#in retrospect it IS a bit too wide but i really wanted to do this lol

[agumonger]

Fuck it, male muscular torso art tutorial 🧵✍

Take my hand, let's draw pecs and six-packs together.

I usually start with a trapezium. Almost a tall rectangle. No, really. The "typical athletic male torso" is somewhere between a rectangle and a trapezium. You might want to begin with a basic front view, arms more or less lowered.

The chest takes from one third to almost the upper half of the torso, sort of. We can round the chest a bit, open it to connect with the shoulders. Abs take about half of the torso's width. I tend to emphasize the sides a bit, though. Make room for obliques and ribs.

Between the chest and lower pelvic area, divide in half but a bit higher, then do it again. You've got the base for the abs! The upper row is sometimes not visible (esp. in shorter people). Obliques generally start around the lower row, "folding" around it and the thighs.

Nipples vary a lot, actually! But anywhere in the lower half, mid-outer part of the chest is usually right. They tend to look higher when arms are raised, lower when... lowered, or hunching. Also lower on really bulky, near boob-like pecs.

Pecs can be really tight, really smooth, really flat... depends on muscle mass, fat, or genes! They can even have a small cavity around the center, usually more visible in thinner people, and anime characters. Clavicles like a SUPER flat V! Linked to shoulder position.

Be careful when defining abs, as skin is a continuum and it doesn't usually do hard cuts. At this point, references are golden, as they help you get a feel of their volume. Navel also varies in height, between 3rd-4th row of abs. The 4th row fuses near the pelvis.

At some point you might want to adjust the general shape with, say, the Transform tool. That's fine! I do it all the time, usually on the sketching stage, as lines tend to get muddy. As for serratus, this group usually follows the abs to the ribs in a gentle curve.

Once you get a feel of the structure, you may decide to simplify it a bit. Perhaps your character isn't that "defined" over there, that's good too! Just keep the basics in mind. Also, watch out for the latissimus. It belongs to the back, but you can see it sometimes.

Cleanup time! I like to use varied line width to make some shapes pop a bit more. Also, here are some notes regarding the shape I used for this particular character's torso. Each one is different! Can you guess who this is?

And we're done! Danny is here is actually being a bit of a tryhard right now... But since his arms are a bit separated, I added a bit of the latissimus shown earlier. Hope you found this useful!

[rachalixie]

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ��m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s a knock at the door. You huff as you don’t need to look through the peep hole to know who it is. No buzzer but he always finds a way. 

You pick up your phone and open the chat, ‘told you I’m tired.’ 

The little check mark flicks down. Read. No reply comes, only another knock on the door. 

‘Long day.’ You send another message. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

“You really want me to knock the door down?” Bucky chuckles through the wood. 

You inhale and roll yourself off the couch. You drop the phone on the square end table as you pass and drag your feet to the door. You lean on the inside and yawn as loudly as you can. 

“It’s after curfew,” you jeer. He wiggles the handle. “Go home.” 

“You’re gonna leave me out here like a stray cat? Come on. I came all the way down here,” he pleads. 

You turn your back to the door and shrug, “told you not to. Besides, not all of us have a soft spot for alley cats.” 

“Alpine is not an ally cat. Come on, I brought beer.” 

You scoff, “thought that piss didn’t do anything for ya?” 

“No, but it makes you a lot of fun.” 

You huff and push off the door. You turn and slide back the chain. You flip the lock back and open up. You arch a brow at your uninvited guested. 

“Thank you,” you trill and grab the six pack from him. He catches the door before you can swing it shut. He tuts and steps forward, pushing his elbow into the wood until you let it go. 

“Don’t play games. You know, I can tell when you’re in need of a good fucking. You don’t send any emojis.” He snaps the door shut behind him as you retreat with your prize. 

“Or maybe I was trying to get you to stop texting so I could enjoy my new toy in peace. Ever think of that. Sometimes It's about efficiency, not passion.” 

“Passion?” He scoffs as leans a hand on the wall and lifts a foot to undo his boot. 

“Probably not the right word for this,” you free a can from the plastic rings and shove the rest in the fridge. 

“You and your goddamn toys. Let me guess, this one has blue tooth.” 

“Does yours?” You strut out of the kitchen and flick his arm in passing. 

“No but it’s got all the features you need and you know it.” He taps your ass before you can elude him. 

You crack the can of beer and take a deep gulp. The TV continues to blare the reality show retrospective you’ve been feeding your time to. You flop on the couch and sigh. You suck down the grainy brew and swallow a gulp before it can escape your throat. 

Bucky looms behind the couch and grips the back. He leans over you. “How many of those until those hideous pajamas come off?” 

“Ha? What? You don’t wanna fuck me in my Spongebob jammies? They’re vintage.” 

He snorts, “you really are good a killing the mood, aren’t you?” 

“You’re a real Squidward sometimes, you know that?” You slurp another mouthful. 

“I have no idea what that is,” he says flatly as he tickles along your shoulder. 

You hate it. You hate him. Just a touch and you’re ready to go. Minutes ago, you were ready to pass out but now you’re wide awake. And fucking horny. 

“BPM going up, body temperature rising,” he runs his vibranium knuckles along your cheek and you wince away from him. 

“I hate when you do that.” You pull away and stand, plunking down the can. You huff and peel off your tank top. “I have an interview for a promotion tomorrow so hurry up.” 

“Romantic? Do you still wanna use the new toy? You know I don’t mind filling your mouth when you get like this.” 

You stick your tongue out at him and point to the bedroom. He rolls his eyes and strides off. You pause the television and take another swig of beer. You need to sleep and he’s good at fucking you into a coma. 

As you reach the bedroom, he’s already naked. His broad shoulders are etched in scars, the left one mottled with aged burns along the border of vibranium. His muscles cord down along his rib cage and sides.

A year ago, you would never expect a man like this to be standing naked in your bedroom. A super soldier. Bucky Barnes. 

He turns to you and wiggles the little square between his two fingers. The wrapped condom reflects the overhead light with its flashy packaging. He flexes his chest as you reach to undo your bra. 

“Should I pop it on now or can I get a taste first?” He asks with a flick of his tongue. 

You march to him and swipe the condom from his grasp. You jab his chest and he staggers back to the bed, his legs pressing against the frame. He teeters as he smirks down at you. 

“I’ll give you a ride, cowboy.” 

He falls back and spreads his arms wide. The bed squeaks beneath his weight. You push down your pajama pants and climb over him. You toss the mattress to the top of the bed as you raise yourself on your knees, hovering over his head as his thick hair fans out beneath.

He turns to graze his beard against your thigh. You purr and lower yourself to smother him in your cunt. He hums and laps at you eagerly. 

Mmm. This is exactly the stress relief you need. 

[icaruspendragon]

i hope this isn't too personal of a question (and if it is that's totally cool, i was literally just curious as a fellow aspec person), but i was wondering what some of your thoughts were about being aspec, like it's totally cool if your thoughts were just the post you reblogged!!! that's honestly still putting into words a bit a similar way i figured out i was aspec, but i know you seem to have really interesting takes on things/conclusions you've realized about things a lot of the time and so i was just curious what thoughts were turning around your head about being aspec

I don't mind talking about it at all!

So for me sex is like this perfunctory, borderline tedious thing. I almost want to call it a chore, but that has negative connotations that don't exactly match up with how I feel about it. It's like something on a to do list, or like running an errand.

Think of it this way: For me, having sex is akin to going to the pharmacy. Actually, it's more like being asked to go for someone else. It's not on my list of things I enjoy doing and there are other things I would rather do, but I don't mind going if someone asks me to. But once in a blue moon I do actually want to go because I want candy or a Juneberry Red Bull or some shit like that and Walgreens happens to be nearby.

Media builds up sex to be this incredible and awesome and amazing thing that everyone wants to have, which is at odds with the widely held societal belief that it's uncouth to discuss sex openly with others. So if media says "yes you should want this" and society says "but you shouldn't talk about it with others because it's an incredibly private act" it makes it kinda difficult when you don't feel the way you're "supposed to." And then when you do talk about how you don't feel that way, people say there's something wrong with you or that you haven't found the right person or that maybe you need to change things up in the bedroom or that you need to go to a doctor because it's gotta be a hormonal imbalance or something. The list really does go on and on.

And so many of my expectations surrounding sex were informed by fanfic where I read, in detail, about how good it was supposed to feel. About all the different ways it could feel good.

I wanted it to be like that for me, for it to be as good as I had read and seen and heard others talk about, so I kept on trying. And sometimes I enjoyed it. Not E rated fanfic enjoyed it, but it was nice. Nice in the same way a cup of tea is nice, but nice nonetheless.

But most of the time it was like, clinical? Like I was acutely aware of what was happening, if that makes sense. I was thinking about the mechanics of it, what was going in where. I was thinking about how it was "supposed to feel" versus how it actually felt. I would wonder how much longer it would take because I was getting bored. Sometimes I would think about how rude it would be if I checked my phone. And probably the most upsetting (retrospectively) thing I would think about was if my act of enjoyment was convincing enough. And I didn't ever want to tell a partner that I wasn't enjoying it because I didn't want to hurt their feelings. Because I thought it was a me problem. That there was something wrong with me. And there being something wrong with me wasn't fair to whoever I was with. I just needed to grin and bear it, so to speak.

At one point I had a bit of a gay panic where I thought wasn't bisexual and actually a lesbian. The panic was over the confusion, not over the potential lesbianism. Lesbians are awesome. But I learned that while sexual intimacy with women was a bit easier, my feelings (or lack thereof) about sex were still the same. And that meant there was something wrong with me in particular.

I know now that my perspective was warped and my thoughts about myself were both unkind and untrue, but that was a lot to try and reconcile as a 19 year old who already thought she was undesirable. Constantly being called a "late bloomer" and not having your first relationship until you're a sophomore in college sure does a number on your self esteem. Which in turn does a number on your perception of yourself.

Then as I got older, I got more queer friends. And I talked to those queer friends. And they talked about sex differently than my straight friends did. More openly and honestly. With less fanfare. And it was during those discussions that I heard about experiences similar to mine. And it helped me realize I wasn't broken. Well, that and google.

And now I stand before you today, an aspec bisexual able to joke about being horny in theory but not in application. It's nice not feeling broken anymore. But I think it's even nicer now knowing that I was never broken in the first place.

Sometimes sex is nice, but most of the time, it's just going to the pharmacy. And both of those things are okay.

[late-night-secrets]

It was impossible to not at least fall a little for Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world – and your colleague. Both of you started working as teachers at Jujutsu High at the same time. Back then, you had heard of him, of course, but with you graduating from the Kyoto branch, you had only met him a few short times, even less had talked to him.

He was just like everyone said: Loud, cocky and extremely powerful. His whole presence had pissed you of at first, but just after a few weeks and one or two very mature moments of self-reflection you had realized it was admiration. Admiration and envy. Because he was the strongest and infuriatingly good at everything he did, and why on earth did he have to start teaching at the same time as you?! People would compare the two of you, naturally, and there was no chance against him. It was outrageous.

And the worst of it all: He noticed you (How could he not when he had arrived terribly late at your initiation and you and Principal Yaga had waited for over an hour?), he knew you (How could he not when he grew bored within the first five minutes of Yaga’s speech of the school’s principles, had asked for your name and used it ever since when he was greeting you?), he seemed to like you (… How could he?).

To be fair, it’s Gojo Satoru. He smiled almost all the time and seemed to be endlessly excited about everything and everyone. If he disliked someone, he had no problem with showing and saying so, and at some point, you noticed, he had never said he disliked you. No, quite the contrary, when he was bored, he was looking for you bothering you while you had work to do; nagging, poking, invading your personal space, whining about a lack of attention right in front of your class to a point where you had to kick him out. When you were getting lunch, he joined you without being invited to or asking to be; as if it had always been like this. He chatted with you about everything and anything at all, and you chatted back. Because you had realized Gojo Satoru might be a nuisance, but he was good and kind, and that was nice company to hang out with, you thought.

One day in winter you went into the teacher’s lounge in between classes to grab a quick cup of coffee and found him… existing there for whatever reason. You just gave him a short greeting, not paying attention to what he was doing, and immediately went for the coffee machine. Instead for a greeting in return, you were met with silence first, and then a: “Are these yours?”

You looked up to see him holding one of your gloves. It looked incredibly small in his large hands.

“Yeah, why?”

When he turned to you, you couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they were wide open with surprise. At least that was what his hanging jaw indicated. “Are your hands that small?”

You raised your eyebrows in offense. “I find them perfectly fine.” To prove your point, you raised your hand, palm facing him.

Without hesitation he put his against yours to compare the size of your hands. His infinity was off, and skin touched against skin. “Woah, they really are small!” He put his hand and your glove down and made his way to the door. “Anyway, gotta teach. See you.” And just like that he left.

And you were left standing there, your palm still tingling from the contact of his warm hand and your heart pounding a tad bit too much. A part of you wanted to react with humor, throwing an exaggeratingly desperate “What are we?” after him which he would have definitely heard. But you couldn’t because your voice left you for a minute or two. Why was your heart still pounding? And why were you frozen in place repeating these few seconds again and again in your head?

Retrospectively, that palm-on-palm encounter was most likely where it all started. You began second-guessing all of his interactions with you, everything he said. For a first, you realized that he was very touchy with you, seeking your proximity: His fingers brushing against your arms nearly every time he was talking to you. As if he wanted to pull you closer. Or your fingers always touching when handing him something. Walking unnecessarily close to you, or shifting after you sat done, so there was merely an inch left between your arms or legs. Perhaps it all happened by accident, but your heightened attention caused you finding it more significant than that; and it occurred too frequent to call them accidents at some point.

Another thing you noticed was the staring. More than once you felt a tingling sensation at the back of your neck, and when you turned your head, you would find him looking at you. It was a bit difficult to distinguish whether he had actually been observing you or something lying in the same direction, with his blindfold and all. But most times when being caught he would either smile or quickly turn away.

And lastly, and most importantly, the way he spoke to you. It created butterflies in your stomach. He wasn’t particularly flirty, not more to you than to anyone else, but he seemed so carefree when he was talking to you. There was all this nonsense and his jokes, of course, no one got spared, but with you he seemed to relax in a way that sometimes made him turning a conversation to more serious matters to which he not only contributed cold facts but also his very own thoughts and concerns; his opinion and worry on certain topics, he shared them with you. The moment you realized he didn’t do that with everyone, your heart fluttered, somewhat prideful of the fact that you were someone Gojo Satoru confided in. You felt special.

It made you think of him outside of work; about interactions with him, involuntarily reading into them. That one time the teachers of the Tokyo and Kyoto branch had to group themselves into pairs of two for a field day activity for the students, and Gojo pretty obviously used his Six Eyes during drawing lots to get paired up with you? Yes, he wanted to be teamed up with you, but why? Because you had more patience with him than Urahime or Nanami? Or because he enjoyed spending time with you, liked that you laughed about each other’s jokes? Because he liked you? Or that one or two times when he pinched you out of sheer boredom in one of the meetings and then snickered at the way you squeaked and slapped him on his shoulder as a punishment? Or that time around Christmas when there was decoration all around the city and you and him were on a mission and he had spotted a heart-shaped Christmas ball that he wanted to hang on your uniform?

You tried to think about it rationally. Despite hanging out with him so often, you barely knew him. You had no idea where he was born, if his parents were still alive, what his favorite color was, which kind of music he enjoyed listening to, whether he had a partner. It would make sense, that last part, because this was Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the most handsome, the wittiest of them all. How could he still be single?

On the other hand, wouldn’t he have mentioned them at some point at least? Hm, not necessarily; he was the strongest which also meant he had lots of enemies. He probably didn’t want to put anyone in danger who was dear to him.

Okay, then: Would he act towards you like he did when he was already happily taken? Maybe? Maybe not? Probably not. Right?

It drove you mad. You could hardly concentrate on your work which affected your results, and that drove you even more mad. It was ridiculous. You were a grown adult and felt like a teenager with your funny, little feelings for that dashing colleague of yours. Surprisingly, every time you spoke to or ate or worked with him, you found yourself maturely nonchalant considering the turmoil he caused within you. Quite the opposite even: When you saw him, you felt at ease and the storm inside your head calmed down.

You fell for him.

It was maddening.

You decided to tell a friend – that you were crushing on your coworker, not who said coworker was exactly – and they managed to give you enough courage to ask him out. “He will say ‘No’ if he’s not interested. Or if he has a partner, I guess,” they said. It would be the first time for Gojo and you to meet privately. After pondering for hours you texted him whether he wanted to grab a coffee sometime this week.

He took an awfully long time reply but after six hours full of agony you received an answer: “Yeeeeees, sounds like fun! ^^ But I’m not in the city this week :(“

You texted him back, suggesting a day next week. Once more, many, many hours passed. He’s a highly demanded sorcerer, you reasoned, he’ll be busy.

He replied that he couldn’t say for sure whether he’d be in Tokyo next week but not to worry, you guys would manage somehow.

