#i know the show is old but i like to tag spoilers just in case

[a-kinda-nerdy-girl]

Finally made it to the last season of crazy ex girlfriend on Netflix (it has taken me a while to watch this show so I'm late to the party), and the tiredness from starting an antidepressant scenes were very relatable

[diathadevil]

Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

[ashenworth]

so I'm catching up with the final season of TWD right now and

Negan leaves the group and comes back after three or so months (three episodes) and

he's. married. with a pregnant wife. i

I

I'm gonna off myself

[mismatched-sockss]

You're my future, past and present

» Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader » Word count: 6,4k » Warnings: spoiler mentioned for 9x23 Angels / 9x24 Demons, Spencer's POV, exes to lovers, set after s15, anxious!Spencer, reader feels guilty at one point, language? (one 'bitch' from reader to reader), mentions of past fights, minor misunderstandings, random old lady plays cupid <3, fluff, kissing, how many phrases for being in love can one pack in two paragraphs? me: yes., » A/N: my brain is on strike for finishing bingo fics for some reason, it instead gave us this so yay!, i'm still working on those of course but i can't tell when i will get the next one done (in the words of one Penelope Garcia: Why do the last 10% always take the longest?), hopefully by the end of the week; it's lightly implied that reader can get pregnant in the beginning but it's not explicitly said (only mentions of kids), which is the reason i tagged it as fem but no mentions of anything body related or any pronouns (i think so, please let me know if i missed pronouns), so it might as well can be read as gn; no body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

He should have asked Penelope for a favour to look you up, before he came here. He had no idea how your life had changed in all these years he hadn't seen you or if you even wanted to see him again. It didn't particularly sound like it the last time he saw you.

You could be happily married with kids for all he knew. The thought alone almost made him turn around without even knocking on your door. He didn't know what he would do if this was the case. Or maybe you didn't even live here any more, you could have moved; to the other side of the city, to another state. Another country. You had toyed with the idea to move to Scotland back then, it very well could be that you had acted on it.

Too much time had past, five whole years – five years, three months, twenty-one days and eleven hours, forty-two minutes to be exact; but who was counting, right? – and there was too much history, too much heartbreak. Too many reasons why it hadn't worked out.

The main – and kind of only – ones being his job at the BAU and everything that came with it. The travelling and never being home, not even a free day or annual leave really meant not getting called in, the late nights, the worries that he could get hurt and may not be coming back home, the worries when he got hurt.

You had your reasons to break it off and he still thought that you were right to do so. He never held it against you, never resented you for leaving. Because he understood. If the roles would have been reversed, he may would have made the same decisions.

This whole idea was stupid. Why was he even here. He should just leave.

What did he think would happen when you saw him? That showing up out of nowhere – with no contact since the break up, not even a single text message – and having a 'new' job would change everything and would make you jump back into his arms in an instant like nothing happened? Yeah... Sure...

Maybe, deep down and in the tiniest crack of his heart, he didn't even want you to open the door; didn't want to see your reaction to him just showing up and the inevitable rejection that would surely come. He was sabotaging himself, really. And if he would be more honest to himself, he'd knew that. Maybe he did, but just didn't want to see it.

Spencer had been pacing back and forth in front of your door for an eternity by now; walking closer to it and already lifting his hand to knock, but changing his mind before his fingers even came close and he was walking a few feet away to leave, only to change his mind again and repeat the whole ordeal. Over. And over. And over.

He just couldn't make his mind up, he didn't know what to do. It shouldn't be this hard to knock on a door. Especially yours. But maybe it was this hard for him because it was yours.

At one point, he, a man of science, even asked the universe to give him a sign, to show him what he should do; if he should do it or if he should go.

That's when it happened.

Right after, as he was walking closer to the door again, he tripped over his own damn feet and he ended up kicking the door with his shoe; not hard, but audible enough.

Shit. Not the sign he was looking for. A pedestrian screaming something outside that he could twist into an answer, a car honking when he either was close to the door or walking away; hell, even a spam mail popping up on his phone that had a certain word in the subject line... No, it had to be this way.

Now he had to knock.

Taking a shaky breath, he hit his knuckles against the wood a couple of times and started fidgeting with his fingers as soon as he had lowered his hands. His heart was in his throat as he waited anxiously. His mind in a constant battle of 'please be home' and 'please don't be home'.

A moment later – both too short and too long at the same time – the door opened just a crack and it was really you standing there. Not some random person that would tell him you moved. You.

You didn't turn your head just yet, looking back over your shoulder instead, you held out your arm behind you and said “Stay there” in a soft voice to someone behind you. When you turned you blocked the entrance with your body and kept your left hand on the door.

Your eyes grew wide when you saw him. Spencer probably was about the last person you would have expected to see when you opened the door. He couldn't bring himself to break the silence first, didn't dare to speak.

“Oh, hey... Uh-”, you stammered looking for words, blinking in confusion. For a moment you opened and closed your mouth, and he knew you were hating that you looked like a fish out of the water, before you gave up and just settled for another “Hi.”

“Hi.” He hated how shaky his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes for a moment, looking down at his hands and the floor before he met your gaze again.

“Wow, it- it's been a while.”

“Yeah...”

“How long 's it been? Five years?”

“Five years, three months and twenty-one days.” Spencer pressed his lips together before he could blurt out the hours and minutes as well.

You laughed – not mean, but endearing – and the sound combined with the smile that spread on your lips made his heart leap. “Right.”

God, how much he had missed your laugh; how much he had missed you. Now that you stood before him, it became evident, that all the longing and yearning he had felt in the past years had been nothing more than a fraction of what he was really feeling; repressed by throwing himself into work and keeping his mind off you as much as he could.

His love for you never went away, never dulled even the slightest bit, and seeing you now was almost too overwhelming for him, his feelings for you crashing over him, nearly sweeping him off his feet.

“Uhm, I was just about to go to the park with Cleo”, you started, shooting a look over your shoulder and Spencer's heart dropped. He could have sworn it stopped beating for a few seconds as well. The Stay there hadn't rung any alarms in his mind, it could have been said to any person really. Going to the park with Cleo however...

He really should have asked Penelope to look you up before he came. You had a kid.

And since he could only see the heel of your left hand and not your fingers, he couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but there was a high chance there was a ring on your finger.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hold you up. I'll just, uhm-”, he stammered choked up and pointed his thumbs over his shoulder, taking a step back, about to turn away and leave.

“No”, you exclaimed, maybe a bit too quickly and panicked, as you held out your right hand like you wanted to reach for his arm; even making a small step out of the door. “You don't have to leave. You could- uh, you could come with us? If you want to.” If he wouldn't know better, he'd say there was a pleading look in your eyes, begging him to say yes and stay.

His mouth opened, but no words came out, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't even know what he wanted to say.

'Yes sure, let's go to the park with your daughter and rip my heart into pieces seeing and hearing about you living the life I dreamt of having with you, with another man'.

A plain 'No.' would be too rude, wouldn't it? Even if he would add a 'thank you' at the end, it didn't feel right.

“She uh- she likes meeting new people, she's really open; sometimes I'm afraid she'll walk off with anyone. Come here, girl.” You looked over your shoulder again and tapped your flat hand against your thigh a couple of times, then some clicking and scratching could be heard behind you on the parquet floor.

The speckled snout of an Australian Shepherd pushed in the space between your knee and the door, then tried to push through further after seeing Spencer. With a laugh you took a hold of the collar and held the dog back from running out.

“Cleo, stay.” You squatted down next to her, petting her head and scratched behind her ear. ”I have to warn you, she can be a bit rough when she gets excited.” A wide smile was on your face as you looked up at Spencer. “I've been trying to teach her to not jump up on everyone she meets, but it doesn't stick.”

Just like that, he felt like he could breathe again. Cleo wasn't your daughter but your dog and the ring you were indeed wearing on your left hand was one he recognized from your jewellery box.

A relieved chuckle left his lips and he mirrored your position. He held out his hand for Cleo to smell before he touched her. She really was excited; she was pulling against your hold and tried to get closer, her tail was waggling so hard her whole body moved in the rhythm and she nudged her nose against his palm hard after a short sniff, so he would pet her.

You did your best to hold her back, but after Spencer verbally said hi to her and was petting her on both sides of her head she surged forward; your hand slipped from the collar and Cleo threw her whole weight against him, making him loose balance and topple over.

With an outstretched arm he held himself up, laughing, as your dog rubbed her head against his torso and hand and was spinning around a couple of times between his legs, repeatedly leaning herself into him with every turn.

“Cleo!” Your voice had a warning tone to it that hadn't fully replaced your laugh though, not until she let out a small bark and started to lick over his face. “No! Stop!” You pulled her away and moved her back into the apartment; Cleo only reluctantly complied.

Before he could react, you shuffled closer on your knees until you kneeled right before him and in between his legs. You reached out and started to wipe the side of his face clean; the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your fingers. “I'm so sorry, she's usually not that excited. I have never seen her do this to someone that isn't me.”

He froze when you got close and he felt your touch, every soft stroke leaving behind a trail of fire, even with the thin fabric barrier between you. One would think his heart couldn't pound any faster in his chest than it already had since he had laid eyes on you again, but it did.

“It's- hu, it's okay”, he stammered as he was watching you intensely, with wide eyes.

“No, it's not”, you said softly and took his chin between your thumb and index finger, slightly tilting his head to the side as you tried to get everything off. “Do you want a wet wipe or something? You can come in and wash your face if you'd prefer that.”

Spencer couldn't help the smile stretching on his lips, his heart warming over the fact that you were still looking out for him, after all these years; after everything that had happened and all the things that had been said the day you broke up with him. His hand moved on its own accord and he wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Really, it's okay.”

You met his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks and it was like you only now realized how close the both of you were sitting and that you were touching him. For a second you froze, your eyes wide. Then, after a deep breath, you pulled back to bring some distance between you and cleared your throat, looking away.

He could tell there was an apology forming on your tongue, but you swallowed it down. You began to nervously fidget with the hem of your sleeve and cleared your throat. “So, uh, do you want to come with us? There is this coffee shop on the way that opened about six months ago and they're really good, we- we could grab a coffee and catch up...?”

“I'd really like that.”

It was easy, talking to you. The initial awkwardness and anxiety he had been feeling had quickly faded and the both of you were talking as freely and open as before, like no time had passed; and he was incredibly grateful for it. Neither of you had been going to personal topics for now though – the closest thing to personal in a deeper sense was when you asked about his mom –, the both of you had been talking more about everything and anything.

[..] Did you end up getting that book collection you had your eyes on? - When did you get Cleo? - Oh, do you remember my coworker Grace? All the rumours really were true! - Is your neighbour still vacuuming solely in the middle of the night? [..]

About halfway to the park you stopped at the café you had mentioned and while you were waiting in line, you told him about the different coffee varieties they offered; the flavours, how strong they were, how sweet, the seasonal ones. You had drunk your way through the list three times and until you decided on your Top 5.

He crinkled his nose in adoration as he was listening to you rambling about the coffee – what you liked about each one and why you didn't like another – totally engrossed by you; you had done this in the past as well and it made Spencer happy that you still were. It was adorable. He wondered, if you still wrote down your Top 5's in that little notebook you had always kept in your purse.

The one you recommended to him was really good, you had met his taste precisely; the perfect amount of sweetness just how he liked it, and with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon.

There were many occasions he was about to reach for your hand, it was almost instinctually when you were this close to him. He didn't know if you would let him, if you would want it. So Spencer didn't. Instead he buried his hand deep into the pocket of his coat to keep himself from reaching for you, holding a tight grip on an old pack of gum he forgot was even in there.

Throughout the whole way from your apartment to the park, Cleo was happily dancing around you, just shy of making one of you trip over her. That she didn't circle around the both of you to wrap the leash around your legs – all '101-Dalmatians'-like – was all.

After you arrived at the park you walked a bit further in until you came to a fenced area that seemed to be reserved for dogs for them to freely run around without having to be leashed. As soon as you unhooked the leash from Cleo's collar she dashed forward, joining a group of dogs playing.

Spencer and you sat down on a bench and just sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching her. His hands got clammy as he got nervous because of the proximity, and he tried to wipe them on his pants as discreetly as he could. You were sitting so close to him, your thighs and shoulders were almost touching; he could feel the warmth radiating from your body and with every soft breeze the smell of your shampoo got carried over.

“So, uh... How have you been?”, you asked after a few minutes.

He huffed out a small laugh and licked over his lips. Where should he even begin. “Long story short? Not good then somewhat okay, bad, worse, better, okay.”

"Sounds like one hell of a roller coaster."

Oh you had no idea how much. And 'hell' sounded about right to be honest. "You could say that... How about you?"

"Wasn't much going on for me to be honest. I've been... okay? After some time at least...”, you admitted nervously, following Cleo with your eyes. “Everything alright at the BAU? How is everyone?”

“Good, they're good.” Spencer started telling you about all the changes within the team, but he left out all the bad stuff for now – he told you about Alex leaving, about Tara joining after practically a 36 hour long job interview for the open position, JJ and Will having a second child, that Morgan left and had married Savanah and that they had a son as well, Garcia vehemently trying – but ultimately failing – to hate the newbie Luke.

“Rossi got married last year.”

“Really? Again?” You let out a soft laugh.

“He re-married his third wife actually. They got back together after-” He had to stop for a second and swallowed hard as the spark of hope was reigniting in his chest. If Dave and Krystall had found their way back to each other after thirty years and made it work, five years didn't sound all that bad in retrospective. He tried to play it off like he was trying to remember the exact number of years. “Around three decades, I think.”

“Wow... That's a lot of time..”

“It is.” For a short moment Spencer didn't say anything more, trying to muster up the courage to tell you he left the team as well.

“And I- uh” He huffed out a small laugh, nervous, and let his gaze wander over the meadow. There he goes... “I'm not- I'm not with the BAU any more, actually.”

“...Oh”

For a moment you didn't say anything else and his heart beat faster. He couldn't a hundred percent gauge what your silence meant. What the oh meant. Did you care? Were you relieved or maybe even sad for him? Could – would – it change anything between you, even after all this time? Would you give the both of you a second chance? Him?

Hope started to rise up again in his chest and he tried to stop it and keep it at bay, so it wouldn't take over him; it would only crush him even more to lose you a second time if he'd let it happen. Spencer's breathing became more shallow and slightly faster as he waited for you to say more.

He could just turn his head to look at your face of course, study your expressions to get his answer without you saying another word. He didn't. Something held him back; maybe it was only because he was respecting your wishes from years ago not to profile you. Maybe it was fear of what he would see.

He heard you clear your throat and when you spoke, your voice was shaking, almost undetectable however. If you wouldn't sit so close to him – and if it wouldn't be you and he wouldn't be him – one probably wouldn't have noticed. “Why not?”

“Re-assignment due to budget-cuts or something like that. There were a couple of people higher up the food chain than Emily that had it out for us for a couple of years now.” His eyes followed Cleo sprinting over the grass, chasing and playing with the other dogs.

“Emily is back?”, you asked. The last thing you knew was that she had left for London not long after she came back from the dead.

“Yeah, she took over from Hotch after-” He stopped himself.

Telling you about Hotch and Scratch and why Emily fully became Unit Chief of the BAU, meant he had to tell you about everything else; everything that had happened to him. He just wasn't ready for this yet. This would have to be a story for another day; for both your and his sake.

“Anyway, I uh- I'm teaching now. Full-time. Mostly at the academy and some colleges here and there. But all in all-” Spencer took a deep breath. “Fixed work hours and no travelling for longer than a day.”

Only when he felt you tense up did he bring himself to look at you. You were sitting up with a straight back, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed. Your eyes were darting around and he watched a muscle twitch on your jaw.

He quickly looked away again, concentrating on Cleo again, before he could read you more. He couldn't help it, it was hard not to and turn it off. By now profiling was in his blood, it was a subconscious habit he couldn't always control, it just happened. You didn't want to get profiled, so he did what he could do to not use his profession on you. If it meant turning away and not look at you, even if he was only looking just to see you, he'd do it.

Also, he knew that he was biased; another reason why he shouldn't. What he would see and read would not be accurate. Usually, this was not a problem, he could read body language and micro-expressions with a 99,42% accuracy, since he'd do it with a neutral stand. But right now it was personal.

What ever Spencer would see in your non-verbal communication, he was too involved to not let his judgement get clouded by his feelings for you, his hopes and his fears. He would only see what he wanted to see, or what he not wanted to see, depending on which part of his heart was winning at the moment; the confident and hopeful part, or the insecure and anxious part.

“That's... That's nice. Do you like it?” He wished, he knew what you were thinking right now. Your tone didn't give much away on how you were feeling, but you seemed a bit more relaxed to him.

“Yeah, it's fun. There are some key topics on the curriculum I have to cover of course, but other than that I have pretty much full reign over the subject matters. Learning is more fun when it is about something you're really interested in, so I take suggestions from my students for a lot of the lectures. It's been paying off already.” He smiled proudly. “They contribute more and most grades have gone up.”

Slowly, the longer you talked as the evening proceeded and the sun slowly began to set, he let himself go, allowed his heart to open up and he welcomed the prospect of having you back in his life – to what ever extent it may be, even if only as a friend if that was what you wanted.

His heart had leaped when you shared you weren't seeing anyone and it hadn't slowed down it's pace ever since. Both of you had been talking and asking about it in the most complicated and conspicuously inconspicuous ways one can ask 'are you dating someone?'.

Not only this, but you wanted to spent more time with him. Spencer couldn't believe his luck. It was almost too good to be true and he feared he might wake up from this wonderful dream any minute.

He could tell how nervous you were when you asked him; hands and voice shaking, fingers fidgeting with Cleos leash in your lap, your eyes not daring to meet his.

"Tonight is this big bonfire at the Benson's farm, you know, the one with the apple orchard? I was thinking of going and.. maybe if you- I mean, if you are free tonight and want, uh- Would you like to go with me?"

There was nothing he'd rather do, nowhere he'd rather be.

After a short stop at your apartment to bring Cleo home and for the both of you to freshen up, you made your way to the farm. It was a fairly short drive and the roads were mostly empty as it got later, a bright full moon illuminating the way now.

When you arrived, there weren't too many people present. It felt more like a large family gathering than a big event. At a decent distance were benches placed around the huge bonfire, there was a tent where various beverages and a few food options were served. Next to it stood a truck from the fire department and an ambulance; a precaution if the fire got out of control or someone got hurt.

The air smelled of smoke and burning wood, french fries, beer and Mrs. Benson's home made apple pie.

Sorry, Mr. Benson's apple pie as Spencer learned some time after you arrived. You introduced him to the hosts and you started to talk about a new recipe for the pie filling you had tried to make and Mr. Benson explained what he would have done different than the recipe you found had stated.

The Benson's were nice people – he had met them once when he had accompanied you to the farm to get apples and honey. You had gotten closer to them since then, dropping by to help them out from time to time, especially when it was time for the harvest.

He had to catch his breath as his heart fluttered, his eyes glued to your face as he watched you talk with old man Benson. The way your eyes wrinkled at the corners when you smiled and the excited glint in your eyes, how the fire painted beautiful orange patterns on your face as the flames danced high, fuelled by the soft breeze; combined with the silvery light of the full moon shining bright. You looked ethereal.

Spencer became increasingly aware of said man's wife and her three friends, who stood a little farther away. The women were whispering to each other and kept looking over, one of them not so subtlety pointing at the both of you. They weren't talking badly, not at all; they were smiling and giggling as they were talking, nodding at what the other ones were saying, swooning with their hands over their hearts from time to time.

It could only mean one thing – and he wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed about it, or not: that he all too obviously for everyone around looked as love struck as he felt; utterly bewitched by your beauty, completely head over heels, truly madly and deeply in love with you in every way, a total goner who was worshipping the ground you were walking on.

Thank god for the warm shine of the fire, or they would be able to see the blush rising up his neck in this moment as well... He just was glad that he had finished his piece of pie before this, otherwise he'd probably stand here with an open mouth and the fork frozen in mid air as he was looking at you. Now, that would have been a good picture.

What he didn't know though, was that they weren't just talking about the smitten look on his face, but yours as well. The longing glances you shot his way whenever he wasn't looking, how you were orbiting around him like the earth around the sun, a magnetic pull to each other that not even the both of you seemed to realise you had as you unconsciously stepped closer to the other when you stood too far apart. They talked about the fact, that you looked at Spencer with such a happy and beaming smile they hadn't seen on your face in a long time.

And that they could tell how hesitant and shy the both of you were about getting closer.

It's not like he didn't want to, believe me. The urge to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you – to kiss you – was still burning in every fibre of his body and it got more and more challenging to hold back, the longer he was around you. Leaving out the tiny part in him that was still afraid of getting rejected, he didn't want to impose on you by acting on it. He didn't want to possibly make you uncomfortable, so he left it to you to initiate any physical contact.

Admittedly, this was very much a bad plan if you were doing the same and were waiting for him to make the first move. However, the universe seemed to take matters in its own hands again.

Spencer had to remove himself from of the situation for a moment to restore some of his composure and not ogle you non-stop; especially not in front of all these people. He let you know that he would get the both of you something to drink and asked what he should get for you; when he came back, Mr. Benson had left.

For some time you stayed close to the fire, until he saw you lift your hand to fan yourself some air. “Too warm?”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at him. “Yeah, it starts getting a bit too much.”

He took the now empty cup from you and with a tilt of his head he signalled you to follow him. He gave the cups back to the person behind the make-shift bar counter and you walked a little farther away, putting some distance between you and both the tent and the fire. And the people too actually, the majority had gathered close around the flames in small groups.

“That's much better”, you sighed. “I like a nice fire as much as the next pers- oh.”

