#miscalculation sans

[spotaus]

Ichor!Sans Lore hath arrived! (and by that I mean approx. 3 frames or so of it!)

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[mchiti]

che ridere nel video dell'arrivo dei nostri prodi l'unico senza giubbino l'étoile du nord e c'è chi si chiede "ma non ha freddo?" khouya io ho zii in quel buco polare chiamato pas de calais una volta ci siamo stati d'inverno per il funerale di un mio zio ho rischiato la morte per assideramento........ questo non sentirà mai freddo in italia beato lui

[white-flower-blooming]

Hua Cheng: Gege you were supposed to fall on my lap

Xie Lian: Sorry San Lang I miscalculated the trajectory of the fall

[blueiight]

in jim crow new orleans, louis enters a left handed marriage w/ lestat and claudia as their daughter when his brothels are burned. in gay loci of paris & san francisco, he’s going cruising, hes in these gay bars hunting, 128 boys back to his apartment separate from his lover’s: in paris, he tries to create art only to realize that vampires are but perfect observers. “i like predicting what overlooked product will flourish in time. worth is often miscalculated bc of…” in dubai, he is the anchorite in a fraying marriage, an evolved static form of the art dealer he became in 1950, continuing the interview that was incompleted in 1973. the near- dearth of sensuality in dubai in contrast to new orleans, paris, and even san francisco, is intentional. armand and daniel both leave the penthouse, but louis merely moves from room to room. a perfect reflection of the age. who are you, louis?

[walmart-the-official]

What if I did something horrible to my notification box.

I made a poll with some of the newer trends. I vastly miscalculated what the results would be due to how close the Ides were and how few people knew about the rosin thing.

But now, I redeem myself with the classics and I'll probably miss one so feel free to reblog and make fun of me for it so I can get a larger sample size.

Have fun (:

[kitasgloves]

"Bound"

tracklist

— ♬ "You realize how fine she is. She's just what you've been looking for"

— ♬ Ushijima x Reader, SFW, timeskip, fem reader, strangers to friends to lovers, no beta

Usually, Ushijima Wakatoshi left no room for miscalculation. For a long time, he lived with logic and facts. He made no unnecessary actions and did what he thought was fit. He received comments calling him some robot, he understood where it came from but never understood if it was supposed to be a form of insult or harmless teasing. Nonetheless, he paid no attention to it. On the other hand, Ushijima received countless compliments regarding his looks and appreciated it to a certain extent. However, others had way more time in their hands to waste screaming deranged sentences about how they were 'down bad' or 'thirsting' over his physical physic. Ushijima doesn't want to elaborate further on how he felt about those sides of his fanbase.

The athlete had a stable support system from his father and friends, he's endlessly grateful for their support. Ushijima found himself contented with the people he surrounded himself with, he wasn't the kind to linger in crowds but rather the crowd tended to linger around him. After all, he was a famous athlete so he thought it was natural. People often approaching him for photos or autographs wasn't out of the norm but when you decided to approach him one evening, Ushijima was admittedly astonished.

"Hello"

You started with a mere hello. Ushijima peered to his left and saw you standing there with your glimmering dress and lipgloss shining under the chandelier lights. Tonight was an official gathering for Volleyball athletes, the program ended thirty-five minutes ago and everyone was free to scatter around and enjoy the evening. Fortunately, interviewers or the annoying paparazzi weren't allowed inside the venue.

"Hello"

Ushijima greeted back, he thought it was only polite. He didn't recognize you so you weren't an athlete, perhaps you were one of the staff, or maybe one of the organizers of the event.

"I'm [Surname] [Name]"

"Ushijima Wakatoshi"

"Oh, I know. Everybody knows the famous UshiWaka"

Then he learns your name and he instinctively replies with his. Of course, you knew him and he's used to people knowing who he was. Fame doesn't phase him. But what strikes him as perplexed is why you have decided to approach him.

"Would you like an autograph or a photo?"

"Oh, no thank you! I was wondering if you fancy chatting with me"

"Hm"

He hummed, he thought it was harmless. He finishes his champagne and waits for you to talk, but you only stare at him through your thick lashes and sweet smile. Were you waiting for him to speak first? Now, he has no problem with that but he has to admit that he doesn't do it often. Ushijima adjusts his bowtie and clears his throat.

"How are you finding this evening?"

"Great! I hope you enjoyed your time here"

"Everything is well"

You nodded but didn't reply after. Ushijima finds it odd that his mind is scrambling to keep the conversation alive knowing he could stop talking if he wishes to and wait for you to walk away. But somehow, he doesn't want you to leave. So, the athlete racks his clever mind for anything to say to make you stay longer.

"Do you like chocolates, [Surname]-san?"

"Yes, I do"

"What do you think about volleyball?"

"I think it's a fantastic sport"

He asks you innocent questions to get you to open up and surprisingly it keeps the conversation going. Later, you start spurring hilarious stories about your friends and he'll take note of every detail. You'd share about the music you listen to and he finds your music taste similar to his as he'd share his input about his favorite songs. You and he talked and talked until the venue slowly emptied. You found your cue to leave but Ushijima frowns at that, he insists on walking you out and calling a ride for you.

"You're incredibly sweet, Ushijima-san"

"You can call me Wakatoshi"

"Okay, Wakatoshi"

You winked and Ushijima felt his chest flutter. He opened the car door for you as you waved him goodbye. He wonders when will he see you again because he keeps thinking about you that evening until his head rests on his pillow. He had no idea where to contact you until he brought your name up to Kuroo Tetsuro and by his luck, you happened to be his co-worker. Ushijima had a hold on your number within seconds thanks to Kuroo.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"This is Wakatoshi"

Ushijima can hear you gasping and falling out of your chair dramatically. There were a few chaotic noises on the other line until he heard your voice again. His chest flutters like it did previously.

"Hi! Did you need something? How did you get my number?"

"I got it from Kuroo"

"That sly cat..."

"I was wondering if you're free to eat dinner with me tomorrow evening"

"You want to eat dinner with me...?"

"Yes"

"Oh, what an honor! Sure! I'll go"

Your answer makes the corner of Ushijima's lips quirk up, it was so unusual that even he was taken aback. He consulted with Tendou Satori afterward via phone call and told him everything, he asked if he did the right thing. His best friend only laughs.

"Just do whatever makes your heartbeat go faster, Wakatoshi-kun"

Ushijima didn't understand it at first but when he finally sees you that evening, his heartbeat spikes up. You were wearing one of those dresses that makes him gulp. When you wrap your hand around his arm and go inside the restaurant, Ushijima gets the similar feeling he gets when he's playing on the volleyball court. During dinner, he notices your finer qualities. And the magic of your rare personality.

When dinner is finished, Ushijima lends you his coat when the evening gets windy. You keep his coat until he takes you home. That evening you reached to the tip of your toes to peck him on the cheek before softly shutting your door. Ushijima stood in front of the door, rigid. His hand creeps up to his cheek where you have kissed him. Suddenly, his face feels warm and his chest palpitates wildly. If he hadn't known any better, he thinks he's going down with something.

But he knew what this was. He has read the shoujo mangas Tendou was recommending to him and watched the romcoms available on his television. Ushijima was falling in love. It seemed so foreign yet natural to experience it for the first time. He never prioritized romance during his high school days, having a girlfriend never crossed his mind. However, when you came into the picture, he thought he wouldn't mind having you as his girlfriend.

Ushijima takes his time to woo you, to see if you could return his feelings. He took you to meet his friends, he asked you to have dinner with his father, and he'd even gone far as to bring you to Paris with him to visit Tendou. On the trip back to the country, Ushijima knew he was head over heels for you. He asks what your sign is and he'll find you two are compatible. He realizes how fine you are. You were just what he was looking for.

Everything you did affected him greatly, you plagued his mind with your smile and scent, and he couldn't imagine another lifetime where he didn't meet you. So, as he asked you out on an aquarium date, he specified it was a date and not just one of your random hangouts, and you said yes, Ushijima felt so happy that he could do twenty sets of a volleyball match.

