#it has the energy of something this guy just made by himself and had relatives voice act

[pearlzier]

you look so pitiful right now. you're tucked into your boyfriend's arm, staring blankly at the phone in front of you as you attempt to ignore the aching pains filling your entire body. god, period's fucking sucked. you felt like hell, and even if chris didn't want to make it all about himself—seeing you so distraught made his heart ache in all sorts of dumb ways.

“if i could kick the shit out of your cramps, ma,” he spoke up, careful not to move you, “i would. i'd fuckin’ destroy ‘em.”

a small, faint smile plays on your lips at his words and you subtly shift a little closer, using him as a makeshift heating pad. not like you didn't already have one, but any extra warmth was good. “believe me, you'd have a hard time trying to get past me beating the shit out of them,” your words are lazy, a tiny bit uncomfortable to get out. this only makes chris whine a little more and he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

“are you sure there's nothing i can do to help? anythin’?” his brows raise, fingers brushing over your arm in a gentle pass. you really can believe you got so lucky to get a guy like this, but you're in a bit too much pain bleeding out for you to uh, register that. “y'know, i heard uh.. a little trade secret, babe.”

you know full well he's gonna say some dumb shit, but you encourage his behaviour almost instantly. “i'm all for it,” you mumble into his arm, brows raising a little.

a little giggle almost instantly slips past his lips and he runs his fingers over your cheek, before he mutters, “period cramps can be relieved in some uh, intimate ways.”

“christopher—” he practically beams as he sees you giggle, and he raises his hands as if to surrender, before he gently shifts you over onto the other side of the bed so he could get up and grab you something to eat from the cabinet.

the man came prepared.

“okay, okay, what d'you want? we got everythin’,” he lifted a packet of chips, eyeing it for a moment before he glanced over at you, “what, as they say, tickles your fancy, huh?” he was such a dork, god. your dork, but still.

your eyes lift to look at the options he has available, and you slowly slink yourself upwards to see them with a little grunt. chris runs a hand through his hair, showing off the food he'd raided from the fridge without matt or nick noticing. “can i..” you frown for a moment, letting the wave of pain pass before you spoke up again, “surprise me, actually, i don't think i have the energy nor brain power to pick.”

“surprise you? gotcha, one sec,” he folded his arms over his chest, blue eyes flickering over the food before he grabbed the little packet of muffins, then grabbed you a drink as well. “these alright? i may be a bit rusty,” a grin plays on his lips, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“nah, you're all good,” you chirp, a smile brightening your face as he very accurately gets your favourite foods correct. “come back, please, i think the cold is seeping back in.”

a self-satisfied smirk tugs at his lips and he makes his way back over, muttering a quick, “too fucking good,” under his breath before he slinks back under the covers beside you, placing the muffins down onto the tray alongside your drink. “comfy?” he asks after a moment, voice a little softer.

“yeah,” you gently place his hand over your tummy to try get some of his warmth before you place your own over the top, sighing gently as you relaxed into his touch. he let his head sit against your shoulder, resting his chin happily.

after a little while, chris notices you fidgeting a little and he gently brings you into his chest and gently grasping at your tummy. “i got you, i got you,” he muttered, plucking your phone from your hands and holding it in one of his so all you had to focus on was holding onto him. laying back against the headboard, he breathes evenly. “just relax. i know it's hard.”

“you're the best, you know that?” you mumbled gently, sighing softly. even when your pain was insane, chris managed keep you relatively sane. your hands slide down to his and you interlace your fingers together, a little smile playing on chris’ lips. “the best.”

“just doin’ what i gotta for my girl,” he shrugs his shoulders gently—”s'no biggie at all.”

☆  𝅄⠀ㅤׂ    also asking who tryna be on the taglist <3

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

All Kinds of Trouble

Alfie Solomons x Reader, Fluff, 1.2k words

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Hi guys!! Ok so maybe hiatus is over? I'm trying to be gentle with myself and not hold myself to high standards in posting schedules. Again, therapy and Bar prep are a lot to handle rn, but I was able to do this little piece! This is based of a request sent in by my sweet friend @jassiefayee !!!! I hope you enjoy this angel!! Anyway, love you all so much! Have an amazing day!

Alfie didn’t find peace in many things. The business and all. Made him toss and turn at night, and in the daylight caused him to explode from the pure idiocy of people around him.

But walks in the park with Cyril? Now that gave him peace. With Cyril by his side, anyone who may have wanted to cause trouble stayed far away. Cyril’s imposing stature and mean looking face kept many men looking to scrap at bay, but little did they know that Cyril was by far the sweetest dog in Camden. And the fresh air did Alfie good. Being out in the park, feeling the breeze, hearing children and birds milling about created a sort of temple for him. A quiet place for him to let his mind rest, talk to himself (or God if he had a particular question), or just hum to the beat of Cyril's paws on the ground. This was his rest. This was his peace.

Now it should be noted, that one of the reasons that Alfie loved this particular park was that it was free of distractions for both him and Cyril. While Cyril was a very sweet and good natured dog who hardly ever caused an unnecessary ruckus, he was still a dog. And dogs have this strange habit, if not fantastic ability, to completely change the course of their owner's life.

So it was during a brisk walk on a fine November day where Alfie was suddenly pulled with all the force of heaven’s angels by Cyril’s lead through the park. And just as quick as he was yanked he was halted, nearly tripping over his boots and coat, and falling into Cyril and what might possibly be one of those treacherous angels.

It had become a relatively new habit for you to take a few moments of your day to sit in the park. Whether strolling, reading, or simply listening to the music of the city, you found the meditative state you entered in the park particularly divine. Spending all day cooped up in the house was not doing anyone any favors, and your mother insisted that you look at the sky, breathe in fresh air, or do something to get your energy out. And you enjoyed the respite from your family’s eyes and ears, and the view you caught of other people’s comings and goings. Often making up stories for the familiar faces that passed your eyes.

You had seen Mr. Solomons and his a dog before. It was hard to miss them. Both imposing. Even if Mr. Solomons wasn’t physically too tall, the air in which he carried himself made him seem absolutely monstrous. And the dog he walked along with came with a silent stature to match. When you mentioned to your mother that Mr. Solomons frequented your park, she all but forbid you to go to the park again. He was dangerous. A brute. Nothing good was associated with him. He was an animal. Damned.

Everyone in Camden had a story about Mr. Solomons. Even if they personally had never met him, they knew someone who knew someone who had crossed his path and suffered greatly. Fewer than those who crossed his path, were the women who had the pleasure of spending an evening with him. Demanding. Particular. Incredibly cross with hardly a smile crossing his firm mouth and creased brow. You had heard them all, many a time. And each time you heard the stories more fantastical and gory and outrageous they became. From the way the neighbors spoke of him, he might has well been an ogre who ate good men for supper. A confidant of the devil himself.

Yet those stories never deterred you from letting your eyes wander over to him when he made his way to the park. Surely observing doesn’t damn one’s soul right? And wondering if stories are true surely cannot condemn. Besides, he was never close enough to truly make a difference. A glance and gaze and thought were all that you experienced with the fearsome King of Camden. Until this afternoon, when that monstrous dog came charging at you with a gleeful and slobbery smile. And for whatever reason you never moved from your seat. You stayed planted on your spot on the bench, waiting for whatever was to come. And your supposed attack was merely a disgusting kiss to the neck and chin from the dog, and happy pants from it as well. It’s master, cursing and bellowing at hundred pound puppy who was uninterested in the threats of its flustered master.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the reddened face of Mr. Solomons, clearly out of breathe from the exertion of the sudden chase. “Mr. Solomons are you quite alright? Do you need to sit?”

“Hmm? No, no don’t worry about me angel, m’fine. This damn dog knows better than to run full force in a park. You alright love? Hope Cyril didn’t scare ya.”

You smiled warmly at him, and he was convinced he must have died in the chase and gone to Heaven. Your sweet eyes and tempting lips all too pretty to be here in Camden. You scratched Cyril’s ears before answering, "Oh no Mr. Solomons, I'm fine. Cyril here is very very sweet."

"Now treacle, I think I'm at a disadvantage. Don't like that at all me. Now how is it yeah, that you know my name and now my dog's name... but I don't get to know your name sweetness?"

With a quirked brow you answer, "Oh Mr. Solomons, everyone knows your name. The ferocious King of Camden, and his demon dog. Lots of tales about you Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie allowed himself a smile at your cheek, “Lots of stories eh? Which one is your favorite?”

“The one where you bested the devil himself in a game of chess and won the keys to hell.”

Alfie made himself comfortable next to you on the bench, making sure that his thigh touched yours, “Is that so? Your mum tell you that little one?”

You shook your head, “No sir. She told me I wasn’t to go near you.”

“And yet here you are, talking to bad men. Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty ain’t you?”

“It’s fun to be naughty sometimes. Don’t you agree Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie couldn’t help but bring his shiny rings to your cheek, taking stock of your face. You never flinched away, keeping fiery eyes locked on his. He hummed a tune you didn’t know, and stated, “There’s an opera tonight at 8. You��ll come with me. Wear something nice.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange men.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange women. Yet here we are sweet. I thought you liked being naughty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his brazenness. In truth, you couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to get this far. But it was too delicious to let go now. “You’ll pick me up on the corner of 10th and Victoria? At 6pm.”

“Now what will I do with you for two hours before the play treacle?”

You shrugged, “Show me how the King of Camden has a good night.”

Alfie laughed heartily, “Fuck me you really are a bad little thing aren’t you. Alright sweetness, I’ll pick you up there at 6. And let’s see what we can get up to.”

[moongreenlight]

More on Soap and his f!demon!reader because you guys forced me like oooookay I get it you’re horny on main

Just kidding everything I do is for you. All you have to do is vaguely imply that you want something and I’m all over it baby anything you need.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Johnny’s demon who follows him everywhere after his first kill. Bound to him the moment the bullet left his chamber. A partnership of sorts. Cast into the pits and valleys of his soul. Gifted to him in the few intimate moments where the deafening blast of his rifle slowed time. Kept a secret even from him. A partnership between this world and the next. Quite literally a give and take. You sworn to him so long as he kept up his end of the bargain. Kill or be killed.

You stayed concealed in shadows for years. Flitting from corner to corner to make sure you always had an eye on him. Silently coaching him through little whispers carried to his ears on the wind. Watching him grow as a soldier under your care. Honing and refining his skill as you saw fit. Leaning your chin just over his shoulder during missions. Voice leading him through to victory like siren song.

Protecting him when it was necessary. Wrapping your big wings around him to shield him from an onslaught of bullets. Leaving his side only for a moment to gore a sniper with their sights on him with your blackbuck horns. Curling your fingers around his to force the trigger of his pistol back if he hesitated and put himself in danger.

It was a bit dirty in principle. Like forging his signature on the deed that signed his soul over to the devil, but he didn’t seem to mind. The cost of invincibility coming at a relatively low price all things considered. The only drawback was his ego. Sizable before, now bloated into something almost grotesque. Cocksure and arrogant but not without his charms.

Not to mention, you’d almost taken a liking to Johnny in your time together. Like a parasite slowly becoming fond of their host. He keeps you fed. Bringing you with him to the field, letting you gorge yourself on blood and carnage and pain until all you can do is drape yourself over his broad shoulders and lazily flick your magic around when it’s required. And he’s decently entertaining for a mortal. Has to be the best company you’ve been forced to keep in at least a few hundred years.

Though you found yourself getting increasingly irritated each time he came home from a mission and thanked God of all people. Letting him pick up a few more scrapes and bruises than you usually would on his missions after that whole bit started. Each murmured ‘Thank you’ making you hiss and howl down at him from your perch in the shadows. Wanting to show him just who he should be thanking for his survival.

Tired of his baseless belief and wanting to teach him a lesson on saying thank you; you revealed your human form to him during midnight mass on Christmas Day. Can’t say you didn’t have a sense of humor.

You sat alone in the pews. Feeling when he entered the church minutes after you. Skin erupting into goosebumps, hair standing on end, a heat starting under your skin like you’d been dropped into a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil. You watched from the corner of your eye as he and his family slowly made their way down the rows of pews, finding yours was the only one with enough room to hold the lot of them together. It all seemed too perfect when you and Johnny ended up knee-to-knee.

You felt his energy shift. He could feel you as much as you could feel him, but the sensation was foreign to him. The same discomfort you’d been plunged into when you took your human form. Trying to cooly fold the sleeves of his dress shirt up at his elbows and seem attentive to his mother who was harping on him about his hair up until the moment the priest stepped to the pulpit.

You didn’t get a chance at him until the congregation was finally prompted to greet one another. Some love your neighbor nonsense.