Before you could finish, you lost your balance when a body collided with yours from behind. You stumbled forward and Spencer instinctively reached out to catch you – he got a hold of your arms with a firm grip on them right above your elbows as you fell into him, bringing up your own hands to hold onto his shoulders.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, I must have tripped over something. Are you okay?”, the voice of a woman came from behind you.

Neither of you let go of the other as you turned to face her. Spencer recognized her as one of the women that had talked with Mrs. Benson earlier and the look on her face told a whole different story than her words; that she wasn't sorry at all and that it had been deliberately planned to bump into you.

“I'm okay, no worries. Are you?”, you asked her and quickly scanned her for injuries.

“Ooh, I'm good. I'm good...”, she replied, almost in a sing-sang kind of tone and a wide smile on her lips. She snickered softly and walked away, her hand raised with a lazy kind of flick in her wrist as a wave good-bye.

The both of you watched her walk away, baffled.

“Okayyy”, you let out as you kept your eyes on her for a moment longer. “As long as she didn't twist her ankle or something.”

You turned your head, and just like earlier in front of your apartment, it seemed like you only just now realised the position you were in when your eyes met his. How close you were and that you were still holding on to each other.

Only this time, you didn't pull away.

The world around him seemed to fade away, time standing still, as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched and when his eyes flickered down to your lips, Spencer felt your grip on him tighten, subconsciously pulling him closer to you. His heart was in his throat and it beat so loud that he was sure you were able to hear it. He let his eyes wander back up and when he saw that you were looking at his lips as well, he threw all caution in the wind and just... did it.

He let go of your elbows, took your face in his hands and leaned in, hovering his lips over yours for a short moment to give you an out, to give you time to pull away, but you didn't; instead you closed the small space that was left between you.

A long and deep sigh rumbled in the back of his throat when your lips met and he pulled you closer; as you leaned into him, your hands moved higher until your fingers were tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it.

When you pulled back – more than reluctantly, but the both of you were still in public – , you were panting, your breaths mingling as your faces were still so close to each other. Spencer kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, not quiet ready to open them yet, afraid that when he did, he would wake up from an incredibly vivid dream.

“I'm sorry”, you suddenly choked out, which made him open his eyes in an instant. Tears were streaming down your face and you took a step back, keeping him at arms length. “I am so sorry, Spencer.”

“Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me, please.” Your emotions had changed so suddenly, he didn't know what happened, what made you cry. He wasn't sure what he should do, how he could help you calm down.

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, shaking your head.

“What for?” Did you regret letting him get close to you again; kissing him? Did you regret, that you hadn't just closed the door right in his face as soon as you had seen him this afternoon?

“Everything!” you choked out. “For how I acted all the time and for leaving like that, for leaving when I did. That I didn't contact you even once. For saying all those things, it wasn't fair. It never was. You didn't deserve it. I was so mean for no reason...” You sniffled and wiped the back of your hand under your nose. “I regretted every word the moment I said it, I didn't mean any of it. I couldn't stop talking and it was like I was losing control over myself and it all just came out and-....”

“Hey, I know...” Spencer took a small step closer to you. “In that moment it hurt, yes. And it took a lot of time until it stopped hurting; sometimes it still does. But I get it. You were scared. Some people get angry and lash out at the people around them when they are scared, especially directed at the person they are scared for; everyone reacts different. It's a totally normal reaction, I don't blame you.“

A sob came over your lips, your face twisting in pain. “Please don't be like that...”

His brows furrowed, a short and sharp pain in his chest. “Like what?”, he breathed out.

“So understanding... I acted like a total bitch to you! You should hate me... Why don't you hate me?” Your voice broke and got smaller with every word.

The corners of his mouth slightly raised to the whisper of a smile and Spencer closed the distance between you, lifting his hands to cup your cheeks. He wholeheartedly meant what he said next; there was not one thing he could think of that would change anything about it.

“I could never hate you.”

“You were shot. You needed me and left you alone and-”

“I've had worse. Before that day in Texas and certainly after”, he trailed off and softly shook his head when your brows furrowed even more, pain and fear so evidently in your eyes; he could tell that you knew he wasn't talking about anything related to the break-up.

“It's okay, I'm okay.” Spencer brushed your tears away, holding your face so gently in his hands as if you'd break into a million pieces if he wasn't careful enough. By the looks of it, you may very well would. Not a risk he was willing to take.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he stopped you from asking what had happened after, by placing his thumb over your lips. “Not tonight.” Gently, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip to the corner of your mouth. “We'll talk about it all and I will tell you everything, I promise. Just.. not tonight, okay?”

He wanted to stay in that little bubble you had created a little longer and ignore everything else but the feeling of having you back in his arms, being able to kiss and hug and touch you again, he just wanted to revel in your presence and your love. Everything else could wait; the guilt, the talking it out, the pain and especially all the bad stuff he had held back.

You pulled him closer by the collar of his jacket until there was no room left between you. For a second you fought with yourself, your eyes darting back and forth between his like you were looking for something in his gaze before you acted on what you wanted to do. Then-

“I love you.”

Before he could say, think or do anything else, Spencer dove down and pressed his lips against yours, smiling widely into the kiss. His heart was racing and he felt like a huge burden had fallen from his shoulders that he didn't even know he had been carrying. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I love you.”

He couldn't hold back his own soft laugh when he heard you giggle happily before you said: “I can't believe you still want me...”

“It's you. It's always been you and it always will be you.”

[cinnbar-bun]

Part 4 Jotaro going to Morioh only to find you, a former Stardust Crusader on accident. I imagine they fell out of touch/didn't have time to talk. (Maybe they had feelings for eachother??)

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I WENT NUTS!!

Reunion in Morioh

Relationship: Jotaro 4 x GN!SDC!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! Some discussions of spoilers for P3 and P4. A brief P5 mention (ifykyk). Jotaro is currently divorced in this fic, and it features some cameos of the Duwang crew. Some mentions of trauma from P3 but overall pretty soft all things considered.

Read in my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned!): @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro isn’t necessarily the best at communicating. That was always the case with him, as he felt he expressed himself just fine. Surely anyone could tell what he was thinking with just one look or a quick sentence. 

Even when you two traveled together with the rest of the Stardust Crusaders, he assumed you knew him well enough. It did seem that way, at least. You practically became the Jotaro translator to the rest of the team. 

His relationship with you was different from the others, a more close and intimate one compared to the others. It was clear that he valued your presence in the crusaders even more than he did, say, Kakyoin’s or Polnareff’s. 

Jotaro, despite his rough and tough exterior, really did care for you. Even in his more immature state, he had a habit of protecting you and focusing on your comfort than he usually spared the others. 

He knew what he felt inside, that the feelings he held for you went beyond platonic or just mere friendship. It was a genuine want for a closer relationship with you. 

But Jotaro, ever the stoic seventeen year old who had never been in a relationship before, did not really know that his feelings were not easily read as desiring a romantic relationship with you. 

To him, he was dropping hints left and right and showing obvious signs that he had a crush on you and wanted to be with you. 

To you, he would just hand you the last bit of water before Polnareff attempted to chug it down. 

To him, he was standing closer to you and signaling he liked being next to you, while also keeping watch of you to make sure you weren’t too far behind. 

To you, he was gruffly telling you to hurry the hell up. 

Despite the untold feelings you both had for the other, neither of you ever went out and told the other of them. It was the one time you had failed to read Jotaro correctly, one that he spent the next few years believing to be you rejecting him and his ‘advances’. 

So when it came time to part, he believed that your rejection of him (misunderstanding his cues) was your real feelings and decided to stay away from you, figuring you’d rather not be around him after he confessed (throwing easily misinterpreted signals at you). It was another of his silent ways to make sure you were comfortable, but he didn’t realize that you would take it as a sign of him rejecting you as if your relationship meant nothing. 

Well, that was ages ago. 11 years later and he’s no longer the 17 year old delinquent who could smoke five cigarettes at once, but a 28 year old marine biologist who had gotten divorced from his first marriage. 

He didn’t want to be in Morioh, but considering Joseph’s colossal screw-up and the mysterious events taking place, he knew he’d have to stay far longer than he had anticipated. 

Morioh is fine and all, but he didn’t find any worthwhile reason to stay. That was, until Okuyasu and Josuke accidentally destroyed a part of your fence, leading Jotaro to drag them to you to apologize. 

“Come on, do we really have to?!” Josuke cries.  

The commotion outside obviously bugs you, and you swing open the door, complaining about the noise when you gasp as you come face to face with Jotaro again. Time has really been kind to him, and even with his older appearance, it’s easy to tell it’s him. 

“Jotaro?” You ask, making sure it’s really him, while Josuke and Okuyasu eye up Jotaro to explain what’s going on. 

Jotaro keeps it curt and polite, feeling some fondness for you after all these years but still not wanting to overstep your presumed boundaries. He ignores Josuke and Okuyasu’s wide eyes and comments and gives you a brief nod. 

“(Y/n). It’s been a while.” 

“11 years, to be exact…” 

Knowing that you’re here makes the trip significantly different in his mind. Your stand is quite useful, and he asks to recruit you one more time to aid him in finding Kira. He is being truthful about wanting your help, but admittedly, a selfish part of him wants to see what you’ve been up to. 

You agree, feeling somewhat similarly to Jotaro. He has changed a lot since you two last said your goodbyes at the airport, and it’s made you curious how he may have grown. 

Jotaro doesn’t really like to discuss much of what occurred in Egypt to the Duwang group. Josuke and Okuyasu mostly want to hear about how you two became friends and knew each other. Koichi recognizes that you two have some mutual respect for the other and that you seem to know a lot more about Jotaro than meets the eye. Rohan, however, is the one who knows something must have gone down for you two to be this awkward around the other. And he will be annoying and try to get sneaky about finding what happened. 

“Call it a hunch of mine, but something tells me that there’s an interesting story to be told between the two of them.” 

Joseph is the one that breaks the ice for you and Jotaro by being his usual self. 

“Oh, (Y/n)? Is that really you? Don’t tell me I’m hallucinating this!” Once you assure him that no, you are not an illusion and that it really is you, Joseph embraces you and blabs on. 

“You’ve grown well! Haha! I didn’t think I’d see you in this little old town. You know, it breaks my heart that you and Jotaro didn’t stay in touch after all that with Dio. I was sure you’d become part of the family!” 

You can practically hear glass shatter as everyone gawks at Joseph, who is humming casually and doesn’t realize what he just admitted, while Jotaro is fuming internally and attempts to drag Joseph away. 

“Ignore him. Old age has taken a toll on his brain.” 

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Joseph spoke so freely. It stopped both you and Jotaro from thinking the other hated you, but it also left a reminder that once upon a time, you two were that close. 

Still, Jotaro doesn’t want to push his luck- for pete’s sake, it’s been 11 years, why would you care for him like you did when you two were dumb teenagers?- so he tries to keep it professional. 

But unfortunately, even he can’t help the way he gets more protective over you during an ambush from stand users. Or how he gets stern with the boys if they make a poor joke or something negative about you. Or the way he finds himself feeling nostalgic. 

It takes a while but you two eventually begin to talk again beyond surface level greetings and battles. Jotaro finds out that Polnareff used to send you letters, but one day just stopped sending them all together without warning. You find out Jotaro pursued his dream of becoming a marine biologist and was currently writing a thesis on starfish. You moved to Morioh after the trauma from Egypt, living alone and being unable to connect with ‘normal’ people after being so fundamentally changed by the trip. He had a wife and daughter in America, but due to his time away from home, was divorced from her. 

Some things haven’t changed. The comfortable air between the two of you still remains, giving the two of you a break despite Kira being on the loose. Jotaro thinks to himself that he hadn’t felt this at ease in years. 

As the days pass, the feelings he had for you slowly resurface, but this time, he’s much more aware of relationships and wants to correct his mistakes from the past. He won’t be the same misunderstood boy from back then. 

So with a casual and stoic expression, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to you. 

“How do you feel about going to grab a meal with me tonight?” he asks, hoping that him being upfront will give you two another chance to start anew.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

~

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

~

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

~

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

[goddessofroyalty]

So this was based on a silly joke I have in my head about hormonal birth control not working for omega!Sanji for (spoilers) reasons and him and Zoro then ending up with 3 kids on the pirate journey because they keep breaking condoms.

Anyway this is just them finally making it back to the Baratie and having to face up to Zeff about it (from Zeff’s POV)

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg

---------

Zeff will admit he is slightly surprised at the swell in Sanji’s stomach when he showed up again as part of what seems to be the new Pirate King and crew’s Victory Tour.

It’s not that Eggplant had given him no indication of it – he had been getting more and more jittery every damn time he’d gotten in touch as the Strawhats made their various stops before reaching the Baratie. Saying how some things had happened during his travels and that he’d needed to talk to Zeff about them in person. But Zeff had assumed it was to do with his damnable family. Not that his woman-obsessed omega son had gone and got himself knocked up. By an alpha, going by the new layer of scent clinging on top of the one he remembers to be Sanji’s.

And, because wonder’s don’t fucking cease, they’ve only just gotten through their tearful hug when a little green-haired girl comes running over. Clinging to Eggplants leg and staring up at Zeff with curious, familiar, blue eyes.

“I thought you were staying on the ship Princess?” Eggplant says, brushing a hand through her hair. And Zeff is equally sure that actually Sanji told her to stay on the ship as he is that his boy was as much a pushover to his daughter as he had been any woman who had stepped foot into the Baratie before he left.

“You know she wasn’t gonna’ as soon as she found out this was your old home.” And there was the newly minted World’s Greatest Swordsman and apparently sire to Zeff’s grandkids walking in like it had been his home as well and not the place he had gotten nearly cut in half by the former owner of the title.

And, fucks sake, there was another little one resting on his hips as he does it with that same matching green hair.

“I do remember teaching you about the importance of making them wrap it,” Zeff grumbles, because going by the age of the older one the two it hadn’t been all that long after Sanji left that he had gotten himself knocked up. “I know you said you weren’t planning on getting with any alphas but I know you were still listening.”

Eggplant goes red at it before glaring at Roronoa who gives a grin back that is entirely too filthy and leaves Zeff sure that he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Zeff asks more to move the topic away from his kid’s sex life before he finds out more about it than he wants to.

They had been exchanging letters and calls on and off the whole time and never once had Eggplant mentioned that he was going to be or had become a granddad in any of them.

“I did try to but I couldn’t say anything too direct in case it got intercepted,” Sanji explains, resting a protective hand over his middle while the other curls around the girl at his side.

It makes some degree of sense. Best way to keep the two, soon to be three, pups from being a target is to have nobody know they exist in the first place.

Maybe Zeff should have guessed something like this was up when Sanji had asked him how he had dealt with the stress of raising a kid in the dangerous world they lived in. But he had just assumed his boy had finally matured enough to realize how much of an antagonistic dumbass he had been at times.

“I did want to tell you though,” Sanji continues, his voice guilty.  

Roronoa has moved close to his mate’s side, not touching though. Which is probably what Sanji actually wants – always had been a bit funny about any too direct an offer of comfort. Something Zeff’s probably as much to blame for as anything else in his life.

“You have no idea how many times I nearly did.”

“Probably for the best you didn’t,” Zeff says because he can’t have his kid feeling guilty for doing the smart thing. “I don’t know if I’d have been able to keep away if you did.”

Neither he nor his ship these days are made for the journey to the Grand Line. And it wouldn’t have been good for Sanji or the rest of the crew of his to have an old pirate getting underfoot while they were making names for themselves on history’s pages.

“Hell, I’m gonna’ struggle letting you sail off with my grandkids with you now. You better come visit more than you have been!” He doesn’t actually hold it against them and damn well know the reason why this is the first time he’s seen them since Sanji left to join a pirate crew. But he still missed years of his grandkids lives as a result and they had better make up for it.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 8

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

An experienced commander, Damen knew what happened when soldiers rode through populated lands. Given warning, the old and the young, the women and the men would make for the surrounding countryside, taking shelter in the hills with their best cow, or provisions. If not given warning, they were at the mercy of the troop’s leader, the most benevolent of whom would make his men pay for the provisions they took, and the daughters and sons they enjoyed. At first.

i don’t know if i’ve said this before (sarcasm), but i do not like the way traditional akielon culture seems to think it can get away with being depraved just because it pretends to be noble (slavery, war strategy). at least the veretian court and military are self-aware about the ways they suck, and the pets have contracts.

As he spoke, Damen saw a soldier let a dog loose from the chain it strained at. Frowning, he watched it streak across the village, stopping at one of the far outbuildings, scrabbling at the door.

that dog should be at the club

He put his hand on the door of the outbuilding and found it unyielding. It was latched, from the inside. Behind him, a girl’s unsteady voice said, ‘There’s nothing there. Don’t go inside.’ He turned. It was a child of about nine, of indeterminate gender, only maybe a girl. White-faced, she had pushed herself out of the pile of firewood stacked against the building wall. ‘If there’s nothing there, why not go inside?’ Laurent’s voice. Laurent’s calm, invariably infuriating logic, as he arrived, also on foot.

i love compassionate laurent. he is so selective with his protectiveness and care, so it just hits different when he drops the cold bitchy persona like this. it’s like gordon ramsey on masterchef jr

‘Look.’ Laurent dropped to one knee in front of the girl, and showed her the starburst on his ring. ‘We are friends.’ She said, ‘My friends are dead.’

it’s okay, so are his. poor nicaise

‘My Liege,’ he said, and with a spear in his stomach, he was trying to push himself up on one arm to rise for his Prince. He wasn’t looking at Damen. He was looking past him, at Laurent, who was standing in the doorway. Laurent said without looking around, ‘Call for Paschal.’ He stepped into the crude space, moving past the woman, simply putting his hand on the spear shaft she held and drawing it out of the way. Then he dropped to his knees on the dirt floor, where the man had collapsed back onto the straw. He was gazing up at Laurent with recognition. ‘I couldn’t hold them off,’ the man said. ‘Lie back,’ said Laurent. ‘The physician comes.’

he goes to his knees on a dirt floor to comfort a dying man. this entire sequence is one of those tells for the reader, reminding us that laurent exists outside of damen’s limited perception. again, i think i will eventually try to fill in what laurent’s been up to in these first few chapters, because throughout the entire series prior to charcy he and damen had been pretty inseparable

Damen looked around the small, mean room. This old man had fought for these villagers against young, mounted soldiers. Perhaps he had been the only one here with any training, though any training that he’d had would have been from his past; he was old. Still, he had fought. This woman and her daughter had tried to help him, then to hide him.

“the small, mean room.” war isn’t honorable or pretty, in the way akielon culture seems to celebrate it. it’s mean and small (mundane, simple).

from last chapter: “A fair fight?’ said Laurent, turning back to him. ‘No fight’s ever fair. Someone’s always stronger.”

this is not what damen has been led to believe about war. akielos is all about making sure that the people in power are so casually revered that they forget they’re only strong because everyone else is weak. why else do you think slaves are such a huge part of their culture? damen even says last chapter that only the most submissive class of people, slaves, can even come close to his body to dress it. i don’t see any honor in that, being so exalted that you’re untouchable by anyone who could even stand a chance of being your equal. it’s similar to a giant military force attacking villages of innocent and vulnerable people, as we’re seeing here. and while this specific attack wasn’t done by makedon, damen still immediately assumes that it was, which tells us that the akielon army regularly does shit like this.

it’s kind of a big deal, that damen makes such an immediate assumption. he believes that this attack is the doing of akielos, his own nation, following his father’s traditional tactics. and he is very unhappy about that, to the point that he wants to see the person responsible punished with death. damen can’t deny that this fight wasn’t fair, and that makes him so angry that he wants to force a “fair” fight with makedon. but deep down he knows that fighting makedon isn’t fair either, because damen is the stronger man and literally the king. i think we’re seeing damen go through the stages of grief here, both with the loss of his father and the person he used to be. he can no longer deny the things he’s realized are wrong about traditional akielon culture and his own past self, but he hasn’t accepted them either. at this moment, damen is in the bargaining and anger stages, reckoning with the fact that so many things he once thought were fair, never have been fair, and never will be.

He stepped over the blood and knelt as Laurent had in front of the girl. ‘Who did this?’ She said nothing at first. ‘I swear to you, I will find them and make them pay.’

laurent offers the scared child comfort and support, damen demands an explanation and offers vengeance. what a fascinating reversal (laurent seems nice, damen seems mean) that genuinely rings true for them both, trying their best to be their own ideas of Good.

damen is a product of his kingdom’s culture, while laurent is a victim of his kingdom’s culture. damen is rejecting his kingdom’s traditions based on newly-developed moral clarity, but he still hasn’t figured out exactly what kind of king he wants to be. laurent, meanwhile, has told damen that his court is going to be different from his uncle’s court, and we know that’s because laurent himself has been a victim of veretian culture. however, laurent has had a lot more time to develop his own ideas and identity, and we see that here in how he handles the public.

if laurent is a product of anything, it’s his brother’s love. while laurent still sees himself as “tainted,” he idolizes his brother just as much in death as he did in life. even if laurent believes that he will never measure up to auguste’s goodness, he still cares deeply about fighting for a better world, in the same way that he knows auguste would have done. in the same way auguste hadn’t been there to do, for laurent, during those seven long years in arles.

meanwhile, damen has been set rather adrift in terms of how he should fight for a better world, because he’s lost his faith in akielon values, aka the only values he’s really known. his arc throughout this series includes a shift from passive traditionalism to active reform, based on his own constantly evolving ideas of honor and integrity.

