cutoff of your words is sudden, your lips still partially parted, some other jumble of words dying in the back of your throat as Billy’s hand meets your forehead. You don’t move away. It’s been a few seconds, definitely long enough for Billy to have deduced whether or not you have a fever. How did his mom use to do this? 

He takes his time dropping his arm back to his side. Billy doesn’t have too many references to what a fever feels like on someone else, but you did feel warm. “You have a fever.” 

You press your lips together briefly in a forced pout. “You’re worse than my mom.” The blanket is slipping off of your shoulders, you tug it back up. “I’ll take some Tylenol, find a jar of vapor rub.” Angling your head to glance behind you again, you’re returning to that awkward uncertainty. 

The small dismissal digs at them both. It’s bad enough that they let themselves get to this point over one absence and here you are, alone and unwell and completely okay with sending them away. “You sure you’re good here?” 

This time you’re considering it. The proof of the deliberation is there in your silence. More often than not it takes you two or three offers to accept anything you think is an inconvenience. You’re nice to a point of fault. “I’m okay, because no one dies of fever, but if hanging out for a little and seeing absolutely nothing happen to me makes you guys feel better, that’d be cool. But you need to be careful.”

Stu grins, “I thought no one dies of a fever.” 

You take a step back, offering some space for them to pass, “I hope you get this, I think you could use a karma cold.” 

“Now I see why you have one,” Stu mumbles, pretending to be more annoyed than he feels as he steps into your house as you turn your head to stick your tongue out at him. 

Billy follows, lingering in your doorway before shutting your front door. You’re approaching the kitchen, turning your head to look Billy in the eye, “What do you think? Stu deserve one?” 

He briefly pretends to debate, “Worse.” 

You laugh at the irritated sound Stu lets out at the back of his throat. “Do you guys want anything?” They swear they’re fine as you pour yourself a glass of water and use it to down two tylonel tablets. “If my mom gets back from work and thinks I haven’t offered you guys anything to eat or drink, I’m not hearing the end of it.” 

“We’ll defend you.” Stu rests his weight against the kitchen counter, noting the bottle of cough syrup still out. “You need this?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I took some earlier and still feel foggy. I slept most of today.” 

Stu runs his thumb over the white cap, watching it spin without coming off. He considers pushing. Billy changes the subject before Stu has fully made up his mind, “You would be the type to have the most boring sick day.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re offended, and it’s oddly soft. “I didn’t just sleep.” 

Billy’s amused enough to press, “What else did you do?” 

“I think I know...” There’s a smugness in Stu’s voice that instantly floods you with embarrassment. Oh no. He’s found them. You snap your head up in time to see Stu holding up some of the tapes you left stacked on the counter. “Beverly Hills 90210, the first four seasons.” 

Billy looks right past you and focuses on Stu. “Only four?” 

“Uh--” You’re caught. “Five’s on right now...and I don’t have a copy of six.” They’re both too quiet, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. “Don’t judge. Trashy teen soaps are popular for a reason.” 

“What about artistic integrity?” 

You dismiss Billy’s question with a scoff that’s a hint too raspy. “Cheap writing in Hollywood isn’t my fault.” 

Instead of returning with another joke (maybe some comment about what Randy would say if he ever found out), Billy pushes himself off of the wall he was leaning against and approaches your refrigerator. 

Billy knows he’s at least heard of the usual home remedies, but he can’t quite place them. Won’t place them because the only person that ever worried about these kinds of things isn’t someone Billy’s willing to think about right now. 

Starve a fever or maybe that’s colds. There’s also...electrolytes? And hydration. That’s probably the best idea. Why does it matter? That thought bothers him, digs under his skin and settles at a wrong angle. He’s seen you. You’re alive, unscathed, and relatively fine. It’s not like any of the bad thoughts were proven right--you weren’t skipping for some other person or leaving.

But you’re uncomfortable. And alone. And vulnerable. Billy hates it. Hates that his awareness of your feelings is lodging itself in his mind and that he can’t really help and that it matters. He’s not sure he remembers the last time anyone besides Stu’s feelings actually mattered. Maybe Sidney’s did once, awhile ago, but that--that didn’t feel nearly as urgent as this.

“You okay?” Your voice snaps him back to the moment, to the glass of water he was getting. “You’re kind of staring at that glass like it knows something it shouldn’t.” 

You drop your voice a little, chin tilting down as you try to be funny. The humor is real enough that Billy doesn’t feel overly pushed, but he does note the thinly veiled genuineness in your words. That’s another thing about you. You say things and you mean them. Even if it’s completely casual, even if it’s a sentiment you’ll forget about immediately until it comes up again. You mean it. 

Billy sets the freshly filled glass on the counter, “Drink more water, your voice sounds like it could be used by a horror movie villain.” 

You frown like Billy’s offended you beyond repair. Just as he thinks you might protest, you pick up the glass and down a fair amount in a few gulps. “Happy?” 

“Oh, he’s thrilled,” Stu hums, “That’s what he looks like when he’s happy.” 

“I think I believe you.” Billy waits until your attention is fully on Stu before letting himself give in and smile a little. 

Stu takes a step towards you, “I’d never lie to you, baby.” He ignores the slight face you make at the nickname. Being sick must make you more irritable because you’ve let much more creative nicknames slide. Stu cups your face between his hands before you can protest. You don’t move or try to shake him off. He takes a second to exaggeratedly feel your skin. “You’re as hot as you look and that’s saying something.” 

