#my spirit have hit its limit

[onewhale]

This angle🥹🥹🥹

I think I have the ability to predict🪄 jajajajajajaja

[foxstens]

the parry in ender lilies is a bit op wtf????

[teh-tj]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[reminiscingtonight]

would you do a blurb or headcannons for prior engagements?

Prior Engagements Headcanon:

You miss graduation due to an away game scheduled the day of

The barca girls try raising your spirits but they can tell you’re a little disappointed

The game is won easily but by the time you get back to the hotel you’re tired, grumpy, and just want to cuddle with your girlfriend 

To your disappointment Alexia all but bolts the second the bus door opens

You don’t even have time to play the wounded girlfriend card because Mapi all but glues herself to your side the moment Alexia’s gone

Dropping off your things in your room? Mapi’s giving you unsolicited advice about your nonexistent cat that she thinks you should adopt

Hunting walking around the hotel in hopes of finding your girlfriend? Mapi’s talking your ear off about the trip Ingrid’s taking her on after the season’s over

Showering to get some peace and quiet? Mapi’s sat outside with the bathroom door wide open, yelling above the shower so she can be heard

By the time you’ve pulled on a change of clothes, ready for your dinner with some of the barca girls, you’ve hit your Mapi limit

The Spainard looks nonplussed when you hint heavily that she should go find Ingrid

“Oh don’t worry, Frido invited me and Ingrid to dinner. She’ll meet us there.”

When Mapi starts directing you to the rec room, you try digging your heels in

She whines that she left her sweatshirt there yesterday but you tell her you’ll wait in the lobby for her with a straight face

When she “accidentally” hits the floor for the rec room, you have to resist the urge to strangle her

The lights are off when you push open the door, which you find strange

Even stranger, when you turn around Mapi has seemingly disappeared

“Goddamnit, Maria, where--”

You jump when the lights flicker on, confetti raining down over you as you’re met with the sight of your grinning teammates

Everyone’s wearing makeshift caps and gowns, a few of them even with fake scrolls in their hands

Alexia comes forward, plopping a graduation cap onto your head

“My smart scholar, I’m so proud of you”

The training staff turns a blind eye when Alexia excitedly pulls you forwards deeper into the room where you can see a cake on the table with a crudely drawn hat and diploma over its top

You’re trying to be polite about it, but Mapi has no qualms making fun of her artwork

Alexia frowns and Ingrid’s already beginning to scold her girlfriend, but you find your justice by grabbing hold of Mapi by the shoulders and shoving her face first into the cake

Alexia decides the debt paid at the sight of Mapi sputtering and wiping frantically to clear her vision

Send me a fic title

[1080drgn]

[TRANSFORMERS AU: Black Rain — one-shot] [content warning — oc x canon;]

prev.

— English is not my first language, so for any mistakes in grammar, fluency or overall writing, I apologize! —

Winter.

This year's winter was not what one would often think of. It wasn't the lovely, magical winter when spending your days cuddled up under a warm blanket was your first priority and pleasure. In peace. No, it was winter of the nasty kind. It's the kind where snow and mud mix together, creating the disgusting sight under your doorstep; the kind that freezes everything on its path, making it hurt to breathe and bringing destruction and death to those, who are helpless and have nowhere to hide.

The Decepticons managed to set up a temporary base in the woods, that hid them between the bare trees and the cybertronian ones resembling to firs and spruces, shielding them from the freezing cold reaching up to them. At least some of it, anyway. But, despite the terrible cold outside, the Decepticons had enough Energon for themselves, so it wasn't much of a problem. Their biggest issue was that their equipment would freeze and stop operating correctly at times. The radars wouldn't pick up frequencies correctly, as well as comm links stuttered every time it was turned on.

The Autobots probably had the same problem out there, somewhere. The annoying snowstorms slowed both of the factions down, limiting not only their forces, but even their "fighting spirits". Everyone started to focus on themselves, to survive this horrendous winter.

The Decepticon air commander walked into his private quarters… or office, whatever it was. It's temporary anyway, soon to be destroyed, it doesn't need a specific name. Starscream was visibly, mentally exhausted, so his first thought was to seek peace of mind in his desolate room. The only source of light was coming from the open door, which led into the outside world. The seeker gaze sank through the words in his data pads laying on the desk, with a tired look. His optics were dimmed, craving stasis at this point.

But as if things couldn't get any worse, Starscream suddenly heard heavy footsteps behind him, crunching the white snow, before hitting the metal floor that echoed through the room. The air commander frowned, already getting annoyed at the sound and presence of another bot nearby.

"What do you want now, Lord Megatron?" He asked, thinking it must've been his leader. He obviously hadn't enough energy to converse with anybody. Especially Megatron.

To his question, silence responded. The footsteps stopped, which caused the air commander to get slightly lost. It wasn't Megatron? The seeker's optics glanced around, before his helm turned and noticed a tall, dark figure standing in front of him, staring right back at him. He knew very well, who it was.

"It's you… The coward who fled." Starscream hissed. He furrowed. "…How did you get here unnoticed?"

"I stunned the others. They'll be fine. Although surprisingly, your systems didn't pick up an intrusion." Abyss answered, his voice dull.

Starscream grumbled. Of course, everything froze again. Damn this cold. "Why are you here?" The mech suddenly pointed his null ray at the other. Though deep down, he knew he won't win this fight, if he attacked first.

Abyss looked at the desk behind the air commander with curiousity, but his faceplate didn't show it. He remained quiet, until finally speaking and returning his gaze back at Starscream.

"I've observed you for quite sometime. Your behaviour not only is much entertaining, but I have a need to know more about you and the faction itself."

"That doesn't sound creepy at all." The seeker made a sour expression, looking slightly to the side, sometimes behind Abyss, sometimes at the wall. He started to get nervous, but he didn't let his body language show it yet.

"I still don't know a lot about our world, hence I'm asking you to help me." The winged bot continued, stepping closer to Starscream.

As Abyss began to tower over him, the air commander pointed his null ray directly at the tall mech's face. But the other knew, that the seeker wasn't that much of an idiot to actually shoot him right now. He was bluffing.

Starscream laughed through his annoyance. "And what I'd get in return? You don't actually think I'm going to side with you, just because?"

And just as the Decepticon was about to continue his grumbling, Abyss lifted his arm and opened his servo, offering it.

"That's what I thought. I'll give you my power. A part of it, certainly, but not all of it." He said.

The seeker looked at Abyss' servo, before right back up at his black and white optics. Starscream lowered his weapon. This sounded rather interesting, but he was not yet fully convinced. The seeker knew of Abyss' strength and speed, so he was thinking about it.

The tall bot's optics softened.

"I'll give you my speed and strength, that matches no one else's…" He spoke softly, as the thought about his next words. Abyss' tone of voice turned serious, as he began to slowly circle the air commander. "Not even Megatron, a force to be reckoned with."

Starscream's crimson orbs flashed. His metal, jet wings twitched as he heard that. The air commander was really about to do it. The thought and plans of finally usurping Megatron may actually come to fruition. But his loyalty to the Decepticon cause still lied within him. Though, changing and creating a few rules and ranks to his liking doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

The seeker chuckled. "You ought to be aware by now that I'm not the bot you should put your trust in."

"I don't doubt that, but I'm not asking for much. And I don't think a bot like you would ever pass such an opportunity." Abyss acknowledged, as he stood once more in front of the Decepticon.

Starscream looked to the side, at the metal floor, uncertain. He remained quiet, thinking about this deal in which he had the final word. Oh, the image of the golden crown and the royal cape flashed in his mind. Perhaps this dream of his was closer than he had previously believed.

He smirked.

"We'll see."

[horrorshow]

a season 4(ish) fic rec list focusing on the emotional aftermath of dean going to hell and coming back, and what could have been, for @spnficrecfest

WALLS COME TUMBLING by destina sam/dean, 3.2k, rated E Sam was stupid last time, when Uriel snatched Dean away without warning. Stupid, and unprepared. He won't make that mistake again.

NO ONE IS ASKING (SO LEAVE IT ALONE) by xzombiexkittenx sam/dean, 9.4k, rated E Everyone has their coping mechanisms. Sam’s getting everything under control, one step at a time.

THE EVERLASTING GAZE by fleshflutter cas & dean, 1k It's a strange thing to hate your saviour. Dean doesn't remember Hell, not really. He doesn't remember Castiel putting his hand on him, drawing him up through the fire and blood. But there's a huge, frozen horror hidden in the back of his head. It creeps into his other thoughts.

SLEEPING BEAUTY by deadlybride sam/dean, rated M, 1.3k March 12, 2009. Sam rescues Dean from Alastair.

MORALITY ENDS WHERE A GUN BEGINS by lazy_daze sam/dean, 3.1k, rated E Sam hates the handprint and stares at it when Dean comes out of the shower in just a towel. It hardly even makes him feel better to see the stark lines of Dean's tattoo still on his skin, the same mark over Sam's own heart.

HIT THE GROUND CRAWLING by jonny_vrm sam/dean, 28k, rated E After Sam pulls Dean out of Hell, Dean stops talking. It takes a week for Sam to convince Dean to open his mouth so Sam can check that his tongue hasn't been cut out. It takes two weeks for Sam to accept that Dean really isn't talking. Then it takes a week of silence, the two of them sitting in the Impala like ventriloquist dummies, sitting in motel rooms like human taxidermy, before Sam decides to start talking for the both of them.

DEVIL'S TRAP by ratherastory alastair/dean, 3.8k There is water dripping slowly onto the Devil's Trap, and Dean doesn't care. AU where Sam is unable to kill Alastair in 4x16, exploring Alastair's relationship with Dean further.