Johnny turned to you immediately. Standing from his pew with the rest of the crowd. Unable to sit still in such discomfort. His skin hot as yours. Buzzing just under the surface like he was inches away from a live wire.

You blinked up at him through thick lashes, wetting your lips with a flick of your tongue before pushing to your feet. Letting him shift his weight for a few more moments as you looked him over.

Standing in front of him, he dwarfed you. Always had- but especially now when you didn’t have your wings or horns to compensate. Not the tallest in the room, but carried himself like he was. Chest puffed out, arms subtly flexed by his sides, dress shirt hugging his muscled form just right.

He stuck a hand out. Brow cocked as he sized you up with glittering blue eyes.

“Peace be with you.”

He spoke first. You fitted your hand in his. Barely blinking when the meeting of your skin elicited something like a static shock. Relieving both of you from your discomfort.

“And with your spirit.”

You responded through a coy smile. He looked reluctant to take his arm back. The shock hadn’t deterred him. Instead he wrapped his fingers all the way around your hand, hanging on to you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“Alone on Christmas?”

He still didn’t let go of your hand. A sharp smile. Almost predatory.

“Nobody to spend it with.”

You shrugged, still gazing up at him with big doe eyes. Finally allowing your hand to drop from his and immediately feeling pins and needles in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t believe that for a minute.”

You caught his knee inching toward yours on more than one occasion as the mass carried on. Like he was testing the waters to see if you were truly the reprive he was seeking. Fidgeting slightly where he sat. Teeth clicking softly as he ground them. Cracking his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Shifting his hips slightly forward on the bench. To his credit, he showed an impressive amount of restraint. Never touching you. Not that it would have done much through his trousers.

The one true pitfall of your being bound to his soul. Forgotten until now in its seeming insignificance. It was near agony for the both of you when you took human form. Like your life force being torn in two and dangled temptingly close but just out of arm’s reach. A kind of pain that didn’t need to land blows on either of your physicalities. Felt divinely through each you. Not used to being separated, you had an almost instinctual need to be together. You’d known beforehand and he seemed to be picking up on it quickly. Skin needed to touch skin in order to provide either one of you any relief. Give both of your spirits space to knit themselves back together.

For being so tightly braided in the fibers of his being, you found it almost shocking that you hadn’t noticed how desperate he could be when he was looking for release. Body tense in his increased discomfort. No doubt grappling with the effects of your separation. Sweat beading at the back of his neck. Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Bouncing his knee. Looking up toward the rafters before fixing his gaze on you in an attempt to pass it off as a sweep of the room. The way he brushed your arm reaching over you for a bible nestled in a pocket just in front of you. Making contact with your exposed skin for a fraction of a second and nearly whining when the both of you felt your unease settle for a fleeting moment.

Trying to push up against you when you were down on the kneelers, murmuring a clipped apology each time. Still somehow finding time to rake his eyes over you. Nails digging little half-moons into the back of his hands where they were clasped in prayer.

On the tail end of the service, communion was given. You followed behind Johnny and his family. Just behind him like you had so many times before. His normal prowl substituted for a more casual saunter. Subduing his ego for something a bit more reserved in the presence of not only his family but also the good lord. Nodding his thanks as he took his bread and wine. You had to fight back the distasteful curl of your lip at the motion. Even now he was thanking God.

You saw the way he tried to casually turn his gaze back to you when you stepped up to take your Eucharist. Tongue laid out flat and long, head tipped back a few degrees. Intentionally pornographic in your acceptance of the wafer. Nearly tripping over his feet when he caught you staring straight back to him. You made a show of pulling your tongue back into your mouth, your best attempt at a demure smile curving your lips.

He tailed you closely on your march out of the church. You lingering on the walkway. Seeing the way his eyes flicked back to you as he walked his parents to their car. Mother still going on about something or the other. He needed to visit more or he needed a proper haircut or he needed to call more. He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek before closing the car door. Shook his father’s hand. And as expected, crossed the parking lot quickly to get back to you. Grinning wolfishly as he saw you stood with your winter coat folded neatly over your arms pretending to look around for who knew what.

“Still alone, are we?”

He queried, standing in front of you, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t miss the way he flexed just barely, making the dress shirt bite into his bicep.

“You worried about me?”

You cocked your head slightly to the side, chewing the inside of your lip to dilute the smile threatening to curl your lips.

“Ken I oughta be, pretty lass like you.”

He chuckled softly, blue eyes glittering under the warm glow of the lights outside the church.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

You deadpanned.

“You’ve got no idea.”

He’s used to getting what he wants, that ego of his. And you’d made the mistake of not outlining exactly how quickly you’d play into his game beforehand. Mind now clouded from not being with him. Walls came crumbling down embarrassingly quick.

He’d somehow persuaded you to let him give you a lift back to his place. You making up some excuse about not being from the area, staying with a friend who must have fallen asleep instead of picking you up after church. Somehow allowed him to keep his hand fixed on the small of your back up two flights of stairs to his flat. Somehow wound up with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, pushed onto the couch with Johnny sandwiching you against the arm.

Awfully smart for a mortal man. Figured out what it took to keep him comfortable and ran with it. His fingertips ghosting along the hem of your dress. Delighting in the goosebumps both of you got when he brushed your skin with his. The insatiable heat crackling within each of you dying down each time only to be fanned with a renewed fervor when he drew back. Eventually settling on not pulling away at all. Resting his hand on the top of your thigh, running the fabric of your dress between a few fingers. Careful to keep his palm flat against you. Infuriatingly comfortable with you seeing as you were a complete stranger to him. Chatting like the two of you were old friends. Flirting like you had done this time and time again.

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Couldn’t be arsed to play the fool and try and skirt around the subject. A dog after a bone, really. Practically drooling over you as you made idle chitchat. And the worst part was that it was working. You’d try to blame it on your addled state. Not in your right mind. Only you knew how flimsy those excuses were. Trying to curb his advances with little success. Trying to keep the ball in your court.

You were still looking to assign blame to something when he grabbed your hips and tugged you under him on the couch. Circumstance. Mindset. Whiskey. Church. God. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about. Something insignificant. Very well could have been the weather. You had a feeling it didn’t really matter.

Hovering over you close enough to feel his feverish heat all over. His knee forcing its way between your legs like he felt some kind of right. Using his big paws, still clamped around your hips to grind you against his thigh. A sharp laugh when you tried to hide the soft mewls that bubbled up inside you.

You felt smaller than you had in eons. Not used to being jerked about. Reduced to something resembling a true human under Johnny’s touch. Not having been material for centuries would do that, you supposed. No room to think about the needs of your physical body if it’s something that’s been shelved until now. And- fuck. It’s like somehow your body had found room to store up thousands of years of repression. Bursting at the seams. Somehow, the heat in your belly rivaled that of being separated from him. A feeling that couldn’t be sated like your bloodlust. Like a hunger that could claw its way up out of you if left untreated.

He was grinning at you like the cat that ate the fucking canary. Properly giddy. Tickled with himself for snatching you up. You wanted to snap at him. Hiss and spit like you had when he’d thanked God instead of you after a mission. Remind him that he wasn’t the hero he thought he was because this was all part of your plan, but the words died in your throat.

“Jesus. Thought you’d be a good girl. Meetin’ you in a church and all.”

His voice wasn’t doing anything to help your case. Nearly sending you feral under him. Unable to help the wetness gathering at your sex. You tried to press your thighs together. To buck his hands off of you, but it only made him snap his teeth in your face. His fingers bit in just a touch harder, pressing you down into the couch.

“Thought you said you were sweet.”

You bit back, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Dinnae know s’what you wanted. Don’t seem like it.”

“Funny.”

You shot back, voice a bit more obviously breathless than you would have liked. He’d let go of your hips, leaving you to grind yourself against the muscle of his thigh that was pressed tightly against you. He looked down, watching the way you moved. Whining at the sight. You were much too lost in your mind to notice the small damp spot that was forming on the leg of his trousers. Rolling your hips lazily against him.

“You like funny? Cunt get this wet for any funny bastard that comes along?”

You couldn’t muffle the high keening sound that tore from your throat in time. His filthy words taking you by surprise. Blinking rapidly and making a vain effort to still your hips, but he was quick to the kill. Snorting a laugh and tugging you up off the couch. Bullying you down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Walking you backwards using his legs to guide you. Puffed-out chest knocking you in the direction he wanted, kicking at your feet if you were going to run into the wall or a corner. Herding you like some sort of farm dog. There was a nasty look in his eyes now that you weren’t touching anymore. Even a few seconds apart seemed too much.

He shoved you backward onto the bed, not giving you time to adjust the awkward angle at which you’d landed before he was knelt before you on the ground. Yanking you forward by the backs of your knees which caused your dress to bunch at your hips. Leaving your dripping sex exposed to him. The thin panties doing little to hide your arousal. You yipped softly, trying to twist away from him. Give yourself the high ground, but he wasn’t having it.

He wasn’t the light, arrogant, charming Johnny you’d seen before. Nor was he the dark, rough operator you’d seen him be on the field. This was something different entirely. He looked like a predator that had finally caught some elusive prey. A flash of his teeth through an infuriatingly smug smile. Eyes raking you over like he was about to tear into you. It made something deep within you coil tightly. The heat in your belly now at a roaring boil. Your plan long forgotten. Lost somewhere to swirl among the fog that took over your mind.

Given the animosity he was exuding, he took his sweet time warming you up. Kissing, nipping, sucking, licking his way up your legs. From knee to hip on both sides. Leaving small, dark marks on your skin. Marking his territory. Panting softly over your barely clothed cunt. You making your situation even worse when you twitched and mewled softly under him. Cheeks burning a deep scarlet.

It was entirely too much and somehow not enough. The visual of him knelt between your legs that were hanging off the bed. His artful way of touching you. Your thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in your ears. It nearly pushed you over the edge without him even needing to touch you.

He was a dog pulling on a taught leash. Doing everything he could to restrain himself. His breathing was ragged. Eyes steely. Pupils blown out. Unable to look away from the damp spot on your panties. Humming his approval at the sight. Working his calloused fingers under the fabric and guiding them down your legs. His muscles were tense, impossibly so, threatening to burst the seams of his shirt. Swallowing hard when he finally got a look at your drooling pussy.

“Jesus, bonnie. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He shifted slightly on his knees. Cock pressing uncomfortably hard against his pants. The muscles in his jaw twitched slightly. Sat stilled for a moment with his hands at your thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

You whined. A choked sound. Trying to squirm out of his eyesight. A bit uncomfortable being ogled. This sent him back into action, strong hands yanking you back toward him. Snapping his teeth in your face in warning.

He then spent more time working you out. Like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. His mouth hot and wet. Touching anywhere but your clit out of some torturous principle. Spreading you open with his thumbs. Lolling out his tongue and allowing drool to drip down off it and add to your gathering slick. Blowing cool air on you. Watching your every twitch and shake with lust-glazed eyes that somehow seemed more attentive than normal. Committing you to memory.

You were nearly in tears. He’d ruined your plan. Turned you from an all powerful being into some shivering, whimpering thing. Overstimulated without him needing to wreck you with an orgasm. Sweating and whining and yelping at his touch. Trying to tangle your fingers in his hair and jerk him closer, but he just swatted your hands away or sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh to shut you up. Unable to be put off of his path even after you’d stooped well below your status and managed to ask nicely a few times.

And when he finally, fucking finally, showed you a bit of mercy; he only sunk one finger into you. Enough to make you let out a low, throaty growl, but not enough to satisfy you. He pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Biting his lip and panting as he watched the way your drooling cunt swallowed him so perfectly. You tried to roll your hips into him like you had on the couch. Tried to grind into his knuckles to give your swollen clit some friction, but he rewarded your efforts with a mean slap on the leg. It took you by surprise. Pain like that- physical pain- had been so rare that it made you cry out and jerk your head up to stare at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Yer gettin’ bratty. Take what I give you.”

He shrugged, still unable to tear his eyes away from where you were clenched around him. Though he didn’t bother hiding the smug smile he was sporting.

“N-not enough. More.”

You whined, tossing your head back onto the mattress.

“Hell of a way to say thank you.”

He chided, tutting his tongue softly.

“You’re out of your mind if-“

He put a quick stop to your impending tirade by stuffing you full with another finger. A soft squelching sound as he began to pump faster that sent you reeling. Unable to form a coherent thought, you were left to fall apart on his bed. Legs hanging lamely off the edge as he had his way with your cunt. Treating it like you weren’t even there. Cooing pure filthy words of admiration to your sweet cunt. Pinching around your clit for a moment before sliding back down to hold you open between the index and middle fingers of his free hand.

