#there isn’t even a lesser of two evils here

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Iran is bombing Israel apparently, FAFO moment truly.

Both Biden and Trump are vowing to defend Israel with harsh military force against Iran.

If they follow through with it and the US moves against Iran, this will actually become a war.

Do not stop pressuring politicians to support Palestine. Do not stop advocating for Palestine. Do not stop protesting Israel. Do not stop protesting genocide.

From the river to the sea.

[aw-dag]

Section 1557 is the law that guarantees trans protections in the us. Saying she supports that law is not “not giving a shit about trans rights lol” just because you don’t know to what law she is referring.

Lovely how libs has spent a year going "yeah well Harris is gonna back and fund a genocide but at least she will stand by trans people in the US" just for her to come out as not giving a shit about trans rights lol

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Kitsune + Child Reader

Imagine the most vain, deceitful, mischievous kitsune 

Infamous for killing hundreds of humans and even more unfortunate children

An actual evil menace 

He has been doing this for a good two centuries 

Already having earned his two tails 

Unfortunately, the wisdom of older age doesn’t seem to disparage him from terrorizing the kingdom’s outer edges

Almost omniscient there's no telling where he is or if he’s in disguise or if he’s been building fake relationships with others to lure them in

It’s scary but not enough to scare off children completely

Which leads to you

A nice life in nobility means you’re sheltered or at least given a nicer tale than most kids

But your family wasn’t without humble beginnings 

So the only real time you do find yourself playing in the great outdoors is then

“Hello, little one!”

He doesn’t bother to hide his fox ears or his flicking tails 

He finds children are easily interested in them

Looking up from the sticks you were playing with, you offer him a smile

He smirks to himself this is going to be too easy

After introducing himself with another fake name he moves along

“Come follow me into the forest, deeper inside we can play house together there!”

“Hmm no.”

“Yay–wait. Did you say ‘no’?”

“Yeah.”

Not entirely...different but different enough

He knows some kids treat their parent’s words as law

so this will take a little more convincing

“Actually I just don’t want to play house right now.”

This is fine

Most children need a little peer pressure to do what he wants

“Fine then. Guess we won’t be able to play together, after all.”

“Okay!”

What?! 

He watches as you skip further away from his direction flapping the sticks

How irritating 

You didn’t do a single thing he wanted you to

He excuses himself to blow off some steam aka drowning some fellow in the river

He tells himself to shake it off 

he still is the best at tricking kids

He proves this by devouring the soul of some other kid with all the same tricks that didn’t work on you

But even with a full stomach, he’s bothered

How dare you?

How could you?

He finds you again maybe not at your vacation home

This time he’s a bit more direct letting his mask slip a little 

“Come with me. Please? I’m so so scared!”

“Then I’ll just get my dad. If you’re so scared.”

“NO! I mean why won’t you? You seem so brave,”

“I don’t want to go in there. I’m wearing my garden shoes. I don’t want these ones ruined too.”

He gets so frustrated 

Going to his lavish shrine where lesser spirits serve him and other mischievous yokai often come to party to complain

“I can’t believe this child is making this so difficult! Sometimes I have such a hard time not just eating them out of spite!”

“Right? But it’s the whole chase that makes it fun!” an especially powerful Chochin raves

“True that and it's more delicious!” a Kappa friend of his toasts 

It isn’t until he listens to a Yuki Ona who really makes him think

“Children bring a warmth like none other. Caring for one is an adventure.”

He remembers that when he starts to watch you again

Finally noticing the quirks that make you the way you are

What foods you like

How you like to be put to bed

It all starts to make sense to him but he still stays

He watches

And he waits

For what he doesn’t know 

He just waits

Sometimes he’ll step away to feed on an adult he comes across or an especially bratty child

Comparing them to you as he picks his teeth

He only really notices when there's a break in your routine

Part 2: Here

[eerna]

Hiii I have some thought contributions to the Arcane symposium if you'll have me!

I see people understandably angry at how Arcane handles who is or isn’t a villain and I suppose my two cents is that I didn’t have any hope of them handling it right in the first place, even back in s1 there were always parallels made, always some “both cities have good and bad” nuance when one city doesn’t have air to breathe and is colonized by the other. If anything the beginning of s2 was more consistent in that the second Caitlyn is personally inconvenienced she goes full chemical warfare and mass institutional violence

Personally I thought it unlikely that they suddenly change narrative tones and resolve the plot in a way that was satisfying to me, and I knew the pacifist “choose love not hate <3 zaun and piltover arms in arms” both-sides ending was inevitable, so I’m glad they at least had that whole thing with Viktor and Jayce and the timelines to distract me from it

“they shouldn’t have made Viktor, a Zaunite, the villain” but Arcane always made the villain a Zaunite! Before Viktor there was Silco, Piltover chooses peace but Jinx blows the council up and now they have to do a whole “look what you made us do” arc. This was my beef with Arcane from day 1 (it wasn't emphasized enough, IMO, that the villain is Piltover's oppression and marginalization of Zaun, and that this context renders null any "both cities" comparison)

Also Vi was written so poorly this season what's up with that

All that being said I suppose it’s more complicated to discern “writer’s intent” from that kinda show than it would be in a book or an indie project where there are fewer people involved in the plot writing and less interference. Like one deleted scene or one line of dialogue omitted radically changes the message. But well, there's the intended message and there's the manifest message and as the audience we are allowed to criticize both

Of course we shall, step to the podium~ Truly, the "writer's intent" is truly so complicated here, because anti-capitalist messaging in mainstream art powered by capitalism is always a nightmare to get through.

Oh yes it's a good take, I remember the discussions from s1 era well! However, I still don't think the "both sides have good and bad" thing is a red flag in stories, simply because it's true IRL. A ton of people have trouble committing to a side in a conflict because neither is totally morally pure, which completely blinds them to the truth that NOTHING is morally pure and choosing the lesser evil is the way to go. Silco was a brilliant villain to me because he was an oppressor himself, as people in power are rarely anything else, but that didn't mean that Zaunite ideals were worth any less! After all, Ekko held the same anti-Piltover ideals, but he is morally pure and thus unable to become an influential politician. He can support a small society, but not a large one, because no one really can do that without resorting to some bad shit. Just because Silco dreamed of being the same as Piltover's elite and became a class traitor by forcing his citizens into another toxic work culture, except this time they made HIM rich instead of Piltover, doesn't mean we should just give up on trying to make things better. Zaun during Silco's reign is just as worthy of freedom and equality as Zaun during Vander's reign. It doesn't matter that there are terrorists living there now - that doesn't excuse Piltover's violent actions. And s1 seemed to be aware of that, considering how the Enforcers were depicted, and in the end it's the Piltover council who are forced to give up instead of the Undercity. And the choice of peace wasn't as morally pure as it sounds: the council opposed it and was forced into it by Jayce and Mel's combined power, even Jayce was resistant to the terms at first, AND it still left the Undercity in Silco's hands, fixing absolutely none of the sins they committed there. It wasn't an evil terrorist blowing up a bunch of hippies, it was a hurt Undercity girl setting in motion an event that has been brewing for a long, long time, against a system which gave too little, too late.

So yeah, in short, I don't interpret s1 as ever trying to question whether Zaun was right to demand more from Piltover by saying "well both sides are bad so nothing should change". It simply showed the ugly truth to any revolution: leaders are practically never good people, and those who get too close to it are doomed to very cursed lives. And yet, giving up isn't an option, because the system IS bad and the system HAS to be changed, and if that isn't gonna happen by the way of peace, then you can't help but sympathize with those who were wronged when they do something horrible.

That's why it only worked when it focused on individual characters - that way you can understand why everyone is acting the way they are acting, and you avoid falling into broad strokes. S2 instead focuses on the aesthetic of revolution and war and the characters get lost in the big picture, which absolutely sucks and completely negates everything I've been typing about here. In fact, who knows, maybe my opinion changes too after I sit with s2 for a while and contextualize s1 within it. Maybe I was just wishfully thinking and misinterpreting this whole time. I already feel like a clown for defending this show, so I can totally accept that I could probably be wrong here. But I just wanted to write it all out in the name of discussion and interpretation!

[nynyhaha]

Phantom Troupe - failed robinhoods?

As the new chapters told us,the Spiders started out as a revenge based organisation. That’s also what made them the way they are now.

But no one talks about the huge responsibility they have to carry to help their whole town.

Kurapika’s task for instance is to avenge the dead rather than changing the world to better treat the living. He doesn’t have a community whose situation he is concerned with. It’s tragic,but in a way that limits his responsibility. Leorio wants to treat people for free and actually addresses a bigger societal problem that was born out of a personal one.

The phantom troupe are very much concerned with avenging specific people,but they work on utilitarian principles. They’re ready to sacrifice themselves for the whole of Meteor City,so that no kids will be kidnapped again

For that they’re ready to throw away their own morals. Because kid Chrollo isn’t yet evil. He can’t think the same way adult Chrollo does,he’s not hat capable of committing a massacre but he already knows he will kill many people,without really understanding what that means. If you were to say something like this,would you know what it means? I wouldn’t. So in short,they’d chose to pull the lever and sacrifice one person for the five.(Unless it’s up to Paku and Chrollo is the one person)

If this wasn’t a revenge mission,what would it be?

Meteor City needs two things, protection and material goods.

Before the Troupe gained sufficient strength to have a say, the elders made a deal that exchanged people for the mafias “protection”. It seems heavily implied that the very same mafia who agreed to protect them was the one behind the kidnappings to begin with,they just exchanged children for adults.

In chapter 105 Leorio says the following:

Many years after the original deal,there was a second one, but this time the mafia offered goods. Why couldn’t they kept the “protection” deal?

Because the City no longer needed protection. Something must’ve happened for the mafia to take a step back and actually pay Meteor City rather than just not stealing their kids.

See how it’s a forced decision?

And the Troupe abolished even that.

Not only did the Spider scare off the criminals terrorising their town,they also put a stop to the mafia buying Meteor City’s loyalty.

Maybe it’s already pointed out by someone,but we need to talk about that more!

