#just listening to the old soundtrack and man....

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…” ⬅️ If you’ve seen The King & I, then you’ll probably be singing that line in your head like I do.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 3.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Dean, historical tidbits, fluff

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 2: Death & Sacrifice

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and the hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

He just can’t do it.

His finger eases off the trigger of his gun, and he lowers it to the ground beside him.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her head tilts as she stares at his gun, then at him. She relaxes somewhat, and she backs off of him, sliding from his lap down to the grass beside him. Her closed fist with the knife comes to rest at her side. She gives him a look of wary bewilderment.

“You are a strange man,” she says.

Dean has to laugh a little, smiling at her afterward.

“I guess so,” he replies.

Her brows furrow. “You killed one of your own…for me?”

He nods, and his smile falls with a weary sigh. The hard part about that is he doesn’t feel much guilt about what he’s done. At the same time, he does, and the conflict churns in his stomach. He knew what kind of man Roman was. He was the kind of soldier that could’ve filled Colonel Sanderson’s shoes one day. A fellow soldier under Dean’s command...

And a sack of shit in human clothes.

Dean leans back on his hands in the grass and slides his legs out long. His stare falls to the earth between his boots. The ground is soft underneath him. Maybe it rained this morning. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna make it tough when I go back,” he says. “At best, that’s a court martial. At worst…”

The Lakota woman frowns, her dark brows nearly meeting in the middle as she considers him. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

“Tell you what,” Dean said. “Give yourself and your horse a rest tonight. I’ll go back and tell them I lost you in the canyon.”

Her eyes widen further in surprise. He can’t blame her for it. He’s surprising himself every time he opens his mouth.

“Will they kill you?” she asks.

Dean shrugs. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

She levels him with a firmer look, one that demands the truth.

His nonchalance wanes, and he sighs.

“They might,” he says.

She shakes her head. She seems to deliberate over something, but eventually she comes to a decision. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, a gunshot rings out and hits the ground not far from their feet. A warning.

The sound of hooves thundering on the earth reach them before they look up. Two horses gallop towards them in the distance, their riders wearing blue uniforms.

They both tense up, but Dean is the first one to move. He grabs her arm and helps her stand along with him. They scramble back and lead the horses by their reins further into the trees. They find a denser patch and a raised hill to crouch down and hide behind.

The mustang is too tired to go very far, but Baby is already making anxious sounds, protective of her rider.

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, and runs a soothing hand over her side. He leads her to lay down with her legs tucked underneath her.

The Lakota manages to do the same with the mustang after whispering to him softly in her language. There’s a trust between them, Dean realizes. They have a connection that seems to mirror his own with his horse. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

“Captain!” Benny calls out.

Dean grimaces, but he stays quiet. He turns to the woman and holds a finger over his lips. She stares back at him in apprehension. He begins to creep slowly around the hill, but she grabs onto his wrist. For a second, she looks just as surprised as him by the reflexive action. Then, she shakes her head at him.

Don’t go out there, her eyes say.

Dean smiles, and he gives her a reassuring wink. He gently removes her hand and gestures at her to stay where she is. He army crawls up the side of the hill. It gives him a vantage point to watch his men, who approach just a few feet down below. 

“Captain Winchester!” Cas calls next.

“We don’t want to have to come and get you, Dean. Come on,” Benny says. He does sound reluctant, for his part. His voice grows more somber when he says, “Colonel’s given us orders to bring you and the girl back…dead or alive.”

Dean knows the position he’s put his own men in. He doesn’t blame them for following the Colonel’s orders. He just hopes they can forgive him for what he’s about to do.

He leaps off the edge of the hill with a yell and brings Benny with him to the ground. He sweeps Cas’s legs out from underneath him, then tosses a punch that lands on the corner of Benny’s chin. He kicks Benny’s gun away, and wrestles Cas until his pistol falls from his hand. The three men scrap and trade blows, until Dean is the only one left standing. His men are groaning on the dusty ground, slowly picking themselves up.

Dean’s heaving for breath as well as he leans back against the side of the hill. Despite that momentary victory, he knows what they all know: that this fight isn’t going to end until either they’re dead, or he’s dead.

“Where’s the girl, Dean?” Benny says. He implores him to see sense. “We take her back with us, we can smooth all this over with the Colonel. All of it, even Roman.” 

Dean lets out a deep breath, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t do that, Benny,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a question circling in his friend’s eyes, but after a beat, Benny seems to know the answer to it. He picks up his gun from the ground. Just like Dean once did, the Lieutenant now has a choice to make.

He shares a heavy look with Cas. The two of them nod, before they focus back on Dean.

Benny’s hand falls, and he stows his gun.

“You died today,” Benny says. “We found your body somewhere in the canyon. Your horse too.”

Dean nods, with something of a smile. He supposes faking his death is the only option now. He rips the badge off his uniform jacket and tosses it to Benny.

“There’s your proof,” he says.

Dean shares a grim nod of respect with Cas while Benny examines the torn patch denoting a captain’s rank.

“Take care of each other,” Dean says.

Benny’s head raises, and he meets Dean with a somber gaze.

“Goodbye, brother.”

Dean doesn’t return to her until the men are out of sight through the trees. She’s still hiding along with the resting horses, waiting for him. That alone surprises him. It would bring a small smile to his face, if the weight of that goodbye didn’t feel so heavy on his shoulders.

He reaches out a hand for her. It takes her a moment to consider it, but she accepts his offer.

He helps her to her feet, after which, she quickly pulls her hand back. She’s wary of his touch, her face guarded when she looks up at him. Dean supposes he can’t blame her, even if it does strike a nerve. After what he just did for her…

His face becomes stoic, and he turns away to grab his hat from the dusty ground. “We should probably head out.”

She nods and calls to her horse to encourage him to his feet. Despite himself, Dean can't help but be curious. How did this girl manage to tame that wild beast?

“Does he have a name?” he asks.

“Mato,” she replies.

“Mato,” Dean echoes. “Does that mean something? You know, in your language.”

She eyes him wryly, brushing her hand over Mato’s hide.

“It means angry, like a bear,” she says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, good name.”

He remembers his bruised side (and ego) from when the mustang threw him off his back.

Dean watches her with another realization as she gracefully mounts the horse. Baby has gotten up to her feet as well, already nudging the back of his arm with her snout. He rubs her nose in affection.

Then he turns to climb up onto her back, settling his feet into the stirrups and loosely grabbing the reins. He follows his companion’s lead farther into the forest, but he guides his horse to fall into step beside hers.

“Will you tell me your name now?” he asks. “Think we’ve been through enough together at this point, don’t you think?”

She considers it with a tilt of her head. She looks over at him with a small smile.

“Kimmímila,” she says. The syllables roll off her tongue effortlessly.

Dean raises his brows. “Kim…Kimmeela.”

She shakes her head at him, her lips pursing.

“Kimmímila.”

Lord help him, but he tries his best. His brows furrow.

“Kim…mila,” he attempts. She guides Mato closer and grabs Dean by his cheeks with one hand.

“Kimmí.”

“Kimmí,” he repeats with his cheeks squished. His face is starting to warm up, and not altogether in embarrassment.

“Mila,” she says with a nod.

“Mila,” Dean says. “Kimmímila.”

He’s treated to her smile, warm and true. She releases him, her gaze flitting over his face. Then she keeps riding. Dean grins to himself.

“Think I’m gonna call you Mila,” he says. Make it easier on myself.

She even laughs, a honeyed sound. “Yes, my father does too.”

“What does it mean? Your name.”

“In your language?” she says, in a tone that teases him back. She becomes thoughtful as she searches for the word. “It means…butterfly.”

“Really?” Dean remarks. She doesn’t strike him as a butterfly.

More like a lioness, he thinks, only somewhat holding back his grin.

She gives him some side-eye, despite her amusement.

“You think it does not suit me,” she observes.

“Well, I didn't say that—”

“I don’t think so either,” she admits. “There are many things that don’t suit me.”

Dean chuckles. He can imagine that.

“But my mother had a dream before I was born,” Mila says. “She saw beautiful wings, and said I would have a free mind. When I grew, and wanted to spend my days with horses more than cooking and sewing things, she didn’t call me free. She called me stubborn.” Her face begins to fall. “Maybe too stubborn.”

Dean offers her a rueful, sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get it. My brother always said I was damn hardheaded,” he says. “…Maybe we’ve got more in common than we thought, huh?”

Mila’s smile returns, however slightly.

“You have a brother?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a lawyer, so he’s more needed back home,” Dean replies.

Damn. He really does miss his bookish little brother.