Fuck. So pretty. Look how she sucks me in, mm? Needy thing. Never been treated this good? Need‘ta get you ready, yeah? Bet she’ll be prettier all stretched out.

By this point, you were sobbing. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and creating little stains on the comforter on either side of your head. Rolling down your neck. Something coiled so tightly under your belly that you were certain you would implode. Turn yourself inside out before he ever granted you release. Pained and overstimulated and under-stimulated all at once. Rendering you useless in doing anything other than moaning and fisting the sheets weakly in your hands.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, until he could tell that you were getting pushed to your breaking point. Working up his pace. Curling his fingers more and more. Letting his breath fan you. Still uttering filth like it was prayer. Fucking reverent. Slowly adding drops of water to a reservoir until the dam burst. It sent you careening over the edge when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a gentle suck. Lewd, wet noises coming from the both of you. It took all of a few seconds for you to reach your orgasm. Whatever had been furled tightly within you finally snapping and exploding outwards. Wiping your mind clean. Only allowing you to focus on your release. Walls clenching and spasming around his fingers that did not relent. Crying out and moaning and gasping much louder than you’d meant. Clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. Bucking your hips up into him and re-starting the entire process when your now hypersensitive clit grazed his teeth or tongue.

He stayed latched on to you for much longer than was appropriate. Lapping up as much of your spend as he could. Working his fingers into you well past the point of exhaustion. Keeping you spread open and on his view the entire way. Paying no mind to the way his knees began to object to his position or how tight his cock was pressed against his pants. Obsessed with the way your body reacted to him. Obsessed with your pleasure.

It felt like he was trying to make you come completely undone. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were nothing but a puddle on the bed. He spared you no mercy when he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hands flying to his belt and tearing it off. Too impatient be bothered to shed his trousers completely, opting to tuck the waistband just under his heavy balls. Shucking your dress up over your head. Using the slick gathered on his hands to lubricate his cock before he started fucking into his hand.

His leaking tip bumped against your clit each time he thrusted forward, sending you spiraling. Seeing stars. And now that he was certain he’d gotten you to come, it seemed the only thing he could focus on was his own orgasm. Yanking off his dress shirt with one hand. Working his needy mouth across your chest, up your neck, over your jaw until finally he met your lips. Leaving a slick trail of spit in his wake. Meeting your mouth with such a desperation that your teeth bumped together. His tongue sloppily working it’s way past your lips and further into your mouth.

He continued to fuck into his hands, eyes rolling back each time he brushed against you. Hypersensitive by nature, amplified a thousand times by the throbbing hardness of his cock. Dipping into you just a centimeter at a time. Driving the both of you insane. The scalding heat of his skin pressed flush against yours. The taste of yourself still on his mouth and chin. Sweat on sweat. Your head spinning. Mind still clouded with blinding pleasure. You wanted to tear him to shreds. So frustrated with him and his effect on you. Ruining your plans. Like he’d taken a seam ripper to your edges and was pulling you apart without even needing to try.

He hummed something filthy that you couldn’t quite make out. Sound muffled by the blood thundering through your ears. Letting out something that resembled a scream when he finally sheathed his cock deep within your walls. No longer satisfied with the stimulation of his hand. Bottoming out on his first thrust. Finally slipping himself out of the collar that was choking him in his rabid attempt to bury himself in you. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth, and you found yourself truly connecting the dots as to why he was so insistent on stretching you out with his fingers and loosening you up with multiple orgasms.

Your back arching impossibly further up into him. His sweat-slick forehead pressed hard against yours. Noses bumping together as he set a punishing pace humping into you. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Groaning and whining about how good you felt around him. He was beating hard against your cervix. White-hot pain popped spots behind your eyes. Your body trying to adjust to the feeling of him buried so deep.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Takin’ me so good.”

His tone was stuck somewhere resembling a growl. Rumbling so low you swore you could feel it in in your chest. Teeth clenched. Huffing in sharp breaths as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly. All you could do was mewl and cry under him in response.

He reached his orgasm relatively quickly, burying impossibly deeper into you when he finally came. His face buried into the crook of your neck, teeth sunk into your collarbone. It irritated you that he didn’t think to ask if he should pull out. But that was yet another boundary he didn’t seem to care for. Like he knew there was no way you could deny him. Like he felt that same entitlement to any part of you that he wanted. And honestly- that thought rang dauntingly true.

He thrust lazily into you, riding out his high before collapsing down next to you. Still sporting that infuriatingly smug grin. Fucking glowing. Tugging you over into his big arms and wrapping them around you. Tucking you under his chin and suffocating you with his smell. Sex and whiskey and cologne and incense. You hated that it worked to calm your aching body and mind.

“Oughta keep you around.”

He mused, chuckling breathlessly over you.

You simply hummed your response. Sighing sharply and resigning to the fact that revealing yourself to him at all may have been a mistake. You were at his service indefinitely.

[seven10th]

When It Rains It Pours

pairing: hwang jun-ho x f!reader

summary: the odd police man you keep taking around to different islands reveal something that’s very familiar at the club you work at.

warning: none tbh, but reader has a bit of lore because I like world building lol :3 she has two jobs: the main one is working as a bottle girl at a HipHop club in Hongdae, the second one is captain of a small touristic boat she manages, which she followed as a passion. Also, I describe her as foreign in this for some small details but that can be ignored :D

word count : 1.3k o.0

This is my first try at a fanfic so advice is welcomed :3

September 24th, 2023

The weather has been less than kind lately, and paired up with the odd client Captain Park has redirected to you, you came to realise that maybe the tours you took in the summer for schoolchildren to see how it was on a boat were something you took for granted.

“Can you go north two hundred meters mor-“

“No.” You responded to Jun-ho, the man that kept you occupied, yet paid. “There’s too many rock formations underneath the water ahead. They might puncture the motor or the bottom of the boat. Or you if you chose to dive here.”

You couldn’t tell if he kept suggesting doing stupid things intentionally or not. He was a detective, for fuck’s sake. You did your research before agreeing on taking him on these trips, not believing it was really a man working in the korean police system that could spend almost every waking second on a boat, searching for some secret island.

As he puts on his diving suit, you glance at the photo copy of the card used to coax people into joining the game. A circle, a triangle and a fucking square are holding this man in a short leash, all his energy put into the search for this damn island…  You didn’t help him because he paid heavy, he was relatively polite or you pitied him when Captain Park told him his boat was broke… No.

It was because of that damn pink solider.

September 2nd, 2022

Since the weather got chillier, you had to lessen the ammount of trips you’d make each month, now doing them thrice a week, causing you to take more shifts at W-East Coast, a well known club in Hongdae, popular amongst both locals and tourists. Blasting Hip-hop and rap music at every waking hour,bustling with customers and bottle girls in the main area and private dancers in the back, the club was a tourist attraction itself.

And so were you. Of course you were a bit deflated upon seeing a line of girls holding their cvs, all dressed up head to toe in attire fitting for the club’s theme.

“Finally! Ma giiiiiirl!”

Upon entering the manager’s office, you were welcomed by a very stuffy room, walls covered in record cases, basket jerseys and random awards won by the club. The manager, a guy in his early 30’s greeted you cheerfuly as he held his hand up to dap him. Upon you doing so, he snatched your CV, barely paying attention to it as he turned back to look at you.

“You’re hired! Ah, you’re perfect for this job! A godsend if I say so.” He circled you, not in a creepy way but… it definitelly made you a bit awkward and confused onto why you were the perfect candidate yet when much more experienced and probably korean speaking girls were lining up for hours outsi-

“A foreigner will be perfect as a bottlegirl! Dad’s gonna be super proud of me for finding a foreigner to do this…And ya aint bad lookin either’… just need a bit of… Glam!” The manager grinned as you understood exactly why you were the perfect choice.

Not that you were complaining. No. It was actually one of the best jobs since you have been hunting them in Korea.

A club where music in a language you knew was played, surrounded by people who simply were amazed by the fact you were… you. And to be honest, you started to like 50 Cent’s songs despite them being overplayed. Salary raises came easy, especially if the manager, who you learned called himself Ty, reference to the overplayed artist, called you in for music management. It did help for your reccomendation to write ‘Assistant manager’ afterall.

Octomber 31st, 2022

Your boat hours were cut even shorter with the shortening of the day, meaning you took more and more shifts at W-East Coast, making you one of the most popular bottle girls. The customers were a bit shy to order from you, especially when you took the extroverted and friendly persona. And maybe you felt a bit like an animal in a zoo with how they looked at you all the time, sticking out even between the bottle girls, which only three more were foreigners… but it paid well. Matter of fact, very well. So well that…

“Nah, man. Sorry. I’m just the server. Dancers are back there.” You spoke from behind the bar as you refilled a ice bucket when a guy in a pink jumpsuit approached. His voice was muffled by the balck mask he wore, a white square on it.

“My boss can pay you very well. They have shown an interest in you, and are willing to spend any sum.” The guy continued, very insistent. Usually, they’d leave or ask for a photo, but this time, you felt something was odd, really odd. With the skill you earned after working for 2 months there, you looked around the club to see another 2 bottle girls having some odd business card in their back pockets, identitcal to the one the pink guy slid to you over the bar. A idea began to shape in your mind seeing as the two girls who got the card were the foreign ones, the korean bottle girls not having any on them.

You tried to ignore him, working onto the expensive order you just got but he only kept going.

“It wouldn’t take much of your time. And it’s very discreet. No one you know would know.”

Seeing you still ignoring him, he gave up but slid the card further towards you, only moving when you finally pocketed it with a roll of your eyes.

“Really? No fucking tip? And he says he knows a rich guy…” You muttered to yourself before going to serve your table, now more aware of the people looking at you. Did you really stick out that much?

September 24th, 2023

Your spaced out a bit, the memories of the halloween party from last year resurfacing in your mind, the same card in the photograph was in your drawer in the small apartment you rented.

“The one in the club didn’t seem to have a gun…” You muttered while thinking of how Jun-ho described the guards he interacted with… Tracksuit, room, guns, shapes, circle, triangle, square- It was all a big mush of ideas on the notebook he carried, which you’d look through when he’d be diving in search for some phone ‘he lost’.

A few minutes passed in a haze as you looked at the surface of the wtaer, realising the only person who had an explanation for the weird guy that day was a good few meters under the water, the sea a bit aggitated. A knot formed in your throat and suddenly you were up, tugging at the iron chain that held him connected to the boat. You pulled on it until he finally came to the surface, gasping for air.

“HEY! What was that for?” He yelled, a bit angry from being yanked out. Yet you didn’t have any explanation. You simply stared at hime, blank faced before speaking stern.

“The weather is worse. Get out of the water unless you want the waves to ragdoll your ass around those rocks.” You commanded. It was a lie. The water was okay-ish for the time of the year but a sudden fear ran through you. You have been working with him for a good three months now but couldn’t say you developed any relationship besides the customer-worker one… it was the information he knew and the strong will that drove him to keep on searching for the island that made you realise just how serious this could actually be…

[cactusisconfused]

I HAVE AN IDEA :O

Cw: homophobia (brief), fluff, not beta read, he die like Roach.

-

Soap has a stuffed rabbit when he was child, a gift from his mother.

Growing up, the stuffed rabbit was one of Soap’s favorite things in the world. He’d take it everywhere- the park, grocery shopping or even any outings that his family went on.

He had slept with it too, kept his nightmares at bay. But as he grew older he felt ridicules for having such ties with some inanimate object- at least that’s how everyone else felt.

“Don’t you think it’s time you’ve moved passed that stupid thing John? You’re growing up to be man, you got act like one.” His father had told him one night, as Johnny cradled his stuffed bunny in his arms. He was six at the time.

He still slept with it, but he hated the glances his father would give him. He hated hearing the conversations between his parents. How his mother would always say “John’s just a boy, let him grow up on his own.” His father would always just scoff and say that it would be her fault that he would have a gay son.

John didn’t really know what that meant at the time, but he was scared of disappointing his father, so he stopped.

He stopped carrying the stuffed bunny everywhere, stopped sleeping with it. And sure, maybe the nightmares became more prevalent, but he was being more of a man now, right? He was being what his father wanted, right?

Eventually, John found himself thinking less and less about the stuffed bunny, somewhere in his closet.

Life went on. He got through school, watched his older sisters go off to college and he himself into the military.

It wasn’t until a long while later, that Soap remembered the stuffed bunny once more. He had been part of the 141 for a little longer than a year, and dating ghost for five months.

They had a gap between missions, about a months worth of down time, something incredibly rare for their line of profession. This time off landed, in a dark ironic way, perfectly as Soaps father finally kicked the bucket.