She met his eyes. He thought he’d hear fear-darkened flashes, a truncated description, that he’d learn, at best, the colour of a cloak. But the girl said the name clearly, like she’d carved it into her heart. ‘Damianos,’ she said. ‘Damianos did this.

book 1 flogging scene parallel

Outside, when he pushed outside, the landscape lost colour, greying out. He had his hand braced against the trunk of a tree when he came back to himself, and his body shook with anger.

another well-written damen ptsd reaction. i like that it’s pretty understated, too, but the weight is still there

Soldiers shouting his name had ridden in here in the dark. They had cut down villagers with swords, burned them in their houses, a planned move meant to injure him politically. His stomach had heaved as though he had been sick. He felt in himself something dark and unnamed at the tactics of those he fought.

i think what might also be making him sick is the realization that this isn’t all that different from akielon soldiers under his father’s command, doing the same things to enemies of the nation. to kastor, damen is an enemy of akielos, and neither damen nor the innocent people dying as a result of this conflict between kastor and damen have any say in that designation

‘I will give you the honour of trial by combat that you do not deserve,’ said Damen, ‘before I kill you for what you have done here.’

honorable conflict, to damen, is personal and direct. he and laurent have that in common. but war, as akielons do it, is impersonal and indirect. look no further than at the way damen has always regarded the killing of auguste, a stranger—fair, well-met. but he’s seen the consequences of that, and the country that suffered as a result of auguste’s loss. the person he loves, who suffered as a result of auguste’s loss.

by damen’s own internal logic, seen here in his challenge of makedon (“i will give you the honor of trial by combat”), he knows that the war tactics (surprise attacks of random villages) he’s accepted for his entire life are decidedly dishonorable. so he’s pretty emotional about that, and needs an outlet for those emotions, in addition to everything else going on

‘Draw,’ said Damen. ‘For what?’ Makedon gave a scornful look at his surroundings. ‘Dead Veretians?’ ‘Draw,’ said Damen. ‘This is the Prince’s doing. He has turned you against your own people.’ ‘Don’t speak,’ said Damen, ‘unless it’s in contrition, before I kill you.’ ‘I won’t pretend remorse for Veretian dead.’ Makedon drew.

damen doesn’t care that they’re on the same team. teams don’t matter, people do.

The first clash sent Makedon staggering back. The second ripped his sword out of his hands. The third came, death in steel shearing through Makedon’s neck. ‘Stop!’ Laurent’s voice cut across the fight, ringing with unmistakable command. Makedon was gone. Laurent was there instead. Laurent had wrenched Makedon backwards to hit the dirt, and Damen’s sword was driving towards Laurent’s exposed neck. If Damen had not obeyed, his whole body reacting to that ringing command, he would have severed Laurent’s head from his body. But the instant that he heard Laurent’s order, instinct reacted, wrenching every sinew. His sword stopped a hair’s breadth from Laurent’s neck.

this continued reversal between damen and laurent is fascinating. laurent as the defender, damen as the ruthless attacker. laurent acting as damen’s impulse control.

and of course there’s the lingering thread of submission. is this an example of honorable submission? damen’s immediate response to laurent’s command, in this context? this is the most interesting theme to me in the series overall, so i definitely want to keep chewing on it

The steel slid against the fine skin of Laurent’s neck. ‘Another inch and you rule two kingdoms,’ said Laurent. ‘Get out of my way, Laurent.’ Damen’s voice ground in his throat. ‘Look around you. This attack is cold-blooded planning, designed to discredit you with your own people. Does Makedon think like that?’ ‘He killed at Breteau. He wiped out a whole village at Breteau, just like this.’ ‘That was retaliation for my uncle’s attack on Tarasis.’ ‘You would defend him?’ said Damen. Laurent said, ‘Anyone can notch a belt.’ His grip tightened on his sword, and for a moment he wanted it to cut into Laurent. The feeling rose in him, thick and hot. He slammed the sword back into its sheath. His eyes raked Makedon, who was breathing unevenly, looking from one to the other of them. They had been speaking quickly, in Veretian.

god i love damen and laurent. they match each other’s freak in every sense of the expression. it doesn’t matter if they’re enemies or lovers—they’ve always been a perfect team. even in arles, very early on, they fit naturally together. strategically and otherwise.

also, the combination of spoken intimacy through exclusive language, physical intimacy of near-killing, emotional intimacy of damen obeying laurent’s command by instinct, all while VERY VERY public, is just incredible. they do that exact dynamic so well, in so many different instances. even their very first interaction fits into that three-part description: “i speak your language…” (spoken intimacy), laurent knowing damen’s identity and punishing him violently (physical intimacy), damen immediately being down bad even if he doesn’t want to admit it (emotional intimacy).

Damen said, ‘He just saved your life.’ ‘I should give him my thanks?’ Makedon said it, sprawled in the dirt. ‘No,’ said Laurent, in Akielon. ‘If it were left to me, you’d be dead. Your blunders play into my uncle’s hands. I saved your life because this alliance needs you, and I need this alliance to overthrow my uncle.’

of course, the reversal can only go so far. this is a great reminder of laurent’s nice == good mentality, which contrasts with damen’s perspective at the beginning of the series (and still kinda now).

laurent knows that makedon is a possible impediment to his strategic success, and that makedon hates veretians. laurent knows that makedon doesn’t care about the victims here, which almost certainly pisses him (laurent) off, just as it enrages damen. but laurent still steps in to save makedon from damen, despite his moral agreement with the idea of makedon’s death. and laurent explains, openly, that he’s not keeping makedon alive to be nice or merciful—he’s doing it because it’s smart, and he has to be smart to do the actual good thing here, which is overthrowing the regent. that’s a distinctly veretian approach to the situation, and it’s decidedly NON-akielon in its blunt and irreverent honesty. it’s mean, and it’s good.

He wondered if the Regent felt the same furious determination that he did. He wondered how he could be confident that he could deliver cruelty like this, over and over again, without consequences.

i’m sure plenty of people wondered the same of your father, damen. i’m sure laurent wondered the same of you when you killed his brother.

He heard footsteps approaching, and let them draw up beside him. He wanted to say to Laurent, I always thought I knew what it felt like to fight your uncle. But I didn’t. Until today, it was never me he was fighting. He turned to say it.

the irony here, of course, being that the “i always thought” is more an accidental admission of ignorance, than a claim that things happened outside of damen’s perception. as in, people have definitely manipulated damen like this before—jokaste and kastor, for example—but damen has always been very used to a life where he can get away with conveniently ignoring the consequences of others’ deceptions. and this suits him just fine, because he doesn’t like to feel betrayed or alone.

this kind of convenient ignorance is something that laurent was not able to have after auguste’s death, and i think he would prefer not to have it, given his hypervigilance. damen is hypervigilant in his own way, too, but his vigilance manifests as denial to protect himself and preserve his relationships, while laurent’s vigilance manifests as overthinking every single aspect of a situation and isolating himself from anyone who could hurt him (so, anyone at all).

The indoor training arena at Marlas was a long, wood-panelled room, eerily similar to the training arena at Arles, with packed sawdust floors and a thick wooden post at one end.

they just visited the place where damen hurt laurent the most by killing his brother. now we get to visit somewhere that reminds them of the place where laurent hurt damen the most, while “avenging” his brother.

It was good to push; hard. To feel exertion in every sinew, to gather every muscle to a single task. He needed the feeling of grounding and certainty amid these repellent tactics, these deceptions, these men who fought with words and shadows and treachery. He fought, until he was only his body, the burn of flesh, the pounding of blood, the hot slick of sweat, until everything concentrated into one simple focus, the power of heavy steel, that could bring death. In the moment when he paused—stopped—there was only silence and the sound of his own breath. He turned. Laurent was standing in the doorway, watching him.

so good. gorgeous prose here. yet another very subtle but realistic-feeling ptsd moment, with the way he’s channeling his emotions. and i love how he stops short of “killing” just as he’d done with laurent, and hadn’t done with auguste, to immediately realize laurent is watching him. that, combined with the setting and warmup in marlas, sets this up well as the scene where they Finally Deal With The Auguste Problem.

… in their own bizarre lamen-y way, of course.

He didn’t know how long Laurent had been there. He had been practising now for an hour or longer. Sweat sheened his skin, his muscles oiled with it. He didn’t care. He knew they had unfinished business. As far as he was concerned, it could stay unfinished. ‘If you’re this angry,’ said Laurent, ‘you should fight a real opponent.’ ‘There’s no one—’ Damen stopped, but the unspoken words hung, dangerous with the truth. There was no one good enough to fight him. Not in this mood. In this mood, angry and unable to hold back, he would kill them. ‘There’s me,’ said Laurent.

you know what, if this is what it takes for you two idiots to have an actual conversation, then fine. squash the beef, literally

as previously mentioned, at some point i want to do a “here’s what you missed on glee” recap of what i think laurent has been experiencing during the divorce era. but, preview, i think that this scene is coming after a personal offscreen turning point for laurent. he has decided that he’s ready to confront the fact that damen killed auguste, in the most fucked-up laurentian way possible, which is to challenge damen to a fight and try to put himself in his brother’s position. this, just like “let’s fuck,” is a kind of weaponized vulnerability. it’s not quite masochistic, but more a challenge to himself—“you’ve spent years loathing yourself, protecting yourself through performative cruelty, sacrificing your sweetness so you wouldn’t end up the victim. but even after all that, in a fight with the person who ruined your life and killed the brother you worshiped, you still aren’t the stronger man.”

i don’t think laurent knows what will happen after he loses this fight, but i also think that he's reached a point where anything would suck less than what he's been doing. and maybe it would be right, for him to finally lose to the stronger man—because laurent believes deep down that he has always been the weaker man, and always will be, no matter how hard he tries to change that. and what better way is there to prove that to himself, than fighting damen as hard as he can, while knowing that he can't possibly win? hell, maybe laurent would just rather die trying to win, than to admit defeat, and this is a way to kind of satisfy that dangerous urge. in a way, dying before a loss means you’re not actually losing. but i’m not sure laurent even thinks he deserves the mercy of death before defeat—especially not when auguste’s death was his defeat.

It was a bad idea. He felt the thrumming in his veins that told him it was a bad idea.

olivia rodrigo wrote a song about this exact situation

He watched Laurent draw a sword of his own from the wall. He remembered watching Laurent’s sword work in his duel against Govart, his own fingers itching to pick up a sword. He remembered other things too. The tug he had felt on his gold collar from the leash in Laurent’s hand. The fall of the lash on his back. The driving fist of a guard as he was thrown down onto his knees. He heard his own voice, thick and heavy. ‘You want me to put you on your back in the dirt?’

this homoerotic swordfight is a masterpiece. i want to pick it apart as lovingly and closely as i would a sex scene. because, like, from what i can remember… this is not not a sex scene. they just don’t actually fuck about it.

exhibit a: “you want me to put you on your back in the dirt?” they’re totally going to be speaking in innuendo this whole time.

‘You think you can?’

laurent, you know he can

Laurent had cast his sword-sheath to the side. It lay disregarded in the sawdust as he calmly stood with an open blade.

dramatic bitch. if he had a cloak he’d throw that too.

Damen hefted his own sword in his hand. He was not feeling careful. He had warned Laurent. That was advance notice enough.

this is a dance sequence, a fight sequence, and a sex sequence to me. horny angry tango. and this time, compared to other times they’ve fought/argued/fucked, damen is not holding back. this is indicated by the line “he was not feeling careful,” which contradicts with his feelings during the sex scene(s) in prince’s gambit, in which damen was extremely careful.

He attacked, a ringing three-stroke sequence that Laurent countered, circling so that his back was no longer to the door, but to the length of the training arena.

i’m trying so hard to clearly envision this in my mind. here, it sounds like we basically get an evasive twirl from laurent, which tracks. also not beating the dancing allegations

When Damen attacked again, Laurent used the space behind him, moving back.

it was a strategic twirl, too, putting him in a position where he had more space

And further back. Damen quickly grasped that he was progressing through the same set of experiences that had derailed Govart: expecting the fight to be more straightforward than it was, and finding that instead Laurent was difficult to pin down.

his almost immediate realization of this makes him a much more formidable opponent

Laurent’s blade teased, slipping away without follow-through. Laurent enticed, then stepped back.

NOT BEATING THE DANCING ALLEGATIONS. love the image of damen kinda just waving the sword around like a wand, just to tease at the idea of actually using it but obviously not intending to follow through, and then further distancing himself from his opponent. it’s a goading move, although i like the author’s word “entice” more because it’s sexier

It was irritating.

damen occasionally makes funny understatements like this, and they always make me smile

Laurent was a good swordsman, who was not exerting himself. Tap, tap, tap. They had by now travelled almost the full length of the training area, and were drawing alongside the post. Laurent’s breathing was undisturbed.

working the space, having fun, laurent isn’t even breaking a sweat

The next time Damen engaged, Laurent ducked and swung around the post, so that he had the length of the training area again at his back.

dancing around the thematically relevant post. nice one laurent. also if his strategy is just kinda leading damen from one side of the room to the other, then turning on his heel and repeating the process until damen reveals a weak spot, that is sooooooo legend of zelda boss fight coded of him

‘Are we just going to go up and down? I thought you’d push me at least a little,’ said Laurent.

another innuendo! and not just for flirting’s sake, or even for flirting sake’s at all—i think it’s almost entirely strategic, meant to fluster damen and expose his vulnerabilities. laurent is giving this everything he has, so it would make sense for him to play dirty.

Damen unleashed a strike, full strength and with brutal speed, giving Laurent no time to do anything but bring up his sword. He felt blade catch blade with a screech of metal, and watched the force of the impact travel through Laurent’s wrists and shoulders, watched it wrench the sword almost out of his hands, and throw him, satisfyingly, out of a balanced stance to stagger three paces back. ‘You mean like that?’ said Damen.

damen doesn’t really get it, but he’s giving laurent exactly what he’s asking for. a real fight, just like the one he gave auguste. or maybe he does get it, in some way.

Laurent recovered well, moving back another step. He was looking at Damen with narrowed eyes. There was something different in his posture, a new wariness.

laurent realizes that damen is not treating him carefully, as he’s done in the past. and that damen is formidable in more than just a physical sense—laurent doesn’t like the fact that damen might be thinking about why laurent is doing this, or what he wants to get out of it. he wants damen to attack him impersonally, simply, without playing dirty or guessing his strategies. because again, that’s how damen had fought auguste. but annoyingly, laurent knows that damen could never really deliver that experience, because he knows laurent so well.

‘I thought I’d let you go up and down a few times,’ said Damen, ‘before I take you.’

(the innuendo here has me SMIRKING!!! i like “uncareful” damen, honestly, and this is a great example of him giving laurent a taste of his own medicine.)

‘I thought you were down here because you couldn’t take me.’

i thiiiink this roughly translates to “i thought you came to this training room to exercise away your feelings about the fact that we’re not fucking right now,” which again, is laurent trying to hit a sore spot so he can take the opportunity to attack

This time when Damen attacked, Laurent put his whole body into weathering it, and as one blade raked shudderingly down the length of the other, he came up under Damen’s guard, so that Damen was forced into a startled defence and only with a flurry of steel flung him back.

ooh love this, laurent literally going down beneath their clashed swords to attack, only barely fought off by damen

‘You are good,’ said Damen, hearing the pleased sound of his own voice. Laurent’s breathing was showing a little exertion now, and that pleased Damen too.

god this is so hot when is it my turn (also, does this count as praise kink? because to me it counts as praise kink)

He pressed forward, not allowing Laurent time to disengage or recover.

yeah that would be the move, since laurent keeps disengaging and recovering. take away that option and he’ll have to resort to less familiar or effective tactics

Laurent was forced to bring all his strength to bear to block his attacks, the barrage jarring down Laurent’s wrist to his forearm and shoulder. Consistently now, Laurent was parrying two-handed.

paschal is going to be pissed about the damage to laurent’s shoulder. but it makes all the sense in the world, given laurent’s presumed mindset coming into this scene, that he would embrace the impact of blocking these attacks. the pain just means he’s really giving it his all.

Parrying, and countering in a deadly flash. He was agile and could turn on a hair, and Damen found himself drawn in, engrossed.

this is the hottest scene in the series so far. like yes babygirl i am engrossed by your competency. keep parrying and countering i love to see it

He did not attempt to force Laurent into mistakes—yet—that would come later. Laurent’s swordsmanship was fascinating, like a puzzle made up of filigree strands, complicated, delicately woven but without obvious openings.

SCREAMING WHAT DID I JUST SAYYYYY!!! the cockiness is AWESOME, the fact that damen so clearly knows he’s in control here, for the entire duration of the fight (“that would come later,”) but is basically just allowing laurent to try his hardest because it’s engrossing and admirable and damen wants to see more of it!!!!!

(when is it my turn to be fascinatingly and attractively skilled to a person who i find equally attractive, fascinating, and skilled. ANYWAY)

It almost seemed a shame to win the fight.

SDFUYDFGSYUFG this is my shit i am foaming at the mouth this is basically dirty talk to me

Damen disengaged, walking a circle around his opponent as he gave him space to recover. Laurent’s hair was starting very slightly to darken with sweat and his breath was quick. Laurent shifted his grip on his sword minutely, flexing his wrist.

hot. he’s giving laurent space to recover, space that he himself doesn’t need. he’s just kind of circling in the meantime, enjoying the sight of laurent in this state. this is not at all how damen would have fought auguste at marlas. and laurent’s definitely breaking a sweat now >:)

(yes this sucks from laurent’s perspective but at least damen gets to have some fun. and laurent is probably having a little fun, maybe, at least for the first part of the fight. damen’s cockiness is probably attractive, frustrating, and devastating in equal measure—this isn’t what laurent wanted from his brother’s killer damianos, but it’s also not not what laurent wants from his divorce husband damen.)

‘How’s your shoulder?’ Damen said. ‘My shoulder and I,’ said Laurent, ‘are waiting to be shown a real fight.’

god they’re perfect for each other. they really do match each other’s freak so well. i’m obsessed with them.

Laurent swept his blade up, ready for the attack. It satisfied Damen to force some real sword work from him.

implying that the stuff earlier wasn’t real 😭

Damen drove into those exquisite counters, forcing them into patterns that he half remembered.

i love how even as damen is cocky and realistic about the odds, he isn’t insulting or demeaning towards laurent. he is DELIGHTED and FASCINATED by the way laurent is engaging in this fight. it’s not about who’s stronger or weaker to damen—he just can’t stop being amazing by laurent being laurent.

(which is, of course, the opposite of where laurent’s mind currently is. he’s assuming that damen is judging him for not being good enough, he’s focused entirely on who’s stronger and who’s weaker, and every second he spends not winning is a reason to hate himself just a little more. wish i could say that wasn’t deeply relatable, but—)

Laurent was not Auguste. He was cast from a different mould physically, with a more dangerous calibre of mind. Yet there was a resemblance: the echo of a similar technique, a similar style; perhaps learned from the same master, perhaps the result of the younger brother emulating the older in the training yard.

damen knows that this is about auguste in some way to laurent. or maybe he’s just making that comparison as a matter of observation to help himself determine the right tactics. tbh i think it’s the second thing, i don’t think damen’s mind is in the “i wonder how laurent thinks and feels about this” state right now, as supported by the “he wasn’t careful” line

He could feel it between them as he could feel everything between them. The deceptive sword work that was too much like the traps that Laurent laid for everyone, the lies, the prevarications, the avoidance of a straightforward fight in favour of tactics that used those around him to achieve his ends; like a consignment of slaves; like a village of innocents.

well, yes and no! the consignment of slaves is an akielos and kastor thing. so is destroying the village of innocents, like laurent is patently against that and showed great empathy and straightforward care towards the victims. but like i said earlier, damen is still somewhere between denial and acceptance when it comes to his own hypocrisy re: akielos and his family. so this thought makes sense for him to have.

(it is also kind of ironic that laurent in this scene has been entirely straightforward, not deceptive at all. he wanted a real fight, simple as that. and because it’s a real fight, he’s using every possible trick and trap to win.)

He swept Laurent’s blade out of the way, slammed the hilt of his sword into Laurent’s stomach, then threw Laurent down, his body landing hard enough on the sawdust to knock the wind out of his lungs. ‘You can’t beat me in a real fight,’ said Damen.

i am so in sync with this scene right now i love it.

also, this scene being set in a room like the one where laurent had damen flogged is PERFECT. especially since in that instance, laurent had made someone else do his dirty work, hadn’t even physically overpowered or hurt damen himself. this is a real fight, one that laurent knew back then that he would lose. he could only “defeat” damen if he tied him up and had another person hit him. laurent knows that now, too, and asked for this fight anyway. because he’s an emotionally volatile 20 year old who was raised in a culture of violence and lives in a fantasy world where therapists don’t exist.

i’d call laurent a masochist for this kind of behavior, but i honestly think it would be more accurate to call him a sadist towards himself.

His sword pointed to the line of Laurent’s Adam’s apple. Laurent was sprawled on his back with spread legs and one knee raised. His fingers slid into the sawdust beneath him. His chest was rising and falling under the thin shirt. The tip of Damen’s sword travelled from his throat down to his delicate belly. ‘Yield,’ he said.

HOT.

(although i did immediately clock the sawdust thing in the first readthrough. very catra-coded strategy)

A burst of darkness and grit exploded in his vision; Damen squeezed his eyes shut reflexively and shifted his sword point back a critical half-inch as Laurent whirled his arm and flung a handful of sawdust into his face. When Damen’s eyes opened, Laurent had rolled, and come up holding his sword.

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO

It was a juvenile boy’s trick that had no place in a man’s fight.

“man’s fight” isn’t a thing. either you’re trying to win or you’re not trying to win. no fight’s ever fair, someone’s always stronger.