He explains to her about his family, his brother and mother who still live in Lawrence, and how he joined the army, in part to honor his father.

“What happened to him?” she asks.

“He died…in some cornfield near Sharpsburg, Maryland, fighting the Confederacy,” he replies, heaving a breath.

"Con...federacy?" she questions.

"The South," Dean explains. "See, most of our southern states thought they should be their own country, letting slaves plow their fields and mind their kids. I may have lived on a farm, but my father always paid his workers. He fought for the Union."

"So you fought among yourselves, over land that did not belong to you," Mila points out.

Dean falls silent. After a little while, he concedes her point with an incline of his head.

"Fair enough," he says, glancing over at her. “I think my dad thought the fighting would end with the war, but, uh...it never really ends, does it?”

Her expression of curiosity fades, turning more solemn.

“No,” she agrees. “…I am sorry for your father.”

Dean's a little surprised to hear that from her, but he nods his thanks. They continue to talk as the sun begins to set in the west. When it dips behind the canyon, they stop to make camp for the night, and he helps her catch a rabbit to roast on the fire they build together.

That night over the meal, she slowly opens up to him. He learns that she’s an only child, though she has a sibling-like bond with her older cousin, Šóta. She spends most of her days planting or harvesting their crops, depending on the season, as well as sewing, painting, helping the elders of her tribe with tasks, and helping her mother and aunt cook.

When the rabbit is gone, she unbinds her long, thick hair and untangles it while she speaks. She explains that the Lakota are just one of many tribes. There are six other bands of Sioux who live in this region. Along with the Dakota and the Nakota, they are the “Seven Council Fires” who have made the Great Plains their home for generations.

She tells him about the way her tribe lives, caring for one another, giving the land back as much as they take, and letting it rest. The men hunt and protect the village from the outside, but the women protect the inside, their way of life.

Most of all, Mila tells him, she loves caring for the horses. She goes out and rides whenever she can duck out of her mother’s watchful eye.

Dean enjoys listening to her stories. He likes what he learns about her, but also, he just likes the sound of her voice, smooth and steady, almost calming. He thinks she might like the sound of his too, the way she’s smiled at him, laughed with him, glanced at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

She still picks a spot as far away from him as she can to sleep though. She keeps the fire pit in between them. He even catches sight of her knife, hidden in the hand she tucks underneath her cheek. Evidently, she doesn’t fully trust him just yet.

It annoys him at first, considering how many times he’s saved her already. How much he’s sacrificed just to get them this far…

Until he remembers how they met. He remembers the disdain and anger in her brown eyes, then the mistrust, and the fear hidden underneath. He thinks of every experience she’s likely had so far with the U.S. Military, and anyone else who looks like him.

Dean settles down on the ground and stares up at the innumerable stars in a raven sky. He’s exhausted, but his thoughts don’t let him rest for a while. 

At the very least, the way she looks at him now is softer than that first day.

In the morning, Mila watches the strange man wake.

He blinks and rubs his bleary eyes, yawning, groaning at the sun’s brightness like a child. She hides her smile by bowing her head over the apple she’s cutting with her knife. The orchards span wide across the forest, and soon he’ll find two yellow-red apples beside his head.

His brows raise at them, then he looks up at Mila sitting with her legs crossed behind the small fire pit. The wood there is just ash and blackened remains now, but it still carries the smell of burning.

“Morning,” he greets.

She nods back at him and pretends not to watch when he sits up with a groan, stretching and bending his arms high behind his head. He removed his uniform jacket to sleep. It allows her to see every dip of male muscle that his plain white shirt clings to, even in the long sleeves.

Her gaze furtively runs over the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, then back up to his half-bearded face, defined by a strong jaw and dark brows. The sun catches on his brown hair and teases the ends of it golden.

She would never admit it, but he’s not unpleasant to look at. 

Last night, she declined his offer to travel with her until she reaches her tribe safely, but he was insistent. Again, strange.

So here she is, with him. Here they are. 

Dean turns to see the horses grazing nearby. Mato no longer has the saddle and bridle his men put on him. He looks rested and at ease. He even whinnies at Baby, tossing his head a little. She answers him and flicks her tail. They continue eating together.

Dean smiles, then grabs an apple. He raises it to her in thanks before he takes a large bite. Its juices run down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. Mila can’t help but be drawn to the sight.

She tears her eyes away when he looks over at her.

“We have a long way to go. Three days, if the weather is good,” she says, continuing to carve pieces of her apple to eat. “We will know we are close when we reach the river.”

Dean nods in understanding. With a grunt, he gets to his feet and takes another bite out of his breakfast. She doesn’t expect the way he approaches her with a hand outstretched. She looks up at it, then at his expectant face.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road then,” he says.

Mila considers his offer for another moment. He seems to be making this a habit. Amused, she wonders if this is just kindness, or if the women of his people aren’t allowed to stand without a man’s help.

She pockets her knife, swipes her braided hair over her shoulder, and slips her hand into his, allowing him to help her to her feet. When she gets there, he’s closer than he should be.

A breath gets trapped in her throat as she once again looks between his warm hand closed over her smaller one, and his face. In the small space between them, there is a different kind of tension than before. Mila can’t tell what the man is thinking when he looks at her like that, but she doesn’t like it.

And at the same time, she does.

She takes back her hand, and she goes to the horses. She firmly ignores how her heart gallops, even as she rubs at her chest like it’s an ache that can be soothed.

She doesn’t hear Dean’s unsteady breath, nor does she see the way his green eyes follow her.

AN: *rubs hands together* Well, here they are! It's all starting to come together. What did you think of Dean's decision?

Coming up next, we have the final part: some action, some fluff, and some potentially perilous situations for Mila and Dean...

Next Time:

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

COMING 11/17!

Or read Part 3 on Patreon now!

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Series Tag List + Dean W. (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

@emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka

@chevroletdean @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @mimaria420

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @ajjustice

@ades106 @my-stories-vault @cevansbaby-dove @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof

@tmb510 @skyesthebomb @syrma-sensei @harleycao @king-of-milf-lovers

@pizzagirlxnsfwx @justsom3onesworld @beskarfilms @lunaticgurly @artemys-ackles

@malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean

@violetlilysunshine @traiitorjoe @tsofo26 @k-slla @jackles010378

@deanbrainrotwritings @urfav-tz @alwaystiredandconfused @torchbearerkyle @mrlonelycat

[dwn055]

I miss botw smmmm

[pitske]

Godzillaaaaaa :3

inspired by the Shin Godzilla posters

[transmasc-totoro]

Everyone talks about how amazing the princess bride is (rightfully so) but people don’t talk enough about the soundtrack. The motifs the themes the impeccable vibes. Have you sat down and listened to “guide my sword”? Have you heard “the friends’ song” and heard the guitar and horn in conversation with each other in a light and playful dance, much like Inigo and Fezziks’ friendship? Mark Knopfler is a legend. A legend I say!!!!

[waugh-bao]

@thedookieshooter and @charlesandkeef tagged me to share my instafest lineup (I’ve only had Spotify for a week, because I finally gave up on Amazon Music, so the results might not be super holistic):

Tagging: @charliesmydarling and @aiaiawar

[orcelito]

i am certainly exhibiting some Vibes with my current discord setup

it's honestly very descriptive of my current state of mind overall, between the fire emblem and constant trigun lmfao

[sonseulsoleil]

sometimes it's 10:35 PM on a work night and you just have to sit on your bed in your pyjamas and blast Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson

[starkwlkr]

24 | hugh jackman

an: ok anon this was accidentally deleted 😭 faceclaim can be anyone i just found random pics on Pinterest

also it’s now canon that marvel actress!reader played roxie in chicago (hehe I’m currently listening to the soundtrack)

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yourusername happy anniversary to my HUSBAND. 😍 he loves me so, that funny honey of mineeeee

alexjackman happy birthday to your marriage

yourusername um ok

tomholland2013 😊🥳

gwenspeter bro is holding back tears

mattnotmurdock zendaya come get your man

oliviaaajackman 🤨

vancityreynolds how does it feel to be the other woman?

yourusername great 😍 he gives me money and buys me gifts

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thehughjackman 24 with the missus who always looks like a goddess off and on screen

yourusername 💝 I love you forever old man!

oliviaaajackman so do I😍 buy me a birkin?

thehughjackman no

oliviaaajackman but you bought mom three?

whosreese woah your wife kinda looks like my mom

yourusername that’s weird huh

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[vintagegeekculture]

I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

[s-awturn]

Jealousy, jealousy || F1 Dilfs

cw: jealousy, slightly possessive behavior, suggestion of obscenity, teasing, bratty behavior, public display of affection, and blah blah blah

a/n: This has been running through my mind for a few days now, thinking about these men vibrating with jealousy, I couldn't let it go. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Webber, Kimi Raikkonen.

soundtrack: baby i'm jealous — bebe rexha ft. doja cat

Baby, I'm jealous, ooh

And I know that it ain't right

But I'm jealous, jealous (haha)

TOTO WOLFF:

Who could blame him? You were beautiful, intelligent and charismatic, even if you were a little shy, Toto understood why people orbited around you. But damn, that didn't stop Toto from being jealous of you, how could someone as smart as you not see that the McLaren kid was flirting with you?