His words were encouraging but at the same time you felt a little Pang in your chest that it didn’t work out as planned. But, rationally speaking, it was going well; he agreed on meeting you and that gave you hope.

When he didn’t text you at the end of next week and you hadn’t seen him at school either, you dropped another message asking about his whereabouts. His answer came the next day, that he was fine but also very busy.

You suggested another time for the coffee, and this time he agreed.

All of a sudden, you became nervous. It wasn’t as if you two had never met before, or if you had never spent time alone with him. But for some reason, this felt different. Nonetheless, you were excited when you were getting ready. Sometime on your way to the café, he dropped you a message that he would be sitting inside the café waiting for you. With excitement you noticed that he was actually on time for your… meeting (you didn’t dare to call it a date). And when you spotted him sitting inside, wearing his sunglasses rather than his blindfold, your heart skipped a happy beat.

The greeting was warm and full of smiles; it had been quite a while since you two had last seen each other with missions and all. You got your drinks and started chatting about what you had done in the last couple of weeks. You were talking about your classes, about that especially annoying curse you had had to take care of on your supposedly free day, and some family business you had had to attend to.

After that, he told you about his super top-secret mission – abroad even! – he had been sent to, about how he had finished it with so much ease (of course) that he had been able to return back to Japan earlier than expected “… and thanks to that I spent a few days in Kyoto, that’s where my girlfriend lives.”

He continued on, talking about some new sweets he had tried, or was it about some old colleague he had met? Either way, you couldn’t pay attention. It sounded so cliché, but you were quite positive about hearing your heart shatter after he had said that last sentence. Your mind stopped working for a good minute before you snapped back and feared that he realized.

Was it just your imagination or had he gazed at you a bit more intensely than usual when he had said “girlfriend”? You didn’t know and you couldn’t skip back and replay that moment.

You wished you could. You wished you could stop everything right before he said that awful sentence. You wished he was joking but he hadn’t been using his teasing tone. You wished you would wake up and realize that you just had one of those horrible nightmares that hit a bit too close to real life scenarios.

But nothing like that happened. And just like that, within a second, your heart was broken; unintentionally even, you thought so at least. Gojo wasn’t the type to lead someone on. He’d be a bit flirty with everyone, yes, but he wouldn’t want someone properly fall for him when there wasn’t a chance. He wasn’t cruel to people he liked.

And yet there you were. The meeting was very nice; lasted for hours because the two of you had lost track of time. That was even worse. If it would have been awful, you thought you could eventually live with the fact that the two of you clicked at work but nowhere else, but that didn’t appear to be the case. Just like usually, you guys could easily joke around, talk about stuff related to work but also to some more private matters; teasingly banter about your favorite dishes being the whole opposite of each other but agreeing on the problems of the Jujutsu society.

Only when you were alone at home, you allowed yourself to let the fact sink in that Gojo Satoru had never been romantically interested in you. That all of his acts and words were nothing but platonic. Perhaps even an expression of mutuality that you mistook for romantic affection. And maybe that was the reason why you fell for him at the first place, because he interacted with you without any ulterior motives.

During the hours you spent with him at the café, he hadn’t mentioned his girlfriend a second time although there had been some possibilities. You also hadn’t dared to ask; either because you had feared to cross his borders, or because a part of you wanted to pretend she didn’t exist which meant you knew nothing about her except for that she lived in Kyoto.

You wished you had known beforehand because then you might have never properly fallen for him. But what had happened, had happened.

And all you knew was that you had to work with him while trying to make your stupid, little feelings fade away. You had no idea whether you would manage.

**********

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[seangelfish]

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Ritsu Sakuma x Reader ♡ Tags: Fluff, established relationship, casual romance, really wholesome, INTRO IS REALLY LONG, SORRY!, she/her pronouns ♡ Word count: 2,215 ♡ Synopsis: Inspired by the Meowsketeers scout story in which this card is featured in. I've been trying to read the scout stories since I never read them, and I thought that this one would be cute to add the reader in! Please note that this fic does not stay true to the story, but it has taken bits from it. A/N: There needs to be more Ritsu x reader fics.

Drenched in sweat, Ritsu slowly woke up from his nap in the ES gardens. His mind was still filled with thoughts of what happened the other day when Tsukasa confronted and withdrew some of the new members of Knights.

Ritsu pitied them, but what was said was the mere truth. That's the way Knights operated, it was never a unit to have fun with as an idol. But seeing those tearful faces did take a toll on him.

At that moment, Ritsu felt something heavy weighing on him. It wasn't what happened that day, but something physical that he could feel near his stomach.

'Who is it? Am I being attacked? It's not those pranks Tsukipi set up, right?' he thought tiredly. Unless it's (Y/N)...? No... she said she'd be busy today–

Ritsu was getting annoyed. "Hold on. You don't disturb people when they're sleeping!" he groaned. "Now I'm in a bad mood... Don't mess with me– Huh?"

Eyes wide open, Ritsu found that on his stomach was a black cat.

"Ugh, so it was this guy!" he fumed. "Get off! You're heavy and it's too hot...!"

Yet the cat wouldn't budge. It stayed lying on Ritsu's stomach as if he were a pillow. Ritsu wasn't having any of it though, no one dares disturb his sleep even if they were a cat! Getting angrier by the second, he decided to fight it off him.

"Hey! Ow! Don't dig your claws in me!"

"That Suo, he's late!" exclaimed Leo. "What a troublesome guy! I came early today since he gets angry at me when I come late."

"Unbelievable! He's wasting my precious time!" Izumi chided. "This is so annoying. Did your wanderlust infect Kasa-kun?"

Leo laughed. "Eh? What, what? Wahaha, that's funny, Sena! I suppose it's fate that Knights' leader is to be cursed by wanderlust!"

Frantic footsteps could be heard as Tsukasa barged into the studio panting. He apologised, mentioning to his seniors that he got involved in a little incident with Ritsu. That was when Ritsu entered the room, still arguing with the black cat he encountered outside.

"I told you to let go of me, didn't I?! Why can't you understand me, you stupid cat?!" Ritsu growled. "Do my clothes smell like catnip or something...?"

"A stray cat got attached to Ritsu-senpai and it won't let go of him," stated Tsukasa.

"Unbelievable. This was why you were late?" said Izumi. "There's got to be some way to pull it off. Just grab it by the neck like how a parent cat carries a kitchen– Owah! This guy tried to scratch me! If you were human, I'd have you pay compensation!"

Arashi suggested that they all calm down and get started on the retrospective – the reason why they were holding a meeting in the first place. If they ignore the cat, perhaps it would let Ritsu go!

But as Arashi started playing the video of their live, Leo noticed something. In the video, Leo pointed out the front row seats where beside a fan's feet, a black cat was seen.

"This guy, it saw Ritsu at Knights' live and came to meet him!" said Leo excitedly.

"Hah...? No way! That sounds so unrealistic," Ritsu replied before turning to the cat which started showing him affection. "Owah, what? Don't start licking my cheek!"

"Given its reaction, it probably did come to meet Knights," said Tsukasa. "Isn't it just the cutest? It probably fell in love with Ritsu-senpai's brave figure at the live!"

"What?! Don't say things so nonchalantly!"

But the other members of Knights had agreed to let the cat do what it wanted despite Ritsu's comments on how much of a disaster this was.

The cat didn't let go of him even during the retrospective. It lay sound asleep on Ritsu's lap. Knights had come up with a name for the cat too, 'd'Artagnyan', their 'newest knight that was drawn in by Knights.'

Ritsu didn't like this idea at all. He didn't see any resemblance between him and the cat that his fellow members were constantly pointing out too. Though, he didn't want to just kick it out. He wanted it to leave on its own volition.

"It clings to you like how you cling onto (Y/N)," stated Arashi causing Ritsu to erupt into a steam of embarrassment. "Maybe it finds your scent comforting~? If so, it might be satisfied with something that has Ritsu-chan's scent on it..."

"Something with my scent?" Ritsu repeated. "Ah, I just came to an unpleasant conclusion..."

He was talking about his favourite blanket – the only thing in this studio that had his scent on it. But there was no way that Ritsu wanted to give this unlucky cat his favourite blanket!

"Ah, wait! Don't suddenly pounce for my blanket, you idiot cat!" huffed Ritsu as he tried to yank the blanket away. He was now on the floor fighting with the cat. "Give it back! I don't want such an unlucky cat to use my blanket! Guys, please help me out here!"

"Oi, oi. There's no need to get so worked up over something like this, right, Ritsu?" said Leo. "I know it's annoying, but it'll be dangerous if you get violent in here, no?"

"But I really like this blanket! I won't allow it to use it! Ah, don't scratch it–"

"Please calm down, Ritsu-senpai...!" sputtered Tsukasa.

But before Izumi could assert himself to scold Ritsu, you had rushed into the studio. Arashi had texted you about the situation before they started their retrospective, hoping that you'd come to solve the issue at hand. After all, you solved a lot of their problems before, it became customary to ask you for help.

"Ritsu, are you okay?" you asked worriedly, bending down. "Hey, what's wrong? You're not usually like this."

"(Y-Y/N)?!" Ritsu blurted, perplexed at your sudden appearance. "W-What are you doing here?"

You answered that even though you were busy with your own assignments today, you couldn't just ignore what was happening with Knights, with him.

"Is this what's bothering you?" You tried picking up the cat, but it immediately started hissing at you. "Ah! Okay, I'm not going to pick you up then...! Anyway, Arashi texted me all the details already. Why don't you just give up the blanket, Ritsu?"

"N-No!" he cried. "I can't!"

"I don't understand why you like that blanket so much," said Izumi. "I'll buy you a new one if that makes you happy–"

"That's not it! (Y/N) bought me this one!"

Everyone had gone silent over that fact.

"Then I'll buy you a new one," you offered.

"No!" Ritsu protested. "You got this for me when we were first years! I can't just let that go!"

Ritsu usually wasn't this worked up, so you knew he was upset about something other than his blanket. But you also knew that he was a very sentimental person too, so you couldn't just force him to give up something that he truly loved. It was sweet that he had kept this blanket up until now though. It showed how much he loved you.

"I have an idea," you suddenly said. You rummaged through your bag and pulled out a white sweater. "This also has Ritsu's scent on it."

"Wait," Ritsu began. "That's my sweater."

"Mhm, my favourite one too!" you giggled. "If we give the cat this, then it'll give up on the blanket!"

"B-But (Y/N), you love that sweater...!" he said.

"I do, but you love that blanket too, right? I'll give this up so you can have your blanket back!"

With how selfless and thoughtful you were being, Ritsu had finally cooled down.

"N-No, it's fine," he said sadly. "I'll let it keep the blanket, you keep the sweater, okay? I'm sorry, everyone, I went overboard. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"Ritsu..."

He picked up his blanket with the cat still attached to it and left the building quietly. The meeting with Knights had come to an end. You sighed, apologised and thanked Knights for putting up with your boyfriend before following after him.

Ritsu was situated on one of the tables at the ES gardens, his head laid on his arms as he watched the black cat sleep in his blanket.

"It's my fault that Knights ended up fighting again... If only this cat hadn't been there. No, I should've been calmer..." he murmured. "It would've been better if I had analysed the situation calmly like I usually do, and brought it to a positive conclusion..."

"Ritsu~" you called out.

With the sound of your voice, his eyes immediately gravitated towards you. He didn't lift his head though, he was too tired for that.

"(Y/N)..."

"Here," you said, pressing a cold can of soda to his cheek. He cried at the coldness but quickly covered his mouth from being too loud. He didn't want to wake up the cat despite how annoying it was today.

"Ah, thank you..." he said, taking the can from you. He laid it in front of him, not opening it. "(Y/N), I'm really sorry about earlier. You were busy, and Nacchan had to call you over to deal with something so small."

"Eh, it's okay~," you said. From behind, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. "I'm nearly finished with my assignments anyway. But Ritsu, are you really okay?"

Ritsu strained a smile, but he held your arm in a way to comfort himself. "I'm fine now. I'm going to sit here and reflect on my actions until this stupid cat wakes up. If I ignored the cat in the studio and it gets restless, it might be even more troublesome."

You laughed. "It's so cute when it's sleeping. It reminds me of you."

"Eeehhh? Why does everyone keep saying that?" he asked.

"Well, it's cute and you're cute! Also, it takes naps just like you, hehe~"

Ritsu sighed but laughed along. "Ah, you're wearing the sweater," he said, finally noticing the baggy look on you.

"Yep! I'm glad I didn't need to give it up in the end, but I do feel sad that you had to give your favourite blanket away," you said.

"It's fine. Maybe it'll let it go later..." he started. "Well, I hope it does anyway. I really do like that blanket..."

He chuckled, reminiscing the time you first got him the blanket. The two of you met just before entering Yumenosaki. You were Mao's friend initially, but he had introduced you to Ritsu during the time he had to repeat his first year. Ritsu had treated you coldly at first, but when you spotted him sleeping in the gardens, coming to know of his illness, you had decided to gift him a blanket for him to use.

It was a blanket you had bought at a shop in town, nothing special, but Ritsu thought the world of it. Even when he treated you so poorly, you were still so nice to him – to accommodate him in this way. He grew fond of the blanket, but he mostly grew fond of you.

After that day, he stuck to you just like the cat he was watching now.

"You know, I'm surprised it's still kept in good condition after all these years," you pointed out. "We're in our third year now... and it still looks brand new."

"I take good care of my things, (Y/N)~," he said. "And I'll be keeping that blanket for as long as I can."

You smiled and gave him a peck on the back of his head. "Anyway, aren't you going to tell me what got you so riled up? It can't just be because of the cat, right?"

"Ah, right..." he said. He opened the can that you gave him and began to drink the contents of it. "So, this is what happened..."

He explained everything to you, recalling what happened that day when they had to withdraw some of the new Knights members. He was honest with his feelings, how bad he felt when he saw those tearful faces, how bad he felt when he knew that those dreams were being crushed.

But after some reassurance from you, Ritsu felt a lot better. That's when Tsukasa showed up to check up on him too. A suggestion of finding foster parents for the cat was brought up which Ritsu agreed to.

By time, he grew fond of the cat albeit he still wanted it gone. But things had resolved themselves, and Ritsu was back to his calm, analytical self again.

You had come to say goodbye to the cat, d'Artagnyan, too. This time, it had let you hold it.

"Hehe, it really does remind me of you," you told Ritsu who immediately turned red. "Don't miss Ritsu too much, you hear me~? I hope you live a comfortable life."

Watching you be so gentle with the cat like that had Ritsu feeling some sort of way. He smiled gently to himself, appreciating that you were there with him, that you were there to console him and to listen to every word he had to say. There was nothing better in this world – even his favourite blanket – that would compare to you.

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

[mirimiramiri]

The curious case of two identical sport bags

A not so serious take on the trials and tribulations of time travel

Maybe this is not a new idea in a fandom that is almost 30 years old. Still, I haven't seen it yet, so I'd like to take this opportunity to write about a theory of mine regarding the infamous gym bag that follows Hitomi throughout the series.

(gif was made by @riafunnel)

There has been some discussion why she was holding her bag at the very last scene of the series although she clearly did not have it while saying her goodbyes to Van. Maybe she bought a new one, maybe that faithfully soul simply floated back to her through time and space.

I want to believe that the answer is time travel.

There is one bag that came to Gaea during the first abduction.

Since she did not take it with her when she departed from Astoria in a state of blind fury and disappointment, one remained in the palace. The pillar of light transported her back in time, though only her mind apparently, as otherwise we would have the misfortune of witnessing two Hitomis simultaneously. However, Gaean time proceeded as usual, and so did the bag, which is likely in the care of Milerna at this time.

Also the reason why Hitomi could change back into a uniform when she returned with Van on Escaflowne (in sweatpants and a T-shirt). If I remember correctly Yukari was holding the bag and Hitomi didn’t take it with her. Guess she was a bit distracted by someone 😄

The Gaean bag waited for her and when she returned home (probably again going back in time…) the earth bag waited there, too.

So now… two bags. On earth and Gaea. Children of time.

I wrote a short scene about this for my current wip fanfic „Star-crossed lovers“ which I hope to fully translate as soon as it’s ready. Hitomi and Van are talking every now and then through their psychic connection or as I like to call it telepathy telephone.

++++++++

For months they enjoyed their inexplicable form of communication. Taking advantage of every spare second to check in with each other. It was weird, but if anyone had seen enough weird to somehow get used to, it was these two separated yet connected souls.

One evening things got even stranger when Van opened their conversation with the following words: "Your bag arrived today." Hitomi turned around in her desk. She had been working on an lengthy essay and was glad for the distraction. "My bag? What do you mean?" "Your bag, the one you always carried with you." He sounded clearly confused as to why she was neither pleased nor understanding. "I'm holding it in my hand." "Uh, describe it to me." "As you wish. Green and purple, about half a costa wide, a long row of golden teeth on the sides. A carrying strap." "That sounds like mine…how did it get to you?" She had risen and crossed her room in two steps. "From Princess Milerna. She wrote that you left it in the palace." "That can't be… how could… Van, my bag is with me! I see it right in front of me, standing in my closet." "Then what do I have here?" wondered the one on the other end of the psychic line. "Hmmm." Hitomi gently ruffled her hair, which was still wet from showering. Back then, in the shadows cast by the hopelessness of a cruel war, when Van had unyieldingly sent her back to Astoria, her bag had been waiting there for her like a good dog, fortunately including a spare uniform. Otherwise, she might have had to spend the rest of the time in running shorts and a sweaty t-shirt. In retrospect, it was all very practical and yet totally strange. Still she never really wondered. Unknowingly she had gotten used to the bag following her around like a second shadow.

