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hotheadedhero · 8 months ago

Note

Ok question how would the tmnt bros (all 4) react to someone having a crush on them, and they confess, but the turtle rejects at time... but later on he realizes no wait I actually do like them!

But theres already been like a good month or more since the confession and their crush has been sorta avoiding them by hanging out with the other turtle bros and though still being polite, they avoid like being alone with their turtle crush and try to act like they don't have a crush still(but they do)

Sorry if I didn't write the request right! and thanks for your writing I love how you write the turtles!

Frothing at the mouth. No words. Speechless. Thank you so much anon! This request is absolutely amazing and tugged at my heart in all the good ways, you beauty. So glad you like my writing tyty <3 Apologies for the wait btw :] I might have meddled with the idea a bit depending on the turtle but I hope this is the kind of thing you were hoping for! May even make a part 2 continuation because there was just so much to write, this was really a lot of fun so thank you again :P I let fate decide which version to base this on and we got Bayverse!

Rejection, Realisation, and Regret

Warnings: bad language, grovelling turtles for their idiocy, angst with this in mind, oh these boys are some real idiots

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Turns you down as gently as he can but it still feels like a sucker punch to the gut. It may sound calloused but he's a ninja, a mutant, a protector before anything else and that includes being someone's boyfriend. With a constructive discussion on the matter, he can only hope that you understand his position. You assured him that you did.

So, then, how is it that he barely gets a conversation in with you these days? And why does that fact burn a hole in his stomach? This pit, although metaphorical, weighs down heavily on him. Assumably, he’s missing one-on-one with a friend until it truly occurs to him just what exactly is going on. There's a lesson to be learned here, he's sure - a saying that goes around as if taken from an ancient script: you don't realise how good you have it until it's gone. You're not gone perse but you make a point of avoiding him individually. As well-mannered as you try to be, he's noticed and he's noticed the hurt in his belly that comes alongside it.

He thought things were okay, that despite the rejection, you would still be able to comfortably continue your friendship without any issues. It seems he managed even to fool himself. Being so caught up in what it means to be one of New York's self-acclaimed protectors, he was completely absentminded to the feelings that had been bubbling up inside him all along. No wonder he's been losing focus on his training as of late. He has attempted to try and talk to you about it but to no avail. Has your heart really been that broken?

For once, he doesn’t know what to do, or what decision should be made. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place right now. Who's the one person he can turn to at a time like this? Come on. Who else would it be?

"Sensei, you know better than anyone that our position comes with complications. That we as ninjas are sworn to certain oaths.”

"Yes, the duty of yourself and your brothers is indeed a heavy burden. Responsibility comes with risk and consequence as I am sure you are well aware of by now.” Splinter watches his son bow down as he thoughtfully strokes his beard. "However, sensei, rat, master; alongside all of these things, I am foremost a father who wishes to see his sons be happy. You're in love, are you not?"

Leo’s attention quickly turns up from the floor to his master. How had he figured it out? Must be that parental instinct. Either way, he’s thankful for that in some respect. It makes this easier. Less complicated.

The turtle nods and breathes out, "I am, Sensei."

"That's what I thought." His father lays a hand over Leo’s shoulder before it taps him against the side of his head. "Now, what are you waiting for? Talking to me isn't going to change the situation."

Splinter is right. It's high time for him to get out of his funk and strategise the best way to make amends. He can only hope he isn’t too late.

Raphael

Rejects you thinking it was some sick prank curated by his youngest brother or something. There's no way you have a thing for him. He's a mutant and you're a human. How could someone actually be in love with a freak like himself? That's why he blows up in your face when you attempt to pour your heart out to him. Whatever joke you thought would be funny, isn't.

He may have taken things out of proportion. This much is made obvious enough by the poorly thought-out excuses you make just to avoid being alone with him. Yeah, that's right, he thinks. You should feel ashamed for trying to pull a stupid stunt like that, for trying to mess with him. He's standing firm on his self-assurance. Don't think for a second that he's going to lose sleep over what he said that day.

However, life has a very funny way of playing its own game. It all comes to fruition when you're laughing with the leader of the brothers. When your hand landed on his forearm, Raphael was struck with something fierce. The shot of jealousy to his heart almost takes him for a wild spin but he disregards it for typical Leo/Raph rivalry. Until that night, anyway. This man is tossing and turning in bed, ruminating on that sickly feeling in his chest; losing sleep over it. No. Surely not. He isn't in love with you. This isn't something that's been in the making for however long now. So what if you managed to calm him down quicker than anyone else he's ever known? Big whoop if you used to make a point of checking up on him when no one dared to go near him. It’s no big deal that you’d hype him up and cheer him on before each mission.

Fuck. He's been in love with you this whole time, hasn't he? Oh, you have got to be kidding. This was probably the only chance he had at something close to normal in his life and he trampled over it like it was nothing. That's assuming it was even genuinely meant from your end to begin with. He still has his doubts all things considered. Either way, he can’t just sit in bed and wallow in his head all night. He needs some air.

"What crawled up your shell and died?"

Great. He had hoped to get some peace and quiet. Not that this city knows the definition of either word but that isn’t the point.

"Not now, Jones. I ain't in the mood."

Casey's head rolls against his shoulders and he sighs, "Hey, if this is to do with (Y/n) ignoring you, what do you expect? 'Can't just make someone cry and expect things to be okay after without an apology."

Raph's mask slowly descends and hoods over his eyes, those of which are now staring down the detective.

"Oh, shit. You didn't know?"

No. No, he did not. He really made you cry? Why would you-? Ah. Two things smack him up the head at this moment: you meant every word of what you admitted a month ago and he is an absolute asshole. Despite already living in the sewers, he feels like the scum of the Earth.

That's it. No more holding back. No more being chicken. He might have ruined his chance but he can at least try and make things right by you.

Donatello

Aloof. Absolutely aloof and utterly clueless to the fact that you were even trying to admit your feelings for him. Yet, the way that the whole situation plays out makes it seem as though he had denied you. His head is usually stuck in a book or on one of the many screens that litter his quarters. What can you really expect of him? Unfortunately, this isn’t something that comes to mind nor is taken into consideration when you attempt your casual proclamation. With his eyes glued to his computer, his inattentiveness could only be read as uninterest to which you find it’s probably best to withdraw yourself.

In the weeks to come, it still doesn't even occur to him that you were confessing. The only thing that dawns on him from your weirdly abrupt absence is how strange it feels without you around. You still engage in your regular visits to the lair but are always elusive to his corner. Had he missed a memo? He can't quite place a finger on your change in behaviour. Then he realises just how much he enjoys and misses your presence. Even just how you'd pass by his little section of the lair and do something as small as asking him what he's working on. The small details should always get their chance in the spotlight but he managed to miss them when they were right there in front of him. When you were in front of him.

Subsequent to this steady progression of fluttering heart palpitations upon the thought of you and his drying throat when he tries to speak your way, he decides to take some action. At least, that’s the plan he has in his head. You hardly look his way, so he needs to find a way to gain your attention. There must be some way. With somewhat of an idea in mind, he dials a number through his computer and lets it ring.

The other side of the line picks up and there’s a voice. “If this has anything to do with goons, aliens or whatever trouble you guys have gotten yourselves into, I don’t want any part of it.”

“Relax, Vern. This is something that entirely requires your expertise without life endangerment. I need to ask about women,” Donnie confirms, cutting right to the chase.

There’s a pause. "What-?” Another longer pause and then an inhale. “Can't you just ask one of your brothers or something?"

Yeah, right, because his family of sewer dwellers are so well-equipped for this matter. Even asking for Vern's aid is pushing the boat a little but it's better than nothing - a baseline structure of what to expect is all he needs. The internet would probably be more reliable but it doesn’t include that vital real-world experience.

"You engage in frequent courting. By all accounts, you're the only person I know who has enough field experience to give advice."

This might be giving Vern too much credit but this is a surefire way to get what he wants. Feeding a man's ego can accomplish many things. Call it manipulation of the circumstances if you will but no harm done.

"You know what?” There’s a brightness in his tone, an uptilted cadence in Vern’s rhetorical question. Bingo. “You being the smart one has never been more accurate, Don. Alright, I'll help you."

The notes he takes are unfathomable but he wants to make sure that everything is thought out with careful precision. That's not even taking into account that he needs to muster the courage to ask you out in the first place.

Michelangelo

One would think that this guy would be jumping with unparalleled joy to have someone confess their feelings for him but he's got eyes for someone else. April O'Neil is his one true babycake, his angel face, the first love he had ever known. He turns you down in the friendly way one would expect him to if not a little cocky. Who wouldn't want a piece of the MC Mikey? There aren’t any hard feelings though, right?

Well, no but the sting that follows is still too much for you to handle. Too much in fact that you decide it's best to recoil into a shell of your own and spend less time with the loveable terrapin. Such a shame as well considering you're missing out on your regular gaming sessions together. It probably sucks big time to be rejected but he meant no harm by it. He thought you could still hang out as you normally would. Perhaps you just needed some time. That’s what he reckoned until the days turned to weeks and those weeks to almost two months.

He’s subjected to playing bystander when you hang out with his family, barely getting a chance to have a word with you alone. If this treatment is good for anything, it gives him a chance to spectate and watch how you interact with those around you rather than directly with him. He recognises how much he adores that sparkle in your eyes, the playfulness of your tone when you crack out jokes with his brothers, how you light up the entire lair when you make your presence known. There is this unshakable spirit within you that he somehow never noticed until a few days prior when you took the liberty of playing an incredibly bold practical joke at Casey's expense. Man, this turtle's heart sored higher than it ever has before, which is saying something considering he had to jump out of a plane once.

Well, colour him surprised. He was so sure of himself that New York's favourite journalist was the only one for him but it seems he was wrong. Oh, man. He's feeling pretty bad now. He can surely make up for what happened though, right? Hopefully. There's only one way of finding out but he has one thing he needs to do first before talking to you.

"I'm sorry, angel face. My sights have been led astray. My loyalty shouldn’t be doubted but it’s for someone else now.”

The way Mikey is knelt down, head lowered with April’s hands in his own is a perplexing sight if not curiously amusing. His feelings and the pronounced “dibs” on the reporter have been no secret but his recent infatuation with you hasn’t been much of a secret either. Not to her anyway but she likes to think she’s good at picking up on these things.

“Just know that you'll always have a special place in my heart,” he finishes, ending the overly dramatised display by holding a fist to his chest.

"Considerate as always." Her expression is somewhere between humoured and endeared, fighting the shake of her head at how adorably ridiculous this turtle can be. "Thanks, Mikey."

Now that's out of the way, he can go into this with a clear head. Although, the only thing really going into this is going to be all of his heart.

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mutable-manifestation · 1 year ago

Text

Actual Scientists Jack & Maddie AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

***

The lab is empty when they get to Fenton Works, his parents busy off helping the JLD wherever it was they were working from.

The journey the rest of the way to the Far Frozen passes relatively quickly under the weight of discussing how to reverse engineer the sarcophagus of forever sleep to make Naptime Box 2: Vlad Edition.

Could they probably just beat him up with the right plan and aid? Sure. But then they risk having to play royal hot potato (Danny doesn't want it and he doubts most of the allies he has would want the extra responsibility. Assuming there are responsibilities - Danny wouldn't know since there hasn't been a king, for all intents and purposes, since well before he became a halfa so who knows what the position even means in the context of the Zone).

Plus it would be way more satisfying to shove him in a box. Vlad gets a nice long nap and Danny gets to live the rest of his half-life without worrying about his Dad getting stabbed or something if Vlad starts feeling impatient.

It would also give Danny plenty of time to find some way to buy the Packers - not because he wants them, just because it would be really funny if Vlad eventually woke up to find that the only thing he wanted other than Maddie was now also very permanently out of reach.

The city of Green Bay could fold eventually, after all. But Danny? Danny would never yield, just to spite him, and Vlad would know that.

He probably won't actually do it, seeing as a) expensive and b) probably complicated.

But it would be really funny.

Their discussion on the ethics of using the Fenton Stockades as the base for the Box cut off as they land.

Without the distraction of their chat the adrenaline of panic comes rushing back, and he transforms as he steps out of the Speeder, nyooming to hover in front of Frostbite so quickly that the entire welcoming party - Frostbite somehow manages to have one arranged every time he drops by, and Danny is usually willing to at least try and indulge them since it seems to make them happy - jolts in surprise.

"Greetings!" Frostbite smiles wide, arms open in a grand welcoming, the only hint of lingering surprise the trails of slightly puffed up fur up his arms and the sides of his neck that has already mostly smoothed itself back out. "The Far Frozen welcomes the Great One and friends-"

"Hey Frostbite sorry for being abrupt but I'm kind of freaking out and you seemed like the best person - uh, ghost to go to because you always seem to know lots of things and I kind of need to know what's going on as soon as possible just in case it's a worst case scenario because the Justice League came to talk to my parents about some papers and I probably haven't mentioned them to you before because they're awful and I thought my parents made them but surprise I was wrong! Which is good! Except the League was mostly worried about them maybe causing the new ghost king to war with the human realm because apparently there's a supernatural branch of the Justice League and they think there's a new Ghost KingTM as in the Ghost King after Pariah Dark and I'm kind of freaking out because if there is a new ghost king there's actually a chance it's Vlad and oh ancients please tell me it's not Vlad or that the League heard wrong please."

Sam and Tucker had caught up by then, coming to stand on either side of him as Frostbite blinked.

"You are...asking me the identity of the current High King?" He asks, face scrunched in a bewildered expression.

"Oh my gosh Batman was right!?" He floats a bit higher at the news. "Please just tell me it's not Vlad! Uh, Plasmius."

"Plasmius?" Frostbite asks, eyebrows crawling higher. "Certainly not! What in the realms - do you truly not know?"

"Oh thank goodness," Danny sighs, sinking back to his usual level. "Not Vlad, okay, one less disastrous possibility. And whoever it is probably already knows they're the king and nothing bad has happened yet so it's probably fine, right?"

He looks back to meet Frostbite's eyes.

"Wait, nothing bad has happened yet, right? Like, is everything okay? I know Pariah caused you guys a lot of grief before; the new guy 's not going around causing trouble for you and you just haven't told me because you're worried about being a bother, right?" He frets, eyes flicking about, searching for fresh injuries on the various members of the welcoming party.

"...No, Great One," Frostbite answers, blinking away the surprised expression to be replaced by something soft. "Though I, and all the Far Frozen, are honored by your concern. While Pariah Dark is no longer the High King of the Infinite Realms, I can assure you, with utmost certainty, that you have nothing to fear from his successor. But I believe we have much more to discuss. Come, let us find somewhere more comfortable to talk - and get your human friends out of the cold."

***

It didn't take them long to reach a sitting room, and soon enough they were all settled into the enormous, fuzzy chairs in one of the warmer rooms available, Danny and Frostbite each with a cup of shaved ice tea while Sam and Tucker were offered beverages warm enough to steam in deference to their need for warmth.

Once everyone had taken a sip - or bite - Danny launched back into his questioning.

"So did Dark have a kid hidden away somewhere or did some kind of council finally decide on his replacement? Actually can ghosts even have - wait right Box Lunch, forgot about that on purpose but never mind. Or is there some fourth option that isn't those or trial by combat that we didn't think of?"

"Before I answer that, Great One, may I ask why you have already discounted trial by combat?" He returns curiously.

"Because if it was trial by combat it would be Vlad - er, Plasmius - and you already said it isn't him."

"Or it could be you," Tucker ribs, waggling his fingers at him.

"We already talked about why it couldn't be me, Tuck," Danny huffs, rolling his eyes and taking another bite of his... smoothie?

"Oh? And why do you think it would be Plasmius?" Frostbite asks.

"Because! I may have fought Pariah Dark, and sure I put him back in the sarcophagus, but I was running on fumes by that point, and he was still slamming around in there! Vlad, as much as I hate to admit it, is the one that turned the key and made sure he stayed locked away. It took almost everything I had to keep him pinned long enough. If...if he'd been even a few seconds later I probably would've died the rest of the way before he even had the time to break out a second time."

"But had you not put him there, no key would have mattered," Frostbite begins quietly. "Plasmius was no match for Pariah Dark; he was defeated in an instant the first time they clashed."

"Well, yeah, but so was I," he protests, not liking the direction the conversation is beginning to take.

"And yet, you alone went to face him a second time. You alone stood against the King of All Ghosts while your armies clashed."

"Our-!? I didn't have- you mean the ghosts that came to help me???" Danny sputtered, incredulous. "They weren't an army they were just-"

He pauses, searching for words that would not come.

"They were just a large group of ghosts who sided with you, who aided you in combat and kept the multitudes distracted while you went to face their leader alone. However you thought of them at the time, whatever they were to you up till then or are to you now, after, in that moment they were your army."

"Danny's totally the ghost king, isn't he?" Sam drawls after the brief silence that follows.

"Indeed," Frostbite answers her, but he looks Danny in the eyes as he does so. "You are the savior of the Ghost Zone, Pariah's Bane. And you are the High King of the Infinite Realms."

"I cheated!" Danny blurts out, shooting up to float above his chair.

"Cheated?" Frostbite's lips twitch as he fights down a smile.

"I had the Fenton Ecto-Skeleton! That's totally cheating! Don't combat trials have to be honorable or something?!" He begs.

Frostbite chuckles.

"I apologize, Great One, but I am afraid there is no such thing as an honorable war," he says, expression briefly turning solemn. "And even if it were, just as you had your "Ecto-Skeleton," did not Pariah have his ring and crown?

You issued a challenge and he answered, your armies clashed while the two of you stood against each other and each other alone; you alone put him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, and you alone held it shut long enough for Plasmius to turn the key.”

Danny drifts back down to his seat as Frostbite speaks, then continues slouching further with every word.

“I am given to understand that Plasmius likes to think of others as pawns on his own personal chessboard,” he says, “But at the time he was but another ghost, come to fight Pariah's army on your behalf - as a member of your army. A pawn, to paraphrase his own words, that you used to topple a king - not through any intentional manipulation, but through the sheer magnetic charisma of your willingness to stand against monsters like Pariah Dark and of your ability to do so. The confidence to stand alongside you that such strength inspires.

He would not have approached if he did not believe you could win - would not risk endangering himself so. At best, you could consider him a referee, calling the match to a close once it was decisively in your favor.