It was clear how interested Lando was in you, very interested in fact. And that made jealousy bubble dangerously inside him and Toto didn't like that, he was confident, he knew you were in love with him, but fuck it, he couldn't help it.

It was time for him to make it clear who you were with.

He rolled up his sleeves to his elbow and walked over to where you were talking to Norris, who was too distracted to notice Wolff's approach.

Lando took a step back when he finally noticed Toto, the older man wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed his temple, keeping his dark eyes on Lando, making his message very clear.

"Norris" he said, making you even more attached to him. "Schatzi, shall we go? The car is waiting for us."

Lando swallowed, Toto's gaze was a subtle threat and he wasn't about to provoke one of the fiercest crew chiefs on the grid. You were forbidden ground. The British pilot said a quick goodbye to you and left.

“I know what you did, Toto” you hummed, feeling him kiss your neck, oblivious to who might be watching.

“That’s great, I hope everyone knows and stops flirting with you,” he said, making you turn to him. “I don’t want any boy who’s barely out of diapers trying to win over my girl.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

“You look cute when you’re jealous, honey.”

“Just for you, schatzi”

SEBASTIAN VETTEL:

He was watching the news when he was attacked by a five-year-old girl with two missing teeth. “I got you, monster!”

He pretended to be in pain as he writhed on the couch, making the little girl laugh. “Oh no, she managed to hit me!”

Sebastian pulled the girl onto his lap, tickling her belly, Eva laughed loudly trying to dodge the tickles until she was surprised by kisses.

“How was school today, princess? Did you learn a lot today?”

You watched the scene leaning against the door, Eva and Sebastian spent hours there playing after school, the girl told you everything, from when they had finished and reached the letter F in the alphabet until the time who arrived home.

“Make her wash her hands, Seb, I’ll go to the kitchen to see if lunch is ready.

“You can leave it to me, Süße, This little pig is going to wash her hands very well” and with that, he threw the girl over his shoulder and took her to the bathroom.

Eva and Sebastian were extremely close, Eva was the apple of her father's eye and Sebastian was Eva's master idol, she adored her father more than anything.

“Daddy? Can I tell you something?” Eva asked softly.

“Sure love, whatever you want.” He poured some soap on her little hands. “What’s wrong?”

“One of the teachers at school seems to like Mommy.”

Sebastian didn't stop rubbing Eva's hands, but the crease between his blond eyebrows made it clear that he had listened and didn't like what he heard.

“Is that so, dear?” He asked

“I think so, Daddy. He always gives her a rose, but Mommy throws it away.”

Maybe it was time for Sebastian to start picking up Eva from school.

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll talk to him and he’ll stop giving Mommy flowers.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Eva said, swinging her little feet as Sebastian washed his hands.

And the next day he was there, he respected the teachers a lot, but he needed to put that little teacher in his place. Sebastian smiled politely, asking Eva to stay in the car, playing with the Rubik's cube after the girl pointed out who the inconvenient teacher was.

“Mr Vettel, it’s a pleasure to see you in our school” The professor greeted him and Sebastian gave a tight smile, before standing two steps away from the professor.

“I’ll be brief, my daughter is in the car and my wife is waiting for us at home, so stop giving my wife flowers, or you’ll get flowers too” Sebastian’s smile widened “on All Souls' Day,” he added, giving the teacher a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I hope I was clear.”

“Like water,” he replied stammeringly.

“Great, you're a smart guy, so I won't have to report you for harassment, I'm glad we understood each other." He said and left, whistling as he walked to his car. Eva didn't even take her eyes off the cube, obsessed with the toy ever since Kimi gave it to her.

“Will he stop falling in love with Mommy, Daddy?”

“Yes, baby, let’s go home?”

FERNANDO ALONSO:

Fernando was the most expressive person you knew, he couldn't keep his emotions hidden, everyone could tell when he was angry, happy or frustrated. This was sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse.

And at that moment, anger and frustration were very present on the Spaniard's face. It was your first time in the paddock since you started dating, you never had so much time to travel with him and follow the races, so everything was new to you. He was happy to have taken you and couldn't deny that he hoped you would stay close to him, knowing everything. He didn't think another pilot would take his attention.

But apparently, Jenson Button and Michael Schumacher had your full attention, you were so excited to get their autographs, you were smiling so excitedly that you could barely sit still. Fernando didn't want to be rude, didn't want to ruin his first experience on that side of the racetrack, but damn, he was jealous.

He didn't remember seeing you act so excitedly towards him like that. Still biting the cap of a pen, Fernando returned to the Renault pit, he knew that Michael or Jenson could accompany you if you wanted to return to the garage. Fernando wouldn't let his jealousy make your visit to the paddock a bad thing, he might be jealous but he still wanted you happy.

In the garage, he engaged in conversation with his mechanics and engineers, preparing for the free practice session that would take place in a few hours. But his mind was still focused on you, happily bouncing around your “favorite pilots,” he mentally sneered, his mouth twisting in spite.

“Do you understand?” one of the engineers asked and Fernando nodded stiffly.

“Of course I understand, I’m not an idiot,” he replied, putting his hands in the pockets of his overalls before being hugged by you.

“I looked for you like crazy, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back to the garage?” You kissed his shoulder, leaving a light pink lipstick mark on the flame retardant.

“I didn't want to interrupt your very interesting conversation with Button and Schumacher” he couldn't help the bitterness in his voice, making you frown in confusion.

“Whoa, why are you like that, baby?”

“Mhmm? You’re imagining things, corazón” Fernando said, avoiding your eyes, so he didn't see your mischievous smile. He often forgot that you knew him better than anyone else.

“Am I really? Then why did you leave me alone with Michael and Jenson?” You questioned, circling him until you were facing him, watching the pilot look away as he ruffled his unruly hair. “Oh, you’re jealous.”

“Me? Jealous of Jenson and Michael? You’re going crazy, honey.” He laughed mockingly.

You weren't affected by his sarcasm, you just hugged him again and pressed your lips to his chin, listening to his breathing hitch. Fernando finally released the tension that held his shoulders and hugged you tightly, drawing a smug smile from you.

"I see right through you, Nando, and I can tell when my man is jealous, don't try to fool me," you said sincerely. "I really like Jenson and Michael, but it's you I love, now go out there and kick all their asses.”

Fernando smiled and kissed you warmly. “If I bring you the trophy, will you give me a son?” he asked as he walked away from you.

“Maybe, who knows?” you smiled mischievously and walked away, going to his team to watch the training, giving the pilot a little peck while stealing his cap.

JENSON BUTTON:

Jenson was not a jealous man, he loved to show you off, to let everyone know that you, a beautiful girl a few years younger than him, had chosen him. He tried not to be arrogant, but he loved you being the center of attention, and the fact that you always wanted to go unnoticed made everything better.

“I'm going to get myself some coconut water, do you want it?” you asked, lifting the brim of Jenson's cap to get his attention. “Jen, are you listening to me?”

“I'm always listening to you, peach” He said, crossing his fingers over his abdomen as he looked at you, smiling cheekily. “I’d love to, if you could bring it...” he said pulling out his wallet and taking out the card for you.

“Nah, don’t even think about it Button! I can afford a coconut water for me and my boyfriend!” you said and marched to the kiosk by the beach. Jenson pulled down the brim of his cap, watching you walk away.

Jenson watched as a few men looked at you as you walked by, admiring your curves. Some even tried to get your attention, but Jenson saw you ignore them all, going to get your coconut water.

It's not like any of those idiots could have you.

He lifted his cap, keeping his eyes on you, ready to avoid any bad situation you might face. But you walked back to where he was, holding two green coconuts, you were blushing and had a cute pout on your lips.

“What’s wrong, peach?” he asked, pulling you to sit on his thighs, he kept his hand on your hip, playing with the bikini string that escaped your jean shorts. “Did some idiot say something stupid to you?”

“Nothing much, don’t worry,” you said before he kissed you so hard that it made you blush. “Jen! We’re in public!”