Soap would be going back to Scotland for the funeral, and with the best puppy dog eyes Ghost could muster (a sight that will never get old given it’s coming from a walk of a man) Simon would tag along.

Soap was relatively quiet about his dad, but what he did speak about made him realize he really didn’t like the guy. Growing up, Soap tried not think about his father, about the disappointment that always seems to radiate off of him, how he was never good enough for his father. And you know what, yeah he is gay, so what?!

Soap showed up for the funeral and was filled with an almost sense of joy at how neither his sisters or his mother looked distraught over the ‘loss.’

Of course, Soaps mother was over joyed to see her son and be introduced to Simon, which was a fun scenario to watch Simon maneuver around in.

The night, despite the day of the funeral, was cheerfully fun. Soaps mother made a wonderful meal, that screamed nostalgia for Soaps, and his sisters who shared every single embarrassing story about Soap’s youth to Simon.

By the time they all felt their energies zapped from them, they retired for the night. For the first time in years, Soap stepped into his childhood room. The posters are still the same, along with the bedding and the books on his bookshelf.

“Never knew you played football.” Simon says softly, his eyes carefully looking over the few medals Soap has acquired from his school years.

“Aye.” Soap started, moving their luggage into his closet to make more space.

“Was a goalie. Coach didnae lemme’ play offense, said I was ‘too rough. Wasnae all bad though, I actually-…” Soap had started with a light tone the memories flooding back to him. He hadn’t meant to create a lull in his words, and really only realized he did when Ghost called his name, now behind him.

“Johnny?”

“Ahm fine, sorry I just…” At this point Simon’s eyes drift to where Johnny’s are looking- at a worn, slightly dust covered stuffed bunny.

Soap felt like he was a kid again as he saw it. Felt that same happiness, but felt that same tension. If he picked it back up, would he still be good enough. He knows his father was a dick, but it’s hard to erase the words from his mind.

What catches Soap out of his thoughts, is when ghost carefully picks up the stuffed bunny, so gently he might as well be holding a new born baby.

Soap ready’s himself for some comment making fun of him for having a stuffed animal, but instead he’s met with Simon’s soft look. Of course Simon would never say anything like that to him, now that he thought about it.

If Soap ends up taking the stuffed bunny back with him, his mother says nothing but gives a knowing smile.

And if and when Johnny and Simon retire Johnny sleeps with the bunny hugged between the two men, that’s for him and his husband to know.

-

Lmao this was actually so wholesome. I also typed all of this out on my phone and I’m tired so please ignore typos, I’ll fix those in the morning.

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.4

Back in the saddle again

You know, I'm not sure if tinkers actually are "supposed" to be smart. The other examples we have to work off of besides Kid Win are Bakuda (constant state of fucking around and finding out until it killed her), Armsmaster (he of the dumbfuck raid boss solo plot), and Dragon (actually no notes on Dragon's relative intelligence), plus Chariot in just a minute here who literally only succeeds at being a mole because the Protectorate allows him to succeed as a ploy

I'll concede that they're adept engineers and scientists, sure, but you can know how to build a nuclear reactor and still be dumb enough to build it in your backyard. There's no single measure of intelligence that everyone measures high on, that's just not how it goes.

Then again like two-thirds of this chapter are lowkey about Kid having self-esteem issues so like, I get that he's being hard on himself. I feel like half the cape POVs we've gotten so far have self-esteem issues, never mind Taylor Hebert Queen of Self-Image Problems

I'm gonna skim over a lot of this fight like I had in 9.3, but while this can't feel good for one's confidence, honestly I'd mostly just be relieved. Like, yes, let the villains whose powers are Railgun and The Fucking Sun take it easy on me, that's fine, I like my body parts staying in the configuration they have.

Thank God he actually has a chance to feel like he's contributing, without the horror of accidentally killing someone

Wow, Trickster sucks. Why do they put up with this guy?

So, somehow I doubt he's somehow lacking in a specialty, but from the description of his apparent focus issues (plus the fact that taking medication to help with focus nearly took him out) I wonder if the way his tinker stuff goes involves having a bunch of little things, if the lack of focus is somehow a sign of what his specialty actually is.

Oh fucking boy

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay (sarcastic)

Also I don't know why they specifically would go to cities that have already been Endbringered but there's a real "kick them while they're down" energy to it that I do not care for. Goddamn jackals.

Is it the "another tinker" thing or the "that wasn't Armsmaster" thing that he's more excited about lmao

Weld's adapting a little better to his role, and Clockblocker is able to keep his mouth shut and play along, so things are improving.

I dunno man, it's a citywide apocalypse, does bedtime matter anymore?

Hey what the

Fuck

is going on here

Tinker-to-tinker communication

Y'know, now I'm curious what the wages are for a non-Tinker Protectorate member. Obviously Tinkers can have it made if they've got something the higher-ups want, but is Miss Militia making enough to own a house? Is your income tied to merch sales?

Think this is the first time someone has outright said triggering as a parahuman rewires your brain to some extent. Curious to see further elaboration on that.

I think if you're gonna hire a mole, you should make sure they can lie convincingly. That feels like step two.

(Step one is "make sure you can trust this person to be a mole for you")

Fucking gottem

Well hey Kid, looks like you're pulling your weight after all

Current Thoughts

I do think Sentinel is a neat arc but I'll admit, in recounting and rereading this it lost me a little bit. That might just be the Travelers fight though, I could feel the lack of stakes to the fight like a gap between my teeth.

Kid seems like a solid character, classic impulsive inventor with an actual exploration of what that impulsiveness does to his work ethic and self-worth. I'm glad he gets a chance to shine here and I hope he figures out his exact specialization so he can stop being so down on himself

The Wards do seem to be coalescing into more of a team as things progress, sure would be a shame if the resident lone wolf was to fall for obvious bait and disrupt that or something.

[morehotch]

birthday secret

info: aaron x babysitter, age gap (reader is in grad school and their age is not specified), it’s aaron’s birthday, gender neutral reader, 2.7k wc

Babysitting Jack Hotchner is one of your absolute favorite times of the week. Jack is a sweet, loving, and a curious six year old that you’ve been babysitting for over a year.

You spent a lot of time with Jack, whenever his aunt was unavailable to watch him, his father texted you to see if you could stay with him. Jack’s father, Aaron, had a very demanding job that didn’t totally understand the specifics of. You know he works for the FBI and travels an immense amount. You’ve spent many nights in their apartment’s guest room, putting Jack to sleep and taking him to school in the morning.

For how much time you spend with Jack, you definitely appreciate how adorable and caring he is. Jack has always been relatively easy to care for and would only come to you upset if he missed his dad and wanted nighttime snuggles— or if it was storming outside.

It’s a big bonus that Aaron Hotchner is incredibly, unfairly, attractive. He always wears pressed and expensive suits with his fancy watch and his usual stern gaze only made his smiles and laughter that much more enticing and encapsulating.

You only hope your raging crush on your boss isn’t too obvious. Aaron is just the total a package, way more responsible and considerate than guys your age— and more attractive. How great he was with Jack and how much he prioritized and cared about his son only amplified how much you unfairly think about Aaron Hotchner.

When you’re making dinner for Jack in their kitchen, you can’t help but think about what it would feel like to have Aaron’s arms come wrap around your torso, resting his chin on your shoulder. Or— whenever you borrowed a shirt or sweatshirt from his closet, you force yourself to ignore how ridiculously good his clothes smell and how comfortable they are.

Tonight, Aaron texts you that he should be back around 8 or 9 tonight and is only staying a few hours later than usual. He wasn’t on a specific case and traveling, instead he had a long budget meeting at the end of his work day.

But today is also Aaron’s birthday and Jack had been talking to you about it all day ever since you picked Jack up from school.

From the two years you’ve been babysitting Jack, you learned that Aaron wasn’t big on his own birthday. From the parties you attended for Jack, you know he puts an immense amount of effort for Jack’s birthdays— but his own were easily overlooked by himself.

But not by Jack.

You stand in the kitchen with Jack now, finishing the dinner you made for the two of you as he helps to put his plate in the sink with a sad pout.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, noticing his sudden mood change since he had finished his favorite mac and cheese.

“My dad doesn’t have a cake,” Jack frowns, continuing, “usually me and daddy always eat cake for his birthday.”

You bite your lip, trying to think, “do you have the ingredients here for us to make something?”

You had spent most of today helping Jack make birthday cards, wrap his dad’s presents, and make a special birthday sign. You know Aaron would be more than happy with everything else Jack had already done but you also know that Jack absolutely thinks the cake is the most important part of birthday celebrations.

Jack looks around, thinking, “wait, maybe!” He clammers out of his chair to rush towards the pantry, obviously searching for something.

You follow him as he pulls out a box of chocolate cake mix and shows it to you. You glance at the other ingredients required and make sure they have them all before agreeing as he excitedly cheers.

Jack quickly helps you round everything together, now full of energy for your baking project. “Ok,” you sigh, staring at all the ingredients now laying out in front of you as he giggles, clasping his hands together, “let’s start!”

You read the directions as Jack looks at you for instruction. He helps you crack the eggs and watches as you mix the rest of the ingredients together in their mixer before you finish pouring the mix into two different cake pans, sticking them in the oven.

You finish with minimal mess as Jack’s interest focuses on the container of bright blue icing he mysteriously pulls from the pantry. You wipe down the counter and put the dishes in the dishwater while you wait for the oven timer to go off while Jack finishes some of his homework from school today. 

Once the cake is done and Jack impatiently watches it cool, you help him ice it, making sure to wipe off his blue stained hands with a wipe afterwards.

He giggles happily at your end product; the two layered chocolate cake with neon blue icing is not the most aesthetically pleasing dessert you’ve seen but it smells good and did it’s job of distracting Jack from missing his father and wanting to celebrate his birthday.

Jack grins, throwing his arms around your legs to hug you. “Daddy will love it!”

“I know he will,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you smile down at him. 

-

It’s around 7:00 pm when Jack starts to get tired but you can tell he’s willing herself to stay awake, desperately wanting to wait up for Aaron on his birthday. But you know he planned on staying pretty late tonight so you’re sadly not sure if Jack will be able to stay up for him. You’re about to suggest starting to get ready for bed until you get the first text from Aaron you’ve gotten since you picked Jack up from school. 

Hey, I’m otw home.

You tell Jack and he quickly runs to the kitchen to make sure the cakes looks presentable, suddenly gaining a rush of adrenaline, running back down the hallway to his room to pull out his dad’s presents and cards. 

Jack bounces on his heels excitedly for almost ten minutes straight and when the door finally opens, he rushes to Aaron, “Daddy!” he runs straight into his arms, knocking the air only slightly out of him.

“Hey buddy,” he grins, lifting up Jack into his arms. 

“Something smells good,” he remarks and turns to you.

“It’s a secret!” Jack yells, slightly into Aaron’s left ear. 

“Well, it must be a yummy secret then,” he says and Jack giggles sweetly. 

“Come see it, it’s for you!” Jack says, wiggling out of his father’s hold only to grab his hand and tug him into the kitchen. Aaron looks over his shoulder to make eye contact with you and smile at his son’s excitement, obviously endeared. 

“Thank you,” he mouths and you smile, trying to ignore how hot your face feels. 

“It’s your birthday,” you say, once you join them in the kitchen. “You have to have a cake.”

“See! Y/n said so too!” Jack tugs on his dad’s suit jacket that Aaron begins to take off before sitting down. He uncuffs his button down and rolls the sleeves up to his forearms and loosens his tie and you suck in an audible breath, too enamored to even feel that embarrassed. 

Luckily, Jack saves you from any scrutiny, bouncing up and down from excitement. He had been waiting to see his dad all day and any of the tiredness he felt a few minutes ago had totally disappeared. 

“Can we eat it now?” Jack asks and Aaron smiles, taking a good look at the chocolate-- blue, obviously homemade cake. 

“Why don’t you wash up first,” he says, hand on Jack’s back, who nods and runs to the bathroom.

Aaron turns to you with a grin. “Thank you again, Y/n. You totally didn’t have to do this.”

“No problem, we wanted to do this for your birthday. I hope your meeting went well.” You say politely.

“Not really,” he says quickly, “but that’s expected when dealing with my boss.” Aaron chuckles under his breath. “Nothing better than a cut budget and threatening to fire me on my birthday.” 

You’re surprised he’s this honest and open with you. You liked Aaron but never really discussed personal matters or anything beyond small talk and things concerning Jack.

“Anyways,” he shrugs casually, licking some spare icing off his finger. Aaron seems to realize what he said and visibly cringes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.”