Suddenly their quest to steal makes much more sense. They’re not only scary guard dogs,but providers. It simply can’t be argued that the Troupe’s existence has no positive effects,when it changes everything for Meteor City!

Why then are they “failed” robinhoods? Because while they’re effective,they can’t change the world. They can only scare off the Mafia while they exist,should the Spider die it could all revert back. And also because they can’t help everybody. The cost of their constructive ends is destruction.

While I believe the Kurta clan massacre had other reasons,would it not be the perfect way to show the elders the Troupe is both capable of cruelty for the sake of their community and fit to provide money? “Oh you think you need the Mafia? Watch this.”

In that way they wouldn’t even need to hate the clan,it would merely be killing outsider children for the sake of Meteorian children.

It perfectly shows how trying to achieve radical change in an unfair world can drive one to insanity. “Robinhoods” seem noble. The work that the Troupe does can’t be noble. Just like Kurapika’s quest isn’t righteous,as much as he wishes it was.

Wanting safety for the kids of Meteor City is natural,but it seems unattainable.

Is the thesis here that you can’t help Meteor City without killing someone? Yes. It doesn’t mean killing the kurtas,but it means killing the Mafia. And killing the Mafia often= normalisation of killing. The more often you do it the easier it is,and the lesser justification is required. Eventually,that means killing the Kurtas.

The idea is that they couldn’t keep doing what they did without eroding their morals to the point they’re at now.

They can’t remain pure. But they have to do something.

Meteor City seems like an unsolvable tragedy. It’s sucks up all the misery and filth of the world, and while it’s supposed to represent hope and be a safe place for all the lost,that’s an unattainable ideal.

There will always be people in need is such a place. It’s like the shadow of the World, which is the actual problem. Meteor City is everything that is right and wrong with humanity.

And the saddest part? Any state of peace is fragile. ALL of the Troupe’s achievements might be lost once it’s gone.

So it really was all for nothing? And how is Chrollo supposed to keep caring about human lives back at home when he has ended countless lives himself? How can he feel any attachment to humanity when he uses bodies as bombs and sees himself as a worthless hostage?

If he doesn’t feel it tho..what’s even the point? No wonder bro is lost

[hotwritergf]

Controlling vibrator. Steddie x reader. Smut. Blurb.

🍒“Now listen up and listen good little girl, I’m gonna control that little toy that Steve very kindly put in its rightful place.” Eddie announced, a glimmer of excitement shining through his evil smirk. “But daddy... We have a dinner reservation.” You whispered anxiously, already knowing that that was the whole plan. Your boyfriends wanted to watch you suffer, publicly. “I know princess” Eddie practically letting out an almost comical evil laugh as Steve smiled softly and added “isn’t that so much fun? Especially for dirty little sluts like you who get off on embarrassment.” You felt your face flush, he wasn’t wrong. You were a woman of many kinks, some of which people had previously judged you for, but not Eddie and Steve. They were transfixed on the information when you told them, looking at each other and back at you with so much love and acceptance. Since that day, you’d been their toy. Every day they seemed to have a new way to torture you, your suffering was delicious to them.

Up until today, you’d been kept in a chastity belt for a month or so. Tormented by your boyfriends by them putting on a show for you every evening, palming each other's cocks, using your mouth for the only thing its good for and Eddie slamming into Steve with running commentary of how good it felt, how Steve got to experience pleasure because he wasn’t a needy little whore like you are. 

And so, it began. Leading you into the restaurant, holding the door open for you and Eddie discreetly pinching your ass. It was brief but painful, you wince at the feeling for a second but immediately your demeanor changed. Stifling a moan as Steve winked at you before pressing the button on his phone that was Bluetooth connected to the toy nestled inside your pussy. The once familiar feeling of sexual pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, it was buzzing away, the rabbit-like shaped toy vibrating your g-spot and clit in earnest.

Your eyes desperately trying not to roll to the back of your head, you ponder whether granting them no reaction out of you would make them ease up on the public humiliation of making you so inappropriately horny in the establishment. Concluding that either way you were screwed, if you didn’t perform for them like a good little slut now, you’d only get punished more at home. You decided that embarrassing yourself here was the lesser of two evils. 

Moaning your boyfriend’s names under your breath in-between sips of red wine, Eddie takes a few strands of your hand, interweaving them into his fingers and giving it a swift pull. You were beginning to see stars, the constant stimulation of the toy driving you crazy, Steve’s evil smirk as he stared at you muttering “So needy already, aren’t you? How long until you start to beg us to use your tight little holes right here?”

To which Eddie chuckled and snatched his boyfriend’s phone, changing the setting of the toy. You take a deep breath as the vibrations speed up and become more intense. Hiding your face in the crook of Eddie’s neck, “Daddy...” You sobbed in pleasure, your pussy leaking through your panties. “Whatever is the problem angel?” He teased, pulling Steve in for a passionate kiss, once again denying you of affection. “She’s gonna cum Eds, she’s got that look in her eye. Look at her babe, so fucking needy it's pathetic. Her brain is leaking out of her pussy.” He teased in unison with Eddie, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s curls. “She is, isn’t she? Wanna be our little fleshlight for the night? Who am I kidding, why am I asking you? Sweet little sluts like you don’t get a choice. You’re so pathetic you know that baby? Moaning the word daddy in this fine establishment? Steve and I here decided to treat you to a fancy meal and all you can do is beg us to go home? So, we can fill those needy little holes?”

His words were almost too much, you grip on to a thigh of each of your boyfriends. Your nails digging in as you feel the fire burning deep in the pit of your stomach growing. “Gonna cum sir, can’t take it anymore” You mutter to Steve, begging him with your eyes to allow you an orgasm. The feeling making you forget you were in a busy restaurant, beginning to sweat from need. “Ask Daddy princess.” He kisses your temple gently, finally gaining some mercy for you. “Daddy please, can’t hold it. Need it, need you, need you both.” You’re begging through your tears, your grip on them both tightening as you grow closer and closer to ecstasy. The wave growing every second that passes, your underwear now drenched and beginning to leak through, a wet patch visible on your little red dress.  

Eddie signals a waiter over to the table and your breath hitches, greatly trying to gain any form of composure, mentally begging that he won’t see the ever-growing wet patch and both of your boyfriend’s now entirely visible bulges.

“Can we get these to go now please, we’ve had an emergency and now need to change our plans.” The waiter smiles, eyeballing only your talking partner and returns with three take out boxes handing them to Steve.

You and the duo stand and make your way to the door, waving down the nearest cab. Shuffling into the back seats, sandwiched in-between your sadists. Eddie whispers into your ear once more as Steve plants gentle kisses on the other side of your neck, playfully nipping at the skin. “Let go princess, cum.” 🍒

[voxofthevoid]

Like I said in my preliminary post about the chapter, my initial impression of JJK 268 was positive but lukewarm—kind of “okay, that’s decent but full of holes.” Then I made the mistake of thinking about it too much, and now my opinion is more like “that’s ass actually.”

Unflattering assessment of JJK 268 and the current state of the story to follow—stop reading here if you don’t want to see that.

There were two things I liked—and still like, to a certain extent—about the chapter: Yuuji’s final conversation with Sukuna and Gojou’s final letters. But past the initial approval, I’m finding severe issues with those as well.

The Letters

To tackle the lesser evil first, the letters are quite in character for Gojou, and the one to Megumi is on point. It’s perfect. The one to Nobara is where it falls apart. Her mother is a non-entity; her entire flashback has focused on her friendships, with Saori in particular. Her family is absent from the page/screen, and all we get are passing mentions hinting at her family dynamics. So why the fuck is that what Gojou’s letter focuses on?

I know the answer; there’s nothing else for him to tell her. They’re not close and barely know each other, so there’s no substance to their relationship the way there is with Gojou and Yuuji or Gojou and Megumi. What would have made a good letter to her was Saori’s address/number—but Gojou can’t reasonably give her that because there’s no feasible way he’d have known about Saori. Nobara sure as shit wouldn’t have told him. So it feels like Gege tacked on information about a random absent mother because the letter had to say something and this complements Megumi’s letter. It just falls flat as fuck because nobody cares, least of all Nobara herself.

What I think could have worked without having Gojou act out of character was a joke or some bullshit about her coma—something that shows his faith/hope that she’d wake up and be well without becoming emotional or trite. They weren’t close, but she was still a student he cared for. There are ways to show that without pulling a random family member into the equation.

Sukuna and Yuuji

Where do I even start?

In isolation, I adored the conversation they had at the end. It allows both of their personalities as well as their relationship to shine and stay true to themselves while delivering a powerful final exchange. There are several angles to it that fascinate me, especially the contrast between how nightmarish Yuuji's offer truly is and how tenderly he proposes it.

But how the fuck did they get there?

Specifically, how’d Yuuji go from trying to rip out Sukuna’s heart at the end of JJK 260 to being willing to give Sukuna a second chance to be his prisoner/companion until their mutual death? JJK 265 and even 266 lay out his reasoning, but how and when did he get to that point? Yuuji’s final attitude toward Sukuna has both empathy and sympathy: (i) he realizes that he and Sukuna were both shouldering curses out of their control and that it may have been nurture as much as nature that made them what they are, and (ii) he believes that Sukuna deserves a chance to be more than a cursed existence.

We never see why or how he develops these beliefs. A throwaway line from Sukuna about being a wretched child isn’t enough for Yuuji to write Heian era fanfiction in his head; frankly, Yuuji’s not the type. The only option is the much-referenced but so-far unused “resonance” giving Yuuji actual insights into Sukuna’s emotions or backstory, but we don’t see that. We don’t even get hints of that. Yuuji’s willing to tear Sukuna apart and then he’s willing to coexist with him. Forget missing steps, there’s an entire missing floor here.

I’m all for stories that require the reader to engage in inference and analysis, but you still need solid material to prompt such conclusions. JJK is lacking that. There are hints of it. You can squint and see the building blocks of Yuuji’s eventual mindset. But it feels like entire chapters are missing between his attitude in 260 and 265 and also between 265 and 268.