His cheeks ached from smiling as you pointed out every sea creature you saw and yelled out its name. His phone gallery was filled with pictures of you in every moment. When he admires the colorful jellyfish with you, he sucks in a breath and snakes a hand around your back. His heart skips a beat when you lean against him.

"Isn't this nice?"

"It is. I want to do this with you all the time"

"Me too, 'Toshi"

"[Name]?"

"Yeah?"

"I like you"

You turn your head to face him and giggle. Ushijima couldn't deny it, he was bound to falling in love. He was bound to fall in love with you.

"I like you too, 'Toshi"

"So, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Of course, ya goofball!"

When Ushijima looks at you it is visible in his eyes. He was beyond lovestruck with you. From the tenderness in his features and the brightness of his smile. His heart wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[autumn-foxfire]

Kaito tched when he pulled the trigger of his card gun and nothing came out.

Across from him, Snake laughed.

"Out of ammo?" he taunted with the smug grin of a man who believes he's won, and it's no wonder he thought so, considering that with the last of his cards shot, Kaito was pretty much out of magic tricks up his sleeves. No smokebombs, no sleeping gas, and he wouldn't dare try and summon his doves when Snake is swinging around a gun that he was ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

Snake continued to gloat as Kaito tried to think about an escape.

Fortunately, he had always been Lady Luck's favourite.

"Seems you're out of words too," Snake jeered before he pointed his gun steadily at Kaito's chest, "And out of luck."

Kaito's face split in a grin and he purposely angled his face so that his monacle would reflect in the moonlight, letting Snake know exactly how he felt about being "cornered".

"It appears you are correct," he agreed airly, shrugging his shoulders in an overdramatic fashion that, just as he intended, made Snake scowl as his previous humour faded over not getting the response he expected.

"It seems I can only rely on the God of Death to have mercy, ne?"

Before Snake could respond, he threw his card gun at the man's head. Snake swerved to the side to dodge the assault and the gun cluttered to the floor behind him uselessly.

"That was pathetic, KID, even for you," Snake scoffed and the smirk returned to his lips, as he once again leveled his gun to Kaito's chest "Goodbye, once and for all, you good for nothing thief."

Kaito returned his smirk with a grin of his own, "Goodnight, Snake-san!"

A loud bang sounded on the rooftop, followed by a scream of pain.

Kaito watched Snake land to the floor, unconscious and most definitely concussed. Standing behind him was Shinichi, his foot still in the air from kicking Kaito's card gun with those overpowered shoes of his into the back of Snake's unsuspecting head.

"God of Death? Really?" Shinichi huffed.

Kaito laughed and sauntered over to Shinichi's side, "You can't deny it's not accurate Shin-ichi-gami-san~" he sang, "You do have a bad habit of stumbling over murders whenever you leave your house."

Shinichi rolled his eyes and flicked the brim of Kaito's top hat, "That was stupid of you," he scolded as he looked down at the unconscious would-be-assassin, "You shouldn't let yourself be cornered like that."

"I miscalculated," Kaito admitted, some of the playfulness leaving his tone as he also turned to look at his heistly nuisiance, "It's a good thing I can always rely on you to chase me, ne, Meitantei," he shot Shinichi a wink.

Shinichi huffed again, though a fond smile also climbed onto his lips, "You're hardwork, thief."

[maharetscompound]

IWTV S2 - Cast & Productions Interviews - Part Two

This is a compilation of all cast and productions interviews during Interview with the Vampire Season Two.

(Disclaimer: If I've missed something or miscalculated, please just let me know.)

The first half of the interviews are listed and linked here, from April 29 - June 8.

The second half of the interviews are below, from June 9 - July 3⬇️

Week of Episode 2x5 (June 9 – June 15)

June 9 – Tell-Tale TV – How Rolin Jones Solved the ‘Weird Lestat Problem’ on ‘Interview with the Vampire’: Plus Details on Claudia’s Recasting, Ben Daniels as Santiago, and More - Rolin Jones and Mark Johnson

June 9 – Entertainment Weekly – Interview With the Vampire stars break down the truth of what happened in San Francisco - Jacob Anderson and Assad Zaman

June 9 – Comic Book – Luke Brandon Field Talks Young Daniel Molloy and That Fateful Original Interview - Luke Brandon Field

June 9 – TV Guide – A Conversation With Interview with the Vampire's Daniel Molloys, Eric Bogosian and Luke Brandon Field - Eric Bogosian and Luke Brandon Field

June 9 – TV Insider – Inside the Brutal ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Season 2 San Francisco Flashback - Rolin Jones, Assad Zaman, Luke Brandon Field, Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson

June 9 – Screen Rant – Interview With The Vampire Season 2, Episode 5: Luke Brandon Field On Exploring Daniel's Past & Bonding With Louis - Luke Brandon Field

June 9 – Collider – Luke Brandon Field Dissects His "Tough" 'Interview with the Vampire' Episode - Luke Brandon Field

June 10 – The Wrap – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Star Luke Brandon Field on Excavating Daniel Molloy’s Past: ‘A Visceral, Sublime Experience’ - Luke Brandon Field

June 10 – Autumn Brown (Video) – Double Vision with Eric Bogosian & Luke Brandon Field  - Eric Bogosian and Luke Brandon Field

June 10 – AMC Talk – Composer Daniel Hart Breaks Down The Music Behind The Madness Of Season 2 - Daniel Hart

June 12 – TV Guide – Interview with the Vampire Costume Designer Carol Cutshall Delves Into Season 2's Best Looks - Carol Cutshall

June 12 – The Mary Sue (Video) – Luke Brandon Field on young Daniel, music, and 'Interview With the Vampire' – Luke Brandon Field

June 13 – TV Insider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’: Luke Brandon Field Reveals His & Eric Bogosian’s Shared Inspiration for Daniel - Luke Brandon Field, Eric Bogosian and Rolin Jones

June 14 – TV Guide (Video) – Interview with the Vampire: Louis and Daniel Discover Shared Trauma – Assad Zaman and Eric Bogosian

June 14 – On the Score – DANIEL HART continues his INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE - Daniel Hart

Week of Episode 2x6 (June 16 – June 22)

June 16 – Entertainment Weekly – Interview With the Vampire stars dissect episode 6's tragic betrayal - Jacob Anderson, Assad Zaman and Delainey Hayles

June 16 – TV Insider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Stars on Armand’s Betrayal, Madeleine’s Transformation & That Major Twist - Jacob Anderson, Assad Zaman, Delainey Hayles and Sam Reid

June 17 – Collider – 'Interview with the Vampire' Creator on Telling a Haunting Season 2 That Will "Stay in Your Bones" - Rolin Jones and Mark Johnson

June 17 – TV Guide (Video) – Interview with the Vampire Stars Rewatch Season 2 Scenes – Jacob Anderson, Sam Reid and Delainey Hayles

June 17 – Autumn Brown (Video) – Dressed to Depress with Roxane Duran – Roxane Duran

June 17 – AMC Talk – Sam Reid’s Character Lestat Is Hot & Bothered For All The Wrong Reasons - Sam Reid

June 18 – Podsluchane (Video) – Assad wants to see the world burn – Assad Zaman

June 19 – Katie O’shaughnessy (Video) – Chatting with Assad Zaman! – Assad Zaman

June 20 – TV Insider – How to Prepare for Lestat’s Return in ‘Interview With the Vampire’s Most Pivotal Episode - Sam Reid and Rolin Jones

June 21 – ReVamp – Delainey Hayles - Delainey Hayles

Week of Episode 2x7 (June 23 – June 29)

June 23 – Collider – ‘Interview with the Vampire’s Assad Zaman & Eric Bogosian on Season 2’s Satisfying Conclusion - Assad Zaman and Eric Bogosian

June 23 – Collider – 'Interview with the Vampire's Roxane Duran Explains Madeleine's Fateful Choice - Roxane Duran

June 23 – Entertainment Weekly – Interview With the Vampire's Sam Reid breaks down that 'brutal, heartbreaking' death - Sam Reid