“No, no you’re not, that sucks. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.” You’re not really sure what to say that could make Aaron feel better. You’re in grad school, you’re not an FBI agent and barely know what his job entails. “Well,” you continue, “I know Jack is very happy to have you here.”

Aaron grin at the mention of his son, “Thank you for doing all of this with him. He absolutely loves it when you come over. I feel bad not spending my birthday with him. It’s not a big deal to me but I know it is to him.” 

Your eyebrows furrow as Aaron leans against the countertop, staring intently at the cake in front of him, lips pursed and obviously internalizing his decision.

“I know Jack is just happy you’re here now, he knows how hard you work and he doesn’t hold that against you. All day he was just excited to talk about you and your birthday. You do your job and balance it with being a great dad.” Your words pour out truthfully and Aaron’s lips curl into a smile as you continue. “Plus, I’m always happy to spend time with Jack, he’s such a sweet kid.”

Aaron’s smile doesn’t falter and you’re happy that your words seem to resonate with him. Aaron’s gaze continues to linger on you, his mouth opens to speak, choosing his words carefully before hurried footsteps make him stop what he’s about to say.

“Look!” Jack’s voice rings out, “I forgot these,” he runs into the kitchen and Aaron watches him wearily, not wanting him to slip.

“This!” Jack shoves more birthday cards he made into Aaron’s hands, climbing onto a barstool near the counter to be next to the standing two of you. “I made this one for you and Y/n helped with this one!”

Aaron turns over the pink construction paper as some of the excess glitter rubs off onto his hands. “Wow, This is so beautiful, thank you, buddy,”

Jack grins and watching his dad happily and you suddenly feel like you’re intruding on an intimate family moment.

“Well, I guess I should get going, it’s getting late.” You start with a small smile and Jack frowns. 

“But you have to eat the cake we made!” He cries, tugging on his father’s arm and looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can’t Y/n stay?”

“Of course, in fact since you helped, then I think you should.” Aaron turns to you, smiling knowingly. 

You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling too, but you’re still hesitant. “I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything.”

Aaron’s hand grazes across your forearm, “Of course you’re not,” he frowns. “You’ve helped us so much, you’re never intruding in the Hotchner home.” 

You laugh and look into Aaron’s sweet and pretty eyes. It was so easy to let yourself imagine being with Aaron, loving him even more than you do now. 

“Let’s eat the cake!” Jack decides for you, pulling you from your thoughts and laughing as Aaron cuts it unevenly. 

It’s definitely not the most delicious thing you’ve ever had, very rich and kind of loop sided, but it has heart.

You watch as Aaron feeds Jack cake and occasionally wipes crumbs and icing off his chin and inner corners of his mouth. 

You eat your own piece, listening as Jack retells a story to Aaron about school. You watch Aaron look at Jack with so much love and attention and note how Jack’s eyes totally light up while talking to his father.

Jack turns to you after a while, giggling, “you have icing on your chin!” He mumbles, “cute.” You feel your cheeks flush with heat as Aaron chuckles and you attempt to rub the icing off.

“Daddy, get it off of Y/n too,” Jack says as Aaron moves closer to you.

“Here,” he mutters, tongue poking out in concentration, “it’s right- here.” His finger wipes at your cheek swiftly and you mutter a quiet thanks.

Your cheek feels hot to the touch as Aaron pulls away slowly, eyes still not leaving yours, and Jack resumes his sweet story.

-

“Thank you really, this is the best birthday I’ve had in awhile.” Aaron says as you both stand at his doorway, Jack busy getting ready for bed. “And, honestly, I would love for you to come back more.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. You both are silent and suddenly it’s hard to make eye contact with Aaron as you focus in on his shoulder instead. 

When you finally meet his gaze, he leans closer to you and breathes in before his lips are suddenly on yours. He tastes like the sicky sweet, blue icing as you move closer to him, meeting him halfway.

It lasts for only a few more seconds before he pulls away with wide eyes. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing the nape of his neck nervously. 

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” you say, “that was fine.” You smile, “actually I really liked it. It was— um, way more than fine.”

“Uh-,” Aaron completely forgets what he was going to say and feels like he’s talking to a high school crush. it’s been so long since he’s dated or even thought about dating; thought about kissing someone. 

You’re young and sweet and kind to Jack- that was the most important thing to him, how you interacted with Jack. You took care of him and made him feel so loved when Aaron wasn’t home. You took so much pressure off of Jess to be available constantly. Finding you to babysit Jack changed so much, and Aaron wanted it to secretly change even more. 

“What I said about coming back- I meant, I just. you know, babysitting. Of course. We love you. You know- like babysitting wise” Aaron looks frustrated, like he can’t easily articulate his feelings. 

“Of course,” you smile softly, trying to navigate the rush of complicated feelings that swarm inside of you. 

“I just really like you,” Aaron finally admits. “I was so worried these past few months and I just.” He stops himself to look up at you with a bit lip, looking nervous. “I just love how great you are with Jack, you’re understanding, kind, and he’s so comfortable with you. That’s so important to me.”

Aaron stops himself from rambling. “Anyways,” he laughs, “obviously I’m very out of practice with things like this. But,” he trails off. “I was thinking if you wanted to, we could go on our own date and we can even bring Jack.”

You’re stunned by his admission but find yourself smiling immediately, words leaving your mouth before you can even register them. “I would really like, love, that.”

Aaron looks relieved and immediately beams. “Me too,” he mutters, his voice soft and sweet as his hand slides out of his pocket to interlace his fingers with yours. He looks like he’s about to kiss you again until Jack comes bounding into the doorway, making you let you of Aaron’s hand quickly as Jack clings onto his father’s leg. 

“Night night y/n!” he smiles sweetly, already changed into his dinosaur pajamas, holding a stuffed giraffe in his arm. 

Jack only breaks away from his dad momentarily to hug you. “I wish you could stay forever,” he murmurs, looking up at you with a jutted out lip and big eyes that you never want to say no to. It doesn’t help that you feel that exact same way as Jack. 

“I told Y/n to come back whenever they want,” Aaron adds, making Jack squeal with excitement.

“I can’t wait for you to come back!” Jack squeezes you tightly one last time and Aaron smiles widely, looking at you knowingly, “Me too.”

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

I know holiday season is over, but I just thought of the best holiday scenario for the Sturniolo triplets!!!

Scenario: You and the triplets are going to your family’s house for Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year’s, and it’s the first time that they’ll be experiencing your folks’ unique style of cooking. In your household, when it comes to food, it’s all about large proportions and tantalizing flavors. Every holiday season, your family goes big, making enough food to feed two football teams… and, oh boy, is that food delicious! Fried chicken, Mac and Cheese, Burgers, Hot Dogs, Collard Greens, Deviled Eggs, Ham, Sweet Potatoes, and all sorts of delicious things! The triplets have never had a meal like the one your folks have got prepared, and they don’t know what they’re in for.

Aftermath: The guys absolutely loved your family’s good ol’ southern cooking. They were a little put off at first, but once they took their first bites, they were hooked. Enchanted by the deep, rich flavors of all the foods they tried, they each ate way more than they thought they would… and now, they’re dealing with the consequences of their greed.

Here’s how I think it goes:

Chris:

Of the three, Chris has definitely eaten the most food. Usually, he’s picky about what he eats, and doesn’t really like to try things that he isn’t familiar with… but he was hypnotized by the spread that your mom put out, and made sure to sample every single item on the menu. From his very first taste of your aunt’s Mac and Cheese, he was addicted… going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, and fifths. Eventually he lost track of his number of servings… and then his manners… and then the time. It’s only been a couple of hours… hours of him hanging out with your relatives, having a good time with everybody, and eating most of the food… but, for all he knows, he’s been stuffing his face for days. Now he’s down in the basement, laying on one of the couches like a corpse — bloated up like a blimp, sweating buckets, and flowing in and out of consciousness. He’s miserable and full of gas, but it just won’t come out. All of that food and hot air is trapped at the top of his stomach, in one big clump, creating an alien shape… like he’s pregnant with an inhuman baby, with an enlarged cranium. That clump isn’t budging anytime soon. Chris’s gut is making so much noise, it’s hard to hear anything else over the sound of its gurgling and churning. Needless to say, as much as he enjoyed the food, he greatly regrets having let himself pig out.

Nick:

When it came to making his plate, Nick was the most reserved of the three. He stuck with the foods that he knew, and hardly stacked them up on his plate. He found a corner of the room to get comfortable in, ate very slowly, and snuck back into the dining room to grab seconds… then repeated the process again. Like a mouse, he just shrunk into the corner, trying not to bring any attention to himself as he ate. He’s had that energy about him all day — a bit closed-off, cautious, and tense. Nick only had two plates of food… and yet, somehow, he’s gotten the most bloated. Maybe he’s got a sensitive stomach, or his insides aren’t agreeing with something that he ate… but he’s even rounder than Chris is. His belly is massive, and so taut, and he’s trying his best to hide it. He looks like he’s super pregnant… and, like a pregnant woman, he’s not hiding his bulging midsection well. He’s been hiding in a corner in the basement ever since he finished eating, just keeping to himself. He tried to sequester himself in your bedroom, to be alone and away from everyone, but you wouldn’t let him disappear like that. When he’s not tucked away in his little nook, Nick is in the bathroom, trying to get whatever’s going on inside him to move through his system as quickly as possible… but nothing’s budging. He doesn’t feel sick, or tired… just heavy, gross, tight, and embarrassed. He only wants to be invisible.

Matt:

Matt ate a pretty good amount of food. He picked his favorite items, and kept going back for more of the same things… which you expected. He’s hot and cold when it comes to his willingness to switch things up, and it seems like he was introduced to your family’s cooking on a cold day. Though he stuck to a lot of the drier foods — like some of the breads and deserts — and only had thirds, he’s been in the bathroom for what feels like ages now. It’s not that Matt feels sick, or anything, but all that food definitely moved right through him, and he’s been occupodo since he finished his last plate. He was reluctant to use the toilet at first, not wanting to be disrespectful to your folks… but when he realized that he couldn’t contain himself anymore, he stopped questioning it, and bit the bullet. God knows what he’s doing in there. It can’t be pretty.

You:

You’ve been keeping your eyes on everyone, just to make sure they’re all doing okay. You rest with Chris on the couch, gently rubbing his tight belly, to help him feel a little bit better. You reason with Nick, reassuring him about his bloating and playing it down, so he’s not as insecure as he tends to be. You get up and check on Matt every now and then, making sure he’s not dying on the toilet. It’s hard work, taking care of triplets… but you’re cut out for it. After all, this is exactly how it’s going to be when holiday season rolls around again.

[puppylove24680]

saw Sonic 3 yesterday, unorganized thoughts under the cut

It’s very interesting to me what parts of Shadow’s backstory were completely changed for the sake of general audiences, most notably being that the GUN base that they lived in was on Earth and the Arc exists only as the Eclipse Canon and not as a space station. Maria has changed to be a perfectly healthy girl, which removes that guilt that the games Shadow has about being what is meant to cure her.

Shadow himself is now just an alien they found and studied instead of a creation of Gerald. This is what happens when you establish your Sonic game characters as aliens instead of an established species. It’s fine, it sets up the Black Arms well, if they ever want to go down that path. But it does kind of remove his status completely as the Ultimate Lifeform, and his inhibitor rings don’t have an explanation given with this context.

The thing that bothered me from the moment I saw it was the big change to Maria’s death. Instead of being shot down ruthlessly by a GUN agent, instead we have the One Good Agent trying to stop them because I swear guys the government isn’t all bad, see he wants to help. So the OGA shoves the shooter and his laser gun, not bullets, lasers, shoots a container of chaos energy which blasts open and kills Maria only and not the old man next to her. The visual of an innocent little girl getting shot with a real bullet is critical to Shadow’s heartache, this feels a bit like they nerfed it for the sake of their rating, something the original game was not scared to do. The games have never shown a bullet wound, they just imply things, the movies do not have the teeth for even that.

Gerald being alive is also something I have thoughts about. In a time in which game Gerald has more depth than ever before, movie Gerald feels very flat. He’s here for Jim Carey twin shenanigans, which I guess makes sense for a version of Robotnik played by Jim Carey, but that’s never been my favorite casting choice so whatever. Gerald being alive plays two roles, 1. to simplify Shadow’s motivation, and 2. to be comic relief and motivation for Eggman.

In 1 he works well, the original version features Gerald remotely altering Shadow’s memories, something that has never fully made sense especially with him being in custody at the time. Here we have him just as a Very Old Man, which makes it possible for him to feed Shadow his poison directly, making it harder for him to defect because he’s got this trauma bond to Gerald. Although I would have liked to see Gerald interact with Maria a bit, we never see their relationship, even just him watching the kids’ fun fondly would be nice. (Side note the kids montage means everything to me.)