PASSION by deadlybride sam/dean, 2.5k, rated M Hell reflects its ruler. Hell is, always, essentially Hell.

YOU TAKE IT WITH YOU by lazy_daze sam/dean, 30k, rated E Sam saves the world, and he brings Dean back from a month in Hell, but that's when things start to get complicated. Dean's cheated death before, but this time, it's different – Dean's spirit is unable to re-enter his body. Can Sam and Bobby work out how to reunite Dean's body and spirit? And how will Dean cope if they can't? From hunts in the Chicago lakes to visits to the Grand Canyon, with dreams, handjobs and hookers along the way, Sam and Dean ride it out and learn all over again how to live this life and live it together.

EMPTY SPACES by mariahlee dean, dean & sam, gen, 4.3k Hell? Consistent. He knew what to expect. Now, topside, everything is different. The world he used to know forty years ago is almost completely unfamiliar.

HANGMAN IS COMING DOWN FROM THE GALLOWS by withdiamonds sam/dean, 28k, rated E Today is the last day of Dean Winchester's life. Today is the last day of Dean Winchester's life. Today is the last day…

I ONLY DREAM OF YOU, MY BEAUTIFUL by sophie_448 sam/dean, 1.2k, rated M The last hours of the year are ticking by, and Sam realizes that there's no way to save Dean.

THE FIRESTARTER by jaimeykay dean & alastair, gen, 13k Set during On the Head of a Pin. While he waits for Dean, Alastair reminisces on what brought them together. Those forty years? Were delicious.

LIKE ROCK SALT WITHOUT A SHOTGUN by lazy_daze sam/dean, 2.8k, rated M Sam thought maybe, when it was all over, when he'd used his powers to their limit and stuffed all the demons back into hell and vaporized Lilith and nearly killed himself in the process -- he'd thought maybe they'd go.

THE DEVIL'S WATER IT AIN'T SO SWEET by xxamlaxx alastair/dean + cas/dean, nc-17 Dean comes back from hell with something extra.

HUNGRY AND HALLOW by hathfrozen sam/dean, 14k, rated E "Sorry," Dean gasps, going to tug the gun away, throw it to the floor, probably. It’s different—it was never okay, and this is—it’s different, what the fuck is he doing. Sam says, “Don’t," as he stretches his neck out and to the side slightly, opening it up to the cool press of the metal barrel.

HOWL VERSE by paxlux sam/dean, 85k, rated E In Hell, people change. Or they stay the same.

I FEEL FLAMES AGAIN by fleshflutter sam/dean, 12k, rated R Following a failed apocalypse, Dean nurses Sam through his addiction to demon's blood, which has driven Sam to horrific things.

FAITH WITHOUT WORKS IS DEAD by deadlybride sam/dean, 2.4k, rated E Sam does what he has to do.

SO FAR FROM YOUR WEAPON/DIG, LAZARUS, DIG by maypoles sam & dean, gen S4, Dean has an especially effed up relationship with pain now, Sam finds out/realises / After "On The Head Of A Pin," Dean has a bit of a breakdown.

[hookhausenschips]

Episode 1: Arrival in Singapore

Main Menu

Summary: Y/N arrives in Singapore for the F1 Grand Prix, instantly captivated by the city's vibrant energy and the excitement of race week. Exploring the paddock, she interacts with team officials and mechanics. Her conversation with a driver reveals a shared understanding of the racing spirit, whether on the streets of Barbados or the tracks of F1.

WC: 2,014

Warnings: none

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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The first thing that hit me when I stepped off the plane was the heat. It wasn’t the thick, dry heat I was used to in the Caribbean, though—it was different. The kind that sticks to your skin, clings to your clothes, but somehow feels alive. The entire city seemed to hum with energy, as if the air itself knew what was coming. It was race week in Singapore, and the city was buzzing.

Everything was different here—the sharp, clean scent of the ocean breeze, the lights bouncing off the skyscrapers, and the buzz of excitement in the streets. This place was alive, electric, as if the city itself was waiting for something big to happen. It made me feel like I belonged here, even though I was just visiting.

I grabbed my bag and moved through Changi Airport, letting my eyes take in the sights. Everything was sleek, clean, and high-tech. Even the airport looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. I’d done well for myself back home, but this? This was next-level. But then, that’s what I’d signed up for. I wasn’t here just to watch the Grand Prix. I was here to be in the thick of it, right up close to the action.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, adjusting my curls—waist-length, dark brown, with blonde streaks that always caught the light just right. In this city, where the lights danced off every surface, I could feel them bouncing off me, too.

As I walked through the terminal, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the message. “Your VIP pass is ready for pickup. Welcome to the F1 world.”

I grinned to myself. VIP access. For someone who grew up racing on the streets, this was surreal. The paddock, the garages, the cars—it was all within reach, closer than it had ever been. I’d been obsessed with racing my entire life. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I pushed my car to its limits. But this… this was Formula 1. The pinnacle of motorsport. The elite.

But who was I kidding? The second I heard the low, throaty growl of a supercar revving in the distance, my pulse quickened. I was a street racer. Fast cars and the thrill of the race were in my blood. Relaxing wasn’t really in my vocabulary.

I had heard about the F1 Grand Prix for years. It wasn’t the same as the streets of Bridgetown back home, but speed was speed. The opportunity to see Formula 1 up close, to be in the middle of all this? That was something I couldn’t pass up.

I hailed a cab, slipping into the backseat as I stared out at the city. The buildings stretched toward the sky, lit up by neon signs and glowing billboards. It felt like a different world. I’d been to big cities before, but there was something about Singapore, especially during Grand Prix week, that made everything feel larger than life. Like I was part of something bigger.

---

After a quick stop at the hotel, I headed straight to the track. My VIP pass dangled from my neck, granting me access to places most fans could only dream of. As I walked through the paddock, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. This wasn’t just about watching the race. I was getting a look behind the curtain, into the heart of F1.

The paddock was like a bustling little village of its own, full of high-end trailers, team members, and engineers moving between the garages. Celebrities, influencers, and big-money guests wandered around, but I wasn’t here for them. My eyes were locked on the cars, the mechanics, and the drivers who made all of this happen.

I made my way through the paddock, slipping past groups of fans as I found my way to the garages. That’s when I felt it—eyes on me. I glanced around casually, spotting a few drivers and mechanics. I wasn’t sure if they were curious about who I was or why I was there, but I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t exactly your average F1 fan.

I approached the first garage, catching a glimpse of the pit crew bustling around one of the cars. The smell of petrol and hot rubber filled the air, familiar and intoxicating. It was like the streets back home, only amplified. As I stepped closer, I heard someone call out.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you with someone?” A team official approached, eyeing my VIP pass but still cautious.

I flashed him a smile, holding up my pass. “Just here for the tour. Figured I’d start by seeing the real action.”

He smiled, a little more relaxed now. “You picked the right spot. This is where the magic happens.”

I nodded, stepping a little closer to the car. The sleek design, the vibrant paint job—it was a work of art. But more than that, it was a machine built for speed, for perfection. I could almost feel the power radiating off it.

“You’re a fan of F1?” the official asked, clearly testing the waters to see if I was just another casual onlooker.

I gave him a sideways glance. “I’m a fan of racing. Whether it’s in the streets or on a professional track, speed is speed. You know what I mean?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting that. “Ah street racing, huh? Well, you’re in for a treat here. This is the big leagues.”

I smiled again, a little wider this time. “I know.”

---

As I moved from garage to garage, it became clear I wasn’t just another fan. The mechanics I spoke to were surprised by how much I knew—about engines, tires, aerodynamics. I wasn’t just here to admire the shiny cars. I was here to understand them, to see how they compared to the ones I’d driven in Barbados.

“Have you ever worked on a car like this before?” one of the engineers asked as I leaned over to get a closer look at the engine of one of the Red Bull cars.

I shook my head, grinning. “Not exactly like this, but I’ve gotten my hands dirty a few times. Enough to know what makes them tick.”

The engineer laughed, clearly impressed. “Most people just see the glamour. But you… you get it.”

Before I could respond, someone else caught my attention—a driver standing near the garage, helmet in hand, watching me with curiosity. I recognized him instantly. Oscar Piastri, the rookie. He was young, but he had that same intensity I’d seen in all the best racers. The kind that said he didn’t care about fame or fortune—just speed.

He stepped closer, offering a casual smile. “You’re not like the usual VIPs around here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what are the usual VIPs like?”

Oscar chuckled, glancing at the car beside us. “They don’t usually know what an aero rake is, for starters.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve spent a lot of time around cars. Racing’s kind of my thing.”

“Street racing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like he was piecing it all together.

I raised my eyebrow questioning him, his face turned pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “Might’ve caught some of your conversation with the official earlier.”

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease. “It’s not as different from this as people think. The stakes are high, and the cars have to be perfect. The only real difference is the setting.”

Oscar looked genuinely intrigued. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like racing with no rules. No track limits, no officials telling you what you can and can’t do.”

I shrugged. “It’s freeing, but it’s dangerous. You learn real fast that one wrong move can end it all. But that’s the thrill, right?”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully, a spark of understanding in his eyes. “I get that. I mean, we have rules, but at the end of the day, it’s still about pushing the limits. Every race is a risk.”

We stood there for a moment, both of us understanding the unspoken bond between racers. It didn’t matter if it was on the streets of Barbados or the tracks of Singapore—racing was racing. The rush, the danger, the need to go faster than anyone else—it was all the same.

Oscar glanced over at his car. “You ever driven one of these?”

I shook my head, letting my eyes linger on the sleek machine in front of me. “Not yet.”

