#i need to stop futzing with this

[yazzydream]

So I'm gonna have you help me show off even more.

[astraldrake]

a visitor from distant lands comes to usher in the age of stars

[alectoperdita]

For the ficlets request, 'meeting upon the threshold' more in that universe of DSOD Kaiba realizing what the could have had and now he fucked up or just jealous DSOD Kaiba . (hope all is well with you sending all the good internet vibes)

Oh anon, I hope you were ready to receive a full-ass sequel chapter. Hope this satisfies your prompt(s). 🥺 They gave me a lot to think about (lol obviously, based on how much I wrote), and it's driving me more insane with yet more to consider. For now, I yeet this for peace of mind.

Read "Meeting upon the threshold" on AO3

word count: 4281 rating: M tags: post-DSOD, Kaiba being an asshole, one-night stand, open ending, mild sexual content, anal sex, unprotected sex

---

The forbidden fruit of knowledge sat with him—day after day, then week after week, festering with the sickeningly sweet scent of onsetting rot.

He should've discarded it. As soon as Isono, knitted brows visible above the lip of his sunglasses, handed him the dossier he'd requested, he should've ordered it disposed of. Kaiba recognized his employee's confusion, even concern. He even felt a bit of it toward himself. It had been years since he'd shown any interest in someone on the mortal plane who wasn't an active security risk, much less in Yugi's ilk.

Kaiba lost track of Yugi years ago when he retired from dueling.

But that was what made it confusing. Kaiba hadn't requested information on Yugi, but Jounouchi fucking Katsuya.

As much as Kaiba refused to admit it, his meeting with an alternate version of himself, one engaged to Jounouchi, haunted him. He spent more time than warranted replaying the encounter again and again in his head, searching for any hint of disharmony simmering beneath the surface. They might be blissfully happy or lying to themselves in a sham of a relationship. But Kaiba couldn't tell because he didn't know them.

Not anymore than he knew or understood the Jounouchi of his universe, no matter how much dirt Isono and the security team dug up on the man.

The files sat in a drawer in his office, the digital copy in his email. Against his better judgment, he'd pull it up and review the content every few days. After the first week, he practically had it memorized.

By the end of the second week, its luster grew too bright, too deceptively tempting, to ignore.

Call it a capitulation to curiosity; a momentary weakness. Either way, he counted on it finally purging his fixation.

Kaiba was ready to forget the unfortunate detour and move on. Put everything he saw of the other Seto and his fiance and bury it in a mental compartment never to be unearthed again.

Again, Isono demonstrated mute surprise not only because Kaiba left the office early in the evening, but the slight lift of his eyebrows said he recognized the address Kaiba requested to be driven to.

His bodyguard knew better than to say anything, though. If he hadn't made a peep when Mokuba divested from the company and moved to America, why would he start now?

Jounouchi, the other Jounouchi's words rose unbidden in his mind: "You already pushed everyone away, haven't you?"

Kaiba shoved the memory aside.

Traffic was light as they made their way to the old commercial district. Thanks to stubborn neighborhood associations, new development had stalled in this area compared to the rest of the city. The businesses here were family-owned and run by old timers more concerned with nostalgia than progress.

Time was on Kaiba's side. He could wait them out.

Really, he wasn't surprised Jounouchi opened his establishment here. If only so he could be another thorn in his side.

The first time he saw it in Jounouchi's files, he'd laughed. The sound resonated through his office. Never in a million years would Kaiba have pictured Jounouchi as a small business owner, especially given his rather spotty employment history. But a death in the family, and not the one everyone would've guessed, had gifted the man an unexpected windfall.

The restaurant license was legitimate. Kaiba checked twice.

Removed from the city's more vibrant business and entertainment districts, the neighborhood resembled a slice of time crystalized in amber. Its vibes were positively sleepy, and its streets were devoid of pedestrians. Hardly bustling. Kaiba doubted any business in the area qualified as booming.

He sneered. Appropriate—a third-rate restaurant in a deadbeat part of town, run by a deadbeat.

"Stay here," he ordered Isono when they stopped at the curb. "I'll call if I need anything."

Isono nodded. "Understood, Seto-sama."

Jounouchi's little restaurant was located down a narrow side street, on the ground floor of a similarly narrow two-story building with a slatted wooden roof. The place was little more than a hole-in-the-wall, with only enough seating to serve maybe half a dozen people. Perfect for a one-man operation.

Kaiba didn't hesitate before ducking under the entrance curtain. Red and patterned, it was surprisingly traditional.

"Welcome!" rang through the small shop. The lone figure behind the counter dipped into a deep bow. His voice was immediately familiar to Kaiba, almost instantly transporting him back more than a decade.

The shop's proprietor, Jounouchi, straightened. Something jangled against his chest, a long necklace slipping out of his collar. Kaiba's blood pressure spiked before he realized they were dog tags hanging from it.

Not a ring on a chain.

Slowly, Kaiba uncurled his fists, one finger at a time.

Clearly, Jounouchi remembered him too. Of course he did. Kaiba's presence in Domino was not one that could be ignored. His face was frequently plastered on billboards and featured in local and national media. Yet Jounouchi gawked, nonetheless.

It was amusing to watch the myriad of emotions flashing across Jounouchi's face—the shock, the confusion, and finally the outrage. Satisfaction welled inside Kaiba.

"Get lost," barked Jounouchi once he recovered, reaching for a knife before thinking better of it.

Kaiba did not. He crossed the threshold and took a seat at the empty serving counter directly in front of Jounouchi.

Up close, he scrutinized the other man in return. Seeing Jounouchi in real life didn't compare to the covert surveillance shots. The dark bandana around his head kept his blond hair under control. Navy chef's jacket and a white apron; he at least dressed for the job. His face was the same, more or less, yet his jaw cut sharper, the underside of his eyes darker, and his brown eyes less mirthful.

There were faint remnants of his once youthful boyish charms, but he was undeniably older now.

As was Kaiba.

But some things never changed between them.

"Is that any way to greet your customers?" he drawled, a familiar smirk lifting the corner of his lips. It was almost comforting, like slipping into a well-worn sweater.

Jounouchi clenched his jaw, the muscles jumped visibly. "I'm doing the neighborhood a favor and running off the vermin."

Kaiba's gaze darted upward. As he saw from the surveillance photos, Jounouchi indeed boosted an eyebrow piercing, two red studs framing the top and bottom of his left brow. Combined with his pierced earlobes and the short ponytail, he hadn't made a clean break with his delinquent past.