Somehow she hadn't taken it with her… there were so many more important things… chaos and relief, unbearably many deaths to mourn and a gentle, blooming love to explore…

And here at home she hadn't given it much thought. Instead, she had always taken it with her to training as a matter of course. She had probably subconsciously assumed that the faithful soul of a sports bag had simply floated after her through space and time… Hitomi opened the zipper. The familiar smell of tartan and detergent came out. And a mess of various things. "Did you look inside?" "Of course not." He sounded indignant at the insinuation, and she believed him. Although the curiosity had certainly been killing him. "Why don't you?" she said carelessly. The need for certainty was too great. "Describe to me what's inside."

There was silence for a while. Hitomi took the opportunity to vividly imagine him. Sitting on the floor in his simple tent, illuminated by the drag energist’s rose red glow, tugging at the zipper with a befuddled expression because of the odd thingy until it mercifully revealed its innermost parts. She chewed her lower lip, bursting with excitement. "A flat, metallic black treasure chest," he finally reported. "How strange, there are two strings growing out of it. Like thin tentacles." My discman and headphones, Hitomi thought and couldn't stop marveling. She also held one similar slim device in her hands, which was hopelessly behind the state of the art. Sometimes she had been ridiculed for it, after all, there were smartphones and, in a pinch, iPods. But she didn't care. The device had been a gift and, as we all know, those were to be cherished. And somehow she liked listening to her parents' old CDs on it, feeling nostalgic for a time when she hadn't even been born yet. "What else?" Van made a sound of muted disgust. "Your tarot cards," he grumbled, forcing himself to a neutral tone. Hitomi felt a chill run down her spine. Of course, he wasn't entirely comfortable with them, and she wasn't either by now. To much had happened involving the seemingly innocent deck of cards. That's why, shortly after her return, they had to be put into a box and were now gathering dust in the attic buried under some old toys. Almost exactly at the same spot where she had discovered them many years ago. She could have thrown the suspicious cards away, or even burned them. But she just couldn't bring herself to such drastic measures.

"It's like those things are chasing me…" Hitomi mumbled for no reason. "What else is there?" Somehow she knew that Van hasty put the tarot deck aside as if poisonous spiders were about to hatch out of it before he continued. "A coin-sized glass disk, but it's fragmented… the ends of a short belt are attached to the sides." Their game began to amuse Hitomi. The way he idiosyncratically described things that were strange to him was quite comical and puzzling. "Are there three black lines in the disk?" she speculated, because she had the slightest idea. "Yes… and the picture of a small winged figure." "My watch!" Hitomi exclaimed. She pushed back the left sleeve of her sweater a little, but she already knew that she would find the same model on her wrist. Eagerly counting second after second, accompanied by soft ticking sounds. A mechanical piece, also a gift. Plain, except for the cute silhouette of the tiny angel on the dial, serving as a clumsy way of foreshadowing future events. Stranded in Ford Castello, she had noticed that the watch had probably been damaged during her escape from Fanelia. The glass was crushed and its steady ticking had died. But on Gaea, time was measured differently, if at all. She had glumly put the useless piece into her pocket and imagined her mother's scolding… oh, what petty worries had preoccupied her at that time. Van had continued his voyage of discovery.

"Hmmm…" He hesitated in his description, the object in his hand was too strange. "It's a bizarre piece of jewelry," he said to her astonishment. She certainly hadn't been carrying any jewels in her bag, and if she had, it would surely have fallen victim to the mole man. "Made of silver, I presume. Set with a long emerald and a short chain with the figure of a dolphin dangling from it… a gift from Milerna, perhaps? A token of appreciation and gratitude." "My pager!" the penny finally dropped. "I completely forgot about that." Merle had stolen it back in Fanelia, which in retrospect had come in handy. It had eluded the mole's greedy claws and distracted the soldiers at just the right moment. In Freid, she had carefully put the little hero into the bag.

It did not escape her that Van seemed to know how a dolphin looked. Astonishing, since he grew up cradled by mountains and had seen the sea and it’s majestic beauty for the first time when they sought asylum in Astoria. According to himself he was an excellent climber and a lousy swimmer. So exactly the opposite of her. Anyway, the very same pager was on Earth, in her hand. But apparently on Gaea as well. Could perhaps… "It’s not from Milerna and no jewelry, it’s a communication device! Press the tiny button in the middle…. Does something happen? The, uh, emerald should glow like a, well, drag energist." She pressed the start button herself. Unenthusiastically the display came to life. No new messages, of course. Nobody was using pagers anymore. "Nothing's happening, the crystal seems dead," Van reported after a short radio silence. "Aw, that is too bad." How funny it would have been if she had been able to send him messages with it. Amano's short query about her whereabouts, which against all odds had reached her with perfect timing, had probably drained the last drop of energy from the battery. "There are a lot of white socks." Now Van sounded amused. "How many feet did you say you have?"

Hitomi chuckled at his attempt at humor, as usual. She also held several clean, rolled-up running socks in her hands. They were always there. Her mother, bless her soul, just picked them out and put new ones in without being asked. "A hairbrush." "You should try it," she couldn't help herself. "Haha," he said in that dry way that always made her imagine his eyes rolling. "Oh!" "What?" "Your dress from Astoria." There was insufficiently concealed awe in his voice. "Oh yeah…" In the deceptive safety of Freid, Hitomi had slipped it into the bag without thinking twice. As pretty as it was and as incognito as she could travel with it, she missed the simplicity of her school uniform. The elegant robe was already quite battered after her past escapades. The torn hem from the rescue mission in Palas, the escape from Dilandau's sea of flames, the journey through the wilderness to the Duchy that promised protection. Milerna hadn't said a word about it once Hitomi was back in her old chambermaid's outfit. Perhaps the beautiful princess had immediately abandoned her plan to mold the foreign girl to her liking.

But maybe there were more important things on her mind, an impending war for example. "You hmmm…" Van started to speak, but then fell silent. Typical behavior for him. It had always irritated her a bit. What was on the tip of his tongue? What was too dangerous to say? Unlike her, he never just blurted something out, but preferred to remain despondently quiet. She did the same now. There was no delicate pink dress with an elaborate lace collar in the bag in front of her. In her imagination, thousands of miles or even light years away, Van held the shimmering silk up to the light of his lamp and admired its dazzling beauty. "More clothes," he finally said hesitantly, clearing his throat in embarrassment. Was it possible to just hear a human's bright red face? Very much. "So hmmm…" "Okay, okay, stop it. Close the bag, it's clearly mine." Somehow she didn't like the idea of him rummaging lewdly through her laundry. He obviously didn't either. She should have thought of that before. There were also several very very private things in there she simply was not ready to discuss with him. She fumbled with the zipper of her own bag. "How odd that there seem to be two of these bags now." "What do you want me to do with it?" he asked pragmatically. "Just keep it, it’s a gift. And, uh, the contents, give it all to Merle. I'm sure she'll know what to do with it." "Wouldn't you like to…" He trailed off.

"What do you mean?" "Excuse me," he said quickly. "I'm being called. Good bye." "Talk to you later," she said hopefully, but already felt that he was gone. What had been left unsaid? Again?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

So if there are two bags, why not two Hitomis? Well I guess Gaea doesn’t play by the rules of physics (or basic sci-fi) everyone else has to obey. Time travel is a tricky thing and I’d love to see it used more often in Escaflowne fanfic, wouldn’t that be fun? I mean, as the ending suggests Van and Hitomi kinda control those pillars of light (or at least he with the energist). Doesn’t that make them time lords? Last words go to somebody who should know:

(Gosh this would be me dream cross over, Hitomi and Van as The Doctors new companions. Let me work on that!)

[paracosmenthusiast]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Chapter 4: Stick Season

Subtitle: The Bear Followed You On Instagram

``

Why the fuck did I do that?

Is there a part of me that wants him back? Or is this some sort of outlandish retribution for running away from my engagement? What the fuck am I doing?

“What are you doing here?”

I look up slowly. “In my own apartment?”

He’s dressed now, thankfully, but that shirt is a little too well-fitting and it’s too hard to look away. His hair is still wet from the shower, little droplets landing on his collar. He’s standing in the hallway, a specter, a visage from the past. I have five missed calls from Kendra and the phone is in my hand ringing again.

I push away from the island counter where I was leaning and walk to the door. “I had to get away from home and this is where I ended up.”

“Down the street from–my restaurant.” He doesn’t budge from the hallway and when I look back at him his eyebrows are up.

Hmm. He doesn’t actually look that well like I thought before. Hollow-eyed and tired. I wonder when the last time he slept was. “Yeah, I guess so, Carmen. Are you going to leave or are you squatting now? Because my friend is trying to get a hold of me.”

“Yes. Sorry.” That spurs him into motion, and he joins me at the doorway.

I open the door. And he still lingers. Like the bad aftertaste of nicotine (and I can smell the cigarettes on his clothes).

“She told me she loved me. Uh, the girl who kicked me out. And I didn’t say it back.” Why is he looking at me like that? Beseechingly. Like he’s hungry for some kind of reassurance.

When I don’t say anything, he pushes forward, same tone, almost puzzled: “I said it to you.”

It clicks then, because I’ve had that conversation with myself, because I’ve felt that feeling myself, that, Oh, what’s wrong with me, what am I feeling, why is it different?

“I really wrecked it,” he says, makes some obscure hand gesture that I can’t quite catch because I’m in my own head, “I don’t know why I did that. Why did I do that?”

Without even asking me if it’s alright he puts his hand on the door above mine and pushes it closed. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Carmen, I have to get Kendra. But since it’s Carmen’s open mic time he’s still fucking talking. “What can I do to–to not do it again?”

Like a little kid trying to jam a square peg in a round hole. Can’t comprehend what went wrong, can’t understand the rules of the game, can’t see why it won’t just fit.

“So now you’re, what? Taking it out on your cooking? In your kitchen, on your chefs, maybe? Fuck me, I’m such a piece of shit, I can’t even cook this dish which anyone else would think is perfect but will never be good enough for Carmen the perfectionist, why the fuck are you all so slow?”

He presses his lips together and when he speaks it’s brusque and tense. I think I hit home with the last remark. “Yeah, a little bit.”

“And what do you call what you’re doing now?” It’s mean and I shouldn’t say it, I know I shouldn’t say it because the emotion goes straight to my head, a rush of adrenaline, I say it fast before I can take it back: “Do you somehow think you’re justified to fuck me and then air your pain out on me? What about me? What about what you did, to me?”

He drops his gaze to the floor, fast. A quick breath out and an expletive, really, like I struck him: “Fuck.”

“You said you’d never let me go,” I say. One shoulder shrug. In a weird way I don’t even feel bad for hurting him. “It’s plain and simple in retrospect to see how we unraveled, because I would’ve fought my own pain and continued to advocate for you, (for us) and I would’ve stayed in that apartment, if you had reached out to me, if you had come to me, if you had–”

I’m not sure where the words came from or really what I expected from them, but certainly not the wide-eyed shocked pain on his face like he never thought I’d say it. I keep going, continue like a ghost is controlling me. “But you let me go. Why couldn’t you say, don’t go?”

“I didn’t deserve to do that,” he says. “What if you had stayed? With someone like me who did something like that? I didn’t even–I didn’t even feel sad you were gone, because I couldn’t allow myself that, because what the fuck would that even be? B-boo hoo, poor me, I destroyed something and now I’m gonna cry about it? I wouldn’t even be justified to miss you. I couldn’t give myself that kindness.”

What the fuck? Crying over us was a kindness he couldn’t award himself? Now I know exactly what he’s going to say next, because I’ve heard it a thousand times, and without meaning to, I say it in unison with him, mocking him, he takes a deep breath and says (and I mimic him) “I’m a piece of shit.”

That surprises him too.

“Yeah, I know all your plays at this point, buddy.” I reach out and pat his arm. Gruff and awkward. “You’re such a piece of shit you can’t be held accountable for your actions, because you’re just, inherently evil, just too fucked up to ever be good, how could anyone ever expect different, so of course your relationship blew up, right? It doesn’t even hurt because you did it to yourself, because you don’t believe you can be a better man.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says. “I got it. You’re not happy about four years ago. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Yeah, because this is what you sound like: ‘It’s so hard to be a bad person, you couldn’t even understand what I’m going through because you’re just a good person with a good upbringing who’d never do such a thing,’ isn’t that right?”

“Fuck you,” he says.

I want to mock him for trying to run away from the conversation now that it’s pointed at his actual motivations, but I take a breath and I stop myself.

He’s right. That was four years ago. And I don’t know why the pain feels all weird and fresh like it just fucking happened, because it didn’t, because none of this is new.

I had four years to watch him over the internet and try to figure out why it had to happen to me. And the truth is that it happened to me because I backed down. He tried to self-destruct and I let him.

Who’s the little kid now? I let him come up and destroy my sandcastle, watched it happen, did nothing, and now I’m crying about it?

Angrily, I rub my eyes, squinch out the tears before they can fully form. “Listen, Carmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that.” He grabs my hands, startling me with the abruptness, and pulls them from my face. Less like a command and more like he’s pleading with me.

For one tense moment we remain like that, almost like an embrace, except he’s gripping me so hard it hurts, then he realizes how tightly he is holding my wrists and he gently releases his grip. I rub my forearms, wrists, just to give myself something to do. It makes it easier to get the words out.

I don’t want to tell him but I do: “I wish I hadn’t walked away and let you break everything I worked so hard to build, but I did. I’m in Chicago to flee an engagement that I broke with no warning. I am not your monument of honor. I am not your idyllic and shining good samaritan. I have done bad things too. I just don’t break as easy as you.”

I don’t think he even hears that last part.

“You’re engaged,” he says. Weakly.

“Not anymore.”

“Why are you telling me?”

Slowly, trying not to appear rude, I pull open the door, and step aside so he can leave. “Because you aren’t a villain, and I don’t accept that bizarre narrative you have for yourself, because I loved you, Carmen, I loved you, and it was impossible for me to accept what you did and it left me reeling because I–I simply couldn’t fathom how you could do that, not you, not the guy I knew. Somebody else, maybe. Somebody else could do that, sure. But not you.”

Shame-faced but only momentarily. He struggles to compose it and it kills my empathy just a little to watch that mask emerge. Obviously it takes him another moment to get his voice under control, because he steps out into the hallway before turning back to look at me. “But I did do it, didn’t I?”

He turns his face quick, but not before I see the way his lips part, not before one errant tear escapes and he has to angrily swipe it away. A little laugh escapes me before I can help it and he begrudgingly laughs, too.

“This is fucking stupid,” he says. “I should not be–why are we doing this now? Why didn’t you do this four years ago?”

“I wanted to,” I say. “It just–I don’t know. It just didn’t happen.”

Some words that I’ve wanted to say to him for years come to mind. Words I wanted to say since I got over my initial burst of rage and realized how much I’d lost. And now I can actually say them, really, right to his face. I take a breath and look him up and down. To take it in, to memorize the shape of him in the doorframe, and to picture that I’m saying this four years ago to somebody who needed to hear it most:

“Who you are is not what you did.”

–

Carmen says to Claire, how all the good things in his life fall apart, how it’s her fault, of course it’s her fault, because to him, she is little more than an idol representing what he wants from a relationship, not what actually exists - she’s a literary device, a foil to his manic depressive rages, not a supporting character, not someone with agency or aspiration. And if she weren’t around he wouldn’t have a constant reminder of how much he is hurting, always. Carmen is a terrifying monster and Claire is a sweet and delicate flower he destroys in a fit of rage so he can torture himself and feed his own masochistic cycle.

What does it feel like to love someone who loses sight of who they are? Of what they want? Of why they’re still here, still hanging on, still waking up every morning? Are you the sweet and delicate flower who says chin up and fix your makeup and move on because a real man would treat you better? What kind of standard does that set for people who want to be better (when the path to redemption is so perilously long and disheartening?)

And what if you aren’t the delicate flower? What are you, if they have idolized you, and you are not a flower but some kind of monster, yourself?

What if even though everyone says you can find “a better man” you grit your teeth and put your hands in the mud because you don’t want a better man–you want this man, for better or for worse?

And how much does it hurt, when you have to trade your pain for forgiveness without any trace of righteous indignation, when you don’t get to explode the way they do on TV, when you don’t get to make a scene? When do you get your gratification?

You don’t. You have to let it go. It might feel good to scream and break things now but how will it feel when the glass you shattered in a fit of rage cuts the both of you? When no amount of glue and tears and heart-to-hearts will put it back together again? 

–

“And then he said what?”