The Fingers

You know how Sukuna’s death only being possible via a vessel has been a driving factor behind the entire plot? Well, I guess we can just ignore that. Just pull him out and let him disintegrate as a lump—problem solved. Even the remaining finger isn’t a problem anymore! That’d have made sense given it’s still only one finger—although even one-finger Sukuna is immensely powerful and might be an issue in the future, if the next generations are weaker than the current one. But instead, it’s framed as that finger not even having the power to connect to Sukuna’s soul at all. Even that’s acceptable in isolation, except this entire thing contradicts how the fingers and Sukuna’s existence have been framed until this point.

Just a few chapters ago, Sukuna was vomiting up fingers as the connection between his soul and Megumi’s body was assaulted. Hell, he swallowed them right back. The natural conclusion here would be that tearing him from Megumi’s body would result in four fingers—Yuuji’s little finger and three original Sukuna fingers—containing some 95% of Sukuna’s soul/power. It also meant someone would need to die to vanquish Sukuna because a vessel was necessary. The question was whether it’d be Megumi or Yuuji.

The answer, apparently, is that you don’t need a vessel at all. Yuuji’s offer to him is framed as him giving Sukuna grace—sure, he’d be caged in and then die with Yuuji sooner or later, likely sooner, but Yuuji's still offering him a longer life. And then Sukuna dies without a vessel. So what was the point of it all? The change is flimsily justified while contradicting the very premise of the story, and not only does it make Sukuna’s end underwhelming, but it also cheapens all the pain and horror until this point.

Tonal Dissonance

This chapter feels like two halves of two different chapters stitched together. Compare the aftermath of the Shibuya Incident to this aftermath—where’s the gravity, the grief? The end of the battle doesn’t get time to settle before the trio are back together, healed and happy.

Happy endings and tragic endings are both good endings—when they’re well crafted and cohesive. And JJK hasn’t ended yet, but the battle with Sukuna did, and we jump right into an aftermath that has no respect for the severity and devastation of the fight that preceded it. Seeing Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara happy makes me feel nothing; it doesn’t even seem part of the same story. We see no hints of Megumi or Nobara really acknowledging everything that happened while they were possessed and unconscious, respectively. There’s no real sense of consequence either, which is just jarring after all the character deaths and associated emotions in the previous chapters.

The thing is, I think this could have been mitigated by shifting Megumi’s waking and what follows into a new chapter. It wouldn’t fix the timeline issues���it looks like Megumi’s waking several hours, maybe a day or two max, after the fight ended—but it’d be less abrupt. Follow Uraume’s death with a long pan of Shinjuku and maybe snapshots of what the survivors are up to: Yuuji gathering up Megumi’s conscious body; the state of Yuuta, Toudou, and Hana, as well as the remaining sorcerers who were involved in the fight; a quick look at the colonies and the incarnated/awakened sorcerers Kenjaku didn’t manage to kill. Just something to let the end of the fight sink in—a proper transition.

Honestly, I feel like Gege’s ticking off a few boxes in their outline to get this story done with. Maybe it’s burnout, maybe it’s loss of interest; I don’t know. But the end result is that there’s the shape of a story—an arc, an ending—that could have been incredible but is instead a sad, disintegrating lump on the ground, much like Sukuna was in the end.

There are three more chapters, so I assume some of my remaining questions or issues will be addressed, like the terms of the Kenjaku–Sukuna binding vow, the state of Japanese society, the fate of the surviving CG players and the CG itself, the Tengen fetus that’s presumably still inside Megumi, etc. They may even address some of the inconsistencies and ambiguities raised above. But this entire arc has already suffered from an excess of post-hoc explanations, and more of that won’t really make it a stronger or better story.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Asmodeus: Basileus

CR 15

Lawful Evil Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 278 (though the picture is from Council of Thieves: Mother of Flies, pg. 79

Yes, Medium sized. You see, Basileus is NOT the terrifying, diabolic apparition with multiple snakes emerging from it, but the tiny figure settled in its ribcage. Crafted from the very essence of Hell itself to fill Asmodeus’ lofty expectations--expectations which spelled death for at least six other Heralds before--Basileus represents the power of Hell incarnate, which includes the ability to cow any lesser being nearby into submission with nothing but a look. While his Veil of Forms normally keeps his true nature hidden from onlookers and makes him look attractive to anyone who can see him, he can raise or drop this comforting veil as a free action to wreak unholy terror on everyone that draws too close... but we’ll get to that later. First, a bit of background!

Basileus (or “Basil,” as I’ll be calling him from here on out) is Asmodeus’ perfect doll, crafted from Hell’s essence and, some say, the best parts of his past Heralds, all of whom disappointed him in some fashion. For a tyrant who desires absolute control, the only solution he would accept is the creation of a being who would follow his orders without question, hesitation, or creative interpretation. Basil does exactly as Asmodeus commands, following orders in accordance with both their spirit and letter with an efficiency that rivals machines, and thankfully for the mortal plane, these orders usually have him serving as an envoy and diplomat between Asmodeus and other powers across the Great Beyond. He is explicitly stated to rarely ever step onto the Material Plane, and even then only long enough to complete a task which directly benefits Hell and its infernal master. He tolerates mortals in the same way a sculptor tolerates dust and stone shards all over the floor, in that dealing with them is a side-effect in the process of creating something worthwhile, but they’re ultimately waste to be brushed aside and disposed of the instant the main project is finished, and certainly nothing to cozy up to and talk with. Basil’s contempt for mortals is one of his most famous aspects, to the point that even Asmodeus’ own followers hesitate to beseech their god for his Herald’s assistance, seeing the diabolic abomination as a last resort despite the power he offers his summoners, which includes the ability to grant a Wish once a day... but only for a mortal.

There is some delicious irony in Basileus having the most powerful spell available to him 1/day, a power no other Herald approaches, but he can only use it on the very mortals he despises. No matter how pitiful their lack of imagination or careless their wording, this power belongs to them. Unfortunately, he’s quite clever in manipulating people into getting what he wants out of their wishes, and only grants them in accordance with Asmodeus’ desires anyway, so the irony isn’t AS delicious as it could be.

Despite being a glorified mailman in terms of purpose, Basil nonetheless embodies perfection in every respect, both physical and mental: He possesses the strength to bend iron with his bare hands (26), arrow-dodging levels of dexterity (22), an indestructible constitution (25), staggering intellect (26), and enough charisma to clash with the most boisterous personalities and lay them low at his feet (25). The only stat of his that’s lower than 20 is his Wisdom, sitting at a 19. While many Heralds have one or two of his stats beaten out, no other Herald has such towering ability scores across the board, truly showing off Asmodeus’ craftsmanship... pity that he falls short in many other areas including, ironically, his hit dice. Though he has a nearly-unequaled stat distribution, he actually has less HD than the average Herald at 16, whereas most have 17 or 18 (though Sunlord Thalachos and the Menotherian both have 15 for whatever reason).

Of course, such flaws in his form aren’t evident to anyone not looking directly at his statblock. To everyone in-universe, Basileus is something like an advancing wall of death, something to be desperately avoided at all costs, because coming too close to the Herald of Hell may see one slain before they can even draw their weapon.

As previously mentioned, Basil normally hides behind a Veil of Forms, a specialized illusion which makes him look attractive to whomever is looking at him, regardless of their individual tastes and preferences. If he cannot be attractive then he will appear powerful instead, and oftentimes he combines the two... just not intentionally. Basil has no control over what onlookers see, nor does he gain any supernatural insight into whatever they’re seeing, and truth be told he doesn’t really care (if he did, he has a +23 Sense Motive to try and hash it out). The more important part is what happens when he drops his veil.

Basil can raise or lower his veil as a free action on his turn with no limit, allowing him to lower it and expose his true, diabolic form just enough to focus his crushing Gaze onto a creature within 30ft before raising it when that poor victim drops to the floor, dead as a doornail. You see, any being subjected to his Gaze must succeed a DC 25 Will save or be subjected to the illusory sight of the most terrifying thing they can possibly imagine, a sight so overwhelmingly horrifying that any creature with 6 HD or fewer is slain instantly if they fail the save, while everything above the threshold becomes irrationally panicked for 2d4 rounds if they fail, and REGARDLESS if they pass or fail, victims take 6d6 points of damage from the strain of seeing their worst fears brought to life before them. While he normally uses this power to snuff out a select creature like a candle, in pitched combat he can simply leave the veil down, blasting everyone around him constantly as long as they keep looking at him; the damage and panic recur every round a creature remains within 30ft of the Herald of Hell while also looking at him, as there is no 24 hour immunity clause.

You may notice a couple harsh limits to this otherwise overwhelming power: A strict 30ft limit, and victims must be able to see him. So long as you’re either keeping your distance or keeping your eyes closed, his terrifying gaze can’t affect you, and he lacks any ability which explicitly punishes a creature trying to blind-fight him like Sneak Attack... though this isn’t to say that the embodiment of Asmodeus’ will can be beaten by simply closing one’s eyes, no. He has plenty of other tricks up his horrible, horrible sleeves.

First and foremost is his least impressive aspect, his melee: Basil can cause horrible wounds to open up on any creature he touches, inflicting 1d8+8 damage. This is less than impressive, especially when stapled to his Medium-sized frame, but he has other options. Five of them, in fact! When his veil is down and his true diabolic body is exposed, he produces five additional, monstrous limbs which can slam anything within 15ft of him for 1d8+8 damage each, making his melee offense much scarier. However, this isn’t where he truly shines. No, his magic is the scariest thing about him.

As a being of illusions, Basil has quite the menagerie of illusion spells. At-will, he can use False Vision to prevent people from scrying on him or anyone he’s talking to, Mirage Arcana to shape the terrain to his liking, and Persistent Image for basically whatever distraction he needs. At 3/day, he can use Phantasmal Killer to terrify someone outside his 30ft aura of terror to death, but more dangerously he can use Greater Invisibility 3/day, which prevents him from using his lethal gaze but combines in a bad way (for everyone else) with his supernatural 60ft flight speed, his natural +25 to Stealth, and the rest of his offensive prowess, mainly consisting of his melee slams and his at-will Scorching Ray for any distant foes.