But maybe Jounouchi's lady friends appreciated the vaguely thuggish look. Or his boyfriends, if this universe's Jounouchi had similar tastes as his counterpart.

Seto couldn't be sure. The dossier reported next to nothing about Jounouchi's romantic relationships beyond his current singlehood.

As he met Jounouchi's gaze, his smirk widened, displaying every tooth possible. "Funny, that's what I figured you served in a shitty establishment like this, grilled vermin."

To his surprise, and perhaps even disappointment, Jounouchi didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he calmly gestured to the wooden plaques hanging over him. "I'm sure a smart guy like you can read."

Kaiba scanned the offerings. He didn't frequent establishments like this, as he preferred Western cuisine. The menu boasted the usual assortment of grilled meats, seafood, and vegetables, along with some ready-to-serve appetizers. The rest was a limited alcohol menu. When his gaze darted back to Jounouchi, he folded his hands on the counter and said, "Chef's choice."

For a second, Jounouchi didn't move, barely twitched as he took a shallow breath. Then, his expression steeled itself in preparation to meet Kaiba's unspoken challenge, and he burst into a flurry of movement. For a moment, he disappeared behind another curtain divider and emerged on the other side of the counter with a tray.

"Your otoshi," Jounouchi grumbled when he set a trio of small plates, a sake cup, and pourer down in front of Kaiba. He leveled one last glare before returning behind the counter.

Kaiba tried not to snort. Picking up his chopsticks, he poked at one appetizer, strips of braised burdock root and carrots. It looked correct and smelled fine. The texture crunched as he sank his teeth in, while the flavor was both sweet and savory. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Jounouchi pausing in his other preparations to watch him chew.

Kaiba swallowed without comment, and poured sake into the serving cup. Well aware of Jounouchi's lingering gaze, he threw it back in one gulp.

The sake was nothing special, nothing to write home about, but its crisp taste complemented the braised vegetables' flavor.

Their eyes locked as Kaiba lowered his cup. Jounouchi broke eye contact almost immediately, brows knitted as he concentrated on his knife and cutting board. He wielded the blade with confidence and ease, making straight cuts that sliced cleanly through a small horse mackerel. There was already other food cooking on the grill. Kaiba could smell it from across the counter that separated them.

If anyone walked in on them, an outsider might think they were nothing more than a cook and his sole customer. Despite the casual air Kaiba affected, he watched his every move. Jounouchi wasn't the sort to poison his food. Probably. Jounouchi didn't lower his guard, either, carrying his tension in shoulders and jaws despite his smooth and controlled movements.

The image of the other Jounouchi came to mind unbidden. Kaiba wondered what he did, if he even worked or if he mooched off the other Seto's good grace. It was hard to imagine Jounouchi, any Jounouchi, as a kept man, simply because he shouldn't have that sort of appeal. Compared to the other Jounouchi with his bright eyes and well-fitted clothes, the one native to his home dimension was rougher around the edges. Not just in how he kept his appearance, but also in his mannerisms. Like Kaiba, Jounouchi had also filled out since their teen years, namely in the chest and arms. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he worked his knife and grill.

After several long moments of silence, Kaiba couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "It figures this is the kind of cooking you took to—grilling meat on a stick. Positively caveman."

Jounouchi stiffened. He bristled, red creeping into his cheeks. He bit his tongue and said nothing, though. Instead, he plucked two skewers of seared meat and delicately placed them on a serving plate. He didn't touch the prawn and fish still on the grill.

Balanced on a wooden paddle, Jounouchi presented the dish to him across the counter. "Chicken hearts," he said gruffly.

Kaiba arched an eyebrow. Did Jounouchi mean to imply something by his choice of meat? But he took the plate with a neutral expression and, as much as he hated to admit it, the smell had him salivating.

He'd skipped lunch. It was the only reason the deadbeat's cooking seemed even remotely appetizing.

This time, Jounouchi made no effort to hide his staring, studying Kaiba as he ate.

Whatever Kaiba's usual culinary preferences, well-seasoned and well-cooked meat had universal appeal. The food settled heavy in his belly, warmed by sake. The otoshi and the alcohol had served their purpose, whetting his dormant appetite.

There was nothing to criticize. Not the flavor. Not the presentation. Not without lying outright or, worse, nitpicking. They both knew it, too.

Most infuriatingly, he wanted seconds.

Chair legs screeched as he stood. Without counting, he threw a handful of notes on the counter, easily three or four times what the modest meal was worth. Jounouchi made no moves to stop him, but his eyes drilled into Kaiba's back as he stalked out of the restaurant.

***

He should've thrown the files into the shredder the next day. He didn't look at them again, but their presence weighed upon him.

Later the same week, he ducked under the curtain to enter Jounouchi's robatayaki shop again. Two older diners, neighborhood retirees, were already seated at the far end of the counter, making friendly conversation with Jounouchi as he cooked for them. Jounouchi was nothing but smiles and laughs for them, beaming as if Yugi sat across from him.

Like leaden weight, the mirth dropped almost instantly from his face when he spun to greet Kaiba.

"Welcome," Jounouchi said flatly, drawing curious glances from his current customers.

Ignoring the pricking sensation, Kaiba sat at the opposite end of the counter. Jounouchi took his sweet time before suddenly appearing at his side and serving him a trio of compulsory appetizers and sake, like last time. To add insult to injury, he went straight back to his other diners without even trying to take Kaiba's order.

Frowning, Kaiba picked at the otoshi. Today's selection included chilled mung bean sprouts, kimchi, and potato salad, and the sake was warm. Same as last time, the food was palatable, probably even tasty to more pedestrian taste buds.

Every so often, a burst of laughter disturbed Kaiba, causing him to shoot daggers in Jounouchi's direction before he caught himself and forced his eyes back to his food. By the time the deadbeat acknowledged him again, Kaiba's sake had cooled entirely.

"Whaddaya want?" asked Jounouchi, voice flat and without mincing words.

They both knew he wasn't asking about what Kaiba wanted to eat. What did Kaiba want with Jounouchi? Why was he bothering him again?

Kaiba had no sane answer to give him.

To spite him, he ordered one of every item on the menu. His stomach churned unhappily at the prospect of so much food, but he refused to allow Jounouchi to intimidate him.

The chef boggled at him for a second before snapping out of it. "Your funeral," he said with a shrug before walking away.

Plate after plate, the food kept coming. By the third one, Kaiba felt ready to vomit. Instead, he left the food untouched as it piled up next to him, focusing on the alcohol instead. Time simultaneously rushed past in a torrent and crawled like molasses. It lost all meaning, reminding Kaiba of the limbo he crossed to and from Aaru. The only constant was Jounouchi, hovering right on the edge of his perceptions but otherwise refusing to engage with Kaiba more than strictly necessary.