Plasmius may think of existence as a game with himself as the only player, and he may have been acting in his own self-interest overall, but by every measure, in this instance, he was undeniably your piece.

The Zone itself acknowledges your right to rule by the way the crown of fire sits where you left it, unmoving on the floor of Pariah's keep until the day you finally choose to wear it, no matter how many hands may try to move it."

Frostbite's words are slow and measured, but as undeniable as the creeping of a glacier. And by the time they cease, Danny has sunk so far as to end up an undignified heap on the floor before his chair.

The trio remains silent as they absorb his words.

Minutes pass before Danny finally speaks.

"If the crown can't be taken, then how did I get it from Pariah?" He questions, a final hope that Frostbite may be mistaken.

"It will only remain unmoved until you first put it on. After that, it will be up to you whether it stays safe on your head."

Danny groans his despair, final bit of hope shattered.

"I must apologize again, Great One," he says solemnly. "Had I known you were unaware of your station, I would have informed you sooner."

He frowns heavily, looking into the distance thoughtfully.

"The Observants should have informed you long before now."

"Well, that explains it. The Observants hate Danny's guts," Tucker says.

"To neglect their duties for such a reason...," He trails off, his glower highlighting the inhuman nature of his visage.

The trio fidget.

Danny coughs after a few seconds of tense silence.

“Uh, speaking of duties,” he begins, relaxing as Frostbite’s expression smooths back into something kind and polite as he listens, “What exactly does the Ghost King even do? Like. Pariah was locked away for… a long time? I guess. So does the Zone even need a King? Can’t I just, like, resign?”

“I suppose it might seem that way from a younger ghost’s perspective - Pariah has been locked away for millenia, after all, and the Zone is still in one piece.”

Frostbite pauses, leaning back in his seat and taking another bite of his drink.

“However. What you must understand, Great One, is that the problems caused by the absence of a king in the Infinite Realms are not the whirlwind that such a thing would be in the living realm - social order is affected, but the speed of bureaucracy is slower by orders of magnitude in the Realms, and there is not the same level of inter-reliance that the living tend to require - but rather, they are winds and waters sliding against a rock, chipping away at it bit by bit until it is either worn smooth… or the whole structure collapses under its own weight.”

“How does not having a king cause dimensional collapse!?” Tucker shrieks, clutching his cup like a lifeline.

“How long do we have before it collapses?” Sam asks urgently not a second later.

“Oh shit, how long do we have before it collapses???” he echoes, hunching over his cup enough that the steam adds a layer of fog to his glasses.

Danny sits bolt upright, whipping wide eyes away from his friends to join them in staring at Frostbite.

“Total collapse would take millenia more to truly begin,” he placates before taking a more grave expression. “This does not mean that there will not be issues before that point, however; the symptoms of the High King’s absence have begun to show this past millennium. But rest assured, there is time enough to heal the wounds that have been wrought. The only permanent damage would be the collapse itself, and that, as I said, is millenia away.”

“Is… is that why you never mentioned it to me before?” Danny asks, dropping back to the ground in relief. “Because it’s not urgent and you figured I’d just…get to it eventually? Actually, why did you think I knew if you knew that the crown was still in Pariah’s Keep?”

“It is the duty of the Observants to observe, but also, as you have experienced, to oversee - the timeline, trials, the general functioning of the zone. Without a king to report to, much of their ability to act is crippled, of course - their ability to interfere directly with the timeline has always been severely restricted, their options for sentencing are severely reduced, and there are some things the Realms require that only the High King can provide - but one duty remains unaffected: overseeing the ascension of new kings.

Coronations have taken many forms in the past, from a quick swap in the battlefield to a formal ceremony to a celebration that lasted a decade. Given the dark era we are, at last, able to put behind us and the non-urgent nature of even the most severe problems that the Realms are currently affected by, I had assumed that the large delay was in preparation for that last form - the lead-up to a grand celebration.”

“Except instead it’s just them being petty,” Sam notes, sitting back up from her own relieved slouch.

Danny groans, leaving his tea to float and covering his face with his hands.

“Why couldn’t it have just been as easy as shoving Vlad in a box,” he whines.

“I mean, we still can?” Tucker offers, prompting Sam to smack him over the head before pausing consideringly.

“OW!”

“He might be right, actually,” she says, ignoring his exclamation. “Given Vortex’s trial and sentencing, there’s clearly some kind of legal system in the Zone that isn’t just Walker on a power trip. No doubt he’s broken some kind of Actual Realms Law - I’d be surprised if breaking Pariah out like he did wasn’t some form of highly illegal - so you could probably send him to actual Ghost Jail. It’s certainly where he belongs, given all the….”

She makes a vague gesture with her hand in lieu of words.

“That doesn’t resolve the problem of I Don’t Wanna Be A King!” Danny exclaims, sitting back and throwing his hands in the air.

Then he turns to Frostbite, eyes pleading.

“Can’t you be king?” he asks.

Frostbite opens his mouth to reply, but Danny steamrolls over him.

“It makes sense! You already know how to lead people! And your people love you! You already know about all the king stuff too! You’ve beaten me in spars before! We’d just have to go to the keep, I put on the crown, you beat me, and problem solved!”

Frostbite’s smile is a mix of amused and pitying.

“I have only ever beaten you in training spars, Great One, and you and I both know that is largely because they were focused on improving your skill with ice and ice alone. Even if I could defeat you in a true all-out fight as you are, I believe you underestimate the boost granted by the crown of fire.”

“I can just put it on then take it off again before we fight! And we can stick to ice!”

“I’m afraid it is not so simple,” he shakes his head. “If you do not give it your all, the crown - the Realms - will not recognize the transition. The only way to “throw the match” successfully would require your opponent to fully End you: to crush your core and snuff your spirit from the very fabric of existence. I am unwilling to do such a thing, and I sincerely hope you would not ask it of me - or, indeed, of anyone.”

Danny paled enough that he nearly matched his human form in skin tone.

“Right. Let’s… let’s not do that, actually.”

“On the bright side, you can probably weasel ruling tips out of Aquaman in exchange for not declaring war on the Living Realm!” Tucker chirps, aiming to cheer him up.

“I’m not going to threaten the Justice League!” he yelps, scandalized.

“But you probably won’t have to threaten them,” Sam chimes in. “They’re already trying to summon you, you already know their goal is to avoid a war. As long as you don’t ask for anything unreasonable, they should be inclined to give you what you want in exchange for peace.”

“Once you offer peace, they will be invested in your successful rule of their own volition as a means of perpetuating said peace,” Frostbite corrects. “If you would like to set preconditions to an accord you should make them things that will not readily be given as a result of said accord. But before we discuss further, perhaps you can fill me in on why war was a concern in the first place? I believe you mentioned something about papers?”

#dpxdc #Actual Scientists Jack & Maddie AU #starring: Not Jack and Maddie lmao #Frostbite #the Trio #lots of dialogue #guess how many ghosts knew about the AEA before today #surprise it was just Danny and Vlad #the GIW were too incompetent to bother anyone except Amity Parkers #guess how many know after Danny fills Frostbite in?#surprise its a lot more #Danny: *harmless no longer useful information I can tell my buddy Frostbite bc it's no big since everything is being handled now*#Frostbite: ...#yeah Danny does the casual horrifying trauma dumps to ghosts too

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lucysarah-c · 5 months ago

Note

I apologize if this has been asked before but what do you think Levi's kinks are? :)

Hi, sweetie! Oh, do not worry, no need to apologize! I haven’t received this ask before, and even if I did, it’s not a biggie. I could just attach a link to that ask here <3 Do not worry.

MH, Levi’s kinks… good question.

Power play for sure. Have you seen this man say that “pain is the best discipline”? He's always 100% down to teach you your place, at least in the bedroom. Outside of it, he deeply respects your position. Inside the room? Oh baby girl, he wants you to know he’s in charge and could spend his entire life reminding you of it.

…Shibari or tying up. Have you seen those uniforms? Levi sees that harness and deep down he wonders how pretty you would look all tied up. This one is a bit more tricky, so he and you may work around it to see how much of it you're both into.

Overstimulation, absolutely. Those Ackerman powers are a blessing; he knows he can last for hours. Can you? Oh, it's okay, baby, don’t be scared. He'll just have to keep fucking you, and if by any means you end up feeling like your legs are made of jelly from all the times he made you cum… well, I guess that’s the consequence of dating humanity’s strongest soldier. I think he could just feel getting hard, or getting cocky by feeling how you shake against his face as he keeps eating you out like a thirsty man who had been traveling across a desert. The idea that he left you completely and absolutely destroyed makes him feel so cocky. You can accuse this man of many things, but leaving you unsatisfied in bed isn’t one of them.

Degradation and praise kink. Depending on the situation and his mood, he can go either way or BOTH at the same time. “Aw, you look so pretty riding my cock. You’re doing amazing, girly. Mh? Enjoy that dick?” you will nod as you ride him with all your life “I bet. What a dirty little cock whore you turned out to be.”

Alright, maybe this one isn’t popular and maybe it's a bit OOC on my part… Corruption kink. At multiple times in his life, as the famous former thug who lived in the most dangerous part inside the walls, the idea of getting you, looking at him with doe eyes through your eyelashes, faking innocence or truly having it… I can literally picture him thinking, “Doesn’t matter if she doesn’t have much experience or doesn’t know how to make me feel good yet. I’m a very good and patient teacher… have an entire lifetime to mold her into perfection.” He likes to save the best for last; this man would enjoy every single little detail of seeing you fall into the beautiful dark pleasure he can show you.

Those are the ones that come to mind rather quickly…

I’ll give you (as if my ramblings are worthy material to be gifted, lmao) 2 kinks that I DON’T think Levi has and I believe are very popular.

Breeding kink. Like this one, maybe depending on the situation and if it’s a “game” kind of thing. But I feel Levi is a person who takes paternity very seriously; it has to be a VERY particular scenario for me (at least canon Levi) where he’s like, “fuck it, yeah let’s risk getting you pregnant.” BUT it’s a kink I can see A LOT more in Post-War Levi; it’s not that he doesn’t want to breed you… he’s just too responsible to take the risk.

Daddy. HAHA I feel like if you called Levi that in the middle of sex, he would freeze a little and be like, “Sir? Yes. Captain? Absolutely. What did you just say? Just… no.” I dare to say that if you bring it up playfully, perhaps as a joke, he will wrinkle his nose and say, “If you want to fuck Erwin, just say it, but don’t bring that shit into my bedroom.”

I had fun writing this one; I feel it’s a classic “Levi’s blog” ask that surprisingly I’ve never received before! Thank you for that! Hope this was good enough.

Have a lovely day.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @storiesofsung @galactict3a @twruui @lemonsupernova @r3becca_0 @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @hyuckwon-my-husbands Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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strawberrystepmom · 1 year ago

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cw body image discussion. self ship coded. f!reader is feeling insecure and gojo is there to help work through the blues. he's mildly possessive and reader is really down on themselves. reader and gojo are in a semi established relationship (aka idiots in love). wc 1.6k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as always

The third time you pull a blouse over your head with a huff and toss it to the ground below your feet is when Satoru finally realizes that something is not right with you today.

It wasn’t the instant frown upon waking up that alerted him, in fact that’s kind of just normal so he ignored it, but he has noticed you’ve been wound tight from the moment your eyes have opened. Your shoulders are hunched, he’s worried you’re going to give yourself a headache with all that scowling, your coffee sits on the nightstand getting cold while you glare at your reflection in the full length mirror against the wall.

Flipping onto his stomach and stretching horizontally across your bed, he appraises you where you stand. Even grouchier than usual, you’re dazzling. You’re wearing nothing but your least sexy nude colored bra and high waisted black trousers, bare feet stomping across the wooden floor as you rush back and forth from the closet back to the mirror.

He knows what’s happening and that he has never quite been good at stopping it but he wants to try, if only to make you smile at his failed attempt at comfort. You know him well enough to know that there’s meaning beneath his flippant words and veneer, something that saves him from a lot of trouble on any given day.

“Princess?”

His little nickname captures your attention and you shift from glancing in the mirror to him for just a moment, eyes narrowing slightly when you take in his relaxed posture. It must be nice to be him - ever the bored boy king watching the rest of us mortals folly. Raising your brows, you fold your arms over your chest defensively and stare at him.

He knows this defensive position better than anyone ever could. You’re internally wounding yourself and curling into your own torso, covering where it hurts the worst with your arms. Your heart breaks and he can see it on your face, eyes still narrowed and shoulders rounded forward. Trying to make yourself smaller, broken into pieces, something you feel will make you more palatable.

He hates it but he knows you don’t do it on purpose. You spend a lot of your time lifting others up and it’s easy to forget yourself in the fray. He sees it as his responsibility to step for you when you can’t do it for yourself and he cannot imagine allowing anyone else to ever do so.

He’s yours, in name, in body, in heart, and it’s his job to remind you of how perfect you are even when you forget.

“C’mere,” he wags his head, motioning for you to join him on the bed while he pats the spot next to him. You sniff unenthusiastically and shuffle to the side of the bed, sitting and letting your legs hang off the edge of it. You don’t want to join him in his all too comfortable state but you realize quickly you are going to be left with no choice when he sets his head on your thigh and wraps his arms around your waist.

You feel yourself soften when you look down at him, all white lashes and big eyes and hair over his forehead as boyish as you remember it being when you were 16 and he was 17 and he laid his head in your lap just like this. It feels like a lifetime ago, years and tears that have passed, but part of you even knew then that it would end up just like this for the two of you despite the constant denial of those feelings.

Even still, you deny his affection for you out of some strange attempt to hurt yourself rather than him. It makes no sense and you sigh. How anyone puts up with you is truly a mystery yet here the one person who puts up with you the most sits, cloudless sky eyes searching you for answers. He foolishly believes he may yet solve you someday.

Unfolding your arms, you reach out and pet the strands away from his face. Remembering you’re supposed to be having a fit, you frown and he smiles up at you. It feels like the sun moving in from around a cloud and you chuckle.

“You gonna make it?” He asks and you know what he means.

What do you need from me? How can I make this better?

If asked, he’d swear you’re the only one who actually listens to what he’s saying instead of picking out what you want to hear. If someone were to ask you, you think you’d say the same about him. Nobody understands you the way he does, a fact you used to resent but now welcome with open arms. Isn’t the core of being loved just being understood at the end of the day?

You think for a moment before flopping backward on the bed, his head still in your lap and his arms still looped around your waist. Satoru shifts slightly, pulling one arm out from under you and using it to gently pet your cheek.

“Probably not,” you finally respond and he looks across your body at your face and smiles, shaking his head and rubbing his freshly shaven cheek over your pants.

“I’m ugly, I’m stupid, I’m the butt of every joke,” you lament, gaze shifting directly to the ceiling to keep from looking at him while your eyes mist over with tears. Speaking the things you think about yourself only makes them feel more true but he doesn’t let you lament for long, unlooping his other arm from your waist and grabbing your hand.

He sits up and you look up at him. He looms the way a god does and he looks just like one, something that makes you rush to try and cover yourself up. It’s a pity he wastes his time with you, meant for something far better than hanging out with you. You feel a tear slide down your cheek and sniff, covering your face with your forearm.

“None of that is true and you know it.”

He remains hovering over you, backlit by the sunlight in your bedroom, but you refuse to look directly at him and settle for gazing through the tiniest crack in your vision that your forearm isn’t covering.

“Everyone loves you so much it makes me feel jealous sometimes.”

Despite your sadness, you giggle. He’s so funny sometimes that you wonder if it’s intentional or not.

“There’s no reason to. People are just being nice.”

He scoffs and before you can blink, he’s on his knees and sliding his oversized form across the bed. Straddling your hips, settling either of his thighs on the side of yours, you groan and let your arm flop at your side. He isn’t putting his full weight on you but you sniff and make a face anyway. You’re still only partially dressed and he licks his lips at the sight, soft skin warmed by sunlight.

“Do you know how many threats I’ve had to make to keep people away from you?”

Shaking your head, hair dragging across the blanket beneath your body, you wonder if he means it. He has alluded to this exact scenario many times in jest but you always assumed it was just that - a joke. A little chuckle shared between the two of you.

“I’m not joking,” he replies seriously, eyes giving him away. “You’re not just liked you’re desired, pretty girl.”

Your cheeks heat and your belly stirs despite how the rest of you feels. Shifting your head so that you’re no longer looking at him, he reaches down and cups your cheek with the same gentleness he always does but guides your face back in his direction. His thumb caresses the soft round and you bite back another smile.

“I’ll keep doing it, too,” he mutters with a grin and a nod and you raise your brows. You don’t really care that other people desire you, knowing that the issue with how you feel lies solely within your own heart, but it’s nothing less than sexy that he insists on throwing his weight around in his longstanding mission to make you love him as much as he loves you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and you smile, leaning into his touch despite all of your previous attempts to shrug it off. “The smartest person I know, brave, dependable…”

He trails off and leans over you, stopping himself with his forearm on the bed and kisses your forehead.

“I could go on forever but I don’t want to make you later than you’re already going to be after four outfit changes,” he offers and you laugh. A real one. The kind of laugh that makes a big smile stretch across your face and he places his thumb in the divot of your dimple as you do.

“You’re right.”

He beams, pressing his thumb so deeply you feel the inside of your cheek against your teeth.

“Obviously.”

The rebuttal only makes you laugh harder and you kick your legs out beneath him, trying to shove him off of you.

“Get off, I’m gonna be late,” you warn and now he plants some of his weight over your hips, both big hands cupping your face as he repeatedly dots your face and cheeks with kisses.

“Nope, I’m gonna make you even more late and you’re just gonna have to live with it.”

And live with it you will as his lips travel from the round of your cheek and tip of your nose to your own lips, tongue brushing against the seam insistently.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoken #kendall writes #the way this is my metaphorical pacifier and i feel better #shaking my own rattle etc

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andhumanslovedstories · 4 months ago

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Hi dear. I saw your post about pain management - thank you so much for it, it was an inspiring read, also it made it so obvious that you are truly passionate about being a nurse or rather, helping people and being present for those who need it the most. I wanted to ask - do you feel your job as a nurse affects the care you give in your interpersonal relationships and if yes, then how? rather negatively or positively? this is something I think about a lot bc my husband would love to study to become a nurse because he has a heart full of love and care, I knew he would be so good at it, but we are also having our firstborn soon and I just worry that being a nurse might be so draining that what if there is no energy for me and the baby. I really want to support my husband and I know this might be a silly question, but having read how you think I would so much love to hear your thoughts on this topic!