June 23 – Screen Rant – Interview With The Vampire Season 2, Episode 7: Roxane Duran On Madeleine & Claudia's Fate - Roxane Duran

June 23 – Decider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Stars Sam Reid and Delainey Hayles Break Down Claudia’s Final Moments: “Lestat’s Never Gonna Get Over It” - Sam Reid and Delainey Hayles

June 23 – Screen Rant – Interview With The Vampire Season 2, Episode 7: Sam Reid On Lestat's Plan (Or Lack Thereof) For The Trial - Sam Reid

June 23 – TV Guide – Interview with the Vampire's Delainey Hayles and Rolin Jones 'Leaned Into Grotesque Beauty' for the Trial's 'Horrifying' End - Delainey Hayles and Rolin Jones

June 23 – TV Insider – Inside ‘Interview With the Vampire’s Most Tragic Hour: The Trial Explained - Delainey Hayles, Jacob Anderson, Sam Reid and Roxane Duran

June 23 – Comic Book – Interview With the Vampire: Roxane Duran Breaks Down Madeline's Tragic Fate - Roxane Duran

June 23 – TV Line – Interview With the Vampire EP on the ‘Grotesque Beauty’ of [Spoiler]’s Death Ahead of Season 2 Finale - Rolin Jones

June 23 – Vulture – Delainey Hayles Played Claudia’s IWTV Tragedy Like a Volcano - Delainey Hayles

June 24 – AMC Talk – Assad Zaman On Armand’s Alien Beauty In Season 2 - Assad Zaman

June 25 – TV Insider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’: Roxane Duran Says Madeleine’s Illicit Affair Was ‘Not About Love’ - Roxane Duran

June 26 – The Hollywood Reporter – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Renewed for Season 3 at AMC - Sam Reid

June 26 – MXDWN – Showrunner Rolin Jones, EP Mark Johnson, And Actor Assad Zaman Discuss Journey To Paris For ‘Interview With The Vampire’ S2 - Rolin Jones, Mark Johnson and Assad Zaman

June 28 – Autumn Brown (Video) – Terrorized and Therapized with Sam Reid – Sam Reid

Post-Finale Interviews (June 30)

June 30 – ATX Festival Panel (Video) – Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire Q&A with Creatives & Cast – Assad Zaman, Rolin Jones and Mark Johnson

June 30 – Variety – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Team on the Finale’s Big Reunion and How Season 3 Will Feel Like It’s Been ‘Taken Hostage By Lestat’ - Jacob Anderson, Sam Reid, Delainey Hayles and Rolin Jones

June 30 – Screen Rant – Interview With The Vampire Season 2, Episode 8: Assad Zaman & Eric Bogosian Answer Lingering Devil's Minion Questions - Assad Zaman and Eric Bogosian

June 30 – The Wrap – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Cast Unpacks Season 2 Ending, Teases Season 3 - Sam Reid, Assad Zaman, Jacob Anderson and Rolin Jones

June 30 – Screen Rant –  Interview With The Vampire Season 2 Ending: Louis & Lestat's Relationship Future Addressed By Star - Jacob Anderson

June 30 – Decider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Season 2 Ending Explained: Jacob Anderson Explains the Profound Meaning Behind “I Own The Night” - Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson

June 30 – Collider – 'Interview with the Vampire's Jacob Anderson & Delainey Hayles on the Season 2 Finale's "Sickening Reveal" - Jacob Anderson and Delainey Hayles

June 30 – Vanity Fair – Jacob Anderson Loves Doing “Insane” Things on Interview With the Vampire - Jacob Anderson

June 30 – Collider – Has 'Interview with the Vampire's Sam Reid Ever Played the Real Lestat? It's Complicated - Sam Reid

June 30 – The Daily Beast – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Stars Unpack That Shocking Finale Twist - Assad Zaman and Eric Bogosian

June 30 – Los Angeles Times – ‘Interview With the Vampire’: Rolin Jones on Season 2’s finale; what’s next for Louis and Lestat - Rolin Jones

June 30 – New York Times – ‘Interview with the Vampire’: Ben Daniels on That Bloody Season 2 Finale - Ben Daniels

June 30 – Entertainment Weekly – Interview With the Vampire showrunner and Sam Reid tease season 3 after that emotional finale - Sam Reid and Rolin Jones

June 30 – TV Fanatic – Interview with the Vampire Post-Mortem: Sam Reid On 'Messy' Lestat and Lestat's Reunion With Louis - Sam Reid

June 30 – TV Insider – Behind the Scenes of ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Finale, Plus Season 3 Teases About Lestat & Louis - Rolin Jones and Mark Johnson

June 30 – Screen Rant – Interview With The Vampire Season 2, Episode 8: Jacob Anderson & Delainey Hayles Say Goodbye To Claudia - Jacob Anderson and Delainey Hayles

June 30 – TV Insider – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Stars Break Down That Game-Changing Season 2 Finale - Sam Reid, Jacob Anderson, Assad Zaman and Eric Bogosian

June 30 – TV Line – Interview With the Vampire EP Talks Finale Deaths, Betrayals and Twists, Teases Lestat-Centric Season 3 - Rolin Jones

June 30 – The Hollywood Reporter – ‘Interview With the Vampire’ Boss, Stars Talk Finale’s Heart-Wrenching Twist and Season 3 - Rolin Jones, Assad Zaman, Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid

June 30 – TV Guide – Interview with the Vampire's Jacob Anderson and Rolin Jones Wanted to 'Achieve Vampire Grace' for Louis - Jacob Anderson and Rolin Jones

Post-Finale Interviews (July 1 - July 3)

July 1 – UPI – 'Vampire' star Sam Reid: Claudia, Louis will always be family to Lestat -Sam Reid

July 1 – The A.V. Club – Showrunner Rolin Jones on that explosive Interview With The Vampire finale - Rolin Jones

July 1 – The Wrap – ‘Interview With the Vampire’: Assad Zaman Unpacks the Truth Behind Armand’s Lies - Assad Zaman and Rolin Jones

July 1 – Decider – ‘Interview with the Vampire’ Stars Weigh in on Whether Louis and Lestat are Like Ben and J. Lo: “They Always Get Back Together All the Time” - Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson

July 1 – Little Gold Men – Jacob Anderson Dives Deep Into Interview with the Vampire’s Wild Finale – Podcast - Jacob Anderson

July 2 – Vulture – ‘The Show Is Built to Make People Feel Insane’ A season-two post-immortem with Interview With the Vampire showrunner Rolin Jones. - Rolin Jones

July 2 – Vulture – It Tastes Different Playing Armand - Assad Zaman

July 2 – AMC Talk – Eric Bogosian On Daniel Molloy’s Surprising Journey Through Season 2 - Eric Bogosian

July 3 – Playbill – How Eric Bogosian Achieved a Lifelong Dream in AMC's Interview with the Vampire - Eric Bogosian

July 3 – What to Watch – Sam Reid on how playing Interview with the Vampire's Lestat 'has become a lifestyle' - Sam Reid

July 4 – TV Tonight – How Emma Freeman creates the (bloody) magic for Interview with the Vampire - Emma Freeman

[goldenseresinretriever]

Snitches Get Stitches: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, car accident, suggestive language, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, Snitches Get Stitches. It was originally posted in October-November 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Two weeks out from the end of your fellowship should have felt better. Fifteen years of work and you were so close to the finish line that you could taste it. You’d worked your ass off, topped your classes over and over, sacrificing every bit of your social life, sleep, and general welfare to guarantee that you’d have your choice of job once you came out the other end, and you had. That was at least until three months ago when everything came crashing down. A misunderstanding, a miscalculation, something that felt so far beyond your control and the past fifteen years had been swept out from under your feet. Now you refreshed your email in desperation instead of excitement. You were sitting on a dragon’s hoard of student loans and not a single job offer. The downside of being at one of the top fellowship programs in the country was ironically the same as the upside, they were extremely well-connected. As a result, you were basically blacklisted by every potential employer.