Not unless Kaiba called to him, and he refused. People tripped over themselves to serve Kaiba, not the other way around.

Eventually, Isono came to investigate when he failed to respond to his texts. Slamming his palms down on the counter, Kaiba knocked over his chair when he shot to his feet and stormed out, leaving Isono to settle the bill.

He swore he'd never go back.

The same night, he dreamed of the heat blasting out of the charcoal grill, the dots of sweat running down Jounouchi's neck when he hunched over the fire, and large hands wrapped around the handle of gleaming knives skimming Kaiba's underbelly.

***

"Seriously, why are you here?" groaned Jounouchi. "Why are you haunting me like an evil spirit?"

Kaiba could ask the same of himself. Why did Jounouchi, first the other Seto's smooth-faced fiance with his soft hair and softer mouth, and now this rough but sure-handed Jounouchi occupy so much of Kaiba's thoughts?

Kaiba had lost count of how many times he'd been a patron of Jounouchi's restaurant. Their interactions may have thawed somewhat, but they were, by no means, friendly. At first Kaiba lingered after closing time for petty reasons, forcing Jounouchi to close and clean around him. Last time, Jounouchi plopped down next to him with a can of beer instead, complaining and insulting Kaiba the entire time. More sake bore Kaiba through the experience. Plus, it was nothing Kaiba hadn't heard before.

Tonight, Jounouchi had deflated. His face was almost haggard under the warm yellow light, nooks and crevices exaggerated by the shadows within them.

Kaiba felt as tired as Jounouchi looked. In the end, they were nothing more than two browbeaten men.

"Well?" Jounouchi demanded when Kaiba didn't respond. "Usually, you can't shut the fuck up, but now nothing? Not a damn peep?"

Kaiba hummed and sipped his sake. His tongue lapped the last drops from the cup. He licked his lips absently, noting how numb his tongue felt.

Jounouchi stared, his eyes as scorching hot as burning coal.

Kaiba did it again, and Jounouchi's eyes narrowed in anger? Suspicion?

Lifting his chin high, he smirked. It was always satisfying to needle the other man. "I don't have to explain myself to the likes of you. But it's certainly not for the pleasure of your sparkling company."

Jounouchi swore and lumbered to his feet. Kaiba watched, a passenger in his own body, as the other man stepped behind him and loomed over him, bracing the counter's edge to cage him in. "You're a shitty liar," he accused, so close Kaiba could smell the malt on his breath. "I dunno exactly why, but you're here because of me."

"You think too highly of yourself. You're a nobody."

Kaiba's head spun. Must be the sake he drank.

Jounouchi didn't back down. Kaiba wondered if tonight might end in a brawl. He could break Jounouchi's nose and give him a taste of the iron Kaiba found in the hearts and gizzards he served up. Jounouchi could turn his knife skills on a target capable of fighting back. And if they could walk away afterward, they could never see each other again.

Warm fingers nudged his chin, tilting his face up to allow Jounouchi to scrutinize him. Up close, his eyes resembled whisky, dark and honeyed. Blond fringes, dark pierced eyebrows, crooked nose, full mouth—when considered as a package, even Kaiba admitted it was not unappealing.

But Kaiba had better tastes in food and style. Better standards for people and the partners he kept in his life than Seto.

Jounouchi was fit enough to fuck, nothing more.

"Is this how you bewitched him?" he snarled, unable to stop himself from canting toward the other man.

Jounouchi blinked, then laughed, incredulously. "I can't believe it. There's no way we share an ex. There's no way that's why you started coming here outta nowhere. You're drunk, Kaiba. Call Isono so he can take you home."

He rolled back on the heels of his feet, preparing to draw away. To leave. To dismiss him.

Fueled by impulse—insanity, Kaiba spun in his seat, chasing him. His hands moved without his command, fingers closing around Jounouchi's chin in an iron grip and yanking him down to him. Their teeth knocked before their lips met. But Kaiba didn't release him, squeezing Jounouchi's jaw hard enough his own ached in sympathy.

A sharp inhale, and Kaiba instinctively tensed. This Jounouchi wouldn't hesitate to lay into him or perhaps gut him for an unwanted advance. But when he unfroze, he didn't shove Kaiba away, instead meeting him head on with surprising fervor. Kaiba hissed, both from the counter now digging into his back and the stinging nip of Jounouchi's bite.

The kiss he stole from the other Jounouchi remained fresh on his mind, as if it happened yesterday; mint-flavored, supple yet soft lips, and a hint of crisp aftershave, faded though it might've been.

Sweat and smoke clung to Jounouchi, and he tasted of beer. His lips were slightly chapped. Fingertips fluttered across Kaiba's cheeks, ears, hair, and neck, never settling on any spot for more than a second before soaring off. His hands were everywhere, roaming over Kaiba's body as if he was entitled to do so.

It made Kaiba light-headed. Good thing he was already sitting.

Heat. Spit. Teeth. The hint of copper on their busted lips and warring tongues. The unforgiving plains, peaks, and valleys of their bodies grinding against each other, like the catastrophic collision between tectonic plates, upending worlds and locking together for minutes that felt like hours and days.

They didn't so much kiss as fight to devour the other.

They broke apart, wild-eyed and chest heaving. They remained physically connected; Jounouchi's hands were now on his hips and Kaiba clasping his strong jawline, absently caressing the rough grain of his late-night stubble. Jounouchi licked his lips, and Kaiba mirrored him, causing the other man's eyes to darken further.

After a beat of hesitation, as if he was waiting for Kaiba to deny him, Jounouchi leaned in for another kiss. It was softer, reminding Kaiba of another mint-flavored one. But he kindled the embers of Kaiba's want as deftly as he fanned the flame in his cooking.

Something roiled deep in his gut, something familiar as he often felt it when he saw Jounouchi these days.

"I'm hungry," Kaiba muttered against the other man's warm mouth. "Why else would I bother coming here?"

They both knew he wasn't referring to food, though.

Jounouchi shivered. "Got it. Let's take this somewhere private."

***

They didn't need to go far. Jounouchi lived right above his humble shop, a fact Kaiba already knew from his background check. He didn't get to see much of it as they stumbled in the dark from one room to the next, hands clawing at each other and mouths biting one another. They fell in a similarly tangled heap into Jounouchi's futon, already spread open on the bedroom floor.

The slob must've never put it away after getting up in the morning.