My big disclaimer for this is that I'm currently on medical leave for depression that wasn't CAUSED by my work but was definitely exacerbated by it and definitely worse when I was on shift. I've also been dealing with depression for a long time, and it's always interfered with my jobs at some point. The main problem is that it's a lot worse to have brain fog at a hospital than it is at an ice cream shop. I consider nursing to be a protective factor for my mental health SOMETIMES. It is work that I find meaning in and makes me proud. It can be an exhausting job but also a rewarding one. Extra compassion is also a double-edged sword: it can make you a better nurse, and it can also drain you that much faster because you get invested. Self-care is a part of the nursing code of ethics because the job in part because compassion fatigue is so easy to get if you aren't careful with your limits.

It is a draining job. I've begged off lot of things due to my schedule and feeling exhausted (but I am a homebody hermit). It's also a job a lot of people balance with raising children. My mom (who was already a nurse when I was born) liked the flexibility of the schedule. I work with dozens of nurses who have children. Many are mothers who are still breastfeeding infants. Some actively participate in their family life, some don't, and I don't know how much that has to do with their specific job. You know your husband. Does he already struggle to balance work/school/responsibilities and personal life? That's an issue with any career, but I do think healthcare is a profession where it can get even harder.

oops another nursing essay under the cut

(Plus, in terms of timing in with your newborn, congrats btw, your husband will have to go through nursing school first if he decides on this track, and minimum that will take like 15 months if he has all the pre-reqs and gets into an accelerated program. When it comes to dealing with a newborn, schooling might be more of a stumbling block than the job itself. I know a lot of people who consider nursing school to be one of the worst times of their lives. He might be able to do LPN [licensed practical nurse] instead of RN [registered nurse]. RN requires a bachelors and has a larger scope of practice and generally higher pay. I know almost nothing about getting your LPN license so he'll have to investigate that himself. I'll say the hospital systems that I've been in not only prefer RNs but often have requirements that people without a certain amount of experience MUST get their bachelors after X amount of time.)

I would also say not all nursing jobs are created equal in terms of labor, emotional and otherwise. My first job was in home health which got me somewhat emotionally enmeshed with the family I primarily worked with, but it also wasn't emotionally distressing. Nurses on our oncology floors and the ICU have a different experience than nurses who work in elective short-stay surgery. And different people find different things draining. I find working with end-of-life patients to be energizing in my work; a lot of people don't. My aunt worked pediatrics because she found working with children must less distressing than working with a geriatric population. Some people thrive in the chaos and speed of the emergency room, while I find it to be a tremendously depressing place that I hate floating to.

I think you'd have to ask my loved ones if really if it affects how much I care for them. Speaking personally for myself: I think it is overall positive for my relationships. I like the rhythm of nursing, I like the philosophy of nursing, I like who nursing makes me be. I like that nursing work is impossible to bring home. You can bring the emotions home, but you leave the patients at the hospital. It's simple for a bedside nurse to keep a strong division between their work self and their home self, but it's not necessarily easy. And again, I'm off work right now and probably will be for a bit longer so. yknow. He should make sure he's got a good support system in place.

Also some states and cities are far, far better than others when it comes to nursing regulations. Are there legally mandated staff ratios where you work? How many hospitals are in the area? Are any of them union? What does the compensation look like? What is the turnover rate? Nursing could be a great profession in general, but it might not be great in your particular location.

My last point would be that working in healthcare can make you feel...disconnected, I guess, from people who don't. Healthcare is such a culture unto itself. Sometimes I'd be like that meme of guy at party hanging out in the corner thinking, "they don't know yesterday I took care of a patient in a situation so fucked and depressing that it's now an ethics case." Or on the other hand, "they don't know that a patient called me their guardian angel and cried while they thanked me." The fact that healthcare is a different world is neither a pro nor a con, but something to consider. Depending on how you spend your days, his life might start to have parts that look very different from yours. I loved having a nurse as a mother and listening to her stories. My father banned all anecdotes involving poop and gore from his presence.

I hope you and your husband figure out the best way possible for him to use that compassion, which might be nursing or might not be. Either way, good luck to you guys!

#nursing tag

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saintsenara · 6 months ago

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I feel like in the Sirius/Severus fic I’ve come across the roles often tend to be quite gendered with Sirius either being jocky dom or service top vibes paired with a subby Snape who’s either cock hungry or somehow fragile or a bossy power bottom y Snape. Or the opposite with Snape as dominant and Sirius submissive, usually those ones lean quite into BDSM power exchange element or like caretaker/pet vibes. I’ve enjoyed both and also the rare few I’ve seen where they aren’t written so gendered and both enjoy a range of roles both literally position wise and power dynamic wise.

Wondering what your take is on the dynamic that best fits them in your mind? Obviously the inherent power struggle between them in canon lends itself to power dynamics being part of their chemistry but I can’t decide where I fall on thinking which side of the dynamic they each best fit, or if one where they switch is more in character

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i don't have a fixed preference for the sexual dynamics in the snack i read - and i've definitely noticed the vibes you mention - but how sirius and snape would act in the bedroom is a question i've had to ponder quite a lot recently, since i'm writing some snack - the war of the roses - myself...

generally, i don't go in for a strict top/bottom division - so when it comes to who's putting what where, my view is that they'll switch.

when it comes to the power dynamic between the two, and the emotional response the two have to sex, i have more to say...

i generally see snape as somebody who's inclined to consider themselves to be inferior to their partner - and, as his canonical power dynamic with both dumbledore and voldemort attests, to think of himself as someone whose role is to serve - but not as someone who is submissive.

by which i mean, i think that snape would view his position in the dynamic as one of supplication, worship, offering, service. and so on. but that this would come without the consensual surrendering of control which defines a classic dom/sub relationship - and also without the consensual surrendering to being cared for which defines a caretaker/pet dynamic. snape canonically prizes his ability to deal with things on his own. i don't think he's someone who wants to be looked after.

what he does want, instead, is to be acknowledged by his partner as unworthy [a sinner who can never atone for what he has done] and yet loved anyway.

but - of course - this desire lurks behind a layer of self-loathing as thick as the earth's crust. and so i do think - at first - snape would be likely to give the impression that he was inclined to be standoffish - and, indeed, cruel - in bed. no negotiation, no aftercare, no acknowledgement that sirius is also involved... just a mess all around.

sirius, too, is someone who i think positions themselves as the worshipper in a god/worshipper dynamic. i particularly think this because i believe that unrequited prongsfoot is canon - sirius' devotion to james, especially after james' death, is quasi-religious. he too thinks of himself as a sinner unable to atone for his sins [as he tells harry in prisoner of azkaban, he thinks of himself as directly responsible for james' death], unworthy of being truly loved.

sirius' self-loathing canonically comes with a willingness to suffer. so, when snape lashes out... he's going to end up taking it.

that they're narrative mirrors is why i love snack as a pairing - and i like the way that this can be taken in any direction when it comes to the sexual dynamic between the two. egregious cruelty in an attempt to drive the other person away which gradually gives way to something tender, allowing each "worshipper" to realise that the other sees him as the "god"? sign me up.

the question i'd like to see more snack authors wrestle with, though? how much experience the two have.

i'll confess now that i never vibe with the characterisation of sirius - whatever his orientation is written as being - which portrays him as sexually [and romantically - i don't think the man's ever been on a real date either] experienced prior to going to azkaban.

this is almost entirely because of the unrequited prongsfoot thing - sirius strikes me as the sort of person who would endure his love for james in solemn silence, rather than seeing other people in an attempt to get over him - but i also think that, as much as i love the common fanon that the wizarding world is a queer utopia, it's going to be because someone from sirius' background would have a lot of extremely thorny feelings about being interested in men.

[including the fear that james would detest him for his sexuality. something i've done in the war of the roses is write james as someone who isn't a bigot, per se, but who - like many teenage boys - nonetheless assumes that his best mate is heterosexual, only discusses sex and sexuality with him with this assumption in mind, and makes plenty of casually homophobic remarks (stereotypes about behaviour or hobbies or appearance, etc.) which he never realises terrify sirius. if sirius ever came out to him, james would - of course - be nothing short of accepting. but sirius never feels confident enough to find this out.]

snape, too, was undoubtedly raised in a homophobic family - and he is canonically subjected to bullying which has a homophobic undertone - but he's someone who i imagine would embrace his queerness as a sort of "fuck you" to the world.

[not least because the masculinity of many of the death eaters - and voldemort's masculinity in particular, especially since, in snape's story, he serves a parallel role to dumbledore - is reasonably non-normative. voldemort is extremely easy to read as queer - and lucius malfoy's relationship with snape can also be read as having some sort of homoerotic undertone.]

snape is someone who - unlike sirius - has the opportunity to explore his sexuality after 1981 [even with the shadow of the aids crisis - which provides a really interesting context through which to examine snape's attitude to sexuality, pleasure, nihilism, and death], and so i really like mixing the idea that snape is the more experienced of the two in with the supplicatory dynamic described above.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #snirius #starprince #sirius black #severus snape

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deerspherestudios · 2 years ago

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Hey! I hope you have a good day without any problems and worries! 💕💕💕 I recently took a test on the language of love and thought about Mychael. What is his love language? (my style of love is touching, so he wouldn't be able to escape from my embrace HAHA)

Aww I love talking about the 5 love languages!! This is such a sweet ask <3 This is assuming MC and Mychael have been friends/lovers for a while; here we go!

•┈••♡❤ Mychael's Love Language(s) ❤♡••┈•

When you're on the receiving end; Offering Gifts 🎁💖

He's never had anyone be around as long as you have; he's kinda new to the gifting thing but does so with a lot of enthusiasm!!

Whether it's something he made or found, knowing he chose it for you is what makes it soso special.

He just loves the idea of being able to give something that was a part of himself and insert it into your life if that makes sense.

He also loves doing it because he believes you deserve to have nice things with all his heart :-)!

If he's not sure what to gift you he'd rely on pretty little knickknacks he thinks you'd like but still be on the safe side; flowers, jewelry, decorations and accessories.

But if he does figure out your interests he'd do his best to accommodate! Books, toys, tools and clothes... he has his means of getting stuff he can't make himself.

The idea of you keeping his gifts as a sign of friendship/love makes him really happy!!

Lowkey if he sees you using/wearing/displaying a gift he gave in the past he'd be purring non-stop.

When he's on the receiving end; Words of Affirmation 💬💕

We know how he feels about his physical appearance so this is a no-brainer. His self-esteem isn't the best :'-)

Being alone/isolated as he is, he might confuse physical affection but nothing is more clear to him than words straight from your mouth how much you mean to him <3

At first he wonders if you truly mean what you say when you talk so positively about him, but then he slowly starts to believe it.

Do not underestimate the impact of one (1) compliment as simple as "You look good today, Mychael." He'd remember it for at least a week.

It's a bit of a guessing game to figure out what gets him the best. If you praise his skill at something his response would be, "Oh I guess I got good at it. Thanks, firefly :-)" but if you praise his looks and mannerisms you've hit the jackpot.

Blushing, stuttering, avoiding your gaze level of embarrassment.

If you're really close friends or basically dating, he will absolutely ask for your opinion on how you feel about him from time to time, just to get reassurance from you.

Overall nothing gets him better than just hearing positive remarks from a loving source aka you :-) <3

#mushroom oasis vn #mychael ask #aug i love this question #i had a lot of fun answering it so tysm!! <3 #q

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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago

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First of all I wanna say I hope both sides of ur pillow are cold at night, your charger works at every angle and you never stub your toe 🛐🛐🛐💞💌💌🥺🥺 Idk if you take requests, apologies of you don't, but I would like to ask if you would make one of those NSFW Alphabets with Shanks? Thank you for getting me through this week with your fics 🙏🏻 I have become a Mihawk girlie now too because of your work 😩

I'm so glad you you love the fics!! And thank you for the kindness towards me you are truly a Saint to wish for my pillow to be cold 🙏

Welcome to the Mihawk club BTW ;3

But I Gotcha Darling!

N$FW Alphabet:

Shanks Edition!

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Very loving, he is kind and has a strong sense of responsibility for his S/O. He will clean them up, get them anything they need and cuddles too.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Truthfully he loves his hair, it's a odd relationship since its such a unique feature of his so it draws too much attention. But also loves it since it's a heavy part of his identity.

Their back weirdly enough, the curve of their form and dip of their hips. He will guide his fingertips down their back and admire it.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Shanks can be a bit messy, he will cum on the nearest surface of skin of his S/O. But his favorite is inside-

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He and Buggy used to have a physical thing for a while. It was more experimental and gave him creative ideas for sex, however he is very transparent with his S/O about it and open to any questions.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

This man has a open book of experiences, having done and seen a lot of things in his day! He knows every way to make someone squirm moan and more.

F= Favorite position

The Face-Off is his favorite position. Seated and with his S/O on his lap facing him while they ride him.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He isn't the most serious especially with intimate moments in bed. He feels like it's a moment for him to be vulnerable and open. Will giggle with them and kiss their cheeks, drawing chuckles from his S/O

H= Hair (grooming habits)

Is a bit lazy with his own grooming habits, he will occasionally give himself a trim up but is more okay with a all natural look. Defiently has the Nickname of Fire Bush 🔥

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Shanks is very romantic, he can get rough but he is Defiently the type to differ in Sex Vs. Love Making and with his S/O it's always lovemaking.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Not as often, he used to in the past but finds he'd rather do other things. Especially since he has a S/O so it's unnecessary.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

He has two big kinks he loves. He does have a mild breeding kink, he loved the idea of 'Breeding' his so in any means and knowing it was him who did it.

His second biggest Kink a Praise Kink and he is open to switching in this role as he loves to be praised or give it.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

He likes his own place in terms of Sex or a good Hotel. He isn't one to judt fuck anywhere and even for Quickies he has his favorite spots pre-picked out.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Truthfully his S/O is his biggest turn on- them just walking around will be enough to get him worked up.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Degradation is a turn off for him, as well as amputation kinks. He finds both I credibly disturbing and will immediately not be interested.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He is a giver, while he does love some good oral he prefers to give. He likes the feeling of being inbetween his S/O's legs and feeling their reactions.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He keeps a pretty even pace, he can be pretty quick in hip movement. However in terms of length in bed he can last quite a while.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He does enjoy a good Quickie. However it's only if that is the only option he likes something more sensual if it's available but a has hard fuck is never a issue

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

Hell yeah, he's always willing to try new things! If he hasn't done it already he will give it a go.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Shanks has fairly high Stamina and can last at 20 minute goes with at least 3 rounds in him.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Shanks down for toys, is willing to use them on his S/O or let them be used against himself.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Shanks is a walking tease, yes he loves romantic and even pacing in terms of sex but he LOVES to take his time to watch his S/O come undone. The look on their faces as they moan and desperately get closer to their climax is so hot to him.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

From grunts, gentle moans and words of Praise Shanks can be quite vocal. He likes to say sweet things to his S/O if he's on top.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

He has been pegged and did not mind it. While isn't his most favorite of things it was interesting at the time and if his S/O is interested he will be down for another round with the plastic.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Shanks is very blessed- 9.5in easy, and let's say he's more of s grower then a show-er in these parts 😉

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

While he is incredibly flirtatious he doesn't have the highest of sex drives. Defiently very relaxed and will be down if his parter is. However naturally is a twice a week kind of man.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Shanks will stay up for a bit, making sure they fall asleep and just admire his S/Os form. Run his hand through their hair and make sure they're comforble

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #shanks x reader #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #shanks #red hair shanks

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inhonoredglory · 1 year ago

Note

Hey, I reaaally love all your meta analysis, especially the one on Aziraphale's morality. You truely have a wonderful writing style! And you expressed the feelings I had about the S2 finale I couldn't put into words and had me in tears again. I never really believed in the coffee theory (although a part of me hoped for it since it would be way less painful). But there is one thing I can't wrap my head around. The coffee theory is partly supported by the final scene of Aziraphale in the elevator and his creepy smile. Even when he looks forward to his new position and is convinced he does the right thing, I can't believe he wouldn't smile like that (and Michael Sheen is to talented for it being am accident). He still lost his soulmate Crowley, he still had to give up the life he loved so dearly and we know how much he struggled with that in the first place talking to Metatron. So why this smile, which aside from that, really did not look like him? I fear, that his memories were wiped out in this elevator. But since you have so a great understanding of Aziraphale's character, I would like to know your theories about that? Thanks a lot!!

(In response to my meta on why Aziraphale had to go to Heaven)

Thank you so much for your kind words, @sabotage-on-mercury (truly means the world to me). Honestly, the creepy smile was one part of the ending I couldn't quite put my finger on either, until someone pointed out on a Twitter response to my meta:

The reason why its scary is bc azi is becoming properly angry at the system and is 101% determined to set things right (Source)

In season 1, Aziraphale was determined not to kill anyone to stop the Apocalypse. He wouldn't even tell Crowley where the Antichrist was, because Crowley's only solution was to kill him.

And because Crowley consistently didn't have any ideas ("not one single better idea??"), Aziraphale took it on himself to pursue the only option left––to ask God to intervene and stop both Heaven and Hell from destroying Earth. Therefore, Aziraphale had to keep the integrity of his angel status by distancing himself from Crowley, while the world was still in danger.

Despite this dedication avoid bloodshed, when God didn't have an answer, Aziraphale went against one of his core beliefs to help save the world. He was willing to murder a child.

For Aziraphale, that takes guts. And (seeing how he reacted at the end of the Job minisode), I wonder that if he had killed Adam Young, Aziraphale would have checked himself into Hell.

Going to Heaven for Aziraphale is ultimately a conscious choice, one that he is clearly afraid of. We see him constantly steeling himself again the Metatron in the end, covering his fear and hurt from losing Crowley with a placid smile and a flippant attitude. He's wearing so many masks, to Crowley, to himself, to the Metatron...

All season we've seen him playing roles (detective, magician, doctor, landlord). But the final role is warrior. Going up that elevator, we first see Aziraphale's eyes searching, worried, panicking, but unable to show it because he's not in a safe space. He swallows, blinks, he's breathing hard (you can see his entire shoulders rise and fall).