Anyone else would question how you did it, getting out of bed like nothing was wrong and going to your fellowship with a professional smile plastered on your face as if everything was right with the world and you’d be on your way to the first day of your dream job in just two short weeks. It turns out that delusion is highly motivating. You’d refresh your email every morning as if an offer was going to suddenly appear, then go about your day as if maybe this evening something would show. At least that’s how most days went. Today everything that could have gone wrong, had. Your alarm hadn’t gone off because your phone was dead, your charging cord seemingly having given up its last breath sometime over the last twenty-four hours. Then the hot water had been out, for the third time this month, so you were shivering like a drowned sewer rat as you hauled yourself into your car, running too late to make your tea.

Even the Anaheim sun couldn’t seem to warm you as you pulled onto the highway toward Los Angeles. Not even five minutes later a piercing chime sounded through the vehicle and your dismayed gaze fell on your gas light, shining bright since last night, when you had been far too exhausted to brave a seedy gas station in the dark, relegating it as a “tomorrow problem.” Tomorrow was here and you swore defeatedly as you made your way to the next exit, issuing irritated commands at your phone to find the nearest gas station. You swore your whole attention was on the road as you did your best to follow the monotone directions from your speakers as you pulled into the gas station when the motorcycle flashed across your field of vision, fast but not fast enough. You screamed as your brain caught up to the sight in front of you. You don’t remember putting the car into park in the middle of the entry to the gas station and vaulting out of the vehicle, burying your panic as you go into doctor mode, rushing to the aid of the driver sitting up on the asphalt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir are you alright? I’m a doctor.” You sputtered as he turned to look at you, a rueful smile on his face.

“Oh, no worries, Doc, I’m all good.” He scratched the back of his neck as he looked over to his motorcycle which lay abandoned a few feet away. “I need to remember I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Sir I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that I check to see if you have a concussion.” You glanced around, searching for something. “Especially since you weren’t wearing a helmet.” You couldn’t help the annoyed purse of your lips. He chuckled, nodding as you squat down next to him, fiddling with your phone to turn on the flashlight.

“So, you’re a doctor, huh kid? What kind, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sports medicine, and I mean yes I’m a doctor, I’ve graduated from medical school, but I’m still finishing up my fellowship so I’m not employed as one yet per se.” You sat back on your heels, satisfied that he really was alright. His eyes brightened at your words.

“Sports medicine? What sport are you working with?”

“I’ve worked with a bunch of different ones through my fellowship but my dream job is hockey.” If you ever got a job that was.

His face split into a huge grin. “You don’t say? When do you finish your fellowship?”

“Two weeks… why?” You suddenly remembered that this man was a total stranger as his questions became more specific. It was at that moment that your brain finally exited doctor mode that you realized that he was in fact not a total stranger, not really and you recognized exactly who was sitting on the concrete not even five feet from you. “Oh my fucking god, you’re Pete Mitchell.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush before you could stop them. He barked out a laugh as he extended a dusty hand to you.

“The one and only.” You stared at his hand like you were wondering if it was safe to touch, which is ridiculous. You worked with star athletes for a living and you’ve never gotten star-struck. But that was within the four walls of your job, where you were completely and totally in doctor mode, not squatting in the driveway of a gas station. You shook your head, unsure of how long you’d left him hanging before taking his outstretched hand and shaking it, introducing yourself. “It feels ridiculous to ask, but are you an Anaheim fan?” He asked, flashing his signature grin. You flush, embarrassed.

“They’re my second favorite but my dad’s a ride-or-die.” Pete laughed at your brutal honesty. “But, I mean, everyone who’s everyone knows you.” You sputtered. “You have one of the longest records in the NHL. 26 years is a long time, and with three cups on top of that? You’re practically hockey royalty.” He smiled, seemingly amused with your floundering.

He stood then, helping you up with him. “Could I get your information?”

“Oh yeah, of course. I’m so sorry about your bike, is it good to drive?” You gave the abandoned motorcycle a worried look. “I’m sure my insurance can cover whatever repairs you need.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He shook his head gently, laying a fatherly hand on your arm. “I actually wanted to offer you a job. Well, an interview, I’m not actually authorized to offer you a job, not my department.”

“I mean I did hit you with my car, WAIT WHAT?” The full effect of his words hit you like a truck. He laughed again.

“Sweetheart, I promise you I can take care of the damages,” giving you his best I’m a multimillionaire retired athlete look. “And as for the job? I’m serious. You’re clearly responsible, professional, good in a crisis, and the team I’m working with is looking for a physician. Unless of course you’re already committed to another job?”

“No! Uh, no, no I’m not.” Shame crept up your neck. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Mitchell.” You stammered as you fumbled for your wallet and produced a business card that you offered to him, doing your best to hold back the tears of gratefulness threatening to fill your eyes.

“It’s not a problem at all, Doc. I’ll be in touch, and please, call me Mav.” He handed you a piece of paper in return and you stared down to see his signature scrawled across it with a brief note Congratulations on such a talented daughter. - Pete “Maverick” Mitchell “Tell your dad I said hi.” He said with a wink before turning away from you to his motorcycle. You stood there, frozen in shock as he got the bike upright and drove away with a wave. The moment he was out of view, the tears escaped your eyes. You’d been desperate for someone to take a chance on you, but never in your wildest dreams would you have expected that person would be Pete fucking Mitchell.

[sinelanguage]

32. bodyswap

The Grand Line is a mysterious place; Usopp really shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up feeling out of sorts. He’s woken up in weirder ways than having an empty, ravenous appetite; this is nothing. He must’ve eaten something weird the night before, leaving his stomach an empty, bottomless pit. Perfectly fine.

Usopp tries to pick himself up out of his hammock, and his foot doesn’t hit the ground. That’s weird; his hammock is closest to the ground. He stretches a bit more, then a bit more, and still, nothing. 

Then, Usopp stretches out way too far, way farther than should be physically possible, until his foot hits the floor. His leg feels like absolute jello. His heart rackets in his chest. 

That’s not fine. 

His chin warbling, he looks over the edge of his hammock until he sees one long leg stretching all the way from the top bunk down to the floor. 

“Luffy,” he says. Luffy’s voice comes out of his mouth. Oh, no. “Luffy, what did you do?!”

“Eh, what do you mean, what did I do?” That’s not Luffy’s voice; that’s not even his own voice. “I’m– wait, woah! Why am I so tiny?! Why do I sound so weird?!”

“Hey, Chopper, quit freaking out,” comes Usopp’s own voice. “Wait– what? Why do I sound like Usopp?”

There’s a loud thunk; Usopp watches in horror as his own body hits the floor. Usopp’s body picks himself up off the ground, shoves his hands in his pockets, and peers around the room with a critical derision that looks alien on his face. 

“What the hell?” he asks. “Usopp, you shithead, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Usopp yells, his voice still sounding like Luffy. “Who are you?! Is that you, Sanji?!”

“How curious. The Grand Line is a mysterious place, isn’t it?” says Zoro, sounding way too damn calm for Zoro. Who the hell is he swapped with? “It seems like we’ve all swapped bodies.”

The noise the crew makes is as loud as it is confusing. 

By the time they all get out of bed and onto the deck, Zoro– well, Robin, who swapped with Zoro– explains that they must’ve passed by some mysterious mist that swapped them all around, just like an old story she read. She assured them that they would all be fine, they just needed to wait it out until the effect faded. 

If only it were that simple. 

Instead, the entire crew is caught in the mess of being swapped with each other. Chopper-as-Sanji tries to chase down and lecture Sanji-as-Usopp down for his clear and obvious nicotine withdrawal symptoms, Nami-as-Robin sprouts way too many limbs all at once and almost turns the Merry over, and Luffy-as-Chopper tries to steal Chopper’s rumble balls while he’s otherwise occupied. 

Usopp tries, he really tries to grab Luffy before he grabs the rumble balls, but his arms refuse to listen. They stretch out like limp snakes, his fingers wiggling on the deck helplessly. 