Wiping the sawdust away with his forearm, Damen looked across at Laurent, who was breathing hard and wearing a new expression. ‘You fight with the tactics of a coward,’ said Damen. ‘I fight to win,’ said Laurent.

maybe if auguste had fought less honorably, laurent thinks, my brother would still be alive, and damianos would be dead.

‘Not well enough for that,’ said Damen.

… but maybe not.

(laurent wouldn’t think that part. that’s just me, pointing out that even if auguste had fought like laurent, he still would have lost. which is, i’m pretty sure, the main point of this scene.)

The look in Laurent’s eyes was the only warning before Laurent swung at him with killing force..

laurent is not happy to realize that auguste would have died no matter what tactics he used, because it makes auguste the weaker man. and even though laurent knows there’s no way he could come out of this stronger than damen, he’d rather go down fighting than accept defeat. which, if you really think about it, is what he’s been doing with his uncle for the past few years in arles—just in a less straightforward way.

Damen swerved sideways and abruptly back, brought his sword up and still found himself giving ground. There was a moment of pure concentration, edged silver all around him that he must focus on completely.

no more cockiness or amusement. he’s taking this a lot more seriously now, because i think he’s figuring out that this means something pretty serious to laurent, despite his innuendos and attitude earlier in the fight

Laurent was attacking with everything he had. There were no more elegant engagements, no more insouciant parries. Being thrown onto his back had broken some barrier in Laurent, and he was fighting with open emotion in his eyes.

this, too, is a sex parallel. and an intimacy/vulnerability parallel, in general.

also, the image of laurent here is just kinda heartbreaking. but it’s also very, very cathartic, and i think it’s good for laurent’s development that he experiences this fight in such an intense and visceral way.

And with exhilaration, Damen met the onslaught, took on Laurent’s best sword work, and began, step by step, to drive him back.

now it’s almost methodical, dutiful. like defusing a bomb

And this—it was nothing like Auguste, who had called to his men to stand back.

i’ve already said what i would say again here (re: laurent fighting dirty as a test of auguste’s chances if he’d done the same), so i’ll just say “FUCK YEAH LAURENT” instead. he is hell-bent on winning this impossible fight and that shit is real

Laurent’s sword cut through a holding rope and Damen had to push away before the shelf of mounted armoury it supported came crashing down on his head. Laurent shoved at a bench with his leg and sent it careening into Damen’s path. The armour that had spilled from the wall onto the sawdust became an obstacle course to force uneven footwork.

YESSSSS use the environment to your advantage!

(i should probably mention that fight scenes are some of my very favorite things to write. especially when they include parallel emotional arcs, banter, and improvised weapons/obstacles. and gay people. so.)

Laurent was throwing everything at him, drawing every part of their surroundings desperately into the fight. And he was still unable to hold ground.

doesn’t matter, he’s still fighting. sorry this isn’t really analysis anymore it’s just me relating to/projecting onto laurent. i’m cheering that bitch on to the very end

At the post, Laurent ducked instead of parrying, and Damen’s sword swung hard through thin air and then thunked into the wooden beam, lodging there so deeply that he had to let go the hilt and duck a swing of his own before he could pull it out.

the post again! kind of embarrassing for laurent, that yet again it’s the post that keeps him safe from damen’s retaliation, instead of anything he himself is able to do

In those seconds, Laurent bent, snatched up a knife that had scattered from one of the overturned benches and threw it, with deadly accuracy, at Damen’s throat. Damen knocked it out of the air with his sword and kept advancing.

god this scene is so fucking good. the pacing is perfect. i can see it so clearly. the rising desperation is conveyed so well, especially from damen’s pov where he’s just describing laurent’s actions and reactions

He attacked and steel met steel, sliding all the way up to the tang. Laurent’s shoulder shuddered, and Damen pressed harder, forcing Laurent’s sword from his hand.

and it’s the shoulder injury that finally does laurent in. the direct result of his own weakness against another stronger man.

He slammed Laurent into the panelled wall. Laurent made a sound of raw, guttural frustration as his teeth clicked together and the breath was knocked out of him. Damen pressed in, jammed his forearm to Laurent’s neck and cast his own sword aside as Laurent’s outflung hand dragged a knife from its hanging display on the wall and brought it driving towards Damen’s unprotected side.

i think laurent is fighting to kill at this point, like not really in his right mind. side note, why is this more intimate and cathartic to me than the sex scene. you don’t have to answer that.

‘No you don’t,’ said Damen, and with his free hand caught Laurent’s wrist and knocked it hard against the wall, once, twice, until Laurent’s fingers opened and he dropped the knife.

SUCH a good choice of dialogue. chastising, but not punishing. unthreatened, but not condescending. a perfect summation of how damen approaches these kinds of clashes with laurent, in a way that laurent cannot fully see or understand. damen doesn’t need to be the stronger man here, and he isn’t judging or demeaning laurent for his weakness. he is as earnest in combat as he is in bed—and with laurent, he wants them both to feel like winners. submission to damen, in his case, is honorable—laurent can lose and yield, and damen will not think any less of him. but to laurent, yielding to this defeat is basically the most mortifying thing he could possibly do, because he doesn’t believe that someone like damen could be real.

… or maybe, laurent is just unwilling to allow someone like damen—someone truly honorable and supportive, whose strength inspires laurent rather than threatens him—to matter to him in a way that’s real. because the last person like that in laurent’s life got killed in a “fair” fight, by the same person who laurent is fighting now. who, by laurent’s admission, shares those qualities with auguste. and as a result of auguste’s death, the loss of a person who mattered deeply to laurent, who laurent trusted to protect him… well, it makes sense that current-day laurent would be so afraid of letting someone ever matter to him, or protect him again. laurent only wants to need himself to survive, but that means putting a lot of pressure on himself to always be the stronger man. which he just isn't, sometimes. most of the time, really, unless he gets pretty creative about his approach.

no wonder it's the game laurent likes. games are among the few things he's confident he can win.

Laurent’s whole body thrashed against him then, trying to wrench from his hold, a moment of violent animal struggle that pushed their hot, sweat-dampened bodies together.

… but this isn’t a game—it’s a real fight, just as promised. and laurent lost.

Damen rode it out—shoved them both in against the wall—tightly enough to prohibit movement, but Laurent punched him in the throat with his free arm, hard enough that he choked and shifted, and then, with all the hard violence in him, Laurent drove his knee in.

okay, he hasn’t lost yet. carry on. i like how one of laurent’s last-ditch efforts here is kneeing his attacker in the groin, given his history with people making him feel weak and defeated through sexual assault/harassment.

Blackness exploded across his vision, but fighter’s instinct pushed through it. He dragged Laurent away from the wall and flung him to the ground, where Laurent hit, body impacting hard on the sawdust. It knocked the wind out of Laurent for a moment, but he was already pushing himself dazedly up, his eyes venomous on Damen’s. Laurent was going for the knife again, his fingers closing around it, too late.

it’s great that we got the laurent pov interrogation scene before this. in that scene he didn’t break, he was pretty much in emotional control of himself the entire time. but in this scene, he is sloppy and desperate and unable to hide that from damen, who doesn’t even want to hurt him. this is way harder for laurent to approach with detachment and pragmatism, and at this point he’s pretty much just broken and doing whatever he can to not lose

‘That’s enough,’ said Damen, driving his knee hard into Laurent’s stomach, then throwing him onto his back and following him down. He had Laurent’s wrist in his grip, and he slammed it back against the sawdust, so that Laurent released the knife. His body was an arc over Laurent’s, pinning Laurent with his weight, with his hands on Laurent’s wrists, Laurent taut beneath him. He could feel the hot rise and fall of Laurent’s chest. He tightened his grip.

it’s very precise here, how damen intentionally overpowers and restrains laurent, but does it in a way that tries to minimize the pain laurent experiences. again, it’s like he’s defusing a bomb, not defeating an opponent. he still, ultimately, cares the most about physically treating laurent well. it’s become pretty obvious that laurent isn’t just trying to harm damen here, and damen doesn’t want to see laurent harm himself either. it’s not a fun game anymore. damen doesn’t want to enable it. “that’s enough.”

the fact that these two need a safe word just to spar… tbh they’d probably benefit from a safe word for just like. existing near each other

Finding himself with no way out from under Damen’s body, Laurent made a last, desperate sound, and only then finally went still, panting, his eyes furious with bitterness and frustration. They were both panting. Damen could feel the resistance in Laurent’s body. ‘Say it,’ said Damen. ‘I yield.’ It was gritted out. Laurent’s head turned away to one side.

it’s almost like laurent is offering damen his jugular. like “you win, you might as well finish the job, because i don’t want to be alive to deal with the implications of this”

‘I want you to know,’ he said, the words thick and heavy as they pushed out of him, ‘that I could have done this any time when I was a slave.’

this line is hot and idk, self righteous, but damen you could not have chosen a WORSE time or place for a comment like this. you just made laurent confront that he’s weak, and now you’re telling him that he’s always been weak, and he’s only been spared because you’ve chosen not to use your power over him. you’re saying this to the dude whose brother you killed. damen.

Laurent said, ‘Get off me.’ He thrust himself away. Laurent was the first to lever himself off the floor. He stood with his hand on the post for support. Flecks of sawdust were clinging to his back. ‘You want me to say it? That I could never have beaten you?’ Laurent’s voice twisted up. ‘I could never have beaten you.’

laurent is projecting, making this about what damen wants, when it was very clearly laurent who wanted this fight to happen

‘No, you couldn’t have. You’re not good enough. You would have come for revenge, and I would have killed you. That’s how it would have been between us. Is that what you would have wanted?’

peak damen “are you done bitching” moment. but also honest and raw, and what laurent ultimately needs to hear. it’s almost a challenge: “would you prefer that relationship between us—strong killer and weak victim—to the one we have now? because if not, maybe it’s time to get your shit together and actually talk to me. because this could be good, if we just put down our weapons.”

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘He was everything I had.’ The words hung between them. ‘I know,’ said Laurent, ‘that I was never good enough.’ Damen said, ‘Neither was your brother.’ ‘You’re wrong. He was—’ ‘What?’ ‘Better than I am. He would have—’ Laurent cut himself off. He pressed his eyes closed, with a breath of something like laughter. ‘Stopped you.’ He said it as though he could hear the ludicrousness of it.

a breakthrough. laurent forced to confront the fallacy of his own self-loathing. this is really well-written cooldown and culmination of things i have previously analyzed.

Damen picked up the discarded knife, and when Laurent’s eyes opened, he put it in Laurent’s hand. Braced it. Drew it to his own abdomen, so that they stood in a familiar posture. Laurent’s back was to the post. ‘Stop me,’ said Damen. He could see it in Laurent’s expression, as he fought an internal battle with his desire to use the knife.

love this echo of previous moments. this really is a question of “are we putting down our weapons or not”

He said, ‘I know what that feels like.’ ‘You’re unarmed,’ said Laurent. So are you.

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO

pacat chooses very few moments to be this on the nose about something, and as a result they really really hit He didn’t say it. It didn’t make any sense. He felt the moment changing. His grip on Laurent’s wrist was changing. The knife thudded to the sawdust. He forced himself to step back before it happened. He was staring at Laurent from two paces away, his breathing roughened, and not from exertion. Around them, the training arena was strewn with the disorder of their fight: benches overturned, armour pieces scattered across the floor, a banner half torn from the wall. Damen said, ‘I wish—’ But he couldn’t speak the past away, and Laurent wouldn’t thank him if he did. He took up his sword and left the hall.

this was a hard scene for damen too. they really are just in this mushy, messy place, which is better than complete contempt and avoidance, but still difficult to navigate. but it does feel like a step, for their individual development as their development as a partnership.

[weekend-whip]

Ninjago Fic Rec Week (2024): Day 4

Prompts: AU/Movieverse/OCs! (Catching Up! I uh skipped Day 3 oop but I've got plenty to offer for this day! Which is...also late...don't look at meeee)

Aus WITH OCs (or as I like to call this list, my own personal indulgence corner. All the AUs/Movieverse stories I've read are ones that get recc'ed a lot already + I myself have already recc'ed them at one point or another, soooo let's throw some pure spotlight onto some OC stories! Even if a lot of it is connected to me to some degree that's irrelevant):

As The Years Pass By: A fic currently in the process of being rewritten/reworked but still chock full of next-gen Dragons Rising goodness! And it stars the one, the only, Jenna and Ethan from @rainofthetwilight!!!! This fic made me fall in love with her characters and I've loved reading/seeing/drawing these two adorable kids ever since!!!!

Dad!Jay AU by @taddymason: An AU so good I'm still catching up on reading it bit by bit to savor it for longer *-*)9 All the stories in this series are worth the read alone for the accumulation of taddy's character Kaida (a girl who needs no introduction–she's that awesome guys, trust me) but also the eventual father-daughter bond with amnesiac!Jay that is gripping and engaging aaaaall the wall through!!

I Carve This Poem From the Harshest of Storms: Another I'm not caught up with YET (a running theme for this Fic Week, it seems hgfhgfdfgds i'm sorry I'm slow and have a short-attention span). It follow two fascinating peeps in The Administration following The Merge, and without giving too much away, @theartsyswissapple ‘s voices for the characters just POP and make them feel SO real and it's been intriguing to read so far so yeah others should give it a try too!!!

What it Takes for You to See Me: A Spinjitzu bros story with added FSM and Mystake goodness too!!! This is one I've just started reading myself, but you know I love some throwbacks to Wu and Garmadon's past! And the OC here, @marhan-writes-n-draws's Amka, fits into the setting like a glove!!

Honeycomb: Gotta give a shoutout to @miqotepotatoe's Lucy while I'm here too!! Some short, sweet snippets of the Ninja Team's best (and most yellow) cheerleader!! I love her dynamic with everyone, and especially Cole <3

The Space Between Us: A very deep and heart-wrenching introspective into @k1ngtok's characters Lynda and Jamie, Master(s) of Space. It's story about siblings and bonds at its core, but also be mindful of tag of you're looking to dig deeper! (it also takes place in legacyverse technically but that's neither here or there I promise)

Flowery Language Another super funny and endearing story by King following Jesse (hey it's my boy!!) and Antonia on the case to discover who's been leaving flowers in Jesse's locker (spoiler: it's not Cole lmao). It's actually a semi-sequel to this old thing *I* wrote however long ago, but thaaaat's not required reading (though it does help). If you want more of a fix for the Jesse-Antonia duo + more of Jamie, this is the story to read!

Learning to Love (Again): Yet another King fic based in legacyverse (a coincidence), this one kiiiind of takes place during Season 2/Book 3 and follows Jamie on his quest to truly show his friends (Nya, Antonia, Harumi, Jesse, and...Olivia?!) just how much he cares about them through the power of love languages over the course of a week and it is AWESOOOOOOOOME!! Soooo many touching and feel-good moments, mostly soft slice-of-life with teenagers being teenagers, and is a great pick-me up when your soul is feeling sad ;w;)/ I advocate for this one just for the warm soft friendshippy-feelings it gives me alone!!! AAAAAA—

Something About Morning Glories: Jesse (oop there he is again) takes it upon to himself to comfort Jay after the latter finds himself concerned about something following obtaining his True Potential. A duo I desperately want to write more about but can't yet, so this little bit of foundation for their relationship will have to suffice for now ;w;)/

(and if you're still clamoring for more of a certain magic pink fool, there's plenty more where that came from; perhaps there may be a Jesse-Antonia friendship origin story on deck soon, along with maybe some DR stuff~! ...listen there will never be a good chance to self-advertise like this again!! BE YOUR BIGGEST FAN!!! SELF-LOVE BABY!!!! *-*)9 )

In the Company of the Stars: A tale as old as time—a Royal!AU where the fair groundskeeper of a palace's garden (that's the OC) falls head over heels for the prince far out of his league (that's Cole)—except, the prince absolutely likes him back...albeit only as his secret, suave alter-ego. But is that really true—and, more importantly, is there bigger problems to deal with right now???? There's romance, mystery, good food, royal drama, angst, fluff, sabotage, magic, a whole bunch of flowers, Harumi causing chaos on purpose, Skylor throws Chad across a room, Jay goes on a rampage a some point, Kai can't flirt to save his life—the author just needs some fresh motivation to post the darn next chapter already because the ending's gonna be really really good ;V

[neonscandal]

Manga with Me: Sad SatoSugu Edition (Because That's Literally the Only Flavor There Is)

So I mentioned wanting to list out all the canonically most heartrending things I could think of as it pertains to Satosugu during an Anon Ask sometime ago and since the Christmas holiday is nigh upon us... what better time (because I started this a while ago)? If you would like to wallow in the heartbreak, you can always peruse this tag because this is truly something that rots my brain on the reg. So let's get into it, let's recount all the details that bounce around my head like an old school DVD logo in case anyone else wanted to be miserable too.

Part 1 | Part 2

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: Includes information up to chapter 236. This will be an exhaustive list to include details that haven't been animated. If you want to stay spoiler free, stop reading when you see the ⚠️ 

A/N: This basically just turned into an overly indulgent retelling of everything that happened because all of it is sad? Read at your own risk.

Let's start with a little bit of autobiography so we're all on the same page.

Gojo Satoru, heir to not only one of the Big Three sorcerer families but inheritor of their two familial cursed techniques. The occurrence of which hadn't been recorded for a century. His birth effectively tilted the scales and, subsequently, is responsible for the stronger breed of curses that sprung up to create balance in the world (in the same way Sukuna's finger woke other curses). We don't know much about his family except that he's been the target of unsuccessful assassination attempts since he was a kid. Subsequently, he's got an untempered ego that's largely unchecked and an unexplored power ceiling.

Why we love him: Real ones recognized a deeply traumatized person who hides it with a smile. ✨ Little did we know, the missing piece to that origin is what lurks in the shadows.

Geto Suguru, strong in his own right and implicitly guided by the belief that the weak should be protected. Leans into this enlightened ideal by also donning iconography that likens him to Buddha well before he considered being a cult leader. In my opinion (since I said this would be canonical, this needs to be called out as a headcanon), I think this was done to kind of cover the spread of his own insecurity coming into Jujutsu High as a society outsider. Especially when you consider Gojo's in his class.

Why we love him: While they appear to not get along, they really look to one another for balance. Ideologically and morally, Gojo will consider his perspective as he's the first person to really call Gojo on his flippancy and yoke him up. We love to see it.

CHRONOLOGICAL and rapid fire

They are two of only three special grade sorcerers at the time, the other being Yuki Tsukumo. It promotes this identity tied to their strength which Gojo is frequently sizing others up (sorry, Utahime) but also undoubtedly inspires a level of comfort Gojo probably hadn't known previously, to know that he had someone he could rely on.

In this, we see that Geto tuts at Gojo, keeping him in line from a social and moral perspective. He also weighs keeping the peace of citizens' minds believing that society should protect the weak and keep the strong in check. He rationalizes that jujutsu exists to protect non-sorcerers as if its their righteous responsibility. Sidebar: I love that the anime shows this convo taking place in a gym to visually use their shots missing vs going in as another way to show how they're at odds.

Subsequently, tasked with increasingly dangerous missions even though they are just kids because there's a shortage of strong sorcerers. There's a shortage of sorcerers at all. Undoubtedly, creates a sense of superiority in both and, likely, a greater sense of responsibility in Geto. As though the stronger he gets, the stakes continue to get higher as well.

Assigned a mission which effectively could impact the fate of the world wherein they have to protect Riko Omanai, another child and the Star Plasma Vessel, who is selected to merge with Tengen. Unbeknownst to us at the time but, even as students, they realized how shitty that was and had agreed unanimously to allow whatever Riko wanted to happen, whether she chose life or merge. Gojo propositioned it first and Geto's half-assed warning was simply that they might have to fight Tengen. Their overconfidence here kills me? But, essentially, protecting the weak and keeping the strong in check also meant enforcing what was right regardless of the mission and, more over, they could likely contextualize how unfair it was that they were child soldiers, as well.

Even with their difference in opinion or ideology, Gojo is reassured by the fact that, regardless of the demands of the mission, "we're the strongest". Which is huge when you consider that, for the longest time, he was always wary of others, likely kept people at arms' length, always had to protect others, etc.

I can only imagine the number of silly goofy selfies these idiots exchanged while on missions together or apart. Again, it just undercuts how, in spite of everything else, they were just goofballs.

This, I think, is important. Geto was the first person to rationalize Riko's desires to still go to school and be amongst her friends to Gojo. Geto had a sense of protecting the youthful life she knew from the start. Letting her enjoy herself was a part of the mission Tengen specified but Geto seemed moved by it without influence. Even if Gojo initially mentioned "calling it off" if the Star Plasma Vessel didn't want to move forward, this indicates the importance of, not just living (which Gojo will defend because he can), but living well which Geto is in support of.

Geto reassures Kuroi that she is Riko's family and, we can extrapolate, that he probably has his own bonds that are not blood but are still beloved like family. Even then.

Something I didn't take into consideration before but... it's Geto's fault/carelessness that gets Kuroi kidnapped. This likely causes a snowball effect of guilt as everything else transpires and ultimately leads him to his breaking point.

The fact that, where Gojo was once really intolerant of frivolity during the Star Plasma Vessel mission, he decided to show compassion by allowing for sightseeing and an extended stay in Okinawa, likely after taking Geto's previous rationale under advisement. Life is more than just surviving, afterall.

Usually when someone is strong, people lack the ability to comprehend or acknowledge their possible vulnerability. But Geto unabashedly expresses concern for Gojo potentially wearing himself out at the expense of extending their stay. It's small but its something expressed amongst equals and is shown to be such as Gojo says, "You're here too." TBH this altered my brain chemistry. Probably altered Geto's brain chemistry too. Can you imagine that reciprocation of trust and safety?? Ego boost.