For 2. we’re going to talk about Gerald as motivation first, giving Eggman family that understands him deeply is very very good for this version of the character, even if I personally am not a huge Jim Carey person. It’s especially good because it nets us such a gutting line, “You’re nothing like Maria.” In the games we heard via his logs that Eggman was compared to Maria as a kid, but here with the only family he’s ever had rejecting him with a direct comparison to family he’s never known as being not good enough, it’s devastating. Good angst right there.

Now as comic relief Gerald is very Jim Carey, it is fully a twin movie to me with their goofs. Very much not how I think Gerald is but once again fits as a relative of this version of Eggman. The VR montage was pretty good gotta say. I like the belt stand in, it is silly. I do feel like Gerald being such a perfect reflection of Eggman down to the gloves is a bit off to me, but it’s ignorable, and the white Eggman suit does look very good so we’ll let it slide.

Now Eggman, he is at his most canon appearance wise here, even if he doesn’t get The Outfit until later on. I’m particularly happy he’s adopted the Eggman logo, it is just so good, I love it. The Eggmanland reference is nice, I appreciate it, and Stone and Eggman are at their gayest here, with an admittance on both sides of caring about each other. Eggman’s sacrifice is so so good, they gave him the coolest death ever, and it is a very good way to send off the character, “If I can’t rule the world I might as well save it.” Even if the portable black holes make me unreasonably angry logistics wise the visual was beautiful and well appreciated for this one.

The use of Tom and Maria as parallels for Sonic and Shadow is incredibly smart. Going in the majority of people were expecting that Amy Rose turn around speech to be given to another character, instead they wrote in a parallel arc for the main character to go on to give him a deeper understanding of Shadow. He chooses to let go of his revenge, showing Shadow another way with more than just words or a reminder of his real memories. In this version Shadow has his memories of Maria untouched, the pain is the only thing making him do this, not a final wish. Sonic has that reflection, that understanding in the mourning of his mother, he’s seen the bad and the good of the world and helps Shadow through. This is what Sonic is at his core, someone who helps others through. This is Sonic the Hedgehog at his best and I am here for it.

This movie is visually beautiful, the framing of shots and composition is a joy and my favorite moment in the entire movie to just look at is Sonic and Shadow on the moon watching the sunrise. Symbolically it’s beautiful, visually it’s beautiful. Very good shot and very good scene. I love everything being done with the super forms, the care taken to make them look powerful is palpable in the way the fur ripples and glows. The super fight scenes are so anime and the fading of their power feels correct and not too video gamey or arbitrary.

Everything about the climax of the movie is so so good to me. The super forms catching the laser, the teamwork to turn it, the moon getting hit. And of course Eggman and Shadow’s sacrifice which felt very earned. And Knuckles, Knuckles’ save on his brothers is so good and he’s so good and funny here and I love him so so much. These characters are a delight interacting among themselves and I am so here for it. They are brothers and it shows.

The Wachowski family is a good one, and I love them.

Every moment Shadow was onscreen is a delight.

And now we get to the after credits.

AMY ROSE MY BELOVED BABY GIRL AND METAL MY LOVE.

I love the uncanny way that Metal moves, I love his subtle creepiness, this is going to be incredible I just know it. I know in my heart of hearts that there will be small horror elements incorporated into Metal’s scenes because everything about him is uncanny and wrong in a way that I love. It’s an interesting choice to have multiple Metals that has me intrigued. I imagine that his introduction will either be an Eggman contingency or Stone taking up where Eggman left off. Either way Metal will likely have a mind of his own.

I am so so curious if this is going for a Sonic CD or Sonic Heroes type of story, that being how aware is Metal and how in control is he? In Heroes he pretends to be Eggman, will something similar happen here? We’ll see.

And then of course we have the beautiful Amy Rose who looks so so so cute and good and her hammer is here and accurate and I love her so so much and am so excited for her.

I’m really curious what they’re going to do character wise for her relationship with Sonic, because I imagine that Sega is still trying to steer clear of Amy being the clingy person she was in the two thousands with their recent characterization of her and redoing the cutscenes on Generations. But you can’t just cut out her crush entirely because that is very much what she is known for by general audiences. Either way I imagine that this Sonic is very much the type to claim cooties and run, and I feel like they would resolve any conflict caused by something unrequited by the end of her first movie. But we’ll see!

[lastweeksshirttonight]

Did you want my notes on Strike Force Five episode one? No? TOO BAD! YOU'RE GETTING THEM!

(Heavy spoilers for episode 1 if you plan on listening soon!)

- I love the show's overall vibe and the "roles" that all of the guys play. It's definitely a free-wheeling, off the rails kind of show, where everyone is rambling over each other; the personalities involved can make or break this kind of podcast, and everyone thankfully is playing to their strengths.

Kimmel serves as the overall show runner and is seemingly the only one endeavoring to keep anything on track, which is a slightly thankless job with this group, but he's got a soundboard and all his radio experience guiding him. Colbert also leans into being the other "elder statesman", as it were, but is much easier to derail (and provides his own episode eclipsing derail I'll talk about later). Fallon is surprisingly reserved and a bit awkward - I'm not the hugest fan of Fallon, but in this podcast, that energy serves him pretty well. Kimmel introduces Seth as "the cute one" and he seems the most neutral so far, just there to ask questions and crack jokes. And John is their super sarcastic "evil teammate" who occasionally interjects to just destroy everyone. Perfect dynamics, 10/10, no notes.

- Seth qualifies his eyes as ocean blue. John says they're Gatorade blue. I don't think I've ever laughed harder at a description of someone's eyes.

- There's a point where I assume there must have been a really blunt edit, because Fallon changes the topic abruptly to having a doctorate. Otherwise, I love the image of Fallon just sitting on that revelation and WAITING, BURSTING to talk about how he has a doctorate, while everyone else talks about Kimmel getting paid summers off.

- Everyone mention multiple times that they have sponsors and are doing this show to help pay their staff during the strikes, which is lovely. This does not mean they aren't taking the piss out of their sponsors. I never thought I'd hear worse ad copy reading than I do on The Jeff Gerstmann Show (I love Jeff, don't get me wrong, but his ad copy screaming is hilariously bad), but the Casamigos ad in this is something else. John spends most of his reading time shitting on a bleeped-out competitor that he calls "not fit for human consumption", Stephen says "you're gonna wanna wipe your ass with it" and likens it to the smoothness of sheets you make love on, there's a disembodied "woo" at some point, Seth stumbles all over a few Spanish words, and Fallon delivers his lines in his awful fake French Timothee Chalamet puppet voice. It's pure chaos and I love it so much.

- Kimmel referring to "the despicable Matt Damon" made me so happy.

- John has never done a deposition. Kimmel saying "I'm surprised you're not in prison" gets lost which is sad, that's a fucking hilarious joke.

- Fallon tells an amazing story about his mom being a nun for a week. She left after being reprimanded for taking Lifesavers into the nunnery and then left. My late aunt and best friend, who was also a nun, probably would have loved Jimmy's mom, as she was always going on wine tastings and picked the order she joined entirely based on who would let her continue to drink after taking her vows. Jimmy also has a picture of his mom dressed as a nun holding a doll dressed as a nun, which is absurd and adorable.

- This leads to everyone but Seth confessing that they'd all thought about becoming priests at some point. That doesn't shock me about Stephen at all, tbf, knowing how religious he is.

- I have to shamefully admit that when John mentioned that he told his father he wanted to be a vicar, my brain went to an extremely Fleabag place and I had to rewind the podcast once I snapped out of it and realized I'd missed like 3 minutes of jokes (including a fantastic one from Seth about John having a doll of himself as a child, like Fallon's mom's nun doll).

- "Don't you want a whole new crop of relatives to visit and entertain?" "Do you wanna get cancelled?! :D" The two Jimmys everyone.

- Stephen reveals who he has everyone saved as in his phone, to prevent people from figuring out who his contacts are if his phone gets stolen. John's is Joliver, which 1) was his name as written on TDS scripts to differentiate him from Jon Stewart, and 2) as everyone points out, is a VERY easy code to crack. Don't really need Sherlock for that one.

- ONE OF US ALERT: Stephen collects weird late night shit, like a hat from The Chevy Chase Show (John literally goes "WOW") and a silk jacket from The Pat Sajak Show. I am very jealous of this collection.

- Next episode everyone will talk about first episodes. I cannot wait to hear John talk about how all over the place his first episode is.

- The big story, running joke, and completely wild admission from this episode - Stephen Colbert has a pair of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza's pants. Fallon asks how no one outbid him, and it turns out his MOTHER had them BECAUSE SHE DATED HIM. His uncle went to LaSalle Military Academy with Somoza, and Somoza stayed with them during holiday breaks. Everyone else in the room picks up on the idea that Stephen's mom probably slept with a dictator (or as Kimmel says, "made love to a murderer"), Seth claims his mom drinks coffee out of Ferdinand Marcos' skull, and every other male figure Stephen brings up for the rest of the episode is assumed to be someone his mom slept with.

If you asked me before listening to this podcast if I thought there were going to be a pile of elevated "your mom" jokes holding it together, I would have pretty strongly said "no". Surprises at every turn in this pod.

The beginning of this story also captures John SO STRONGLY, and he wants to hear everything about it. Definite Bugle vibes there, this man will never not want to hear about weird dictator facts. He also manages to completely kill Seth by saying "Anastasio Somoza's pants, brought to you by Casamigos".

- Finally, I have already sent an email to the show asking about Planet of the Bass, to make up for my complete failure to ask at the Q&A. I got y'all, we'll get this answer some day.

[midnightactual]

Kūkaku's Relative Power & Narrative Role

I've mentioned this before, but, really look at this in CFYOW Volume II (emphasis mine):

“I’ve got one thing to say.” Kukaku’s piercing voice resounded, and those who had been making a commotion all stopped at the same time. “This is my house. I don’t mind you being rowdy, but if you’re going to cut each other up then take it outside.” Though her voice was soft, there was an energy in it that indicated she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “That woman’s strong.” “Yes. She doesn’t seem to be a Soul Reaper, but I suppose…I suppose there were some strong people lurking around.” Halibel could comprehend Kukaku’s power through the spiritual pressure in her words, and Nelliel agreed with her. Needless to say, those who knew Kukaku from the start, like Ginjo and the others, became quiet and subdued. The same was true for the Quincies and Corpse Unit. Other than Mayuri Kurotsuchi, that is, who marched to the beat of his own drum.

So, the obvious joke first:

But that Kūkaku is able to put reiatsu in her voice, and that is enough to get Grimmjow & Luppi—aspects of death of destruction—to shut the hell up, as well as enough to make guys like Ginjō "quiet and subdued" (read: submissive and avoidant) tells you a lot, beyond just Tier and Nelliel's judgments.

Now, in the manga, back during chapters 78 and 79, we go from here:

to here:

You can see that her kiseru goes missing. Something like what the anime suggests happens is relatively plausible (and yes I know I just got done talking about the anime being lesser canon):

At any rate, Kūkaku goes on to readily disable both Ganju (whom is giving Ichigo trouble) and Ichigo himself (and by the way, this is much like how Yoruichi often at least initially easily handles people who are giving Ichigo trouble, from Byakuya, to Yammy, to Askin):

Now, this is played for comedy. However, I urge you to recall both Isshin and Retsu, whose strength was also initially played for comedy. I also ask you to remember Tsukishima, who is immensely powerful but often passive. And I'll note that in CFYOW, Ginjō has Tsukishima and Giriko at his disposal and yet all three of them don't even seem to entertain the idea of messing with Kūkaku and put up with whatever she says, both there and in chapter 518:

We know that Bleach already has a Red Oni in Kenpachi:

I would submit to you that, at least figuratively, Kūkaku is something closer to the Blue Oni (yes, I know it's funny when she wears red):

This is especially interesting when Yoruichi is routinely paralleled with Kenpachi and is sometimes a Red Oni herself (and sometimes a Blue Oni):

As I've related a number of times, Japanese loves puns, and the Blue Oni is often associated with being a Kuudere. Well, there's K[uu]kaku. More importantly, we know the Kū of her name, 空, is the Void in the Godai:

空 Kū or sora, most often translated as "Void", but also meaning "sky", "heaven" or environment, it represents those things beyond and within our everyday comprehension, particularly those things composed of pure energy before they manifest; the emptiness that the energy is made up of. Bodily, kū represents spirit, thought and creative energy. It represents the creation of phenomena. It can also be associated with the potential of power, creativity, spontaneity and inventiveness. Kū is of particular importance as the highest of the elements. In martial arts, particularly in fictional tales where the fighting discipline is blended with magic or the occult, one often invokes the power of the Void to connect to the quintessential creative energy of the world. A warrior properly attuned to the Void can sense their surroundings and act without using the mind, and without using their "physical senses".