“I couldn't help it, peach, your mouth was calling me for a kiss, I couldn't be rude”

You slapped him on the chest, making him laugh. Jenson noticed that no one else was looking in your direction. Just because he wasn't jealous didn't mean he wouldn't make it clear that you already had someone.

He.

MARK WEBBER:

It was supposed to be just a family dinner, his family already knew Mark, they were used to him being present at family events and it was always a surprise when he didn't show up.

It was supposed to be just dinner, but what would family gatherings be without a little drama? The entire table was engaged in a conversation about Formula One's return after the summer holidays and you were laughing at the silly argument between your father and Mark, your father was a big supporter of Lando Norris and Mark made no secret of his preference for Oscar Piastri when the door opened, revealing his older brother and best friend, Ben.

Well, it had been your ex-boyfriend in high school and you had a bad breakup and he hadn't gotten over it, even after years.

“Wow Y/N, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you” he said after greeting everyone, he came to you with a nostalgic smile that didn’t affect you. “You look beautiful”

You gave a polite nod, even though you had gotten over it, continuing to keep in touch with Ben was never an option for you.

“It's kind of you, Ben... This is my husband, Mark” you introduced them, seeing Ben give a dry greeting, Mark responded in the same way and continued talking to his father as if no one had interrupted. You hid your smile behind your wine glass, Mark acted exactly as you expected.

The conversation continued and you ignored Ben's indiscreet glances at you, it wasn't like Mark wasn't there for Ben to try to gain his attention so blatantly. Everything got worse with his comments, sometimes flirting with you, sometimes trying to get a reaction out of Mark.

Those attempts were turning dinner, which was supposed to be light and fun, into a cold war zone. You were tense and Mark noticed this, placing his thick hand on your thigh, gently caressing your skin to calm you down; a sign that he would take control of the situation and put his ex-boyfriend in his place.

You smiled, grateful and proud that Mark was your husband.

“Out of respect for my in-laws, Benjamin, I ask that you stop trying to flirt with my wife, or I will knock your teeth out.” Mark spoke calmly before swallowing his shot of whiskey, you heard your brothers cough nervously and your cousins giggle.

You knew Ben would give a bad answer, he was a provocative jerk and would try to push Mark over the edge. Not that it was the wisest move, not when on the other side of the fight was a former Formula One driver who was driving a car weighing over a ton at three hundred kilometers per hour.

“Maybe I’m trying to make her see that she made some bad choices, but everything can be fixed if she wants it to be.”

Mark laughed.

“Breaking up with you wasn’t a mistake, Benjamin, it was a deliverance,” Mark retorted and your eyes widened. “Don’t think for a moment that you have any chance with my wife, I can't speak for Y/N, but I guarantee she doesn't miss you at all.”

Benjamin stammered like an idiot until he managed to form a sentence.

“You don’t know that”

Mark laughed more and shook the glass, playing with the ice “of course I do, I work hard to make sure there’s only room for me in her heart… so don’t be stupid and stop embarrassing yourself in front of everyone”

Mark's hand squeezed your thigh and you smiled, resting yours on top of his.

KIMI RAIKKONEN:

He hated parties, crowds, loud noise, people smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, urgh, he hated. But Kimi's karma was to be in love with a girl in her early twenties, enjoying the last moments of her college life before her obligations of adult life become part of your daily life. So there he was, leaning against a wall in a nightclub, looking away from the dancing crowd, his rigid posture and disinterested expression keeping the curious away.

He shook the glass, making the ice cubes collide with each other as he watched his girlfriend dance happily on the dance floor, surrounded by a few friends.The Finn's icy eyes roamed over her body relentlessly, appreciating how happy she seemed to be as she moved to the pop music, that made it worth going to that hellish nightclub, he would do whatever he could to ensure your happiness, even being there, outside of his natural habitat.

The ice surrounding Kimi cracked a little when he saw you smile at him, your bright eyes and happy aura made that torment worth it. You walked towards the ex-pilot and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Honey, come dance with me,” you invited, pouting slightly to help convince him. “Just one song.”

“You know I'm terrible at this, lumihiutale, I'd rather watch you” he said and nibbled on your lip, making you whimper.

“You’re a bad guy, Kimi.”

He gave a smile, very rare for other people, but routine for you.

“I suspect you like it, princess.”

“You’ll never hear that from me.” You closed your mouth with an imaginary zipper and joined your friends. Kimi left the glass on the table and looked around, seeing a strange man staring at you. The Finn knew then that his evening, so pleasant, would encounter an irritating obstacle.

You were completely distracted by your friends, dancing and singing happily, you looked beautiful under the neon lights of the club, fucking beautiful.

He trusted that you would be okay for a few moments while he went to the bar to get you some water; when he came back, he found a boy surrounding you, trying to ask you to dance, even if you denied it and raised your hand, showing the promise ring. Not that this had dampened the boy's spirits. Kimi felt a strange spark ignite inside him, that boy — who didn't even have a beard — seemed to be close to his age and wasn't as ugly. What if you preferred someone your own age? Someone who would go to clubs and parties with you without complaining? Someone who would dance with you?

He growled lowly and walked over to where you and the boy were, and was present, seeing the boy's eyes widen, recognizing him.

“Get lost, kid,” he said simply, putting his arm around your shoulders, making you press your back against his chest. “She doesn’t need a brat like you.”

The boy stuttered and stumbled away, making you laugh.

You turned to Kimi, your cheeks were flushed and you were smiling.

“You being jealous is a new scenario for me, I think I like it” she stood on her tiptoes, sealing a quick kiss on his lips, Kimi slid her hands down to your hips, bringing the two of you closer together.

“Jealousy? I have no idea what that is, sweetie...” he said. “Shall we go home? I need to prove to you that you really don’t need inexperienced boys.”

His eyes lit up with mischief and expectation. “Not that any other guy besides you interests me, but I accept your proposal.”

In the end, his questions were ignored, you were Kimi Raikkonen's girl and no stupid boy was going to change that.

[fluffypotatey]

things i noted on my 2nd watch of Twisters (2024)

where each song from the soundtrack plays (idk how many times i listened to it but y’all there was hell or high water playing at the diner when Javi was talking to Riggs and i felt like my third eye opened lmaooooo)

Dexter nerding out over everything (noticed this before but like 🥰🤧 this old man has my heart y’all 🥺 do you see how excited he gets mapping out the terrain and remembering which tornado effect is which???? yeah sure he probably never went to university or finished high school but you can see his love for learning and education and i bet he read every book in every library he visits)

white shirt OT3 o7 (Kate begins the white shirt effect and then it switches to Tyler and switches back to Kate then switches to Javi which switches to Tyler at the end. now, you could argue that Javi begins the white shirt effect bc Storm Par includes white shirts in their uniforms but NO! because they’re polos AND Javi wears the blue and black uniform. so truly the real argument would be Scott wore it but he’s separate from the OT3 and is meant to draw Javi away unlike Kate and Tyler and in this essay—)

Boone not answering Tyler calls (like, last time i did see when Tyler was asking Boone for forgiveness when he chased a tornado with Kate instead of Boone but the fact that Tyler only called Lily because Boone wasn’t answering just adds to that lmao)

Tyler being all shy and sweet with Kate (yeah i saw it before last time but like 🥺 he’s such a sweetie with his little crush and little smile and trying to act all cool asking for her opinion about where the twister is like 🤧🤧 adorable)

Lily teasing and being a great wingman (calling out his red face and handing Kate the food. and ok, yeah, sure, it’s a lot more likely that she didn’t see Kate and Tyler have a mini argument where Kate assumes the worst of them, but i like to think she saw how it ended and decided to clear the air her own way)

Benjamin Shopshire III (100% laughed when i read that name, i’m so sorry Ben lmao)

Mrs Carter’s narrative similarities to Aunt Meg (bbq & steak and eggs; team loving protag’s relative; not taking protag’s bs)

dead bf’s name is Jeb not Jeff (pretty sure that’s short for something but i have never heard of a Jeb before)

Tyler complimenting Javi’s radar (solely for OT3 purposes)

“Storm Par” & “Owens” (very much the when a name begins toned derogatory but ends the story affectionate)

they never specify which branch of the military Javi’s from (…….it’s free real estate)

Never Left Me plays when Javi and Kate are driving into Oklahoma (very much seals the “there was a time i’d do anything for you” quote)

but yeah there’s some. imma be letting it all soak in my brain while i rot ✌️

[strawberrystepmom]

Fukuzawa x F!Reader. CW: implied age gap (reader is in her late 20's and he is his canonical age), alcohol mention and consumption, takes place from his bedside while he's ill during the Cannibal arc. weird situationship vibes, switches between past and present tense.