But in this case, it was convenient. Kaiba didn't want this encounter to last longer than strictly necessary. So he was secretly glad when Jounouchi went down on him without asking. In the dark, he concentrated on the warmth and suction enveloping his cock. He could almost forget, forgive, it was Jounouchi Katsuya blowing him.

Jounouchi turned out to be quite talented at fellatio. Perhaps this was the reason the other Seto wanted to marry his Jounouchi.

A cackle bubbled in his throat; more madness. He swallowed it and slammed into Jounouchi's spasming throat, drawing a choked groan from the other man. The other sounds he made, the slurping and slobbering, were disgusting, but they made Kaiba even harder. They drove him to the brink of madness and back again.

Want, lust, want—they pounded on the back of his skull and throbbed in the base of his spine.

Grabbing hold of Jounouchi's ponytail, he yanked him off his cock. The hair tie came loose, spilling soft strands over Kaiba's fingers. He wove his digits through them and pulled again. Jounouchi moaned, low and wanting, going limp in his grip.

"Degenerate," Kaiba growled while his heart raced in his ears. "Do you want me to fuck you, Jounouchi?"

He felt, rather than saw, Jounouchi nod.

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

The words blared repeatedly in his brain like klaxons, but he ignored them. Just as he ignored his better sense protesting the lack of condoms and Jounouchi's pained grimace as he pushed into his achingly tight hole for the first time. Kaiba was clean, and if Jounouchi dared to give him anything other than an orgasm, he'd destroy him.

"Kaiba, move!" groaned Jounouchi, writhing under him. "C'mon, I ain't gonna break!"

Gritting his teeth, Kaiba shut out the rest of his thoughts and focused on the only thing that mattered at this moment: fucking Jounouchi. There was little tenderness to their coupling, though. No honeyed words or promises exchanged as he imagined their other selves might, their limbs twined together and sharing the same breath.

The pleasure was still real. It was enough. He lost himself in the other man's heat and tightness, gorging himself on his wanton moans and the flavor of his lips and tongue.

Soon, it was over, a flash in the pan, with semen cooling between their clammy stomachs and leaking from Jounouchi's ass when he pulled out.

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, held it—dreading the change in the world; in himself to come—and released it before he dared to look down.

A diagonal slash of moonlight illuminated Jounouchi's eyelashes, his crooked nose, and his kiss-bruised lips. His eyes were squeezed firmly shut, peaceful if not for the furrow between his brow. As Kaiba counted the rise and fall of Jounouchi's shoulders while he caught his breath, however, nothing stirred within him—no newfound affection blossoming within his ribcage, no epiphany on how any version of himself could care about this man enough to want to marry him. No hate or disgust, none of the previous passion and hunger either.

Everything evaporated. The air between them hung stale and still, reeking of old cigarette smoke and poor decisions.

Instead, the hollowness in his chest was vacuous, and a bone-deep fatigue flooded the empty cavern.

Stupid, idiotic, he scolded himself.

Why would sex with Jounouchi change anything?

Rolling away, Kaiba grabbed the nearby discarded cover and cleaned himself wordlessly. It'd have to do until he got home. He didn't look at Jounouchi while he tucked himself away and fixed his appearance, even if he was within arm's reach.

The floor creaked as he stood, and he bit his tongue to keep from swearing. But Jounouchi didn't shift—never spoke to stop him as he beat a hasty retreat to the exit.

Pausing at the threshold, he glanced backward at the shadowed lump of the half-naked Jounouchi curled on the futon, with his back facing the door. They both knew he was still awake. But what was there left to say to each other? Nothing of consequence. Nothing which changed who they were and weren't to one another, two strangers who were barely acquaintances, hardly lovers. Kaiba showed himself out without a word of goodbye, only a faint snick as the door swung closed behind him.

---

Notes: An otoshi is a "compulsory" appetizer, which mainly means it's not free like you would see in some Western restaurants where they serve you bread and butter or even banchan in Korean meals. They are usually smaller dishes prepared ahead of service, like edamame or kimchi. Customers are billed for the otoshi. It is treated almost like a cover charge to ensure the customer doesn't occupy a seat for a long time after ordering one drink. Jounouchi gave it to Kaiba on purpose, so he's obligated to pay for something even if he doesn't order any food.

While this is basically a second chapter, I wonder if I should publish it on AO3 as a second chapter or as a separate fic. But maybe Meeting upon the threshold is better off without being attached to this sense of non-resolution? I'm curious to hear people's thoughts! <3

[bg3sinbin]

"I love you..." Raphael whispered between kisses, bringing a smug smile to their lips. Ahh, how quickly they fall. It seemed like just yesterday he refused to even touch them, and now they had him wrapped around their little fing- "I love you, Raphael." Oh.

[mistydragonflyart]

BIRTHDAY HAIRCUT

Let's pretend I'm posting this on February 29th for my own sake. Because this bitch of a drawing was kicking my ass every step of the way and anytime I thought I was done I kept tweaking it. I couldn't stop. Even now I'm fighting the urge.

Anyways, I've been trying to redesign Tyler multiple times and the one feature I could never settle on was his hair. So I thought it would be fun, if as a 'final design reveal' he would get a haircut. There's also something here about both of them being trans now and the intimacy of getting a haircut from your situationship but it's not obvious because all the lore is in my heart. But trust me, it's there.

Is this his final design? Probably not. I think my brain just needs to get used to this and I need practice.

[vexic929]

My copy paste is not working for some reason but the one under Coffee Noir? According to google translate is "The future is broken" but I'll take that with a grain of salt

/for the wip folder game lol

that's actually almost a correct translation! the original title is The Broken Future and it's now actually a planned 2 book series with the first book titled 鎖壊れた or Broken Chains and the second 未来壊れた, this is my longest running WIP, it's probably been a literal decade I've been working on it at this point, she has LAYERS bestie lol

unfortunately I've been so sporadic with the way I'm writing it and I've overhauled the ENTIRE world only recently so I don't actually have an proper snippets to show cause almost everything is changing XD

[rainstories]

i think that clint barton smokes weed and further more, his preferred strain is purple dog poop purely because i think he would think it was funny

[thirtyskeletons]

character art commission of @ogspoonybards goblin swashbuckler!!

[artific3r]

Some concept sketches for what adult raph, mikey, and leo might look like in my Wait au, and a younger donnie concept as well. Now that they aren't all constantly stressed as hell, they can actually grow hair :3 unfortunately i really struggle imagining the turtles with hair other than mikey so this was kinda tough

Raphs hair is supposed to be like a buzzcut with a full beard, but i struggled with his design enough 😭 they've all got more scars (except donnie a i guess) but i. Forgot to add most of those

Donnie is either an older present timeline donnie or Didgit from my doppleganger donatello au idk

[charliemwrites]

A Thought™️ that I had last night and shared in the Discord server, that I’m now going to share here more fleshed out.