What's especially funny about the exchange is highlighted by Geto's typical characterization as the fox eyed character or "kitsune no me" (even if its inconsistent). It can imply wisdom or someone who is mischievous. Given his other style choices, I assume its more for the wise aesthetic. But when he checks up on Gojo he gives the classic one-eye-open visual cue of being focused but with an air of confidence in response. Like, just puff out your chest and tell him you love him, already.

Literally, the soft way Geto watches Gojo be an immature little shit. For all the banter at the beginning of their origin story, this panel and, honestly, Okinawa really demonstrated how Gojo was endeared to Geto which hits a climax when they get back to Jujutsu High.

We only see Geto lose his cool when harm comes to Gojo. Toji getting the drop on Gojo was a shock to everyone but Geto sprung into action.

The fact that the first time Geto gives into his confidence and echoes Gojo's belief that "we're the strongest,", believing that, between the two of them, they could protect Riko's future... is precisely when Toji guns her down?? BRO. Irrevocably shattered his whole world view in a moment.

We only see Geto lose his cool when he believes harm has come to Gojo.

The fatal flaw in the Star Plasma Vessel mission was truly their combined hubris from being strong individually and being doubly reassured by their confidence in one another. Combine that with their loftiness of being sorcerers and it exposed them to a predator who doesn't need cursed energy to see footprints. The simplicity of it is aggravating. Toji's whole plan focused on a false sense of security but they were effectively already surrounded by an insulated false sense of security because of their power and standing in jujutsu society.

Moreover, the fact that Toji made such a big to do about how to defeat the Six Eyes but voiced the fact that Geto was negligible so long as he wasn't a shikigami user. Even if they were both strong, it still presents this idea that Gojo was stronger, he was the bigger threat.

Mind you, they were both bested by the same person BUT THE FACT THAT THEY BOTH LATER ESPOUSE SOME ELEMENT OF TOJI'S ESSENCE?? Geto takes on his vernacular (re: monkeys and essentially equates jujutsu as an evolution) and Gojo takes on the fit (which is crazy). More specifically, the fact that down the line, Gojo takes Toji's "Blessing" and Geto inherits his curse[d worm]. Ya know, maybe I was wrong about JJK antagonists because Toji really is the fork in the socket for a lot of what ends up happening.

This, is quite honestly, one of the most disrespectful coincidences of the whole ordeal because, while Geto shares physical characteristics with the Buddha and generally has a more humble and righteous understanding of the world, when Gojo experiences his power up at the beginning of his second fight with Toji, he experiences what we can assume is enlightenment as he boasts "Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the Honored One,". In many ways, this is just another thing scratching at the foundation of who they are.

Geto and Gojo are constantly set at odds, ideologically is the least of their differences as they learn to take one another's perspectives under consideration. The divide comes from Geto, born of non-sorcerers, who has a cursed technique that forces him to ingest curses which he equates to swallowing a cloth that had been used to wipe up vomit. How can one be clean and pure when forced to regularly imbibe something so disgusting? It makes sense as to how he solemnly would feel this sacrifice to be noble and necessary in practice with the tradeoff of being able to help the weak. Gojo, born into a sorcerer family, has cursed techniques that not only prevent the need to even touch a curse but also allows time and space to think through whatever comes his way as a Six Eyes user. An argument could be made for nurture vs nature respectively but, ultimately, I think the chasm between hard work vs natural talent is what breeds bitter resentment down the line which is further embodied in this moment. Where Geto tries to do right and walk the straight and narrow as best he could, it is still Gojo who is blessed with the enlightenment that should come with such discipline. What I also find interesting about this is the fact that, as someone who chooses to dress and carry themselves as Geto does, his undoing is ultimately tied to other famous Buddhist quotes that speak of finding sanctuary only within oneself and how attachment is the root of all suffering. It feels like in looking to Gojo, relying on Gojo, being attached to Gojo.. it filled a hole that was present within Geto and wasn't sated by his discipline or moral compass.

The above is also shown in how Gojo could immediately find where Toji was with all the hideouts where Geto had to work harder to still show up late. Everything is just so easy with the Six Eyes or I suppose that's how Geto started to feel.

The fact that, knowing they were equals before his power up, Gojo lied about Shoko healing him when Geto asked. Gojo, at the unset, haughtily believed that the strong shouldn't make excuses for their strength, and yet, hid a facet of his strength from Geto, the person who understood the burden of power best.

Gojo accepted blame for messing up during the Star Plasma Vessel when, empirically, Geto lost Kuroi first and failed as the second line of defense against Toji. I wonder how Geto felt hearing that admission when his own guilt was probably swelling within him.

After everything, Gojo still turns to Geto to determine what's right, questioning whether there needs to be a reason to kill the Time Vessel Association followers as they celebrate Riko's death.

Riko's death and their subsequent failure saw Gojo spending the year to optimize his power and prevent being felled by any vulnerability going forward. Geto was effectively sidelined and recognized the disparity between them as Satoru became "the strongest". Even so, with all of Gojo's bells and whistles, with Six Eyes at his disposal, he could not really see Geto's descent or chose not to properly address it because Gojo was never really one with typical emotional responses. It's something he goes into greater depth with Nanami in the light novels, acknowledging his lack of emotional intelligence.

As with his birth, which saw an increase in powerful curses born to keep the balance, his latent power up also had consequences like more frequent curse spawnings. This kept them busy and, as we discover apart. Since he could handle more missions on his own, by default, now Geto had to as well. They were the strongest together but they were together less and less. This effectively sent Geto further down a spiral and moral dilemma.

In spite of not being seen by Gojo during his time of strife, his first impulse when asked what kind of souvenir he'd like is to lean toward something Gojo would want. We don't know much about Geto's preferred tastes (anything is better than vomit rag) but this concession is so touching. Like, previously, we see where Gojo considers Geto time and time again when faced with a moral gray area but the consideration does go both ways.

When assessed to be a good person by Haibara, Geto challenges the idea which we can infer stems from his shift in worldview but, I also question if it is a manifestation of how he may feel about Gojo's power up, too.

The premise of Geto's defection can be broken down if we were to liken non-jujutsu sorcerers to harmless sheep. If curses and cursed users are wolves, then sorcerers are the guard dogs that protect the herd, lucky to have teeth to fight back. Geto believed it to be the duty of the sorcerers to protect the weak but hadn't confronted that even humans are capable of grotesque things, they are just as susceptible to evil. Riko's death illustrated this while also challenging his ability to protect. With the shortage of sorcerers, why must they sacrifice themselves for the good of those who are equally capable of being monsters, regardless of their perceived weakness? Haibara's death reiterated that there was no point for such sacrifice when such a fate can befall someone so good and wholesome. The nail in the coffin was, of course, finding the twins who'd been abused and imprisoned by humans because they could manipulate cursed energy.

We only see Gojo lose his cool when it comes to Geto. The reveal of his crimes, against the villagers and his own parents is outrageous given his rigid stance but that really doesn't have a place in jujutsu society. Those who cannot bend... break. As one of the only other special grade sorcerers, the fact that Gojo must subsequently become Geto's executioner is cruel and unusual punishment.

Again, we don't know much about Geto's tastes but we know that he'll ask for sweets for Gojo and carries a lighter for Shoko and that's really heartbreaking because I think we can infer he considers them family.

We only see Gojo lose his cool when it comes to Geto. Screaming about murder in front of a chicken joint is one thing, but when you find out that KFC is really popular on Christmas, there's an added layer of zest that really just twists the knife.

"Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest." This was like... a critical hit when I read it. Up until this point, they were a unit who only had one another to rely on. Geto could recognize Gojo beyond Limitless, beyond Six Eyes as Satoru. There's safety and comfort in feeling understood by someone especially when you've lived a life so isolated. They were on a first name basis. While Geto had been undeniably stewing for months and suffering this turmoil, this moment is what finally pulls the rug from under Gojo. It's the moment that Geto does what everyone else does. Always burdened by his strength and now, the only person who sought to understand him beneath the weight of it all just conflated him with his power. It shakes Gojo's sense of self. Later, I think Geto thought this drove a wedge between them, likely as intended. But we know that, for Gojo, it didn't. Further, it was like an abdication of his place amongst the strongest. He acknowledged that Gojo was capable of forging the world as Geto wanted but never once asks him to join him. This also altered my brain chemistry? Because, as we've seen, Gojo would follow Geto's direction as his moral compass. Down the line, we also know that nothing changed Gojo's perspective on Geto. But Geto never bothered to ask.

Gojo couldn't follow orders and kill Geto. When Geto turns his back to him with a simple "if you want to kill me, kill me. There's meaning in that too," I wonder what went through Gojo's head. But when asked why he let him go, Yaga doesn't need words to understand. We also see that Geto's words, as intended, struck a chord within Gojo. This conversation is especially interesting because we see the flip side of what Geto couldn't consider. With all of Gojo's power, even he knows being strong isn't enough. His technique is famous for what it keeps away which is offset by the fact that Gojo is someone who craves connection.

The fact that cult leader Geto chooses to masquerade as a monk is not surprising, again, he'd been lightly cosplaying all throughout high school. But the fact that Akutami gave him a gojo-gesa? Akutami is a sadist.

The irony of Geto adopting Nanako and Mimiko and Gojo taking in Megumi and Tsumiki is not lost on me. They both tried to protect the youth of Riko and we can see how they understand that they are not allowed protection because they are strong... but then take on children? Geto seems to do so with different intentions, still protecting the weak. Gojo is basically forging his own battle bro and hoping that, by making all subsequent students strong they won't know the loneliness he suffers.

With JJK0, we see that ignoring the orders of elders is actually not at all uncommon for the strongest sorcerer. Whether that be carry out a 10 year death sentence against his bestie or anyone else deemed too powerful to control is really just dependent upon how Gojo feels about it. So he saves those the elders seek to destroy starting with Yuta by finding common ground in their loneliness. He presses forward in the face of the elders because they are "trying to take away the best years of your youth like that. There's no way I'm gonna let them do that. No matter who you are." It's something he knows all too well.

"I've always believed... love manifests the most distorted curses."

Here's what we know of last words and wills in JJK. We can infer that those who receive the last wishes of someone dying are cursed to see them through. We see that with Yuji and his grandfather as pointed out by Yaga. Even Nanami, before passing, worries his last wish would be a curse and a burden to Yuji so he chooses to send him with words of encouragement. Miguel makes a half-assed threat to curse Geto should he die in battle against Gojo. As we see in JJK 0... Yuta, the living, actually cursed the near departed Rika by begging her to stay and it is a manifestation of one of loves most twisted curses.

The fact that, even after 10 years... Geto will arbitrarily change someone's name so it rings a little closer to "Satoru" was one thing. BUT WHEN YOU HEAR THE WAY THE GETO VOICE ACTOR PURRS "SATORU" IN SEASON TWO!? I just- the affection is still there.

THE FACT THAT, EVEN AFTER 10 YEARS, GOJO STILL RECOGNIZES GETO'S RESIDUALS. Let a SatoSugu-anti explain this, please. Heterosexually. Because I've had friends who I've regularly seen over the course of 10 years and I still wouldn't be able to pick the homies out in a scent line up.

Even after 10 years... they still refer to one another on a first name basis. Culturally, it speaks to a comfortable intimacy, wouldn't you think?

As Toge and Panda sprung into action to defend Maki and Yuta, I wonder if it struck a chord of remembrance in Geto. For the times he'd lept to defend Gojo. is that what evoked his tears in that moment?

Their final exchange on paper is bad enough. But the fact that they set it to a musical score called "This Is Pure Love" in the movie?? Get out of my face. Outside of the JJK 0 parameter and nestled within the story around Shibuya, we see that Geto thought that their KFC fight ended their friendship. But we see, through Gojo's trust that Geto wouldn't kill his students and the reciprocation of not killing any of Geto's family members... Gojo's feelings never changed. They still know the inner machinations of one another's minds, even after all this time, but Geto couldn't see that.

Gojo effortlessly makes Geto smile once more with words we still don't know after Geto talks about not being truly happy from the bottom of his heart. Sir, if you don't malewife your way back to Gojo's side and put down the eugenics... SO HELP ME.

In Japan, Christmas Eve is considered one of if not thee most romantic holidays of the year. It's a lover's holiday where Gojo and Geto reunited and Gojo was finally forced to carry out his sentencing. Even so, having been killed with cursed energy, Gojo could not bring himself to destroy the body of his best friend. His one and only. This sentimentality is what leaves Geto's body susceptible to the likes of Kenjaku who works in the shadows and hyper aware of, not only Gojo's affection for Geto as his weakness, but also his ability to intimately recognize his residuals.

The fact that Geto is a recognized weakness for Gojo is known to others at all is what makes me constantly wonder whether Geto was doomed by the narrative.

1. You know people were talking in the TEN YEARS Geto just ran amok. After declaring war, he was so bold as to tell Gojo where he was going and Gojo still couldn't bring himself to follow. I'd be whispering, too. 2. In chapter 79, immediately following the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arcs, Utahime is with the Tokyo first years following up on Gojo's belief that there's a mole. She specifies two or more people could be a leak and that "one has to be highly ranked, even higher than the principals" 3. Gojo and Geto were essentially the clean up crew for anything other sorcerers couldn't handle, they'd be known to the elders. I wonder if they knew how principled Geto was and exploited that. Lining him up for missions, just so, including the one that caused him to rebuke jujutsu society. Or if, his inflexibility would have always been what got him in the end. Hypothesis: I maintain that Kenjaku and/or someone who was tied to Kenjaku was involved in pulling those strings. Specifically with designs on Geto to get a bead on Gojo. Even if Geto wasn't doomed by the narrative, he was doomed all along by his connection to Gojo.

This isn't expressly a SatoSugu observation but.. the fact that Yuji is concerned about Gojo going into Shibuya alone? It is a SatoSugu observation because it precisely serves Gojo's mission of no one ever having to be alone again. The fact that Yuji still recognizes Gojo as someone who should have back up is so reminiscent of Geto in Okinawa but is also a poignant manifestation of the ideal world Gojo is trying to achieve. Even in this, we see Gojo with his goal in sight long after Geto's will has fizzled away. Imagine what they could have accomplished together.

Specific to the anime, the fact that they animated Gojo akin to the way the devils ran in Devilman Crybaby was both so unserious but also calls upon Akira Fudo's specific experience with power and humanity.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning for plot of Devilman Crybaby.

The imagery evokes the visual of another damned pairing of Akira Fudo and Ryo Asuka (above). Ryo is a white haired prodigy (sound familiar) who, after discovering the existence of devils, tricks Akira (good natured dark haired boy who he met when they were both children) into merging with a devil "to better defend humanity". Akira's purity allows him to maintain his humanity as he subsequently overpowers the devil seeking to possess him but retains his strength and physical prowess (... really familiar). The story devolves into hysteria as humans turn on the Devilman and anyone he's associated with due to fear of the very devils he protects them from. As this happens, the bitter side of humanity rears its ugly head and manifests in torture, paranoia, mob mentality justice and indiscriminate murder, enough that the demons take a break to watch as society crumbles and Akira questions whether humanity is even worth saving. The shit kicker of this whole situation is the fact that Ryo had been in cahoots with the devils all along. In fact, he'd been pulling the strings to eradicate humanity and let devils reign supreme for a very long time as the fallen angel, Satan. His true objective in converting Akira was to thank him for being by his side and because, unbeknownst to him, he was the only person he'd ever loved. He realized this after Akira's death (which he'd caused), of course.

Strongest sorcerer in the world and he is bested by the appearance of the man he shared his youth with. Couldn't have been overpowered by anyone on the board at the time and, with all the information available to him from Six Eyes, the only hope the villains had was to outsmart his heart. Do we realize how insane that is? Mans is a loverboy, for real.

In the anime, the fact that they animated a brief smile as he reconciled that it was actually Geto standing before him before reality hit was just for the sake of emotional damage. PLUS, they somehow made "my Six Eyes tell me you're Suguru Geto. But my soul knows otherwise!" more dramatic by adding "my heart" and that just tells me there are certified SatoSugu shippers on staff.

Kenjaku has been bodyhopping for centuries. But, when confronted with causing Gojo harm, Geto's body is the first to fight against him. Both in his memories entering his mind after changing bodies but also in the way he tried to choke himself. Just as Gojo's soul recognized Geto and not Geto, Geto's soul recognized Gojo's.

Ken!Geto was the last person Gojo saw before being sealed.

As two of the closest people to Geto after his defection, Mimiko and Nanako harbored resentment toward Gojo for killing him but would not seek revenge as even they knew that Gojo was Geto's one and only best friend.

⚠️ Beyond the Animation ⚠️ Spoiler warning for JJK chapters 217-236.

Of Love and Strength

We interrupt this SatoSugu doom scroll to highlight a very pertinent theme that writhes through the cast of the strongest sorcerers. We see it with Kashimo, this restlessness of being the strongest and how others sought him out for his validation because... they admired his strength. Frustrated by the isolation of never finding a worthy fight, he cut them down mercilessly, always seeking a bigger battle. He's not the only reincarnated sorcerer who found second life just to flex on these modern sorcerers (the dude with the pompadour comes to mind right before Yuta called him bitchless). BUT the most interesting comeback is that of Yorozu, possessing Tsumiki, who seeks to prove her love by besting Sukuna in Megumi's meat suit. Through Yorozu's mission, this obsession with strength and equals is contextualized with a romantic undertone. She believes the cure to his loneliness (and I suppose hers) would be forged if she defeated him.

The battle itself even relays their attacks as a form of intimacy. The stakes of the fight are marriage, even though they both intend to kill one another. Yorozu takes offense at being fought with someone else's cursed technique. Even as she use's her Domain Expansion, she is flattered that Sukuna is able to make light work of it saying, "what...? You know all that about me? I'm so happy." It speaks to a familiarity, a consideration that Yorozu seems to be thrilled by. As if, having bared the breadth of their power to one another, that that honesty puts them closer than those who couldn't have made it this far in a fight. Hypothesis: Whoever taught Sukuna about love before and whatever Yorozu gave Sukuna prior to succumbing to the battle is going to raise the stakes down the line because, of course Gege has something else to devastate us after being lulled into a false sense of security. All in all, I think this fight served a larger purpose than burdening Megumi's soul as it showed how pervasive this link between strength and isolation is even back to the Heian period. It's what inspires Gojo's countermission after Geto defects but, prior to their split, we see the express knowledge of one another which implied an earnest connection. What I find funny is the fact that all these other characters assess their equals in these knockdown blow out fights but Gojo and Geto just... existed in harmony, acknowledging one another without all that? Away from Geto, we see Gojo is freest when he can go all out against Toji and Sukuna. Even with Sukuna, he believed his fists and power to be a means to earnestly communicate that he, too, knew that loneliness well. I include all this to say that it had to have been really sad to have finally found your equal, someone you chose to be by your side... only for them to leave and for you to never fill the gap that they left. This isolation was so despairing that he wished to liberate even his foes of it.

To not mention Shoko voicing her annoyance at Gojo's belief system centering not leaving anyone alone while she was beside him the whole time is a necessary trio inclusion. This is not commentary on the official translation that suggests Shoko's in love with one of them. Instead, this is a testament to the fact that, at the end of the day, Gojo felt alone if Geto wasn't beside him. Where one could argue Geto's mission was informed by a number of factors, re: protecting the future of people like Riko, preventing the sacrifice of people like Haibara, negating the abuse/bigotry experienced by Nanako and Himiko and lessening the burden on people like Gojo and himself, Gojo's sole motivation has always had Geto and/or what happened with Geto in mind. Shoko living in the reality of Gojo's vision gives me a bit of the sad, too.

Upon finally being unsealed from the prison realm and with the imposter Ken!Geto being the last face he saw, his first inclination is to track down Geto's body rather than reuniting with everyone else [that's left].

Mourning Geto's body is also imminently on Gojo's to do list pre-Sukuna fight.

When given the opportunity to pick the date of his fight with Sukuna... Gojo picks Christmas Eve, the anniversary of Geto's death. Once more, this is a lovers' holiday that even Kenjaku mocks upon hearing the selection.

"We seek not to be born on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. We merely hope to die on the same day, in the same month and in the same year. May the Gods of Heaven and Earth attest to what is in our hearts. If we should ever do anything to betray our friendship, may heaven and the people of the earth both strike us dead." -Romance of the Three Kingdoms

Let's just let that marinate.

At the end of Gojo's life... Geto's is the first face he sees. Still, in his mind, the cherry atop the satisfying fight with Sukuna would have been Geto being among those congratulating him. Not high school Geto as we see him in this afterlife. But cult leader Geto who Gojo never once lost affection for. Truly maddening.

I was going to include stuff from the light novels and the OP and EP's (since there are so many visual easter eggs in season 2) but this got to be really long and kind of just an obsessive retelling of events so.. if you've made it this far, you are probably crazy like me. In which case, I am sorry.

[fallen-gravity]

One Call Away

It's 1982. Somewhere in New Mexico, Stan recieves a phone call from not-quite his brother. Someone is threatening to take his life. Whether Ford himself is desperately reaching out for help, or someone else entirely has him at gunpoint, Stan knows one thing for sure: He needs to find him and fast.

Alternatively: An AU where the payphone Bill used to call Stan while posessing Ford worked, and Stan is actually forced to listen to his "brother" threaten to kill himself.

Notes:

Caution: This fic has MAJOR spoilers for The Book of Bill. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note 2 Electric Boogaloo: God, this book has had a huge grip on my psyche all week. I'm losing my mind. I'm going absolutely feral. I lost my shit at the section of the Missing Journal 3 Pages where Ford revealed that Bill tried to make a phone call in his name to Stan threatening to kill himself. I audibly gasped. I read it three times. God. I'm insane.