This would explain why, oh, say, Kūkaku can sense Yoruichi remotely when no one else can. (I would also submit that the Void, the Garganta, is perhaps the opposite of Hell, with which it seems Kenpachi may be associated.) Anyway, going back a little, we can see that Kūkaku's smoking and drinking is perhaps actually a limiter upon and restrictor of her "true" self, which only becomes evident when she's stirred to anger. She's trying to be chill. (Note also that even her "comedic" anger is shocking to Yoruichi.)

Keep in mind that Kūkaku also channels the sun to use the Kakaku Taihō cannon, and that the SRDI can only build a one-shot replica of the cannon which requires dimensional energy to act as fuel. If read in a sci-fi context, Kūkaku functions as the equivalent of a warp core reactor.

Basically, Kūkaku was always implied to be extremely strong, but given the additional context from CFYOW, we can make an educated guess that:

Kūkaku is the Broly of Bleach and you're in danger. I offer you this scene for free:

Whomever: You can't stop me. Yoruichi: I know. Wiping blood from her mouth. But she can after you split my lip. Kūkaku: Bursting out of whatever like Surtur in Thor: Ragnarok.

Or perhaps:

[teriwrites]

Behind Closed Doors: 'The Noble Boyd Manor'

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2014 Novel

I was so glad to see that I had chapter divisions again going into this story, then realized that I split >70,000 words into 9 CHAPTERS

So anyways let's get started

We open on Delroy, staring up at the looming manor of Governor Cedric Boyd, wondering how in the hell he convinced himself to agree to becoming the man's new butler

NOOO, we're on paragraph 2 and I accidentally used a word which I knew from reading a lot of classics to have one meaning, and has taken on a Very Different meaning since those classics were written... oof

'He didn't belong here.' oooo this has been written out twice, love the ominous energy we got going on

Genuinely love how Cedric is being very polite, open, proud of his house, but then we see the guy acting as his current butler rushing to fulfill his requests and slouching 'as though the man was constantly prepared to flinch.'

'Despite the fact that the Isolates had never trusted him, and his friends had actually died because of him, Cedric did not appear to be a terrible man.' we're back at it again with appearances. delroy, my man, PLEASE boost your wisdom stat at your next opportunity, you're working with like a -2 to insight rn

"You, no offense intended, appear to be a man of the commonwealth. You can understand things of the common peasant that I never could. And know that I need to understand them. I want to sympathize with them. But I have not been living on the same level as them for nearly half a century." oh okay i HATE this guy

"What exactly are you asking of me?" Delroy finally asked, breaking the thick silence. Cedric continued to look at him silently for another minute. Finally, just before Delroy was about to repeat his question, Cedric let a breath escape, and opened his mouth to speak. "All I would need of you is that you tell me how the commonwealth live. I want them to see me as one of themselves. I want to be their advocate." (lowkey?? it's giving Mr. J from Below. I loved writing powerful antagonists who wish to appeal to the masses. Interesting.)

So many mentions of nausea in these first few pages, Delroy truly has those hot girl stomach problems

Lowkey kinda fun how Delroy, a man who has only ever lived and been around single-story buildings and lived in a relatively flat woodland (at the orphanage) and a plateau (with the Isolates), is a little awkward and unsure of his footing on a staircase. I don't think I even intended that, but he's currently using them pretty delicately

I can tell here that I really was trying to write this POC secondary character with a little more care and attention than I'd previously done, but it's still coming across stilted and awkward

'He was alone, which was something he'd been trying to avoid for the past few weeks. It had quickly become clear that being alone drew out the poisoned thoughts from the depths of Delroy's mind. They had engulfed him, spinning his view of the world until he'd desperately reached out for something to stabilize him. And that something he'd managed to cling to was Cedric Boyd.' can you tell i had a much more conscious experience with mental illness at this point lmaoo this girl has been Depressed

'Footsteps were approaching from somewhere down the hall, shoes scuffling against the hard wooden floor. Delroy kept his eyes closed and made sure to breathe steadily. He didn't want anyone to see him in this state.' i was wondering whether he'd change a lot between books 1 and 2, love that some of that vanity still clings to him

"Don't mind Eleri," a voice from behind Delroy sounded. He turned, surprised, to see the chef, a smirk lighting up his face. "She ne'er wastes an opportunity to complain. She's been workin' here for a good five years and wants to get out, but Cedric won't let her leave until she earns enough to pay him off." "Pay him off of what?" Delroy wondered aloud. "Cedric makes common folk like us think he's doin' us a favor by hiring us as his staff. But really, he claims we owe him big, and won't let us leave 'til we pay off that debt. Of course, we couldn't pay off the debt if we worked twice as many hours for half our lives, so he keeps us chained here," he explained.' (okay, a lot of telling and not showing, but love that we're bringing a little more awareness to the actual systemic reasons for keeping people rooted in their own poverty, intentionally done by nobility, as opposed to the BS I was spouting off in the last book. love Delroy interacting more casually with a member of the 'commonwealth')

Whoops! And now Delroy's down for the count (he passed tf out)

Classic case of 'character drifts in and out of consciousness due to illness'

HAH confirmation that Delroy's got the whitest, most sensitive tastebuds, Eleri (the maid) just gave him some soup and he nearly spat it out

'The woman carried herself as someone rich, though she was nothing but a simple maid.' pot, meet kettle! you're a butler with literacy and some fancy clothes, del

So much of this chapter was literally Delroy randomly getting sick and idr if this was a case of body breaking down from stress, entirely just for the vibes, or if somebody (Adriana) is cursing him from afar

"Of course, sir, I am willing to begin whenever," Delroy assured his new master, and the man gave him a, what appeared to be sly, grin.' truly zero attempts to pretend this man was any less awful than he actually is lol

Ending Thoughts:

Here we go! More progression in my skill! Definitely seeing improvement in the flow of this writing compared to 2013's, which was still pretty stilted and jammed with redundancies. I'm reading this significantly more smoothly than anything I've looked at so far, which is really promising!! While the areas of looking at poverty and the like definitely haven't quite reached a comfortable level, having other characters actually interacting with Delroy specifically regarding issues of class and seeing the divisions more up close really helps clear up which parts of the narrative are Delroy's takes and which are the 16-year-old writer's, which is a bit of a relief. Each chapter of this particular draft is vastly different in size, but most of them fall within the range of 6-7K, so I'll be trying to keep things from getting too expansive, but bear with me through this one lol after this, we won't find anything that competes in length until 2019 so we'll have some time

[inspiteofganon]

HEY. TELL ME ABOUT KOURA. i do enjoy divine mommy issues

Koura my pathetic wet cat of a man... my yoinky sploinky...

The short version is that they're my main gerudo OC! I play them in a TTRPG campaign set in the LoZ universe as a player character. They're a cowardly and heretical transmasc gerudo with a lot of issues constantly on the run from their past. They wield a whip Indiana Jones-style, and repress their gerudo equivalent of Catholic Guilt under a free bird lifestyle and bad boy attitude.

The longer version is that them being heretical and them being transgender are the exact same thing* since gerudo men are supposed to be kings (to me the position of "king" for gerudo is a spectrum based on what the voe has proven himself capable of; on the highest end he's a complete autocrat like OoT Ganondorf, and on the low end he's just a figurehead to be kept out of harm's way, but either way it's a position of significant religious and social importance)-- a blessing once a century-- which has meant that Koura has faced a lifetime of beatings and ostracization from their would-be sisters for their repeated crimes of "treating the trappings of a king like a costume".

Once upon a time, during a happier more prosperous era for the gerudo thousands of years ago, the gerudo had more than one voe per century, and their menfolk were thus capable of leading relatively normal lives. Young Koura was a history nerd and came to admire this time period and its possibilities, wanted that sort of thing back in some form... even dared to want a part in it. But that absence is still very much a sore spot for the other gerudo. So it didn't seem to matter that Koura tried to be a "good man", someone who strived to contribute to society, uphold the values of the gerudo, act as a proper voe should, compensate for what they lacked... because they couldn't ever fully compensate. Because their female body could never do everything a cisgender voe's could for them.

Despite all this-- and their rather punkass attitude-- Koura remained loyal and faithful and determined. It didn't matter much that the goddesses never answered them, because they were a gerudo! They just had to prove their worth, right? Prayers and wishes mattered little without actions, so act they did. They'd be a man that the gerudo would deserve. A proper voe takes care of his girls, after all. They'd find their niche in society and give back to it, even if it wouldn't give back to them. Unfortunately, Koura was just some guy. A fallible mortal with human feelings. Being a spunky gender rebel with a punk attitude takes a lot of energy and willpower, and a person can only get so much of those forcibly wrung out of them before they have to shut up or die. Even the stupidest snail retreats to their shell when they're being salted, and Koura eventually "wised up" as it were. They didn't expect any gods or spirits to come down and personally guide them through their darker moments, but it wasn't like anyone else ever came to their defense. The pain and isolation took their toll. Continually swatted back down the social ladder no matter what good they did, Koura was effectively stuffed into the closet. Best they could do was steal all they could when sent on routine banditry missions... as a vai. Their passions and reasons for their efforts had to be kept locked up tight if they wanted to avoid more humiliation.

But one day, they stole something special: An enchanted girdle, a magic belt that was a little small for most gerudo. On a whim, not knowing what it was capable of, they decided to keep hold of it a while longer and try it on. It revealed that it had the power to near-instantly "genderbend" its wearer, granting a perfect sex change so long as it's worn.

Naturally, this made Koura completely ecstatic. For a few minutes. For a brief moment they felt whole, like a miracle had occurred. But then it sank in: It really was a miracle. Sex change magic working properly on gerudo is simply not a thing that normally happens, as they're all already under sex-determining magic. Whether Koura was truly special, or if it was that someone out there had finally just so happened to create powerful enough sex change magic to work on any gerudo, something unprecedented had happened. Not only that, but they were a "real" man now, and to reenter gerudo society in their new body would mean having to face a voe's responsibilities and become a king. However, after a lifetime of making themself smaller and smaller in the hopes of fitting into gerudo society... in completely losing track of where "I just want to be a normal man" ended and "I swear I'm not trying to claim an unearned social status, please don't knock any more of my teeth out!!" began for them... feeling all the big responsibilities and unsavory duties of a modern, kingly voe alight on their shoulder for even a moment crushed them utterly like an ant under a cartoon anvil. They couldn't take it! THEY COULDN'T TAKE IT!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

Shortly after, they made off with the belt, leaving Gerudo Valley and its daughters behind never to return. Something like the girdle Koura possessed could completely reshape gerudo culture, and access to such an artifact would be nothing but a net good for the species as a whole... Koura knew this, but kept it all for themself anyway.

Koura now lives in self-imposed exile, disguising their true race and steering clear of gerudo they pass. They conceal their rounded ears, and painstakingly bleach and dye their hair from the neck up to a shade of pale blue (flaming red hair is a nightmare to recolor, and non-ginger gerudo are scarce, so this does more work for their big racefaking act than you'd think). They're also a bit short for a gerudo at about 1.88m/6'2", so can generally pass as a long, tan humanoid of ambiguously hylian or sheikah descent.

"But what about the 'divine mommy issues'?"

Oh yeah! That's related to what they're going through in the campaign at the moment.

For starts, their story there begins with them losing their girdle, the discovery of this having happened causing a reaction not unlike Gollum losing the One Ring. Leads to recover it brought them to the other party members, and they've generally been feeling weary and wretched without their magic transition device.

Cut to a few weeks into the adventure, the girdle still unfound, and a vision of the Desert Goddess visits Koura in the night. She chides them for abandoning the gerudo and running from their destiny, but what's relevant to the note you ask about is that she calls them her son and uses their chosen name during this little meeting.

As someone for whom social transition in their homeland has been completely off-limits and impossible to safely approach (sure, the people of the nations of Hyrule can see Koura as a man or whatever regardless of the state of their body, but those are lame hylians! The gender isn't the same! They've got more men than they know what to do with, and don't understand the social differences that'd be had in Gerudo Valley's society for a gerudo voe! Also... physical dysphoria), Koura has a lot of mixed feelings about that. After all, them being a "good man" didn't matter much to the gerudo because of their female body. With the belt and away from the gerudo, they're a "bad man", but their body is the "right" one, so having a male body without any of the associated culture should be enough to be happy with, right? RIGHT?! So the goddess herself gendering them properly despite them being in the "wrong" body... man. After all they've been through, all the cruel lessons beat into them that worked... They don't understand. The sentiment towards that small kindness can be summed up most succinctly with just "Why?"