WC: 2.9k | divider by cafekitsune

“What are you doing here?”

Yukichi’s voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks, the dryness of his throat marking his usual baritone with a rasp that causes you to arch a brow.

“Visiting, standing vigil, whatever makes it seem more heroic.” Making a show of licking the tip of your finger and using it to flip to the next page of the book sitting in your lap, you glance up from the page and tilt your head to the side.“Why are you so surprised to see me?”

“You shouldn’t be here. I’ll have Ranpo escort you out.” 

The continued dry rasp of his voice makes you spring into action, snapping the book in your lap closed and reaching for the small carafe of water by his bedside. Pouring a glass, you slide it in his direction and look away when he moves to pick it up. The suggestion that Ranpo be the one to escort you out makes you chuckle to yourself considering he is the one who let you in to begin with, holding out his hand for the promised sweets your sister mailed from overseas. Sweeter and stickier than anything he can find here, probably melting in the palm of his hand.

Finally, you sigh and lean back in the chair as much as the cramped object will allow.

“If you want me to leave, you can just say so. I can show myself out. No escort necessary.” 

You want to hear him deny you in his own words for once, anticipating the rejection that has yet to come, a breath caught in your throat. Instead you listen to the gulp of room temperature water travel down his throat, eyes fixed to the closed cover of the book in your lap. 

It has been more than six months since your employment with the Armed Detective Agency ended and you’ve managed to wheedle your way into two personal visits with its President in that time. Two times you attempted, yet again, to show him you are invested in him as Yukichi Fukuzawa, the man and not merely as a former boss.

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

The first was over dinner; a simple message sent with intention.

You: I made too much and always forget about my leftovers. Have you eaten yet?

What is he if not an old moth to a hopeful little flame? 

Logic warned him to decline but his just shaky enough to be from low blood sugar mid-evening hands betrayed his judgment. What could it hurt to humor you a little bit? He has never been outright oblivious to your feelings although will always believe them to be misguided. 

YF: You are too generous with your time and groceries. I can be there in twenty minutes.

You showed him your humble abode for the first time and fed him bites from your plate insisting you were almost too full to move. Your cat climbed into his lap and he dared to daydream for a breath it were the needy creature’s owner instead, steel blue eyes tracing your every move while nimble fingers stroked between the cats’ ears. The soft melody of your record collection set the soundtrack and you swayed gently, nursing a glass of wine between two of your fingers.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

Whatever trance the gentle purr of your cat had him in severed the moment he heard your voice. He watched your form gently sway to the music, soft and melodic from the decade before he was even born making it far older than you.

“Can’t let good food go to waste.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled at him with narrowed eyes. He has imagined you performing this exact motion often, every day even, looking over your shoulder while swaying gently to your favorite music. If he weren’t so concerned about appropriateness, he’d rise to his feet and join you, wrap his arm around your waist and sway with his chin on your shoulder.

“You think I’m a good cook?”

From your couch, he glanced over his shoulder at you and sighed softly. If he were to speak the words he wants to say, they’d almost certainly tip this over the edge he has spent so much time desperately trying to avoid, so he picks the easiest ones available:

“Yeah, you are.”

The way you smiled at him weighed on his mind for the rest of his fitful night, that grin lighting up nightmares and daydreams alike.

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

“Why are you here?”

Fukuzawa rarely makes a second request for an answer, even from you, and the breath caught in your throat becomes a sharp exhale the moment he speaks. He glances in your direction and sees the anxious twitch in your fingers, how you desperately wish to fiddle with your appearance or jewelry to seem undisturbed and confident. Fukuzawa is an intelligent man by nature and he carefully watches to expose all of a person’s subtleties, even yours. So much of your behavior is a veneer to make yourself appear non threatening.

Truth be told, he’s astounded it works as well as it does although even the greatest minds have fallen prey to beautiful women with sharp wit and pretty smiles. Not that you are a predator to him in the slightest.

“Because I care about you,” you start, snapping your mouth shut to avoid saying more. Instead of fiddling with your clothing or earrings, you jiggle your foot and the book in your lap bounces with each movement. You are too vulnerable for your own good, tender hearted to the core. “I wanted to see how you’re doing for myself instead of getting the sanitized version of the story from Kunikida and the dishonest one from Dazai.”

Fukuzawa attempts to push his glass back onto the table and you reach to pluck it from his hands, fingers touching while you do. It reminds him of the second occasion he enjoyed your company before tonight, skin buzzing with the ghost of your touch instead of the dull throbbing pain of his illness. A soft gasp escapes him and he settles back against the pillow under his head, silver hair sweeping his shoulders.

“That’s fair,” he admits, fiddling with the blanket that is loosely wrapped over his body. 

You giggle despite feeling entirely out of your element, insecure and young despite your nearly three decades, dabbling in adoration for a man you have no business being interested in to begin with. 

“If you’d like to be alone, I can leave.”

He makes you feel as though you’re nude in front of him while he’s fully clothed, baring every crease and dimple of yourself, supine and ripe for his consumption. It’s what you want, after all. A single glance that leaves you stripped to the bones.

It’s why you cannot leave him alone.

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

The second time you were fortunate enough to be graced with Fukuzawa’s presence as a friend was a tad less honest on your end. 

“Hello?”

Fukuzawa knew who was on the other end before he even picked his phone up to answer the incoming call, a stirring feeling in his gut he should have perhaps taken as a warning letting him know what was coming next.

“What are you doing tonight?”

He exhaled loudly through his nose in response to your question, the closest you have ever come to drawing a real laugh from the man. He has always played off his enjoyment with tight smiles and acknowledging nods, hiding his upturned lips behind the ceramic of a choko.

“I’ll take it that means you’re free?” 

The sound of a pen being tossed down onto the desk below it clanged through the speaker of your phone. You sighed the sound away, listening for further stirring on the other end. Seconds passing have conditioned you to expect a rejection when it comes to him, a gentle let down the way only he has managed to seem less like a “no thank you” and more of a “you’re so kind to ask” in the effusively polite way he has perfected.

“Tell me what I’m going to be getting myself into before I answer, please.”

You were not being asked to explain yourself, you were being told to do so. A small smile danced across your lips while smearing on berry colored lipstick in your bathroom mirror, your phone pressed against your blush dusted cheek.

“So there is this sake tasting…” A sigh from Fukuzawa interrupted your words and you sighed back, pouting at your reflection in the mirror. “Can you at least let me finish?”

He cleared his throat, leaving you to picture him sitting in his office at the Agency with a bemused smirk on his face. You’ve never seen him smile but your mind is quick to expel the effort it takes to pretend that you have. Does he have dimples? Lines that mirror those beneath his eyes that carve valleys around his mouth? You’ve always hoped you’d find out.

“Thank you.” 

He hummed a response to your polite words, shifting in his own seat.

“I booked it expecting a friend would join me but something has come up and they can’t. I could go alone but I also just so happen to know a man who is very fond of sake and knows more about it than I do who would be the perfect company.”

Another hum was all he graced you with. You wrinkled your nose at your reflection and mouthed a swear word, certain your flimsy story was about to be dead on arrival. It wasn’t your best story and you knew going into this it was risky to lie to begin with but what else could you say? 

“Oh Fukuzawa, I’ve been dying to drink alongside you in hopes it loosens your tongue enough to reveal your deep mutual love for me.”

No. You would have rather died than admit these words aloud where he could hear them. He has always had access to far too much of you and has granted you far too little to him. 

“And this friend? Who are they?”

A giggle bubbled out of you while you closed your lipstick tube, tossing it on the counter in front of you haphazardly. Should you choose your words carefully to prolong the mystery of this friend, the same one you claim you’re drinking with when you’re really drinking alone and calling your former boss and current flame?

“They’re nobody important,” you settled on. He knew immediately you were lying, your true good hearted nature giving you away yet again. You’d never call your friends unimportant, no matter how frustrated you may have been over being stood up which seems to happen with this mysterious friend often.

“Hm. Interesting.”

You knew you’d been caught. The tone of his voice was more of a guilty verdict than any you could find in a courtroom. The warmth rushing to the front of your face, something you’d almost consider shameful if you had any shame left, convinced you to suspend any further untruths and you instead opted to rush into the next part of your offer full speed ahead.

“It starts at eight. If you aren’t busy, that is. Just say so if you are, I’m a big girl who can handle rejection.”

Yukichi smiled from his office. It dimmed as quickly as it spread across his face, drawn to life by the assertion you can handle rejection. Only someone who has ever been rejected can handle rejection. You are rarely denied what you want. Is he really going to be another hashmark keeping track of how many you’ve won over?