He smiled, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Well, maybe we can fix that before you leave.”

He stepped a little closer, his curiosity clearly piqued. “You got a favourite driver, then? Or are you more of a keep-them-guessing type?”

I met his gaze, holding it steady. “I don’t really pick favourites. I’m more interested in how people handle themselves when the pressure’s on.”

He smiled, clearly amused. “Fair enough. Guess that’s what we’re all here for, right?”

Before I could respond, one of the team members called his name, and Oscar gave me a quick nod before heading off. “See you around,” he said over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” I replied, watching him disappear into the garage.

---

As the day wore on, I toured more garages, talked to more people. Every step deeper into the paddock felt like peeling back layers of this world. I learned more about the cars, the drivers, the teams—and I could tell that they were starting to learn more about me, too. Word spread fast in a place like this, and by the time I made my way to the Ferrari garage, I was starting to get a few curious glances.

It was getting later in the afternoon, but the adrenaline from being in this space kept me going. I wandered over to the last garage of the day, watching as the crew finished up work on Charles Leclerc’s car. The Ferrari was a beauty—sleek, red, and built for speed. I leaned against the wall, watching the pit crew work with precision.

As I stood there, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see another familiar face—Carlos Sainz. His easygoing smile put me at ease instantly. “You’ve been making the rounds,” he said, glancing at my VIP pass. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I like to get a full picture of what I’m dealing with.”

Carlos chuckled. “You talk like a racer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s because I am one.”

He looked surprised for a split second before his grin widened. “Which kind?”

I could feel my lips turn up into a smirk, “What kind of racing do you think I do Mr. Sainz?”

His eyes narrowed as his eyes inspected almost every inch of my being, “I don’t take you for the NASCAR type or rally cars. Maybe something more dangerous and less professional?”

I nodded. “Back home in Barbados. It’s a different kind of track, but the thrill’s the same.”

Carlos crossed his arms, clearly interested. “And what do you think of all this? F1 compared to the streets?”

I glanced over at the Ferrari behind him. “It’s impressive. The precision, the power. But it’s still a machine. At the end of the day, it’s all about the driver.”

Carlos laughed, clearly enjoying my answer. “You should come by again tomorrow. I think the other drivers would love to hear more of your perspective.”

“Maybe I will,” I said with a grin, pushing off the wall. “Thanks for the invite.”

---

As I left the paddock, the neon lights of Singapore flickered above me, casting a glow over everything. The city was alive, and I could feel its pulse in sync with mine. The excitement of the race, the allure of the cars, the connection I felt with the drivers—it was all building.

Taglist: @omgsuperstarg, @evesfile, @ysnhua, @mellowluka, @risu-es

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello~ I don't know if someone has already ask this but I'll just ask anyway. What made you so interested in Jade? I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything of the sort. I'm just very intrigued.

Also to feed into your J-word brain rot I present to you this, but picture Jade. Lol I saved this photo as hot damn Sebastain.

Hello, hello!! ^^ I’ve made a post before that explains my interest in Jade, but if I’m being entirely honest 💦 it’s all over the place and difficult to read because of how often I go all caps and keyboard smashing. I’ll try to summarize my thoughts here in a way that’s more digestible and calm.

I love many of the little details about his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, how his brows are arched, etc. I also have a visceral, near animalistic urge to tug on that black bit of hair he has sprouting out...

His manner of dress also resonates with me! Jade is usually well covered and in formal attire, and I think that makes it more exciting on the instances when he dresses down (whether that be going without his gloves or choosing something more casual to wear).

His intelligence. I've always preferred characters who rely on their smarts over their strength to achieve their goals, and Jade fits the bill. One particular example is how his UM is limited in scope and usage, so he has to carefully plan and strategize about how and when he casts it. It's nice that Jade can also loosen up and use his cunning not necessarily for nefarious deeds, but just to tease others.

He plays support and he plays it well. I also have a tendency to like "helper" characters (butlers, bodyguards, knights, etc.), which is another archetype that Jade slots into. He is highly competent as a vice dorm leader, personal assistant, and right-hand man (eel?) to Azul. Plus, Jade knows when and how to play to his strengths (especially when it comes to deception and disarming others) and adapt to any situation he is placed in. Jade has even earned the approval of the notoriously hard to please Vil!

He keeps you guessing, and you'll still never even see it coming. I think it's interesting that he appears more docile than Floyd, yet Azul warns his peers that Jade is the more dangerous twin since Jade won't telegraph his schemes or bad moods (unlike Floyd). I 100% agree with Azul; not knowing what Jade has in store or when it will hit you is much scarier--but also much more thrilling in a way, haha...

Similar to the last point but much more specific; I love Love LOVE those moments when he's smiling while saying the most horrendous things (the infamous "what I'd do to anyone that betrays me" line lives rent free in my head). I also adore it when Jade is lying to your face and overacting (like when he pretends he got dust in his eye in book 4). He's so dramatic while lying his heart out, it makes me giggle.

Jade works with many of the tropes I like to go for when I want comfort. Househusband/domestic life stuff, butler looking after you, etc. I have a habit of overworking and forgetting to take care of my needs, so it's easier for me to remember if I pretend like Jade's the one doing the self-care for me.

I appreciate that he appreciates nature. I don't get to touch much grass (not that I don't go outside, it's that there isn't much grass in the area I live in)... so I get very excited whenever I get to just enjoy nature in its purest form, taking in that fresh air. It makes me feel like we're kindred spirits.

The duality of eel. Overall, I'd say that the reason I like Jade so much is because he can be many things which typically run contradictory to one another. I think that makes for a fun character that keeps me on my toes ^^

NOT YOU USING “J WORD” TOO… 💀 It’s spreading… just like a bunch of spores…

Aaaah, it’s Sebastian!! It’s been years and years since I read Black Butler (I think I stopped around the Blue Cult arc?). He’s still just as effortlessly elegant as I remember him being… I guess that’s par for the course for one hell of a butler, huh?

Here, lemme just… *crudely draws on him* THERE WE GO, THE J WORD SSR FOR AN EVENT WHERE WE VISIT THE LAND OF CRIMSON LONG :>

Thank you for your question and the rot fuel 🥰

[doumadono]

for sinday.... Douma meets a goddess of love! reader? Aphrodite powers and all. lets see how the unbeliever feels when reader says she's been watching over him for quite some time(and liking what she sees), eh?

SINFUL SUNDAY

A/N: grateful for this request, I nearly forgot the pleasure of writing for my cherished Douma!

One night, a girl unexpectedly appears before Douma in his secluded chamber, radiating an aura of divine beauty.

Douma, initially unfazed, looks her up and down with a smirk. "Well, well, what do we have here? Haven't seen you around, my lotus. Who are you?"

The girl reveals her identity as a goddess, specifically the goddess of love

Douma chuckles, "Love, huh? Not really my thing, sweetheart."

She casually mentions she has been watching over Douma for some time, piquing his interest.

Douma raises an eyebrow, "Watching me, huh?"

"Oh, I've been enjoying the show, my dear. Your fights, your victories," she says. Channeling her feminine charm, the girl flirts lightly, "You may be a demon, but there's a certain allure to your chaos, Douma."

Douma, unfazed but slightly intrigued, retorts, "Flattery won't get you anywhere, goddess. I'm not the type to fall for such tricks. Better don't test my limits. I can snap your neck within blink of an eye."

The girl, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, challenges, "Perhaps not, but even demons deserve a taste of love. Care to prove me wrong?"

"I find the trivial and unnecessary nature of human emotions rather pitiful and inconsequential." Douma tells her, a wry smirk glued to his lips.

She whispers, "Love is not just an emotion, Douma. It's a flame that can burn even the coldest hearts like yours." The girl, with a snap of her fingers, using her powers, creates an ethereal sensation affecting all of his being, making Douma feel a subtle warmth in his chest.

Douma, raising an eyebrow, grumbles, "What did you do, woman?"

"Oh! Don't worry! It's just a taste of the love I can offer. A demon like you might find it... intriguing," she suggests with a grin.

Douma, feeling the unfamiliar warmth, tries to play it off, "Intriguing, huh? Don't get too carried away, goddess."

She leans in, teasing, "You're a challenge, Douma." Playfully running a finger along Douma's cheek, the woman purrs, "Life is more interesting with a little passion, don't you think?"

Douma, catching her hand, smirks, "Interesting, maybe. But I'm not one to be easily swayed."

She offers him a smile and rises onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his. In this moment, she seizes the chance to weave more of her enchanting spell of love around him.

In mere moments, his hakama pants and shirt find their way to the floor. Before he can fully grasp the situation, he's gently pushed onto a futon. The goddess straddles his lap, gracefully removing her attire with deliberate slowness.

In the next moment, she delicately grinds her hips, sensually rubbing her pussy against his visibly eager manhood, standing proudly in all its glory.

Douma gasps, yet places his strong hands to her hips, helping her with her movements. "Mmmm, lotus, look at you, so eager for me already. You're something, aren't you?"

She grins at him, leaning in to engage in a passionate kiss while positioning his cock at the entrance, only to descent on him ever so slowly.

Douma maintains unbroken eye contact with her, allowing her to have her share of fun with him. She rides him as if he were a spirited stallion, and he shows no objection whatsoever.

Douma's hands glide to her breasts, his fingers caressing them tenderly. "You're so hot, my little lotus, riding me as if there's no tomorrow," he praises, his voice sultry, a sly grin gracing his handsome features.

She moans his name, arching her back and rolling her head back in pleasure as his cock hits all the sensitive spots within her pussy. "Oh, Douma! It feels so incredible! I might just get addicted to a demon's touch! Never felt anything like that with a human before!"