But as he goes up, his expression steels. He's quite literally putting on a mask (to himself): a vengeful, hardened expression of pure anger and rage (to drown out the fear and uncertainty he so clearly still has).

Michael Sheen conveying contained anger in both Good Omens and Masters of Sex (gif by @julielilac)

Cuz this isn't just him scrambling to kill a kid, this is him walking calmly and knowingly into sacrificing everything he loves most (Crowley, the bookshop, his entire life on earth) to create a world that will always be safe for him and Crowley and humanity for the rest of time. Where he would have to go up against the most powerful angels, the Metatron, and God Themself to change things. He can't be the kind, sweet angel he was on Earth. That won't cut it in Heaven if he wants to make a difference in any real way.

He wanted to do it with Crowley, with the love and support and strength of his demon. But without him, Aziraphale has to channel something else to keep his resolve afloat.

Something he had when he was a warrior, fighting on the front lines of a battle between Heaven and Hell, when he very likely led a platoon into divine fields of bloodshed before the earth was born. When he was an avenging angel.

I haven’t done this since the Great War.

It was a time and an identity he had chosen to leave behind, because it wasn't the kind of angel he was anymore ("I'm not fighting in any war!"). In this context, you can read Aziraphale's passionate unwillingness to take a life (his pacifism) directly into his past experience as a warrior. It is often the veterans of terrible wars who are the most earnest advocates for peace. (And especially in Britain and Europe, where the violence of the world wars is still such a powerful and painful national memory.)

As he goes up the elevator, he's breathing so hard we can hear it mirrored in the soundtrack, and he is so hyperfocused on steeling himself that he doesn't even care that the Metatron is watching him. He doesn't rest until he's psyched himself into that warrior mindset necessary to carry out this mission entirely by himself, to be both the moral advocate and the uncompromising leader of angels who had intimidated him his entire life. To demand respect and to talk to the very face of God and tell Them they are Wrong.

(Please read this Neil-approved meta for further thoughts on God and Aziraphale.)

That creepy smile is clearly not there because Aziraphale is happy to fall into a toxic parent's false love. There's no comfort or wistful nostalgia in that face. There's no "it'll be so much nicer" in that smile. It's not a happy smile. It's an I'm-gonna-fuck-shit-up smile.

Because it's a warrior's smile before they go into battle, before they put on that armor and, for a while, become something they're not in the name of some greater good. He's fucking furious and it's downright frightening.

Because I have no doubt that the angel Aziraphale we get in Season 3 is the angel Aziraphale who can say this:

He's not there yet in the TV show. But this bravery, this anger, this flaming rage is how it starts.

Or as he's described in the book when Aziraphale mysteriously does away with the local mafia:

Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #good omens 2 meta #go s2 #michael sheen #aziraphale #go meta #aziraphale defense squad #aziraphale meta #*mine #*mymeta #why are the gifs acting up nauur

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johannestevans · 3 months ago

Text

Ambitious Men

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon.

11.6k. Rated M. M/M. Deeply fucked up fantasy-horror, wherein a man finds that his dream of taking over his hero’s restaurant is not to proceed as smoothly as he hoped. Adapted from a TweetFic.

Inspired in part by trans responses to the horror themes of The Magnus Archives.

Content warnings for: horror themes, gender dysphoria, transphobia, classism, substance reliance and addiction, anti-addict sentiments, dehumanisation, implied sexual assault, consent issues, body horror.

----

Before coming to work at Lace, Archie had idolised Casper Hugo almost his entire life.

One of his first memories was lying on the sofa, the television turned up to drown out the sounds of his parents arguing in the other room as much as possible, watching him give an interview.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six, certainly didn’t truly comprehend a lot of what he was saying at the time: Casper Hugo had been a handsome young man who’d taken over the already award-winning restaurant from its previous executive chef and earned it its first Michelin star.

He remembered not the words themselves, but the sound of them, of Chef Hugo’s smooth, comforting voice, like hot caramel, and it had soothed him, made him feel… better. Even with the sound of his parents shouting and snapping at each other, Hugo’s voice had cut through it all.

Until one of them — his mother, he thought — had called him odd for watching the news, said he wasn’t normal. She’d flicked it off and snapped at him go outside like a proper child his age, and he had.

He could never understand what he was meant to do, thus exiled, and had settled for wandering aimlessly until he thought she’d let him back inside.

At the time, he hadn’t even understood that Hugo was a chef, he didn’t think. He’d just liked his voice, his warm smile, the way he held himself and gestured with his hands, slightly clumsily, as though they were too big for him, and he’d sit for an hour flicking through channels until he got lucky and stumbled over an interview or a documentary or a morning breakfast segment.

It was later that he’d realised.

Later that he’d become a bit obsessed.

Later that he’d studied Chemistry and History and French at A-Level and applied all of what he learned to cooking, later that he’d gone to culinary school, which his mother had been furious about.

His father had paid for it out of spite.

It seemed like a dream when he first applied for a line position, certain he’d get tossed aside, but they’d brought him in and watched him in the kitchen. It had mostly been his sous chef, but Hugo had done one round of the kitchen.

“Good knife skills,” he’d said over his shoulder, and it had made Archie feel light-headed.

“You’re my hero,” he said after the demo was over. “I mean, I’d never — I’d never have started cooking if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know if I’d even be alive if it wasn’t you, I’m so grateful, I can’t even… So whatever, um, I know I’m young, but even if you don’t take me, sir, I just want to thank you for the opportunity, to, to meet you, and to try.”

Hugo stared down at him, wrinkled his nose.

The sinking feeling in his chest was so strong Archie thought it would bowl him over, feeling it ripple down his throat, settle hard in his stomach, made him feel like he’d vomit.

“I don’t know what other kitchens you’ve been in,” said Hugo, “but I won’t have you calling me sir.”

Archie blinked.

“You alright to start Monday?” Hugo went on.

Archie burst into laughter, was so overwhelmed he threw his arms around the older man, and he’d been terrified because that was too far for certain, but Hugo hugged him back and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“You thought I’d say no!” he said, patting the back of his hair. “No, no, my friend, I’ve been waiting for someone like you.”

That was six years ago, now, and Archie wasn’t just doing prep on the line.

He was sous chef, of Lace.

And every day (every long, fourteen-hour day) was a dream.

* * *

Archie didn’t think it was wrong to say that Hugo had been like a father to him since he started.

He taught him new techniques in the kitchen all the time, bounced new ideas and recipes off him, always worked with Archie as his second when he needed him, when he could, but it wasn’t just the kitchen, it was everything, Archie’s whole life.

Hugo had paid for him to go on courses, something he did for all his new staff — not just chefs, but waiters too — but he asked Archie about what he’d learned after he came back. They went out for dinners, they talked, they discussed things, and Hugo always challenged him, made him work to keep up.

He hadn’t realised Hugo was gay himself when he first started, because he kept it tightly under wraps, wasn’t interested in newspapers marketing him as the gay gourmet or some similar nonsense.

Hugo was the first man Archie had come out as bi to.

And Archie had taught him — Archie had taught Casper Hugo, Michelin-starred chef, forager, internationally renowned gourmet — how to drive.

“How have you never learned?” he’d asked, and Hugo had laughed.

“Look,” he’d said. “I’ve lived a very long and complicated life. I never got around to it!”

It had been nice, to teach Hugo something, to give back to him. Hugo always said how proud he was of him, cupped his cheeks, patted his shoulders or his hair, praised his work, introduced him to women.

Introduced him to men, too.

“You never date,” Hugo chided him. “You should! A young man like you, with all that life inside you, all that soul. You should use it a bit.”

“I never have time.” Archie said.

“I’ll give you some,” was the answering threat.

“Don’t you date?” Archie asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ll have you know I take handsome young men out to dinner all the time.”

“Shagging starry-eyed twinks does not constitute a romantic life, old man.”

“Well, nor does refusing to shag anybody at all.”

“I shag!”

“Well, after shagging, try a nice breakfast the morning after.”

Archie always said he would, and never actually did. It just felt like he’d never met the right person, seen the right person, never connected with anyone, truly, really connected with them.

And then Otto started as kitchen porter.

Otto was a big man — he was taller than Archie, though not as tall as Hugo, at 5’11”, fat, round-shouldered, and strong. Very strong.

He had wispy facial hair around his mouth and neck, like he couldn’t grow a proper beard, and sometimes his voice cracked a little.

Archie wouldn’t have described him as his type, at a glance, but the first time Georges, their maître d’, had asked for his help moving a table and Otto had just picked up the whole thing on his own with nary a ripple in his shoulders, Archie had been —

Interested.

He and Georges had stood there, blinking, as Otto had held the table slightly aloft — and the tables they used in Lace were big, hundred-year-old things of solid, heavy wood — and said, “Well, where’d you want it then?”

Otto was not a chef, and had barely any interest in cooking at all — frankly, Archie wasn’t sure why he’d even been hired as KP.

“Do you, ah, do you want to get dinner?” he asked two weeks after Otto started. “There’s this wonderful Japane — ”

“No,” said Otto.

Archie took this in, and then said, “Oh.”

“I eat here,” said Otto, shrugging. “Free. Wouldn’t say no to pints, though.”

“Pints,” Archie had repeated. “Fine, alright.”

That night had ended with Archie bent over his own hall table, Otto’s fingers inside him as Archie tried to muffle his desperate cries of pleasure into his own elbow to keep from getting complaints from the neighbours, and he’d managed it at first.

Only Otto had decided once getting him onto the top landing that he couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom and had fingerfucked his brains out there too, swallowing Archie’s cock down his throat like it was nothing.

And it was —

It was a thing, after that. They went out for drinks, to a matinee before work. Otto liked bugs, had pet insects; he loved classic cars and dad rock, but said seriously to Archie that he could only afford to indulge the second one; he liked to go to this one cat café every month.

“Why don’t you just have a cat?” asked Archie.

“They’d eat my stick insects,” says Otto.

“But you can just close the door to the bedroom.”

“That’s no guarantee.”

He was a funny man. He made fun of Archie because he went jogging each morning, and made fun of him even more when he found out that Archie owned a treadmill for bad weather days. He suggested Archie try to jog while Otto “motivated him”.

This went well until he actually came, and then his knees went weak and the treadmill sent him flying backwards, his cock flying out of Otto’s hands.

Hugo laughed until he wheezed when Archie had mumblingly explained the new stitches in the back of his head, unsuccessfully hidden by his chef’s cap, and clapped them both on the shoulders.

Hugo liked Otto.

Archie was pleased at first, assumed naturally that it was because Archie was finally dating someone, except that it wasn’t like that, exactly. Hugo normally had no patience when it came to people who didn’t want to cook and who didn’t love food, and Otto kept saying that food was food, that so long as it tasted good and gave you energy, nothing else mattered.

Hugo would normally be pissed at that, but not this time.

Archie came in one morning to find Hugo was teaching Otto knife skills, which wasn’t unusual in itself for new KPs, but Hugo wouldn’t normally offer personal tutelage, not in something so basic.

“… train your palate,” Hugo was saying.

“I can relax my gag reflex,” said Otto.

Hugo chuckled at that. It wasn’t the laugh Archie was used to, not Hugo’s loud, booming laugh — it was a soft, salted caramel chuckle.

It was the laugh he usually reserved for starry-eyed twinks, not KPs that Archie himself was involved with.

“That’s not quite what I mean,” purred Hugo.

It wasn’t even that Otto was flirting, because Archie knew what he looked like when he was flirting, knew the smile he made, knew he liked to control things and be the one in charge. This was just him joking, and he didn’t seem to notice that Hugo… liked it.

“Morning, Archibald,” said Hugo warmly. “Would you start the spatchcocks off?”

“Can do,” said Archie, and tried to keep the tension out of his voice.

By the time the kitchen was full of people working, Otto was sent back to washing dishes.

* * *

“Did you ask him to teach you?” Archie asked when they were walking in the zoo. They’d spent ages in the bug section, Otto fascinated and delighted by the huge cockroaches as big as Archie’s fist.

“Nah,” said Otto, shrugging his big shoulders. “Old man says I gotta learn, though.”

“He likes you,” said Archie, and Otto glanced at him.

“He’s like your dad, right?” asked Otto, and Archie frowned. “Not trying to muscle in on your inheritance, Arch. Just doing what the bossman tells me.”

“He’s not my father,” muttered Archie, putting his hands in his pockets, and Otto sighed.

“Yeah, but he’s an old queen, he’s not having any kids, and he knows it. He says you’re like a son to him, that the restaurant’ll go to you.”

Hugo has said that before — when tipsy, and when drunk, and when high.

“I don’t know if he’s serious about that,” said Archie, feeling a little uncertain, uncomfortable. “But anyway, he’s not even sixty yet. He’s not that old.”

“I don’t talk to my dad either,” said Otto. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna steal your surrogate.”

“Jesus, why would you — ” Archie laughed, shaking his head, and Otto grinned at him. “I don’t think you’re trying to steal my paternal stand-in, alright? He just doesn’t normally teach new guys himself.”

“I can top two guys at once,” said Otto, and Archie let out a disgusted sound. “What? He’s pretty hot, for an old man. You telling me you wouldn’t?”

“Gross.”

They stopped to watch a video of a huge tarantula wriggling and vibrating its way out of its skin next to the tarantula tank. Archie turned his head away, feeling sick, but Otto watched in fascination, his mouth open.

“You really don’t talk to your dad?”

“Nah,” said Otto, not tearing his gaze away from the spider’s fitting, jerking movements as it kicked its old body off. “He got nasty when I came out the first time, but I still saw the family and shit. He was fine with it when I was using, you know, didn’t have a fucking problem — that didn’t bother him. The T did, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Otto. “He’d rather have a drugged-up daughter getting passed around than a sober son, I guess. Twat.”

“Twat,” Archie agreed. “Cunt, I’d even say.”

Otto laughed, and reached for his hand, interlinking their fingers.

“Don’t you find it creepy?” asked Archie as he came closer, leaning into Otto’s big shoulder, his cheek against the plush cushion of his outer arm. “The way it… it moves?”

“Not really, it’s part of life,” said Otto mildly, squeezing his hand. “We have dandruff, they have this.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Archie, and Otto laughed lowly, wrapping one possessive hand around his waist, fingers splaying over the side of his torso.

“Well,” said Otto. “T-shots aren’t great for everything.”

Archie watched the way the spider moved in the tank. She moved slowly, delicately, and although she had too many legs, there was still something beautiful about her.

“You ever keep these?” asked Archie. “People do, right?”

“Yeah,” said Otto. “Not me, though — I like Roosevelt and Kennedy. I like how they move, like dancers. Spiders don’t move like that. Graceful, yeah, but it’s not the same — I used to watch documentaries about them while I was in the rehab centre. Chilled me out, stuck with me.”

They kept walking through the insect rooms, watched the ants, the other bugs, before they go to the other animals, the birds.

“I need to get some errands done,” said Otto. “See you tomorrow?”

“Errands?”

“Just some paperwork shit at my bank, but I have to go home and find the right stuff first — birth cert, deed poll, GRC, blah blah blah. You still want to get sushi after work?”

“Sure,” said Archie, and walked to get the bus home.

* * *

When he went into the kitchen the next morning, early in the morning, Otto and Hugo were already working. Sarah and Yiota were prepping too, so it wasn’t as though they were alone, but Hugo was standing back with his arms loosely crossed over his chest as Otto kneaded bread dough.

He was made for this. He was a big man with strong, heavy arms, and he slammed the dough down, worked it hard with flour up to his elbows, like it was nothing, like it was easy.

Archie was keenly aware he wasn’t the only one admiring the work of his arms, and he could see Hugo looking at the fat curve of Otto’s arse, too.

“Archibald,” said Hugo when he saw him. “Would you come sit down with me for a few minutes? I have some paperwork to go over with you.”

He wasn’t expecting it when Hugo showed him a scan of his will on his computer.

“Casper — ”

“Archibald,” said Hugo softly. “We’ve discussed this.”

“You don’t have to,” said Archie, stepping back. “Casper — ”

“Son,” said Hugo, and reached for him, touched his fingers against Archie’s cheek because Archie’s skin was wet. His fingertips were warm against Archie’s face, and Archie leaned into the touch despite himself, because no one had ever touched him in all his life the way Casper Hugo touched him, like he was something precious and valuable and worth holding delicately. “I’m not dying. It’s just paperwork.”

“You must be worried about it,” said Archie. “If you want it finalised now.”

“If it’s finalised, it’s arranged,” said Hugo simply. “If there’s an accident, if anything goes wrong, legally, all will be well. Don’t you worry, young man. I’ve no plans to die whatsoever.”

“Do I need to sign anything?” asked Archie quietly.

Hugo shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I’m just letting you know. I think you’re a very skilled young man, tremendously adept at your craft. When you own Lace, I’ve no doubt you shall manage it tremendously well — and so far into the future as I expect this will be, you shall no doubt have a host of head chefs to choose from.”

Archie felt like some invisible thread had tugged around his gut.

“I’ll be head chef,” he said. “I wouldn’t… Casper, I wouldn’t hand it off.”

There was an ever so slight catch in Hugo’s face before he smiled, patting Archie’s shoulder. “More than enough time to sort all that out,” he said.

“You don’t think I can be head chef?” asked Archie.

“Son, I didn’t say that,” said Hugo placatingly. “Merely that innovation as a chef isn’t just about impeccable technique or following instructions — you’re an incredible sous chef, and you have a tremendous understanding of marketing, but — ”

“But you don’t think I can innovate,” Archie said. “What, you think I’m not a fucking artist like you are? All these years I’ve been studying under you — ”

“Archibald,” said Hugo softly. “You ought know by now that not everything can be taught.”

Archie didn’t reply to that, couldn’t reply to that, felt so sick to his stomach he couldn’t stand it, and he threw himself into his work for the day.

* * *

“You’re in a mood,” said Otto that evening.

“Hugo showed me his will.”

“You’re gonna kill the old man?” asked Otto, raising his eyebrows, and Archie, with a low, irritated noise, shook his head.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

“Ain’t it good? That’s official, right? Officially you’re the fucking prince of the kingdom?”

“It wasn’t all he said, that’s all,” Archie murmured, and Otto reached for him, sliding his hands down Archie’s chest, loosely gripping him by the hips.

“Would my strap make you feel better?” he asked, voice husky.

Archie laughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Otto, it would.”

Otto doesn’t stay all night. He left after they showered, and Archie was left alone in the flat.