“Are you going to keep me out all night?”

This won him a laugh from you, a sound that warmed his bones and made his mind race at the same time. 

“Depends, do you wanna be out all night? This is just a tasting but I have a bottle and you know where I live…”

Singing the last word of your sentence, you devolved into a fit of giggles over your own sillness and if he wasn’t actively debating on how appropriate his association with you is, he probably would have laughed along. 

“No. That’s not necessary, I’m sure the tasting will give me all the excitement I can handle.”

The tasting only made him yearn for you more strongly, fingers brushed against one another while passing ceramic cups to lips. Discussions of clean flavor, light and neat, bright and warm, lent to the warm landscape spent at the side of a woman he cannot seem to shake no matter what happens to him.

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

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The breath caught in your throat leaves you as a sharp exhale, finally. 

The truth always finds its way to light, the lamp on the bedside table casting a glow over the side of Yukichi’s face. He’s more frail than you have ever dreamed of seeing him, complexion nearly translucent in its currently pale hue. Your thumb twitches, itching to rub the skin around his eyes that is etched with fine lines, to reassure him you will not be leaving his side until you’re certain he’s alright. Instead, you tuck it inside your fist to keep the urge to yourself.

“Good because I honestly don’t want to.”

You fiddle with your bag that is draped over the back of the chair, reaching for the newspaper you swiped off of the desk of the Agency after making your deal with Ranpo earlier in the day. You’d show up after everyone else went home or was otherwise occupied and he’d let you in to avoid the gawking that would come with everyone knowing that you are visiting for pleasure and not for business. 

“I brought the paper if you want me to read it to you,” you offer and Fukuzawa hums, the faintest sight of a smile on his lips. The corners twitch so minutely you believe you imagined the movement but look down all the same, warm faced, grateful that your mind was correct in assessing him. Dimples and little lines are visible on each of the corners of his mouth. 

“Anything interesting happening?”

Flipping the pages open, your eyes widen and you search for something interesting, muttering to yourself. Traffic conditions, weather, reports of minor crime throughout Yokohama. None of these things will improve his condition or keep him from worrying so you flip the page again, shaking your head when the stories come up empty for one you’d like to read.

“Don’t they put the horoscopes in the paper anymore?”

He chuckles and you can tell it hurts him, his chest heaving from the effort. The paper is quickly discarded, fluttering to the floor beside your chair. You lean forward and place your elbows on the side of his bed, daring to get close enough you can look over him from inches instead of feet. 

“Are you okay?”

Fukuzawa stiffens and you have to further fight the urge to dote on him. Your fingers itch push his moonlight colored waves off of his face and your palm practically throbs, wishing to be pressed to his likely clammy skin. It’s in your nature to cluck at the things you care about like a worried hen.

“I have to believe that I will be.”

Nodding your agreement and punctuating it with another sigh, you lean forward and rest your chin on his bedside. The intrusion surprises him but it isn’t completely unwelcome, those eyes you love to feel upon you glancing downward and focusing on the tip of your nose, gradually climbing upward until your gazes meet. 

“I’ll believe double, just for good measure.” Smiling, you press your cheek to the scratchy fabric of the blanket wrapped around his legs and half of his torso. “I’ll bring you a nicer blanket tomorrow.”

Raising a brow, he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

“Tomorrow?”

Scoffing, you nod. The question isn’t a jab although it may feel like one and you have to reason with yourself that he is merely giving you a hard time. 

“Tomorrow, if you’ll have me.”

Shaking his head, he idly reaches in your direction and brushes his thumb over your cheek before placing his hand back at his side. Again, a movement so quick and discreet you believe it imaginary, yet the sensation burns across your skin. Fighting the urge to bury your face into the bed like a schoolgirl with a crush, you choose instead to face him head on and let your gaze soften.

“Next time just ask me if you can come, no need to get Ranpo involved.” You shrug and laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

Yukichi nods and permits his eyes to drift from you to the door. It was obvious from the moment he realized you were in the room who graciously allowed for you to be there, the man on the other side of the door loudly munching whatever you bribed him with.

“You aren’t as great of a liar as you think you are.”

Laughing, you shrug.

"Caught me. At least I'm a good cook and decent company instead."

Fighting the urge to reach out and touch you again, he keeps his hands at his sides and ponders the correct way to respond. His time on earth could be fleeting from this moment forward, his minutes numbered by a threat his entire team is working to figure out. He could leave his cards on the table. Tell you he feels the same and he hasn't had this much fun since he was a far younger man getting into far more trouble.

Instead, he settles back into the pillow beneath him and shifts his face to look at you. He'll save these matters of the heart until after there is no more looming danger.

"Thank you for coming."

You sit up and away from the bed, leaning back into the chair you're sitting on. He doesn't want to discuss feelings or the two of you any further and you respect that, dropping your arm over the side of the chair and fish for the newspaper you brought with you, plucking it by one of the folds and pulling it into your lap.

"Now where were we? Oh yeah, horoscopes."

Whatever you're saying fades into background noise while he shuts his eyes tightly. He has to make it through this, you're waiting for him on the other end of it.

[stayconnecteed]

hi bby <3 i just saw your post and im here to request something 👉👈

i wondering if you could work something with jisung and love at first sight? idk i've been watching too many romcoms lately. it's totally okay if you don't want to write it though, love you <33

🪐˓⠀˚⠀summertime longing⠀@⠀han jisung.

bridgerton au , jisung is head over heels for you ㅤ—⠀⠀at first sight. mention of little wounds ( scratches, really ) & soonie is a paid actor hehe 🫶🏼 this is not a part of my dear gentleman oneshots & it's not proofread. i hate to write on my phone but i don't have my laptop. hope you like it, mana 🤍

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀2.4k words. ⠀⠀general mlist.⠀⠀join taglist.

The carriage stopped, and Jisung didn't wait for the door to open before jumping out. He was late, and although it wasn't unusual, his old friend Minho would kill him if he didn't show up on time. He didn't bother to look at his pocket watch as he walked the cobblestone path of the Lee manor's entrance, flashing an apologetic smile at the housekeeper who had watched him grow up as she opened the door for him before his fingers caressed the metal knocker. The hall was empty, the only source of noise the bustle coming from the kitchen, and Jisung knew that the guests had already been moved to the garden. Minho was going to notice his absence. Shit.

He hurried through the hallways, the rustle of the fabric of his pants ringing in his ears with each step as the only soundtrack to his march, until he reached the large glass windows of the blue room. He stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of his heart, flattening the lapels of his suit jacket against his chest. He wanted to think that the shaking in his hands was a creation of his creative mind, but in reality it was just a side effect of his lack of social skills. Jisung closed his eyes. He didn't know why he kept arriving late to places when it made him so uncomfortable to have to enter a room full of people totally alone.

Then he realised that on that occasion the people were in the garden, and he was the one who remained in the room, and he chuckled, shaking his head. What an idiot. He would be fine. Plus, he knew the Lees — it wasn't going to be that bad.

The first to see him as soon as he stepped out onto the terrace was Lady Lee, the Earl of Gimpo, and she quickly gestured for him to come towards her, ignoring the panicked face of the man who should have announced him when he arrived. He did not have to force the smile that curved his lips in reflection of the one that the woman in front of him had, and he responded to her effusive greeting and affectionate comments with easy laughter and lots of promises of meetings with his own mother as soon as possible.

Minho and his family had been travelling all spring, and now that the first rays of sun heralded summer in its most comforting form, they had finally returned, to enjoy the few months of heat before the new season began. And Jisung couldn't wait to hug his best friend again, even if it meant putting up with all the jokes about the experience he had gained in Europe and how little he had been missed. It was part of who Minho was, all the teasing and the sharp smirks, and the least he could do was get to his welcome back event on time, which… Well, he hadn't been able to do it.

Lady Lee's attention slid from her son's friend to the man she had been chatting with before, and Jisung offered a respectful bow, trying to finally find Minho in the crowd. Until he found his broad shoulders moving in silent laughter at his companion's words. And he saw you, the companion, giggling too, covering your mouth with an expert twist of your fan, your cheeks flushed, in front of Minho. Then you looked at him, and for a minute he forgot everything about how to breathe. 

Because looking into your eyes was like listening to a melody. He could hear the quartet that Minho's mother had chosen for the event playing from the little wooden platform by the lake, but it was a completely different tune than that. Your gaze, cheerful and serene, sang of mischievous breezes swaying the treetops at will, of dances without music barefoot on the grass and of the warm rays of the sun kissing your skin. You brought the summer with you, that summer that filled him with life and hope, and as he lost himself in your bright pupils, standing among the crowd, he wondered how his heart had been able to beat until that moment when it didn't had you to beat for.