Could go on about their motivations, the subtleties of their gender identity... what standards they have and their goals... how often they leave the belt latched or loose... their personality and fears... but this particular post is getting kind of long so There you have it for now!

*I'M QUEER!!!!!!! If you even think I'm transphobic I'll kill you with a brick!!!!! And your little dog too!!!!!

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Questionnaire

I was tagged by @elsie-writes and @illarian-rambling so I am responding to both of you here!

Unfortunately I have a ton of deadlines coming up so I might be posting a bit sparsely for a few days. But I would still love it if y'all continued to send asks and tag games so I have some things to respond to when I get back (on top of the things I already have to respond to!) Rules: Answer as many (or as few) questions as you'd like!

The Testaments of the Green Sea

Questions:

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

My MC, Narul, I believe was the first concrete part of my world that I created. He started out as this sort of vague character, too big and strong for the world around him, struggling with understanding himself and his place in a world that is so divorced from what it is to be someone like him. The awkward gentle giant is a trope that I just happen to really enjoy. From there I started making a world for him to live in, for a while he lived in the Kingdom of Chisheytal, which later became the City-States of Kishetal, and for a little while I played with the idea that the world of Kobani was actually set in the post-apocalyptic aftermath of a superhero world, and that Narul was in some way related to these ancient superheroes. However as the character and the world progressed, that aspect eventually went away. As far as the world itself goes, Kishetal was definitely the first place to get fleshed out and made into a proper setting.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Frankly I have no clue. Something acoustic maybe? Something relatively chill. For all the blood and destruction in the story, a lot of it is just about the beauty of the landscape. I think it would have to be something original. But if I had to pick, and this might be a bit of a cheat, all I can think of is the song "The Greatest Adventure" from The Rankin/Bass "Hobbit". I think the themes of Adventure, but also finding purpose in the present and taking chances in your life and the people you love is something that is really central to Narul as a character. When I think of the song, I think of a number of characters like Istek, Penetinos, and The Stranger singing it for Narul and Ninma, sort of as a way to encourage them, to push them forward.

3. Who are your favorite characters you’ve made? Why?

First and foremost of course is Narul. As a bigger, not necessarily conventionally attractive guy who used to (and to some extent still) struggled with socialization and my own sexuality, I feel like I've written a lot of myself into him as a character. Narul is more expressive than me, particularly when it comes to things like grief and frustration, and so I enjoy using him as a way of addressing some of those issues from sort of another medium. Unfortunately I've made the poor fella an anxious wreck.

Istek is the polar opposite to Narul. He is free and happy, and is able to grapple with and fully embrace powerful emotions in a way that I wish I could. His grasp on life and purpose and love, are things that I wish I could emulate. His energy is a lot of fun to write whether as the daring sea captain or as the forgetful old man.

Ninma is fun, just because writing a little bratty child character is a lot of fun. She has next to no filter, and that's just fun to translate into the story.

Zatar and the Deep Sun are up there just because villains are fun to write about. Lots of violence and angst.

4. What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

I'm not entirely sure! I hope there would be overlap with the fan bases for other epic fantasy series, LOTR, Wheel of Time, Etc etc. In some ways I can see a little bit of overlap with Percy Jackson fans if only because of the shared connection/inspiration from ancient mythology. Aside from that I'm not entirely sure, to be honest I'm not all that active in a lot of fan bases so it's hard to say for sure.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Editing! I make constant typos and I brain dump. Editing is such a slow and boring process and one that is made even worse by the fact that I am currently working on getting a Masters Degree and so much of my time is dedicated to papers and research.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are some, there are a good deal of animals that are unique to my setting. However I wouldn't say that animals are necessarily important to the plot, at least not in the first book. You do see horned-rabbits, Flesh-eating Deer, sea-serpents, birds, livestock, etc etc. There are no pets or anything like that. I don't count spirits with animalistic forms.

7. How do your characters get around?

Walking, boats, and horses. Nothing all that exciting.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I am in the process of editing my second draft for book one and I have started on book two. Right now I'm not doing much of anything, finals season doesn't particularly allow for a lot of heavy writing/editing.

9. What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

I think worldbuilding will certainly be a big part of what draws people in, but I also hope that people will  enjoy the found-family aspect and will be really drawn in by all of the side characters that interact with Narul and Ninma.

And if that fails, there is lots of blood, violence, monsters, adventuring, magic, and queer romance.

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Who are your favorite characters you’ve made? Why?

What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

How do your characters get around?

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

Tagging @scribble-dee-vee , @patienceofstone , @americanfemcel , @hallowedfury , and @patternwelded-quill as well as any one else that is interested!

[architect-mouse-studios]

Hemoxian Tastier

Straight build with custom color scheme.

Oh boy, buckle the fuck up folks. I got a lot to say about this one. This is genuinely one of the best model kits I've ever made, especially relative to its price, and especially especially considering it wasn't made by Bandai. For $100, you get:

One robot (MG size and quality)

One robot dog that can become a gatling gun and can also have its legs used in like five different ways

Two pistols

Two rifles

Two knives

Four lightsabers (also every weapon can be used in like four different ways)

Two FX pieces for each gun (6 total) and two for the swords

Four pairs of hands

Eight photoetched metal visor options

An LED unit for the head

A massive display stand that can store almost all of the above, and has half a dozen posing options of its own, and also comes with a gooseneck flexible metal stand arm

A cloak for the robot, which is poseable thanks to wires in the fabric

A background diorama display

A blueprint of the robot and dog (forgot to include this in the photos)

All of this, for $100. Did I mention that nearly every part is undergated, and the snap-fit is Bandai-tier quality?

And oh man, the engineering quality. Bandai's HG/PG Evas have trained me to groan when I hear the words "rubber parts," but this kit uses rubber in some really cool ways. Many of the red accents in the legs, arms, spine, etc. are rubber, and they're laid out in such a way that they pull other pieces around when moving, or let pieces smush together without damaging the paint. It's very clever.

And speaking of clever, the hands! Instead of swapping out weapons, there's one set of holding hands for each weapon type (gun and blade), and the hands have the handles built into them. So instead of pulling a hand apart and putting something new in it, the whole weapon disconnects from the handle and you can just swap it for something else.

Also, P I S T O N S.

I repainted the whole kit other than the parts that already had a metallic coating, but I stayed mostly faithful to the original. I just didn't care for the blue and the clear parts.

The weapon rack can rotate down inside the stand to make way for other attachments.

This good boy has about a dozen options himself.

For one thing, he can carry any of the weapons.

For another, he can turn into a giant fuckoff gatling gun.

Or, if you're so inclined, you can turn him into an extra set of limbs for the robot.

The robot--whose name is apparently Tastier; don't ask me, maybe it sounds better in Chinese--has a whole bunch of different options for his visor. I know 5 and 6 look similar, but I promise they're different.

Other than the extra arms and his regular hands, he also has weapon mounts on each arm. I didn't think to do it while I was taking photos, but he can carry eight weapons at once. ._.

The rifles can break open like this; it reminds me of what energy weapons do when they overheat in Halo.

The real star of the show, however, is this cloak. Holy crap, this thing is cool. Giant robots with capes look silly, but this guy is just a guy in armor, and "guys in armor with trenchcoats" is a sorely underrated aesthetic. Kinda reminds me of Helldivers, though I've never played that.

The wires in the cloak let you easily pose it and make it dramatically blow in whatever wind you desire.

I'm not at all experienced when it comes to this kind of miniature photography, but I still think it looks cool as hell.

Even with 30 photos, there's still so much I haven't had space for. The fact that the pistols have functional slides, for instance. Or the fact that the cloak has back holsters for them. Or the way the stand arm works.

It's just... it's cool. It's really neato. Perhaps even spiffy, as they say.

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - The Nameless Girl 12

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika, Kuro, Nazuna

Translator: Mika Enstars

"(Now, Kagehira, let us lie.)"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Spring

Location: Raison d'être Stage

Kuro: Either is fine. It’s odd t’see ya so quiet, Gramps. Back then I had the impression that you’d always be spittin’ and yellin’ at me.

Raffaello: “Because I don’t have the energy to make a fuss. That, and my emotions dilute when they are passed through a machine.”

“But that’s beside the point. It’d be both uncouth and meaningless for you to directly ask me for the answer to your questions.”

“The answer is shown on stage by Shu-kun.”

“Take a seat quietly for now, instead of making a commotion. You have poor manners, you know. Your figure blocks the view of the person sitting behind you.”

Kuro: Ah, right… Hahah, it’s been a while since I last got a scoldin’ from ya, Gramps.

Raffaello: “I do not mind a little bit of whispered banter. Opera has been like that since ancient times, although it is a culture Japan is unfamiliar with.”

Kuro: Understood. However, this may be uncouth of me t’say, but I'm kinda dumb…

I won’t be able t’interpret an answer from a complicated opera, could’ja tell me the important bits?

Raffaello: “……”

Kuro: Ah, if ya could tell me. Please.

Raffaello: “Yes. Do speak respectfully to those above you. Law, God, and common sense too have declared it to be obsolete now, but there’s more beauty in it.”

“It is foolish to lump together everything old as no good and throw them away like garbage.”

Nazuna: He really does talk like Itsuki, huh~… Well, I guess Itsuki is really influenced by his grandpa’s values and such, though.

Raffaello: “Yes. So what was it you’d like to ask, Kuro-kun?

Kuro: Yessir. Though I’m at a loss on where to begin… So, were ya ever havin’ an affair in the end, Gramps?

Y’know, with that strange woman called “MADEMOISELLE”?

Raffaello: “To put it shortly, that would be non.”

“But from what I’ve seen in this opera’s proposal, however, it appears Shu-kun and Kagehira-kun have a different, or rather, a unusual interpretation—

“The truth of the matter is, the woman named “MADEMOISELLE” does not exist. That too is subject to interpretation however, but there is no human being of flesh and blood with a family register.”

“Such is why she was not even given a name, and instead was earnestly given the nickname “MADEMOISELLE”. She is a fictional, non-existent person.”

Nazuna: So far, Itsuki’s guess has been correct.

Then, does that mean that all of it was just grandpa’s joke, it was all made up?

Wait, but then what would be the point of that? Itsuki and I just assumed this Raffaello guy was just trying to con out of his inheritance…

But then, that Raffaello was actually just grandpa himself. If he wanted the inheritance, there wouldn’t be any need to pull off something so absurd.

Kuro: He wouldn’t even have to go through the trouble of stealin’ it. The inheritance is already his property, it belonged to Gramps from the very start.

Nazuna: Right. In other words, that means, uhhh? What does it mean? I’m confused!

Nazuna: —Hweh?!

Kuro: W-What’s wrong, Nito!? Did’ja bite your tongue?

Nazuna: N-No, Itsuki just gave me a huge glare from the stage that yelled “quiet!” because I was loud~… For some reason even now he’s able to get it across to me even without saying anything out loud.

Kuro: Haha. Rabbits have sharp senses, don’t they?

Shu: (Goodness, that Nito.)

(Back while he was in Valkyrie, we had watched many operas and the like together. Even though I had drilled the etiquette into him, it appears it’s all been bleached away.)

(Ryuu~-kun, however, I never expected good etiquette from him to begin with.)

(And he’s all anxious, not knowing when my ever-trifling Grandfather might raise his voice at him.)

(Well, it’s fine. As an easygoing performance performed only in front of relatives, I don’t demand strict viewing etiquette.)

“—This tale is set in Paris, the city of flowers.”

“There, “Boku” met a beautiful girl.”

“A very assertive, selfish, shrewd lady—”

“♪~♪~♪”

(Now, Kagehira, let us lie.)

(In honor of my beloved Grandfather.)

Mika: (Okay, Oshi-san.)

(And at the same time, so we can show your Grandfather what he truly seeks.)

“~…♪”

Shu: (Now, let us begin our performance as Valkyrie, as we always have.)

(Let us sift away all the filth and carry only the beautiful and the valuable to heaven.)

(This is a comedy too funny, a tragedy too sad… Let us refine it into a beautiful opera!)

(To many people, this is just another love story. The sort of trivial romantic comedy we do not typically work with.)

(But I’m sure it’ll get through to Grandfather.)

(By thinking it through, the true meaning of this opera, that is.)

Shu: (Fufu. Now it’s your turn to use your head, Grandfather.)

[ ☆ ]

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