Content: implied/mentioned dubcon, kidnapping, unhealthy relationship dynamics, objectification, and reader anxiety.

Oh and Simon being Mean.

You belong to Johnny — one of his toys, essentially. Like a cock ring or a vibrator but better because you also serve as a little companion pet. Someone that Simon got for Johnny to pour all that overflowing love and tenderness into when he just… can’t handle it. When he starts wanting to hurt Johnny in Very Bad ways past the lines they already walk, only because Johnny wants to dote on him.

So Simon got you as a gift for Johnny.

And he gets to dote on you, chatter to you, soothe you, fuck you. It’s a weird “relationship” you two have. Johnny pouring so much into you while you awkwardly try to reciprocate and tolerate. A bit like a child’s beloved long-suffering pet. Simon lets Johnny drag you everywhere, dress you up, babble on about you. Put in all that attention and energy when Simon is needed (or simply just focused) elsewhere. Johnny’s happy as a peach, Simon gets a bit of a break, and you’re a soft-spined thing that’s stopped crying and whining for the most part so wins all around.

You and Simon’s relationship is nonexistent. Just a matter of logistics. You’re one of Johnny’s toys that Simon got for him, end of. You interact with him only so far as 1, following the rules of captivity; 2, keeping Johnny happy; and 3, being used as a reward or punishment to be given or taken away.

And the two of you are respectively fine with that. You follow Johnny around, speak almost solely to or through him. Are not acknowledged by Simon unless Johnny’s showing you off.

Until Johnny is gone for a Period of Time. A mission, most likely.

While he’s away, you treat it as a sort of vacation and just avoid Simon, don’t even ask when Johnny will be back. Until one day you’re going about your business, kind of bebopping along in your own little world. And almost run directly into Simon.

Blink in surprise, hurriedly skirt around him, pulse skipping. “Excuse me,” you say, soft and melodic (a voice you specifically use to soothe and neutralize) and then pad away quickly.

It flips something in Simon’s brain. Like a cat seeing a bit of interesting movement. Locked on, tail swishing.

You’re just so… shy. Even with Johnny you’ve always been a bit reserved, but with Simon you studiously avoid eye contact with his very person - in a way he can’t even get Johnny to do in the deepest subspace. You’re just this quiet little thing that lives in his house, and it’s like it only just occurs to him.

Simon starts finding ways to hem you in against counters and walls, making you squeeze past in hallways. You try to be so so careful of his Sacred Personal Space because Johnny’s gleeful shared stories (and shown you evidence) about how Simon “handles” touching without permission. You’ve no interest in being on the receiving end of any of that, thank you very much.

But then Simon starts showing up all over the house to watch you like a specimen — you devoid of Johnny. You’re so normal and functional. Snacks and tv shows and novels. Bird watching in the windows. Napping in Johnny’s room. Cooking and cleaning up after yourself.

He starts taking up all the space you just got back. Fills up a room with his presence alone. Squishes you in on the couch until you’re nearly falling over the arm just to maintain that sliver of no-contact.

Gets to the point that he even growls at you when you pass too close, just to hear you squeak and watch you dart off with a mumbled, “sorry!”

“Make us a cup of tea,” he says as your futzing in the kitchen on morning.

You’re so used to being ignored that you don’t respond, mouthing words to some ditzy song stuck in your head. He grunts in annoyance and takes two long strides towards you — not that he needs to, your head snapped up halfway through the first.

“Oop,” you breathe, scrambling away from the counter.

“The hell are you going?” He ask, voice purposefully gruff.

“I, um… I thought… that you needed something…?” you explain, pointing at the cabinets you were just in front of.

“I need a fucking cuppa.”

You blink.

He reminds himself that you’re not trained like Johnny. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting away with anything.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

A double blink as you seem to process. “O-oh! Uh, sure. The black cup right?”

You shuffle back to your previous spot and reach into the cabinet, up on your toes because Simon put it a shelf higher than usual. Seem to actually be waiting for a response as you hold the mug up in question. He just stares.

And there goes the nibbling - a nervous habit that tears up your bottom lip. Still, you keep going, filling the kettle and tapping your fingers nervously at the sides as you wait.

“Earl Grey?” you ask.

He grunts. You look a little frustrated about that, if you should take it as a yes. Decide that it is and fish a sachet out while the water’s heating.

While you wait, you try to continue what you were doing before - making yourself a little parfait - but Simon’s stationed himself in such a way that you can’t get to the cutting boards without asking him to move. And you really, really want some of the fresh fruit he bought yesterday.

“Um…” you start.

He crosses his arms, seems to loom without ever taking a step closer. You fidget, fingers twisting in the long sleeves of your jumper.

“I need — could… could you…?” You’re flushing brighter and brighter, eyes darting all over so fast he’s surprised you’re not dizzy. “Could I get by… um, into that cupboard… please?”

He takes a single half step to the side. Your eyes actually get a bit shiny as you blink, confusion and anxiety welling up. But you keep it together enough to awkwardly angle yourself, get the cabinet open just a sliver, and maneuver a cutting board out.

Simon realizes you’re holding your breath the entire time, until you’re once again a safe distance away. He snorts softly as you pluck a tiny paring knife from the block and get to work on cutting up your assortment of fruits.

“Who the hell said you could have a knife?” he demands.

You pause, give him a truly baffled look. “Um… no one said I couldn’t? I just, uh, use them sometimes. Johnny’s taught me tricks. Or-or tried to anyway…”

It’s the most he’s ever heard you speak. Your tone catches between appeasement and genuine confusion. You finish cutting a strawberry into cubes, then send him a worried glance.

“Am I… not supposed to…?”

Because you know that it doesn’t matter how things normally are. What matters is how Simon wants things to be.

“Put that down.”

You do. He strides towards you and as always, you’re quick to make way. He takes up the knife to finish paring and jerks his head at the the stove.

“Tea’s almost done. Take care of it.”

You jump as the kettle starts to whistle, murmur a quick “oh, shoot!” as you hurry to finish making his tea. By the time you’re done, he’d cut all the fruit and stolen a handful as a toll for his “help”.

Hasn’t actually put any of the fruit in your waiting yogurt, though. And the dishes are still there on the counter, along with detritus of unwanted bits like strawberry tops.