He texted Hugo.

10:12PM, ARCHIE: Sorry about today. Thanks. For everything.

10:13PM, HUGO: I’m sorry I upset you today. I love you too.

* * *

He was irritable in the coming weeks, and he knew he was. Every little thing pissed him off whether it should or not, and Hugo —

Hugo was still looking at Otto.

Archie was beginning to wonder if he should say something.

One morning, Otto was kneading bread dough as Archie did the stock take with Georges; Hugo was working on pastries, trying out a few new designs.

Archie hadn’t heard much while they were in the walk-in, but once they were in the pantry proper, he could.

“… historical fact. Arguments can be made as to the commonality, but it was undeniably an occurrence. Doctor James Barry is a notable example — he was a doctor of medicine. He did incredible work in the field of midwifery, which had been rather negatively impacted by the encroachment of men into the field, certain that they knew better than the women who had been successfully delivering babies through non-scientific means for centuries. Barry was known to be a womaniser, a boxer, but most of all he was a compassionate and skilled doctor, and his patients always sang his praises — he asked to be buried in the clothes he was wearing after his death, but of course, that instruction was resoundingly ignored. Thus, we know his secret.”

Archie wasn’t sure what Hugo was talking about, but Otto looked thoughtful about it, pensive.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess. I never thought much about it,” he said.

“Of course, the men that came before you hardly had the options you have today. You take testosterone, don’t you?”

“That’s right, yeah. I used to have this gel stuff I rubbed into my shoulders, but now my doc gives me a shot every month. It made my dick bigger.”

“Your — Really? I didn’t know it did that,” said Hugo, and Archie had to count the cocoa bags again.

“Oh, yeah. It’s a whole fucking mouthful now, old man. Talk about gourmet.”

Hugo laughed his salt-sweet laugh. “You enjoy that? I thought men like you might not… enjoy — ”

“Oh, I like having my dick sucked,” Otto said casually. Archie heard the loud thump of dough on the metal table. “Who doesn’t? But I’m not comforting having anything, uh, you know. In me. Or in my front hole, anyway — I like anal.”

“One must wonder how much that sort of thing applied, in times past.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dysphoria — particularly about the parts of the body, I mean, one way or another. In times past, a gentleman of means like myself might have worn a corset on his day to day, for example.”

“Fuck off,” said Otto, and Hugo laughed.

“It’s true!” he said. “Fashion has changed much in a few centuries — heeled shoes were intended for men, as well, at their outset. Corsets were quite commonly worn by men in the Victorian period. We think of skirts, particularly, as being for women, but that’s quite the modern idea — skirts were sensible fare for everyone, once upon a time, allowed for free movement, to keep cool. The things we consider to be gender markers apart from clothes, like a narrow waist against wide hips, or plump lips, or large eyes, they’re not objective considerations. They vary wildly from place to place, culture to culture, epoch to epoch.”

“Epoch,” repeated Otto.

“Epoch. An era, an age — a time period.”

“So, what,” said Otto, “you think a trans guy born two hundred years ago, who would’ve worn a corset, he would be glad to have wide hips and a narrow waist? That would have been masculine?”

“Could be,” said Hugo.

“Don’t know if that applies to not having a dick.”

“One never knows,” said Hugo. “In today’s world, one is exposed to far more — the internet alone is replete with photographs of other people’s genitals to compare to, but I expect at school, young man, you might even have learned about the so-called male and female anatomy, of one sort of genitals and another. A hundred years ago, on the other hand, one typically learned that sort of thing only once one was intimate with one’s partner, or someone else, at least. I hardly say that as a formal rule, of course, and again, culture plays a large part — a boy growing up in a whorehouse would like as not have a very different breadth of knowledge than one raised by a nanny in a country house.

“I just wonder if a young man in your position, two centuries or so to the day of your birth might not have so concerned himself with the shape of his genitals — it might not have occurred to him quite as hard-hittingly as it does to you, lacking so many points of comparison.”

Archie only heard the sound of dough hitting the table.

Quietly, apologetically, Hugo said, “I’ve upset you. I do apologise, young man. I was only musing out loud.”

“I’m not upset,” said Otto. “I’m thinking is all. Never thought about that before.”

“Not used to thinking, are you?” asked Hugo sympathetically.

They were both laughing when Archie stepped out of the pantry, because Otto had thrown flour at the old man, and the white powder was spattered over his cheek and his neck.

That night, as Archie sat and idly played a videogame, not really concentrating on it, listening to Otto putter about his kitchen, he realised that Otto was combing through the fresh herb and spice packets below the rack.

“The ones on the balcony are fresher,” said Archie.

“You can taste the difference?” asked Otto. His nose was buried in an open packet of fresh oregano, and he was holding a cannister of dried oregano in the other hand.

“For some of them,” said Archie. “Mostly it’s convenience. It’s texture as well as the rest — I can put dry basil into a sauce, but if I wanted basil leaves now, I’d want them fresh, so you could bite into them, taste them.”

Otto nodded. “It all smells so different, tastes so different. I just don’t know how you remember it all. What it’s called, what pairs together, what the fuck the difference is between varieties of thyme.”

Archie shrugged, chuckling. “You intuit, you experiment. Thought you weren’t interested in cooking?”

“I’m not,” said Otto.

Otto came to sit with him, picked Archie up and put him down again in his lap. He did it so easily that Archie felt a hot flush run up the back of his neck, and he leaned back against Otto’s huge, barrel chest, felt the heat of his belly.

“He didn’t make you uncomfortable, did he?”

“Chef Hugo? No. I like how he talks about it, actually. A lot of cis dudes get weird, especially old people — he talks like he gets it. Like he gets me.”

“What about me?”

“You don’t talk about it,” said Otto, putting his big chin on Archie’s shoulder, his chin sliding into the crook of his neck. “S’not like I mind. Not everything has to be talked about.”

“Do you think he wants to fuck you?”

“Hugo?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe,” said Otto, and shrugged. “But I’m fucking you.”

* * *

Archie went into work on a Thursday, the one night a week they were closed, because he’d left his bank card in his locker, to find the restaurant only mostly dimmed, some of the lights still on.

Otto was sitting at a table, a blindfold over his eyes, and Hugo was standing up beside him.

“Tastes oily, I guess,” Otto said. “It’s a nut, but it’s… greasier. Oilier. Not because it’s not dry, but the, um, the taste. Macadamia?”

“Good,” said Hugo.

Archie remembered the night that Hugo tried his palate like this, quizzed him. He remembered it being hard. A lot of the same ingredients were on the table in front of Otto now — different herbs and leaves, vegetables and meats, fruits, nuts, pastes.

As Archie stood there, shoulders leaned back in the corridor, he heard Hugo test him again, and again, and again, each time his voice getting richer, brighter with praise, because Otto got every single one right.

Because Otto, Otto, had a perfect fucking palate.

* * *

“You’re teaching the KP main recipes now,” Archie said a few weeks later, after Hugo had been doing the starfruit duck tutorial for Yiota, Sarah, Ralph… and Otto.

“The boy likes to learn,” said Hugo casually. “He’s in a kitchen now.”

“He’s here to wash dishes and clean equipment.”

“Now, now,” says Hugo quietly, frowning at him. “This is your boyfriend we’re talking about, hm? And he has skills, has potential — ”

“Is he who you have in mind for head chef when you’re dead?” demanded Archie. “Because I don’t fit the bill?”

“We’re not born with everything we might have,” said Hugo after a moment’s pause, his voice delicate and easy and soft. His conflict resolution voice. “Archibald — ”

“No,” snapped Archie. “Six years I’ve worked for you, devoted my life to this place, and you don’t tell me you think my palate’s shit?”

“I don’t think it’s shit,” said Hugo, his voice just as sharp, his eyes cold. “I think it’s adequate, and adequate is not enough. You need to be a little more realistic about your situation, I think.”

“If you think my palate is shit, train me — like you’re training him!”

“I could no more teach you to taste than I could teach a fingerless man to play piano,” said Hugo damningly. “I can only train what’s already there.”

“What’s already there is a fucking ex-junkie who spent a year in prison while I was in fucking culinary school!” He couldn’t believe how angry he was. The fury burned under his skin like it was going to set him alight. “And he has more potential?”

“It isn’t just potential. It’s his imagination, his palate, his lack of fear — ”

“Fuck off.”

“I told you to stop smoking, which helped,” said Hugo mildly. “But you’d need a new tongue to taste what you cannot taste now — and even had a cigarette never touched your lips, Otto was born with what he has. Not all tongues taste the same, and not all brains process that capacity in the same way either. You might as well be jealous of another man’s fingerprints, young man, because it will be just as productive.”

“I want to be like you,” said Archie. “I’ve always fucking dreamed of being like you, have worked all my life for it, and you want to pass all of that onto him when he’s never — ”

“What? Earned it?” demanded Hugo.

“Well, I’m an ex-junkie prison whore, aren’t I, boss?” asked Otto from the door to the office, arms crossed over his chest, and Archie felt his blood run cold as he turned to look at him. Otto was looking at Archie in utter disgust before looking back to the old man. “We good for four-thirty?”

“Yes, Otto,” said Hugo softly. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” started Archie, but Otto shook his head.

“No, I got what you meant,” he said bluntly. “I don’t deserve it. This place is all yours, blah fucking blah. It’s not hard to fucking grasp. G’night.”

When he left, Hugo sighed.

“I expect he’ll soften with an apology,” he murmured. “He knew it wasn’t personal.”

“It is personal,” said Archie.

“Oh?” asked Hugo, and for the first time in a long while, he looked at Archie with real, genuine disappointment on his features. “For his sake, then, break up.”

* * *

Archie did apologise.

He apologised in the first instance on his knees for about two hours.

After, lying against Otto’s chest with an ice pack against his jaw, he said, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did,” said Otto. “Posh little fuck like you, you think you deserve everything.”

“I’ve worked hard to be where I am,” said Archie.

“So have I,” said otto. “You think it was easy spending a year locked up in a women’s prison? Getting clean, not getting in fights? I’ve worked hard too.”

“But you never dreamed of this,” said Archie.

Otto sighed and put his face into Archie’s hair, rubbed his nose into it. “Nah,” he agreed. “That fucking sucks for you. It’s not my fault that I have what you want any more than the other way around.”

“Want to swap tongues?” asked Archie.

“Only if we can swap everything else,” said Otto, and grabbed at Archie through his trousers, making him arch and groan. “I’d use this better than you do.”

“He teaches you?” asked Archie.

“Yeah. He tests me a lot. Teaches me about techniques, gets me to taste stuff. Has me reading books about meditation, shit like that.”

Archie frowned, glancing up at his face. “Meditation?”

“Has something to do with studying, memory retention,” said Otto, waving a hand. “He wants me to be able to reach a meditative state so I can, uh, delve inside myself for rich memories, or some faggy shit like that.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” said Otto, and Archie laughed. “I sleep better, though. Sleep deeper. And I feel, uh, I don’t know. Calmer… More in-tune with shit. The old man is a witch, right? He’s into that stuff?”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” said Archie. “He’s just superstitious. Believes in crystals and powers and things like that.”

“Seems like bullshit,” said Otto.

“Men like it,” said Archie. “He uses it as an opening gambit when he meets men in pubs, does a magic trick or tells them facts about what people used to believe.”

“Huh,” murmured Otto. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“He did that with me, that’s all. Told me that some people would leave beer and alcohol out to appease local spirits and fae and shit, and all about contracts people have with faeries and shit in their areas. Started musing about what they’d think of craft beers.”

Archie twisted in his lap, and grunted as he moved the icepack, pushing it back up against his jaw as he looked at him. “What? When?”

“When I met him,” said Otto. “I was in a bar, tried to swipe his cocktail when he wasn’t looking — it looked expensive, had a load of different liqueurs in it. He said if I could tell him what I tasted in it he’d not tell security and buy me one of my own. We talked.”

“What could you possibly have to talk about?” asked Archie.

Otto raised an eyebrow at him, and Archie let out an irritable sound. “I don’t mean it like — You don’t need to have such a chip on your shoulder about being poor, you know.”

“We talked about food,” said Otto, a little coldly. “Cocktails. How he likes to cook. I had a badge on, a trans pride flag, he asked about it. He was flirting with some guys ’til I came over, but then he turned all business. Offered me the porter job.”

“Because you stole his drink,” muttered Archie.

“He saw something in me, I guess,” said Otto. “Same as he saw something in you. That’s a bad thing?”

“No.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of course I’m fucking jealous.”

“Strap make you feel better?”

“Would it kill you to let me top once in a while?” Archie retorted, and Otto laughed.

“No,” he said. “But given what a bottom bitch you are, I thought I was doing you a favour. You want my ass, have at it.”

“Sorry,” said Archie lowly. “I’m just — Moody.”

“Yeah,” said Otto. “I got that. How’s the jaw?”

“Hurts.”

“Good.”

“Bed?”

“Yeah.”

Otto did sleep more deeply than he used to, it seemed to Archie. It was almost hard to wake him up again in the morning.

* * *

It wasn’t that they were keeping it secret before, but Archie was fairly sure that Hugo was keeping it subtle. It’s that that he was being obvious now — he was just not not being obvious.

He started by being less gentle with Otto rather than more — corrected his posture, his technique, told him to stop when he was doing something wrong sharply, and expected him to know how to set it right.

Otto bristled at first, didn’t understand why Hugo was being such a bitch all of a sudden, but Archie saw it for what it was — a commitment to Otto’s value. Respect.

Hugo had high expectations, and once he knew you were capable of meeting them, he kept you at that level and higher. Archie knew this, had always been grateful for it.

It grated to see it aimed at Otto, and see Otto rise to the occasion.

When Otto went away for a weekend with an old friend, to help him through some crisis or other, Hugo said on their night off, “Let’s go somewhere, you and I, Archibald. Just you and I.”

They ended up, after dinner, in a very quiet little speakeasy with an exclusive clientele — the sort of place Archie was only permitted entry to as an extension of Hugo.

They sipped at different cocktails, and Hugo said, “You know I love you, don’t you? More than anything.”

The old man was a little tipsy, was gesticulating a little more with his strong fingers, which were decorated with rings — he never wore them in the kitchen, but he had a few of them, many of them old, family heirlooms. It occurred to Archie that Hugo had probably willed these to him too, and he felt a desperate dread burn in his belly.

“I love you too,” said Archie. “Promise me you won’t die, Casper.”

“Never,” promised Hugo, tapping Archie’s knee with the tip of his fancy shoe.

He was a funny man, Casper Hugo. Archie’d never known a man with a wardrobe like this — he actually wore waistcoats and jackets, kept garters around his ankles so that his socks stayed up, sometimes wore spats. He had his nipples pierced, Archie knew, and they’d laughed about it before.

“I always dreamed of becoming like you,” said Archie. “My whole life, since I was a child, but now I know you, Casper, you’re not just a vague hero to me, you’re — ”

“I know,” said Hugo quietly, and he exhaled slowly, spreading out one hand. He had a slightly cloudy look in his eyes, and Archie wondered if he was drunker than he’d thought. “It’s a terrible thing,” he said at length, quietly enough that Archie wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear it, “to be limited by the realities of the body one was born with. I do believe you’ve a creative mind, Archibald, I really do. Merely… Ah.”

“I’m just not creative enough.”

“It’s the physical aspect that holds you back more, I think,” said Hugo. “I adored you already before I ever tested your palate — and when I did, and found you wanting… How could I tell you you weren’t tasting the subtleties you ought?”

“It’s not fair,” muttered Archie.

“No,” Hugo agreed. “So many things, dearest boy, are not. But look at what you do have — intelligence, grace, a handsome face, a dangerous wit, impeccable culinary skills… And let’s not pretend you haven’t made fine recipes, haven’t added to Lace’s menu.”

“But it’s never been something amazing,” muttered Archie. “Something — Something sublime. Something that makes the reviewers rave. It’s always just been… something nice. An amuse-bouche or a side dish that pairs well.”

“Without the milder aspects to a plate, the more intense of them hardly stand out,” said Hugo delicately. “I do hate to see you unhappy. I hate that I’m the cause of it.”

“Are you training Otto to be a chef?”

“Yes.”

“For me?” asked Archie.

“For me,” said Hugo. “But for you, by extension. Perhaps you’ll marry him.”

Archie scoffed. “You never got married. Why should I?”

“Well, I’m hardly an excuse,” said Hugo chidingly. “I��ve never met the right man. Or been the right one, for that matter.”

Archie sipped at his cocktail, tasting the cream liqueur in it, the cocoa thickness to it, the hint of raspberry sharpness, the coffee bean. It was perfectly balanced, sweetness and cream and bitterness, tasted wonderful.

He wondered how differently it would taste in someone else’s mouth — like Hugo’s mouth.

Like Otto’s.

“All my life, and I’ve never met a man like you, you know,” said Hugo. “You’re driven, focused. You learn anything put before you like… That.” He snapped his fingers.

“But some things can’t be taught,” said Archie bitterly.

Hugo sighed. “No, son. Some things simply cannot.”

“Do you want to fuck him?” Archie asked.

Hugo blinked at him. “Fuck whom?”

“Otto.”

“Oh,” said Hugo, and frowned, considering the question. Archie was impatient, but the fact that Hugo was actually thinking about it was something. “Is curiosity the same as want?”

“I guess not.”

“What if you fuck someone not because you want to fuck them, but because you wish for the outcome it will bring about? Do you think that counts as wanting to fuck them, or is it just…” Hugo trailed off.

He did this, sometimes, got into the semantics or the specifics of a question, tore it to pieces like a little dog with a piece of cloth, and forgot what the question was asking in the first place.

It made Archie smile.

“You’ve gone off topic, old man,” he said, and Hugo blinked at him, smiled with affection.

“Have I?” he asked. His tone was one of mild irony, because even drunk, he carried a certain self-awareness.

“I like him a lot,” said Archie. “Otto. I just wish he came from something… better. It wouldn’t grate as much, if he did.”

“Sometimes, young man, it’s not about where we come from so much as where we’re going,” said Hugo. “For example, I might be going over there, to those two handsome young men in tight t-shirts. I expect they have to butter their thighs to slide into those jeans.”

“How predictable.”

Suddenly serious, Hugo leaned forward, and said, “Everything that is within my power, Archibald, I am prepared to give to you readily. You understand that, don’t you?” He was looking at Archie very intently, if not fervently, so intensely Archie can’t stand it.