Cheating is only fun when the devil does it, so of course Basil can both Greater Teleport at-will and use Ethereal Jaunt 3/day BUT he has Dimensional Anchor to prevent anyone else from doing it. Likewise, all of his illusory power can be defeated with True Seeing, so he has THAT available at 3/day, and Greater Dispel Magic besides to destroy whatever spells or effects he cannot maneuver around. It’s especially fun to shuck buffs off anyone trying to fly up and harm him or use spells to make themselves immune to fear (his Gaze is a mind-affecting fear effect, so immunity to fear prevents the entire thing!), fire, or poison.

Poison? Oh yes. I forgot to mention the poison, didn’t I? It’s the very first spell you’d see in his statblock, as well! Cloudkill. At-will. The mist covering alone would be valuable enough, but the poisonous cloud slaughters anything too low-HD for him to care about in a single breath while sapping 1d4 Constitution slowly but surely out of everything else. Immune to poison himself (and Fire, but that’s besides the point), Basil can spray Cloudkill in every direction and even in his own space without fear every single round, and it makes trying to fight him through his Greater Invisibility all the more dangerous, as the twisting mists further hide his movements. And as mentioned, he enjoys cheating, which is why he has Blind-Fight for himself when he battles in his own poisonous clouds, giving him a much higher chance to actually connect with his melee or Scorching Rays than he’d otherwise have.

Basileus is a terrifying and potentially frustrating foe, often able to spell the end of a battle as a free action just by lowering his veil and blasting the entire party with 2d4 rounds of panic and 6d6 irresistible, typeless damage which will continue to grind down anyone not completely immune to fear. Then, when everyone is fleeing screaming from the awful thing, he fills their spaces with Cloudkill, blasts them with Phantasmal Killer or Scorching Ray, or simply LEAVES with his teleport or jaunt. The guy is a jerk, but you have to admire his efficiency; every other Herald needs at least one standard action on their turn to send the whole party packing!

You can read more about him here.

[ofallthingsnasty]

Pretty please could you do F, H, N, or Y for crocodile one day! I’m curious on your thoughts about him and I love when you talk about him 😭 my new obsession is the pug who he hates but tolerates just for you, so sweet 🥺

Yandere Alphabet letters a, i and q for crocodile hdsjahj anon I'm glad you like my rambles because they are so much fun to write 💕💕 regarding the little dog - don't be fooled, it's 50% him wanting to see you happy and 50% having even more leverage over you 🤭 mean man...

tw.yandere, violence, minors dni

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Uh oh, you might want to reconsider doing that. You call it fighting back, he calls it being an ungrateful, whiny little brat and it pisses him off. There are few things that make his blood boil when it comes to you, and being defiant and insulting him is one of them. Does he know that you’re here against your will? Sure. Does he care? No. You see, he views himself as some sort of provider - he’s giving you a life a million times better than your old one. You’re cared for, well-fed, nicely dressed, don’t have to work - really, your only job is to play house when he’s around (which he isn’t all that often, busy as he is). He doesn't even expect you to fuck him for it, he just wants someone to come home to, who will let him rest his head on their lap and caress it. (Of course, he oh-so-graciously ignores the gigantic power imbalance between the two of you when it suits him, especially when it comes to the bedroom. But generally speaking, I think he can be rather mellow compared to others, can even be reasoned with to a certain extent. Just be good for him.)

He thinks he’s being more than generous, more than fair - for the position you're in. A lesser pirate would have killed you by now, he tells you, would have gotten a new toy already. No, no - he is here to stay, he wants to see you thrive, even.And if you throw it all in his face, spit at him, dare to fight him - oh, what he’ll feel will be beyond good and evil. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, darling.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Okay, good news first: When it comes to Crocodile, I’d argue that the worst experience is really limited to just one. I’ve talked about him physically lashing out at you in a moment of rage and in the weeks that have passed that thought kind of stuck with me. At his core, this man doesn't want to hurt you (deeply). Manipulating you with visual threats and possibilities is one thing, but genuinely injuring you to make you bend to his will? Not really his style. Yes, he does corporal punishments - but only because they’re so effective and can be done so quickly. (A classic action - réaction, if you will.) So, what exactly is that nebulous worst experience? It’s him either using his Devil Fruit powers or his hook on you. To even get to that point, he’d have to be beyond angry with you. It’s probably something that happens early on while you’re not yet acquainted with your new role and you dare to insult him, try to escape - maybe you spiral, his temper simply cooks over and- Trust me, he’ll never do it again. It’ll leave permanent physical damage. But it’ll also traumatize you into submission, which is the only good thing to come out of this, at least to him. You’ll both regret it. And you’ll both learn from it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Spankings. Lots of them. It’s quick, efficient, shows you who is in charge, makes you sit a little straighter, makes you sweeter - he isn’t beyond mind games in general but when it comes to punishments, a quick correction is just more convenient. Manipulation and the likes are the long con, the work he puts in to undermine your self-esteem, to make you doubt your own feelings for your captor. But the spankings are the here and now, the thing that keeps the cat from sharpening its claws on the sofa.

You’ll learn to associate that telltale-look of tired disappointment with a sigh and over my knee, darling. He’ll ask what you’ve done wrong, will make you count, will leave you feeling so small, like an unruly child and not a fully grown adult - it’s a great way to keep you edge, to never let you forget who is in charge here, no matter how much time passes and in how many gifts he showers you.

And if it’s really dire - you get the belt. 

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I always waver on this one. We know from the story that he isn’t afraid of planning, slowly building, waiting - Operation Utopia was a goddamn mammoth and he has the patience to wait on you for years and years to make it perfect - but. Doesn’t he deserve something soft? Someone to come home to? And what good is all that plotting and lying in wait and watching if he could have had you by that point already?He definitely won’t go ‘alright, that one’s spouse-shaped, put them in the bag’ when he sees you for the first time but he won’t wait too long for you either. Just long enough to gain sufficient intel, to get to know you a little better, to make your disappearance as smooth and seamless as possible. I’m not trying to sound harsh, but not only does he not want to wait too long - there are also other, more important things to do? He can’t spend months upon months learning about you inch by inch, he has an Ancient Weapon to seize and a country to overthrow. You can’t be mad at him when he pulls the plug at a certain moment and simply takes what he wants. It’s really only logical.

[sunkenma]

the art of subtlety 

the many ways tamaki amajiki says “i love you” wordlessly.

650 words, fluff / hbd tamaki!

tamaki amajiki has never been good with words.

frankly, he has never been good with actions either. the fear of expressing himself and potentially garnering unwanted attention has always been on the precipice of his worries. yet if he had to pick the lesser of the two evils, he’d choose actions. 

actions, albeit still harrowing, are manageable when it comes to you. 

with you, he can’t help but want to do something, anything. anything that can help make life a little bit easier for you. may it be to carry your bag and books, or treat you to your favourite meal, or — even more scandalous for the timid man — hold your hand to prevent you from slipping on icy sidewalks, he would do it all. 

and he’s proud to say he does, although subtly to ensure you don’t notice. because if you ever did, he wouldn’t know how to explain himself. confessing to you is absolutely out of the question.

“the beef is sooo good!” you exclaim between bites. 

at the moment, you’re eagerly digging into the yakiniku you two have ordered for lunch as he contently sits across from you. watching you eat has always been one of tamaki’s favourite pastimes. you eat with so much gusto and excitement that just the mere sight of your silly little smile has him smiling and happily munching on his own food. 

correction, there mere sight of your silly little smile makes him happy in general. 

your cheeks are noticeably full as you ask, “did you try some yet?” 

“mhmm,” he responds meekly. he places another helping of meat on the edge of your plate as he does so, “it’s pretty tasty.”

tamaki inwardly smacks himself for lying to you. for the past few minutes, he’s been too preoccupied with grilling and placing most, if not all, the meat on your plate for him to actually try any of the food. in fact, having meals with you has always been this way — may it be peeling your shrimps, sneakily taking all of the vegetables you don’t like and replacing them with the ones you do like, or gifting you with his dessert. 

but that’s information he could never share with you, lest his feelings slip out.

a ghost of a smile lingers on his lips when he sees that a smidge of yakiniku sauce marks the corner of your lips. it’s cute. you’re cute. he has the strongest urge to kiss it — no, wipe it off for you, but he knows that doing so would only render him a collapsed and flustered heap on the table. 

“you have a little something here,” instead, tamaki opts to tell you. he points to the corner of his own mouth to indicate where the sauce is on your lips. again, he finds you adorable as you fumble to wipe it off, spewing out an embarrassed ‘how did that get there?’ 

he fondly looks on as you continue to devour the rest of the meat on your plate, wishing that there’s more he could for you. wishing that he didn’t have to be so subtle around you. wishing that he could simply pick up his chopsticks and feed you like his hand has been itching to do since you two sat down.

but for now, wishing is all he could do. it’s not a lot but tamaki is content. he’s content in knowing that these small gestures are still enough to make life slightly easier for you. he only hopes that these small gestures could eventually build up to the moment where he finally tells you how he truly feels. 

until then, he’ll stay subtle. 

( what tamaki doesn’t realize is that as he busies himself with serving you grilled meat, you’ve been putting some of them on his own plate when he isn’t looking. he isn’t as subtle as he likes to believe, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love watching him try. ) 

[em1e]

⠀めぐみ // SKATES ⠀ ༝ ༝ megumi fushiguro [ft. brother!gojo] ⠀༝ ༝ 3.6k words ⠀ ⚠︎ unrequited love!itadori + ice skater/hockey player au + mentions of drinking + i've never watched a hockey game in my life ⠀ — since the ripe age of eight, you’d pined for him and since he was seventeen, megumi had eyed you with that puppy-dog gaze, and neither of you seemed to notice it from the other. 

“it’s just so hard to talk to them.” 

megumi was never one to confide in others about his problems, but itadori somehow brings out a special side of him. 

“have you tried . . . you know, actually speaking to them?” the teasing grin doesn’t escape the dark-haired male, earning itadori a swipe from megumi. the former narrowly dodges the attack on the ice, holding his hockey stick out as if it’d help keep some amount of distance between the two. “hey, i’m only trying to help!” 

megumi skates closer to itadori despite the stick staying between the two of them, “i’ve already told you why it’s . . . difficult.” 

unintentionally, both pairs of eyes settle on a mop of white hair, off to the side of the rink giving instructions to another one of their teammates. 