He takes a sip — made just the way he likes.

“Next time, dont make me repeat myself,” he barks.

You jump nearly a mile, blueberries rolling across the counter.

“Y-you repeated yourself?” You ask, hurrying to catch the berries before they hit the ground.

“About the tea,” he explains impatiently.

You blink for a second. “Oh! I thought you were on the phone. Sorry.”

He grunts. And doesn’t leave. After a moment, the pressure of his stare seems to get to you.

“Was… there anything else…?” you wonder.

“I’d tell you if there was,” he replies, flat.

You swallow, press your lips together, then continue with your task, shoulders a little tenser than before. When your parfait is finished (and dishes are in the machine) you escape to the dining table to eat in peace. He gives you two solitary bites before he’s at the corner next to you, and your spoon clinks against the bowl in surprise.

Well.

Isn’t this a fun game?

Next

Masterlist

[thebibliosphere]

Yesterday was my first time in the ER since my hEDS diagnosis was officially added to my file (instead of me having to tell them and hoping they’d believe me), and everyone in my emergency care team was on top of it. Like on the ball, fully engaged and interested in keeping the zebra in the hospital comfortable.

They also all knew what MCAS and POTS were and deferred to me when it came to medication and pain management. Which was also wild, because they were not shy at all about offering pain relief. They straight up offered me narcotics, when usually the most I get offered is Tylenol.

Even the CT tech knew what MCAS was and asked if we should pre-treat with Benadryl because he knew some patients could experience mast cell destabilization from the radiation even without the contrast dye.

He and the nurse even helped brace my neck when I was going into the CT machine because I mentioned having cranial instability, and the position I was in was making my neck click, so they stopped everything to find multiple pillows to brace my neck and shoulders while I was on the table.

Afterward, while being bussed through the corridors in my bed (because they had to dehydrate me to take the CT scan and my POTS was going haywire, and they made sure I had to be upright as little as possible), I commented to my nurse that I was startled that everyone I’d spoken to that day knew about EDS/MCAS/POTS and were so accommodating.

He paused before answering, then told me, “We probably don’t know as much about EDS as we should, but we’ve seen a lot of the other two over the last few years. Covid really messed people up. Did yours start with covid?” No, I told him. We think I was probably born with it and a dental infection turned it lethal. He expressed his sympathy and again reminded me I didn’t need to be a hero and I could press the pain med button whenever I needed to.

Back in my room, they started me on IV fluids to combat the dehydration from the POTS. And I was laying there, I became aware of the nurse bracing my elbow so it wouldn’t hyperextend while he futzed around with the IV and I remember thinking, “this is how it always should have been.”

The kindness and care shown to me were in such stark contrast to past experiences it made me quite tearful. There were no accusations of anxiety, no referrals to psyche, and no implications that I was over-exaggerating my pain. No denying of my experiences.

Just a quiet, vocal acceptance that I “knew my body best” and that they’d do whatever they could to help.

It was nice.

[mightyflamethrower]

Democratic strategist and CNN contributor Julie Roginsky said Thursday on CNN’s “Newsroom” that her party cannot speak to “normal people,” stating that it was “not the party of common sense.”

Roginsky said, “You know, I’m going to speak some hard truths to my friends in the Democratic Party. This is not Joe Biden’s fault. It’s not Kamala Harris fault. It’s not Barack Obama’s fault. It is the fault of the Democratic Party in not knowing how to communicate effectively to voters. We are not the party of common sense, which is the message that voters sent to us. For a number of reasons, for a number of reasons, we don’t know how to speak to voters.

When we address Latinos — and language, and language has meaning — we address Latino voters. as Latinx, for instance, because that’s the politically correct thing to do, it makes them think that we don’t even live on the same planet as they do.

When we are too afraid to say that, ‘Hey, college kids, if you’re trashing a campus of Columbia University because you aren’t happy about some sort of policy and you’re taking over a university and you’re trashing it and preventing other students from learning that that is unacceptable.’ But we’re so worried about alienating one or another cohort in our coalition that we don’t know what to say.”

She continued, “When normal people look at that and say, ‘Wait a second, I send my kids to college so they can learn, not so that they can burn buildings and trash lawns,’ right? And so on and so forth. When we put pronouns after names and say she/her, as opposed to saying, you know what, if I call you by the wrong pronoun, call me out, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” but stop with the virtue signaling and just speak to people like they’re normal. There’s nothing I’m going to say to Shermichael, that I’m not going to say to you, that I’m not going to say to somebody else. I speak the same language to everybody. But that’s not what Democrats do. We constantly try to parse out different ways of speaking to different cohorts because our focus groups or our polling shows that so-and-so appeals to such and such. That’s not how normal people think. It’s not common sense. And we need to start being the party of common sense again.”

Sounds like a few dems got the message. If you think a man can go home at noon, switch from boxers to panties, and come back to work as a real women most people, especially men, are going to think you are nucking futz. They certainly aren't going to vote for you.

[keelywolfe]

I have a potentially funny/potentially angsty scenario to run by you out of curiosity.

So, Lucifer has never used his workshop at the hotel, right? What if one day out of the blue, he has the sudden impulse to finally go into his workshop for the first time in months?

It's just another one of those days where he has nothing to really do around the hotel, so he randomly decides to go to see how much time he can kill in the workshop. He doesn't intend to be in there long, and everyone else is busy, so he doesn't bother telling anybody where he's going. Why should he? It's only going to be for a few minutes, a half hour at most. Why, he doesn’t even bother bringing his phone with him, and besides, the battery's dead and needs to charge anyway. Damn adhd/depression combo.

So Lucifer, without telling anybody where he's going, pays a visit to the workshop that hasn't gotten any use since it was made. The workshop that the majority of the hotel residents and staff have probably either forgotten was there or never knew existed in the first place. He's only expecting to be in there a short while, maybe do a little painting, maybe a little crafting, maybe a little tinkering. Just futz about for a bit until lunchtime rolls around...

He ends up unexpectedly hyperfixating like crazy and doesn't leave the workshop for a minimum of three days.

So, my questions are:

How long does it take for anybody to find him?

Who is it that does eventually find him?

In the event that nobody finds him because nobody thinks to check the hotel workshop, how long does it take for Lucifer to come out of his fugue state and re-emerge on his own?

And finally, when Lucifer does stumble his way back to rejoin society - probably very tired, very hungry, and very much in need of a shower - how much trouble is he in with the rest of the hotel? Particularly Charlie and Alastor?

Optional Bonus Question!

What is the project Lucifer ends up hyperfixating on?