“This is the worst,” Usopp complains. He tries to bring Luffy’s arm back to him but he manages to get it stuck, looped around the mast. “How long did Robin say this would last?!”

“I don’t know what you’re all complaining about, this is great!” Robin– well, Nami– says. She’s using several of Robin’s arms to unfurl the sails and steer the ship, gleeful as she sits perched on the top deck. “I don’t need any of you to steer the ship now!”

“Oh great, then you can just boss Robin around instead of us next time,” says Zoro-as-Nami. 

“What, so you can just laze around all day?! Oh, right, that's what you already do!” Nami-as-Robin counters, trying to hit Zoro in the face. She miscalculates, uses the wrong arm, and hits herself in the back of her head. “Ow ow ow! Oh, this is all your fault, Zoro! I can’t believe you’re stuck in my body!”

“Hey! I don’t like it any more than you do!”

There's a low whine on deck, like the sound of a tea kettle.

“Shut up! You should be glad you swapped with Nami-san, you– you shitty- you-” Zoro-as-Nami turns to face Sanji-as-Usopp, and Sanji's face contorts through a series of rapid emotions before settling on abject horror. “I can’t even yell at you like this!”

“This is a disaster,” Usopp mutters, watching Sanji’s ongoing breakdown. “At least everything is somewhat under control now.”

Robin-as-Zoro is the only sane one, Usopp decides. Everyone else is a weck.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If we run into any trouble, none of us will be able to fight, will we?” says Zoro– no, says Robin. She smiles, and it looks absolutely horrifying on Zoro’s face. “What an interesting way to go.”

Usopp turns to face her. Robin-as-Zoro smiles at him sweetly again, as sweet as a deadly poison.

No, he’s changed his mind. This is a disaster for absolutely everyone involved; they’re going to be lucky to make it the next hour, much less the next day. They’re all going to die. 

[aledethanlast]

Jeremy shows up to practice fifteen minutes early and finds Jean in the team lounge. "This is for you," he says.

Jean expects those words, like all the other times he's heard them, to be accompanied with a bright smile and flowers, or chocolate, or a plate of whipped cream to the face—don't worry, revenge was had—but instead finds himself staring at...a note.

White flash card, folded twice, one corner bent back down halfway for no good reason at all, and the memories hit Jean like a racquetto the head. How many of those noted had he been given? Shoved into hands without stopping to look and passed on just as quickly.

Jean is a man of instincts. Reflexes. Ingrained responses so deep the brain need not bother, for the body already knows.

And this note is a cue his body knows too well. One, take the note before anyone can think to come near it. Two, shove it into his pocket before anyone can see. Three, storm down the hall to tell Kevin that he is NOT waiting for 45 minutes again while he agonizes over a two fucking sentence response, and—

The door opens again, San Diego sunlight blinding him as two more teammates come in, and Jean remembers Kevin isn't here. Which means. Which means.

He unfolds the paper too quickly—it would've torn if it had been thinner, but the thick flash card just gets stuck. Typical. Holy shit, typical.

Thea's handwriting is the same precise script as ever (except the lowercase g's for some reason). The letters are smaller than the guidelines, like she didn't know how much space she needed to write everything she wanted to say.

Hi Jean. Kevin says you're doing well. Or rather, Kevin says that Jeremy says. Not that I think Jeremy would lie, but there's only one messenger I've every really trusted, and that's you. I'll be in SD sometime next week. Give me a call.

A phone number is scrawled beneath. No signature. Overall, it takes just over half the card; either she miscalculated or she had more to say but instead chose self censure. Both options are unlike her.

The myriad pieces of Jean's mind read the note, over and over, all slightly out of synch from one another so rather than comprehension he only gets nose.

"Jean?" Jeremy's had on his shoulder, concerned. Jeans hand jerks upwards, sharply, and then he brings it back down as he turns to face Jeremy, pretending he hadn't been this close to stuffing the note in his mouth. "You good, man?"

Good question. Great, even. Jean has a better one. "Who gave you the note?"

Jeremy frowns even harder. It doesn't suit him, brow furrowed like that when he isn't trying to run through a backliner like they're made of tissue paper. "Coach Rhemann came back from Texas this morning, told me Muldani gave it to him. With very specific instructions not to open it. I met Coach, he gave it to me."

Of course. Thea doesn't ask for things; it's the first piece of advice she ever gave him. If you want, and you can, then do it. Forget who might stand in your way; they can only try, same as you.

"Jean?" Jeremy asks again. "What did the note say?"

Thea wanted to pass a message to Jean without Jeremy in the way. Well, maybe fuck what Thea wants. Jean hands him the note. Jeremy skims it, raises a brow. "What does she mean, that she only trusts you?"

His concern, born of meeting Jean back at Abby Winfield's house and fed by the steady trickle of Jean's stories of the Nest, seems momentarily absurd. "The Ravens weren't allowed to date," Jean says simply, as he had many times before. When Jeremy seems to catch on, he nods at the note. "I was their favorite messenger. Well. I was the only one who wouldn't sell them out."

"Why didn't you?"

Because Kevin was his friend. Because Thea deserved better than anything the Nest could ope to give her, much less dare to deny. Because every breath Jean took in protest to that tar pit came filled his lungs just a little bit deeper.

"Because then I got to read Kevin's love letters."

Jeremy's eyes go wide. "Shakespeare?"

"Poe."

Some teammates turn at the sound of their captain's laughter. More turn when they hear him hit the floor. Jean gives them all a plain look.

He takes the note back from Jeremy's twitching fingers—it's best to let him wear himself out on such occasions—and stares at the phone number.

Thea does not ask, she acts. If Thea wants to come down here and see him, then nothing stands in her way.

Except Jean. If he doesn't call, if he doesn't show, he's sure she won't push. She will never call or text or write a note to him again and all he has to do is nothing.

The thought rumbles through the dark halls of his mind that still belong to the Nest, like a freight train pushing forward too much air, pushing, pushing until the wall ahead falls apart from the pressure and—

Sunlight. The lounge door is open again. More teammates, almost late, confused by their laughing captain.

Jean takes out his cell.

[gaylordscooter]

The destroyer looked at him in fear…distraught? No that’s not right either. Disgust. That sounds right.

It was the first time either of them got this close in a fight. He underestimated the glitch and got tangled up in his strings. He was sure that if they got this close he’d freak out and lose concentration or something, but no.

Thanks to his miscalculation, he was now tied up and suspended in the air of the Anti-Void.

He kept his eyes on Error, trying to ignore the white abyss that was their surroundings.

Error was rambling on about something, which he was mostly tuning out. He’s heard it all before when people found out he had—

“No-no soul?! No soul. NO S-SOUL?!” If he was repeating himself or glitching, Ink couldn’t tell.

“I-I’ve met p-plenty of—plenty of abominations, but you,

but you, a sans without a soul? H-h-how are you alive? Alive?” His broken-record speech was very hard to follow, especially when he spoke fast.

“Can you, like, talk slower? Or stop repeating yourself?”

Oh that pissed him off.

With a choppy grunt, he summoned a red bone from the ground which pierced right at Ink’s chest.

Well there went that rib.

He let out an unconvincing “ow” out of habit.

“SH-SH-UT UP!” He yelled. The pitch of his voice fluctuated up and down like a slide whistle. It was even able to echo in a place like this. What walls could it even bounce off of?

Mental note, do not tell people to change their speech pattern. That’s rude, probably.

Mental note forgotten instantly, thanks memory.

Ink, for once, listened to him and shut up. He didn’t want another bone to impale him. Not because it hurt, but because it’d be one more bone he’d have to paint back on later.

Then Error started laughing. It was a horrible laugh, in Ink’s opinion. It was so grating—like it sounded like someone put forks in the blender and then put that in the garbage disposal.

Why was he laughing anyway? It’s completely silent besides him. This guy was weird.

“I c-can’t believe that you, the wannabe hero, is soulless.”

He finds humor in that? Also, wrong. He was no “wannabe hero”. He didn’t feel like correcting him, though. In fact, he didn’t want to tell this guy anything.