Before too long, Douma grows bored, craving the familiar sense of control he exerts in his temple. Swiftly, he tosses her off his lap and forcefully pins her down on the futon. She finds herself on her stomach, rising her hips up for him, and the blonde-haired demon thrusts into her wetness from behind with a deep grunt, establishing a raw, almost primal tempo.

Douma swiftly succumbs to pleasure as the goddess screams, her pussy clamping hard on his cock. Douma alters his angle angle for heightened ecstasy, his cock rubs all of the spongy spots within her cunt. She climaxes with a loud moan, thrusting her hips back onto him, and he soon follows suit, cumming in her with a gasp.

As they recline together and Douma casually caresses her shoulder, he inquires about her name. She responds, "It's Y/N."

Douma grins mischievously. "I'm afraid I can't let you slip away. You're mine now."

"I'm a goddess; you can't keep me as if I were your pet," she reminds.

Douma chuckles softly, his smirk widening. "Well, goddess or not, I've always been fond of collecting rare treasures. Looks like I just found my most prized possession."

[constellationguy]

Another perspective

Episode four

"Text: regular talking

'Text': regular thinking

"Text": Saiki talking telepathically

'Text': Saiki thinking

ATTENTION! You might want to rewatch episode four of The Disastrous Life of Saiki K before reading to fully understand the events.

Previous episode

Summary: Episode 4 in L/N Y/N's perspective.

“To Mister Kusuo Saiki,

I am someone who knows you have psychic powers, but don’t worry. I intend to tell no one about you. I am writing this letter because I want to tell you that I am not your enemy and that I want to be your apprentice. To tell you the truth I also have unique abilities, it is because of those abilities that I came to know about you master.” -Y/N read to Saiki

“He’s already calling me master?” Saiki said confused. “Odd right?” Y/N agreed.

“I’ll come to greet you in person sometime soon.

-sincerely your faithful servant.”

“He’s gone from apprentice to servant. But the real news is there is another psychic out there.”

“I wonder what they’re like,” Y/N mused.

“I should figure out what he’s like before he shows up.” Saiki was clearly worried about this. “Let’s just stop for a moment, I’m sure he’s not too bad Kusuo. How about I go get some coffee jelly and all will be right again, how does that sound?” Y/N said trying to distract Saiki.

“Well sure. But I’m still going to use psychometry to figure this guy out first.” “Fine fine. I’ll be right back-” Y/N started to walk down the stairs but was interrupted by the door bell.

“Wow! Your house is really normal!” The new guy spoke to Saiki.

“This is too soon” both Saiki and Y/N thought.

“Ah sorry. Where are my mannors? My name is Reita Toritsuka. And it’s a pleasure to meet you master!”

‘Am I just gonna be ignored again, guess his manners don’t go very far.’ Y/N thought less than impressed.

“Let’s see, I’m 16 years old… Ah! But you know all that because you can read my mind.” Toritsuka continued.

“Anyway, feels like I know you! I’ve heard so much about you from people! Well from dead people, did I forget to mention that part.” He said bashfuly.

“See! I told you ghosts were real!” Y/N hit Saiki lightly as they teased.

“You can’t see spirits master?” Toritsuka asked.

“Not unless you’re one,” Saiki replied coldly.

“Oh good for you. I see about 15 right now.”

“Really? That sounds like a lot. What, are they having a party?”

“Nothing draws a crowd of spirits like a psychic. Their curious! There’s an old lady hanging out up in that corner there. And right next to you is a guy bouncing his bare butt. But forget about that! The reason I’m here is I want to be your apprentice!”

“Wait he’s doing what with his butt now?”

“Ya I feel weirded out, I’m leaving,” Y/N said walking around Toritsuka on the floor. ‘Oh no you’re not.’ Saiki communicated to Y/N before his bedroom door slammed on its own. Y/N just excepted their fate and started to lean on the side of Saiki’s chair.

“Don’t worry it’s totally harmless,” Toritsuka reassured. “Harms my peace of mind.”

“Oh looks like he’s gone now,” ‘Nope he’s rubbing his butt on his face’ Since Saiki made it so they could also hear Toritsuka’s thoughts, they didn’t know whether to snort at Saiki’s misfortune or move away from him.

“You know I hear your thoughts right?” “I’m sorry but I don’t really have any control over these guys,” Toritsuka admitted.

“You’re a psychic medium, can’t you just “begone!” or something?” Saiki replied unimpressed. “That, or can’t you just tell them to act respectfully is someone else’s home?” Y/N asked equally unimpressed.

“Ya well my abilities are pretty much limited to seeing ghosts. And talking to them.”

‘Ya! And why don’t you talk to them now?! Is he really that unconvincing?’ Y/N thought annoyed at being continuously ignored.

“I’ve had this gift since birth, when I was born into a temple.”

‘From birth? We’re the same in that manner’ Saiki thought.

“When I was little, I couldn’t tell the difference between people and ghosts. Then my beloved grandma told be, spirits can’t take on physical forms so that’s a good way to identify them. I was so relieved, I went to give her a hug, and that’s when I discovered… grandma was a ghost.”

“That’s dark,” Saiki replied.

“Ya, I was pretty bummed, but then grandpa came to cheer me up, except he was a ghost too. After that I started hugging people at random. A lot of people thought I was being creepy and gross, but really I-I was just trying to make sure they were alive.”

“That sketchy grin says otherwise,” “Agreed” Y/N said.

“When it comes to powers I really drew the short end of the stick, it’s more of a burden than a gift with no upsides.”

“That’s not true. By communicating with the dead, think of all the people you’d could bring closure to.” Saiki said, trying to be helpful.

“Ya but is there any way I can get rich off of it?” Toritsuka asked a little vindicated.

“Oh dear” “Ah, Gotcha.” Y/N and Saiki replied.

“When I heard about you from my ghost friends, I knew I had to meet you. He said there was a guy with all kinds of powers like telepathy, x-ray vision, teleportation, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis.”

“But you still cared more about the lady’s bath didn’t you,” Saiki frowned looking back on Toritsuka’s memory.

“Please Saiki, make me your apprentice and teach me your me how to do all of your tricks, I’m begging you!”

“Even if I could teach you these abilities, you’d just use them to do gross stuff right?”

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you because I respect you and also because you can read my mind and would know that I was lying. To be honest, I mostly just want to see through girl’s clothes and predict lottery numbers. Tell me is that so wrong?!”

“That was too honest,” “I mean maybe but I kinda respect that,” Y/N thought allowed, still a bit grossed out.

“I think clairvoyance could help me with peeping too. Plus I want to lift girl’s skirts with psychokinesis and teleportation…..” Toritsuka’s words faded out ask Saiki started to talk to Y/N

‘But these powers don’t work how they think. People’s voices flood into your head constantly. You see through things too well and can’t touch anything without gloves on.’

“You have no idea how hard it is. Being a psychic is suffering.” Saiki stated harshly.

“Uh! Guess I should be going now!”

“Don’t tell anyone about this okay?”

“But can I come and see you again?”

“Just get out of here alread-” Saiki paused while grabbing Toritsuka, his face then fell in shock.

“Uh master? Master? Is something wrong?”

“Well, I guess we’re both suffering.”

After Toritsuka left Saiki had to ask Y/N a question.

“Can I sleep over at your house tonight?,” Saiki asked still shaken up.

“Sure, whatever you want. I don’t mind preparing dinner for another person, let’s go.” Y/N replied placing a comforting hand on Saiki’s back.

—————————————————————————

“Did you hear about the cool new transfer student from the class next door?” “Really?”

“Oo could you tell me about your guardian spirit is like?” “She looks like a noblewoman. And she’s stunningly beautiful, just like you are,” “oh stop it!” “Do me next!”

“Uh, Master!” Toritsuka lifted his head up at the noise and saw Saiki at the door.

‘Could this be anymore cliché?’ Saiki thought annoyed. ‘I hope not,’ Y/N replied. Saiki then grabbed Toritsuka and brought him to the bathroom.

“Hey. Change schools.” Saiki said harshly.

“Hold on a sec! Chill out. Why are you so upset? Didn’t I tell you I’ll be transferring to your school?” Toritsuka sounded scared.

“No.”

“I assumed you’d know, with you being a psychic,”

“Wrong.”

“Oh I get it. Are you worried I’m gonna tell people about your powers master?”

“First, quit calling me master.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

CRASH. Then Y/N could hear the toilet flushing.

‘Don’t worry, I could barely hear you from beyond the door,’ Y/N thought while walking beside Saiki ‘Good.’ Saiki replied.

“I feel like a kid who just got beaten up by the school bully on his first day. You know I don’t get why you’d rather hide your powers. If you showed off what you can do you’d get so much attention.”

“Ya that’s where it goes wrong, Kusuo gets enough of dealing with people just from me.” Y/N commented.

“I guess it’s kinda creepy to know someone’s peaking into your brain. Wait hold on. Forget brains, you can peak at other body parts too right? Wow. So that means you can see all the girls naked anytime that you want. Go my god! Oh?” Toritsuka then made a shocked blushing face as Teruhashi passed by.

“Wow. Who’s that beautiful angel that just glided past us?”

“That’s Teruhashi. She just walked by you for no reason whatsoever. You should thank her.” Saiki said a little amused.

“Did you see all the nooks and crannies on her body?! Come on give me some details here!”

“Please don’t be weird.” “Gross, man” Y/N and Saiki replied.

“Look there he is!” A group of girls then surrounded Toritsuka.

“You see guardian spirits right?” “Tell me about mine!” “Well Saiki, I guess just can make do with this.”