“Yeah,” Archie whispered. “Thank you.”

The night ended with Archie driving Hugo back to his old — several-hundred-year-old — townhouse and pouring him up the stairs. Hugo had a distinctive walk — he always was just slightly bow-legged, but very precise, like a cowboy trained in dance.

Archie helped him take his shoes and waistcoat off, and the old man dropped into his bed mostly clothed.

As Archie undid his cufflinks, Hugo said, “Have I told you I love you recently, young man?”

“No,” lied Archie, smiling. “You never mention it.”

Eyes closed, lips smiling, Hugo murmured, “Well, I do.”

Life went on.

* * *

Some days, as ever, Archie spent time one-on-one with Hugo, talking about Lace, about the menu, their direction. And some days, Hugo taught the rest of the brigade, and Otto was included.

And sometimes, he tutored Otto alone.

It did seem to Archie that Otto was taking it more seriously, cooking as a whole, and he expected it to make him feel more jealous, but he was pleased, actually. Some evenings, he’d come home and find Otto buried in a recipe book, or some massive tome about culinary history, studying.

It was nice.

It was nice to feel like Otto was interested in actually being worth something, not just being a KP or picking up some other shitty manual labour job, and Otto asked him more questions, too, engaged more.

He cooked more, too.

But he was —

Some nights, he was distracted.

It was like he zoned out in a way he never used to, staring into some point in the middle distance and suddenly not seeming to hear or be aware of anything, so buried in his thoughts that Archie had to physically touch him to snap him out of it.

He almost asked if he was using again, but he didn’t know enough about drugs to know which ones made you do that, and it wasn’t just that, anyway.

He got a little clumsier when he was tired, tripped more, knocked himself more.

“You know it’s not like normal, right?” Archie asked one evening.

“Yeah,” muttered Otto. “I don’t know, it’s like I just… I don’t know. I’m just clumsier now, when I’m tired. Maybe it’s because I’m working longer hours.”

“You should see your GP,” Archie said worriedly.

He didn’t do that. At Hugo’s insistence, after Archie went to him and begged him to do something, Otto was ushered off to Hugo’s own doctor, who did a battery of tests on him, even an MRI, to say… Yes, you’re a bit overtired, and you need to boost your iron intake somewhat, but there’s no other problems.

Archie didn’t understand how he could possibly be tired.

When Otto slept these days, he slept like the dead.

* * *

“You’d tell me if you thought you were dying, wouldn’t you?” Archie asked one morning, when he and Hugo were alone in Hugo’s kitchen, experimenting with macarons.

Archie’s had all come out technically perfect, but even the best-tasting ones didn’t make Hugo beam.

“Archibald,” said Hugo quietly. “We all die someday.”

“I saw how quick your private GP answered the phone for you. Not even two rings.”

“I’m a rich man — money buys these things.”

Archie looked at the old man flatly over the counter, and Hugo sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Try this, would you?”

It was a lemon macaron delicately balanced with something spiced, and it was delicious.

“Do you know what’s in it?” asked Hugo richly — not pointedly, but because he was in a good mood.

When Archie hesitated, Hugo rushed to say. He felt like he was carrying weights in his gut.

* * *

Otto spent more time with the old man, lately. He studied more, practised more. When one of the line chefs took a week’s holiday, Otto stepped into the brigade — he was quick, had good reflexes, and while his techniques weren’t perfect, he nailed the taste every time.

He spent all night with Hugo, sometimes.

Archie began to worry again.

That same day, before Archie had asked the question, Hugo had toured him about the house, showed him pictures of his ancestors, photographs of the old owners of Lace, even a painting of the restaurant when it opened in the late 1800s, so different to what it was now.

He’d told Archie all this before, but he was more detailed now, more passionate.

Maybe that was why he asked.

Into Archie, it seemed like Hugo was trying to pour his whole personality, his history, his life; into Otto, his skills, his body of work, his palate.

He wondered what it would look like, if he did marry Otto. He wasn’t like Hugo, wasn’t worried about people marketing him as a gay chef even if it wasn’t true — it was popular these days, transgressive in a way that was marketable, and there’d be extra points with Otto being trans.

Otto wasn’t the sort of person he’d ever imagined himself marrying — who could he even bring to the wedding party? — but he was nice, attractive, good in bed, funny, and he would be a good chef.

He was on his way there already.

It wasn’t the same as what he wanted, not the same as having a spouse — probably a wife, when he was thinking of it vaguely — to just support him while he took centre stage, but it was… close. As close as he could realistically get.

And as much as Archie hated it, if Hugo thought it was the best he could do, he believed him.

It was a night Archie wasn’t supposed to be working, after closing — he’d come to pick Otto up and drive him home, because Otto had never learned to drive. The kitchen was clean and tidy, but the lights were still on, and Archie heard a stifled groan.

He knew what he’d see as soon as he looked through the kitchen window and into the darkened dining room — except that he was wrong.

He expected to see Otto on top of Hugo, or something. Instead, he saw Otto on a dining chair, thighs apart, Hugo between his legs. Hugo wasn’t just using his mouth — he was using his fingers, and Archie could see at a glance that it wasn’t just anal.

The first thing he felt was jealousy, indignation, because Otto had always told him he didn’t like that, to be touched there, that he didn’t want it, and yet here —

Otto was enjoying himself.

Archie could see that, could see how one of his hands was gripping tightly in Hugo’s thinning hair — it would probably be streaked with white, if the old man wasn’t shallow, and always had it professionally dyed.

Otto’s moans came from low in his throat. He’d never moaned like that for Archie.

He wondered if Otto let Hugo do everything, if he let Hugo fuck him, and fuck him from the front, not just the back. He wondered why he was too cowardly to ask, and shuffled to sit in the car, wait for Otto to say he was done and ready to get picked up.

* * *

Hugo texted them both, one night, asked if one of them would help him put up some flatpack furniture at the house.

Archie was midway through experiments with bread, up to his elbow.

Otto said, “I’ll go,” and he couldn’t argue.

What he could do, though, was hurriedly clean his hands off, toss all his bread in the bin, and follow Otto to Hugo’s townhouse.

He let himself in.

He had his own key, had for years, and Hugo didn’t believe in having a security system — he always liked to say, however vaguely, that he had his own systems in place.

Superstitious old man.

Archie had told him before that hanging crystals and symbols painted under the wallpaper were not sufficient to protect him from burglaries or home invasion, and Hugo always waved him off — right now, Archie supposed he was glad he never listened.

He could hear them in the next room, hear the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, hear Otto moaning, as Archie stood in the corridor. He didn’t peer around the open door to look — he didn’t need to.

Hugo believed in the “protective power” of mirrors — whatever the fuck that meant — and you could see around every corner in the big old house via the mirrors on the walls.

At a strange angle, he saw Otto fallen back into an armchair, Hugo driving into him.

There were tattoos under Hugo’s neck, between his shoulders, that Archie had never seen before, and he focused on those because Otto is wailing out a sound Archie had never heard before, arms wrapped tight around Hugo’s neck, pulling him close to him.

Archie couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like, fucking into him like that, and his fingers twitched at his sides because he wanted —

Otto howled, and Hugo moaned at the same time, his hips starting to slow.

“Fuck,” said Otto as Hugo pulled away, falling back in the tall chair, and Hugo laughed quietly.

Otto looked guilty, seconds after. His mouth twisted, his eyes downcast.

“Oh, darling,” purred Hugo, stroking his cheek. “What is there to be guilty about?”

“He’s baking bread right now. Nice bread. For me. And I’m here — ”

“Tomorrow we may die, young man,” said Hugo. “A little hedonism may be all you get.”

Otto looked —

“Tired?” asked Hugo. “I had heard orgasms could be tremendously soporific, but…”

“Just a little nap,” said Otto exhaustedly, in the way he’d been getting recently, where he suddenly got so tired he needed to sit down. “I’ll do your shelf after.”

“There’s no shelf, Otto,” said Hugo dryly, but Otto’s head had already fallen back against the armchair’s head.

Hugo was almost fully clothed, and as he fell back onto the sofa beside them, ankles crossing over one another, he zipped his trousers back up.

Otto was naked. Sweat glistened on his skin, soaking through his binder. Archie was aware in a distant, even more desperately humiliated, jealous stroke of understanding that Hugo hadn’t even been wearing a condom.

He needed to go.

He knew he needed to go, Archie knew he needed to go, needed to —

Otto’s eyes were open. Archie felt himself stop, his lips parting in surprise, at the way Otto leaned forward, not seeming tired at all. He rolled his neck, blinking a few times, but in the mirror, Otto looked wide awake. Had he been faking it?

Why would he?

He watched silently as Otto got to his feet and began picking up his clothes.

He didn’t pull them back on, just folded them neatly and put them on top of the coffee table in a little pile, picked his shoes up and put them down together, straightened things on the coffee table that had been knocked around.

It surprised Archie, because Otto wasn’t a neat guy by nature — he left everything thrown around, and Hugo was always telling him off for not having a neat workspace in the kitchen; Archie was always telling him off for leaving clothes on the floor.

Was he seriously respecting Hugo’s space, but not his?

Otto picked up the phone on the table and sent off a text: when Archie’s phone vibrated, he was terrified Otto had heard it in the next room, but he didn’t seem to have.

HUGO, 8:17PM: Your young man is working assiduously. I shall have him back to you before 10, I expect.

Archie stared down at the text, and then slowly looked to Otto in the mirror as he moved to pick up a book.

He had a bow-legged, dancer’s walk.

Otto opened the book to a bookmark and opened it up as though he’d been reading it a while. He poured himself wine — Otto hated wine — and sipped at it as he paged through, still naked.

On the sofa, Hugo looked deeply asleep, still on the cushioned surface, but he was breathing.

Archie was being ridiculous. He knew he was, that he was just confused, that it had to be a coincidence, all of it.

He went home.

Instead of bread, he worked on short pastry.

When Otto came back, a little after quarter past ten, he was being clumsy again — he stumbled twice on the step, and knocked into one of the doorways by the shoulder. He looked exhausted.

“How was the shelf?” asked Archie.

“Oh,” said Otto, and looked confused for a second. Archie would have assumed, if he hadn’t gone, that it was because he’d been fucking Hugo instead of doing it, but it wasn’t that — he was a better liar than that.

Otto looked blank because he didn’t remember.

How much did he remember? Did he remember anything at all?

“Yeah,” he said after a second. “Sorry. It went up fine, just another bookshelf, I guess. You know what the old man is like. No bread?”

“I tossed it,” said Archie. “Thought I’d put myself into something else.”

He felt sick once he’d said it, but Otto didn’t seem to notice, didn’t respond, didn’t flinch.

He just looked disappointed, and said, “I like your bread.”

A few hours later, when they were in bed together, Archie asked, “Do you ever have dreams, Otto?”

“Not really. Never used to remember them often, and now I don’t at all.”

“You never dream of anything?” he asked.

Otto frowned, thinking about it carefully. “Some days, I guess I dream I’m not anything,” he said thoughtfully, brow furrowed. “Like I’m… I don’t know how to describe it. Like I’m suspended in space, or air, or something. Weightless, like gas. But it’s not anything more than that — just a feeling, really.”

Archie said, “Right.”

Otto’s head hit the pillow heavily, and he was out like a light. Archie convinced himself, somehow, that if he fell asleep Hugo would pilot Otto’s body around the flat, and the thought kept him up for half an hour before he succumbed to sleep.

He remembered when he’d first met Hugo, how quickly Hugo had taken him in, started training with him, working with him. They’d been fast friends, and he’d been a little nervous at first that the old men had ulterior motives, but that had never factored into it.

Even when the both of them were drunk, Hugo had never tried to touch him anywhere below the belt, didn’t touch him at all for years unless Archie initiated it.

Not that Archie was entirely shallow, but he’d never really let himself take after a man more than ten years older than him — he’d hesitate at five.

It was just gauche, really, and looked terrible even if you weren’t pretending to lust after an older guy to get a leg up, and if you weren’t doing it to get a leg up, why do it at all?

But Hugo never expected that from him, never seemed even to dream of it.

“You remind me of myself, at your age,” he remembered Hugo saying to him once. “Young, hungry, clever and eager to learn, not about to be held back by anyone else’s rules or expectations. They don’t often make young men like you are, like I was, anymore, Archibald.”

Hugo had given him a few books about the magic he was interested in, about meditation, but none of them seemed to deal with anything like this. He’d given him mirrors, but Archie already knew there were symbols painted on their backs, and even more painted on the hidden inside of the glass, because Hugo had showed him.

He’d said they were protective, that they were intended to make sure nothing happened to Archie, that they were the same sort of mirrors he had in his own house, and please, Archibald, just keep one in each room, please? For me? You needn’t believe in it, but I do, and it brings me comfort to think of you as safe.

He searched it online.

Nothing useful came up, just page after page of horror stories, stuff that seemed superstitious the way Hugo always talked about when he was prompted to, but not based in the reality Hugo seemed to live in. It was all fiction, and if it wasn’t that, it was bollocks.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked Otto one day, as Otto was lying on his side, staring into space.

“Okay?” said Otto.

“About — about you. About being trans.”

“Oh,” said Otto, and met his gaze. “You’ve noticed.”

Archie hesitated. “Maybe.”

Otto sat up on his elbows, looking at him for a moment, and then said quietly, “Yeah, I just… I don’t know. I just feel a bit better recently. More at home in my own skin — or maybe just less attached to it? Less worried. I don’t feel as anxious as I used to.”

Archie didn’t let himself react. “That’s good,” he said. “Right?”

Otto smiled at him. “Yeah, he murmured. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ve been spending a lot more time at mine,” said Archie. “If you want. Bring Roosevelt and Kennedy, I don’t mind.”

Otto tilted his head, blinking at him. “Who?” he asked.

Archie wondered in the moment if he was even talking to Otto at all.

“Oh, right,” said Otto, laughing, running a hand through his hair. “Um, no, I gave them away. I’m working much longer hours now, didn’t have time to look after them.”

“But you love stick insects,” said Archie.

“I love cooking,” Otto replied, and he sounded like he meant it, and Archie wondered if it was true, and if it was, when it had become true. If it would be true, if it wasn’t for… All this.

“Can you, um, can you help me take the big mirror off the wall? The one in the kitchen?”

Otto blinked again. “Okay,” he said. “Why?”

“Oh, I want to ask Hugo about it,” Archie said.

Otto was on his feet, but he was still confused — he was feigning confusion, Archie thought. Otto’s gait was bow-legged and graceful at once.

“He paints symbols on the backs of his mirrors — on the backs of all mine, too. He’s teaching me so much, recently. I guess I’d like for him to teach me about this, too.”

“Aw. That’s cute,” said Otto.

Not Otto.

He was aware of Otto the rest of the evening, Otto reading, Otto dozing, Otto tasting herbs on the balcony. It was nothing unusual. It was what he’d been doing in the evenings now for months — he didn’t play videogames as much anymore, didn’t have his stick insects, didn’t go to AA meetings.

They didn’t go to the zoo anymore, and come to think if it, it had been months since they’d watched a creepy bug documentary.

Archie couldn’t stand it.

“I’m going to take a walk,” said Archie. “You want anything from the shop?”

“No thanks,” said Otto, not looking up from his book. Sitting next to him was a glass of dry white wine, the sort of stuff Otto would have spat out if he’d been given it a year ago.

Archie drove straight to Lace.

* * *

Hugo was in his office chair in front of his computer, and Otto walked right up to him, lolled back in his seat, “asleep”, and put his hand on his shoulder to wake him up.

The shoulder was cold and stiff under his hand, and he saw his horrified expression in the mirror on the wall, the same way he saw Hugo’s corpse, slack-jawed and empty, right in front of him.

Otto, behind him, with a new accent, said, “Too late, Archibald,” and Archie turned to look at him.

“The mirrors have always been a sort of insurance,” said the man who was no longer Otto, closing the door and locking it with a neat click. He moved slowly, deliberately, but he wasn’t hiding his strange dancing cowboy’s walk — he hadn’t been hiding it before, tonight. He’d known that Archie had known — for how long?

Archie’s heart was beating rabbit-fast in his chest, and he couldn’t breathe.

Otto always slouched as much as his binder would let him, but Hugo wearing his body didn’t, walked very tall so that Otto’s body seemed even larger than it ever had been.

“You know those little myths and stories about ghosts being trapped in mirrors? There’s a common understanding one ought cover the mirrors after a death in the house, else a spirit can become trapped whilst trying to leave out of a window, and this concept is not dissimilar. One can organise that sort of spirit-trap to prevent oneself from dying in one’s entirety, if one doesn’t like to be caught short.”

“Casper — ”

“You’re frightened of me,” said Hugo softly. Otto’s face looked sad in a dignified way that didn’t quite match his features. “That hurts.”

“This is sick,” said Archie. “This is, this is sick, this can’t possibly be fucking real. Casper, it’s not fucking right, that’s… You… Where’s Otto?”

“Right here.”

“Trapped,” said Archie, feeling sick. “That’s what you said, right? A spirit trap?”

Hugo shook Otto’s head.

“Weightless,” he said pleasantly, and Archie never knew that Otto’s voice could carry such caramel-salted sweetness. “Weightless, bodiless, painless, thoughtless. No more suffering for young Otto, no more difficulties, dysphoria, cravings, none of it. No more… stress.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I think you’ll find I can, my dearest boy,” said Hugo. “I did, after all.”

He was getting closer. Archie felt light-headed.

“When I was born,” said Hugo softly, deliberately, “there were so many things I couldn’t do, wasn’t permitted to do. A young lady of means, of class — I was expected to marry, be a broodmare for some ugly man with half my brains and none of my ambition.”

Archie stared at him.

“And when I began pursuing magic, I realised that my spouse, as stupid as he was, so lacking in everything of value… could be useful. He had a gentleman’s title, a gentleman’s name. The penis was by the by, but I found once I had it that I liked that too.”

Hugo was standing very close now, leaning into Archie’s space and all but pinning him against the wall, his belly, his chest, pressed hot against Archie’s own. Archie was searingly aware of Otto’s body, its strength, in a way he never had been before, and his cock was half-hard. He told himself it was just terror.

“I did miss it, sometimes, though,” murmured Hugo. “I was a man on my terms, in my own body, long before I took somebody else’s… And then somebody else’s.”