“And then he said Yeah, okay. And kinda laughed and then he left and I stopped watching him through the peephole like a fucking serial killer would and then I went to pick up my phone to answer you. We’ve been over this.”

Kendra doesn’t care that we’ve been over this. She also doesn’t care that we are discussing something totally personal in front of a MOVING COMPANY and I don’t necessarily want to hash out my little backslide last night in front of all these burly men who keep giving me sidelong glances.

In fact, Kendra is perched at the small table and chairs that the moving guys brought in first, and she’s totally unbothered by their presence during our conversation. “I think it’s really interesting, personally.”

An accusation leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “You weren’t anywhere near as drunk, so why on Earth didn’t you tell me it was Carmen Berzatto that I was hitting on?!”

Kendra purses her lips. “One, I was busy with my own action. And two, I thought you knew! You guys were so buddy-buddy! And I was busy with my own thing at the time!”

“Yes, your own ‘thing,’ and how is she this morning?”

Kendra snorts. “You’re so fucking lucky she has so much patience. I can’t believe you ignored me for AN HOUR to hook up with your ex.”

“I didn’t–” I did all of those things. “Well, fuck me, Kendra. It was really fucking weird, that’s all.”

“Sounds really steamy.”

“Kendra–”

“In the shower… On the bathroom counter… Out on the couch…”

“Shut the actual fuck up.” I reach out, as I can physically silence her but realizing the futility of the motion I stop and grab my phone instead. Checking my notifications (like anything will be there) to distract myself from looking at my evil friend.

@Theoriginalbear started following you.

I slapped my phone face-down on the table and looked up at Kendra.

Her eyebrows were up. I could tell she wanted to laugh but she wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to freak out, first.

I turn my phone back over to check again. @Theoriginalbear started following you. When I open up Instagram to take a closer look, the profile picture is the front of the restaurant down the street, and when I open the profile, there he is. In a picture with a few other people, in a picture next to various fancy dishes, in a picture with a group of people all wearing the same navy shirt (I can’t make out the text on it) but entitled “throwback Thursday–”

And then in my haste to scroll down I double tap the photo and like it.

Fuck!

I slide my phone across the table to Kendra. “Take this away from me before I do more damage.”

“Why? What did you–Oh my god, you’re joking. This is so cute. Y’all are so cute. It’s sickening.” Kendra is giddy before she’s even fully picked up my phone. “He wants you back so bad!”

I frown. “Please don’t say that. It’s a delicate situation. And, in case you somehow forgot, I’m actually fleeing my home so I can escape from my own delicate situation? I don’t need to get entangled with somebody new right now.”

“But he’s not new. He’s–He’s still saved in your phone contacts, and as Carmy, and he sent you a picture… It’s… What the fuck is it? A spicy picture! Sending back a like…”

I launch myself across the table in an acrobatic demonstration brought on by sheer adrenaline-fueled panic, and attempt to rip the phone out of her meddling hands.

Kendra spins away, holding the phone out with her infuriatingly long arms (Damn the tall women!) and giggling. “Oh, would you relax? I was just joking. I wish I weren’t, but he just sent you a very suspect URL. Oh, never mind. It’s for a dinner reservation at his restaurant! Yayy! You’re paying.”

I sink back into my seat, abdomen a little sore from how I’d thrusted myself up onto the table. “If you said the URL looked suspect, why on Earth did you click on it so fast?”

“Sounds great, we’ll be there… delivered… Oh, and read! Your boy is literally waiting in the chat for you. That’s cute. Or desperate. What do you think?” Kendra holds out my phone, self-satisfied like the cat that ate the canary, and I take it back although there isn’t much point because what’s done is done and she already dug me way deeper than I wanted to be dug. In fact, I didn’t want to be dug, at all.

“You’re psychotic,” I tell her.

“I’m a wing-woman.”

“When’s the reservation for?”

“7:45. It’s a little bit earlier than I would’ve liked so I guess I’ll have to order a lot to keep us there past closing.” And she gives me this suggestive eyebrow wiggle that I absolutely detest because no, we will not be doing anything of the sort.

“No way. They would all hate that. And that’s rude. We’re not doing that.”

Kendra sighs and thank God at that point the movers are asking me for directions on where to put the rest of my belongings, so I get up from the table (with my phone safely in my pocket, mind you) to help.

Later I can think about the inevitable awkwardness to come. For right now? I can just pretend that my stupid friend did not stick me in a tense situation with my ex.

Who I just fucked, of course.

Aghhhhhhh. Why did I do that?

--

“Oh, this place is nice.”

It is nice. A little internet scrutiny had shown me the interior of the original restaurant–called “the Beef”–and I can say with certainty that Carmen’s renovations left it a much more upscale joint than it had been. Of course that makes sense given the restaurant he worked at back when we were dating.

Kendra has somewhat reined herself in since this morning, and we’re both dressed according to what we’d seen online from people who had tagged the restaurant, but I still feel out of place. Under-dressed, maybe.

Kendra reaches out, putting her hand over mine to prevent me from twisting the bracelet on my wrist. “Relax, stop fretting. You look great.”

“You both look great.”

I look up, startled by the incursion, and it’s a very tall and slim guy in a nicely tailored suit. At our obvious surprise he gives a welcoming smile. “I’m Richard, I know you’re guests of Carmen’s, so you already have your first course coming out here soon, but what can I get you to drink?”

“Well, I’d love a wine recommendation,” Kendra says, without missing a beat, and I have to restrain myself from groaning at the thought of drinking any more alcohol in the next twenty four hours. Besides, if I do have more alcohol, who knows what the fuck I might do later on, clearly I can’t be trusted to make responsible decisions.

They chat about it for a minute or two, wine, and when Kendra has made her selection, Richard turns to me.

I smile. A little caught in headlights but overall not that uncomfortable anymore. “Just water is fine for me.”

Although I can’t believe he referred to us as guests of Carmen. Oh, god. Is this going to become a whole thing?

I just barely got my apartment situated and some of my things unpacked. I do not want to have to look at relocating because I somehow managed to massively fuck up and not only live down the street from my ex’s workplace, but also go on to hook up with him my very first night here.

Thankfully, Kendra picks up on my obvious distaste for the situation, because she lets me off the hook and doesn’t bring Carmen up at all. And after our first and second course come and go without him making an appearance, I start to relax a little bit.

Without the tension of potentially talking to Carmen in front of Kendra, I can start to enjoy the ambiance of the restaurant. It’s definitely way nicer than I ever would’ve thought to bring Kendra, but she conducts herself like a professional in such a manner that I’m actually impressed. Not because I doubted her ability, but because the way she ordered was more fluent and affable than my quiet attempts.

But I can’t pronounce a lot of the things on the menu. This was always Carmen’s domain and like he loved to tell me back when we were dating, it was such a substantial strangeness that he and I had ever even crossed paths, given the very different nature of our career paths and hobbies and entire lives.

Of course it hurt my feelings when he’d say something like that and it feels weirder and weirder to be here in his restaurant doing the thing I never would’ve done four years ago, eating at a fancy restaurant like I even remotely belong there,

But at this point I’m overthinking and Kendra is quietly trying to get my attention. “Hey. Hey. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I reach for my glass of water. “And a bit hungover.”

She laughs. “Just a bit? That’s impressive.”

I frown at her. “I have a great tolerance.”

“Oh, you do. I think you wanted to get that drunk on purpose last night. Lots of stress from the move and the drive, huh? Functioning alcoholism?”

“No.” I had definitely drank more than usual but that was just the combination of seeing Carmen and the sixteen hour long drive and my general disgust for how I’d left my hometown. Maybe a teensy sprinkle of self-loathing mixed in. “I just wanted to have enough in my system to sleep through God knows how many calls from my ex.”

“You know what’s hilarious is I almost forgot he existed!” Kendra is on her third glass of wine and showing literally no signs of being buzzed. Then again, she’s over six feet tall and built like a corn-fed dairy farmer, so I guess it isn’t that strange. “I had just managed to scrub that little bottom-feeding invertebrate out of my head for the time being, so I’m glad he’s making his way back into the conversation.”

“I like how you feel stronger about this breakup than I do.”

“I don’t feel stronger than you do, I just have the guts and the articulation skills to say it.” At this point, although I can tell from how she raises one finger that she wants to go on, Kendra is forced to take a pause because Richard is coming back by our table with whatever special dessert they were selling tonight.

Even though I’m normally not the type to spring for dessert, in this case I’m glad we did–it’s beautifully plated (I’m stealing phrases from Carmen shamelessly at this point so I might as well fully embrace my new reality) and once I’ve had a taste I can safely say it is fully worth the cost.

Thankfully, Kendra does not stick to her guns about trying to keep me here after closing, because once we’ve lingered over dessert long enough, Richard comes over so I can pay and Kendra doesn’t say a word about ordering anything more.

At least, it didn’t seem like she would.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Could we get–each–one of the signature drinks?”

“Absolutely. One for the road. You and I are very alike.” Richard smiles what I think is an indulging smile, but Kendra is brazenly unbothered by how long we’ve been here and grins back at him. “Which one were you thinking?”

“Oh, well, you tell me–you’ve been here a lot longer than we have, so what’s your personal favorite?”

She could work in one of these restaurants, herself. She’s always been personable, but tonight has certainly been a new experience with how comfortable she truly is given that we’ve never been to a place like this together before, least of all after a very long and tiring roadtrip.

And a long night out. Which extended into a brutal morning of moving a lot of heavy boxes and furniture.

Richard walks off with an assurance that our drinks will be out shortly, and I put my card away, pleased by the prices for the quantity and quality of food we’d received.

“You know, I really didn’t want to drink anymore,” I say.

“Yeah, but signature drinks! They’re always so fun. I love trying to think about what inspired the recipe. I wish I was a bartender.” Kendra taps her chin, scrutinizing the artwork on the wall across from us. “I think I would’ve been a really good bartender. I have good conversational skills and I really love alcohol. And the process of making alcohol. Man, why didn’t I ever become a bartender?”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe because you’re a morning person?”

It had come in handy on the road trip, since we’d left around 3:45 am (at her behest, no less) and I had adamantly refused to drive until after at least 9am.

Kendra deflates. “Oh, yeah. Well, I could do brunches.”

A little laugh escapes me. “I think that’s a very different type of bartending.

“Yeah, you’re right. Forget it, it wouldn’t even be that fun.”

I realize, then, that she only followed this line of questioning to cheer me up, and it puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. She’s a good friend.

With that in mind, it’s much easier to down the signature drink, and to indulge Kendra on her speculation about the flavors and the “subtle hints” of x or y which I’d normally hardly give a second thought to. In fact, when we get up to leave, I’m in a better mood than I have for the last two weeks. Maybe more.

We say our goodbyes to Richard and thank him for his fantastic service (when I’m standing he’s still extremely tall, even taller than Kendra) and he’s perfectly lovely showing us out and thanking us for coming. Saying we’re welcome any time. Although I find that very difficult to believe based on the bizarre and uncomfortable relationship between me and Carmen.

And we get probably five feet down the sidewalk before I hear someone calling after us. “Wait a moment!”

Kendra stiffens up like a board. “Oh gosh, I think I see the Uber going down to the corner, I’ll be right back.”

I take back everything nice I said about how she conducted herself inside, because she walks off giggling like a complete clown, stiff-legged and awkward and making herself way too obvious.

I turn around even though I already know from the voice who it is. “Oh, hey.” I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t show your face tonight.

Carmen is fidgety in the way he always used to be when he was working. I guess it makes sense that wouldn’t change. Oh, I should be flattered he somehow pried himself out of the kitchen long enough to say something to me. “What did you think? Uh–was everything good?”

I stare at him. “Yeah, it was great. Um–thanks for the reservation.”

“Oh, no. It was nothing. I’m glad–I’m glad you came.”

Oh, God. Kill me now. The awkwardness.

“Well,” I say. “I should get going. Kendra just–my friend–just went to go grab the Uber.”

“Really? Don’t you live like five minutes from here?”

Fuck me! “I think she was just making up an excuse to let us talk, but I still don’t want to leave her standing on the corner.”

He laughs and it… winds me. Puts me out of my body, so I’m looking down at us talking, floating, out of body existential, just watching it happen. I think it’s been so long since I heard his unexpected laugh like that and I suddenly remember that I used to tell him jokes all the time, especially when he’d just gotten off work, that I’d save images or videos to show him when he first got back, all with the express intent of teasing out that laugh.

Oh, God. I stopped being funny just because I missed the way he laughed.

“Are you okay?” He has noticed how long I’ve been silently staring at him. I clear my throat and look away, woken from the reverie. Jarred.

“Oh, yeah. Just having deja vu. Anyway, I’ll–I should get going.”

“Can I come over?”

The bluntness sends me, reeling. For a second I think I’m out of my body again, but no. Just very surprised. “Carmen, I’m–”

He puts up his hands. Like he’s showing me he’s unarmed (except I think he has all kinds of weapons tucked away in his words). “Just to talk. I–I’m sorry we left things the way we did. Earlier. It was good to talk. I’d like to talk.”

Will I keep on wondering if I say no? Will I see him on the street corners and have to avert my eyes? Is there some way that we can have this conversation and then just kind of grow apart, only present in each other’s lives by proximity and nothing more?

Fuck if I know. Why the fuck not? Why the fuck not. “You know, knock yourself out. I have shit all to do anyway.”

I start to walk before my brain really issues the command–I think my legs want to carry me out of this conversation since it seems unlikely that the sidewalk will open up to swallow me.

“I’ll be a few hours,” he calls, after me, and I wave my hand vaguely over my shoulder.

So that means I have a few hours to figure out how to apologize to Kendra and kick her out, or to somehow stash her somewhere in my apartment and hope she doesn’t pop out in the middle of conversation? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

When I come up to her, though, she’s on an actual phone call. From the high tone of voice and the excessive giggling, I would have to say it’s the lady friend from last night.

“Hey,” I say.

“Oh, shoot. Yeah, I gotta go, but I’ll see you then.” Kendra hangs up and whirls around to look at me with the excitement of a feral animal. “Guess. What.”

“You got a second date?” Could the stars be aligning?

“I asked for one because I was inspired by Carmen’s bravery, so yeah. You’ll have to make do without me for a few hours tonight and you can consider this my revenge for making me move that fucking bookshelf in the heat.”

I flush even though she literally volunteered to help me move it. “That actually works out fine for me.”

She laughs a long, theatrical, derisive laugh. “Oh, I imagine so, since he’s coming over, isn’t he?”

Fuck me! She’s a fucking telepath! “Unfortunately.”

“I expect full tea service. Sugar. Cream. Jam and crumpets. All the fixings.”

What the fuck does that even mean? “Are you possessed by the ghost of a Victorian woman right now?”

“You know what I mean.” Kendra wags her finger at me, and then starts to walk, leaving me to follow behind. “Now come on, I have to go change into something way hotter than this. And you can help.”

“I am your best wingwoman,” I say.

“Exactly. So chin up. This should only take an hour. Or so.”

Oh, god. And if I know anything about Kendra, it’s going to involve at least one full Taylor Swift album.

I glance back at the restaurant right before we turn the corner. It’s still there, people meandering on their way out, and Carmen has obviously gone back inside.

What more could he have to say to me?

--

Thanks for all the love! The masterlist will be here: masterlist

[bismuthupmy]

Nothing Hurts | Leon x Luis RE4

Chapter 7 | 3.1k words

The story of tragic righteousness where nobody is hurt and everything is perfect. Except nothing is perfect in hell.

A re-imagining of the events of the Resident Evil 4 remake where Luis and Leon get the ending they deserved.

——————————————————————————————————Guys. I got to spend my holidays on a farm. Hand feeding baby cows every day. Im in heaven.

Ch.1

——————————————————————————————————

The sun had fully dipped behind the hills now, shrouding the ravine in darkness, the sliver of orange light disappearing. The night breeze was chilling as night began to settle in.

Leon pulled himself up to his feet, panting from exertion. Ashley was coughing beside him standing up shakily as well. 

“You ok?” Leon asked Ashley. She shook herself off and dusted down her jacket.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Luis?” “I haven't done this much high stress running in days,” Luis leaned back against a rock the farthest from the ravine you could be. 

“Days?” Ashley panted. “I haven't in months.”

Luis and Ashley looked at Leon expectantly and if he was honest he really didn’t know how to answer because it was a bit sad in retrospect.

“Minutes?”

Ashley snorted and Luis just shook his head sympathetically.

“You’re so unintentionally funny, you know that Leon,” Ashley beamed at him with a giggly sigh. 

“How do you know it’s unintentional?”

Leon turned his attention towards their surroundings, now that they were out of imminent danger for the time being.

“You get this confused look on your face whenever we laugh at you, thats how,” Luis breathed a laugh, having finally caught his breath. Smokers life Leon guessed. 

Opting to ignore the irritating voice hanging over his left shoulder, Leon turned to Ashley, “Listen. You’re the one he wants. If we see him again, you run.”

“Huh? Wh-what about you?”