“Ladies ladies, I’ll get to all of you! One at a time!”

“Hey, so what is a guardian spirit?”

“Just like it sounds, a spirit that always watches over and protects you.”

“Cool! So can you tell me who mine is?”

“Your spirit, is a samurai! Who looks like he can really keep you safe.” “Wow!”

“Yours is a fancy lady from Europe or somewhere else with lots of blond people.” “Really?”

“Me next! Do me!” “Yours is, ah! Um, he’s like a bard maybe? Could be from France.” Toritsuka couldn’t hide his off put face. “Oh my!” “He might be in his mid-twenties. Has long hair, and he’s really handsome.” He was clearly terrible at lying.

“Hey! Tell me about mine” “ya, me too,” “no me first!” A group of boys asked Toritsuka.

“Alright ladies, who else wants to talk to me?”

“Hey what about us?!” Y/N doesn’t blame the guys for being curious, they were curious about theirs too but didn’t really want it ask.

“Uh let’s see now. Old dude, old hag, old hag, really old hag. Now yours is!”

“At least pretend to care!” Takahashi exclaimed.

“Ah!” “Have him check yours Hairo.” “No, I don’t have to.” “Oh man, your guardian spirit’s incredible. He’s an intensely passionate man. He plays tennis. He’s got boundless energy! I think that maybe his name is!”

“He’s not dead yet.” Saiki interjected.

“Guardian spirit? Sounds dumb. But still. Supposed it’d be rude not to hear you out. So tell me about mine or whatever, don’t care.”

‘He totally cares.’

“Your guardian spirit… oh wow, it’s kind of abnormal.”

‘Huh?! What does that mean? Is it some sort of demon? Or monster? Or dark spirit?’ “So what is it not that I care-”

“A chihuahua.” Toritsuka said bluntly.

“Chihuahua?! How dare he insult me like that! This guy’s a fraud!”

“Hey now what’s going on here a festival?”

“Now here’s someone abnormal.”

“New guy says he can see guardian spirits, but he lies!” Kaido said, still hurt.

“Oh cool! What’s that?”

“Now now, no pushing. Just wait your turn.”

“Hey! What’s my guardian spirit?”

‘Nendo’s guardian? Now that I’m curious about’ ‘same here’ Y/N thought.

“Okay, let’s see. Your is a politician” “what really?”

“Oh denied,” Saiki said and Y/N chuckled.

“Gotta say, I’m really happy I transferred to this school.” “Hey what’s my guardian spirit?” “I can already tell that I’m gonna have an awesome time here.” “What’s my guardian spirit?”

“Say Saiki, wanna hear about your guardian spirit Saiki?” “What’s my guardian spirit?”

“Me? I couldn’t care less, but tell him what his is because he’s getting really annoying.” “What’s my guardian spirit?” Nendo continued to whisper ask.

“AH JUST SHUT UP! I’VE TOLD YOU NOT TO FOLLOW ME AROUND EVERYWHERE, I HATE YOU!”

“Woah, what got into you?” Toritsuka then suddenly hit Nendo with his bag. Perplexed when it hit Nendo, he grabbed his face.

“WHAT YOUR NOT A GHOST?!”

“HAHHAHAHAHHA” Y/N burst out laughing, clutching their sides at Toritsuka’s amazement.

“You really didn’t know?”

“But all this time he’s bene following us, you’ve never once acknowledged his presence, I thought you couldn’t see him!!!”

“Hey what was that all about?!”

“No way! ITS TRUE I SEE AN OLD HAG BEHIND HIM!”

“So it’s true, he really can’t tell the difference between the living and the dead. Psychic mediums sure have it rough,” Saiki commented.

“Hey Saiki theirs something I’ve got to show you. But you’ll have to touch me using your psychometry power, okay? I think when you see this, you’ll understand why I was so confused before.”

“Ooo touch me too, I wanna see!” Saiki then put his hand on Toritsuka’s shoulder and Y/N touched the back of Saiki’s hand.

“Is that?”

“Allow me to introduce my guardian spirit.” It just so happened to be Nendo’s dad…

“I’m sorry, you really do have it rough.”

“Now that’s some misfortune…” Y/N said while snickering.

“Why did you touch Saiki? Couldn’t you see my guardian spirit anyway?” Toritsuka asked Y/N.

“Huh? No, why do you say that?” Y/N asked confused.

“Hold on…” Toritsuka then put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re real?!”

“Uh, ya? They’ve been here the whole time…”

“I genuinely thought they were your guardian spirit.” Toritsuka said to Saiki a little embarrassed.

“Well isn’t that quaint. Just think about that Kusuo, me watching over you your whole life. Not to far off from the truth now is it,” Y/N beamed. Saiki took a moment to think about this but didn’t respond.

“Sorry again about ignoring you…” Toritsuka said meekly.

“Oh don’t worry about it. You’ve provided me with some good entertainment today, just don’t keep doing it alright?” Y/N reached out their hand to shake Toritsuka’s.

“Sure” he smiled back.

“But quick question… are you a boy or a girl?”

Y/N chose to not let that get to them and just laughed.

—————————————————————————

Y/N was watching as a girl was carrying a heavy box, they were waiting until she would either trip or have to take a break. Obviously they would have helped if she tripped but they had to get their entertainment from somewhere right?

However, just as the girl tripped, Hairo caught her.

“Woah. You okay? This is heavy, where you taking it?” “The teacher’s lounge.”

“But! First I want you to bring it this far. We can only get stronger by pushing past our own limits! Come on! Great job, don’t give up, keep going you can do it!”

“Good hustle” he replied when the girl gave him the box.

“Now it’s time to push myself. I’m gonna carry it the rest of the way while doing bunny hops!”

“Oh! Hairo’s hoping like a bunny” “we should hop along with him!” “We don’t have stuff to carry but we can pretend!” “Ya!”

“AAAAAA, IM COMING FOR YA TEACHERS LOUNGE!” Hairo screamed.

“Is all that really necessary? I know the last time I was near Hairo I found it entertaining but this is a little much” Y/N said to Saiki.

“As hard as he is on others, he’s harder on himself. I don’t hate him as a person, but the two of us probably wouldn’t mix very well.” Saiki commented back.

“Hey Saiki, L/N! Did you know that scientists say that the average person sweats about 300mls every night while they’re sleeping?”

“You’re telling me why?” ‘Why is this thought relevant’ Saiki replied and Y/N thought.

“Well the school’s sports day is coming up and I’m working on building the entry gate for it right now. Kudo was supposed to be helping but then he when and came down with a cold. Really it’s almost done, all we have to do is connect the arch to the pedestals. So if you would just give me a hand…” Hairo paused as he opened the door and saw that the arch was destroyed.

“PEDESTAL?! YOU WERE STANDING JUST FINE YESTERDAY! HEY! COME ON GET UP!”

“Pep-talks don’t work on pedestals. By the way, this is more than we can fix ourselves so I’m gonna go now” Saiki commented at Hairo’s hysteria. Y/N also tried to follow Saiki out of the room before Hairo spoke to them again.

“Saiki we can do this! If we work fast we’ll finish before the last train leaves!”

‘Give me a break’ Saiki thought.

“Oh I can’t stay. It’s my turn to make dinner for my family so I really should head home… I’m sorry I couldn’t stay Hairo.” Y/N only lied a little to Hairo, in truth they knew that sports day was a month away so they didn’t want to waste time helping Hairo.

“Oh! That’s fine I guess, you can help us with something else another day!” Hairo said back a little disappointed.

“You got it!” Y/N gave Hairo a smile and a thumbs up, then left Kusuo and Hairo to deal with the arch way.

Once Saiki was done with helping Hairo he stopped by Y/N’s house before going home.

“Oh hey Kusuo! I’m sorry it took so long…” Y/N said feeling a little guilty for leaving him.

“Ya him and me don’t mix. I’m gonna raid your fridge for sweets in exchange for you ditching me and leaving me alone with him.” Saiki said while walking to the kitchen.

“What?! Oh, fine. I guess that’s fair,” Y/N sighed.

—————————————————————————

Y/N was reading on their sofa for most of the day. Their parents were at coworkers wedding so they left Y/N home alone. The day was leisurely and calm, maybe a little hot but that was nothing a fan couldn’t fix. Y/N briefly saw Nendo from outside their window headed to Saiki’s house but they didn’t worry about it and continued doing their thing.

—————————————————————————

“What Minako dumped you?!” “Hey keep it down”

“So you’re signal again?” “Welcome back!”

Y/N could not help but over hear conversations about breakups and love life’s being on the rocks. And they noticed that the way Yumehara was starring Kusuo that her relationship probably wasn’t going well either…. that or she was a cheater, probably not best to think your classmate is like that but at least it’s an interesting dynamic.

“So this guy’s Takeru?” Saiki said while spying on the guy. “I guess so, he seems rather normal, he’s got friends and such… I don’t understand why Yumehara would-”

“Ah!” “Are you okay?” Takeru’s jaw got dislocated while he was laughing.

“Ya, I’m fine, my jaw just got dislocated sorry.” “No we’re sorry for making you laugh…”

“That really is a buzzkill.” Saiki said. “Sure, but I’m sure there is something about him that could keep Yumehara tied to him, right?” Y/N responded worriedly.

“Oh hey Takeru, how’s everything been going with your girlfriend lately?” “Great!”

“Nope. Wrong answer.” ‘Oh dear’ Y/N thought exasperated.

“He thinks this is going great?” Saiki asked generally while spying on Yumehara and Takeru.