He already knew everything about him, as long as he withheld any information about himself he’d have an advantage in that apartment.

For example:

Ink inhaled sharply through his mouth.

“What? What are you doing? Gonna scream? Gonna scream for help?”

He spat on his face.

Immediately the strings threw him blindly in a random direction.

Ink quickly painted an exit right as he heard a shriek as bad as that laugh.

Before he forgot, he should write something down on his scarf to remember this encounter. Maybe warn himself not to let his guard down even when he’s close to Error.

And so he wrote: His laugh sucks.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Differences between Bsd Fifteen (Light Novel) and Bsd Fifteen (subbed anime, season 3 episodes 1-4.)

Tw for suicidal ideation because this is Dazai's introduction.

In both works Mori is talking about the disaster of a situation they're in, what with late shipments and such. Before turning to Dazai.

Anime:

Mori asks Dazai if he thinks they are cut out for this after all.

Dazai, while mixing medication says "come now Mori-san. Not having money, not having intel, not having the trust of your subordinates. You knew it would be like this from the beginning."

Mori calls him mean and questions why he's mixing hypertension and hypotension medication together.

Light Novel:

Mori asks if Dazai's listening to him. Dazai, while mixing medication says he isn't because "your stories are always so boring!"

He than tells Mori he should've seen this all coming from the start. Mori scratches his head in a troubled manner and questions why Dazai's mixing medication.

Anime:

Dazai says he's mixing medication because he thought it would be a comfortable way to die.

Light Novel:

Dazai says he thought it would be amazing if he drank them together and died easily. Mori tells him he won't die, implying it wouldn't kill him. And questions how Dazai got into his medicine cabinet.

Dazai flaps his hands and says "I want to die! I'm so bored, I want to die as easily and simply as possible. By any means, Mori-san!"

Mori tells him if he's a good, mature kid than he'll teach Dazai how to mix the back medicine.

"Lies! You already told me that. A year ago that was the only thing that made me think so hard, and you still never told me! At this rate, I'll betray the organisation." Replies Dazai.

Mori tells him to stop thinking of such ideas "you're a smart kid. If you betray them you know you won't die easily." He also can't help but laugh at that.

"Ah I'm do bored, the world is so boring" Says Dazai. And we're told Dazai is not a subordinate of Mori nor the Port Mafia, nor a hidden child, or an orphan or a medical assistant.

Both:

The only thing that comes close to describing Dazai and Mori's relationship is that it was a fateful encounter.

Mori tells Dazai that he was the only one there when he inherited the previous Boss's seat. "You're a witness to his will, I can't have you dying so frivolously."

Anime:

Flashback to the former Port Mafia Boss's death. That he was giving ridiculous orders and out of his mind. Mori killed him and framed it as the Boss succumbing to his illness.

Stating the man's last order was for Mori to inherit his position. And Dazai was the only witness to this so called exchange.

Both:

Dazai tells Mori he made an error.

Anime:

Mori says that he made no error, that he and Dazai were successful in their mission together.

Dazai says that "the mission isn't complete until those were involved in the assassination are all silenced.

To that end I was the perfect accomplice. Even if I ended my life in a suicide of unknown motivation after you became Boss thanks to my testimony, no one would suspect a thing."

There's a silence between them before Mori tells Dazai he reminds him of someone.

Light Novel:

Mori asks Dazai what he means by him making an error. Dazai tells him he was smart to choose a suicidal accomplice "but even after a year I am still alive. Thanks to you, the seeds of anxiety won't dissappear."

For a moment Mori feels like ice is being pressed against his internal organs. He asks Dazai once again, what he means.

"I know there's a certain anxiety, anxiety about whether the previous Boss's assassination was leaked." All through this conversation Dazai's expression is unreadable.

Mori argues that they worked out a great strategy together a year ago. Also comments he'd never do it again because it was difficult.

Dazai says the strategy isn't complete until the person involved with the strategy and the forgery's mouth is sealed.

Mori feels like Dazai can see through him, there's terror inside of him that he's made a miscalculation: that Dazai should never have been made his accomplice.

"Right? To that end I was the perfect accomplice. Even if I ended my life in a suicide of unknown motivation after you became Boss thanks to my testimony, no one would suspect a thing."

They stare at each other in silence before Dazai says "what? It's fun to annoy authorities with troubling ideas, it's my new entertainment" with a silent, haunted look.

Mori observes him before unintentionally saying "you remind me of someone."

Both:

Dazai asks who and Mori doesn't answer him.

Anime:

"If I was going to silence you. I would have done it long ago. If you really want I can prepare something that'll end your life comfortably." Says Mori.

"Really?" Asks Dazai as Mori opens up a drawer "in exchange, I want to ask you to do a quick investigation."

Light Novel:

Mori gave a small smile and lowered his head slightly. "Don't tease your horns and make fun of adults. Have I sealed you up? I don't think so. If I was going to do that, I would have done it already.

It's easier than breathing. How many times do you think I stopped your suicide attempts this year? That's hard you know. Have you done something similar to the hero of a movie and released a bomb under a chair?"

Mori's inner monologue is just "Dazai can't die" because their are those in the Port Mafia who still support the previous Boss. And their are rumours his death was planned.

Mori tells Dazai that if you want it that much, he can give him some medicine that will give him comfortable death. "But I want to ask for a little research."

Both:

Mori writes something down and tells Dazai that it's not a big job and there is no danger. But that Dazai is the only one he can ask.

Dazai says it sounds sketchy.

Mori tells him that he's sure Dazai knows of Suribachi city. A certain someone has emerged in this vicinity. And he wants Dazai to investigate said rumour, giving him what is known as the Silver Oracle/Silver Messenger.

Something that if shown to any Port Mafia member, they will do whatever he asks. Dazai questions who this person is and Mori tells him to guess.

Anime:

Dazai says "a rumour that's harmful just by spreading... I see. So that's what going on, it's the previous Boss isn't it?

Light Novel:

Dazai stared at Mori for a while before speaking. "... There's no doubt that the Mafia's highest authority is worried about the rumour of the city.

It's an important rumour that cannot be thrown away. And if it's a rumour bad enough for the Silver Oracle to be used, it's probably the rumours themselves not the people spreading them.

Rumours where the truth must be confirmed and the source must be crushed. Rumours that do harm just by spreading.

And if the reason is to use me than an excellent subordinate, there can only be one person. What appeared was the previous Boss?"

Both:

Mori confirms his answer and remarks that some people can't be allowed to rise from the grave. Dazai takes the Silver Oracle, tells Mori to make him that medicine and is officially welcomed to the Port Mafia.

Light Novel:

Mori tells Dazai he reminds him of himself with vague sadness. And thinks about needing an assistant.

He was a secretary, a sword, an excellent right arm. And above all what you needed to be a street doctor, traitor and a power snatcher was a trusted subordinate.

One who didn't keep secrets, who understands himself, who keeps waving alone at the top of the iceberg. A mistake called Dazai invited by Mori.

He remarks to himself errors aren't always had, as Dazai was intended to be a disposable stone but has turned out to be oversized.

Anime:

Dazai asks who he reminds Mori of, Mori smirks says myself.

Both scenes end with Mori asking Dazai why it is he wants to die. To which Dazai replies "tell me this. Do you truly believe there's any value in the act of living?"

[fxshigurosbae]

THE PRECIOUS PRINCESS . . .

he shouldn’t be messing with you.