“I’ll do my job”

Ashley submitted and just hummed her assent, clearly not pleased but he had his job to do and he was going to finish it successfully.

“Don’t suppose I’m part of that job, huh?” The insufferable voice to his left spoke up. 

“I’m not getting paid to save you.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t leave me here, would you?”

Leon just rolled his eyes and walked a little faster.

“Don’t count on it,” he muttered.

They came up to another merchant stop, the mysterious man waving at them cheerfully, no doubt excited for some more pesetas.

“Repairs and wares to share, stranger. What’ll it be?”

Ashley wandered around the open clearing, ogling the big building behind the merchant’s booth, and Luis hung back around the path they came up from, watching over the area despite it being safe enough if the merchant was keeping up shop. 

Leon traded some treasures he picked up and repaired and upgraded some of his gear. The merchant really was ripping him off. This man was definitely taking apart these guns just to sell the upgrades separately. He was lucky Leon needed them.

He was just about to sort out his equipment, reloading and whatnot, when the merchant started moving around behind his little counter. He was packing up his merchandise into cases and piled them on top of a wagon. Leon watched him wide eyed. He wouldn’t have thought the merchant could move around this much with his arsenal if he hadn’t helped him earlier at the factory.

The merchant looked up, feeling Leon’s inquisitive gaze and his eyes crinkled under his mask. 

“Just packing up, stranger. Time for me to head out.”

With not another word he finished stacking his cases and pulled his wagon behind him. With the flick of a switch the purple lantern that marked his shop went out and the man went on his merry way, shuffling down the road with a wave over his shoulder.

“Uh, the roads not-” Leon went to inform the merchant of the unfortunate happenings of a few minutes ago but found he was too stunned to finish his sentence. He watched as Ashley tried to explain the same thing as he walked past but he just chuckled and patted the top of her head as he left. 

“Well isn’t he a funny character?” Luis was now next to Leon. He just scoffed and shook his head. 

“I’m not going to question it.”

Luis just nodded. He turned around, swinging his legs, as he whistled lowly, “What does this mean for us then?”

Leon gave him an irritated questioning look, to which the Spaniard received with an innocent little smile. Could he not be so cryptic all the time?

“You know,” he continued. “No merchant, no purple fire. Wondering what's nearby is all.”

Thinking about it, Luis was right. If the merchant was leaving the area there must be some sort of danger around. They better be careful from now on.

“You think he’s back?” Ashley joined them, hands drawn to her chest how you would when protecting yourself from a bad dream. 

“If he is, we be careful,” Leon started for the building. “Stay close and stay quiet.”

He was met with silence behind him. Naturally it didn’t last long.

─•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•─

“You said this was a slaughterhouse?” Ashley whispered  to Luis behind Leon. They walked up the wooden steps to a high platform which overlooked the lovely remains of some pigs and cows. 

“Yeah,” Luis answered just as quietly. “Though it's in a bit of an inconvenient spot. Far from town, right next to the castle. Terrible planning of this village.”

Leon sighed, succumbing to the incessant chatter behind him. Their talking was putting Leon on edge. To be fair he only told them to be quiet, not silent, but it was implied.

Ashley snorted, “The farm was all the way across the lake wasn't it? Why’s the slaughterhouse here? They didn’t think the layout through, did they?”

As he crossed the threshold, Leon was met with a sinking feeling. Something wasn't right. The air was dry and there was the lingering smell of rotting flesh.

“No, ha. Is that something you look into as the President's daughter? Didn’t think you’d be close to the country's infrastructure.”

Leon shushed them harshly, halting at the corner of the platform, staring intently down at the ground floor for any movement.

“Only curious.”

“Luis, shut up,” Leon hissed, pulling out his gun from its holster and signalling with his spare hand to the others to stay back. To his relief they obeyed and he  cautiously skirted around the corner and further along the top floor.

In an instant he was flying through the air and having the air knocked out of his lungs as he heavily hit the floor below.

“Leon!” Ashleys voice echoed in his ears. Pushing himself up on throbbing arms, Ashley was still up with Luis on the top floor, the latter pulling at her arm in the opposite direction with urgency. The village chief stood before him, on the same ground floor, looking up at the girl.

Leon pulled himself up onto his knees, lungs burning and chest heaving to regain sorely needed oxygen. He shot at the giant to distract him. Like  always bullets didn’t affect him, but now his attention was drawn to Leon so Ashley could escape.

Frantically looking around the room for a better solution, Leon spied an explosive barrel. Running to it, he rolled it on its side, sucking in a deep breath and yelled up to the pair on the second floor, “Run!”

He pushed the barrel towards the chief, training his gun on it now.

“Hasta luego,” he shot the barrel.

The explosion blasted him backwards a few feet, setting fire to the entire slaughterhouse, the dry wood inside the perfect fuel. Blistering heat licked at his skin as he stood back up again. Beyond the flames, Ashley and Luis weren’t  to be seen which Leon hoped meant they were able to get out safely.

In other less enjoyable news, the chief walked out of the flame. He wasn't unscathed however but it seemed like that was working out for him just fine. 

The man, skin marred by the fire, was even more of a giant, his spine stretched and exposed like a  centipede, large scorpion-like limbs protruding from his back. He was more than nightmarish.

“What the fuck,” scrambling to get higher ground on the monster, Leon pulled himself up to a second higher platform. He steadied his gun in his hands and fired at the chief's head. Heads were a weakness, right? He hoped.

Leon’s opponent drew back its claw limbs, swinging them downwards to kill. He just managed to pull out his knife in time to block off that attack when the second claw followed in the first’s footsteps. Leon rolled out of the way to avoid it, not trusting his luck with his knife a second time.

He was able to get in more gunshots to absolutely anywhere he could get a bullet in at this point, though nothing seemed to make a difference. The chief drew back which painfully puzzled Leon, folding inwards and upwards. 

“Judgement,” he muttered, now coming spinning at full speed towards Leon, claw limbs outstretched, clocking Leon right in the chest and sending him sprawling to the ground floor for a second time, his feet  kissing the flames that crept closer. His toes will certainly never be cold again.

Not wanting to stay down on the same level for any amount of time, Leon ran for the platform ladder again, leaping up to avoid another swiping attack. The monster seemed to be dizzy for the moment, wobbling, his attacks no longer precise. A few shots to his legs made him stumble a bit which brought great relief to Leon as that was the first sign of weakness. He now knew he had a chance.

With the chief recovering from his judgemental phase, Leon replaced his handgun with something with a little more power, pulling out his shotgun.

The blast from this one had more knock back and a headshot managed to stun the monster into falling to the ground, revealing a large green eye seated right in the middle of his upper back. If the head wasn't the weakness, a very abnormally large and out of place eye would certainly be.

Leon leapt down to the ground floor again and pulled out his knife, plunging it hilt deep into the eye on the chief’s back. He howled, clawing at his face in pain as he flung upwards to his feet, the force of it severing his elongated spine and his upper body came crashing down and his legs almost humorously flopped forwards.

“Looks like your tap dancing days are over,” Leon huffed, coughing around the increasing fumes in the air. It was getting hard to breathe, the fire consuming any oxygen in the slaughterhouse, the smoke smothering. In other news, the chief shouldn’t be too much trouble to get rid of now that he had no legs, right? Wrong.

A second set of claws erupted from his mangled back, pincers attached to the end. He banged them about, the vibrations sent up the walls of the slaughterhouse, causing the far platform to collapse along with part of the roof. Their ‘arena’ was closing in. 

The chief pushed himself up and away, flung to the roof rafters to hang on with his claws. He reached down with the new claws to pick up flaming piles of  wood and launched them at Leon down below. He was only able to narrowly avoid the projectiles by throwing himself to the side.

Turns out figuring out the monster's weak spot was worthless since he couldn't even get to it anymore. All he could do was run around aimlessly avoiding any projectiles thrown his way and getting in any gunshots he could between them. 

Leon watched as the chief picked up more projectiles from the rubble of the slaughterhouse. The smoke burned his eyes and made them tear up, making it much more difficult to see anything but he was pretty sure that those were explosive barrels he was holding.

Shoulders entirely deflating, Leon ran to try and duck for cover behind the panelling holding up the second floor from the barrels but he knew his space was limited. The chief pulled back and the barrels exploded. Except Leon didn’t feel the blow. 

Looking around his small hiding spot Leon saw the remnants of the aggressive heat of an explosion which followed a sharp gunshot. A second shot rang out, seeming to hit the chief right in the back where his eye was. He wailed and slipped from the rafters trying to catch himself on the others, ultimately falling to the floor infront of Leon.

Luis’ head popped up in the furthest window on the opposite side of the slaughterhouse, Leon’s rifle propped on the windowsill. He was gesturing towards the fallen monster, yelling something that Leon couldn’t hear over the roaring flames, but he got the idea. Pulling out his knife again, Leon lunged and put his entire weight behind stabbing the bulging eye in the chief’s back.

The chief roared and flung his sharp limbs around angrily, pushing himself back up onto his claws ready to jump back to the roof  rafters.

“No you don't,” Leon dove behind the chief as he floundered about on the floor, aiming his shotgun straight for the eye and firing as quickly as he could to try and take down the monster again.

Luckily for him, he slipped from the roof as Leon shot him mid jump, and he went sprawling to the floor again. Leon had to dive out of the way to avoid being crushed in the process.

Short of breath and aching from the lack of fresh oxygen, Leon struggled to pull himself back up in time to stab the weak eye again. He pushed up onto his knees and watched as the chief was pushing himself up on his claw limbs. 

Not waiting  another second, Leon lunged towards the monster, managing to lodge his knife into the eye just as he was  jumping for the roof again, slicing through the eye and the chief’s shoulder, successfully bringing him to the floor a final time. The chief screamed, hollered for Saddler, as he crumpled and collapsed unmoving on the flaming floorboards, his false eye falling out of his lax eye socket.

Leon coughed through the smoke, looking down upon his fallen enemy. 

“Give my regards to your god,” he spat, kneeling down to pick up the eye just as he heard a huge crash to the side and the fire expand.

“Leon!” Ashley cried from the direction of the crash. She had broken in a window to escape. “Quick! This place is coming down!” 

Forcing his limbs to move, Leon dashed for the exit, hearing as the wooden roof of the slaughterhouse cracked and scrapped. Not saving time to check it out, he dove out through the window into fresh air and the cool night breeze as the ceiling of the slaughterhouse caved and crumbled in.

  Leon coughed and sputtered as he tried to get all the smoke out of his lungs and back to normal functionality. He felt Ashley urgently pat down his back and noticed some other tiny flames attached  to his clothes which he promptly snuffed out too. He sighed.

“You’re welcome?” Leon looked up at Ashley who was smiling with her hand outstretched. He chuckled and took her hand as she helped him stand back up.

“Thanks.”

Leon took a moment now to look around their surroundings. They were now fully cut off from the village, the slaughterhouse in unexplorable ruins and a broken bridge now making a path into the dark depths of the earth. 

“Luis made sure I was safe here before going back to help you,” Ashley informed him. Leon hadn’t asked for more details about it but he must’ve made some sort of face that made her continue. “I know you don't like him or trust him and I don't know why. But he’s a good guy and I think he’s helped us out enough to trust, right?”

Leon wasn't planning to explain to Ashley about Luis’ situation with Umbrella since this whole mess was complicated enough as it is. He’d probably even have to go into explaining everything wrong with the company too since he wasn't sure how much Ashley was in the know about.

Then again, Luis had helped them without hesitation so he was making up for something. If Leon continued to think about it, it was strange a former Umbrella scientist was here in the midst of a parasitic cultist movement but he didn’t care so long as they could leave safe. And to do that there did need to be some level of trust.

Speaking of…

“Hope you haven’t left without me,” a grunt and a growl “These rocks are slipperier than I thought they’d be.”

Several more noises of effort  came from behind the remains of the slaughterhouse. Luis could now be seen shuffling down the rock face backwards. Upon seeing that Leon and Ashley had in fact not left him behind he gave them a goofy smile and a wave which immediately caused him to slide uncontrollably down the rocks and into the dirt below.

Ashley snorted and jogged up to Luis to help him up. 

“Gracias, princesa.”

Leon approached them both, regarding Luis, “You climbed up the rocks to get to that window?”

“Sure did,” Luis brushed down his jacket to get rid of the sticking mud. “You’re welcome, by the way. Couldn’t have you impaled by a scorpion, could we?”

“Impaled- scorpion!?” Ashley exclaimed looking between the two men with wide eyes. “What happened in there?”

Luis laughed, “Should have been there to see it! A whole scorpion came out of the storeroom!”

“Quit messing with me! Leon?”

Ashley fixed her stare on Leon and he just waved her off with a laugh of his own.

“Nothing, nothing. Let’s just say we don't have to worry about that big guy anymore.”

“What does that even mean?” Ashley huffed and jogged over to the window where Leon escaped from, leaning left and right to try and catch a glimpse of absolutely anything that happened in the slaughterhouse. “You guys never tell me anything.”

That’s because you don't need to know,” Leon rested a hand on Ashley’s shoulder to guide her away from the window. “This fire’s bound to catch their attention. Let’s keep moving.”

“Ok,” Ashley looked longingly after the slaughterhouse as the group began up the road again. “ Uh, Leon? I’m not going to turn into one of them, right?”

Leon looked back at the girl. She looked nearly defeated, anxiously keeping eye contact with him. He looked back to the road and caught Luis’ sad gaze in passing.

“I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

Their attention was taken by the castle up ahead, the stone fortress looming over them. There wasn't any other way for them to go and they needed to keep moving so into the castle it was. Leon hoped they could sneak through or find somewhere to lay low for a while.

The moment they crossed the drawbridge, it began rising, trapping them inside.

“That’s reassuring,” Luis commented. At least they weren’t unwelcome. These people seemed to love having them here if they didn’t want them to leave.

“Well, at least we don't have to worry about being followed.”

——————————————————————————————————

I always underestimate how big action scenes are like this one i was expecting like “oh it’ll just take up a lil bit and then i can go to the castle” but noooooooo it took up half the chapter Ridiculous i love it

<- Previous | Next ->

[lovepmd]

Explorers!Hero (or multi!hero) who is usually extremely nice, but Team Skull are still up to their old tricks. Even after they saved the world with Partner and came back from non-existence, those three are still up to no good. Sooooooo—the hero is about this || close to snapping when they happen to remember Zubat being left behind in Apple Woods.

Like a Sharpedo they smell blood in that water.

It takes first writing out individual letters to Team Skull in different styles, they have picked up a skill like this from teaching non-guild teammates how to write. The hero pretends to be a huge fan of the trio that really wanted to send their favorite Pokémon some help. Hero pretends to spell like a really young kid—a weedle they sign off as. The “fan” basically gushes and gushes, until they mention how they wonder the noxious gas combo would work in a dungeon. Fan begs Team Skull to try their hand at *insert dungeon* which Hero knows has a lot of tough non-smelling Pokémon.

“Fan” included reviver (reviser) seeds, a joy (doom) seed, and heal (sleep) seeds in their letter to help! …They even put like 388 Poké in as the “request” reward thing. Which isn’t a lot in retrospect, but at least sweetens the deal for Team Skull. While this kid heaped on praise for the other two, they kinda had some questions about Zubats role on the team. He got knocked out by the team’s famous combo, right? Zubat goes to meet the “fan” while the other two try the dungeon. Obviously, he’s a little creeped out when he finds Hero in the “fan’s” place.

Hero has a wide smile, inviting him to sit/lay down to chat for a bit! After all—they ordered Zubat his favorite drink. (The former human had to ask Spinda who normally doesn’t give this information.) He says he feels a bit uncomfortable even if it’s just the wimpy partner’s friend. Hero says that’s fine. They don’t want to make him feel trapped, such a shame that can’t talk shop though. They mean… doesn’t Zubat hate being shunted to the side like this? The hero pretends to not know about the letters, pretends to not be the fan.

They gradually get Zubat to sit down and just casually point out the Pokémon’s weaknesses repeatedly doing innocently backhanded comments. “Oh sure, you can’t see but I am sure that high-pitched echo location makes you aware of everything. Not like anyone will ignore it”, “Really I got lucky to be turned into the Pokémon I am, I could have gotten stuck in a physically weaker body… sort of your situation of being a glass cannon for reference”, and “it must suck that your team’s signature left you knocked out too. If me and partner had been a wild/criminal, winces that could’ve gotten ugly.”

They keep playing into his insecurities, then off-hand says, “You know it’s really easy to be just plain old cruel. Say something mean, it’ll stick with a Mon. Steal from them? They remember you if you let them see what you are. Leave a less experienced team forced to go through no-dinner after working a long day? We were bitter. Anyone can do that, but making it personal? Oh. Oh that sticks so much better!”

“I could have hypothetically slipped a stun, warp, and blast seed into your drink to make you a random bomb—” Zubat spits it out “—but I didn’t. Really, that would have the chance to hurt someone else and isn’t the most personal thing. Hypothetically, I could have simply called in a few favors and had you three… fainted. Permanently. Or do it myself. Truly, there are quite a few ways I could justify it. I know the freaking Dragon Gods of Space and Time. No one would be able to find what remained of you or them, if I was truly that unhinged.”