“i get they’re related to coach gojo or whatever, and you have some weird mentor-parental-figure thing going on with him, but is that really enough reason to not talk to them?” 

megumi only turns his nose in response, choosing the option of not answering to be the lesser of two evils. 

“don’t think i’ve ever seen you get so worked up over somethin’,” itadori muses with a grin, “you must’ve liked ‘em for a real long time.” 

“shut up.” megumi’s eyes cut to meet itadori’s, narrowed, “just . . . help me, or whatever.” 

“help with what? talking to them? or dealing with whatever you have between coach gojo?” 

megumi mulls over the questions for a second before grimacing, “both?”

“alright,” itadori grins, “here’s what you gotta do . . . “

⠀ ༝ ༝ 

okay, megumi has to hand it to itadori. he isn’t as stupid as some might think. he may be beefy and thick-headed, but he does have some decent ideas. megumi can admit that easily- to himself at least. 

one of the many brilliant things he’s conjured up is watching one of your skating competitions. 

but he only agrees because it’s convenient! your match just happened to be in the same stadium as theirs, set thirty minutes before they need to pull on their own skates, and gojo might’ve invited him to watch what little he could - in front of itadori, no less, leaving megumi to only be able to say ‘sure!’, lest he face itadori later in the locker rooms with that weird judgmental look he likes to give. so -

the three of them sit in the stands. 

decked in their hockey jerseys, waiting for the twirling to start. 

itadori grins, watching megumi from the corner of his eye. his friend bounces his leg anxiously, while the announcer introduces the performers; you and a figure skating partner. maki zenin? the name sounds familiar. 

gojo mumbles something about how nervous you were for this competition, how you practiced day and night and would come back to your shared apartment with bruises littering your arms and legs. 

the two of you skate onto the ice, masks covering your eyes and sparkling outfits adorning your figures; both blue and open chested. it’s cute, how they match, even though itadori has some understanding that it’s only for aesthetics. 

you both take a bow, turn to face each other, and then the music starts. 

and damn is it impressive. 

it starts off measured, in tandem with the music. but slowly, slowly, it picks up until you’re both jumping and spinning and doing all these other incredible moves and everything is synchronized together. 

gojo kicks at itadori’s foot, shaking his daze from the incredible show. 

“match is gonna start soon, gotta get you guys into your skates.” 

itadori blinks once. twice. then nods. he forgot entirely about their own thing. itadori spares a glance to megumi, who’s still completely entranced by your performance. he nudges his friend, who almost recoils at being caught watching so intently. 

“what?” he grinds out, trying to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. 

“our match.” itadori says dumbly, “gotta go.” 

megumi’s eyes flicker from the rink, then back to his friend, before he stands and walks briskly past the two of them without another word. the remaining pairs of eyes meet, before the contact is broken as itadori stands to get his own skates on. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

it’s kind of surprising how many bruises one person can acquire in such a short period of time. 

getting absolutely bodied time and time again isn’t something they’re unused to, but damn. what do these guys eat for breakfast? they’ve managed to keep the score even the entire game, and if megumi gets slammed into the side panels one more time, he thinks he might fucking snap. 

they aren’t quitters, though. the whole team knows that, and they all know that they’ll never hear the end of it from gojo if they lose after being so close to winning. 

it’s interesting to watch from the stand, you note yourself; now in sweats and a hoodie instead of the sparkly skating outfit. maki sits beside you silently taking in each hit your home team takes against the see-through panels. you have the gist down of the game; get the puck into the enemy's goal, but the rest isn’t really your forte. getting smacked around by guys bigger than you isn’t the ideal way to spend your time. 

the game reaches its end with your brother’s team just barely winning. a close call, but you can tell they’re excited nonetheless - skating off the ice with high-fives and chest bumps despite their surely aching muscles. you tap maki’s arm, signaling that you were leaving; plans to meet with your brother after their match pre-made. 

you wait outside of the locker room, thinking back on your performance and the things you should practice; certain jumps for the next competition, possible new routines and the like. one by one, the team files out the door, still as cheery as when they got off the ice. gojo pushes past his players with a laugh as he exits, ducking and narrowly avoiding a kneepad to the head. his shoes aren’t even tied, tripping over his own feet and running straight into you. 

he takes you down in one swoop, grimacing at the impact before realizing you didn’t hit your head. thankfully. 

“god satoru, what’s your problem?”

“sorry!” he hurries out, “megumi was trying to-” 

“you idiot-!” 

you grin at their antics, despite having practically all the air knocked from your lungs. gojo moves to help you stand, shoving you forward in front of your dear friend megumi, who does a double-take at your brother using you as a shield. 

megumi opens his mouth to say something, probably a snide comment to gojo, before thinking better of it and settling on a glare directed at your brother. another player stumbles out the door, grabbing at megumi’s shoulder to pull him back. 

“woah, fushi, let’s take a breather!” 

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, covering your mouth while both pairs of eyes snap to you. 

“‘fushi’?” you giggle out, “didn’t know you had other nicknames, ‘gumi.” 

he flushes, ears tinting red while glaring daggers at the imbecile who dared to call him something so ridiculous. 

“only idiots call me that.” 

itadori finally looks at you instead of his friend, really taking a look at you and damn. you’re nothing like he expected, though he doesn’t even know what he expected. 

you’re the one megumi is head over heels for, and he can really see why. charming in every way it counts, with a bright smile that has him looking away to evade the blush wanting to seep its way onto his cheeks. 

what an odd turn of events. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

somehow, the four of you end up at your apartment; gojo insisting on buying dinner despite everyone trying to pitch in. 

“think of it as a congrats for a well played game - and well performed dance.” he says with a wave of his hand and a grin. not one of you has the energy to argue, so you watch as he leaves the apartment to pick up the take-out. 

megumi and itadori make themselves comfortable on your couch while you make drinks for everyone. tea you’d settled, the promise of it helping their achy muscles on the tip of your tongue as you bring them their cups. 

you find yourself in the loveseat across from them, legs tucked under you while you hold the warm cup close to you, “so, when did you guys meet? it’s rare to meet a friend of ‘gumi’s who hasn’t jumped ship within a month of knowing him.” 

megumi glares at the nickname, transferring it to itadori as he snickers. 

“i knew him in highschool, but we didn’t really talk ‘til i joined the team like ten . . . months ago?” he smiles as he answers, knocking shoulders with his friend, before his brows furrow, “come to think of it, gojo was coaching the school’s team then before he transferred to this one.” 

an unasked question sits on his tongue, head tilting slightly when you smile, “i went to a different high school, didn’t want to be known as the coaches sibling,” you explain with a giggle, “got accepted to a private school with a focus on figure skating.” 

“have you done figure skating long?” itadori sets his cup down and leans back against the couch. 

“pretty much my whole life, since i was like nine. it’s how i met maki , actually.” you smile fondly at the thought of your friend, gaze softening, and the shift in your demeanor isn’t missed by the two, who share a look. 

“are you guys . . . ?” itadori starts, only to be nudged by megumi who gives him a glare. don’t ask. don’t tell. 

your eyebrows raise at the question before you laugh, having to set down your own cup of tea in order to not spill it all over yourself, “dating? no, god no. she’s been pining after yuuta for the last two years-” you say before you can stop yourself. itadori’s face matches your previously surprised one, brows almost reaching his hairline. their yuuta? number one goalie and worst person at flirting? that yuuta? 

“don’t um. . . tell yuuta. or anyone.” 

megumi visibly relaxes at hearing there’s no secret relationship between the two of you, side eyeing itadori. itadori, who hums, “well does yuuta. . . ya know, like her back?” 

you mull over the question before shrugging, “maybe? i don’t really know him super well, but when we do talk, he blushes when her name is mentioned and always speaks so highly of her. i think he doesn’t realize maki feels the same, so they both just keep it to themselves.” 

“yuuta wouldn’t know someone had a crush on him if it hit him in the face.” megumi grumbles, earning a giggle from you. 

“he seems like the type.”  

megumi snorts, eyes narrowing, “yeah, like you’re any better. remember when that kid left a letter in your locker to meet ‘em at the cafe near your school and you made me go with you? poor kid looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole afterwards.” 

your face warms as you rush to sit up straighter, waving your hands, “no, oh my god, don’t remind me!” you squeak out, “that was so embarrassing! he told his friends and i never got another confession letter after that!” 

“maybe you shouldn’t bring people with you to deny your dumb confessions,” megumi argues with no malice, grinning at your dismay. 

you continue to bicker back and forth between each other, reminiscing on the past and adding teasing remarks to each memory. through it all, itadori watches from the sidelines, a grin on his face. 

it’s cute, almost, seeing megumi speak to someone who isn’t a teammate or a rival or a coach or a fan or whatever and there be nothing but warmth in his tone. it’s sweet and refreshing and feels like a breath of fresh air after a long hockey game that’s kept them on the brink of failing and yet . . . 

his chest aches. 

there’s a burn somewhere deep down that has him clenching his jaw and looking down to his lap when you laugh loudly at a joke megumi makes. he feels almost like he doesn’t belong here, in the space with the two of you. it’s too intimate, despite you sitting several feet apart. he’s an intruder on this precious moment that he helped megumi prepare for. all for someone he could have never known he’d want just as much. 

“is there a bathroom?” itadori asks when your laughter dies down to a small fit of giggles, hand covering your mouth to hide your smile. 

“yeah, of course!” you scramble to get up, “let me show you, the lock is kinda finicky sometimes.”

you lead the way and itadori is left behind in the scent of fresh linen and lavender and everything that can only be described as you, and when you explain with a smile on your face how to twist the knob while locking it to make sure it clicks in place, itadori feels the burn in his chest swirl down deep into his gut until it settles there heavily. 

he sits in the bathroom for a little longer than necessary after you leave him alone. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

the ride back to their apartment is silent, stomachs full and tired beyond anyone's belief from their game. 

itadori stares solemnly out the window, noting how it’s almost dramatic the way raindrops roll down the glass, how the clouds make the night sky look a hundred times inkier than it naturally is. 

it’s megumi who breaks the silence, clearing his throat before he speaks, “do you um . . . what . . . what’s the verdict?” 

if itadori could see his friend in the dark, he’d be able to make out the way his cheeks light up pink, unable to to return a glance and gripping the steering wheel unnecessarily tight. 