“I mean if he’s that oblivious then maybe there’s no helping them. If you really wanna try to keep them together, give it a shot. Just tell me what happens later, I’ll have coffee jelly waiting at my house for you. See ya Kusuo,” Y/N could already tell that it was helpless but they also knew Saiki would tell them everything he tried to do to keep them together later.

In Y/N’s book if Kusuo failed at keeping them together, they would still get the story and they would be there to comfort Kusuo with coffee jelly later. A win, win really. So Y/N walked home alone and waited for Kusuo to come home and spill the beans about Yumehara and Takeru’s relationship.

Just before dinner Saiki finally showed up at the L/N residence.

“So? How’d it go?” Y/N asked. Saiki didn’t respond, he just sat next to Y/N on the couch and collapsed onto their shoulder.

“That bad huh?” Y/N asked while starting to play with the hairs on the back of Kusuo’s neck.

“Her like-ability scare for him was up to 95. She could have married him! But as soon as they went to Okonomiyaki for dinner she saw all the things that she hated about him. His like-ability shot down to 0 in an instant.” Kusuo complained as he got more comfortable leaning onto Y/N.

“Ouch. Well, how about you stay the night so we can watch movies and eat all the coffee jelly we want to take your mind off of things?” Y/N asked Kusuo as they started to massage his scalp.

“Sure. I’ll go grab the coffee jelly and you can pick the movie.” Saiki said while getting up.

“How about you go change out of your uniform first? It’s not really made to be relaxed in,” Y/N joked.

“Fine. But I’m taking one of my hoodies that your stole from me.” Saiki joked back.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting here,” Y/N said and smiled warmly as Saiki went up the stairs.

—————————————————————————

Next episode

[assumptionprime]

I adore your take on DS2 and wanted to know what ur thoughts were on Elden Ring and/or DS 3!

(also I have been loving ur comics!!!)

First off: Thank you! Glad you like my comics! <3

I mentioned it briefly in the DS2 post, and it's been said by others, but Dark Souls 3 is about ending Dark Souls. And it does that very well. The "time and space is falling apart and that's why the geography is like that" that people sometimes say about DS2 is literally, textually true in 3. The Dreg Heap is a pile of other, older Dark Souls areas collapsing in on each other. This world has been going on and on, repeating and prolonging the Age of Fire that should have ended long ago, and it's just breaking down. You can't keep the same thing going forever, that's true in the universe of the story, and of a franchise of dark fantasy action RPGs.

It's kind of funny and also impressive that Miyazaki and the team hit that point, saying if they keep doing this it's going to fall apart, on game three of the franchise. There's so many series out there that will pump out game after game of the same stuff, to the point they stop numbering them and give them subtitles to hide the fact that they're on game 23 of this thing, and FromSoft said "three's our limit for this one" and gave us the greatest hits final bow before moving on to new different takes on their subgenre of games.

Enter Elden Ring! The game that got me into FromSoft games. Every time people talked about Dark Souls it was always about how hard they were, and the whole "git gud" mentality, which made them seem like they would 100% be not my kind of thing. But I am an absolute sucker for a fantasy open world, so I dipped my toes into Elden Ring, and really enjoyed it! Being able to just go exploring and do something else whenever I got stuck was a huge plus, as are spirit ash summons. The game is hard, for sure, but there's also a lot of ways to ease that difficulty (not eliminate it, but ease it (also there's no excuse to not have a pause button, that's stupid, don't @ me))

As far as lore and storytelling, Elden Ring has a lot of cool stuff (that's my wife Ranni, my cool witch wife Ranni) but I don't know that I have so definite a "take" on its story. It goes back to the Dark Souls 1 and 3 well of "some important shit happened, go kill this list of bosses about it" but I appreciate that you have a lot more choice in regards to your ending. It's not "link the fire or don't" it's "you're creating a new age, what do you want that age to be like?" with a few compelling choices and some evil bastard ones for fun.

Assorted side thoughts:

FP is better than spell uses. More convenient, more flexible, lets you focus on Mind to allow yourself to cast more spells.

All of my first playthroughs were sword and board, both because of caution going in and because I like the "knight with a sword and shield" aesthetic.

Related to the last point, Guard Counters are a great addition in ER, and the "Sekiro style block" crystal tear for the Physick in the DLC should have been a talisman or something permanent, to just make that a play style people can use.

The Alva Armor rules, 10/10 best fit in Dark Souls

I really like Shadow of the Erdtree, but it is the absolute limit on the current version of Souls-game mechanics. Not everyone is Let Me Solo Her, and between both the extremely punishing difficulty and the becoming more repetitive nature of a lot of the boss design, they need to change up the combat to keep things going. Sekiro seems to be a step in that direction from what I hear?

No boss fight in any video game has ever made me feel as cool as Slave Knight Gael in the DS3 DLC. It just worked for me on pretty much every level. The story, the music, the visuals, the difficulty. I can beat him, and it's hard but not a kind of hard that makes me angry at the game. Dodging in and out of his attacks, getting my own hits in, it felt like a kick ass dance of fantasy combat. It's peak.

[faggotmox]

something wonderfully important has happened! my "wrestling dad" josh shepard got his book of wrestling erasure poems published & it is up for sale (either 10$ or "name a fair price"). this is incredibly important to me as im one of the first people to have gotten the privilege to read these poems as josh wrote them. josh is incredibly important to me as a friend, he is the guy who introduced me to wrestling & gave me a deep, unrestricted passion for it.

josh is so fucking talented, & creative. he is also my favorite poet, not just bc he's my friend. the book's flow is dedicated to the flow of a wrestling match, following all the hallmarks (the lock up, big heat, the comeback, ect) with the themes of his poems to create a match like narrative for the book.

there are like three specific poems in the batch that i want tattooed on me, a stone cold one, a mick foley one, & a briscoe brother's piece. the aj lee pipebomb poem moved me to actual tears, even when i read it now. the macho man poem abt being bipolar struck me so hard i rethought my own feeling on my mental health. josh pushes impressive themes of capitalism, mental health, poverty, & family theoughout many of his poems. i know ive got a few wrestling fans here, & if you're also into poetry please considered josh's work. or just if you want to support a friend of mine.

a cool way to support josh's work is by requesting it at your local library! even suggesting to bookstores that have poetry sections or interacting with the work thats already published. following/reposting josh's work for exposure also is great.

bruiser zine said this:

The second volume in the BRUISER Zines series, Cutting Promos is a collection of pro wrestling erasure poems by the Oklahoma City poet Josh Shepard. Printed and assembled in Baltimore, this limited edition zine collects 26 poems previously published in BRUISER, HAD, The Daily Drunk and many other fine publications.

After being laid off at the onset of the pandemic, Shepard found comfort and inspiration in the glow of professional wrestling and its performers—their violent struggles, fighting spirit, and electric language—and from their speeches and promos that have inspired wrestling fans across the globe he delivers Cutting Promos, a collection of erasures that echoes the personalities, pursuits and perseverance of pro wrestling’s greatest, standing as a testament to life lived during Hard Times and deliverance through them.

[ IN CASE YOU MISSED THE LINK ABOVE TO BUY JOSH'S BOOK ] [ JOSH'S TWITTER | INSTA | LINKTR.EE* ] *a lot of the links don't work bc the publications went under :( but there's still quiet a few up for free here

support my kayfabe father!!! i watched him turn his hard times into beautiful pieces. even in the beginning when he only had 3 or 4, before he even thought he could make the book i saw his passion for these pieces. i was there for every heart wrenching rejection letter & every hard earned spot. every time he was working late at the library sending me new ideas bc he couldn't watch dynamite. every single wrestling poem josh has written has now been published & that is a huge success. he puts in the work like a wrestler puts in the work in the ring. hard hitting, gritty, & beautiful.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Stolen Moments | Jaemin Imagine #15

Title: Stolen Moments

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: slightly suggestive towards the end

Word Count: 521

Author's Note: To be honest, I don't think this is very good. This is the one idea that I kind of had to force out of myself. I haven't had a lot of inspiration lately. So if guys have any ideas for scenarios with different dream members, feel free to send them in. Thank you for reading ^ ^

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

You stepped through the front door, the evening air lingered on your skin as you firmly closed the door behind you. Your purse returned to its place on the coat hanger, as you entered the living room where your husband was lounging comfortably on the couch with the TV remote in hand. His face lit up with a smile when he saw you, causing your heart to lighten a little. Despite being a little fatigued from your day, the sight of him always lifted your spirits.

Quickly, you slipped off your shoes and padded over to him, eager to be by his side and melt into his familiar embrace. Almost as if he read your mind, Jaemin set the remote aside as you approached, opening his arms to welcome you. Smiling back, you plopped down on the couch beside him, snuggling close as he instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

Your heart fluttered when you felt him press a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Did you have a good time with your friend?” he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that resonated through you.

“It was nice,” you hummed, unable to hold back a weary sigh. “But my energy is drained. I think I hit my social limit at about two hours”

Jaemin chuckled in response to this, well aware of your social battery. He could always tell when you had reached your limit in a group by the way you slowly disengaged from the conversation and mindlessly played with his fingers.

“Do you ever get tired of me?” he asked, a teasing pout forming on his lips.

“No, I never feel drained with you,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Jaemin’s smile deepened, feeling touched by the sincerity in your voice. He liked that he was the only person you felt the most comfortable around. Honestly, he felt the same way with you. 

He gently tightened his embrace and whispered, “I’m glad to hear that.”

His eyes locked onto yours for a brief, intimate moment before leaning in to kiss you. Your lips met softly at first, a delicate brush that quickly deepened into something more passionate. Jaemin’s hands roamed over your back, drawing you closer to him. As he showed no signs of pulling away any time soon, your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

As the kiss started to grow more heated, Jaemin pulled away momentarily, his breath coming in soft pants. “Are you too tired for this?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. 