What kind of psycho discusses this in front of who they want to—

“Again if I genuinely wanted to. You three are beyond annoying and petty bullies, but death? Oh no. That would be too permanent for my taste. Also, not a Pokémon remember unless you didn’t hear—I’m human no matter what my form is and the instincts I have so I still think like one. We tend to have these things called ‘intrusive thoughts’. It’s sort of thoughts about what we could do in spite of the consequences. Like,” Hero pulls Zubat close to whisper, “being stuck in a small room with a crying baby Whismur who won’t stop crying. Sure, it’s a baby it doesn’t know better. But, after a certain point you would just want to smash it against the wall to get it to stop for Arceus sake…!”

“So with all due respect, either keep the schemes civil without endangering anyone or pick a new term of employment. Or else I will let the intrusive thoughts win. Understand?” Their reputation be damned, they are in a world of super-powered animals who fight daily. The intrusive thoughts have only gotten stronger.

jesus f-ing christ

multi!hero making it their MISSION to make team skull as uncomfortable as POSSIBLE without directing doing any harm to them, one member at a time

[stereax]

the kingdom is being rebuilt // the director's cut

a bit of a retrospective on the poem series :)

(and yes, I DID write those poems)

My personal favorites are marked with a (⸸) symbol. Each number links to the respective poem. Enjoy!

2 glory is a foreign word on your tongue and what little you had is left behind you, railroad tracks descending into the past. there is no curse so painful as training your replacement.

Smith's poem comes first. This one was a bit tough because, let's be real, nobody actually gives two shits about Brendan Smith. But I remembered this one interview where Smith was like "yeah my job is basically being a veteran presence for the new generation of defenseman, I'm kind of teaching them to take my job" and if that didn't hit me right in the fucking gut. So yeah. Smith's best days are definitely behind him. He's never going to reach the fame and glory of his brother Reilly. But I think there's something uniquely poignant about him.

6 welcome home, soldier. gunpowder stains your teeth and shrapnel draws lines on your arms. tangled up in you, this inferno burns. don't let it sting too much, the wings of paradise heavy on your back.

Marino is a vital part of the backbone of the Devils. The defense of this team is perhaps its singular most important part, and Marino drives the defense and the penalty kill. He is, in a sense, a grizzled soldier for the Devils' cause, upon whom much of the Devils' dreams lay, and the fire of the Devils runs through defensive efforts. We learned this in our Cup runs - defense wins Cups. Defense takes you to paradise.

7 free bird, what do you sing of? there's no more cage to restrain you, no boundaries but your own. you're where you want to be - just beside the spotlight with a grin. this laughter can heal your soul.

Oh, Dougie. Caged Bird by Maya Angelou is perhaps an overdone poem in the literary canon, but it is such a strong one and one of my personal favorites. For a player whose wings have been tied at many occasions, subverting the idea of only the caged bird singing works well. He's singing more than ever now that you've let him out - out of teams that didn't appreciate him, out of injuries that held him back - and he's found his favorite position, not being The Guy but being one of the guys, standing beside the spotlight. Let him be his introverted little trickster self. Let him have his personal space in the locker room. Let the free bird sing with joy and learn to call New Jersey home.

10 there is a door in front of you that we pray you can unlock. the key is buried deep in your chest. how much will you bleed for your desires? how much do you want it, really, and is wanting it enough to get it?

Holtzy boy has quite literally been a victim of our success, as even Lindy Ruff puts it. He was unable to find ice time, rode the bench for half a season, and then got hurt when he got sent back to Utica. This upcoming season is widely seen, even by the Devils organization, as Holtz's last chance to make the roster on a permanent basis, to open the door to lasting success. But hell, sometimes, no matter how much you want something, you just won't get it. Is that going to be his fate?

13 atlas is your name, holding a nascent world between your hands and on your shoulders. the steadiest star is not the brightest, but you've made peace with that already, haven't you? it's alright to be outshined when you set the world on fire.

Nico... Nico. This is the one that got the most attention, which is funny because I don't really consider it one of the best in this series. But anyways. Nico has carried the burden of this team the longest out of anyone - he is the top line center, expected to perform to perfection constantly. He is the Atlas for the Devils, he carries this new world of the Devils - and no, he's not the brightest, flashiest, best-goal-scoring player on this team. He's not the brightest star, and he is all too aware of it; he's always, always played second fiddle, from his very first season where he boosted Taylor Hall and enabled him to drag the team into the playoffs until today where he's not Jack Hughes. And yet - and yet Nico doesn't have to be the brightest star. He doesn't have to be Jack, and he doesn't need to be Jack, and he doesn't want to be Jack. He is steady instead, a 200-foot player and Selke nominee. He is enough the way he is. His team knows it. His team is there for him - they're all built around the steadiness of his flame, not the brightness of Jack's flame. He's already set the world on fire, so what else does he need?

14 your presence is never as pronounced as your absence. you've seen it so many times, how your job is simply to be. pull out your roll of duct tape, put on a movie for them to enjoy, and maybe you can save us yet.

Bass!!! I don't think any Devils fan is capable of being normal about Nate Bastian - as God intended, of course. His poem revolves around him being the team's "glue guy", the kind of person that binds the Devils together. Recall the Bastian Effect, where the team had an 80% win percentage with him on the ice versus 55% without. But when he's there, you don't really notice him; he's a fourth-line grinder who gets relatively limited minutes. It's only when you lose him (to a shoulder injury or to Seattle) that you realize what you're missing. The movie line comes from a Polish song I love, Scenariusz dla moich sąsiadów, by Myslovitz - I've talked about it before on this blog (I think I said it was Dawson-esque) and I can and WILL talk about how it's a very Nate-coded song as well, but that's an essay for an ask, so if you're interested in that, hit my askbox.

17 day and night blur over and over and columbus balances his egg in time to the lapping of the waves. what is your dream, but more important, what is your destiny? temporary tastes wrong on you.

Shango's poem was one of the more stopgap-type ones where I didn't have a whole lot to say about him, so I went with whatever felt right. Columbus's egg is used to described something that seems simple only after the solution is found - the original story is that Columbus challenged a group of critics (who claimed that going west to find a new trade route wasn't anything novel) to balance an egg on its tip. The critics try and fail; eventually, Columbus shows them how it's done, by flattening one of the ends of the egg. When the critics say it was easy, Columbus replies that going west was also easy, but somebody had to do it first. Shango's got some of that about him - that it's not difficult, you just have to do it. Similarly, his dream and his destiny are at odds (just like the Oilers and Flames he'd been playing against in the pictures chosen); obviously, he seems to want to be a top-line sniping winger, but he gets traded after a relatively low season for him playing third-line minutes. His destiny goes through Calgary and through Tyler Toffoli.

18 you spin the wheel on this ship, control its path through the winds that blow. a veteran stands the test of time even when time stands too. a victor remains a victor. the records cannot take them away, no matter how high the tide rises.

Pally's poem deals strongly with his tenure with the Lightning - which makes sense, given the guy still uses "we" when talking about the Bolts. Bless his veteran soul. It also calls back to Shango's poem with the marine imagery. Not much else to say here, honestly, except that he got high-sticked, lost three teeth, came back and scored a goal in that one game against Toronto. What a power move.

20 they replaced you before they even had you so you learned to change everything just to be desirable again. when your old colors came seeping through they basked in your glory and cheered. what is the price of your salvation?

Mikey's poem went through a couple of iterations before I landed on this one. The idea for it is that he was drafted to be a top-six center, but got jumped in the depth chart by Nico and Jack, so he quite literally changed everything about his game to turn himself into a luxury defensive fourth-line center specializing in faceoffs. This new style of play he pivoted to was quite different from how he played in juniors - but that old style came back during the playoffs, most notably in the shorthanded goals he scored. That last line of his alludes to two things - firstly, the giant question that hangs over his head, but it also ties back to Nate's poem, both being saviors, in a way - Nate with his Bastian Effect, Mikey with his playoff efforts.

28 the last relic of a bygone era, you have stood the test of time, a pillar of salt in this desert. it's time to let go of your family now, walk away from this home you've built on sand, and whatever you do, don't turn back unless you want to shatter into crystals and get swept away by the wind.

(⸸) Sevo... Don't talk to me, I'm still sad. But, uh, yeah - this one deals with Sevo being the longest-tenured Devil and having to leave his team as family. Remember how his wife celebrated not being traded at the deadline? Yeah. His poem alludes strongly to the story of Lot and his wife from the Bible - Sevo already is the pillar of salt, though, as the last of the old Devils, so his punishment for turning back is instead the loss of the rest of himself and his memory. He's been here since he was a baby rookie, he was the last Devil left to play under Lou Lamoriello, he's seen all of the Devils Dark Ages, and his reward is getting shipped to Ohio... God, I'm still sad.

29 don't let the nails dig too deep into your palms. this sacrifice may yet be noble even if your back chars with burnt wax and the imprints of feathers on your shoulder blades. at ease, you served well.

Mac's poem. I know we all love to dunk on Mac Black, but allow me to give you a little bit of a history lesson here. Mac was actually a kickass goalie when he started out with the Devils - his first two years, he had save percentages of .918 and .915, effectively taking over the net from Cory Schneider, who we basically broke as he tried to carry our shitty Devils Dark Ages team. Hell, we called Mac MB29, after MB30, Martin Brodeur; we thought he would be the next Marty. And then Mac broke too. So yes, he gets the motifs of Christ on the cross and of Icarus (one of my favorite Greek myths). You did your best, Mac. I hope San Jose treats you well.

33 yours is a thankless job, marked by spit and blood and sweat and all the most disgusting things. just as the flame ignites, you are extinguished, left on the street corner like a beggar with a sign. you did nothing wrong. the cruelty is that it is not your fault.

Gravy played as the other half of the shutdown pairing alongside Marino, so a lot of the same ideas are in play here, of being a soldier. Spit and blood and sweat is meant to evoke imagery of Winston Churchill's blood, toil, tears, and sweat speech. But Gravy differs from Marino in that he's leaving just as the team breaks through - he got traded from Colorado the year before they won the Cup, and he leaves New Jersey just as they throw open their own Cup window. And he leaves not because he was lacking in any way, but because Luke's here now, and Luke is simply more cost-effective, younger, and likely better as well, even as a rookie. There's nothing Gravy can do about it, and maybe that's the cruelest of all.

40 and everyone asked, isn't this enough? but there's no point in wanting if you only want so much of a good thing. there's no point in halfway prayer. the crown of kings is heavy but it won't hurt if you keep your head held high.

(⸸) Akira's poem is probably my favorite out of the entire Kingdom series, and that's saying a lot. I think it explains itself, for the most part, but the idea of it is essentially that the Devils weren't meant to win the series against the Rangers. We thought that it was enough that we got there. We said next year would be our year. Wasn't it enough to just have made the playoffs again? And in comes Akira and says fuck that noise, we're not done here. There's no reason to only want us to make the playoffs if we can go further than that, no point in halfway prayer. And through that, Akira solidified his position in Devils history, outdueling one of the best goalies in the NHL, killing a god. Now he's being looked at as our potential starter by the end of next year - but remember what happened to Mac and to Cory, how they broke when being given Marty's crown of kings, and how Vitek, too, fell apart to a lesser extent in the playoffs. If he is the successor to Marty, Akira needs to keep his head up and his wits about him - don't let this divinity get to your head.

41 god didn't hang all the stars in one day, you know. you shouldered this hurt time and again, took the love and the hate in tandem and twisted something wonderful out of it. tomorrow is another day. tomorrow is a beautiful day.

Vitek's poem serves as the counterpole to Akira's. Where Akira is viewed as the new god in the flesh, Vitek is instead deigned as a regular-season merchant. And yet, he was the god for that regular season. When we thought we would never get a good goalie again, he came and proved us wrong. Vitek is great, he just needs to be in a tandem. He can't play 50, 60 games a season effectively. Those goalies are a dying breed. But yes, Vitek's message is perhaps also Akira's opposite - leave the past in the past. And yet it's exactly the same - don't let this get to your head. You are so much better than you give yourself credit for.

42 they say that mint will grow anywhere. mint puts its roots down wherever it can and clings to itself, carving out an existence in the unlikeliest of places. imagine what you could do with sunlight and water.

Curtis's poem relies on the motif of mint. Mint is a known invasive plant - it can take root almost anywhere and it is almost impossible to eradicate once it takes hold. Curtis, too, is a bit of a journeyman, never really finding a home on any team, but perhaps New Jersey changes that. What happens with a little bit of nurturing? What happens when you open the door for mint and let it grow instead of uprooting it again?

43 unaffected by the torch spewing hot ash onto your fingers, the weight of legacy. there is a list of demands on your front door and every day it grows longer and longer. martin luther, tear down your walls.

Luke has a lot of historical references for a five-line poem. He carries the torch for the Devils as the newest rookie, helping to lead the defense forward, and yet everything he does is colored by Jack before him (and Quinn as well). He has almost too much to live up to, but it seems not to rattle him at all. Martin Luther was a priest best known for starting the Protestant sects of the Christian faith when he nailed his Ninety-Five Theses (dealing primarily with the Catholic Church's corruption and indulgences) to the door of the church. This parallels with the list of demands on Luke's door, the idea that he's going to be shoved into a top-four role with the Devils with the hope that he becomes a franchise defenseman, and he's going to have to figure it out pretty damn fast. And yet when Martin Luther is called by name, it is in the same breath as the iconic quote from Ronald Reagan's speech about the Berlin Wall. Luke must transcend history in much the same way, in the way Jack already has, and carve his own legacy on the Devils.

44 the sun shines brighter on your back. when you let go of this life, will you remember the smiles or will you remember the tears? you can lay flowers on the grave of what could have been, but give a bouquet to what is first. nobody blames you for forgetting.

Woody's poem goes in the same vein as many of those who left before him, most notably Sevo's. But it also follows a line consistent with Mac's, Shango's, and even Smith's poems. See, Miles was thought of as a top-sixer for a good while during the Devils Dark Years - he was a power forward who played on a line with Jack Hughes and Jesper Bratt. I'm not joking. His greatest years were years ago, before he busted his hip and lost the most important part of his game, his speed. And now he leaves for Colorado as a maligned fourth-liner. It's up to Woody how he remembers us, and, on a much realer level, how he mourns his lost potential.

49 the short stick was your burden. every battle has a casualty. there's something good brewing out west even if that's where the sun sets. persevere, and you will be rewarded.

Zett has a quite simple poem that mostly just revolves around him being shipped off to San Jose. He was the most important piece (non-pick-wise) that the Devils gave up for the Timo trade, which is a bit of a testament to how weird that trade was. But, at the same time, that trade is very possibly going to set the tone for the Sharks for the years to come, with the assets they received. Zett's now being given space to grow and a looser leash, and who knows? Maybe in a few years we'll see him as part of a Sharks Cup run.

56 the wanderer keeps his bags packed and sitting by the door for the next journey. cut open all the cardboard boxes, you don't need to take the midnight train anymore. hang the pictures and make this house a home.

(⸸) Haula, oh boy oh boy. His poem isn't all that deep, but man does it hurt me. He, like Curtis, was a bit of a journeyman (I've talked about Haula's peculiar journey to Jersey before on my blog), and he's now found a home in New Jersey. Having been traded and having signed one-year contracts, Haula's spoken openly about how he's happy to settle down, get a house, and raise his son and family here. When you're a wanderer like he was, you essentially have to be ready to pack up your entire life at a moment's notice, but now that Haula's got his contract, he can finally start unpacking his life and the cardboard boxes that come with constant moving. Also, Haula being a paternal/older brother figure to Jack makes me cry. So of course I had to include a picture of them.

63 did they call you a miracle when you were born? did your mother cradle you to her chest and whisper how lucky she was to have you? or did they know that the tempest in your soul could never be tamped down no matter the odds? you write your own destiny. make it so.

Bratter is the epitome of potential, which is what his poem tries to capture. Going from a sixth-round draft pick (which almost never make it to the NHL) to one of the oldest Devils by tenure and a core part of the top-six is a feat in and of itself, almost a miracle. And hell, he has an entire fan club based around the idea of JBITBPITNHL (Jesper Bratt Is The Best Player In The NHL). Can't say the same about Nico or Jack. Bratt beat the odds to get here, time and again, and now he's signed his destiny to stay in New Jersey. It's his choice where he goes from here.

70 drape a cloth over your eyes, invisible man. let them know what you're here for, what you still want to prove. dip your hands in molten wax so they'll be seen when you wave. wear jingle bells on your ankles so they hear you coming.

Boqvist, in his time in New Jersey, was basically the least notable Devil on the ice. So he got the motif of the Invisible Man from H. G. Wells. The Invisible Man was a character that managed to turn himself, well, invisible with sophisticated science. When he finds he cannot undo this, the Invisible Man slowly goes mad. But what I'm getting at is that the Invisible Man would always be trying to wear as much clothing and accessories and such so that he would look like a normal person. Boqvist, too, if he wants to break out of his invisible mold, needs to do something to make him stand out against the backdrop of replacement-level NHL players. Oh, and I almost forgot about this. Generally, when a player left for another team, at least one of their pictures was them playing against their new team. Boqy's New Team Picture actually has him trying to beat Taylor Hall to a puck. Small world, huh?