⋆.ೃ࿔* toji fushiguro (45) x f!reader (19)

✶ mature content (minors do not interact) — a!u, forbidden love, mate press, age gap, size kink, dilf, daddy kink, virginity, corruption kink, manhandling, rough, dumbification, innocence play, creampie, sound restraint, jealousy, dacryphilia, strong language.

taglist | masterlist

being daddy’s girl was like seventh heaven most of the time, but it could also be a problem, when it came to actually having a life. after all, gojo satoru, as your dear, troublesome father, made sure everything was double the trouble, spoiling and taking care of you attentively, excessively. the man wasn’t born yesterday either, and he watched every single move of those found around you — the men, more specifically — and paid attention the names of silly boys that ended up slipping off your tongue whenever you spoke of college and such, but then there was his name, the one that never, ever, not once, would leave your pretty lips accidentally or miscalculated, toji fushiguro’s.

you’d get cold feet whenever the four lettered name and surname that started with an f was mentioned near you, well, he and your daddy were close friends, it would be natural for that to happen. what wasn’t natural was the fact that your legs trembled at the thought of going anywhere near that man, the man who saw you grow up, the man a little older than twice your age, you felt dirty for even thinking the least lewd thing that involved him. but you did any way, because you were filthy.

toji, even though he’d notice how fucking sweet, yet how much of a snobby little daddy’s girl you were — and that he deeply, secretly envied gojo, for him getting to enjoy the blessing it is to have you as his own, for having you seat on his lap, hug him, kiss his cheeks, call him your daddy with such a sweet girly voice — he would catch himself staring at you from the corner of his eye. and you definitely teased, not only him, but guys in general, unconsciously, densely, for him, it was a problem, because you were too hot, too young, too smart, too perfect. taking note of the way you dressed, not that it bothered him, not that he’d call you a whore for it, toji just felt like a pervert for trying so hard to avoid his cock to grow under his pants. it actually bothered him to not be able to do anything about it, that’s what he thought. he was tired, exhausted, longing, resisting, suffering, enduring, wishing, desiring, cursing at every chance, every consideration, every hint, at every single fucking moment you’d be there on his sight. it didn’t matter if it was wrong anymore, didn’t matter if you were his best friend’s precious pretty little sweet princess, he’d have his way with you one day or another, and he would make sure to do it properly, make sure to mess with you real good. and it was as if luck was on his side from since he was born until this day, as if it was all just for this thing to happen, just to have you… under him.

and toji absolutely knew he was a lucky man. listening and memorizing your cute restrained moans and whimpers on the back of his head as he stuffs his cock deep inside your honeyed tight cock-virgin pussy. he’s so lucky to see your cheeks flush red and eyes fill with tears as he fucks you and folds your body in half, pressing your legs closer to the sides of your disoriented head, he’s balls deep, holding onto the back of your knees. your back against the wall, using of the bathroom sink to keep you sat still, holding firmly onto the borders of the marble or else you’d resort to scratching his arms and end up making abstract drawings.

“toji-san’s too deep!” you chanted his name like a prayer, it was dirty and melodious, he’d twitch inside each time. towering over your vulnerable body, he could break you in half if he wanted to, and he would, he was about to. he listened to each decibels of your voice, he watched every tear slipping through your cheek, to your neck and sink into the tempting middle of your tits.

“too bad, angel, can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it.” mouth in a circle shape, almost barely unable to avoid any louder noise from coming out, trying just as he instructed, you looked at him from a lower angle with doe eyes and it was as if he was eating you whole, not only with his cock but with his gaze, you both loved and feared it. “ya wanted me to fuck ya slutty ass ‘n now’s complaining, like ya don’t even care if ya dad finds out this pussy’s mine now.” he’s whispering in a husky voice, there’s air puffing through his mouth in between words and it feeds to your neediness. “now ya shut up before that can happen, be a sweet girl.” he smirked. “and i’ll hear ya whining ‘nother day.” he always had a way of saying things that easily messed up your little heart and brain.

“y-yes daddy.” gosh, you were so desperate for him, gojo would die, and kill, if he knew another man was being called that other than himself, it even came out with a struggle, through gritted teeth, holding a moan in. your legs shivered and your entire body jolted at each one of his rough pounds, the pain from his thick cock corrupting your pussy was long gone, and all you could feel was the pleasure he had so much experience with. “‘m gonna cum so good!” you let out in an interrupted, low voice that threatened to rise at the end of the syllables. that was the second time of the night, and the first was unconscious, this one would destroy you for sure. that was confirmed as soon as toji’s cock hit that sweet spot that led your legs to tremble under his touch, and he watched you squirm and moan wobbly with eyes crossing and daring to also close shut. he let go of one of your legs and put it over his shoulder, immediately and skillfully rubbing circles onto your throbbing and erect clit, that was enough to draw an unannounced whine that had his other hand slap your mouth shut, while he held your thigh with his forearm.

“shut up, doll.” melting under his touch and breath hitching and suffocating as he slowly let go and instead, you replaced his hand with your own. toji stopped paying attention to your clit for a second, just to pull your lower thighs and lead you closer to him, dragging your body to the border of the sink, your back gliding against the mirror, literally folding you in half as he pushed your legs even more towards the sides of your head, in a mate press. he let you see every thrust and every throb and clench of your pussy against him, every droplet of liquid coming out as you then came unnoticed, him hitting your cervix almost. squirt came out messily as your hips grind forward, hands covering your mouth and nose. toji grunted ghostly and leaned more towards your face, watching attentively your expressions of despair and lust, he was enchanted, lost in them.

“fuck, sweet girl, ya pussy’s so good, can’t believe ya let me fuck ya first, huh.” your eyes watered more from the overstimulation, cramps took over your toes from curling, walls tightening and milking his cock, sensitive clit and erect nipples showing through the shirt. “wanna fuck ya dumb, want that?” he questioned with a smug smirk on his face like it was such an easy task for him to do, you knew it was, and your head nodded several times as soon as he finished the sentence.

“fuck mhm-me dumb, toji-san. f-fuck me, fff…” eyes closing as you let your arms then grip onto his wide wrists. he chuckled at your drunken state for cock, it’s sweet for toji to see you in that state for him.

“‘’m gonna fill ya up with my cum, ‘m gonna make ya mine.” whispering to your ears. “wan’ me to take ya from gojo, ma precious princess?” he kisses your cheek, driving you out of your high as well as fucking you into another one, slopping his pace just a little and focusing on being harsher, forceful, he’s about to cum after hearing your drawing mewls.

“mmm-i do, i do, ‘m fuckin’ yours, toji.” the way your lips move as you speak his name can make him cum, and he does, gripping so harshly onto the back of your thighs it draws marks that would easily turn into bruises, as he starts to fill your destroyed cunt like it’s a cake mould, and you milk him dry, at each thrust in and out, as slow as he can be, you’re still drawing more from him which makes him moan lewdly. as he watched you being so close as to faint, he sees your lower belly expand a little, from being filled up, and he sees the tip of his cock poke at it once he reaches certain angles, since he’s determined to absolutely occupy every single empty spot. he’s trying to possess every inch, get rid of the y/n that is gojo’s.

your legs kept trembling for a full day, and also the days that proceeded it, and the days after that, because toji kept fucking you raw each time. he kept having his way with you every day he went to your house and all the days he didn’t. he talked and laughed with your father, even when you were on the same room, and then fucked gojo’s daughter behind his back. in your room, in the bathrooms, in the living room, in the car, in gojo’s office, in gojo’s bedroom... toji fucked you in every room of the house and wherever else he could either bent you over or fold you in half. fuck, he even got bolder, he knew where there were cameras, and he didn’t care at all, not in the slightest, driven by jealousy. he succeeded in extinguishing every trace of y/n being gojo’s precious princess.

fxshigurosbae © 2023 ! 🔖: @reiners-milkbiddies @lilithlunas @poesexual @sacvh @youseebbiggirl @xdxdyg

[macabr3-barbi3]

God, That's Good!

Chapter 6: Interlude (The Contest)

The night after the events with Pentious and the Beadle, Lucifer is celebrating; this leads to an intimate moment with Alastor.

Tags: DRUNK KISS, SUGGESTIVENESS

Listen I'm sorry that this is the shortest chapter so far but I will say- FINALLY!!!! I needed a bit of exposition for their relationship to progress down the line (aka the events of the next like 6 chapters LOL), so this is just a tiny little thing but I hope everyone loves it like my beloved @fraugwinska did xD I LOVE YOU MY FRIEND

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9

Lucifer’s dark mood after the conversation with the Beadle was short-lived after he caught his glimpse of Charlie.