You smiled shyly, a blush rising to your cheeks. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you spoke softly, “For you, never.”

Jaemin smiled, his lips curving into a slow, sensual grin that made your heart race.  You gasped as he stood up and lifted you effortlessly into his arms before carrying you to the bedroom. 

You had a feeling that tonight would be a little longer than you had planned. But these stolen moments with him were ones that you treasured. 

𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[yarameijer]

On Keshin and Hissatsu

OKAY SO BUCKLE UP Y’ALL CUZ I’M GONNA RANT ABOUT KESHIN AND HISSATSU, or at least my interpretation of it, SO LET’S GO. Also I apply anime logics so shhh some things will be questionable (but we’re literally talking about GIANT SPORT AVATARS AND MAGICAL SUPER SHOTS so what did you expect????)

(This does not take the games into account, by the way, so there might be inconsistencies.)

I guess the place to start is simple: what are Keshin?

According to the Inazuma wiki, officially Keshin are described as “the ability to show a user's spiritual energy”, literally translated as their “fighting spirit”. This, obviously, doesn't tell us much. From the Keshin development we see in the anime, mostly from Tenma, this ‘’spiritual energy’’ seems to be a thing that people already have, just unused and out of reach until they are adequately motivated to use it. Tenma shows signs of his Keshin aura in the very first episode, when he stops Tsurugi’s Death Sword, a moment where he was highly determined and completely focused on one task - requirements for ‘unlocking’ a Keshin. Shortly after Shindou unlocks his Keshin, again during a moment with very high stakes and his resolve is clear (‘’fighting spirit’’).

It’s safe to assume that before a Keshin is unlocked as a Keshin, it’s already present simply as spiritual energy that’s not noticeable in daily life. Through training and willpower, it can be mastered and revealed and take on the shape of a large avatar that is specific to its user, which is classified as a Keshin.

This idea is again further supported by comparing Tenma and Shindou’s situation - both without any prior Keshin training but responding to a very high stakes moment, and yet Shindou is the one who actually manifests a Keshin while Tenma merely shows signs. Why? Because Shindou is an experienced soccer player and Tenma, while having done his own training, is still a newbie. Tenma begins showing more signs of Keshin usage throughout the anime while also becoming a better soccer player and likely increasing his stamina.

Which is one of two parts that I imagine is necessary for Keshin usage. Willpower/determination and physical training. Using a Keshin - controlling this spiritual energy - will take its toll on the physical body. After all, it’s stated multiple times in the anime and the movie that you can only call forth a Keshin a limited amount in a short time and that SEEDs can increase this limit through training - furthermore, whenever Keshin users say they’re at their limit, it’s coupled with them being out of breath, looking tired, sometimes kneeling on the ground. Clearly, using a Keshin is demanding on the body. Therefore to use a Keshin, someone needs to be physically fit enough to handle the strain.

The second part, willpower, is likely why not every adequate soccer player has a Keshin. It takes tremendous resolve and especially Fifth Sector’s type of soccer - controlled, decided, flat - does not bring the type of situations where someone would find themselves in a position to reveal their Keshin. I imagine that after Fifth Sector has been demolished, Keshin usage increases. But not only does a Keshin take willpower, it also takes focus. That was Tenma’s problem in the anime; he wasn’t focused enough in situations where he otherwise showed signs of Keshin usage, which makes sense.

Remember when he first gains his Keshin? Endou puts him as keeper, to get him to focus. Tenma is a midfielder, a dribbling expert, and ‘the wind’ is literally used as a metaphor for him, all the time. Tenma’s fluid, constant movement, flowing around obstacles rather than hitting them head-on; he’s an incredibly dynamic player and the whole field is his stage, there’s no standing still for him, there’s no pure, single-minded focus when he’s constantly looking for new places to move towards. Putting him as keeper grounds him in a way nothing else does. He can’t move away because he’ll leave the goal vulnerable, and when faced with a frontal attack? He finally focuses.

So that’s how someone gains a Keshin. To be honest, I quite enjoyed the slow buildup we got for Demon God Pegasus - Tenma showing signs, not even realizing it himself in those moments, training for it, having specific training to handle the blockade - I would’ve liked to see more of that with other characters, rather than them getting their Keshin with no prior warning. Would’ve been very interesting and also given more insight to their character and playing style!

But now for the next question - what designs a Keshin? They’re all highly diverse, yet some people have the same ones. And ooh this is a part I like.

Who have diverse Keshin? The entire Raimon cast. Strong individual players of other teams.

Who share Keshin? Nameless SEEDs.

Yeahhh. Fifth Sector obviously has an interest in Keshin - they’re ridiculously powerful when you don’t have a Keshin yourself - but as mentioned before, their soccer leaves a lot to the imagination. It's not a great way to stimulate developing a Keshin. However, Fifth Sector has a specialized secluded training facility for SEEDs. Yes, I'm talking about God Eden. 

God Eden, where these types of scenes are apparently normal.

I quote. “Bring out your Keshin. If you don’t, you will lose your life!” What kind of training is this? 

Also, who did we see with “standard” Keshin? Oh, I remember! Zero and Dragon Link. Teams that are both about as indoctrinated as they can get.

Brainwashing, abusive training, who knows what else Fifth Sector does to make their perfect soldiers. Whereas everyone who's developed a Keshin naturally has their own individual Keshin, with bright colors and details that match their person, these SEEDs seem to have been stripped of their entire identity for the sake of gaining a Keshin - ones that, I headcanon, might even have their own specific training regimes with the purpose to gain that specific Keshin.

As for everyone else… their Keshin are, above all else, individual, and fit their personality. Tsurugi has a knight. Shindou has a music conductor, a puppet master, someone who ‘leads’ and instructs other people - and Shindou is a strategist before all else (with a musical background too). Taiyou, literal sunshine child, has the Greek sun god as his Keshin.

Anyway, I’m getting back into Keshin designs in a bit, because I first need to talk about something else.

Hissatsu.

What are hissatsu, and how are they related to Keshin? Officially, they are simply described as “special techniques”, nothing more. One thing we can,  however, gather is that they’re very similar, and both involve some sort of energy that somehow can be manipulated and visualized. I assume that at the very least, they’ve got the same source, and if Keshin are ‘’spiritual energy’’ then hissatsu are, to a certain degree, the same thing.

Remember how I mentioned everyone has spiritual energy, despite not having a Keshin? This ties into that.

Hissatsu, while having technically the same source as Keshin, are applied in different ways, ‘easier’ ways. Less control is needed. Rather than bringing out and visualizing all of your spiritual energy like with a Keshin, you just manipulate part of it; you visualize something and combine it with physical movements (to varying degrees), in which the physical movement is either a way to center yourself for said energy manipulation or actual part of the technique.

Like, in some cases of hissatsu you've got these movements in which people are just standing still and doing something seemingly unnecessary. The easiest I can come up with is Manabe in Galaxy with his ‘’Defense Equation’’.

See? He stands there and simply writes an equation in the air, he doesn’t do anything considered ‘useful’ in soccer; doesn’t tackle anyone, doesn’t try to get in their way or interfere physically.This is genuinely just a way for him to focus and center himself in order to manipulate and shape the energy however he wants to. Then, when the opponent is distracted, he just takes the ball from them.

However, a lot of other hissatsu actually incorporate the movement in how they function! For example, Soyokaze Step - this hissatsu focuses a lot more on Tenma's actual movement, and doesn't even have that many ''special effects''; in this case the energy manipulation is less obvious, rather in increasing his speed/agility and giving himself a boost of speed. The actual outcome, however, is fully dependent on his actual movement.

And then there's something that’s used by both types of hissatsu that I wanted to mention: misdirection. What Manabe does is both a way to center himself, and also part of the technique to confuse or distract his opponents - and some hissatsu specifically have the aim of distracting opponents without having any physical effect. Shindou’s Olympus Harmony is actually a pretty good example for this!

Does Shindou actually do anything physical? Nah, but getting a blast of light to the face is gonna throw you off for a couple seconds either way, right? This is misdirection in its simplest form, and there are several shots that work this way - Kidou's Illusion Ball, for example.

But more physical-based hissatsu do this too, all the time!

You've got shots like Mach Wind, where the energy doesn't seem to have any purpose beyond putting on a fancy light show (which I imagine is an aesthetic choice), but you've also got hissatsu, like the penguin shoots, in which there's an actual specific and recognizable form to it rather than just a blob of energy. The “energy manipulation” in this case both serves a function and adds to distracting the opponent. Other shots, like Tsurugi's usual shots, could also function as an intimidation technique.

So that's the mechanism behind hissatsu, with varying degrees of energy manipulation, physical movement and misdirection, ranging from almost fully energy manipulation-based techniques like Shindou's Olympus Harmony to Tenma's physically based Soyokaze Step.

Basically, someone thinks of a technique that uses energy manipulation, whether as a distraction or to enhance themselves or the ball, and then they sort of work it out in terms of energy manipulation and physical movements until it works, which would also explain the 'upgraded' or 'remastered' shots - they're technically the same shots, but with small differences that improve the way they work without actually being noticeable.