71 you told them it didn't matter what they did as long as they used you, as long as they valued you, as long as you were valuable to them. you stood in line to buy this dream when nobody else thought it worth the price. how powerful is your belief? will you turn yourself to stone to lay the foundations of this castle?

(⸸) Siegs's poem is another of those that hits me right in the gut and refuses to let up. Siegs got traded to the Devils because - well, he requested the trade because the Capitals, who drafted him, acquired Zdeno Chara, and it left Siegs sitting on the bench or in the press box almost every game. One night, he had one single shift at the very end of the game for like, thirty seconds. So Siegs basically said "if you're not going to use me, trade me somewhere that actually wants me", and he ended up in New Jersey with Nico. Siegs was the first to take the Nico Discount to play for the Devils, back when it looked like we would never leave the rebuild, and he flat-out admitted it on multiple occasions that he took a pay cut so other players could get paid and so a team could get built around him. On a very real level, Siegs enables Dougie by covering for his defensive lapses, as well as pushes the offense forward through some incredibly clutch moments (see: his goal against the Rangers in the playoffs). He's expected to be the rock on which the castle can be built and on which the free bird sits.

82 the jester exercises his privilege and the king listens to his call. lift your cap, triboulet, and dance. there's a new path before you and an old friend to walk it with.

I almost forgot about Okhotiuk, to be honest. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Okie played a couple of games for us in December and January (when Gravy and Marino were both dead) before being shipped to San Jose as part of the Timo Meier trade. He's notable as a physical defenseman who has thrown fists on many an occasion, including (notably) against GM Tom Fitzgerald's own son while in the AHL. Okie gets the motif of jester's privilege, or the idea that a jester can make fun of things without being punished for it... like punching your boss's kid. Triboulet was a famous jester for the French king who slapped the king on the rear and, when threatened with execution, apologized because he thought he was spanking the queen. When the king decided to let Triboulet choose how he would die, the jester famously replied that he would like to die of old age and thus outwitted the king. While Okie wears Triboulet's cap to San Jose, at least he does not travel that road alone.

86 oh, prince of a new dawn, hold your sceptre tight. you know better than to listen to liars but will you let the truth overwhelm you? this is not your destination. keep pushing forward, you've yet to break the horizon.

Jack's poem deals heavily with the idea that he is the new Devils superstar. He, more than anyone else, is what makes the Devils contenders. Yes, he is self-aware and walks his own path. He knows not to let the voices calling him a bust get to him. But, at the same time, we've seen many a player get a big head at the prospect of being the deliverer of a franchise. Will Jack let his ego get the better of him, now that he knows what he's capable of? And yet, he is only the prince of this new dawn. He has not yet reached his potential or his destination. So much more is coming, and perhaps that's the scariest thing of all. A star as bright as Jack has so much left to give, but will he burn too brightly and fizzle out too soon?

88 sing it to the wolves, head tipped back, crying sweet mercy at the moon. you were made to be eclipsed but that doesn't mean you were made to be forgotten. there's a beauty in your dark.

Bahl's poem, more than anyone else's, deals a fair bit with his physical appearance as well as his role on the team. He's a lower-pairing defenseman whose main draw is being invisible, but in a good way. Eclipsed, but not forgotten. Bahl gets the imagery of a pack of wolves howling at a missing moon. There's a quiet sort of powerful energy you get from him that aligns with that, I think. (And yes, maybe there's a little bit of a hidden story being told with Jack in those photos too...)

90 when you look at the pictures years from now the regret should be that you left too soon, not that you stayed too long. when paths like these cross, they don't run parallel forever but the land they cover is lush with butterflies and daffodils.

Tuna, like a bunch of others, gets a goodbye sort of poem. I think his is fairly self-explanatory - the idea of memory of the past, just like Woody, just like Sevo. Except, unlike them, we knew Tuna was a short-term rental. We all knew his journey with us would be on the shorter side, but it doesn't mean that it hurts less to see him go. For a player like him, all we can hope for is that he holds fond memories of us when he looks back on it years from now. Oh, Vitek and Tuna for the butterflies line is on purpose, because, you know, goalies, butterfly position, but also it's Vitek, who's the most "butterflies and daffodils" player out there.

91 and just when they thought they knew you you turned yourself into something new again. wonder what you've borrowed, wonder if it's blue, because your heart's old, old and full of life. call to the masses and they will respond. they wait for your commands.

Dawson's poem plays on the saying for brides "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue". Dawson's only been getting better with time (what is a sophomore slump, anyway), and he keeps reinventing himself, being a player you can put in just about any spot in the lineup, being a collection of somethings that ends up being better than any one of those things alone. Need a bottom-six center or a top-six winger, a powerplayer or a penalty-killer, a goalscorer or a playmaker? Look no further than Mercer. He's even more versatile that Mister Swiss Army Knife Nico Hischier himself, which is no small feat. And yet, despite all that, he's such a humble and gracious kid who's genuinely grateful just to be here, a little old soul. Show me someone who hates Dawson. You literally can't find one. The last two lines call to his Player's Tribune article, where he made the entire Devils fanbase want to run through walls for him. He's got so much power - it's his choice how to use it.

96 you're in the middle of it, always, and it feels like you always have been. whirlpools under your feet when you walk, the bite and the snap of skin on skin. this might be the end of one show but the encore is just getting underway. don't take a bow just yet.

Timo gets a poem that rolls with shark-like motifs. He's known to be the center of attention - power forwards tend to be that, for better or for worse. So the idea of whirlpools when he skates tracks from that, making the ice melt underneath him with the spotlight shining down. Yes, the Trouba picture was on purpose for the line that sounds like it's referencing his hit on Timo, because it literally is. And Timo's spent his entire NHL career in San Jose - him leaving the Sharks was the last nail in the coffin of their looming rebuild. He's got eight years of being a Devil ahead of him, and we're hoping those are his best years. As one curtain closes, another opens.

00 the kingdom is being rebuilt. the castle may have been razed to the ground but the stones are being laid again, one by one, until the ship of theseus sets sail for paradise once more. this is no longer a story of survival but of flourishing despite the odds. this is no longer a story of nothing but of something greater than its pieces. this is the castle and this is the kingdom.

(⸸) The summary poem gets NJ Devil's jersey number. And I think, honestly, this is one of the most poignant of all. The pictures really make it for me. The thing about the Devils is that we have so much history packed in such a team that is often dismissed as New York's little brother. In the 1990s and 2000s, we had a legitimate dynasty that the NHL implemented specific rules (the trapezoid most pertinently) to help take down. Hell, if we didn't win the Cup in 1995, chances are that we'd have been the Nashville Predators. The story of the Devils is that of a kingdom - and that kingdom was destroyed entirely by 2010 or so. The 2012 Cup run was the last hoorah of the dying kingdom before it was dismantled entirely. But now, after so many grueling years of rebuilding, the Devils are finally back on the map.

The ship of Theseus is a thought experiment basically asking whether a ship with all its pieces replaced is still the same - just like a Devils team with an entirely new roster and staff is still the same in its soul as the one that forged that dynasty. The "story of survival" alluded to in the pictures is that of Brian Boyle, a journeyman who spent two years with the Devils in the Dark Ages during which he battled and won against leukemia. He later scored his first hat-trick on a Hockey Fights Cancer night. Many tears were shed. This is still one of the highlights of the Devils Dark Ages and probably will be forever. The "story of nothing" shows Keith Kinkaid when his goalie net fell on top of him during a Ducks game. We lost that one, by the way.

Motifs used in other poems are called back in the summary with accompanying pictures to match, most notably Siegs (and Nico) as the stones and foundations of the castle, but also Marino's idea of paradise, Bratt and Akira's beating the odds, Dawson's greater than his pieces, and Jack's being a prince of his kingdom. Nico is the castle, Jack is the kingdom. Nico is the steady star, Jack is the bright star. This team was built around Nico and its dreams are built around Jack. Do you get it now?

(⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸)

And... cut! That's all for this! Thanks for reading this massive text post, haha :)

If you've got any more questions about the Kingdom series, please drop them in my askbox - I'd be super, super happy to receive them and answer you! :D

[less-than-three-3]

octopath traveler 2 - a masterclass in developing a sequel and an instant classic

I think that in games, when developing a sequel, it’s not uncommon to see a team take feedback and make changes that try to make it more widely received. Often, I feel that in that endeavor it’s easy to lose sight of what made the original game uniquely tick or feel like it did. Don’t just take my word for it (though what games I feel fall into this category can be controversial), it’s something that Sakurai has often mentioned before, for example.

Octopath Traveler II is a master class in how not to fall into that pitfall, and not just one of the best sequels (most improved award), but I think one of the best turn based RPG’s to date, at least by modern standards. I think it’s probably not a game that’s for everyone’s taste, but if you go in without expectations, I think it’s hard to ever really be let down. Likely spoilers below (especially end-game spoilers), but I’ll try to leave them to the end.

Before digging into the sequel though, I just want to briefly touch on octopath 1 in 2023. Something that I think about a lot is Scott’s retrospective on 3D World (I ain’t timestamping this one sorry), specifically, that 3D World was given a good bit of flack on release because it felt like it was “taking 3D mario into a bad direction” when, in a post-Odyssey world, we can really look back and really appreciate 3D World for what it is, and not judge it for what it isn’t (watch the whole video, it’s a great retrospective). 

All this to basically say, I think a lot of the flack that octopath 1 got was kind of in the same vein. People really wanted it to be what it wasn’t. It’s not a Final Fantasy or Dragon Quest, where you get a ragtag team of misfits banded together on a big journey, maybe with small individual branches along the way. It’s 8 very differently motivated individuals who just kind of pick each other up and just happen to help each other do their thing. The exp sharing and party system I can get being annoying, but I don’t think it’s really more than just a minor annoyance at worst, and I can get behind it being good to push the player to experiment with team composition (your leader gets somewhat overleveled but I really never found it that much more broken than synergies you get by mid-game). In another game that I love, Ruined King, they do have full party exp share, and while I loved experimenting and moving parts around to make different comps, I definitely felt that is very self-motivated, and the game doesn’t have too much in place to force you to move people around besides required character segments. Random encounters... I get complaining about it, but again it feels like idiot-proofing the level curve, because so often I see people in games with “walking encounters” just never ever fight them and then complain about being underleveled and having to “grind”. 

This might feel like an odd rant to go on, and yeah it is partially just me getting on my damn soapbox and saying “octopath 1 was good actually”, but it’s important as context for why I find octopath 2 to be such a brilliant game (and because octopath 2 gives a new appreciation for these elements). I love the RPGSite review because it sums up this angle really well:

“As I mentioned previously, Octopath Traveler is meant to be a structurally open game that values player freedom. The overall arrangement of eight individual characters with eight distinct storylines may not fit the more traditional and expected structure of a unified JRPG party and a unified goal, thus some concessions are made in order to fit that vision in terms of character dynamics.   Maybe it took falling in love with the SaGa games - which share some common components - for me to begin to understand what Octopath was trying to do all along, but I think this was the right direction to take the sequel in. I'd rather not see Octopath change dramatically and risk its identity in order to conform to expectations it doesn’t try to meet. If you’re looking for linear, story-driven, party-centric RPGs, there are an abundance of them.”

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not saying the original is perfect. I found some of the stories not that interesting (or maybe I just never gave them a chance!), and certainly the character interactions were a little sparse and unimpactful. But that’s where octopath 2 really shines beyond its origins, because I think the entire cast is absolutely wonderful, and their interactions, both in their paired quests and side-banted, ooze character. There is certainly a disparity between characters because they are all such different people, but as you get through chapters you can definitely feel them warm up to each other and get to understand each other’s perspectives. It’s such a breath of fresh air because in the original I felt like a lot of them were kind of just, one character asking the other for advice, and then they give it? And the structure of the chapters is so varied in the sequel, including how and when to use path actions (the night/day system helps a lot), when in the original it definitely felt a bit cut and paste.

I don’t even know where to start with the characters and their stories. I guess, like with Live-a-Live, I’ll just list them from my least favorite to favorite, but just know that I loved all of them.

8. Agnea - her motivations really kind of felt the most octopath 1 out of everyone, and not necessarily in the best way? I mean, she’s pretty much like Tressa, who I love don’t get me wrong, but it is just strange to me that, throughout every single chapter, it never really, like, felt like there should really be conflict? It’s a weird way to put it, but she is pretty much just going to become a star, and that sure is the journey she goes on. I don’t even really think she has many foreshadowing moments, but I might have just missed those? She’s super adorable and lovable and brings everyone cheer, and her story is very much the lighthearted one, so I suppose it fits. I don’t know, it just didn’t fully click for me. Great member of the party, I just wasn’t the most invested. Part of it may also just be that it feels like so different from Prim, who was easily one of the best characters from 1.

I think that is literally the only vaguely negative one I have, and I didn’t even really dislike her story, I just was least invested in it lmao

7. Throne (I will be leaving out the accent sorry I’m lazy) - I think the premise and split path and internal and external qualms are interesting, but I just kinda felt like it was Therion-lite. The final twist... sure is a twist of all time. I’m not in love with her story in retrospect, but it was like good enough moment to moment. Kinda like Lycoris Recoil, thinking about it.

6. I guess Osvald is 6th? These rankings past 8 are definitely pretty wishy washy. His character and story and motivation is just. anguish. Everything sucks (for Osvald). Harvey sucks. At every step you think you cannot get more upset at the situation and it just keeps on getting worse. How. Incredible.

5. Ok I fucking love Partitio but I would be remiss to rank his story too highly, because he is just god’s gift to mercantilism. He can do no wrong. There is no growth. But he’s really fucking charismatic and funny so it totally makes sense. It’s also really funny that he is the most socialist merchant ever, and he takes down the chains of capitalism and their absurd contracts and loopholes and then that final boss fight is just so awesome. I love Partitio.

4. Hikari also goes in the middle for just being A Political War Drama (I love those). He’s pretty much simba. But like, a dark, fucked up version of simba. I don’t know if I have that much else to say about it, that pretty much is everything. 

3. Castti is really really interesting. Piecing together lost memories felt a little cliche to start, but the story being put together and the final few turns of the story were absolutely gut wrenching and my god what an incredible story. She is the mom of the group, and I don’t know if she was really that much more.

2. Temenos is a really interesting cleric character, and a huge departure from Ophilia (for the better). He is pretty much just Sherlock, from Sherlock. He can really be an asshole, and it’s really interesting to see this kind of angle, and not in a “church bad” trope, but in a “church good? but we need to fix the church?”. I would probably be mobbed for not mentioning Crick. So I have. I cannot talk about Crick without massive spoilers. If you finished his story you know why. Great character, great story.

1. Ochette may not belong up here but she is by far my favorite character what a fucking idiot I love her dearly. Just too stupid to live. There are like, a maximum of two things on her mind, ever. Her arc is great. She is voiced by Yuffie Kisaragi, the best character in FF7R. I am biased. This is my write-up. What are you gonna do about it.

Speaking of Live-A-Live, I can’t help but think Team Asano working on that remake helped reinvigorate some notable improvements in this sequel. Obviously the Octopath games have a lot of flesh and blood from Live-A-Live to begin with. But the final chapter of the game felt very reminiscent of that of LAL, both in terms of literal story structure, but especially with the worldbuilding and foreshadowing dropped throughout the game. I will spare many of the details, but I really liked the way that the foreshadowing is much more apparently integrated into events, major and minor, in each character’s story. 

The combat system being pretty much the same, but with an extra new gauge, is great, because the original combat system was already really great. I truly think that if you have complaints about the break/boost system, the game probably just is not for you. I vibe with it, I get it, I love it. Latent powers just add a new extra layer to how to approach turn planning and break timing. Such a small change that adds so much.

Class rebalancing/skill changes were also very noticeable for the better. I feel like a good amount of people must have complained about access to aoe because good aoe is pretty much a premium now, unless your name is ochette (and even then you really have to look for it) or osvald (scholar privilege, ig). Support skills shifting around makes for different dynamics in approaching battles, and I especially love the new hidden classes, specifically Inventor, though Arcanist and Conjurer are neat too (though Arcanist gets really broken... but it’s ok because merchant is a pretty weak class otherwise?). My only real complaint is that I wish you could refund/re-allocate JP in some way, and that’s just because I love experimenting with class combinations.

The day/night system giving pretty much 2 of every “ability” per time of day makes pretty much any comp good for just roaming around town stealing getting to know the townspeople. Having time-specific passive abilities is a neat function, but I think there is definitely a good amount of room to build upon this. A very great seed planted for a future game. There will be a future game, right?