Hugo’s — Otto’s! Otto’s! — hands were cupping Archie’s face, and he was leaning in close. He smelt like Hugo’s cologne and Otto’s deodorant, and Archie couldn’t breathe.

“And then somebody else’s,” Hugo went on. “Because I’m like you, Archibald. I want what I want, and I’m patient about wanting it, but what I want, I take.”

Hugo kissed him, and Archie felt hot and cold all over, head almost bursting, but then Hugo lifted him hard by the hips and Archie, giddy and dizzy and so terrified he couldn’t think straight, kissed him back.

“No,” he whimpered against Hugo’s mouth. “No, no, no, you can’t, you can’t do this, I don’t want it — ”

“Want me to show you how to put it right?” he asked lowly, deliberately. He squeezed Archie’s arse, and Archie moaned. “I can teach you, you know. How to drive me out of Otto’s body, how to kill me, and bring Otto back.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” said Archie. “I just — But you can’t do this, you can’t steal his body, you can’t.”

“You wouldn’t have known, you know,” said Hugo quietly, stroking his knuckles over Archie’s cheek. “I would have kept it from you until you were ready. I would have slipped into Otto like a hot bath, and I would have invited you into me for years on years before I made this little revelation, but you impressed me, Archibald. You looked. You paid attention. You connected the dots despite your ignorance, and I thought perhaps you might be ready now.”

“Ready? How the fuck could I ever be ready? When you’ve been — when you’ve been planning this from the start when…” Archie’s stomach flipped, and he stared at Hugo’s face that wasn’t his. “Since the start,” he repeated.

“I loved you the very moment I saw you,” said Hugo.

“No,” Archie moaned, and then moaned louder at Hugo’s squeezing hands on his arse. “No, no — ”

“If you hate me so much, dear boy, I’ll show you how to drive me out,” Hugo offered again. “Into a mirror, into that old corpse, where I’ll surely wither away and die again — ”

“Someone else,” gasped out Archie. “Not Otto.”

“Why not Otto? Like you said, he’s almost nothing. Not without me in him, anyway.”

“You can’t just steal someone’s body, someone’s life.”

“Make up your mind, young man. Can I steal no one’s body, or can I just not steal Otto’s?”

Archie powerlessly shook his head. “You can’t steal anyone’s,” he said.

“What about you?”

“What the fuck about me? You want my body too?”

“You’ll never be anything with a tongue like yours,” said Hugo. “No palate to speak of, barely any sense of subtlety. Enough to know what tastes good, but not quite to intuit why. Imagine, dearest boy, if you could have somebody else’s.”

For a moment, it was like the world stopped spinning — it was like the universe stopped spinning, and he and Hugo were the only people in it.

Otto’s voice came, laughing Hugo’s caramel chuckle. “There,” he said. “That’s why I love you.”

Archie was still for a long few seconds.

“You could be taller, if you wanted,” said Hugo quietly, in a low, quiet purr. “Stronger. You could have different hair, different eyes — and a good, strong tongue.”

Hugo. Otto.

His hand was sliding over Archie’s chest, and every inch of Archie’s skin felt alive and sensitive.

“My plan was to get you used to the idea,” he murmured. “Let you suffer in the shade of Otto’s spotlight before you realised you could share it. But you know now — we can prepare you now. And you can have everything you ever wanted.”

Archie opened his mouth to retort, but Otto’s hand, Hugo’s hand, gripped him by the wrist and pulled it to cup him through his trousers, so that Archie could feel where he was wet and wanting.

Archie swallowed.

“Yes,” purred Hugo. “You can have at that, too. I can barely remember what it feels like — but I remember I miss it.”

“You picked him for me,” whispered Archie. “Otto.”

“Yes,” Hugo murmured. “And for me, by extension. Honestly, I had no idea how lucky we’d be with him — no family, barely any friends. It was rather like Christmas.”

“It’s my dream,” said Archie. “It’s always been my… And I’ve worked hard. I don’t want to be held back by something I couldn’t even choose.”

“Exactly,” said Hugo, and shoved his own corpse onto the floor, pulling out the office chair and pushing Archie into it.

“I’ve worked hard. For years, for my whole life — ”

“And you’re ready to work hard for years more, for the rest of your life,” agreed Hugo. “You deserve this. You’ve earned it.”

“And… And Otto…”

“Doesn’t even know,” said Hugo. “Doesn’t even know to know. And really, who’s worth more to you? You’ve known me for years, know I’ve got so much more to teach you. What can Otto offer?”

He was sliding his trousers down, and Archie, mouth dry, stared.

“I love you,” said Hugo softly. “Unconditionally — for all you are, for all that sweet ambition. I won’t hold you back, won’t cry that you’re overstepping your boundaries. Boundaries aren’t for the likes of us, my dear.”

Archie could argue.

He could. He knew he could. But — but all that jealousy, all his nerves about Otto, and the whole time, Hugo was doing it for him?

He felt breathless, overwhelmed. Scared, but not… bad.

“I’ll never die so long as you want me here,” Hugo promised, climbing into Archie’s lap, and Archie put his hands on his hips, slid them between his thighs.

Otto didn’t slap his hands away: Hugo sighed and spread them wider, inviting Archie to touch.

Hugo leaned in and whispered in his ear, “And you won’t die either.”

Archie unbuckled his jeans.

“I love you, you know,” murmured Hugo, his eyes agleam. “Have I told you that lately?”

Archie kissed him as Hugo dropped further into his lap, and that sufficed for his answer.

FIN.

#musings #the magnus archives #original fiction #writers on tumblr #trans fiction

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felixravinstills · 3 months ago

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im going to rebel and say ⭐️ because i absolutely DO want to hear u go one about dogfighting or whatever thing u come up with thanks !

ask game

sorry, I took a while. I had to like... keep my thoughts coherent. Hopefully I suceeded.

I actually won't be focusing on dogfighting (everyone cheered). I will still talk about Cave Canem Edit, because no one wants to talk about that fic. (I get it though... it made me sad. which is why no dogfighting focus.) I touch on this stuff in my author's note (my ANs are really like... my director's commentary half the time), but I am elaborating on my thoughts a lot more (hopefully).

I feel like most of my fics have me very focused on thinking in a character's head, but this one was truly meant to be a Festus Creed character study through dogfighting (as it says in the summary).

Personally, after my research, not a big fan of dogfights (wow what a controversial and brave stance), but I do think that they kind of instill a kind of code of honor to how Festus navigates competition (see this as expanding into having to run/make decisions for the Creed businesses). He would appreciate and admire good competition. For him, there maybe unspoken rules of engagement (like those deserving of admiration are not destroyed in the aftermath of a loss).

Festus' odd view of honorable competition also kind of works well with my interpretation of Persephone who (as I am sure you will remember) in Pelops' Shoulder fully believes that friendly competition for Festus' affection is totally plausible between herself and Artemisia, even going so far as to be actively trying to befriend Artemisia and encouraging her to not give up her pursuit as the other girl begins pulling away.

Also in my mind, while his perspective on Coral is fairly dehumanizing in this fic (comparing her to a fighting dog), there is a part of him that has to identify strongly with her to compare her to one of his fighting dogs. I think it makes sense that he would sour a bit to the idea of the Games because of her death. It's also potentially why he'd lowkey resent the dramatics of the future Games.

While his view of Felix is more positive than Coral (he does not not directly (through metaphor. I made him only use simile with Felix) compare him to an animal), I do think that in this fic, Festus sees Felix as someone he needs to guide and take care of (remember that they became friends/bonded closer in University in my headcanoning of this universe). There is kind of a dehumanizing in that... Seeing him as needing steering. <- obviously there are benign mentor figures who guide people but paired with his annoyance with Felix throughout, my intention was kind of like an impression that Felix's hopelessness in Festus' eyes means that Felix kind of needs him which while a pretty okay sentiment, can feel a little insulting and diminishes Felix's agency (especially paired with lost duckling comparison in the fic).

I think Festus is generally has good intentions and means well with most of his interactions, but in this fic, I was exploring how maybe it can also tip to the negative. Good intentions does not actually mean knowing what's best for someone. Taking Felix to the dogfight is an example of that (Pippa was right).

Another thing that I mention in the author's note is that this fic tries to explore this section in Tu Fui, Ego Eris more:

Coriolanus can feel the sharp tug on the back of his head from when Festus Creed had grabbed a fistful of his hair, trying to bring Coriolanus closer to strangle or strike him. [...] Coriolanus never quite figured whether he'd heard about Felix from Vipsania or Lysistrata.

I'm still not decided if in my more canon fics if I want Felix/Festus to be a thing, so you can kind of read it either way. Anyway, if they aren't a thing, I was like what could elicit such a violent response. Then I was like well, Festus perhaps started feeling a sense of responsibility to Felix (which don't we all to our friends? also I do think Festus felt that way towards Coriolanus too in a way). Additonally, Festus' idea of honorable competition comes back into play here, notice his anger at the foul play for his first/favorite dog, Laelaps, who is notably poisoned. You know that I don't poison Felix in my fics, but it kind of highlights the connection that I'm trying to form about why Festus might disapprove of Coriolanus' future actions.

This got really long, but I also have a cut section of this fic somewhere. If people are interested, maybe I'll post it.

#thanks for the ask lily! this one got away from me! hopefully this makes sense! sorry it's so disorganized #fic: cave canem edit #abyssal stuff #ask game #persephoneprice #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #felix ravinstill #festus creed #ask response #tbosas #persephone price #fic: pelops' shoulder #fic: tu fui ego eris

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foibles-fables · 2 years ago

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I know there’s a lot of turmoil in the Horizon fandom right now but I just wanted to say that you remain one of the coolest people I have ever known in this fandom. You make amazing content and support so many WLW ships. You’re always up for crazy Theories and headcanons, and are kind to anonymous commenters, even when they badly jumble their words and sound like they’re being mean, which I’ve definitely done by mistake but you understood my true intent, even before I clarified. Thank you for all you do in this space, you’re an amazing person that still makes me enjoy this game, even with the highs and lows of HFW’s writing and the recent shipping chaos. Please know your works have made me smile so much through the years and your posts always brighten my feed. Thanks for everything!

You know what? Usually I reply to these kinds of asks with a hilariously zany meme and some earnest capslocked gratitude. But I want to be super, super serious and genuine with my appreciation for this one. It's so flattering and fulfilling to hear you say this. Honestly, tearing up a little. I always strive to be a fount of positivity and enthusiasm about the things I enjoy, even when being positive is incredibly difficult (see: immediately post-HFW, lmao). So it means so much to me to hear that opinion reflected back. So thank you, truly, from the very bottom of my heart. <3 <3 <3

I do wanna talk about the current unsteadiness in the fandom. No matter what, Burning Shores has shown us one very, very important thing: Horus terrifying protect Gildun with our lives Aloy is beautifully, canonically, fantastically queer. This is the central takeaway and something to fuckin' celebrate, everyone. Representation matters--and for sure, unabashed representation like this is so absolutely crucial in today's world. Guerrilla has done an incredible thing and it's an utter amazement to have received it.

But beyond that: nothing else has changed. We absolutely do not need to be engaging in bickering and discourse. Everyone is still entitled to their headcanons and (respectfully-stated!) opinions. No ships have been sunk. There is a place in this fandom for everyone. I don't want to start having to avoid bitterness in this space that's given me such solace and joy and community over the last few years. That's no way for a group of people to share in the enjoyment of something.

Everything is still SO fresh and new, but it’s high time to begin evaluating our responses—especially with GG's quiet announcement of the third game being in development. Let’s shape up in support of our series and carry love and light forward, being enthusiastic about our favorite parts and letting others have their joy as well.

#seriously anon thank you for making my evening #you are SO very appreciated too and I hope you know that #horizon forbidden west #horizon zero dawn #horizon series #burning shores spoilers #smiley day to y'all i am going to eat some pie now

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chairteeth · 11 months ago

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Fun fact, Nemu is a sadist

So you see Papa I know I’m gonna need screenshots for this one but HEAR ME OUT. I have actual arguments for this. There’s gonna be a lot of screenshots though, because I feel like in this case it’s a bit more overt once you look at it through this lens. This isn’t so much an essay as something similar to that time I went on a short rant about how Touka acts like a cat but here you go.

Editing Note: The Ao3 version of this essay is superior, I recommend it more than the post.

I’m gonna be very blunt. Nemu is a sadist. An extremely picky sadist that goes from mild to borderline disturbing, but a sadist nonetheless. Girlie has hella concerning moments. There’s the part about enjoying seeing people in pain, yes, particularly pain caused by her (directly or indirectly), but it’s more complex than that. It’s relishing one’s power over others. It’s enjoying when others are humiliated. Enjoying putting people in messed up positions and situations, watching or forcing them to hurt themselves or their loved ones, Sisyphean tasks, etc. There’s pretty terrifying potential to what she would be capable of if encouraged, considering her extensive historical and literary knowledge (looking at you, Madness of Hercules Shizuka. If you know you know).

As for the reasons, well, it makes sense with her background and as a coping mechanism, a way to vent. Sadism most often originates from feeling powerless in daily life, general powerlessness/lack of power even over the self, and repressed anger/frustration, so it tracks with what we know about Nemu. And yes, this happens since childhood. I’m gonna explain my arguments for the intense ‘Nemu is a sadist’ interpretation I have, don’t you worry, and there will be screenshots galore for once!

Let’s start with the mildest stuff. Which is actually Touka-related. Nemu really enjoys getting a reaction out of Touka, mainly earlier in their relationship (when she wasn’t Irreversibly Whipped)—though bits of it remain. This manifests in all of the teasing and the purposeful “humiliation” through things like games (the card game scene comes to mind). It’s easy too, because Touka is so extremely reactive. Here’s a very old example of this much milder manifestation, the card game scene in question:

Touka then starts crying (you can see the tears) because she’d mapped out the entire game and memorized Nemu’s cards and Nemu truly had no reason to pull this move. Leading to this response from Nemu:

Going to another side of things, the funny (/s) humiliation uwasa should not be overlooked. I know I haven’t posted my document where I hyperoveranalyze what each and every one of Nemu’s uwasa means (because it is incredibly disturbing in this raw form), HOWEVER, the Rumor of the Cemetery Banquet Feast is just one of multiple rumors that adds to this specific topic. And also uh the Fashion Monster. There are many, many things that I can gleam from the latter existing in the first place, but it’s described as:

“A Rumor that appears before confident, dressed up girls. It drags its victims into an alley, and if the Rumor isn’t told it looks stylish, it will strip off the victim’s clothes.”

Thank you Nemu, thank you so much. I don’t think I have to say anything for you to see why this applies to the sadist thing. As for the Rumor of the Cemetery Banquet Feast:

“My, have you heard? Who’d you hear it from? The Cemetery Banquet, and the rumor thereof! Fated rivals, arguing friends– if you want everyone to get along, then this Rumor is for you! Anyone who reads its invitation will be guided to the pre-banquet proving grounds. If– and only if– you can make the banquet lively, then you pass! And you’ll be invited up to Paradise, complete with kindly parting words. But if you plan to participate, you’d better take great care! If you fall short of proving yourself, you’ll literally fall into the underworld, to boot. It’s a rumor that ALL of the temple’s supporters are talking about. C’mon now, let’s liven things up!”

And the way the event goes is… Well.

The Rumor greets its “attendees” in a kind, heavenly voice, casually “forgives” (brushes off) their attempts to break its rules, and gives gentle encouragement (plus painfully-gentle critique) as they resort to performing various party tricks to satisfy it. Once they satisfy the Rumor by setting aside both their pride and their mutual animosities, it escorts them to the top of its pagoda in a giant, golden hand… where they literally pass on to the afterlife.

Thank you Nemu, thank you so much. I think you see where I’m coming from here. As for some of the other things I mentioned at the start, well, there’s this part of Arc 1 Chapter 8:

She truly does speak in the cultiest possible way. Her dialogue is far more cult leader-like than Alina's or Touka's. There's also this part:

Doesn’t she look quite pleased… These are pretty much one after another. But okay fine, here’s a couple from Chapter 9:

Really. Really look at this through the sadism lens. She also giggles while telling the others that they’ve reached their limit right after Kanagi and especially Tsuruno expresses feeling sick and heavy and in pain. Which… is a worse reaction than Touka’s, that’s for sure. What’s fascinating is that in her MGS, Nemu seems to care the most about the Feathers.

As for my final example, I’m just gonna leave a bunch of screenshots from Uwasa Tsuruno’s MGS here. Pay attention to the way Nemu speaks to Tsuruno and the words she chooses to use (it'd be a lot more obvious if Nemu was older than Tsuruno probably):

So in closing. Nemu Hiiragi is a sadist. Funny venting mechanism you’ve got right there, I sure hope it won’t lead to anything more questionable than you’ve already done. Good luck with your wife, Touka, have fun.

#magia record #nishiposting #essay #nemu hiiragi #uh #I guess??#yeah there's another mini rant thingy coming up #this time about possessiveness #so yay?

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shiawasekai · 9 months ago

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13, 20, 29, and E for Nela?

Adding @herequeerexitentialfear because of the question in common! Thank you both!!! ❤️

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Nela is painfully aware of which colors suit her best in theory. A perk of her parents working on it professionally and growing up hearing about these things. It's another matter if she agrees with them, which is a bit more... complicated.

In practice, she defaults to darker purples a lot, which is the colors she likes best on herself. It's not the color that suits her best (she would look better on greens or blues), but it doesn't look that bad either as long as it's the right shade. Her main outfit uses blues precisely because is her professional look as Commander and she made an active effort to look good on it.

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Now that's a tough one... and one I don't think she would be truly capable of answering through most of her life. Mostly because of lack of experience with romantic love. Both because she was young when she was kidnapped and because I've come to the conclusion that she is in the grey spectrum both sexually and romantically. It's fairly rare for her to feel attracted to anyone, in short.

After the game and having more experience with it? I think she would define platonic/familial love as comforting, a love that anchors you and protects you; romantic love, on the other side, is something that drives you forwards, that pushes you beyond your limits for its sake.

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

In short? No.

She isn't going to outright betray her ideals, that's a lesson she learnt the hard way as a teenager. However, she is an overly rational person who knows sometimes things aren't feasible and who, being in a position of high responsibility, risks a lot if pursuing an ideal blindly. This means she often compromises and plays the long game, fighting to keep a balance between reality and the ideal.