“for?” he prompts, though he’s sure he knows where this conversation is headed. 

“them.” megumi clarifies ominously, “do you think i might have a chance or whatever.” his voice trails off. 

the sinking feeling returns in the pit of his stomach, and itadori fights to push it down. 

“yeah,” he answers honestly, “they’re sweet on you, talk to you in a different way than everyone else.” 

megumi’s breath stutters at his friend's confession, and itadori has half a mind to remind him to breathe before he kills the both of them; one death due to asphyxiation, the other in a fiery crash. 

“cool.” he says after a moment, “cool, cool, cool.” 

“i’ll help you.” itadori decides to settle with as they pull into the parking lot, “i’ll get the rundown for how they feel and stuff - like a secret wingman.” he sends megumi a toothy grin, and megumi finds himself sending a smile back, albeit small compared to the shining of itadori’s pearly whites. 

and as they carry their hockey gear up two flights of stairs, itadori wonders for a second if his reasoning is all-that innocent. he’s sure, no, positive he wants to help his friend get the person of his dreams. but as he lays in bed, the sinking feeling returns with a dull ache below his gut, and he fears the implication. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

you’re so much easier to talk to than he realized. 

conversation flows so freely from you, and itadori eats up each word that passes your lips without hesitation, eager to keep the flux constant and take everything you have to say with greed. 

he commits each detail to memory with the intention to relay every bit of information you offer to megumi when the two of them are in the safe confines of their home. 

just last week, he’d managed to squeeze a blush out of you as you admitted megumi was your first kiss (a dare, he learned, in middle school when a game of truth or dare threw the two of you into something much more intimate than either you would have ever thought). and tonight, through drunken giggles, celebrating in your apartment after a well-earned win, you delve into the fact that megumi has been your only kiss. almost a decade since, and he’s the only person your lips have touched. 

itadori was practically vibrating as he tells megumi, so very certain of one reason as to why that could be. 

“they totally have the hots for you.” itadori manages to slur out, one too many wine coolers consumed when the two of you tried to out-drink each other. 

megumi grunts, half-heartedly pushing at itadori’s shoulders to get him to pass the threshold of their door, “you think so?” 

“know so.” the reply is almost instant, “you should hear the way they talk ‘bout ya, so sweet nd pretty nd soft.” he grins, “s’cute.” 

megumi freezes behind him, pausing his efforts to get him inside for only a second before he’s back to it, “right.” 

megumi fushiguro may be many things. awkward, aggressive, easily annoyed, but he’s not stupid. 

he sees the way itadori looks at you. sees how his eyes light up in a way that's all-too familiar, and the thought of itadori, his best friend, having a crush on you twists his stomach into intangible knots. 

he pushes the possibility away as he eases his friend into bed, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face when he looks at his phone as he tucks himself away into his room. 

      The Annoying Gojo     txt me ypu made it homw safe!!

he can overlook the misspells, just this once, warmth setting in his chest at your concern. 

     gumi <3       Made it home safe. Drink some water.

you smile stupidly as your eyes dance across your screen, shoving your phone into gojo’s face. 

“look, look, look!” gojo has to grab your wrist and force you to steady yourself, squinting to read. 

“. . . okay?” 

you press the phone closer to his eyes as if that could make him understand clearer what you want him to understand, “he cares, 'toru! ‘gumi cares ‘bout me.” 

he already knows, if the way he acts around you is anything to go by. still, gojo rolls his eyes and pushes your phone away, “don’t go distracting one of my best players now, or you’ll be banned from coming to games.” 

you pout, pulling your phone to your chest protectively, mumbling something about that not being fair and him being so mean for even suggesting the thought. 

still, as gojo leads you to bed, he wonders for a second what truly could be going on in his prodigies mind when it comes to you. you’d been quick friends since gojo practically took megumi in to raise him, much to the boy’s dismay at the time, and he’s watched from the sidelines as the two of you blossomed into incredible young adults. 

since the ripe age of eight, you’d pined for him and since he was seventeen, megumi had eyed you with that puppy-dog gaze, and neither of you seemed to notice it from the other. 

⠀ ༝ ༝

you and maki won your competition. you qualify for nationals. the excitement is palpable, and as you exit the locker room, maki in tow behind you, it’s megumi’s arms you jump into excitedly (completely ignoring your brother and the whines he gives when you don’t immediately accept the flowers he’s brought for you). when you finally separate to acknowledge the rest of the group, itadori finds it impossible to tear his gaze from the blush on your cheeks. 

you hug him, too, and finish with your brother, who picks you up and spins you for your well-earned win. your laughter is infectious, bubbling something warm in his chest that has him smiling too while a now dating yuuta and maki say their goodbyes - hands held together and matching blushes on their cheeks in their retreat. 

and of course to celebrate, there’s drinking. 

after a nice dinner (that gojo paid for), the four of you settle with your liquor (that gojo bought) in your apartment. you’re already pretty tipsy by the time you settle on the couch beside megumi, itadori on the loveseat across from you. a giggle passes your lips as gojo leaves the apartment on the phone, saying something about business, reminded easily of the first time the three of you had been left in your home together. 

“‘gumi, ‘gumi, you’re coming to my finals right?” you ask, disregarding the blush that decorates his cheeks as you practically stick to his side. megumi’s eyes meet itadori’s for help, and the latter only shrugs while giving him a thumbs up. he can handle this. 

itadori excuses himself to the bathroom. 

and as he hears your giggle drifting through the apartment, saccharine sweet and not for him, he finds himself closing the door with a little more force than necessary. it’s then that itadori realizes how unfair life can be. when he looks at himself in the mirror, hands braced against the granite counter, he wonders if things could’ve been different. 

if he had met you sooner, would things be different? 

he’s reminded how crudely unfair it is that you were introduced to him so late in life. he's known gojo since high school, but you've known megumi since you were six - and some part of him comes to the conclusion that you’ve probably loved him since then, too. 

when he comes out of the bathroom, you’re tucked safely into megumi’s side, with him whispering things only you could hear, and itadori feels that bitter feelings returning without warning as he makes himself another drink. it’s wrong, he knows, to allow it to settle in a pit, but he knows he never really had a shot to begin with.

not when he can see you giving megumi one of those soft smiles only reserved for him from his spot in the kitchen. not when megumi returns it with his own gentleness that comes by cupping your cheek, by pressing the tenderest of kisses to your lips.

[corellianhounds]

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Ugh okay yes I have like a bunch of these, but I did settle on one that I just don’t know when I’d be able to figure it out. There’s too much setup involved to make it what I want. The context is that it’s a Prospect/Mandalorian crossover, the events of Prospect happening differently where Damon lives, but Cee still ends up escaping with Ezra.

Damon hires Mando to find Cee and their harvest after she disappears with Ezra, and once Mando finally tracks them down he’s shocked to see someone with his face walking around in the open. The whole time the plot’s happening he’s suspicious and unnerved by this stranger sharing his voice and face, and though his research into the backlog of Guild cases doesn’t reveal any details of this guy’s origin or personal life, it does give him plenty of information regarding Ezra’s colorful criminal history

However, Damon’s history isn’t much better, and Mando suspects he’s just better at hiding some of the more unsavory things he’s done. He also finds that Cee, according to his research, has been logged as Damon’s harvesting partner for almost ten years despite the fact this girl is clearly only about fifteen years old, and the kind of harvesting Damon’s done in the outer reach is a two-man job; you can’t afford dead weight, even if it’s to keep your kid with you. Does Damon want his daughter back, or does he want his assistant back?

Mando’s having to deliberate over who between Damon and Ezra is a bigger threat to this girl’s safety. Did Cee really choose Ezra because she trusts him and Ezra is trustworthy, or because she's being forced to choose the lesser of two evils?

—

Mando kept his pistol on Damon, but then he unhooked his rifle from his back, cocked it one handed and aimed it at Ezra—

— Only for Cee to step in front of him.

There was a scuffle of protests— Ezra tried to wrest her behind him but she shoved him back. Mando primed the charge on the rifle and Ezra raised both arms, hissing at Cee— Damon made as if to move for the girl, Mando grunted and stepped closer to Damon. Damon halted his approach, and Ezra and Cee argued while Cee blocked Mando's aim.

"Don't," Cee growled. "We trusted you."

"Listen, kid," Mando said levelly. "I don't know which between the two of them is worse, and I don't like the idea of you having to choose the better of two bad options."

"He's— He didn't coerce me," Cee protested.

"Didn't he?" Damon snarled.

"Shut up." Mando continued to watch the girl. "I don't know that, Cee. And I don't know if you're only saying that because you feel like it’s the only way to get away from your father."

Damon seethed. Ezra's wide eyes were stricken, watching the Mandalorian as Cee's shoulders tensed further. Either he was as good of an actor as Mando thought, or he truly did care for the girl. If it weren't for Cee's stubbornness shoving him back, Mando might have believed he'd step in front of her.

"Cee, I'm telling you to make the decision you want and know that if the answer is neither, you can walk away and get on that freighter of your own accord and go wherever you want. There's a bag of credits on my belt. I have a vested interest in bringing both of them into the Guild, and I won't move until you're safe. I can stand here a long time."

The silence between them hung like a ship in stasis as Cee glared. There was only a moment when Cee's gaze flicked to Damon, some silent conversation happening between them, and then she hooked one hand into the shoulder belt of Ezra's flight suit, pulling him just to the side, still behind her. "He's coming with me.”

Damon swore in a litany of languages as Mando nodded. "Okay."

"And we're going with you."