“Hey, Ji!” Minho called his name, approaching him in a couple of steps, and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Minho was dry in words, but his actions showed clearly enough how he truly felt about his friends.

Jisung's body reacted with the force of habit, letting himself be embraced and tightening his grip on Minho, as if he was afraid that he would get back on that ship with the desire to travel the world. He couldn't allow it, at least for a long time. Or unless they went together. And after one last squeeze he let him step away, Jisung's hand firm on Minho's back, as the Lees' only son turned to you.

“This is Lord Han, as I told you,” he explained, and you bowed before him, lowering your head with a lingering smile curving your lips. Jisung wanted to kiss that smile into his mouth, but he cleared his throat instead, trying to fill his mind with other — more appropriate — thoughts.

“Milady here wanted to visit our city,” he continued, offering his hand to you, waiting for you to rest it over his, and squeeze it with a familiarity that made Jisung’s heart sting, “so I proposed to her to travel back with us and stay for a while. She was the girl I told you about in my last letter.”

The last letter that had arrived that morning, and that he hadn't read because he was arriving late.

“Then you were absolutely right, my brother,” Jisung uttered, his words withering in his tongue as he linked the word ‘propose’ between you and Minho, “you were going to try to find beautiful views out there in the world. You truly discovered the most breathtaking one.”

Minho gave Jisung a playful punch on the shoulder, his chest filling with pride, ready to affirm any compliment his friend could mutter about you, but he stopped when he saw you addressing Jisung, your voice soft and honeyed, still hidden behind your fan. 

“My lord really praised your composer skills during our trip here,” you whispered, averting your magnetic gaze from his as if you were having trouble bearing the knowledge that Jisung was observing you, completely stunned, but also desperate to have a conversation with you. “He forgot to add how much of a gentleman you were.”

Jisung accepted your words with a light blush covering his cheeks, and he raised his hand almost instantly, narrowing his eyes and waiting, until you released your hold on Minho's hand and let yours rest on Jisung's. His breath got caught in his throat as he felt the soft fabric of your gloves on his fingers, and he wanted to imagine that the way you held your own breath was also due to the touch his lips left on the back of your hand — the greeting of any gentleman. 

And just before either of you could say a single word, you heard Lady Lee scream by the terrace, absolutely stressed, and a spark of orange fur running across the grass like a shooting star in the darkest night. Minho gasped, and Jisung knew. His cats.

You were the one who took the initiative, smashing your fan into Minho's chest and grabbing the hem of your dress in one swift move, following the mischievous creature at a fast pace, ignoring the calls of the rest of the men at the event. Jisung stared at you, starstruck, before running after you. It wasn't the first time he had dealt with Minho's cats, they knew him, for them you were a stranger. It would be his fault if the animal started to get stressed and ended up hurting you. 

The hurried race took him to the forest adjacent to the Lee property, and by the time Jisung spotted you among the foliage, he froze. Your bun had come loose, your hair loose falling over your back, and you had your dress pulled too far up your thighs, fully prepared to climb the tree where Soonie was waiting, curious about what you were doing.

Jisung couldn't think. He didn't know if you had heard him arrive, but he didn't care. He could only focus on the smooth skin he was witnessing — more than he had ever seen in his life — contrasting with the colour of your dress. You didn’t seem uncomfortable being barefoot, your low heels abandoned among the thick roots of the weeping willow, one foot resting on a gap between the folds of the robust trunk and your hands holding tightly to the lowest branches. 

It would be difficult to reach Soonie, because its branch, although low, was too thin for a human, even dangerous with the way it was located above the lake. Jisung could understand why the cat had chosen that tree. He also liked the way its leaves swayed in the wind, and it really did look like a giant feline toy, but they already had scratching toys and little houses in the manor, all handmade by Minho. The adventure had to end before something went wrong.

But before he could warn you of his presence, a leaf creaked under his boots, alerting you, scaring you, and making you lose focus on your tightrope walk along the branch below Soonie's. You lost your balance completely, and Jisung saw your hands trying to grab onto something, anything, before falling into a loud splash on the edge of the lake. Jisung would have laughed if his heart hadn't jumped in his chest, if you had been someone else, if he wasn't so deeply scared that you were seriously wounded. 

He rushed over to where you were, mumbling a string of “I'm sorry’s” as you emerged from the water, taking a breath of oxygen, holding onto the hand Jisung was offering you. Your hair formed spirals in the water, floating around you, just like your dress. Jisung felt so overstimulated that he wasn't able to process how he had just gotten his pants wet, the level of the water reaching over his waist. All he could think about was that your gloves had torn, and that he was touching your skin, the soft but bloody skin of your outstretched hands, and that you were so close that he could feel your rapid breathing on his arm. 

He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the thoughts that were popping into his head, and pulled you lightly so you could stand up. Only instead of getting angry with him, blaming him for spying on you, your lips curved into a smile, and you let out a crystalline laugh, closing your eyes and relaxing your shoulders before him. You were the picture of happiness, cheeks still rosy and your chest rising and falling against the corset at full speed. Even he felt on edge, with adrenaline bubbling everywhere. 

“There’s no need to be sorry, lord Han” you whispered under your breath, your eyes falling over him, Soonie purring above your heads. “It was a funny accident. I shouldn't have tried to climb so high.”

You weren't apologizing for running away but for not thinking about the density of the branch, Jisung noticed, and he couldn't help but widen his smile at it. He was getting lost in your gaze again, too captured by you, and everything was going too fast. He didn't know if it was good or bad, but he didn't want it to stop. Until he realised that you were getting goosebumps, and the first shiver ran through you. He cursed himself for not having acted sooner, and helped you out of the lake with difficulty, the ground on the shore completely muddy. You were cold.

Jisung avoided looking at you as he turned slightly to take off his expensive suit jacket, ready to give it to you, but when he turned to offer it, he saw that you were removing your dress. He was quick to put his jacket on you before you could continue, shame creeping up his neck and leaving a trail of blush in its wake, and you flashed a mischievous smile, fully aware.

“I’m not going to end up naked, lord Han” you assured him, grabbing the thick fabric of your dress and leaving it on the grass, the figure of your body crafted by the thin white nightgown you wore underneath, before snuggling into Jisung's warm black blazer, “you should court me first.”

Your words snapped Jisung out of the haze he was in, suppressing the urge he had to run his hands along your arms to help you warm up, and he picked up your dress and shoes from the floor, keeping his hands well occupied. He was a gentleman, he shouldn't… He had to involve you both in situations appropriate for a young lady like you. Not in an improvised swim, where you were going to end up so... God, so delicate and delicious, looking at him that way. 

He couldn’t. Not when everyone knew where you were, when Soonie was judging you two among the roots of the trees, approaching Jisung with the confidence of having found a familiar human. Before he could get any closer, you crouched down, holding out your fingers so he could smell them. It took a suspicious look and realising that Minho's cologne was still soaked in you to accept being held in your arms, sticking to your body to provide you with more warmth. 

Jisung had to remember to buy Soonie more treats the next time he visited Minho. 

“Are you coming?” you asked, oblivious to the way the vision you were was killing Jisung inside, you in his clothes, with that cheeky smile, your hair a wet mess but still looking so beautiful.

Still, he nodded, treasuring every second in his memory. One look, and you had cast a spell on him. He would follow you wherever you asked as long as you were the one to guide him. He knew he was in love, because you held his heart in your hand as easily as you had taken Minho's cat, and if you broke it it would hurt more than a bad cut with a rusty knife. He had fallen catastrophically, and was now at your total mercy. The worst part, however, was that he didn't care at all.

© stayconnecteed 2024 ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[love-byers]

for 2 years i've been wondering what the connection is between the byler scene and the max scene. like they didn't seem similar at all, but after reading this i realized something.

earlier today i was thinking about the track "Letter to Willy" and wondering why it sounded so familiar. after some listening im 100% sure it's because "Letter to Willy" is a version of "Eulogy", a song from the s2 soundtrack. I'm 100,000% sure and i painstakingly edited this to make it clear to anyone listening

"Eulogy" plays whenever the scene is related to death, more specifically a character who has died. hence the name. a eulogy is a speech written to honor someone who recently died, often times read at their funeral. which is interesting, because the first time we hear "Eulogy", it's not an actual eulogy. so clearly this has a deeper meaning.

here's are all the times the track has played, as far as i'm aware

season 2

2×01 nancy cries about barb in the bathroom

2×01 mike puts his toys in the donation box and remembers el, who is believed to be dead

2×03 hopper shows el the cabin for the first time

2×08 hopper sits with joyce after bobs death

2×08 mike tells the group about how bob founded the av club

season 3

3×01 joyce has a flashback of bob

season 4

4×03 mike and el fight

clearly there is a pattern here. (and for the hopper and el one, if you watch the scene there are multiple references to dead characters. hopper mentions his grandpa, and hides a box of sara's things right before the song plays. this could also be representative of the death of el's old life.)