It broke his heart to know that she didn’t recognize him. The wave she had sent his way was polite and nothing more, something expected of a young woman in society when meeting someone she didn’t know. He hoped she would have picked up on it, the similarities in the blue of their eyes, the slope of their noses, the natural rosiness of their cheeks. But she simply regarded him as one would any other passer-by on the streets, standing next to what had to be Sera’s daughter, just as prim and proper as the Beadle herself. He could still see that Charlie was different from them- still a proper young lady, but she held herself with the air of someone confident but not arrogant; kind but not naive. Despite the lack of his and Lilith’s input she had grown well, the way he had wanted her to. She was in Sera’s care but not under her spell like her daughter seemed to be, soft spoken and mild mannered and likely never having stepped out of line before. 

Regardless of his disappointment with Charlie not recognizing him, there was hope- the Beadle would come to his barbershop. Whether she brought Adam with her that first time or not, his plan was in motion. As soon as she was in his shop, alone, he would… he would…  Lucifer knew what he wanted- revenge- but the thought of actually taking a life was daunting. But truly, nothing else would be enough; to have Sera and Adam imprisoned would be inconsequential after the ways that they ruined his life. To simply take Charlie back, not even knowing if she would believe that he was her father, was impossible with her being a grown woman now.

No, the only fitting punishment for them would be death, and at his own hands.

This was his determination hours ago, on the walk back to Fleet Street with Alastor. He had let excitement creep in that his plan would be coming to fruition in the near future, as soon as Sera came to ‘check out the establishment’ for Adam. He couldn’t have wished for better luck after his lifetime of misfortune, that Adam was so dependent still on Sera’s approval and help. She had been the daughter of one of the late Judge Cain’s close friends, always coming around to their home but never really interacting with himself and Adam. Truly he had thought she was smarter than to remain close to Adam, to go along with his scheme when Lucifer had been imprisoned, but her miscalculation in judgment would lend itself well to his plans.

For now, he was celebrating- Alastor had given his permission to pilfer a bottle of rye from the bar that he had been nursing for a while sans glass. He couldn’t keep the dopey smile off his face, pulling a book from the shelf in an attempt to distract himself, keep from ‘brooding’ as Alastor called it. He hadn’t turned the page in a solid fifteen minutes, so enraptured with his thoughts that he could hardly follow the tale of the British detective he was reading. His face felt… fuzzy, from the inside rather than from the stubble of a late shave. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, fingers tingling with the urge to do something other than hold his book in one hand, bottle of liquor in the other.

“Lucifer,” he hears Alastor call from across the room. “You’re brooding again.”

“M’not,” Lucifer says, his words only slurred the slightest bit. “I’m celebrating!”

“Hmm. I must say, they look quite similar and seem to affect you the same way- you’ve been staring into the fire for ages, you’ve hardly read your book.” He gives Lucifer a soft smile, the dancing flames making his eyes look almost red rather than their usual brown. “Why don’t you pop that back onto the shelf and head to bed?”

Lucifer knows that he’s right- any further drinking tonight will only put him further out of it and ensure that he was not in commission tomorrow. That wouldn’t do, as he had had several members of the crowd today asking where they could come to him for a shave and if his luck held out, he would have customers in the morning. He grumbles his compliance, standing from his armchair and only wobbling slightly as he made his way across the room with the book in hand. He passes Alastor, puts the book where it belong, and starts to bid him a good night while turning to cross the living area back towards his room.

He trips on his own feet- on Alastor’s feet? He couldn’t tell- and ends up half-sprawled across Alastor’s chair, smacking his head rather hard on the taller’s man’s shoulder. He manages rather quickly to get his hands back under him, bringing his knee to the edge of the chairs seat to get enough leverage to push back and put some distance between them again. His breath catches when the motion puts his face scant inches from Alastor’s. And Alastor’s eyes are wide, his lips parted, a shaky breath escaping from between them while his fingers clench on the arm of the chair. 

He doesn’t know why he does it. And his thoughts and actions feel traitorous so close to his home with Lilith, as even though she had been dead for years the memory of her loss was fresh. It still sat heavy in his chest like a stone, hardly able to even glance at the ceiling before the pang of it hit him and had him blinking back tears. But the more he drank the more he found his eyes drifting over to Alastor, running over his frame from top to bottom and lingering on his face, his hands, the folds of his clothing and what they could possibly be hiding underneath. He couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the man, attracted to him in a way that was confusing while he dealt with his grief. 

Regardless- he kisses him, the adrenaline of the day surging back through Lucifer’s body as their mouths make contact, and fuck, it had been so long since he had felt the touch of another person like this. His time in prison had been lonely, lacking any sort of real connection with any of the other inmates, insufficient personal time in most cases to deal with the occasional unwanted arousal. So when Alastor gasps into his mouth, the book he had been reading clattering to the floor as that hand comes up to fist in Lucifer’s shirt, all logical thought leaves his head. He settles more fully onto his knees to free up a hand, carding his fingers lightly through Alastor’s dark hair. When a noise rumbles forth from Alastor’s chest, low and guttural, he shifts; legs moving in such a way that he can rest his knees on either side of Alastor’s thighs, letting him take the weight off his arms completely. He uses the hand not in Alastor’s hair to cup his cheek and tilt for a better angle, cautiously letting his tongue dip into the other man’s mouth to see how it would be received. 

Alastor’s breath stutters, his hands tracing down Lucifer’s chest and coming around to rest on his hips, pulling him closer, pulling him down- 

The resulting contact makes his body jerk, his bottom lip sliding across one of Alastor’s incisors; the tang of iron hits him, such a stark contrast to the sweet taste of Alastor’s mouth that it rips him out of his stupor. He pulls back as Alastor’s eyes are fluttering open, gaze honing in on the slow drip of the new wound on Lucifer’s lip. He pulls his hands from Alastor’s hair like he’s been burned- he had crossed a line, this guy was essentially his landlord, and if Alastor saw fit to kick him out he would be so completely and utterly fucked-

Alastor releases his shirt, his thumb swiping gently across Lucifer’s lip and smearing the blood away. “Perhaps,” he says lowly, “we take a step back for the night, yes?”

Relief washes over him like ice water, cooling the flames that taken him over when Alastor had responded to the kiss. There’s a bit of disappointment there, too- it had been a fantastic kiss- but he knows it’s for the best with the alcohol still coursing in his veins. He doesn’t want to do anything to make Alastor uncomfortable, whether it resulted in his being kicked out or not. “You’re right,” Lucifer says, and he finally stands from the chair. “I’m- fuck, I’m sorry, Alastor.” He sways a bit where he stands, Alastor’s outlines almost fuzzy where he ended and the room began. “I shouldn’t have-”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He takes Lucifer’s hand, brushing his lips across his knuckles, making something deep in Lucifer’s chest ache, his heart beating faster. “I was… surprised, but it was not unwelcome. But I think it best if we revisit when you’re not intoxicated.”

Lucifer nods, taking his hand back from Alastor. “Of course. Yes, if you still- I suppose, if we both are still-” He stumbles over his words trying to get his meaning across- that if Alastor is still receptive to his advances after tonight, if Lucifer isn’t so overcome with guilt once his mind in free of the influence of the rye, that they can come back to this moment that they’ve shared, the memory of the kiss once against igniting a heat in his blood that had him blushing like a schoolgirl as his body reacted to it. “Right. Understood. I- goodnight then,” he stammers as he notices Alastor watching his lips move around the words, eyes glazed and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, cheeks just as flushed as Lucifer’s.

He manages to make it across the room this time without stumbling over his own feet, down the short set of stairs to the guest room that Alastor had invited him to stay in. He flings himself onto the bed, not bothering to undress- afraid that the temptation the devil on his shoulder whispered to him would be too great to resist if he disrobed. He lays atop the sheets with his pulse pounding in his ears, too slowly falling into into dreams that featured the soft sounds that Alastor had made beneath him.

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9