Meta Ask Game

[jewelleria]

can we please stop using the hostages as a tool to further the anti-bibi agenda?

before the bibi netanyahu hate club on here tries to bite my head off, please understand that multiple things can be true at the same time.

it goes without saying that i oppose bibi’s actions in regards to a lot of the war (and before obviously) and that he needs to step down or be removed from office. it also goes without saying that we should not expect the hostage families to be doing anything less than endlessly raising awareness to the suffering of their children and advocating for their return as they currently are. we cannot and should not expect them to stop advocating for the release of their loved ones.

we should also not forget that bibi is not the one who tortured, raped, murdered, and KIDNAPPED almost 2,000 people on oct 7th.

say whatever you want about how bibi’s government enabled it, about how they were ignorant and arrogant and ignored the threat of hamas until it was too late. some of it is true, but that doesn’t change the fact that the people who CARRIED OUT the massacre on october 7th were hamas terrorists.

so why is the slogan #bringthemhome directed at bibi? why is everyone screaming for the israeli government and the war cabinet to accept the netanyahu deal as if two of its members weren’t the ones to propose it to the US in the first place?

why isn’t the slogan #letthemgo? why isn’t it directed at hamas, the ones who took the hostages in the first place?

why are israelis, the very people affected and devastated by october 7th, blaming bibi as if he can simply pluck the hostages out of gaza with an all-powerful hand? why are israelis blaming bibi’s government for the failed ceasefires and rejected hostage deals when in fact they should be blaming hamas?

radical israeli leftists need to get their heads out of their collective ass. the fact that i have to even say this is gut-wrenching, but “bring them home at all costs” is not something israel can accept.

because “at all costs” includes the cost that results in destruction of israel. it includes the cost of another october 7th. it includes the cost of more hostages trapped in underground hell with murderous barbaric terrorists, and more families suffering daily by constant unbearable worry.

israel has been forced into a lose-lose situation. we will suffer no matter what choice we make. this is not about making the “right” decision—it’s about choosing to pursue the outcome with the least amount of long-term suffering. it’s about choosing the lesser of two extraordinarily painful evils.

we can focus on bibi and ben gvir and smotrich and the judicial shit after the war. RIGHT NOW IS NOT THE TIME.

כולכם חיים בסרט. תפתחו את העיניים שלכם.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Chapter 16

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15

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

Eddie didn’t usually get nervous about meeting people. Even the few times he met parents, he didn’t really expect them to be a forever thing, so it didn’t really matter to him if he made a good impression.

But this was Steve. This was the person he was spending forever with. And despite his clearly complicated relationship with his parents, his mom seemed to mean something to him.

Steve explained their entire conversation on the way to his apartment, his old apartment, the one he hopefully wouldn’t move back into.

If it were up to Eddie, this temporary move to his house would be permanent, but he didn’t want to push. He knew Robin and Steve were close, and that Robin looking for a new roommate may take some time, that Steve wouldn’t want to just leave her with such little notice and no one to cover his half of the rent.

The closer they got to the apartment, the more nervous Eddie became.

Steve looked over at him when they stopped at a red light, brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing, my love,” he brushed it off, kept his face forward so he wouldn’t fall for the puppy dog eyes Steve gave him to get what he wanted.

“You know, my mom isn’t that bad. I don’t get along with her all the time, but she is definitely the lesser of two evils when it comes to my parents.”

“Mhm. Just wanna make sure you’re okay with everything.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, the soft tones of a song he didn’t recognize playing on the radio.

“You know it’s okay to be worried about yourself, Eds. I’m feeling…well, not great, but kind of positive about this? I know it could turn into nothing, but my mom is kind of relentless when she’s set on something and it doesn’t sound like she’s gonna give up until I have my job back.”

Steve’s hand settled on Eddie’s knee, providing him a comfort he didn’t realize he needed.

Eddie often found comfort in putting others’ needs first, that’s what made him a good dom, a good friend, a good person. But even he needed to take a break from that sometimes. He knew it, he just didn’t actually do it.

“I’m mostly worried about you, but I am a little worried about meeting your mom. There, is that better?” Eddie asked with a small smile.

“Yes. She always comes off scarier than she is. All yip, no bite, or whatever the saying is,” Steve said confidently.

Eddie loved him. God, he loved him so much.

He watched as Steve bobbed his head along to the music, his hand remaining on Eddie’s knee and tapping his fingers, though he was completely off beat.

Eddie loved him so much, it felt like a part of him was always going to hear Steve’s name and associate it with comfort and home.

Steve pulled into his usual parking spot, sighing as he parked.

“Just don’t take any offense to what she says. She has no filter and forgets that people have feelings. I barely listen to anything she says anymore.”

Steve sounded nervous suddenly, maybe even more than Eddie had been on the way here.

Eddie turned, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed his nose.

“I’m here to support you, protect you. I want her to help you. I don’t care if she likes me or is rude to me, it’s about you being happy.”

“Eds, I don’t want her to upset you. Please just don’t let her scare you away.”

“Sunshine, I’m not goin’ anywhere, especially not because of your mom being a little mean to me. Your my home, and I’m yours, right?”

He felt Steve relax into his hands, a fond smile taking over his face.

“Yeah, baby, you are.”

“Then let’s go see your mom.”

—----------------------------------------

Robin was standing at the front door as soon as he opened it, her eyes begging him to do literally anything to help.

He almost laughed.

Almost.

But then he heard his mother, presumably on the phone with someone, and he decided he probably should be easy on her.

“Who’s she talking to?”

“It’s been someone new every five minutes since she got off the phone with you. I think this one is your father, but I’m not sure because she talks to everyone the exact same, which is like they are specks of dirt on the bottom of her shoe.” Robin rolled her eyes and turned to Eddie with a smile. “Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, Robbie. Gonna make it?”

“Hard to say. I hope so.”

They gave each other quick hugs, an exchange of wordless support, and Eddie felt a bit better. If Robin could handle Steve’s mom, he certainly could.

“Richard, I don’t give a shit and a half if you think I’m babying him. He’s our son. He didn’t do anything wrong and he’s being punished. Our job is to help people who don’t do anything wrong and are being punished. I’ll be better off without your help, but I refuse to let you make empty threats at me or him.”

“You guys stay here,” Steve muttered, making his way into the kitchen to talk to his mom.

“I have to go. You can go fuck yourself or the newest woman who has to fake it through a few minutes in bed with you to get a new diamond bracelet.”

Anne Harrington did not fuck around. Steve could admit to himself that it was probably the best part about her.

“Oh, good, you’re home. I’ve contacted the school to let them know any future interviews involving you will also have me present. Any paperwork sent to you or requiring a signature will be reviewed by me first. I’ve already been sent the paperwork you signed, which will not hold up in court because all parties involved in the case are supposed to sign it and only you signed it. You work for a school system that doesn’t seem to understand basic law, which is concerning since they’re opening themselves up to a hell of a lawsuit.”

“It’s nice to see you, Mom.”

Anne sighed, releasing the weight of the world from her shoulders, and pulled him into a hug.

They were never a touchy family, not even when Steve was a small child. But every once in a while, usually during the most stressful times, his mom would pull him into a hug that actually felt like the type of hug a mother would give her kid.

“What a pickle this is,” she said against his shoulder, a solid six inches shorter than him, but always bigger than her body when she spoke.

“I know. Thanks for helping.”

“No need to thank me, it’s gonna be easy to handle. Now! Where’s the boyfriend?”

“Uh. With Robin.”

“Let’s go get this out of the way, then,” she said as she pulled away from him, her face back to the stern look he’d walked in on.

“Just be easy, please. He-”

“Steven, I know what it looks like when you’re happy. I know I rarely was around to see it, but it’s easy to see the glow, even with all this stress happening around you. He makes you feel loved?”

“Every second of every day.”

“Then he won’t have to worry about me unless that changes,” she said as she walked out to the living room.

Anne walked up to Eddie, his eyes wide as he took her in.

“Edward Munson. Nice to meet you. I’m Anne Harrington. I am certain I like you just fine, but let’s get right to it: my son is all that matters to me right now and if you get in his way of getting his job back or me doing my job, you will never step foot near him again, understood?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the blush creeping across his cheeks. His mom had never been this protective of him, not even in high school when one of his friends tried to drag him into a legal issue with another basketball player.

“And if I ever get in the way of his happiness and future, I hope you would do whatever you can to protect him,” Eddie responded.

Anne studied him for a moment, looking him up and down and trying to figure out what her response should be.

She nodded once, turned to Steve, gave him a wink, and then looked back at Eddie.

“Let’s get Steve his job back.”

—----------------------------------------

The next three days were endless meetings with his mom, the school, and the school board.

Steve was instructed not to open his mouth except to give the same answers he’d already given, let Anne do most of the talking otherwise, keep his head up and appear confident that he’d done the right thing.

He had done the right thing, so it was easy to do.

Every moment he got with Eddie was special, his mom taking the guest room of the house and making it difficult for them to have any time alone.

But they still stole away in the evenings, when his mom decided to take a break from everything and shower and read her book for a bit. Eddie and Steve would take a bath together, Eddie washing Steve, Steve washing Eddie, touching every inch of each other with reverence as they silenced the moans with their mouths.

It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for a while.

Steve cooked them breakfast every morning, Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked side to side, humming a song Steve didn’t know.

Eddie went to the shop while Steve stayed home and made sure his mom had everything she needed to do her job. He would bring Eddie a late lunch to take a break, and his mom would often go find a restaurant she deemed tolerable so she could enjoy a “decent salad, nobody makes a decent salad anymore, Steven.”

By the time dinner came around, Steve was feeling too much, and he had no way to feel better about it until Eddie got home.

Eddie would just know.

He’d pull him against his chest, run his hands up and down his back for a minute, then tug on his hair just right, just the way Steve craved.

It wasn’t enough to float, not even enough to drift a bit on the edge, but it was enough to make him feel like Eddie knew what he needed and would help as soon as he could.

“Your mom in the kitchen?” Eddie whispered against his head.

“Mhm.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah. Said we should be hearing anytime now about everything.”

“Did you talk about her treatments yet?”

Steve shook his head against Eddie’s chest.

“She doesn’t want to?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Want me to ask?”

“No. I just want you to be here with me when I do. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is, sunshine,” Eddie kissed the top of his head and pulled away so he could head into the kitchen to start making dinner.

It was smooth, or at least as smooth as it could be with an extra person in the house who was toeing the line between welcome and nuisance.