No character death tag because nobody dies! This fic ends on a positive note, I promise :')

AO3 Link

Or under the cut:

When you’ve been scamming suckers out of their money as long as Stan has, you come to learn to expect that anything can happen. You learn to tend to your own injuries, you learn the best escape routes, you learn as many languages as you can in case you need to flee the country, you learn to disappear without a trace; when you expect everything, you learn to let nothing surprise you.

When you have a public phone line that anyone can call, you learn to expect that only about half of those calls are gonna be potential new customers eager to try out your products. When you’ve been relying on these new customers to provide the money for your next meal, you tend to pay attention to patterns; you notice when your commercials air, how many customers are likely to call in, and how long it takes for customers to realize they’ve been scammed and call back demanding their money back. To most, it looks like the world’s most elaborately thought out scam they’ve ever seen. To you, it’s survival.

Expect everything so you can be prepared for anything. That’s how Stan sees it, anyway. As long as he’s prepared, nothing can catch him off guard. If he knows what’s coming, he’ll never have to wake up in the trunk of a car with his hands tied behind his back ever again.

Unfortunately for Stan, though, that means being hyper-alert at all times, even in his sleep, so even the most mundane of noises can wake him up. If the couple in the hotel room next to him drops a bottle of shampoo in the shower, he’s gonna hear it and wake up. 

If the phone starts ringing at god-knows-when in the morning, he’s going to shoot up awake, even if it just turns out to be some dumb telemarketer trying to reach him about his car’s extended warranty.

The alarm clock on the hotel nightstand tells him it’s nearing four-thirty in the morning when the complimentary phone in his hotel room starts ringing. 

That’s…strange. There’s no way that could be a customer, because Stan never bothered to buy commercial spots for late night and prime time television. For one, prime time is incredibly expensive and has too many competitors who are selling actual products, and secondly, Stan’s found that he has the most success when he advertises on the daytime soap opera channels, because that’s when all the bored housewives and old folks’ homes are likely watching TV. 

Could it be someone he’s pissed off? No, that doesn’t make any sense either, because they don’t usually have the courtesy to call before they show up with a shotgun or twelve. It can’t be Ma, since she usually calls when Pa goes away on his weekend trips to Atlantic City. 

Nothing’s adding up. Every fiber in his being is telling him not to answer.

And yet… 

He fears more for what will happen to him if he doesn’t answer. 

He pats his hair down, takes a deep breath, and picks up the receiver. 

“You’ve reached Stan-Co! Totally authentic and worthwhile products. If you need it, I have it. Stan’s your man. How can I legitimately help you today?”

“Stanley!” replies an all-too familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in nearly ten years. “Just the man I wanted to see!” he says, despite not being able to see him and having been the one who called first. 

“Wh- Stanford?!? The hell are you doin’ calling my infomercial line?” Stan splutters, too shocked to even bother trying to keep his voice down. 

“Awww, that’s not a very nice hello for your favorite brother, is it?” Ford’s voice replies, sounding like he’s suppressing hysterical laughter. 

Something’s wrong.

 Stan may not have spoken to his brother in years, but he can instantly tell that something’s wrong.

“Stanford, what the hell is going on?”

There’s a short pause, and then Ford blows a raspberry into the receiver. “You’re no fun! I thought for sure you’d cry like a baby when I called!” 

Yeah, okay, something is definitely wrong. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Ford? Why the hell are you calling me so late? Why me? I thought you hated my guts!”

“Oh, I do!” Ford replies without a drop of hesitation, giggling like a madman. “But I don’t have much time, and there’s something really important I need to say, and you’re the only person I want hearing what I’m about to say.” There’s something…off about the way he sounds, not quite the slur of someone who’s drunk and far too energetic to be that of someone lacking sleep. But there’s something almost garbled about it, like he’s not all that aware of what he’s saying, and if Stan listens close enough he’s sure that he can hear an echo.

But Stan can recognize the cheap, static-y sound of someone calling from a payphone anywhere. Wherever Ford is, he’s calling from outside, and the last time Stan checked the only places outside that echoed were either very high up, very dangerous, or both of them put together. Stan does his best to repress the lump forming in his throat trying to imagine what kind of danger he possibly could’ve gotten himself into, especially if he felt the need to call him, rather than the cops, but he still can’t quite shake the tremble in his voice when he replies.

“Not much time? C’mon, Ford, don’t say that! I can help you! Screw this cold shoulder bullshit! I can help you! Just tell me what’s going on so we can figure this out together!”

An eerily long pause, and the next time Ford speaks it’s as if he brought the phone as close to his mouth as he possibly could. 

“You’re too late,” he replies, colder and more dismissive as Stan’s ever heard in his entire life. “I’m going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don’t hear from me, I just want you to know that it’s because I never loved you. Buh-Byeeeeee!” 

“WAIT!” Stan screeches, and thankfully it’s enough to stop Ford from hanging up. “Ford, c’mon, there’s gotta be something I can do! You’re acting crazy! I’m not asking anymore, I’m begging! Where the hell are you?”

Another pause. 

Then, a voice that doesn’t sound anything like Ford’s.

“Oh, goody! An audience! You want to watch him die so badly, that’s fine by me! I’ll even hold off just for you!” An ear-shatteringly high pitched cackle. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. If you want him, come and get him.”

“Him?! Who the hell is-” Stan snaps, but before he can ask any more questions, Ford hangs up, and all Stan is left with is the droning buzz of the dial tone.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Either Ford’s lost his mind and really is planning to off himself, or someone else is threatening to do it for him. Shit. Shit. Stan has to go now. Everything else be damned, if he doesn’t leave before this other maniac gets bored of waiting then Ford’s not gonna be there at all when he finally makes it to Oregon. That’s nearly halfway across the country from his hotel in New Mexico as is, so he already doesn’t have any time to spare.

He leaps out of bed, reaching underneath until he finds his duffle bag, and practically tears the place apart trying to get all of his belongings together. There’s something in his gut telling him he’s not coming back any time soon, and even if Ford had miraculously said he was only one state over, Stan isn’t willing to risk leaving behind anything important, weaponry included. How’s Stan supposed to know what kind of bullshit Ford got himself into? How could he live with himself if he assumed all was well and left his brass knuckles behind, only to find his brother half-dead in an alleyway somewhere? 

He’s not risking it. Even if everything is fine, and Ford had only sounded like that because he was drunk off his ass and had no idea what he was actually saying, Stan’s not risking it.

Even if Ford doesn’t want him in his life, Stan’s not willing to risk losing him. Not again. Not permanently. 

Once he has all his stuff together, Stan scribbles down a half-assed apology for housekeeping and tapes it to the door alongside a twenty dollar bill. He hastily tosses all of his stuff in the back of the car, and speeds off out of the hotel parking lot as if it were his own life on the line. He doesn’t want to think about the worst case scenarios, so for now he focuses only on the road signs for directions to the closest pit stop and hopefully enough energy drinks to last him the twenty-something hour drive he’s about to make. 

Thankfully, the closest one is less than an hour away and open 24/7 to boot, so Stan is sure that his luck is turning around; all he has to do is pop in, grab a few things, and be on his way. He’ll be in Oregon before he knows it.

That is, of course, until he realizes that none of the maps at the place even have a so-called Gravity Falls listed on any of them.

“Uh, hey,” Stan calls out to the worker behind the cash register, who looks like he’s falling asleep where he stands. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Gravity Falls is, do you? Gravity Falls, Oregon?” 

At first Stan’s not entirely sure if the poor guy even heard him, but then the worker eyes him up and down and sighs heavily. “You makin’ fun of me or something?”

Stan blinks. “What? No, A’course not!” he sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t exactly have a lot of time here! I don’t know why I can’t find it on any of your brochure maps, but I’ve got a gut feeling that someone I love is in a lot of danger and I need to get there as fast as I possibly can. Do you know where it is or not?”

For a brief moment the man still doesn’t answer, eyeing him up and down again, before he sighs and leans forward, like the information he’s about to give him is top-secret government information. “Alright,” he whispers, and glances around the store to make sure the two of them are alone. “I’ve heard things. Rumors. Crazy stories about ghouls and goblins and people who come and go without a trace of memory of who they were before they entered that town. I’ve got a general idea of where it is, but I’m not confident. If you’re willing to listen, I’ve got theories.”

Under any other circumstances, Stan would wave him off as insane and book it out of there as fast as he could, but he’s desperate for any information he can get, and he’s not entirely sure when the next time he’ll find anyone even remotely familiar with the town will even be. So Stan agrees, and does his best not to show how insane he thinks this worker is as he starts going off about the supernatural and monsters that sound like they belong in a Saturday morning cartoon. 

If Ford really is anywhere near any kind of place that fits this man’s stories, it’s no wonder he sounded like he was starting to lose his mind. 

After listening to the man ramble on for god knows how long and watching him draw circles in the map where he thinks the town could be, Stan thanks him by actually paying for what he came in for before jumping back into his car and speeding down the highway as fast as he possibly can. 

It’s an agonizing two day drive, only stopped by the times Stan fell asleep at the wheel and forced himself to pull over and take a nap, and the time he was so desperate for food that he pulled off at some truck stop (with admittedly the grossest food he’s eaten since becoming homeless) for a hot meal. If it were up to him, he would’ve done the whole drive in one go, but it was when he nearly careened his car off a cliff trying to stay awake that he realized that he wouldn’t be any good to his brother dead, so he resolved to also take short driving breaks here and there to make sure he kept his energy up; if he really does need to fight someone when he gets there, he’s gonna need all the strength he can get. 

Thankfully, upon arrival at Gravity Falls, Ford’s place of residence is much easier to find than Stan had feared; for a guy who’d been longing for a place he belonged since early childhood, Ford sure likes to stick out like a sore thumb wherever he goes. As soon as Stan goes around town asking townsfolk if anyone had seen anyone who looked like him “except a lot smarter, I guess,” nearly every single person he asks points off in the same direction of the woods and gives him the same confused sort of I think he lives somewhere in there. If he hadn’t gotten it from at least five separate people, Stan would’ve been sure that they were all screwing with him. 

And, as it turns out…every single one of them is right. It doesn’t take that much venturing in the woods for Stan to come across the giant cabin aglow in eerie blue lighting and surrounded by tall fences of barbed wire with pieces of cardboard stapled to it and “KEEP OUT” written on them in shaky handwriting. If Ford is anywhere, it’s here. 

Now…breaking into somewhere he’s not allowed? Stan can do that in his sleep. He’s done it hundreds of times, and he’ll probably do it another hundreds of thousands of times again before he dies.

But… 

Seeing his brother again? 

That terrifies him to his very core. Reason for driving all the way out here aside, there’s still a very real chance Ford’s gonna tell him he still never wants to see him again and slam the door in his face, and then Stan’s really gonna have nowhere to go. After everything, if Stan rescues Ford from whatever’s after him and he still tells him to leave and never come back?

What then?

…No. That’s not what matters right now. He can worry about that later.

With a shake of his head to brush off his thoughts, Stan rams his car into the fence hard and fast enough to topple it to the ground. He drives down the path until he’s close enough to the front entrance that he can hop out of his car as quickly as he can, but hidden enough that he won’t be seen if someone (or something) tries to escape.

Stan takes a deep breath as he exits his car and makes his way to the front door, and finds himself hesitating to knock the door as soon as he’s on the porch steps.

It’s for his own good, Stan tells himself. It’s for his own good. I’m just trying to help. It’s for his own good. 

He stamps down on any last remnants of hesitation and knocks on the door, loud enough for Ford to hear but gently enough to hopefully assure him that it isn’t anyone who wants to hurt him. Almost instantaneously, Stan can hear the sound of objects falling and glass shattering from inside, like a spooked deer trying to dodge the headlights of an oncoming truck. Stan’s sure he can hear the sound of someone muttering, and he’s relieved beyond comparison that it’s the only voice he can hear coming from inside.  

Because he can tell that it’s Ford’s voice. 

Which means he’s still alive.

Stan huffs out a huge sigh of relief, and subconsciously begins patting down the wrinkles in his clothes to make himself more presentable. He waits, and he waits, but despite Stan knowing he heard Ford stumbling around inside, he never comes to answer the door. 

Stan frowns. This is going to be even harder than he thought. Stan tries again, this time knocking exactly six times in the hopes that it’ll clue Ford in on the fact that it’s just him at the door.

As it turns out, though, that seems to be an even bigger mistake than knocking normally, because now the noises coming from inside sound even more frightened. From inside, Stan can hear a muffled string of curse words, followed by the sound of some piece of furniture being knocked over, and finally, the sound of feet trying and failing to sneakily run across a squeaky hardwood floor.  Stan’s about to give up, head into town, and try reaching Ford from a payphone instead, but the door slowly starts to creak open before Stan has the chance to step down from the porch and get back in his car. 

“Stay back!” Ford shrieks, his voice trembling. Stan still can’t quite see him, because he’s too distracted by the crossbow being shoved in his face. “I don’t care who you’re pretending to be, I will shoot if you try anything!”

Ford finally steps out into view, and Stan’s heart falls to his stomach. Sweet Moses, he looks so much worse than Stan ever could’ve imagined. His hair is a wreck, sticking up in some places and sticking to the side of his face in others. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, which Stan can only hope is from crying and not something…worse. There’s a dried streak of blood running down from his right eye, and there’s scratches and cuts splattered around his face. He’s wearing a ratty trench coat, and the white shirt underneath is practically falling off of his body, concerningly torn to bits at the chest area. And from what’s left of the poor shirt, there’s splotches of vomit mixed with some other…unrecognizable liquids.

Stan can feel a foul-tasting bile rising in his throat at the sight of him. Surely anyone else would flee, thinking him to be clinically insane, but Stan refuses to sit around and ignore whatever caused his brother to turn out like…this. 

“Stanford?” Stan splutters, failing to keep the shock out of his voice. “What the ever-loving  fuck is going on?” 

Somehow, that of all things is what seems to snap Ford out of his trance. He’s still clinging to his crossbow, but his fingers aren’t on the trigger anymore and his eyes are already looking less foggy than when he’d opened the door a minute prior. He blinks and rubs at his eyes, and takes a cautious, shaky step forward, like he’s afraid the ground will shatter like glass under his feet if he moves too quickly. 

“S-Stanley?” Ford whispers, more to himself than to Stan, but Stan can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. 

He’s not too far gone. There’s still hope. Stan goes to take another step forward, but before he has the chance, all the color drains from Ford’s face.

“Oh no,” Ford whispers, and the crossbow slips from his hand. “Oh no no no no no no no,” he mumbles, retreating back inside without closing the door. He comes back out moments later, gripping a flashlight in one hand and a VHS tape in the other. 

Out of nowhere, Ford grabs Stan by the shoulders, prompting a surprised yelp out of him, and even more out of nowhere, Ford takes the flashlight and flashes it in his eyes. 

“Ow! What gives!?” Stan exclaims, pulling himself out of Ford’s grip and rubbing at his eyes with his wrist. When his vision finally readjusts from the assault, he’s surprised to see that Ford’s whole posture has relaxed significantly. Sure, he still looks frightened out of his mind, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to shatter to pieces anymore. 

“How long have you been here?” Ford asks, completely ignoring Stan’s previous questions. 

“Uhh…” Stan pauses, admittedly taken aback by the question. “About an hour, I think?” he shrugs. “Had some trouble finding you, since some of the folks I asked around town didn’t seem to know who I was talking about when I asked about you.”

Ford’s eyes widen in horror. “You asked around town about me?” He splutters, but then clears his throat to regain his composure. “Did anyone try to get anything out of you? Were you followed?” 

Stan snorts. “Puh-lease. The most dangerous person around here is probably me, and I haven’t eaten a healthy meal in weeks.” He shakes his head. “Nobody said anything. And if I was followed, I’d know. It’s something you learn to look out for when you’ve been living on the streets for ten years.” There’s a shred more resentment in his tone than he meant for it to be, but it seems to get the message across well enough. Ford sighs, and gestures inside. 

“Come in,” Ford mumbles, his gaze falling to the ground. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” Without waiting for Stan, Ford turns heel and hastily returns inside. Stan does his best to follow close behind, but stops dead in his tracks as soon as he steps foot inside. 

The whole place is trashed. 

Trashed far beyond what Stan thought a single human could ever be capable of. There’s papers scattered everywhere, bottles of ink spilled and pooling everywhere, cupboards with holes smashed into the doors, broken plates and twisted rusty nails scattered all over the floor, a concerningly bloodied hammer on the kitchen countertop, multiple windows boarded up with splintered wood, and empty boxes of instant coffee mix strewn all around the kitchen.

Most concerningly of all, there’s a door that leads somewhere that’s covered with scratches and dripping with blood, and Stan’s not entirely sure whether that means something wanted in or if something was desperate to get out. 

Stan’s not entirely sure which thought he prefers. 

He doesn’t have too much time to stew on that, though, because he’s pulled from his thoughts by the loud thwack of plastic being smacked against the wall. He turns to the source of the noise, and he’s surprised to find Ford desperately trying to break the VHS tape in half. When that doesn’t work, he groans in frustration and resolves to throwing it on the ground. 

“Uh…Stanford?” Stan tries, and reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ford moves swiftly in another direction before he can reach him.

“I can’t do it,” Ford’s voice wavers with emotion. His head droops in defeat, and though his back is turned, Stan can see him cover his face with his hands. “I can’t do it. I’m too late. I can’t do it.”  He starts to shake even harder, like his body wants him to cry but he’s forcing it not to happen because he needs to stay strong.

For who? Himself? For Stan? For someone else?

“Hey, hey…” Stan drops his voice to a whisper, hoping a calmer tone of voice will be more likely to get a proper reply out of Ford. Stan is one-hundred percent not calm, and is in fact getting more and more freaked out the longer he doesn’t get a reply, but the last thing he needs is to stress Ford out even more than he already is. “S’alright. I’m here, okay? Whatever it is I can help you with. I don’t even care if it involves any nerdy-smarts stuff. I can learn it for you. I can help you.”

For a few brief moments, Ford’s heavy breathing pauses. He turns to look at Stan, and it’s hard not to flinch at the fact that he’s looking more and more like a kicked, abused puppy. He looks like he’s genuinely considering replying, even goes to open his mouth, but clamps down on that moments later when another thought seemingly comes to him. 

“I…” he stammers, and violently shakes his head again. “I can’t. I could never.” He starts pacing back and forth in place, rubbing his arms up and down together in a failed attempt to self-sooth. “I wish I could, but…” he trails off, but stops before he can allow himself to finish. He violently shakes his head again, like he’s not allowing himself to even think that things could possibly get better. 

Stan scowls. That’s the last straw. 

“Stanford.” Stan speaks firmly, and grabs at both of his brother’s shoulders. His grip is gentle enough not to hurt him, but strong enough to prevent him from squirming away. As it turns out, though, the strength isn’t very necessary, since Ford practically goes limp in his arms at the touch. 

“Stanford,” Stan repeats as he turns Ford around to force him to look him in the eyes. “I’m not asking anymore. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I know for a fact that I didn’t just haul my ass all the way out to Oregon from New Mexico worried sick to death that my brother was going to kill himself just for him to push me away again. I don’t know if something happened to you after you got rejected from that fancy nerd school, or if someone’s after you, or if you really are thinking about killing yourself. I don’t care if that phone call from the other day was a threat or just a drunk dial you made after watching too much Galaxy Sci-Fi Wars, or what, but I don’t need any of that to see how much trouble you’re in! You’re shaking! You’re hurt! Your house looks like it was hit by every single natural disaster all at once! I don’t care how it happened, I care that it happened. Talk to me, Stanford. I’m not leaving until you talk.”

There’s a heavy pause. Ford’s eyes are darting all around Stan’s face, and Stan’s not quite sure what he’s looking for. He doesn’t look angry or offended, but he doesn’t look all that convinced, either. It’s almost as if there’s a deep-rooted sadness in his gaze, like Ford’s not fully convinced of his honesty, and that breaks Stan’s heart more than anything else.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ford finally replies, breaking eye contact but not bothering to break out of Stan’s grip.

Stan wants to laugh. If the situation were less dire, he would laugh. “Wouldn’t understand?” he replies, gently shaking Ford’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t understand what? Having a target on your back wherever you go? An expensive bounty on your head? You think I don’t understand having to sleep with one eye open? With having to pack everything up as soon as possible because you might not survive the night if you don’t leave? Or do you think I don’t understand being too scared to try leaving, because you feel like the moment you’re out of a so-called ‘safe zone’ is the moment someone’s gonna kidnap you? Or throw you in the trunk of their car? Or do something much, much worse to you? Just because you pissed off the wrong guy? Do y’really think I don’t understand that, Ford? I understand that better than anybody. I understand that better than I’m willing to admit.” 

One final pause, and then Ford sighs heavily enough that Stan can feel the tension slumping off of his body.  Stan finally releases his grip on him, and Stan is hugely relieved to notice that Ford’s posture already looks significantly more relaxed. 

“You’re right,” Ford mumbles, and stretches his arms into the air to try and release any extra remaining tension. “You’re right,” he repeats, and nervously scratches at his chin. “Plus, uh…it probably would be easier to deal with this alongside someone else. I’ve…” he trails off, as if too embarrassed to finish. “I’ve been alone with my…thoughts for far too long. Some human company might do me some good.” 

Stan snorts. “Ha! Listen to yourself. Human company might do me some good. If I’d shown up any later you would’ve turned into a full-time nerd robot!”