The difference with Keshin is that Keshin utilize all of a person’s spiritual energy; they manifest and visualize all of it, whereas hissatsu just extend a little bit of it (maybe even energy from the surroundings, depending on how you imagine the “spiritual energy” works). Furthermore, hissatsu are always action-based, whereas Keshin are not. Keshin can be visualized and not utilized in any way beyond that; but a hissatsu has a very specific method and order and while their end result may vary (Tenma saving the goat), they can't just... pull it up and push a 'pause' button, Tenma can't just stop in the midst of Soyokaze Step, or Gouenji with Fire Tornado, they have to complete the movement for it to have an effect. Whereas you can just pull up a Keshin and sort of have it just hover behind you ominously, and then you can decide what to do with it - Keshin hissatsu are the result of that, because in that case you first pull up your Keshin and then actively guide it into a hissatsu - which obviously makes it more powerful because you're putting a Keshin's energy (AKA all of your visualized spiritual energy) into it.

And this explains why Keshin can be trained. Someone who's new to their Keshin would likely visualize it and then use that energy all at once, like you’re bringing down a wooden pole with a wrecking ball, whereas someone who's had training can visualize all of their spiritual energy but only actually use a little bit of it if they so desire - and therefore maximize the productivity of it. AKA, that's why Shindou passed out after he used his Keshin for the first time. There was very little finesse in what he did there, he just used it all up at once.

If we then get back to specific Keshin designs, this is a direct result of hissatsu techniques.

To have a Keshin is to visualize all of your spiritual energy, so why does it take the shape of some fantasy game avatar? For soccer players, who have learnt energy manipulation in the form of hissatsu, it actually is the most likely way they'd express it. They manipulate Keshin energy the same way they'd manipulate hissatsu energy.

The standard Keshin form is also likely caused by the way that Fifth Sector developed and taught it. They were likely involved in the research on Keshin and the methods in which they are used. To be honest, Keshin actually look like they might have been inspired by Endou's hissatsu techniques. Big giant godlike creatures? Sound familiar? I imagine Fifth Sector would have studied hissatsu, and realized that hissatsu techniques that brought out a lot of a person's spiritual energy had one thing in common: giant avatars hovering behind them. And so they tried to enhance that even more, and thus Keshin were discovered.

Anyway, like I said, the way spiritual energy is manipulated for Keshin usage is based on the way you'd use hissatsu. No one learns a Keshin first - rather, they learn hissatsu, they design hissatsu, they figure out what works best for them, they basically develop this sort of ''style'' - Endou with his personas, Tenma and Kazemaru with wind, Fubuki with snow and ice. And that depends on a person’s creativity and imagination.

(And that’s without mentioning any specific talents they might have - strategy, or attack, or defending, or dribbling.)

When learning how to use a Keshin, the goal is to ‘bring out all of your spiritual energy’ with no clear image beyond a giant floating avatar. In this process the energy is sort of allowed free reign in 'designing' it and thus will ‘flow’ in a way that comes natural to them - the way they use it for hissatsu. Therefore, a Keshin will mimic whatever style someone has developed for themselves. I imagine the specific shape will then be a mix of how they’d use their hissatsu and the underlying perception of themselves, or perhaps the desire of what they want to be.

And that is why Taiyou’s Keshin is a sun god whereas Shindou’s is a music conductor and Tsurugi’s is a knight.

Well, that was my take on Keshin and hissatsu, I hope you enjoyed it! I hope to eventually upload more of these rants of mine on other topics as well, if people are interested.

[n3ptoonz]

*ೃ༄ Hello there cutie !! ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ May I request a Smutty Kenshi x Stripper Reader? (Fem;Gn) Need an idea? Here ! (PLEADING FOR INCLUDATION OF Wrong usage of sentos handle sorry not sorry) Johnny cage obviously has a hate love relationship with kenshi, and figured.. why not hire a stripper for kenshi? greeatttt idea! Johnny cage is a silly man with silly ideas! why not hire kenshi a stripper for the night? From - ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 💛🦴 ࿐ྂ

this formatting of request is going to plague my mind for at least a week. ask and ye SHALL receive 😽(^_-)-☆ thanks for the extra help, i hope this will be to your liking!

'Beyond Two Souls'

Pairing: Sub!Kenshi Takahashi/F!Stripper!Reader

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)

Warnings: SMUT; EXPLICIT; NASTYYYY inappropriate use of Sento/its handle, kenshi tied to a chair again in a nice house how ironic, technically cuckholdry, cumming untouched, multiple orgasms, rough seggs, FULL NELSON, somebody cleaning this up, sorry if there's any typos/grammar mistakes

Word count: 1.2k

Kenshi wouldn't put much past Johnny, but the very last thing he expected was for his "I'm gonna hire a stripper for you!" statement to make it out the group chat. Even more so that he actually...let you provide him a service he didn't ask for in the first place. The way your hands worked his thighs and the feeling of the lap dance he can only see through the light blue filter of Sento was allowing him to feel a lot less awkward than when you first knocked on his door. He wasn't expecting company so mind his black tank top and gray sweats.

You did a few more routines with the stripper pole you brought in, and you could tell by the way his body twitched ever so gently when your lace panties flashed in front of his face. The same lace panties that are now pulled to the side while this tall light blue spirit fucking up into you holds you firmly in a full nelson.

Kenshi, who is tied to a chair, his mind was running mad. If I told you it was his idea to be cucked by the spirit of his sword, would you believe me? Well, you should. He was getting off more to the squeals and excited moans coming from you due to his indirect actions. He reveled in it. In some way it felt like he could feel through Sento; the very slight phantom feeling of those pretty lips wrapped around his own dick.

Sento got so excited from the feelings Kenshi was having, it surely no issue fucking you out of that cute little lace bra that barely covered anything. You're getting fucked so dumb there's drool falling onto your breasts. What a beautiful sight. Even if it is limited.

Kenshi is a hardworking man who rarely ever puts himself first. He almost never has time to himself. So of course when someone so gorgeous as yourself shows up per his best friend's request since he agrees, he's like fuck it, he needs a break just for a little while. He wants to indulge in the feeling of heightened submission, so what better way to feel that than to watch you have fun with Sento? All the things he would do if he wanted to be dominant in this moment are all going to Sento.

His bodily instincts tell him to pull and tug against his restraints because it wants to be doing you right now, but the sound of you groaning and repeating his name is keeping him at bay. He can feel himself at any moment about to cream his boxers. The look you're giving him paired with a lazy smile into a lip bite...just-

"Shit," he heavily breathed out. He came, as did you--a lot--, leaving a mess of a puddle in front of him. Sento carefully let you down to let you catch your breath and get feeling back into your legs and arms.

When it pulled Kenshi's already cum-stained erection free from his boxers he huffed out a bit from the cool air directly hitting the tip. Sento brought you over to a nearby counter that wasn't far from his view at all, bending you over it so your ass was directly facing him; the sword was in one hand and the other was holding you down as it took the handle and started rubbing you through your prettily soaked panties.

Kenshi was sweating bullets. His dick was lightly throbbing and red from the lack of touch. Just hard as a fucking rock. Your soft pleas and knees buckling were not helping. But this is what he wanted. This is what he needed. He desperately needs to feel you in all capacities but damn it he must not give in. The subtleness of your heels clacking against his wooden floors rang like a soft tune passing by his ears.

Sento paused for a moment just to completely take your underwear off, full exposing you and bringing the cold metal from the handle right back to your folds. You were far more sensitive like this and even came again on contact. You cursed and moaned shakily, taking deep breaths since you basically just came back to back.

You weren't skeptical of this gig whatsoever. Johnny was one of your most trusted clients who ironically only ever asked you for personal services once. Every other time was for someone else just to experience you. You've never really had sex on the job either as it is a rule of yours.

But who's complaining?

This is the peak of your experience. In all your time as a stripper never would you have anticipated a blind swordsman in dire need of him literally cucking himself with his own...spirit...

But who's complaining?!

Sento let go of you so you could stand up--shaky legs and all. It placed the sword against the counter and went back over to Kenshi to untie him finally--and dissipating from existence, its job is done here--; his hands surprisingly didn't lose feeling. He sighed and groaned once he wrapped his warm palm around his shaft.

He just needs one more thing from you.

"Hey, I could pay you extra, just-" he said, but soon to not finish his sentence once he felt your lips against his while at the same time your hand on top of his. Nothing else needed to be said. He stood and hoisted you up into his arms as he walked right on back to that damn counter. No need to worry about the multiple messes you've made, he will happily clean that up later.

He took off his sweat soaked tank once your back laid against the ice cold feeling of the marble beneath you, and when he lined himself up to your entrance you held his face gently.

"Easy, easy," you whispered, and when he easily slid himself inside you, you both let out a long, deep and guttural moan. You latched onto him as he gripped the edge of the counter, letting himself savor the real feeling of your warmth sliding effortlessly against him. He could write a poem about this. From the airy feeling of you and having to live through Sento was all worth it.

Kenshi clung onto the hope of not cumming so fast, but you were so wet he could barely move or else he'd keep slipping out. He would forever have this memory burned into his mind; the cool air pumping throughout his home making his hot sweat all sticky as he thrusted his current stresses away for this point in time. The mixing of your fluids did not go unnoticed with how much louder the squelching became with every thrust.

However all good things had to come to an end. A damn good thing too, but he's not upset at all. He didn't really realize he had this kind of fantasy until tonight. He pulled out just in time, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. You on the other hand have never came this many times in one night. Truly impressive. Let alone did you think it would be on the job.

He helped you down and kindly offered his shower since a lot just happened in the past hour. Only a fool would decline after taking a good look at the trail of joyful tears. He was still a gentleman who wasn't going to suggest joining you, he had some cleaning to do.

And so he did, with a bright smile on his face.

a/n: OKAYYY i'm pretty much done with old requested fics thank you all so much for your patience, seriously. up next is that li mei fic i promised and it should be out soon hopefully i don't lose all motivation!! thanks for reading, my lovely tooniez <33