Apologies for the late answer, I've been out of town.

I can't go into the workshop too much because it will end up as a plot point. But!

How long does it take for anybody to find him? That evening. Lucifer might have to spend a night or two wondering where Alastor is, Alastor has no such patience and will find him. There is no hiding in the hotel from Alastor.

Who is it that does eventually find him? Alastor because he’s just getting used to sleeping with someone else and he’s not about to stop now.

In the event that nobody finds him because nobody thinks to check the hotel workshop, how long does it take for Lucifer to come out of his fugue state and re-emerge on his own? Alastor would absolutely find him, but his record for hyperfocus is well over a year, and in that case, he only snapped out of it because he was running out of room for ducks.

And finally, when Lucifer does stumble his way back to rejoin society - probably very tired, very hungry, and very much in need of a shower - how much trouble is he in with the rest of the hotel? Particularly Charlie and Alastor? Charlie would be filled with anxious concern and care. Alastor would physically pick him up and carry him to the shower, complaining the entire time about how he stinks, how dare he do this to them all, does he have any idea how concerned Charlie was for him, such disrespect, look at the state of your hair, have you no shame...

Optional Bonus Question!

What is the project Lucifer ends up hyperfixating on? How to fix a sentient broken microphone.

[falling-star-cygnus]

Alrighty then another Billy angst idea what if someone hacked into Billy's systems and made him fight the other hares and there isn't anything he can really do except wait to be defeated, man I'm just cranking these out and I haven't even played the game

another excellent idea!! i love fics like this

especially if the puppeteered one is like- aware they're being controlled [even if they shouldn't be] and actively fighting against it -> mentally OR physically

so sorry for the delay, school started back up again and i've been stress reorganizing my entire room :)

The lights flicker above Nicole's desk.

...she paid the electric bill. In full- this time. And there was no storm going on. There was no reason for them to be futzing like that. Nictating darkness swallows the room again, and then stops.

"Stop acting expensive," the boss mutters scathingly, as she glowers at the innocuously sitting desk lamp. It, of course, doesn't verbally respond. The lights flicker again.

"You-!"

Her retort is interrupted by a loud thump in the next room and she sets down the papers she had been working on to stand up.

So help her god, if Anby and Nekomata were wrestling again... the boss throws the door open with a slam.

"Knock it off with the rough housing, you two! You're messing with the... power.. huh?"

The living room was empty.

Anby and Nekomata were fast, but they weren't that fast. Nicole would, at the very least, be able to catch a glimpse of the two fleeing if they had been throwing each other around.

What could've possibly... the boss saunters forward. She wasn't going to creep in her own home, thank you very much. She wasn't Anby.

"It wasn't us this time."

Speak of the devil. Nicole nearly leaps out of her skin as the smaller Demara materializes next to her.

"Anby! A warning."

"Warning," she says, like the cheeky thing she is.

"Does anybody know what that crash was?" Nekomata asks, appearing right under the boss's elbow, "It sounded like it came from Billy's room.."

The cat thiren should count herself lucky that she can move so fast; Nicole's elbow rockets down as she feels the brush of fuzzy ears, but the smaller girl dodges to Anby's side before it makes contact.

"Nekomata."

Anby whispers something into Nekomata's ear.

"Oh- uh.. warning!"

Nicole restrains the sudden urge to strangle both of them.

Ugh, where was Billy when she needed him? Anby blatantly corrupting Nekomata was something the boss did not need happening. His loud, clamorous energy would make her feel a lot better about these light-footed sleuths...

...wait a second.

"Nekomata, where did you say you heard that crash?"

The lights shut off before the thiren girl can answer.

Nicole comes face to face with a gun when they power back on.

"Warning."

"Billy-!?" she rears back as the safety clicks off, barely avoiding the twin bullets that pierce her fluttering bangs, "Hey, hey! Whatever you're mad about, we can talk about it-!"

The android adjusts his grip, far too still to even remotely resemble Billy's usual flair, and fires again at Nicole's foot. It misses, but just barely.

Anby knocks his gun off course with a quick flick of her sword. Or- she tries to, Billy hooks the gear shaped chamber on one of the serrated edges and yanks it out of the smaller girl's grip.

It goes flying past Nekomata to pierce the couch cushions.

The android lines up two more shots and fires them simultaneously; one at Anby and one at Nekomata. They both dodge- thankfully- but all too late do they all remember that he was built for accuracy.

The bullet glances off the sword in the cushions to graze the Thiren's thigh, and she falters down with yelp. It looks like a shallow cut- clean in the way it only hits her skin. Meanwhile, the other bullet angles off the door frame to ricochet into the base of Anby's backpack.

The smaller Hare is flung forward in the resulting mini explosion, but catches her bearings in time to avoid being pistol whipped.

This wasn't right- The Billy she knew would never attack one of them like this. And even if he was trying to seriously harm them- which Nicole suspects isn't the case by the way he had aimed for Anby's protected sleeves- he was a fast shot.

There was a barely noticeable delay when Billy fired his guns at them now, though, like his fingers were actively fighting against pulling the trigger.

Puzzle pieces begin to click into place.

Nicole heaves her briefcase up to slam into the android's stomach, feeling a wave of guilt at the way the metal crunches. He was so quiet. No silly noises, no Starlight Knight's quotes, no- infectiously bright charisma.

She didn't realize how much she'd miss it.

Billy's eyes aren't the same soft yellow that greet the Hares' each day.

They're green. Poison green, and compounded like a bugs. Like corruption. Which shouldn't even be possible outside a Hollow, so it must mean that someone's taken control of Billy via some other method.

Nicole really hopes so, at least, as she lets the android- her friend- aim his gun at her face. Just as she suspected, he doesn't fire.

The gun shakes in his hand.

"Ƀøss-" Billy forces out, his voice glitched into something nigh unintelligible, "ﭐ ꒞aո'†-"

Time to shine.

"Billy Kid," Nicole crosses her arms, forcing every ounce of her 'scolding boss' voice to take control of her tone, "You put that gun down this instant."

His arm jerks as if to follow through, but otherwise stays in position.

"Are you disobeying a direct order?" she pushes, hoping it coaxes at least some form of response. Hoping that this worked.

The gun in Billy's left hand- held resolutely at his side- clatters to the ground, and Nekomata silently snatches it out of reach. Almost there.

"Last time I checked, I was your boss. Not whatever parasite is in that empty tin can you call a head. Who are you going to listen to?"

The gun goes off. ......................................

Billy wakes up to a spiking pain behind his video sensors.