Ford cracks the tiniest of smiles at that, whether he’s aware of it or not, and then it’s right back to business as usual. “Alright, fine. You got me.” He rubs at the back of his head. “There’s…someone after me. Someone who wants me dead. I don’t really know how to explain it to you, but it wasn’t exactly…me that called you the other night. I mean, it technically was, since I was the one who was speaking, but it was more like…he was forcing me to say those things. There’s something of mine that he wants, but I’m afraid that if he gets his hands on it, it’s going to hurt a lot of people. No, scratch that, I know it’s going to hurt a lot of people. I know that, and he knows that, and that’s why he wants it. But that’s also why I refuse to give it to him. It’s a big vicious game of cat and mouse. He wants it, I don’t give it to him, he retaliates with violence. There’s no winning.” He takes a deep breath, clearly trying his damn hardest not to spiral again. “Either I give him what he wants or he kills me taking it by force.” He buries his face into his hands. “I can’t do it.” He whimpers. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“...Bullshit.” 

Stan doesn’t even realize he’d blurted that out loud until Ford pulls his face from his hands to stare at him slack-jawed. “Come again?” 

“I said that’s total bullshit.” Stan replies, firmly standing his ground. “Listen, Ford, I’ve been dealing with his type for a lot longer than I’m willing to admit, and lemme tell you something; that’s just what he wants you to think. He wants you to give up and assume everything’s hopeless, because the moment you lose hope and stop fighting is the moment he’ll strike. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness, because that makes it so much easier to exploit yours. Everyone’s got ‘em, Sixer, but only the cockiest and most powerful aren’t willing to admit that they’ve got ‘em, too. And you wanna know a secret? They don’t like to admit they’ve got weaknesses because they know what it does to them. They know the second anyone finds out about their weakness that they’re just like the rest of us. If we know their weaknesses, we can fight back, and that terrifies those suckers to their very core. That’s the kind of stuff that sends them running home to their mamas. If there’s even an inkling of a chance that someone’s gonna knock them off of their pedestal, or that nobody’s afraid of them anymore because we’ve got ‘em figured out, that’s what gets them. They get so obsessed over the power they have on others that they forget to stop and consider that others can have power over them.”

“I’m telling you, Sixer, no matter what this guy tries to convince you, he’s just sayin’ it to keep you complacent. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness because he’s terrified at the idea of losing his power over you. Once you stop letting him control you, he’ll have nowhere else to stand. Once he loses you, he loses everything. It’s not about whether or not you can fight back, it’s about how you’re gonna fight back. Because once you fight back and you take control, he’s gonna have nowhere to run, and then he’s gonna be the one backed into a corner. You can fight back. You can tell him no.”

“B-but-” 

“Up up up, I don’t wanna hear it” Stan waggles a finger in his face. “If I’m still alive after all I’ve been through, I sure as hell know that you’re gonna make it, too. If I can chew my way out of the trunk of a car and tunnel my way out of a Colombian prison using nothing but cheap plastic cutlery, you can break away from whatever hold this guy has on you. Don’t sit around and wait for this guy to strike, you gotta stand up and strike first. He’ll never see it coming.” He slaps Ford on the back. “You’re a smart guy, Sixer, I’m sure that you of all people could figure out how to outsmart this guy. 

Ford looks like he wants to believe him, like he wants to hope that things are gonna be okay, but there’s something that’s still tethering him to his fears. There’s the briefest spark of hope in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived.

“I wish I could believe you, Stanley, but Bill, he’s-” Ford starts, but flinches like he’s been shot when he accidentally uses this other guy’s name. It breaks Stan’s heart to see his brother so fearful for his life, but it also makes his blood boil over with rage thinking about the power this guy’s got over him.

 What, is saying his name gonna summon him or something? Did this Bill guy plant bugged cameras all over the house so he could keep a constant eye on Ford so he’ll know if he’s ever thinking of pulling something over his eyes? Is that why Ford’s place is so trashed? Did he tear the place apart looking for secret cameras and hidden microphones? What gives?  

Ford freezes, as if he’s actually expecting this guy to kick his door in, and when nothing happens he audibly sighs in relief. 

Stan crosses his arms. “But what? This Bill guy’s supposed to be different? More powerful? I’m tellin’ ya, he’s no different than any of the other jerks I’ve had to deal with.” He jabs another finger in Ford’s direction. “And even if he was, by some chance? Even if this guy is somehow the most powerful and feared dictator in the whole universe, what’s the first thing I said when I got here?”

Ford goes to respond, but then his cheeks burn red and stops, a clear sign that he’s forgotten. 

“I said I’m here for you. I’m here because I want to help you. I could stand here and lecture you about crime lords all day, but nothing’s ever going to change if you don’t let me help you. I don’t care how big and tough this guy thinks he is! You’re my brother, Stanford. Nothing else matters more to me than my family. You even said it yourself earlier!” Stan throws his arms into the air in an exasperated manner. “Two heads are always gonna be better than one. Two pairs of fists are also always gonna be better in a fight. You don’t have to magically stop being afraid of this guy, but I’m telling you that it’s gonna be a lot easier if you have someone fightin’ the good fight with you. I wish I had someone when I was on the run from Rico and his gang.” 

Ford frowns. “Stanley…” 

“Point is,” Stan waves him off before he can go down a guilt-ridden spiral. “I’m not leaving. Matter of fact, I’m not asking you anymore. I’m telling you. I’m staying. Until we get this whole thing sorted out and send this Bill guy running for the hills, I’m not leaving. Protest all you want, but I’m gonna stay right here by your side until you feel safe again. Hell, I’ll even sleep on the front porch as lookout if you need me to! I’m tellin’ ya, I’m done asking nicely. I won’t let you kick me out this time, Ford. I’m here for ya through thick and thin.” 

For a few painstakingly long moments, Ford doesn’t respond. But he does look like he’s deep in thought, which is a hell of a lot better than all of the flinching and nervous pacing he’s been doing since Stan arrived. If nothing else, that in itself is a huge improvement. But before Stan can start again, Ford pulls a polaroid out of his trench coat pocket, and despite a gentle tear at the corner seemingly from age, it’s looking like the most well-kept object in the entire house. Stan doesn’t bother sneaking a peek out of fear of breaking what little trust he seems to successfully be rebuilding with Ford, but whatever it is seems to bring him a lot of comfort; he only looks at it for a moment, but those few moments are enough to sneak a soft, nostalgic sort of smile onto his face.

“You’re right,” Ford finally says, the calmest he’s sounded all day. “I don’t think there’s any way I could tackle this on my own. But with some help?” He smiles sheepishly. “I think there’s something we could do.”

“There he is!” Stan exclaims, grabbing his brother in a chokehold and giving his hair a rough noogie. “I knew my brother was still in there somewhere!” he grins, and tussles him up one more time before letting go. “And hey, maybe after all this is over you can give Ma a call, eh? She’s worried sick about you, I just know it.”

“Hah!” Ford laughs, tiny sparks of confidence returning to his tone and posture. “Now that’s someone I’m really afraid of upsetting.”

Stan grins, and gives Ford a gentle slug on the shoulder. As hard as Ford’s trying not to show it, Stan can tell he’s starting to enjoy the company. As much as Stan really doesn’t want to admit it, he was desperate for this kind of company again. He watches for a moment as Ford starts to go around cleaning some things off the floor, and Stan can’t help but crack a smile as he goes to join him.

If there’s one thing Stan does want to admit, it’s that he never wants to lose this sort of companionship ever again. Situation be damned, he has his brother back, and that’s more than any material goods he could ever ask for.

Given the situation?

Well, he said he’d stay until Ford wasn’t afraid of this Bill character anymore. But if things were completely up to Stan?

Stan won’t stop until the guy’s dead for daring to mess with his family. 

[bippot]

Pretty please write a Mike Schmidt for me, my sweet dear friend that has made it very clear to me that she's back in her Josh Hutcherson phase? I know that you want to! I'll love you more than I already do ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

I love the Josh Hutcherson renaissance! I've been seeing more Future Man love and content out there and that's great! It's one of my favourite shows. And there something about the FNAF movie that just has crack in it or something cause I've watched it 3 times in the past week.

Summary: Mike and Abby move into a new apartment with a new neighbour, but Mike's old mundane responsibilities still persist. That's okay, his neighbour and her dog are prepared to entertain Abby for as long as he needs.

Additional Tags: Moving, Babysitting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Caretaking, Minor Spoilers, Mike Schmidt Needs a Hug (Five Nights at Freddy's)

Full Masterlist - here

The Schmidt siblings returned to their home after the events at pizzeria and Mike immediately knew that they had to move. The sight of his aunt's dead body on the floor was something that would stick in his brain for a hot minute, and truthfully, he'd seen far too many corpses in the span of 24 hrs than he ever thought was possible.

Vanessa's stabbing and Aunt Jane's murder was reported to the police by the Schmidt's as being done by the same killer - because it kinda was, but also not, but it was thanks to his murderous influence so yeah - although the killer in question hadn't been found when the cops did a sweep of the pizzeria.

So, Mike found a small apartment not that far from Abby's school and they began the process of settling in there. He assumed they'd live in their childhood home until Abby was grown up and wanted to go away to college or get a place of her own, but that wasn't the case.

This new home was smaller and cheaper than the old Schmidt residence, plus it didn't come with a lifetime of memories attached to it. It was an improvement, Mike had to keep reminding himself of that fact as he hauled what few belongings he had left into the back of his car.

All the stuff that wouldn't fit had been sold off and Mike was sad to see a lot of his parents stuff go but it helped him acquire some well needed pocket cash for gas or whatever school supplies Abby needed. Whatever was left was transferred into room 34 of the Greystone apartments.

It was a long process, mostly because Abby was at school and the only other person who'd Mike would ask to help was still recovering. That meant that he had to lift every single box up three flights of stairs since the elevator was currently broken. Or, at least that was what he thought.

After making three trips, door 32 opened and a sweet voice asked, "Would you like some help?" Mike nearly dropped the two boxes he'd stacked precariously in his arms as he spun around to put a face to the voice.

Just his luck! His neighbour was a total babe. To anyone else that would've been excellent news, but to Mike, this ensured that he'd be nervous as hell when entering and exiting his own apartment because his mind would have to be alert in case she wanted to talk to him and get a response that was more than incoherent mumbling.

Look, he wasn't a socially awkward guy. Socially avoidant was the term he preferred. He could hold a conversation with a person, with a woman. With a woman he found attractive on the other hand? Well, he hadn't done that in a while. He was more than a little rusty.

Thankfully, this neighbour didn't seem to notice how weirdly out of his depth he felt. Instead, she nodded towards the boxes he'd been piling outside his front door. "Need a hand with those?" she inquired, voice smooth and melodious like an angel.

He swallowed hard, feeling stupid, but somehow answered anyway, "If you don't mind, yeah, please." It came out sounding like he was choking on his words which, given that he had formed coherent sentences in her presence, was the best he was going to get for now.

"Do you have a U-haul truck full?"

"I, uh, folded the seats down of my Accord and shoved, yeah, shoved e-everything in the back."

"Oh. Smart." She closed her door and gestured for them to start walking towards the exit, and he was happy to oblige. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Mike."

Mike wanted to say something, to strike up some really interesting conversation that would have her hanging onto each word he said with rapt attention - but his words died before he could utter them. There were just... no words, no topic of choice, nothing. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. If he tried to speak, he might choke and die.

That would be bad. Really bad.

Y/N didn't seem to mind. She could talk for the both of them, it seemed. Honestly, he wasn't sure what she was saying. He wasn't focused on that. No, he was focused on everything else about her, every movement, every breath, the way her hair fell in her eyes, the way her lips curled into a half smile whenever she made a joke and how it curled even farther up when she laughed. He couldn't stop staring.

Sometimes, he felt like he was a bit of a weirdo. It was a conscious effort of his to notice as much as he possibly could about someone he's meeting for the first time and doesn't understand yet, but there were times - far too many times - when he zeroed in on details that didn't need that much scrutiny. Like, why did she have a very faint scar on the inside of her right bicep? Or pen on her left wrist? Or why was she looking at him like she had asked a question and was waiting for him to respond?

Oh. Because she had asked a question and was waiting for him to respond.

That'll do it.

"Sorry, I totally spaced out. What, umm... what did you say?"

"I asked which car was yours."

It was obvious. It was the Honda they were standing in front of that was filled with cardboard boxes.

"Yeah, this is it. Here we are. This is my car."

"You don't say."

Before Mike could stop himself, he rolled his eyes. It was a good natured, amused roll, but a roll nonetheless. He smiled to himself as he opened the boot and began taking out all the boxes he deemed worthy of carrying to his apartment on this trip.

Together, they got everything from the car into his apartment without too much fuss. It took a while so there had been a few awkward silences, but Mike was slowly progressing in his effort to talk to her without tripping over his feet and ending up flat on his ass. He managed to get his words out without making a complete idiot of himself. It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

By the time his belongings were safely in his apartment, it was time to pick Abby up from school.

"To say, to say thank you, would you - you can say no, obviously, - Abby and I are going to order pizza for dinner as a celebration of this place. And because we don't have any groceries yet. If you'd like to, yeah, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you wanted to join us?" he blurted out in one large breath as they stood in their opposite doorways, half in half out of their living rooms.

"I'd love to, but I'm busy...doing things. Doing stuff."

"Oh. Yeah, of course. Maybe, yeah, maybe another time, then?"

"Uh... Sure, sounds good."

They both looked awkward, and neither of them moved for a beat too long until Mike realised that if he didn't leave soon, he was going to be late for pick up. He gave her one final shy wave before rushing to the stairwell.

Abby wasn't told about the nice, pretty girl from next door that he'd been an idiot in front of so when they'd returned from grocery shopping the very next day and Mike was talking to some lady in the newly fixed elevator, she was a little confused. Because she knew her brother. Her brother didn't get people he'd never spoken to before to smile at him like that.

"Hi Mike," Y/N greeted softly as they approached, giving the dachshund at her feet a gentle tug so he'd give the siblings more space to stand. "I'm guessing you went grocery shopping."

Correct. The hand that wasn't holding Abby's had three heavy grocery bags in it.

"Y/N, hey!" Her brother grinned in a way Abby had never seen before. His cheeks flushed slightly and he cleared his throat, his grin turning shy. "This is Abby. This is my sister Abby."

Something akin to relief flashed across Y/N's face. "Nice to meet you, Abby. Mike mentioned you yesterday, but he didn't tell me how cool your shoes are." She crouched down to pretend to get a better look. "Cupcakes are cool."

Abby giggled at the compliment and pushed her nose into Mike's side. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of her brother's bicep and at the fabric there so he'd lean down for her to whisper in his ear. "She asks, can she pet your dog please? Pretty please?" he repeated. "Why she couldn't ask you, I don't know."

"Tater here would love to be petted."

On cue, Tater barked excitedly and wagged his tail at the prospect of being fussed over. Abby cooed loudly and reached out her hand to pet his head. As soon as her fingertips touched his fur, he leaned into her touch and licked her hand enthusiastically. Abby shrieked in delight at the attention, her small hands flailing wildly for a second before reaching out to stroke Tater's ears. Mike could see the joy in the kid's bright eyes and it sent warmth pooling in his chest.

With Abby occupied, Y/N felt the need to clarify, "I was under the impression yesterday that Abby was your girlfriend."

"Ew, gross."

"That's why I was weird about the pizza. I didn't want to third wheel, you know? Sorry I jumped to a completely wrong conclusion."

At that, the corners of Mike's lips twisted upwards. His shoulders relaxed a fraction as he breathed a quiet sigh. Thank God he didn't weird her out with his odd behaviour.

"No, no, I get it. I'm a guy and I mentioned a girl. It...it makes, well, it makes sense to jump to conclusions, actually." A spark of boldness appeared all of a sudden and forced him to inquire, "Would you have stayed if I had made it very clear that Abby is ten years old and my sister?"

"I would've." Y/N replied instantly. Not missing a beat, she added, "I love free pizza," with a smirk.

Ding. They reached their floor and went their separate ways for now. Abby had to be told quite a few times to stop stroking Tater and come inside, but she was reluctant to. That dog had charmed her to the core, it seemed. Eventually, Abby reluctantly complied and followed her older brother into their apartment.

No more than ten minutes later, Y/N heard someone knocking on her door and opened it to find little Abby on the other side all by herself. "Hey Abby, you okay?" Y/N asked with a warm smile.

"Can I play with Tater some more please?" The little girl put on the most cutesy, pleading smile she could muster and batted her eyelashes in order to make it all the more convincing.

"Did you ask your brother?"

"He's in the shower."

So that's a no. Y/N pursed her lips as she thought of a response. Obviously, Mike would freak out if the child in his care was at a stranger's place without his permission. She had no idea about Abby's temperament either. Would she scream and shout if she wasn't given what she wanted? Would she beg? Or would she just be content and go back to whatever she had been doing in her own home?

"Let me just get a lead." Y/N disappeared from view for a minute and Abby was fully prepared for disappointment so she opened the door to her apartment, just listening for the sound of Y/N's door locking. Yet, she was soon reappearing with the weiner dog on a leash.

The pair sat in their opened doorways and fussed over Tater with enthusiasm only children possessed, ignoring the occasional looks from their neighbours who had to step over the situation to get to their homes. The corridor was filled with girly giggles and the occasional happy yap from the puppy as it happily accepted each scratch and pat Abby gave him.

Mike came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and was fully expecting to walk into his room to get changed directly afterwards. That didn't happen straight away. He noticed the opened door before the chatter and rushed to check that his sister was safe and still in the confines of their new home.

Maybe she was talking to those dead kids again. That was not something he needed right now.

"Abby?" he called out tentatively, but upon hearing no response other than more giggles, Mike stepped closer to the door and was rather confused as to why his sister was sitting in the doorway.

Y/N's eyes widened the moment sexy, dripping wet Mike appeared in view. She gulped nervously and took in his attire for a split second, trying her best not to stare too openly at his body. It was a struggle at best and she had to take a deep breath.

"Look Mike, Tater can do tricks!" Abby cheered happily when she noticed her brother coming closer. "Tater, play dead."

The dog did exactly as the girl said and rolled onto its back, exposing his belly in a way that was just asking for rubs. And Abby was overjoyed to give them to him. Mike couldn't help chuckling at the sight of his sister, who he was pretty sure had instigated all of this, laughing like crazy as she scratched Tater behind the ear, his tongue hanging out of his mouth while he let out pleased barks.

"You're such a good boy," she praised, patting his head gently and causing the dog to roll over again. "Can we get a dog?"

"Well, uh-" He paused, "Can we have this conversation when I have clothes on?" The girl frowned but nodded her head nonetheless. "Great. I will do that then. I'll get some, uh huh, I will stop being so naked now. I promise."

Subtly, Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand as she watched the scene before her unfold. It was adorable watching him struggle to find words.

Sitting together and playing around with Tater in their doorways became a daily occurrence for the girls. Abby would get home from school and count down the minutes till Y/N came back from work, only to turn to look at her brother expectantly. "Can I?" she'd ask every time, and he'd say yes every time. It became a routine between them, one that gave Mike free time to look for a new job.

And eventually, he did find one. It wasn't exactly ideal. The hours were long and overlapped with after school time, but it was in the day, and it ensured that they'd get 20% off their groceries. The supermarket in town was looking for shelf stockers. The pay wasn't spectacular, but it was liveable. There wasn't much customer interaction. His main focus was to refill the shelves and that was it, nothing beyond that.

No animatronics. No ghost kids. No serial murderers - as far as he knew. And definitely no Balloon Boy.

Originally, he wasn't going to take the job. But, he happened to mention it to Y/N one day and she immediately tried to squash his worries. "I can pick Abby up from school on my way home from work and she can hang out here until your shift is over. No biggie," she reasoned, placing her hand reassuringly against his bicep and flashing a smile at him. Mike was hesitant, at first.

On the other hand, Abby was not. She loved being in Y/N's apartment. It looked nicer than their apartment because Y/N had decorations and nicknacks to look at, and a sofa that was far more comfortable than the old, busted one they had, and Tater was there with all his toys and treats. And Y/N had cable too so that meant they could watch Malcolm in the Middle when it was on.

Abby was planning to grab onto this opportunity with both hands as soon as it presented itself.

Y/N arrived at Abby's school and was greeted by the child running towards her excitedly. Her backpack thumped along on her back loudly and her curls jumped as she bounced up and down, clearly very excited to spend her evening with Y/N (primarily Y/N's dog, but hey).

"Hi Y/N!"

"Hi Abs, you ready to go?"

She nodded frantically, a huge grin forming on her cheeks as she handed Y/N a piece of paper. "I drew this for you!" she informed proudly, pointing to a cute little drawing of a very familiar looking puppy curled up in his doggy bed.

Looking at the drawing, Y/N's eyes softened. "Wow! Thank you! It's really, really really good," she praised with genuine happiness as she ruffled the top of Abby's head. "Do you think Tater will like it? Shall we show him?"

That question was all it took to convince the girl to be well behaved and not complain about traffic they had to sit through to get home. She just bobbed her head along to the radio softly, tapping her feet along to the beat on the ground. By the end of the journey, she even began humming to the tunes, making sure to keep her voice quiet enough that she thought Y/N wouldn't be able to hear her singing. Y/N could.

"I missed you!" Abby squealed as soon as she saw the dog lying on his side asleep by the living room couch. She quickly hopped on the floor next to him and started stroking his soft fur. "Tater, wake up so we can play," she whispered, petting him under his chin and hoping he might at least stir awake. After a few more seconds, he finally stirred awake, his little tail swinging from side to side the moment he realised who was stroking him.

Tater attacked Abby with wet, sloppy dog kisses, causing her to giggle uncontrollably at every lick. Y/N stood beside the couch and laughed at the scene before her. The little girl was a picture of pure joy as Tater licked and slobbered all over her face, causing her to fall backwards onto the carpeted floor and cry out in delight.