She is at peace with that. After all, what are ideals if not something to strive towards? A reason to keep fighting for a better chance?.

However, I don't think she is at peace with herself on her personal life AT ALL.

Once the game starts, she spends years afterwards playing a part, hiding much of herself under a mask to cover how unwell she is. The parts she does show are the truth, but there is much she keeps zealously to herself. She realizes it's awful and she knows everyone is going to be hurt when the whole truth comes out, she just cannot function without it.

How can you say you live up to your ideals when living like that? Even if you're otherwise trying your best.

E. Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I think so, yes! I don't think we would be close, but I feel she would be someone I would find easy to talk to. We would, I think, absolutely get on each others' nerves, however. But it could be a perfectly nice casual friendship you talk with once in a while.

#oc: nela damasio #Thank you a lot!! These were fun #i was a bit hesitant about a couple of these trivia but to hell with it

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waloeders · 1 year ago

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golden rays and pitch-black nights

"odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same."

ship: barnabas tharmr/kosmos, {future} sleipnir harbard/kosmos and {implied qpr?} barnabas tharmr/sleipnir harbard

word count: 3,420

warnings: ff16 spoilers, religious talk (of fictional religions), mentions of a dead mother, manipulations (thanks ultima), character death (kind of? he's fine, dw abt it), mentions of being very high up on a tower (the one shown above) and some general vague fighting described

notes: YELLS A LOT!!!!! this is set before my other fic and is a like, big important turning point for quite a few chars :3 so much fun to write!!! also the image is where this is set (on top the reverie, which is the tower). notable things are- ultima loves manipulation + being praised/treated like a god so thats a big tw. also ryder/kosmos uses he/they. i hope u enjoys :3

"what manner of betrayal is this?" ultima's dissonant voice called out, feet not quite touching the floor as it floated in place, "you have brought an atrocity to us, odin."

the Kings' eyes flicked over to where the man in question stood, then back to the ground before him, kneeling before his God.

"i would never betray you, my Lord." was his only response, unable to conjure a sufficient explanation to the being before Him - or to himself. why had he brought ryder?

it wasn't as if he truly required a hostage to escape the hideaway. shiva, though powerful, had her wings clipped by logos- mythos, he reminded himself - and mythos was far away in the corners of sanbreque, if the young man he had brought along was to be believed.

if he was being truthful with himself, barnabas couldn't explain what it was, why he had made this choice. there was simply...something. something about ryder that intrigued him, that led him to believe their word, to trust they spoke truthfully, that led him to take them with him back to the reverie.

a small distance behind him, he could sense sleipnirs' smallest motions, fidgeting in place, and, without looking, he knew that the egi was in the same position as him - that he kneeled before their Lord.

"answer me, odin." ultima tilted its' head, turning to him.

there was a frustration in its voice he'd never heard.

"he is a gift to you, our Lord." sleipnir spoke up, piercing the silence that his leige had left, and it struck the King that his egi had never spoken directly to ultima before - that he had merely stayed silent, docile and obedient, if he had even been in the room at all. despite being as much a part of odin as barnabas was, his Lord often skirted around the egi.

"a gift?" ryder blurted out but quickly threw a hand up to cover their mouth and forcibly avoided eye contact. they hadn't knelt alongside the King and his egi and instead stood off to the side, inching away from the three of them as much as he could while atop a tower thousands of metres tall.

it wouldn't have mattered if they ran or fell - sleipnir would catch them, barnabas mused.

"a contemptuous gift at that." it floated away from the duo, approaching the younger man, "and you? we had thought you long since dead - how unfortunate that we were proved wrong."

the King risked a glance.

his Lord towered over them- floating or not. despite the slight shaking in their hands, ryder glared up at ultima from behind strands of dark hair and thin-rimmed glasses. their hand drifted, hovering over the empty scabbard attached to the dark brown leather belt he adorned, and clenched tightly into a fist.

the familiar sight of his Lords' tattered capes fluttering in a non-existent breeze and a flicker of motion from its' head had the King staring at the ground once more.

"are, uh. are you sure you mean me? only, we haven't actually, you know, met before now." the young man stumbled out and he knew, without looking, they were doing some kind of hand motion (they always were), "not that- i mean, not that i know of, uh, mr ultima."

their voice trailed off.

"come now, kosmos. this pretence brings us little amusement. we are most curious how you yet live - and in a physical form at that."

"i... what?" ryder mumbled, "what are you on about? like, actually, what are you talking about?"

a shudder ran through barnabas, kosmos? he had heard the name before, in whispered, heretical stories, in the mouths of non-believers decades ago - but there was no truth to them, no substance.

and his Lord would speak of this being, would verify such heresy? would name this man, kosmos?

"we tire of this failed deception, kin. show yourself to us, so that we might converse freely." ultima demanded and for once, he didn't fight the urge to stare at their interaction.

"i-i don't know what you're on about. i'm not kosmos, i don't even know who- what that is!" they threw their arms up in exasperation.

it tilted its' head again.

"then allow us to shed this mortal shell of yours."

it lifted a hand up, summoning a spell with ease, and let a ball of swirling blue light engulf the man. he only had a chance to step back, covering his face with his own hand, before being consumed.

a word caught in the Kings' throat, held back by some invisible force, strangling on the idea as it drowned him.

as quickly as his Lord had summoned the spell, it dispelled, letting the aether collapse into dust motes as it lowered its' hand.

he found the breath he hadn't known he was holding falling out; ryder was fine - or they appeared unharmed, albeit, confused.

"what the fuck did you do to me?" he growled out, hand falling back into a fist at his side, the other flung out to emphasise their point, "i mean, seriously, what the fuck is your problem with me?"

"how unexpected." it stared, eyes unblinking as always, "you cling to this form, this life."

a flurry of its' familiar blue aether had ultima slipping into a rift and reappearing in front of its' statue, before odin.

"it is of no consequence. kill them." ultima commanded.

a moment of silence fell across the reverie, carried on the soft breeze that lived so high in the atmosphere.

barnabas stood, bowed to his Lord, then turned to face the young man, summoning zantetsuken to his hand with the same ease of slipping out of bed.

"wait-" their face furrowed, stepping back as they raised their hand ever so slightly, and heaved a breath, "i don't want to fight."

from the sidelines, sleipnir snorted - at some point, he had stood too - and he folded his hands behind his back, watching intently.

"oh, this will hardly be a fight." the egi smirked, his thick waloedian accent looping through the words.

"rude." ryder mumbled, then spoke up, "all this for a guy who hates you, i mean, really?"

the King took another step forward, eyes following keenly as they matched his motions, stepping back. and then, they paused. a feeling slipped over their face, too fast for him to identify, that steeled into anger.

"or, FINE! do what he says, be nothing more than some silly, lied-to, puppet on a string and never amount to anything but a fucking footnote in a history that won't remember you. who gives a fuck!" the young man yelled out, hands frantically thrown upwards. his own motions almost disrupting the glasses he wore and he pushed them back, voice returning to a mumble, "this place sucks anyway."

odin hesitated.

he could feel the Eikon within him, hesitate. the same Eikon that had driven him to such heights, to sit upon his throne, to conquer, to dominate and control an entire continent -

odin, warden of darkness, hesitated before killing and barnabas found himself doing the same.

zantetsuken shuddered out of existence, the aether blown away in an instant. he could feel, more than see, the way sleipnir shifted in his spot, unwilling to draw the attention - or perhaps ire - of their Lord and yet wishing to move closer, to act on his behalf, to move where he stopped, to act as an extension of himself - as he always did.

"this... is kosmos?" King Barnabas frowned, glancing up and down at the man before him. if this was kosmos, as the forbidden scriptures described, his Lords sworn-enemy, a being as powerful as Him... this man was a threat to his Lord?

a footnote in history.

"you are our sword, odin; yielded as we see fit. kill them, so we might begin primogenesis. mankind must be rid of his wretchedness, so we might usher in the new world." ultimas' voice drifted over his shoulder and he watched ryder roll their eyes at the words.

"you do not believe in our Lords' word?"

"i know he's a liar. humans have no place in the 'new world' - and you know it too. he told you, told clive!" they growled out, glaring at it, "i don't know shit about this kosmos thing, i'll admit, but the new world is a fucking lie. grow a spine and admit it to yourself!"

a laugh found itself in his chest, clawing its way out and he grinned wickedly.

"grow a spine?"

he watched their face drop, swallowed by the fear that took over and... a thin glimmering stream of golden light pulsed up their neck. it was faint, barely present, and he doubted that the others could see it from such distance.

"golden aeth-...?" the words caught in his throat and recognition settled into a growl, "kosmos."

ryder took another step back.

laughter crawled out of him once more, keeling him over and throwing his head back. he could feel sleipnirs' gaze on him, the burn of his steel blue eyes and how the concern twisted through their bond.

it was all so absurd.

his laughter finally settled into a giggle, and collapsed into the King heaving air.

he stood upright and raised a hand once more, palm flat up as he gestured to ryder, "THIS is kosmos?!"

"why do you hesitate?"

his egi tensed, hand slipping to rest on his swords' hilt, by habit or choice - neither could tell.

"why?" barnabas spat out, twisting to glare at ultima, "to even speak the name is heresy. yet here you stand, asking of me to end a being who should not exist; by your grand design, he should not exist!"

"i see." it began floating the smallest amount higher, looking down on the three humans, "you cannot rise above your station, odin. you have failed us."

"you lied." he hissed out.

a twisting pain shot through the King, atoms shuddering under the weight, and he fell to his knees, blue aether beginning to swirl around him as an ashen-grey dust crept up his hands, caught under his skin.

"ohhh, shit." ryder muttered, finally broken from their trance, and they watched as waloeds' lord commander lept forth, standing between his King and their lord, sword drawn.

"you would dare harm my liege?" he cried out, form shimmering in a spattering of swirling purple darkness as he semi-primed into a set of ornate, silver armour.

"you are less than an insect to me, egi." it raised a hand, throwing out a familiar, but smaller beam of light and aether that sleipnir dodged with ease.

in one swooping move, he launched gungnir in retaliation, leaping high into the air to avoid another shot of unaspected magic, and the battle began.

the young man glanced between the three of them and the exit, catching the way the egi faltered on one of his attacks', physical form flickering in and out of existence, yet quickly recovered to feint into another crushing blow.

ryder groaned, swearing under their breath, and hurried to the Kings' side.

"com'on, we gotta get outta here!" they crouched beside him, hands grasping at his deep blue tunic to try to pull him up. strands of the aether and crystal curse clung to the air, seeping into their clothes, onto their skin, into their lungs, "barnabas, get UP!"

"i have failed my Lord." he mumbled, staring down at hands coated in ash. the crystals' curse that he had avoided for nigh-on five decades now catching up as his Lord released some hold on him - as his lord allowed it to catch up to him.

"are you fucking serious right now- get up!" ryder groaned and reached up to force the King to look at him, their other hand still clenching his tunic, "you're odin- barnabas tharmr, king of waloed, conqueror of ash - you're the scariest, strongest guy on the fucking planet, come on!"

a yelp drew both their eyes upwards, to where ultima had seemingly had enough of the fight; its' hand clasped tightly around sleipnirs' neck, dangling him over the edge of the reverie, and, in one swift move, crushed his form into a smattering of aether-dust.

"pathetic."

the lord commanders' sword clattered to the ground, mere feet away from the pair.

ryder glanced at the King, who was staring into the abyss left behind where his egi had been, and swore. he threw himself forward, barely upright as he grabbed the hilt of sleipnirs' rapier, and hurried to the standing-ready position that gav had taught him.

ultima scoffed.

"kosmos. when last we fought, we were evenly matched. now? you are weak. you lack the will to prevail, as you always have."

"right. well." the young man shrugged, blurting out some nonsense noises, "what about that, huh?"

"such childish nonsens-"

"-says the fucker with his grippers out, get outta here!"

"ENOUGH!"

a burst of aether echoed from it as it spoke, the force shoving them to the ground and ripping the sword from their grasp.

ryders' vision blurred from the impact and he could taste faint copper-iron on their tongue; they watched helplessly as the rapier slipped over the tower-edge.

if it made a noise when it landed on the ground, no one atop the reverie heard.

"we expect such petty behaviours from mankind - but for you to indulge yourself so, kosmos, is unbecoming. you are as much a slave to fickle emotions as mankind is."

they moaned, reaching a hand up to find blood coating their forehead, and winced at the thought. slowly, ryder forced himself up onto his hands and knees, blue eyes slipping over to where barnabas had been.

the King still drowned in aether and ash, his atoms struggling to grasp one another under the strain, yet he had hardly moved - now sat on his heels, head thrown back to stare into the pitch-black night sky lingering above, lips moving in a silent prayer.

"odin. we had thought the sin of free will had been understood by you, but it would seem we were mistaken. one cannot forsake their nature, human as you are." it finally landed in front of barnabas, replacing his view of the night, and a pale hand reached out to grasp his head tightly, forcing him to stare at the being.

"it is fortunate that mythos now beholds odin. this act of defiance cannot, willnot stand."

he stared up at his Lord, eyes searching for any sign of meaning, purpose, of anything that might provide a path to salvation.

it released its' grip on him, hand moving to cup one side of his face, and for a moment, ultimas' form shimmered before him, twisting and contorting into a familar face.

"you know what you must do, barnabas." her voice, soothing and patient as she always had been, had his stomach twisting into knots.

"mother..."

"do as our lord commands." her dark brown eyes flicked to ryder, still struggling to get off the floor, "kill kosmos."

the churnings of the crystals' curse paused, aether calmly falling to the ground around them- snowflakes of another nature.

his eyes remained fixed on her, unable to pull away, and a light tug on his cheek had the King blinking away the familiar, deep grooves of misery he lived in.

"do as our lord commands, barnabas, and we shall speak again, in the new world."

the new world?

"the scripture..." he mumbled, breath catching, "it is heresy. kosmos cannot be, mother."

"then end them."

barnabas' head turned to the young man, zantetsuken springing to the hand at his side, and he pushed himself to stand.

they were on the ground. ryder hadn't even looked up, eyes tightly clasped as he heaved air; thin lines of golden aether running through their veins once more - yet stronger than before, as if their injuries had emboldened the ambient magicks in the world.

odin's sword found its' mark with ease.

the image of his mother shattered in an instant, torn asunder by the inhuman shriek of ultima crying out, one of its' arm revealed to have been split in two.

the King of Waloed found himself pushed back by another blast of aether as it screamed, sword ripping into the ground in an attempt to drag him to a halt, and he ended up on one knee, hands clenching the hilt of his sword, as he stared at the being before him.

"YOU!" it howled, even as it drew aether into itself, reforming the lost limb of its' incorporeal body.

he could hear kosmos curse beside him but his eyes remained on the Lord - his Lord, who he had just betrayed. he had injured- betrayed his lord.

salvation from such an act could only be death.

"we have offered you naught but everything and you would reject us? you have no place in the new world, odin." the god-like being hissed out, raising its' newly rebuilt hand to summon the same light it had used against ryder, that started the whole affair, "as such, your mortal skin shall be shed. you shall be undone - just as all mankind shall be, as was always meant to be."

he closed his eyes before the light, surrendering to the darkness behind his eyelids, to where he knew odin lingered, and his mind fell into the eerie, empty space, welcomed by the silence found only where odin was.

yet, he was interrupted by an unfamiliar warmth, the faint sensation of warm, human touch, of hands grasping his waist, clutching onto him tightly as if he would blow away in a faint wind.

in the abyss, barnabas was met with gold.

atop the reverie, he blinked down at the man hugging his waist - kosmos. the glimpsed golden aether had found its place in their blood, pulsing through them, and from their back, they sprouted ghostly golden-opaque wings (not terribly unlike garudas', he noted), that surrounded them - a warm light that blocked the cold blue of ultimas' spell, splintering it into a thousand light-beams around them.

"kosmos...?" the King uttered, drawing their attention. their eyes stared blearily into his, possessed in the golden glow, streaks of molten aether flowing down as tears upon their cheeks.

it took him a moment to recognise the feeling upon their face; the way they looked through him as if he were a thousand miles away, an emptiness sat behind the golden glow consuming them, taking over them. he had seen Eikons take over their dominants before, seen them lose control and rage across the lands, the seas, reigning destruction unbeknown to man - it was the closest match he could find to the sight before him.

then, the energy around them collapsed, exploding outwards with an ear-shattering boom and a cascade of iridescent light burst away from them, waves upon waves collapsing, leaping over themselves through the night, further and further until it stretched past the horizon.

barnabas frowned, releasing the breath he held captive, as he watched the waves of light, eyes briefly slipping to where ultima stood, even its' cape frozen in place.

a small noise drew his attention back to kosmos, who continued to stare up at him, cheek stained with tears of golden aether. gently, he reached up to brush it away, but found the magick seeped into his hands, up his arm and through his entire body, soaking in warmth.

"...what is this?" he mumbled, seeming to awaken something in the man in his arms. they blinked away the gold in their eyes, the blue seeping back in and tilted their head at him, a small "oh." falling from their lips.

silence broken, the golden waves shattered into dust. far below the reverie, it seemed to be snowing.

"kosmos." ultima finally spoke and they tensed up, eyebrows furrowing.

in a confusing instant, kosmos shoved his head into the Kings' chest, as the familiar purple darkness of odin drew around them, surrounding and overtaking both of their vision in a swirling vortex.

when it finally settled, barnabas blinked in confusion.

they were no longer atop the reverie.

they were back. in the hideaway, sat on the dusty ground of the Fallen ruin. kosmos still wrapped around him, motionless, and he realised he had moved to hold them in turn, hand gripping the back of their black tunic tightly.

their golden-opaque wings had began to fade out of existence, leaving only the dazzled, familiar faces of cid and myt- logos staring at the pair.

"well. so much for rescuing a hostage, aye?" cid remarked.

thats all ty :3

#jupiter.speaks #.writing #❤️.barnabas #❤️.sleipnir #👤.kosmos #> behold. fic be upon ye!#> also using zantetsuken of dividing to split this up is funny to me. to me!!!!#> if this seems ooc dont worry. i know them just trust me boss 🫡#> IM GONNA. AYAGGDRHFHJD. anyway postin this before i start chompin their hands #> and YES. the use of Lord vs lord is important. its all abt where barny is at mentally just trust me 🙏#.oktorb

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