“I’m wearing Christmas pajama pants that I got in 8th grade and I spent half the morning on the bathroom floor. No one could find this look attractive.” Stu half shrugs, protests already building, but you snap back to reality before he can get them out. “And if I’m that hot,” you step back, using your hands to pry him off of you, “You shouldn’t be touching me.”

He takes a step towards you. “My immune system’s strong.” Stu briefly flexes an arm, “You think all this could be supported by a weak one?” 

You half smile, giving Stu the opportunity he needs to place his hands on the soft blanket still on your shoulder’s. Again, he’s pleasantly surprised when you don’t brush him off. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Stu rubs a hand up and down your left shoulder, hoping the gesture comes off as light and comforting. “I’ll be fine.” 

Nothing about Stu has given you the indication that he’d be a tolerable sick person. Also, a small part of you is worried a cold like this could really take him out. He rarely dresses warm enough and you’ve seen the amount of energy drinks he’s willing to consume on one day. You’re also not sure you’ve ever seen him eat anything with significant nutritional value. “Every day I find out you’ve managed to keep yourself alive, I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

He squeezes your shoulder. “You’re cranky when you’re sick.” 

“At least she said pleasantly.” 

Stu looks past you to throw a dirty look in Billy’s direction. “Aw, he’s jealous of what we have.” 

Okay--you might be drowsy but you know where the play fighting over you goes. It starts off lighthearted enough, but if you’re not careful it can end kind of sour. One second everyone’s joking and the next Stu’s actually pushing you to pick a side on something that should be harmless but feels heavy. Sometimes Billy gets a little more involved than you think he wants to seem and it never feels fully about you. It’s like half of what they say means something else to them. 

“Okay, no fighting over me,” you shrug Stu off as best you can without losing your blanket, “I belong to this blanket and the couch.” 

You grab your cup of water off the counter and start walking to the living room without checking if they’re following. You hear their footsteps, but pay little mind to that as you settle on the couch and set your glass on the coffee table. 

Billy sits down next to you. “Couch and not your room?” 

Reluctantly sighing, you drop your head back, letting your neck rest at an awkward angle. "I live here now.” 

He can’t tell how much of that is a joke. Are you feeling that sick? “Right.” 

Your attention briefly flickers to the TV, the cliche teen drama that’s still playing being enough to suck you back in even though you’ve missed some context. To him it just looks like overly pretty-ed people overreacting. The scene ends and you return to the present enough to shrug off your blanket and settle the fabric more comfortably on your lap. “You guys can change the tape if you want.” 

A small mercy. Billy stands and begins looking at the tapes stacked on a shelf near the TV. It’s a fair collection, but the movies he saw in your room the time he came over to work on a project were better. He picks the first title that feels decent enough for background that doesn’t seem like too much just in case you’re prone to nausea. 

You’re patiently waiting for the tapes to switch out. Stu’s being quiet, which would have clued you in on a better rested, less sick day. You don’t realize he’s planning anything until you feel the side of your blanket being tugged on. “Stu.”

He scoots closer, “It’s cold.” 

Stu stretches his legs, weaseling himself under your blanket. You weakly try to push him out “There’s another blanket over there.” He ignores you, adjusting so that your legs overlap. “You’re going to get sick.” 

“Your pants are soft,” it’s said so softly, like a kid getting clothes fresh from the laundry.  You’re not sure you have it in you to ruin his good mood. He stretches a foot past your knee and a few inches up your thigh before relaxing back into place. “Fuzzy.”

Despite what you’re wearing, you can feel the comfortable warmth radiating off of him, turning the space beneath the blanket into a space heater. “You’re like a radiator.” 

“I’ll keep you warm an--” 

“Don’t ruin it.”

He frowns, mumbling something about you being “no fun” before sinking further into the couch. You pull more of the blanket onto you and Stu’s hit with the realization that you might not be warm enough. “You want another blanket?” 

You’re clearly surprised by the question. “Uh--no, I think I’m--” 

Stu pushes himself so that his legs are almost off your lap in order to reach the fabric draped over an armchair. He moves back into place and makes a point of draping the blanket over you. “Warmer?” 

“Yeah,” the admission is hesitant.

That is so like you, needing a little push to accept what you need. “Told ya.” 

He must be right because you don’t say anything else. Silence is usually your way of being reluctantly wrong. Stu takes his victory as an excuse to move a little closer. 

Billy sits back down, settling a little closer to the side of the couch. He’s not exactly jealous of how open Stu is. Distance is a good thing, a smart thing. But he does--

A weight on his shoulder. It takes less than a second for realization to wash over him. You’re relaxed, head resting on his upper arm. The room feels a little snugger but it’s not an uncomfortable change. 

The opening credits of the movie are rolling off screen and your eyes are focused on that. “Not to make this weird or lame,” you pause, sniffling slightly as you breathe, “But you guys are kind of nice, sometimes.” 

That has to be a sign of you being tired. Billy fights down a smile. “Sometimes?”

Stu turns his leg to tap your knee, “I think we deserve a little more than that.” 

You move your hand under the blanket to halfheartedly flick his leg. After that, your hand relaxes and rests there. “Fine. Most of the time.”