If anyone deserved to be spoiled rotten, it was Abby. In fact, both of the remaining Schmidts deserved to be fussed over and Y/N was prepared to do just that to them for as long as they allowed her to.

Mike arrived home from his shift at the grocery store tired and sore. Most of his day had been spent lifting boxes from the storage room out onto the floor with only a single person helping him. And it hadn't helped that his coworker was an older lady - she was kind to him but there was no way she was carrying half of this shit - so he literally did all of the heavy lifting. His back ached badly, which didn't help his mood in the slightest.

However, as he entered Y/N's apartment - they no longer knocked and just walked in these days - and was faced the sight of Abby grating cheese at the kitchen counter as Y/N warned, "Careful of your fingies, don't wanna accidentally cut yourself. Take it slow, honey."

A sweet smile stretched across his lips as he closed the door behind him and made his way towards the two women. Neither of them seemed to notice, clearly too engrossed in preparing their dinner to see as he silently leant against the kitchen door frame and watched them carefully.

At some point, Y/N had braided Abby's hair and obviously Abby wanted to return the favour but wasn't all that good at it as the end of Y/N's locks were all bushy and tangled, the ends curling up into knots and sticking out from underneath the bobble. He chuckled to himself quietly, thus gaining the attention of the both of them instantly.

"How long have you been there, creeper?" Abby asked, giving her brother a dirty glare and earning her a chuckle from him once more.

"Long enough," he replied and shrugged his shoulders. "What are we cooking?"

"Y/N's teaching me how to make Cowboy Pie."

His eyebrow raised in amusement. "Is that so?" he hummed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you never want to help when I cook, huh?"

"You don't cook. You just heat stuff up."

"Oh yeah? I see how it is," he snickered, but was quick to ask, "Well, you two need any help?" and turned his gaze to Y/N, who simply shook her head.

"Go relax. We've got this," she said dismissively, waving him away with the wooden spoon still in her hand. "Don't we, Abs?" She poked the nodding girl in the cheek affectionately. "See? Everything is alright. Go sit with Tater."

She gave him a gentle push with her hip, prompting him to move into the living room without another word. He sat on the couch and placed his bag by his feet, letting out a huge sigh as his ass hit the soft cushion. He rested his elbows on his knees, placed his chin on his palms and leaned forward so he could see into the kitchen.

Watching the duo cook together was mesmerising. A warm feeling filled his chest and spread throughout his entire body - like fire but not uncomfortable, more comforting, like home. Y/N had such a loving smile on her face while Abby looked content and beamed whenever she was allowed to stir the pot or throw in the ingredients. They were like peas in a pod, Y/N taking care of everything and doing all the things that included knives while Abby tried to follow instructions.

He was completely lost in the scene in front of him until something small and furry pressed itself against his leg. He glanced down and smiled upon seeing the dachshund's black nose pressing up against the side of his pant legs. The dog wagged his tail and then looked up at him, staring with his wide brown eyes, almost pleading for attention. Mike couldn't say no to Tater so he bent down to scratch gently behind his floppy ears.

"Hiya, boy," he murmured happily. "Us guys have got to stick together, right? Can't let the girls boss us around now, can we?" Tater barked and wagged his whole body as if to agree with him.

That meal had to be the best he'd ever had, or at least remembered having. It was mainly potato, sausage, beans and cheese, but somehow, they'd managed to make it taste extra good. Tater was given a sausage or two, so he was beyond happy and fell asleep directly after dinner.

Abby was in a similar state. She'd cleaned her plate then asked for more, which was fine because there was leftovers for her to get through. Her belly was full and she was exhausted, so that meant she could probably sleep through the night. She even fell asleep against Mike's shoulder half way through the episode of Family Feud.

Honestly, Mike was close to dozing off too but kept himself awake long enough to pick his sister up and carry her to her bed. "She's out like a light, how did you do that?" he asked Y/N curiously, his arms wrapped around Abby so she didn't fall out of his grip and slump to the corridor floor.

"It was all Tater," she joked, gesturing towards the passed out puppy lying on his back between the gap between the two couch cushions. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah please."

"Goodnight Mike," Y/N smiled, moving in to peck his cheek before disappearing behind her door.

Once she was gone, Mike released a large exhale through his nose, his eyes now wide open and fixed on the crooked 32 number plate on the wood. He wiggled one hand free and straightened it up, then brought his fingertip to where her lips had just been on his skin and smiled faintly.

"Goodnight Y/N."

Every day was similar to that one - obviously there were slight variations where Abby didn't eat as much, or Tater decided to be yappy that day, or Y/N didn't feel like cooking and ordered something in, or Mike was grumpier - but they were all better than before. Their lives weren't exactly perfect, but this was close enough, really.

For now.

"My boss offered me some more hours, just in time for the holidays - and it's a big upgrade in pay -"

"That sounds great, Mike. What's the 'but'?" Y/N frowned as she placed some freshly cooked lasagna on a plate and placed it in front of Mike.

"It's night shifts and a weekend or two." He shoved a fork full into his mouth, chewing it slowly before swallowing and continuing, "You've done so much already and asking you to look after Abby for the entire night... it's too much, you shouldn't have to-"

"Mike-"

"I'll pay you. I promise. Abby told me she wants that Robotic Puppy thing for her present and that's $40 and I said I get that for her to make up for the fact I won't let her get a real dog. Factor in groceries. And bills. And..." he began mumbling to himself, working out all the math in his head. He'd never been all that good at maths.

There was a beat of silence before Y/N let out a small chuckle. "Mike," she sighed again, placing her hand gently on top of his, "It's okay. Really, it is. This isn't a big deal at all. I love spending time with Abby and she loves sleepovers."

Recently, there had been a development in Abby's social life; one that involved more hanging out with her friend outside of school. The new friend had been a late addition to the class and was rather shy, so when she spent her time reading right next to where Abby was drawing, they began their quiet friendship.

"And the weekends?"

"Well, I get Sundays off and Saturdays she can come to work with me. There's always a bunch of kids her age in the library on Saturdays. Yeah, it's all the nerd kids," Y/N explained with a laugh whilst pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to Mike. "Relax, Mikey."

With a final deep breath, he nodded his head, his expression changing as he took a sip of wine. "Okay," he breathed and smiled softly. "Thank you. For today. And last week too. And all the times before that."

"Yeah, no problem," she shrugged casually and sipped from her glass as well, trying her hardest to keep the flush off her face.

Working nights again was not something Mike thought he'd ever do again, yet this time, the scenery was far less alive. No, instead it was just dark and cold. And this time, he actually had job responsibilities and couldn't fall asleep at a desk. He had to lift and sort and clean and sweep and tidy and organise and price check and restock. It was boring, mind numbing and absolutely exhausting and he just wanted to go home to sleep and forget about it all.

What was waiting for him when he got home was something else. Something different, something better.

After putting Abby to bed, Y/N had fallen asleep on the living room sofa, a blanket draped around her and a book about to slip from her fingers. Mike knelt beside the couch and grabbed the book and placed it on the coffee table before giving in to the temptation to brush her hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger on her cheek.

"Mike?" Y/N murmured, her eyelids fluttering slightly as her eyes met his own, causing him to bolt away and stand up straight.

"Oh! Sorry," he stuttered, clearing his throat. and scratching at his cheek with a little too much force. "Um, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

Y/N yawned and stretched, leaning on her elbow and resting her head on her hands as she regarded him. "How was work? Anything interesting happen?" she asked quietly, her voice still sounding sleepy. She ran a hand through her messy hair, messing it up even more and looking adorably groggy, and he had to admit it was kinda hot.

"Not really. The same as usual just at night, I guess."

A hum left her throat and she closed her eyes briefly. When they opened again, they were glimmering with sleepy tears, making them sparkle beautifully. His heart swelled with so much emotion, he couldn't help but stare at them and sigh.

"Abby is -" She yawned again. "Abby's is in my bed. You can leave her there if you want," she murmured, her voice fading to barely a whisper. "You tired? You look it."

"Yeah."

Thanks to the darkness of the room and the bagginess of his clothes, he had the same general shape of a teddy bear - all soft and curly with big brown eyes. That paired with Y/N sleepy kind of not fully woken up state meant that she whispered, "Come here," and held her arms open invitingly. He hesitated for a moment, before finally deciding that he couldn't turn this opportunity down. He crawled onto the sofa and lay down next to her, putting as much distance in between their bodies as he could, which wasn't a lot.

It would've felt awkward to anyone else, but for the two of them it was natural; comfortable and intimate. Y/N snuggled up next to Mike until her head rested comfortably on his chest and he put an arm around her, pulling her as close as possible.

"Y/N?"

"Hmmm...?" she hummed sleepily, her hands coming up under her chin on his chest, looking up at him through her lashes. He looked at her, mesmerised by the gentle glow of the light emanating from the tv screen behind him, before gazing down at her lips, feeling a blush creep up on his neck. He licked his lips nervously and swallowed thickly before he could think twice about what he was going to say next.

"I like you," he admitted bluntly without any preamble, and his eyes widened slightly as soon as the words were uttered. They flew past the tip of his tongue, begging to leave him, and the truth was out there now. In the open and therefore there was no backing out. "Jesus, that made me sound like a middle schooler."

Y/N blinked several times, processing what he said, before smiling warmly and reaching up and stroking his cheek gently. Mike's eyes fluttered shut at her touch, and he leaned into her hand with a contented sigh. "I like you too," she whispered, her smile growing wider and her thumb brushing along his cheek bone tenderly.

"So, um, should we maybe..." he started awkwardly, unsure where he wanted things to go from there.

"In the morning?"

"Good idea."

They fell asleep almost immediately after saying goodnight, holding each other tightly as they slept in a dreamless slumber. A slumber that was cut short when Abby woke them up with a very loud gasp, waking the both of them up. They rubbed at their eyes with the heels of their palms and looked over at Abby who stared at them with wide eyes.

Cheeks flushing red under his sister's scrutiny, Mike burrowed his face in Y/N's shoulder, who just chuckled and curled her hand into his curly hair.

"What's the time, Abs?"

"7:23" came the reply as she pointed at the digital clock on the wall above the TV.

Mike let out a groan of annoyance and pushed his nose further into Y/N. It seemed that once he got some affection, he didn't want to let go. She didn't seem to mind though and laughed softly, shifting a bit to accommodate him.

Or was it to accommodate Abby?

Because Y/N offered, "Well, it's Sunday and there's enough space for three so wanna join, honey?" and Abby was jumping at the chance, clambering on the couch until the girl was lying entirely on top of her brother like a weighted blanket that got slightly heavier as Tater joined in too and curled up between his knees. He grunted at the unexpected cuddle pile but got used to it quickly.

"What do you want for breakfast when we get up?" Y/N asked Abby, stroking her hair away from her face as the child yawned.

"Pop Tarts?"

"I second that," Mike mumbled.

"Pop Tarts it is then," Y/N agreed with a small nod

Somehow, life had got even better.

[lorei-writes]

You seem genuinely nice in your curiosity, so I thought I'd share my thoughts. Maybe this is not the right approach to how to go about interacting on tumblr, but if I notice that there's a blog that I've interacted with somewhat frequently (whether it be liking/reblogging their posts, sending requests when requests are open, etc) and then I notice that interaction is one-sided (either they don't follow me back, they never ever like or reblog my posts and I see them interacting with many others in fandom so I know they are active), I dunno, but I get the feeling they don't like me or my posts, maybe I post too many spoilers, maybe I flood the tags and my posts are annoying or some other third unknown option - and then it snowballs and I worry I'm annoying others with my comments or reblogs or whatever. And I slow my interaction with others out of fear of not being liked or just plain shyness. And sometimes I have unfollowed them. Because, again, I dunno, but I feel like if they don't want to interact with me, perhaps I should not interact with them? When those posts come across my feed because reblogged by a mutual, I will sometimes read/look at if a suitor I like, but when I see who the op is, I become hesitant with interacting, and end up not interacting at all.

I know, devil's advocate - what if this blogger who didn't interact with me has never seen my blog or any of my posts. That might fly in Genshin or HSR fandoms, but not Ikemen. I think by now most everyone knows each other around here (at least those who have been posting for a while and post regularly/frequently). And I'm not the only one who has experienced this...

Thank you for listening to my rambling.

Thank you for sharing your experience!

Hmm... I must admit, Anon, what you've said has left me somewhat conflicted. I can agree that reaching out to a person repeatedly and the effort not being reciprocated can be disheartening. I do think that in this situation it is reasonable to adjust either your expectations ("I know they may not say anything back, but I did enjoy their work regardless, so I will share it." // no expectations of friendship, interacting with posts for the sake of posts alone) or the amount you give out ("I want to have some relationship with this person and they do not reciprocate, therefore I will decrease the amount of effort I put into this." // expectations of friendship, interactions as means of building relationships).

I can tell you that I do not know of a blogger who hasn't appreciated familiar faces in their notification. (Which isn't to devalue your experience. Maybe you met an outlier, maybe this person simply couldn't show it due to their personal circumstances, maybe they thought they showed it and a mismatch in terms of expectations occurred). I can tell you they shouldn't be taken for granted. But I also can tell you that, in some cases, which I do not know whether they are relevant to you, it is simply impossible to give back to everybody.

My experience is what I know best, so allow me to use that as an example. There's over a thousand people following this blog. I do not know all of you. More than this, I do not know all of the creators in the Ikemen Fandom. When I was primarily into Sen, I had no idea who was creating for Pri and was rather surprised to find out that some of those people were considered "big", as I went entirely without ever seeing their names. Even now that I have been invested into Pri for a year, I still find people I have never heard about before... And I still meet people who have no clue who I am or what I do. Likewise, Villains is a fog for me... As I would suspect the "old fandom" may be for you. So, I don't agree with the "most everyone knows each other around here (at least those who have been posting for a while and post regularly/frequently)" statement.

That aside, sometimes it is unfortunate, but it is simply impossible to give back to everybody. And it does suck. Just, hm... I suppose I'd like you to see me now, as it's something I've been struggling with and had to make my peace about? There is only one me. If "just" a hundred of people appear at any given time, or "just" fifty, it is still more than I can reasonably handle. My friendships with people who moved fandoms haven't dissolved and there are only so many relationships I can support. Reliably replying to everything here? I try. But I know I generally can't give back as much as I've received, or at least not in a personal enough manner. It is just too much for a single me. Due to my health issues I am chronically online -- what about people who have more robust offline lives?

Again, I do not know whether that is relevant for your case. It is only that I think it isn't you, as in it isn't about you being a certain way. The situation may just be a result of those mundane circumstances surrounding us. For me personally, a lot of luck is required to expand my circles in a meaningful manner. Of course, it still does suck in the end! Just maybe in a slightly different flavour.

Thank you for listening to my rambles and best of luck <3

[themoonweaversden]

Messeges that were found so far: SOOS (spoilers)

This is just to collect all the codes that you can type in in thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and their effects only (please click images for better quality)

Masterpost with all messeges / codes

Transcript:

"Sup Dude! Soos here, or as I call myself now "Mr Mystery," but I also call myself Soos too because that's still my name dude! Okay, so first, the GOSS, Tad Strange. Is Totally. Crushing on Woodpecker Guy. I ship it dude. I ship it HARD.

Anyway Mabel wanted me to write about the triangle guy? Dawg, homie is BAD. NEWS. Never trust a bro who can climb inside of your brain. And his book is sus and, to be quite frank, mid. I looked inside and just saw glitches and the words "HE'S UNCORRUPTABLE." What's that supposed to mean? At least holding the book made me look kinda smart, so 1/5 stars I guess.

Anyway Mabel told me to keep it brief, which is no problem for me, I love brievity! I can't get enough of it! Being succinct is like, super easy for me for some reason, I guess it's like a gift? Don't get me started on pithiness, let alone- oh dang I'm like, running out of paper?! LOL! That's what tape is for bro!

SOLVED!

What were we talking about? Oh yeah, my life as chief proprietor/tour guide/scam-magineer (Mr Pine's phrase) of the Mystery Shack! Running this place is an actual dream come true. To stop from pinching myself I asked Old Man McGucket to invent a Pinch-Bot but then it got loose and went on a pinching spree and had to be put down, heh heh. Wild times!

What's the shack like without the Pines? Well, it's got a lot more laser tag. And Questiony is back and MORE QUESTIONABLE THAN EVER! (Turns out all he needed was PANTS!) Every day I get to regale the children with yarns of enchantment and lore, and Melody set up this dope train that goes through the redwoods carrying baby goats. We're doing like... so good. Knock on on wood, but we're always saying "jinx" after talking and like, "anticipating each others emotional needs." Might be some little Sooslets on the way! WINK!

Mr Pines is gonna be away at sea for a while but he promised to not send me any postcards, which meant a lot to me. Dude is a real one! Anyway, I gotta go get some lotion for my cheeks. Abuelita and Melody have been pinching me at the same time a lot and it's starting to become a problem.

Look what I gotta deal with over here! Seesh! Stay cool, and if you're ever in Oregon stop by the Mystery Shack to see the local world record holder for the world's happiest dude. ME! Ha-ha!

-Soos "Mr Mystery" Ramirez

PS: Don't tell Ford that I got pudding on his cursed book!! Unless he likes pussing, then tell him to lick here ⟶

PPS: Did you know that you can turn any spoon into a spork with a few simple adjustments? I'll show you how any time dude!

PPS: If you see Bill, cover your head in tin foil and bring some ninja stars. And a bat, in case he ever accquires human flesh. Or in case you see a PINATA"

[starleska]

stop all this wholesome >:( I wanna know your hcs on Dark!Wally. Explore how evil he is. What kinda horrible agenda he has goin on. Your choice if its still a x reader im just curious how you'd interpret it- ... Dont feel forced to do so btw feel free to ignore this if it aint yer cup of tea ToT

hahahaha, this gave me a great laugh!! you've caught me, anon - i am very much a fan of evil, devious, villainous, morally bereft and just plain dreadful characters. you'll see from my f/o tracker that i'm quite the bad guy connoisseur - i just haven't explored that with Wally yet because we know so little about what his agenda is!! it's Wally's ambiguity that makes him so fun to play with;;;

i'd love to fill this out with some potential theories, if you'll humour me 😉 gonna pop this under a spoiler tag as well just in case this speculation turns out correct, and for the warnings!!

content warnings for potential Welcome Home spoilers, scopophobia, stalking, murder, cannibalism, and cults:

Dark!Wally (or potentially, just Wally) Darling headcanons:

⭐ Wally is using us as food. ever since we found out about Wally eating with his eyes, i haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. everything from everyone looking up at the tracker on the website, to Wally watching us from the other side of the screen, has me wondering exactly why he loves us so much, and why he seems happy to engage with all of us pouring in to look at the site. i'm wondering if Wally is something of a psychic cannibal - someone who is able to devour essence through attention, particularly through eye contact. there is something he's getting from us interacting with him on the website, and i feel like his love is of the possessive variety...he needs us for something that we don't understand yet. ⭐ Wally 'fed' his neighbourhood friends to his Home, and is play-acting as if his friends are still alive by interacting with us. some eagle-eyed fans noticed recently that in one image, Wally's armchair has a stitched-on patch that looks suspiciously like Barnaby's skin. likewise, there's a very strange file name on one of the drawings Wally did on the Guestbook, in a comment talking about Eddie, where he says he 'runs too much'. we know that Home is alive, and that Wally talks to Home. we also don't know why Wally's house is the only one with apparent sentience. my question is...how is Home fuelled? and why is Wally the only one talking to us through the Guestbook if his puppet-self is alive - where is everyone else? my (very thin) speculation is that Wally may have sacrificed his friends to keep Home alive, but suffered a mental breakdown as a result, and wants to preserve their old life through the website as if nothing is wrong. ⭐ Wally is a vain attention hog who wants to be back in the spotlight. this one is bare-bones, but hear me out - this can go a couple of ways! if we choose to believe the Wally speaking from within the website is, somehow, a sentient puppet (or his consciousness is infused with the website), we could also believe that he may miss his apparently peaceful, love-filled life from another time. perhaps Wally was alive during the original run of Welcome Home, and somehow remained alive following its cancellation. perhaps he feels spurned now he's no longer the friendly neighbourhood host of the television show long-forgotten to the public...where better to try and gain a new audience than online, under the guise of a restoration project? we could even make a potential cult leader argument here... again, this is all pure speculation!! we have no idea at all what Wally's agenda is at this stage, and that's a good thing;; it's going to be loads of fun learning more about Wally and what his intentions are. i'd love to hear people's theories 😉

[tamlindudley]

Hi I just gotta say I'm so happy I found your blog. I just read ACOTAR a few days ago and started reading ACOMAF, and was NOT liking the direction it was heading, so naturally I looked up spoilers to make sure it'd all end up okay. Well I found out that is obviously not the case and I've decided to stop reading because of Tamlin's insane character assassination. I'm so upset about it!!!!! Feylin is unmatched!!!! Anyway so I'm glad I found your blog to search the tags and feel validated <3

Omg I felt exactly the same!! Basically I went in knowing about Rhysand being popular so I was a little iffy hoping Tamlin was actually bad? But he just wasn’t and I totally loved him even though I was trying not to get attached. The start of ACOMAF was okay for me, PTSD can lead to relationships falling apart and I thought that was what was gonna happen but then the blatant bs came along and I was horrified.

I DNF’d when Feyre said she fell in love with the first thing that showed kindness like go fuck yourself new Feyre and RIP old Feyre who actually had braincells. The gaslighting and character assassination to switch ships is insane. You did good DNF-ing. It only gets worse!