"This is your new home."

"Home."

so if "Letter to Willy" is 100% directly connected to "Eulogy", what does that mean?

(i'm not sure if "Letter to Willy" plays in more than those 2 scenes, but i'm pretty sure it's just the two so i'll proceed on that)

so we can assume the two scenes are related to someone or something that has died. obviously, max is reading her letter to billy at his gravestone. unknown hero agent man is dead and there is shared imagery of gravestones, but mike and will aren't talking about that when the song plays. they're talking about mikes fight with el, again.

mike and el's fight. the scene that "Eulogy", aka the theme for DEATH, plays in.

mike and el's relationship died during that fight. even mike knows it, he keeps trying to say it in different ways. "A fight you can't come back from." go back and watch the scene, and look at el's face when mike says "you're being ridiculous" she is so so done with him. mike is right, this is a fight they can't come back from.

i also think "Letter to Willy" could be implying that the truth of the situation is being hidden. max later admits that vecna was right, she wanted billy to die and that is a source of her guilt. in the letter she implied she had just frozen and wishes she had done something, but that wasn't the whole truth. it was partly on purpose because billy made her life a living hell.

and with byler...i mean do i even need to say it? mike isn't not telling the truth, but he's not saying the whole truth either. he dances around the reason he didn't say what eleven wanted him to say, he won't even say what that thing is. and if you ask me, a byler truther, this is also indicative of mike and will not outright saying their feelings for each other because they're both closeted.

"Eulogy" plays when mike and el's relationship dies.

"Letter to Willy" plays when mike and will are talking about the death of the relationship.

[forlorn-crows]

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?” 

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back. 

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer. 

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.” 

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers. 

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack. 

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually. 

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow. 

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar. 

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply. 

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable. 

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this). 

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?” 

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul. 

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.” 

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?” 

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs. 

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat.  “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters. 

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south. 

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft. 

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply. 

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue. 

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers. 

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more. 

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters. 

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?” 

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants. 

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments. 

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll. 

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?” 

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes: 

“May I?” 

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards. 

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit. 

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.  

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand. 

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human. 

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them. 

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle. 

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff–fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum. 

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.  

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.” 

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture. 

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that. 

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke. 

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by. 

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans. 

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly. 

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his. 

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is. 

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. 

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs. 

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in. 

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled. 

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t. 

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch. 

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is. 

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one. 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

[piracytheorist]

Twilight Eyes Project: "Prepare for the Interview"

Previous episodes analyses

The anime takes this chance to start the episode with the introductory pages of the manga. As the narrator talks about how people hide their true selves behind smiles and bravado, we get treated to Loid eyes and a smile that is shown as fabricated in a painfully obvious way.

Another way for the narrative to take the audience along with the lies. We're into everything, and the symbolism is laid thick. Right of the bat we're told "Hi, this guy is a liar, enjoy :D"

In an anime-original scene, we see Loid walk to the entrance to welcome Yor to their apartment. The balance is still feeble, but it was Yor who proposed they get married, so he can relax his Loid eyes a bit.

Not yet real, let's not hope too high. But he doesn't need to look overwhelmingly polite now, since Yor is already in on the plan.

It's back to neutral when they discuss their sleeping arrangements,

and straight to Twilight eyes when he talks to himself about why he had to backdate their marriage by a year.

They stay on as he helps Yor with her stuff, and looks over his shoulder at Yor and Anya having their first interactions.

In another anime-original scene where Yor is settling in, Loid eyes make for a totally welcome, very diligent family man façade.

Back to Twilight eyes when it's time for the mock interview.

And on as he loses heart, and decides to get all of them acquainted with each other in an effort to make for a more passable family.

Loid eyes as he shares his plans for their outing.

This next moment I find interesting, because he seems to have Twilight eyes... and a small smile. They're in the opera, the lights are low in the audience, and most people's attention is on the stage. He has no reason to fake a smile, yet there it is as he watches.

Until he realizes Anya and Yor don't look like the ideal opera audience.

"Twilight eyes" still on, along with another small smile, during their museum visit.

More Loid eyes in the last anime-original scenes of the episode. Unlike the opera and the museum, here they are in a kids' art room, the boutique, and out on the street. Much more possible for someone to notice him, so he puts in a little more effort to look like the happy family man who is definitely very satisfied with how things are and would never work for a foreign government, never!

Twilight eyes as he listens to the politician's speech, though with a small frown this time. Definitely not something he could possibly enjoy doing, much rather expose a little girl to.

Welcome to my blog. I project on fictional characters here.

Anya and Yor have been failing all his efforts to instill some elite-ness into them, and we get closed "Twilight" eyes then investigative eyes as he practically fumbles for a new plan.

Yor used "caring for others". It's super effective!

As the wind blows his hair back, he rests on the rail and just gives himself a moment to look at the view, without having to investigate. His quiet reaction, the blush on his face, and the lack of internal monologue point out how his eyes (and brows) have lost the tightness from before. Real eyes.

Until he spots the children playing, seemingly without a care in the world. The very thing he's fighting for. Cue sad eyes.

Kinda find it interesting that the soundtrack piece that plays in this moment is called "try again". He was too tired and disheartened to be able to work with a clear head, until Yor suggested a very simple thing, for him to take a moment off to clear his mind.

Duty calls, as a man robs an old woman and Yor's spring to action influences Twilight to act too. Thus, Twilight eyes as he searches for the pickpocket.

Pickpocket spotted! And Twilight takes it all too seriously now, evidenced by the almost vengeful investigative eyes. I like how the anime took their chance to animate his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Yor appears just in time, and he leaves Anya with her as he goes to jump the criminal. And thus, "Twilight eyes" stay on, with a tiny bit of the elusive nightmare eyes.

A sense of Loid eyes as he puts himself back together, realizing he went too far.

Whoops. Let's just pretend everything is absolutely in order!

Sometimes winging it just works because what kind of secret life would one have if they just walked off like that?

A case of narrowed eyes (in the manga) that don't look like "Twilight eyes", to me at least. The old lady thanks Yor for her help, and Yor passes the credit to Loid, who looks slightly embarrassed by the attention.

In a manner, he knows he wasn't the one to first spring into action, and wouldn't have done anything on his own, but also this kind of attention is unusual to a spy, so it causes him to avert his eyes.

Then the old lady thanks him in specific, and his real eyes betray his surprise.

Hey, I've written an entire meta about this specific reaction of his here.

A little more serious as he regains his composure. He was prepared to reject the credit for helping, but in a show of humility he takes the thanks silently and doesn't comment further.

Then, soft, relaxed, real eyes with a smile that reaches them as he thanks Yor for inspiring him.

(just the manga panel cause I feel the anime fumbled this one adsfdsgghfgd)

Wide, but still relaxed eyes as he smiles at Yor, right before Anya points out what it looks like they're doing.

An unbecoming expression of surprise at the old lady saying they look like a lovely family. His plan is actually going smoothly, but he can't let anyone know there is a plan in the first place. Surely there could be other ways to react, so to not betray himself like that?

This seems to be the first time he's handling a mission of such a nature; he hasn't been a part of a family as an adult, so he doesn't know exactly how to act to make the Forgers look like a normal one. As a result, he's surprised that although his efforts to make an elite-passing family failed, a random citizen who spent a few minutes with them was already convinced they've known each other for longer than a week.

In a few words, this is an expression of "wait, we actually look convincing?"

Down the line he'll get to realize that a normal family is one that can stumble and look "weird" from time to time, and also wonder how it would feel like if he really had a family of his own. He's not there yet.

Back home, he switches to subtle Twilight eyes as he suggests a second go at a mock interview.

But as Anya gives a very satisfactory answer, he allows himself a moment of relief, and we get Loid eyes.

Anya immediately flops the next question, and even makes him feel self-conscious with her adoration of how he took the pickpocket down. However, as Yor and Anya sit side by side on the couch looking adorable like a normal family, Twilight remembers the old lady's words. We close with tired Twilight eyes as he reluctantly admits there was some progress done.

(no manga spoilers please)