The last few hours on his memory logs are blurred, rushed things. They're all tinted in green too, for some reason, but he can remember feeling vaguely helpless. Stuck. PAIN

It catches up with him slowly, but surely, and all too fast he's rocketing into a sitting position. Someone had put a blanket over the android's unconscious form, and it flutters to the ground as he all but throws himself off the couch- couch?

The couch that was still ripped from Anby's sword.

And spattered with Nekomata's blood.

He had to find Nicole.

Billy scrabbles for the handle leading into his boss's office, weirdly uncoordinated, and throws it open.

"BOSS-"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence as his legs falter. Nicole is there- she's alive- and she's catching him as they both stumble to the floor. Both in relief, both for different reasons.

Billy returns the hug fiercely, be sure to keep his metal limbs loose enough not to crush her, and she pushes his head down into her shoulder.

"Boss- are you okay? Is Nekomata okay-? Anby-"

"Shut up, you big idiot!" Nicole sniffs, suspicously watery as she attempts to squeeze the life outta him, "everybody's fine."

"But-"

There's a sort of relieving familiarity in the way his boss shoves him back to whack his head, "Shut up! You're the one who shot yourself in the forehead. Why did you think that was a good idea!? Huh!?"

He did what. Billy's hands pat at his forehead, feeling for any sort of dent or hole or- something. But it's smooth under his fingertips.

"I hired that weird mechanic girl from Belobog Industries to fix it while you were out," Nicole huffs, "Grace, or- whatever her name was. You should be good as new."

Although said scathingly, his boss still falters as she stands up. She looks at the android with a slight pinch to her brow.

"Well? Are you?"

Billy's core thrums, and he lowers his hand from his forehead to offer a bright thumbs up and signature hand heart.

"Better than ever and ready to go, Boss!"

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 31 - Your Song

Summary: Nothing like a bit of music to get the creative juices flowing on a hot summer night.

Word Count: 855

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Meta, Metafiction, An Illustration of My Mind Space, not quite about a romantic pairing but still a love letter of sorts, 1st Person POV, references to some of my old writing that you'll never find

Note: Thank you to @thisapplepielife for being an excellent host. Any event like this is huge and tedious to organize, and I truly am in awe of how you pulled it off and the tools you put together for everyone to be successful. Thank you!!!

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! And ALL of the wonderful works that have been created for CCFest. (If we do it again next year, you’ll know where to find me.)

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It’s a humid July night.

I’m on the third floor in a tiny bedroom that used to be for a guest but is now an office full of my shit.

The bed is still there though. Uncomfortable and laden with pillows and stuffed animals.

“Man it’s fucking hot in here,” he says as he flops onto the bed. I’m at the desk, ignoring him as I queue up a song to write this. He’s dressed in his S4E1 best, hair haloing his head. I could be kind to him and change his clothes. But I don’t.

I’m not a merciful god.

“Thanks, oh great and powerful sweetheart,” he deadpans.

“I need you in that outfit,” I tell him as Keane starts ringing through the speakers.

Beeps and boobs of the early 2000s. He groans.

“This song again? How about some real music?”

“This. Is. Music!” I mock him and he pouts prettily. “Come on, this is your song.”

“Uh huh.”

“Its about being stuck, about everyone getting older and changing, and leaving the singer behind.”

He hums and then shifts onto his side, precariously dangling over the edge of the twin bed; he reaches underneath to pull a scrunchie from the bin I shoved under there some time ago.

“Does that sound familiar?” I prompt him a bit more, but he’s too busy futzing with his hair, trying to put it up. He makes a bun about as skillfully as I can, which isn’t great, but he still looks good. Of course he does. “Hello? Asshole? Are you ignoring me or avoiding the truth here?”

I snap my fingers twice in his direction.

“…you can keep playing the song,” he agrees without so much as a glance my way.

So I hit repeat and he nods along to it this time, humming as it goes.

I can’t argue. It’s the closest I’m gonna get to him accepting that it hits home.

And it hits home for him because it hits home for me. We are one in the same, in one way or another. Some things quite literally, taken from source material. Others by my hand—such is the way when you pick a blorbo, you impart yourself onto them.

“Oh here we go,” he groans. “Waxing poetic about fanfiction and fanspaces.”

“You are just as bad you nerd,” I growl at him through gritted teeth. “You play DND! You quote Tolkien and Star Wars!”

The bickering goes on for a minute. Until I decide it needs to stop. He needs to behave if I’m gonna get this done and let him move onto real adventures.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s making me stuck,” he suggests. “What’s that verse? You’re gone from here, soon you will disappear, fading into beautiful light…that should be me.”

I grumble something about another story to him "if I can just finish this!" I need to get the thoughts out of my mind while they're fresh.

What he doesn't know, or maybe what he does because he's imaginary and does indeed live in my head, is that he's always up there. In there in some way, shape or form.

He's lucky to get the real estate, and there's such a vast amount of it, because the Kingly figure that used to occupy all of my thoughts is currently retired. Has been ever since June of 2022.

Eddie Munson is stuck.

Everybody changes and he just stays the same.

But he doesn't, actually.

In the worlds I make for him, he grows up, he travels the world...he actually does get stuck in a few of them and I will apologize to him profusely before I give him everything he ever wants.

That is my promise to him, my dedication to him, to give him every future that he deserves but will never get in canon--or might never get; whose to say, the damn show isn't done yet even though his asshole actor seems to be done with him--until I can't anymore. Because that is my lot in life as a fanfiction writer. That is all of our lots in life, to continue where the ones who created him left off.

Not because I wish I had him, even though I wish I did, but because it's what he deserves.

I let Thorin win the crown of Erebor. Let him grow old in the Shire with Bilbo. And I could have let him have forever with Lukhudin, had Eddie not walked into our lives.

But because he's here now, I will give Eddie everything. A thousand lifetimes. He'll never be stuck again.

"If you could just," I turn to him, "cooperate for me please?"

He purses his lips, furrows his brow, and then waves a hand dismissively.

I try to turn back to the computer, try to finish this entry.

But he stops me.

"Tomorrow..." he pauses and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Tomorrow can I try that Mountain Dew Code Red you were thinking about the other day?"

And I can't help but laugh.

"Of course you can Eddie," I tell him. "Of course you can."

[yzafre]

Song: High Road by Kelly Clarkson

There comes a point where if you don't make yourself stop futzing with a thing, you never will. There's always more you can do, but, ahhhh I need to just let it go out into the wild.

((I DO feel like the youtube upload messed some of the timings up somehow, but... no, we're not fiddling with it any more!))

So here it is! After a week, it's done!