Being up to level curve was only really a struggle for one level jump, I think it was right before chapter 3, but I think they make patching up those last couple levels really easy with all of the exp boosting tools they give you, and really early (I had not equipped them because I thought it was only for the equipping character - no, they’re bonuses for the whole active party - and that’s probably why I got a little behind). Otherwise just going through chapters, traveling from one place to another, exploring the side dungeons, the natural leveling pace felt, well mostly unnoticeable, which I think is the best place for a leveling curve to be? 

Dungeon design strictly in terms of explorability is nothing mindblowing, but it more than makes it up with the visual and sound design. Even now 2DHD still looks fucking wonderful and I wish so badly for the DQ3 remake to come out and other 2DHD games to come out. And yes, the music is incredible. I feel like often people just mention the battle themes, and yes, they go hard, but with both Octopath 1 and 2 every single environment has such unique sonic character. I don’t necessarily know if the best town themes come close to my favorites from the original (Orewell my beloved), but just the sheer variety in character, instrumentation, and composition is very much still ever-present, and I wish Yasunori Nishiki many many more opportunities in the future because he is genuinely one of the greats. Even better, though, like in any good musical design, is when the sound just cuts out. There is nothing more unsettling, especially in a game with such a lush soundtrack, than silence. Every such moment is incredible. I could literally make an entire separate essay on the sound design of these games (I have), but I won’t gush on and on here. 

Octopath Traveler II is a game that really really plays into its strengths, and even while it successfully patches up most of of its original’s actual weaknesses, it is very much its strengths that continue to really shine. It is an RPG experience unlike any other out there, and if it’s one you are keen to experience, you will have a wonderful time. This is one of my favorite turn-based RPG’s, followed closely by Team Asano’s own Triangle Strategy, and I think it still has incredibly high potential to continue to iterate on its niche. I absolutely think this will be one of the more influential games of the genre for the future - a modern classic, while still feeling solidly rooted in its inspirations from the SNES golden era. 

[ryttu3k]

A full day in Rivington! In retrospect this is somewhat a lot of stuff to occur in one day.

Into town, and straight away, an encounter with a hungry kiddo who hasn't seen her Mum since the tenday before. Tae conjures some food for her (getting approval from Astarion and Lae'zel), and the grateful girl runs off.

A fascinating moment with a creep who wants some refugee squatters out of his place. I fumbled the first encounter and it got kinda awkward, so I restarted and sent everyone off to the side while I worked out how to handle it, only to notice that not everyone was in the group. Namely, Jaheira was in a conversation... with the guy I was trying to avoid having a conversation with, having apparently taken it upon herself to confront the guy??

(Accompanied by Karlach, who definitely has a lowkey crush.)

She's so cool *heart-eyes*

Anyway. Finding out there's explosives tucked in toys intended for refugees. Nice guy. We'll be finding those later.

Talked to a blacksmith, turned out he was a shapeshifted Chosen of Bhaal. As you do. Go away Orin you're creepy!!

Astarion has a new outfit :)

Met Exxvikyap. Would die for Exxvikyap.

Shadowheart gets a new hairstyle! Love the new colour. May have downloaded a mod for the style~ You'll see that next time!

Discussion on Orin. The generally accepted view is that she wants us paranoid and off-balance.

A sweet conversation with Wyll. He really loves Baldur's Gate ;_; "We're nearing the city. Are you excited to return? Reluctant? A little of both?" "Baldur's Gate is where I first raised a glass in toast at the tender age of fourteen - and got so tipsy from wine, I puked in Dillard Portyr's bushes. It's where the Flaming Fist chased me after I'd stolen a peach from a cart in the Wide. I got a good chewing out over it too. It's where my father taught me to hold a rapier, to read the books of law... to know right from wrong... It's been seven years since I left. It's no paradise - but it's home, and it's worth saving."

(Also confirms he's currently 24, since he was exiled when he was seventeen. That is a baby. That 'tender age of fourteen' was only ten years earlier.)

Halsin reveals he's been in contact with Thaniel and Oliver in his dreams. Sometimes they're one person, sometimes two. Better for playing :)

A new mission - work out what foul fiend has been killing courier pigeons. Must be a truly evil creature. Pensive emoji.

Investigated the Open Hand Temple, the one dedicated to Ilmater (promptly got a plotbunny for it, but never mind). There's been two murders, with the priest's death blamed on the other victim, a refugee. Okay, that takes a bit of precedence over some missing pigeons. We investigate, kill some zombies, then find these hidden tunnels... lots of corpses... some murderous doppelgangers... a clown torso... a murder weapon... a letter from Orin... thanks Orin.

On the roof, a much more pleasant mystery solved! It's Tara!!

Astarion is like, "I support Tara's rights and especially support Tara's wrongs."

Apparently Gale wants to take Tae home for some home cooking and maybe to meet his mother. Platonically, right? ...Platonically, right??

Met a ghoul who said our brain smells like "PISS and IRON. NO. LIKE." Rude :( No circus for us, and Karlach was so excited too...

Found an extremely mean lady being mean to both her apprentice and the courier place's dogs. Apparently this is where Scratch is from? Yeah, he is not going back. I'm sorry I scared you, Scratch ;_;

Anyway we Intimidate her away, leaving a relieved kiddo, a reassured Scratch, and some happy dogs. ngl I would have been 100% down for killing her if I had botched any of those rolls.

Had an encounter with a Sharran.

Of course it's called the House of Grief, of course it is.

Ventured into a refugee camp. There was an interesting background exchange between Karlach and Astarion, here:

Karlach: "Nice to be in a crowd of normal people for once." Astarion: "Really? I prefer my company extraordinary." Karlach: "Aww, thanks." Astarion: "Don't thank me, thank Gortash." Karlach: "Excuse you. I didn't need that prick to make me who I am." Astarion: "You're right, of course. Forgive me." Karlach: "All good, fangs."

First, 'fangs' is cute. Second, I suspect he may have genuinely realised she was hurt and his apology was a real one? Hmm.

Meeting with the tieflings. Bex and Danis' reunion was very cute <3

Found a barn with stuff for the refugees. Being honest (and passing a persuasion check) works to convince Manip Nestor that, yeah, there's something dangerous in there, and we're able to find teddy bears packed with explosives. Time to go confront Arfur!

We get some information, and a pass to Gortash's coronation. Very useful! On the other hand, he tried to murder refugee children, so...

(You only get 1 exp for killing him. OTOH it's more a moral thing, isn't it?)

Another group of refugees? Nope. Gur, actually!

It actually goes amicably. The Gur want Astarion to enter Cazador's palace, where we're going anyway, and find their kids. Astarion wearily points out that Cazador is ruthless, and the kids are likely dead. But revenge? He can manage that.

Nearby, we find a newly-transformed newborn mind flayer. The Emperor encourages us to kill it and harvest its brain, and Tae does - not for its tasty brainmeats, but because an Absolute-controlled mind flayer desperate for brains in a town full of desperate refugees is not a good idea.

And with that little murder committed, it's time for the circus!

Tae gets volunteered by the clown. This is their "wtfFUCKINGHELP" look.

Jaheira pls.

Anyway clown turns out to be a doppelganger, there are other Absolutists in the crew, they set a couple of other beasts on us, all turns into a fight. Only one audience member dies, at least.

Audience member: "I always knew I'd die at a circus."

We meet Lucretious, the circus's ringmaster (and necromancer), who asks us to work out what happened to the actual Dribbles. You know, that probably explains the severed clown torso we found earlier...

Time to check out other circus shenanigans! A mummy selling makeup kits... a djinn who is pretty relieved Dribbles is dead... a dryad offering a romance test.

Heck yeah we're in.

I do like the height difference.

Of course, the dryad isn't quite who she says she is, either. Dangit, Orin!!

It's been a long day. Back to camp, only to find letters from Arabella and Volo, saying they've set out, but will absolutely see us later. Looking forward to it!

Spending time with Best Boy <3

Arabella might have left, but another kiddo has arrived - Yenna, the hungry girl from earlier! She can't find her Mum, and asks if she can stay for a little while. Of course!

<3

Of course, what's a long rest without some screaming horror, this time in the form of an apparition of Vlaakith? She cajoles Lae'zel into joining her, returning to the Astral Prism to slay Orpheus, and, in turn, becoming her right hand - a position not held since the very first Vlaakith. Lae'zel... decides actually, no, she would rather see the githyanki free from the tyrant queen. She'll cower at Vlaakith's feet no more.

Lots of positivity from the others!

Jaheira: "We just played host to an undying queen - and us without our fine silverware. Lae'zel has courage, turning her back on a lifetime's belief. As for us - best we stay out of interplanar politics, I think. Orpheus is on his own. But - should great Vlaakith come to settle a score with Lae'zel, well. I might be convinced to kill her. Undying or not, she was very loud."

Karlach: "Damn. It can't have been easy for Le'zel to stand up to Vlaakith like that. But there's nothing that woman can't do."

Astarion: "So, Lae'zel's finally seen the light and turned on her mistress. It took a little time, but she got there. Though it's not over yet. Masters rarely let their slaves go without a fight."

Halsin: "So, it seems that Vlaakith is Lae'zel's queen no longer. That took no small amount of backbone."

Gale: "Glad to see I'm not the only one on the wrong side of an omnipotent authority figure. Lae'zel did well to break free of Vlaakith's manipulations. Though I doubt Vlaakith will let such insubordination go unpunished."

Shadowheart: "I didn't think I'd live to see the day when Lae'zel turned her back on Vlaakith, but all things considered… good for her."

Wyll: "Vlaakith's a fearsome one. The sort it's hard to say 'no' to. But Lae'zel said it anyway, to her immense credit. She's choosing truth, she's choosing freedom - for her, for Orpheus, for the githyanki people. I wish I knew a good githyanki cheer to celebrate the occasion, but the only gith phrases I've picked up are the sweary sort."

Tae and Lae'zel have a heart-to-heart. Lae'zel is sure she's done the right thing - so why does she feel so bitter? Tae uses their insight, and recognises that her bitterness is born from grief - the grief of throwing away your entire culture, history, and intended future. She feels adrift, not knowing where to go next. She can stand with Orpheus, but that kind of future is... so uncertain. She feels lost, but also relieved that there are people who still see her.

"But in truth, she didn't take everything. I have what I have gathered for myself. I'm moored to a new regent, a new land, and new allies. Vlaakith cannot unmake she who no longer exists."

Good for her :)

Next time - a dream, and onwards to northern Rivington!

[phoebe-delia]

Pst,

From the writers game: 18, 25 y 29

(Hello lovely Pheebs, is that time of the year again when I'm re-reading this is me trying because a year ago I read it for the first time and it changed my life.)

@luna13e-blog first of all, thank you for the ask, my friend. And second, before I get to the answers, I want to say thank you. I am so humbled and honored that "this is me trying" means as much to you as it does to me. As you know, it's my favorite thing I've written, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you found something meaningful by reading it.

Now on to the ask game!!

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

In the spirit of your lovely message, I'll share a passage from TIMT!!

“So, Harry, what do you do in your free time other than bribing me with baked goods in exchange for friendship?”

Harry snorted. “I drive around looking for diners that have hired my old arch-enemies, obviously.”

“How dare you,” Draco held a hand to his own chest in mock offense. “I thought I was your only nemesis. Have you been cheating on me all this time?”

“Oh yeah, this other bloke made t-shirts that said ‘Potter’s An Idiot.’ Really outshone your badges.”

“Well, the joke’s on you, because I had a side enemy, too.”

“When he pranked you, did you at least think of me?”

“I admit it, Potter, he meant nothing. It was hate at first sight, with you,” Draco batted his eyelashes, and Harry burst out laughing. Draco’s face split into a wide grin before he started giggling, too.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Yes, yes I have. The first time I wrote MCD I was sad for like a day and a half. Ironically, I also had Draco working in a cafe in this fic—which was written months before TIMT was even a passing idea in my head.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

OKAY SO!!! You may recall in the tags of TIMT I say that there's a line I cut because I was afraid it was too suggestive.

Well. I went back into my drafts of the fic and I found iiiittttt!!!! In retrospect, I understand why I changed it, and I think the final version is fine, but it wasn't THAT bad.

I will post BOTH versions so you can compare, with the differing parts underlined. It's honestly not that big of a change, but I hope this at least makes you laugh!

ORIGINAL:

Draco’s eyes were open, but the smile stayed intact as he tilted up his head to look at the stars. Harry busied himself with opening the container of cookies and offering one to Draco, who took the proffered dessert and took a greedy bite with a satisfied groan that surprisingly made Harry’s jeans tighten slightly. Merlin, Harry needed to get laid if he was getting worked up over Draco Malfoy.

PUBLISHED:

Draco’s eyes were open, but the smile stayed intact as he tilted up his head to look at the stars. Harry busied himself with opening the container of cookies and offering one to Draco, who accepted the proffered dessert and took a greedy bite with a satisfied groan that made Harry flush.

_____

Thanks so much again, my friend!!

Send me an ask from this list!

[rosarionegro]

"You need to drop your pitiful attitude, Punisher. What hardships have you even really been through? The orphanage? Growing up with food in your stomach and surrounded by people who cared about you? The experiments? Do you simply not understand how dangerous this world is? To give you such power and to allow you to serve the strongest person on this rotten planet, you're in a safer position than so many. Is that not worth a little pain? A little suffering? Easy access to food, shelter, weapons... Do you not understand how lucky we are? But you cry and whine and complain. You don't know a thing about suffering. The things I went through before meeting Him would break you. Everything I endured, but you're life is so difficult because... What? Because you grew up a little quick? Because sometimes you have to kill awful people? You're pathetic. You're weak. We should never have bothered with you; your brother is far superior."

Nicholas is ready for another speech about how emotions are unnecessary, that attachments will only hold him back. What comes next has him frozen in place, eyes wide but unseeing, a sudden flush of shame burning the entirety of his face and ears.

Legato isn't even yelling or screaming, he's not throwing things around with his powers. Just verbally laying into him deeper than any scourge or whip could on him physically. There's a cold, logical vehemence in the timbre of his voice- The kind that he recognizes. A sort of... dead quality, devoid of any reasonable emotion. There is no sorrow. There are no indignant tears.

"You don't know a thing about suffering."

He can feel them. Livio's dull eyes searing into his own, more obdurate than stone, yet veins of molten resentment and hatred burn so hotly beneath it all.

It wasn't just him, either. There had been a girl who he'd helped to come out of her shell, little by little, centimeter by centimeter. Then one day they found her huddled up into a ball in the corner of the bathroom with blood stains on her pants. Nicholas hadn't understood what it was at the time, but he'd been worried. He tried to cover her lap with a towel and his presence only made things worse- She screamed in terror, crying out apologies to a father that wasn't there, clawing at her own skin like it was covered in ants. The matron had shoved him aside and told him to leave and he hadn't understood why, either. He'd been hurt, a little angry. He just wanted to help.

The retrospective horror that dawned on him much later in life left a hard knot in his guts. So pathetic, so weak. Blissfully ignorant.

He had no memory of his parents. There was a big white nothing where people should have stood- He'd been given up so early, he didn't have any concept of their appearance or even voices. Unlike the rest, he'd been given to the orphanage in hopes that he might find a better life, with a family that had the means to take care of him.

He'd been lucky, he had been loved enough that he wasn't just abandoned or thrown out on the streets. An unkind hand had never touched him. He'd never had insecurity about when or where his next meal might come from.

And then it's over. Legato turns his back and gracefully walks away, like he'd simply kicked an errant stone aside with his foot, or trod upon an insect and wiped his heel on the grass.

He stands there, motionless, for what feels like an eternity. He wasn't even sure if his lungs were still holding air. His back hits the wall and he fumbles for a cigarette, fingers jittery and a bit too rough with his lighter. The first hit of tobacco is like morphine flowing into his veins, a calming clarity in his addict's brain.

[cinghialefedele]

Do you ever wish you still had your other eye?

Calm, tesla removes his eyepatch, then his glove, running fingers over the scarred eyelid of his empty eye socket, remaining eye closing as he recalls a vivid memory. His hair was a bit longer, then. He wasn't as skilled in battle, and took a risk while underestimating his opponent. He'd been too high on adrenaline to realize what had happened in the flurry of blades and hands and claws, his Master calling his attention to his bleeding eye.

He acted fast, perhaps one of the first few instances of true care he'd been shown by the stronger Arrancar, no matter how rough and hastily he had handled him.

A sharp, quick back and forth commenced between them. It was surprisingly kind of him, in retrospect.

The eye was destroyed, really, a small but deep enough cut. It would hurt soon. A lot. There was no guarantee it would even heal correctly. Even then they knew by now that Tesla wouldn't regain his sight.

Did he want to keep a busted eye?

Of course not.

Thin, strong fingers reacted quickly to his answer, just as dull pain began to set in, digging in and pulling the eye from the socket. More blood. Tesla thinks he was too shocked to scream, or maybe he was too shocked to hear himself scream, but it hurt a lot more than the injury itself did.

He remembers opening his remaining eye to see his liege observing the eye in his red fingers, licking the bloodied orb, meeting Tesla's gaze, and promptly swallowing it whole with a wide grin.

A part of him, eternally connected to Nnoitra...

"...No. I don't miss it."