Eddie was making steak salad tonight, at his mom’s request, because he was incredible and a small part of Steve loved seeing that Eddie was doing whatever it took to keep her happy, to keep the peace between them.

“Hi, Anne. How’s today been?” Eddie asked as he moved towards the fridge to pull everything out to start prepping.

“It’s been another day, Edward. How was your day?”

“Had another first tattoo today. Those are always interesting,” he sent a knowing look to Steve, who was shaking his head slowly.

“Oh? Do you get them often?”

“Honestly, no. Steve was my first first in a while. This was a friend of a friend who only trusted me to do it.”

Steve froze.

Somehow, Steve had managed to hide his tattoos from his mom the entire time. He’d been wearing Eddie’s hoodies around the house and long sleeve shirts and blazers or jackets for the meetings.

Eddie must have realized what happened as he turned to see Anne’s eyes searching Steve’s visible skin.

“You have a tattoo?”

“I have two.”

“Steven, tattoos aren’t very professional for your line of work.”

Eddie was standing at attention now, ready to step in the moment Steve needed him, but waiting for a signal of any kind.

“I got them in places that can be hidden. You haven’t seen them the entire time.”

“What could you possibly have gotten tattooed?”

“Will made me a sun painting and I decided I wanted it as a tattoo. Eddie did it on my wrist. Then I got a robin done.”

“This is the Will that you helped?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

Her voice was much gentler now, almost too kind compared to what Steve was used to when she was disappointed in him.

Steve rolled the sleeve of his hoodie up, holding it out towards his mom as she sat at the table.

She took his wrist and turned it back and forth as she looked at the sun.

“He’s quite talented,” she said softly.

“He is.”

“I’m proud of you, Steve.”

Steve’s heart stopped, his eyes widened, and he felt his eyes flood with tears.

His parents had never said that to him, not when he made the varsity basketball team a year earlier than most people do, not when they won a championship, not when he made swim team captain as a junior, not when he graduated high school, not ever.

He’d stopped expecting to hear it eventually, especially when he’d cut himself off from them.

But some part of him, probably his inner child who had craved hearing those words for his entire life, felt incredibly overwhelmed at the way his mother was looking at him with tears in her eyes.

He distantly heard Eddie walk out of the room, and he struggled with the combination of feelings of relief and anxiety knowing that he wasn’t right there.

“I’m sorry I don’t tell you more, or ever, I guess. I know you’ve deserved to hear it so much. I guess-” she took a shaky breath. “I guess it was easier for me to pretend I wasn’t proud because I had no hand in your accomplishments. It was selfish of me to think that way, and I know that no amount of apologies will make up for it, but I let my job and your father dictate my entire life to the point that I forgot my son needed me.”

“Mom-”

“Let me finish first, please,” she held her hand up to stop him. “As I’ve been working on this entire situation, I’ve read through the interviews the school board conducted with Will, with his mom, with his brother, with other students, with the principal. Everyone loves you, everyone is on your side. Your own principal said the school would never be the same if you weren’t given another chance, that they would never find anyone as valuable as you are. The place I went to lunch the other day saw my last name and asked if I was related to you, and when I told them I was your mom, they gave me lunch for free because you helped the owner rebuild his shed when a snowstorm collapsed the roof last winter. And Eddie. Honey, that boy looks at you like you’re his sun. I cannot believe you’ve only been together a couple weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way you two feel about each other. Robin wanted to kill me when I walked into your apartment, and I assume it’s because she knows I haven’t ever been a good mom to you, and she’s right for wanting to protect you like that. I was never around to protect you, and probably caused more pain than anything, and I will spend as much time as it takes to try to make up for it.”

Steve was crying, the tears running down his face, soaking his hoodie, his vision so blurry he could barely even see that his mother was crying, too.

She stood up and pulled him against her, her head resting against his shoulder, his head resting against the top of her head.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his hoodie, her voice muffled but still audible.

“Why wasn’t I enough to be proud of?” Steve asked, his voice breaking.

“Oh, darling, you were. I promise you were. This isn’t anything you did wrong, or didn’t do well enough, this is all me failing you. You deserved to know I was proud of you, but I didn’t stop to think about how much not telling you would hurt you. That was my fault, not yours., you understand?”

Steve nodded, letting out another sob.

Suddenly, Eddie’s hand was on his lower back, and Steve’s body instantly relaxed.

“Sorry to interrupt, but your phone keeps ringing, and I figured it must be important if they keep trying,” Eddie said quietly, softly, the gentlest interruption he could possibly have made to their moment.

Steve pulled away sniffling, wiping his eyes as his mother did the same.

He reached for his phone, a new set of vibrations alerting him to another phone call.

“Hello?” Steve answered, hoping his voice didn’t give away the emotions of the last 15 minutes.

“Mr. Harrington, so sorry to keep calling like this, but I wanted to make sure to reach you before the school board official called.”

Principal Graves’ voice sounded excited, barely containing something that Steve hoped was good news.

“Is everything okay?”

“They’re going to be calling with the scheduled hearing for all parties involved today. They only do this when they’re pretty sure about reinstating someone, so I have a very good feeling you’ll be coming back to work within the next week.”

Steve started crying again.

Eddie and his mom looked at him concerned, but he gave them a wet smile to show that he was okay.

“I’ll get to talk to Will there?”

“This is why you’re the only person qualified for this job. The person filling in for you doesn’t believe in weekly sessions with students, says it causes students to become too attached to the counselor and services. I can’t wait to see her go. You didn’t hear that from me though.”

Steve let out a laugh, his tears finally slowing down, and his head falling to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I miss my kids,” Steve admitted, closing his eyes when Eddie’s hand rubbed up and down his back comfortingly.

“They miss you. We all do. We owe a lot to your mother for how quickly this has turned in your favor. This could have gone on for another month at the rate they wanted to do things. She’s an impressive woman.”

Steve watched as his mother sat back down at the table to write something down in her notes with a smile.

“Yeah, she is.”

He wrapped up the call so he could be available for the school board call, thanking the principal multiple times for her help. He knew she struggled with filing a report at all, that she was only doing her job.

When he hung up, he explained everything to Eddie and his mom, getting interrupted halfway through by a kiss from Eddie, their teeth clacking together because of the broad smiles on both their faces.

When the call from the school board came through, Steve was sitting on the couch while Eddie prepared dinner in the kitchen, having a casual conversation with his mom while she worked at the dining room table.

On Monday, his entire future would be decided, and hopefully, he’d be back in his office to make a difference.

—------------------------------

When Monday came, Robin and Chrissy met Eddie and Steve at the school board office an hour early.

“Your mom coming?”

“She had a phone call with her doctor this morning so she should be here soon,” Steve said.

They’d talked over dinner a few nights before about her treatments, and how she had been putting it off for work, but also putting it off because she was scared. Steve told her she had to take care of herself, that her health needed to take priority, and if she needed to have support through it, he would be there.

Eddie took it a step further, and offered her the guest room during her treatments so she didn’t have to be alone.

Steve loved him so much.

“Should we wait inside?” Chrissy asked, holding onto Robin’s hand.

“You guys go in. I just wanna talk to Steve for a second,” Eddie said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist.

Chrissy smirked, but didn’t say anything as she guided Robin inside.

Steve turned to Eddie, nervous smile on his face.

“What is it, baby?”

“I just wanted to say that no matter what, I’m in this with you. We’ll figure it out if things don’t go as planned, and nothing with us is going to change. You’re an incredible person and counselor, sunshine, and if they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you,” Eddie pecked his lips quickly to emphasize his words.

“Thank you, Eds. I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

With one more quick kiss, they parted, and made their way inside to find the room the hearing would take place in.

When they found it, the Byers were already there, and Will looked ready to vibrate out of his seat when he noticed Steve walk in.

He looked to Joyce, silently begging for permission to go to Steve. When she nodded with a smile, Will shot up out of his seat, nearly tripping on his own feet to run towards him.

Steve nearly fell backwards with the force of the hug, Will’s arms wrapping around him as he let out a sob. Eddie held them both up as Steve found his balance again, smiling down at them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone. Mom’s trying to put together a fund for you so you can still pay your bills and Jonathan booked a show and the band is gonna give up their money from it to help you. And I made you a painting, but I couldn’t give it to you because Mom said it would possibly be worse if we tried to talk to you while they did everything. And I hate the new counselor, she’s terrible. She said if I need weekly services I should see a therapist and didn’t understand that we can’t afford one, that’s why I talk to you, but she just kept saying there are ‘resources for people in poverty’ which, we know, but they’re terrible and there’s a long wait list or else I would have already tried and-”

“Woah, buddy. Take a deep breath.” Steve helped him take a couple deep breaths and smiled down at Will. “It’s gonna be okay. Even if today doesn’t go well, I can still help you somehow. And you don’t have to worry about the money, you guys are amazing, but I’m doing fine.”

“Mom brought you a check already today. You can’t leave without it.”

Steve shook his head.

“Keep it. Use it for art supplies or something. I’ve got my bills paid and if today goes well, I’ll be back to work very soon.”

Will looked like he wanted to continue to argue, but Anne walked in, followed by Principal Graves and a few school board officials that Steve recognized as the interviewers for the case.

“You must be Will,” Anne said as she walked up to them.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t do that. I fear I’m looking much older than I wish to these days and that doesn’t help. I’m Mr. Harrington’s mom, Anne.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Anne.”

“You’re an outstanding artist, Will. I’d love to commission you for a piece for my office when you are done with school for the year.”

Will’s jaw dropped, and Steve couldn’t help the little giggle he let out.

His mother had only told him about that plan the day before, and he wholeheartedly agreed with it.

“Like, for money?”

“Of course. We’ll discuss it more when we get past this little bump in the road, okay?”

Will nodded, his mouth still open in shock.

“Attention everyone, please take your seats so we may begin,” a loud, deep voice echoed through the room.

Everyone followed instructions quickly, silent agreement that this needed to be over with as soon as possible.

Steve was nervous. He’d done okay up until this point, relying on his mom to explain technical things to him and Eddie to help him stay grounded and relaxed as much as possible.

But neither of them could do that now. Now, it was up to everyone at the front of the room to make a decision, a decision they probably already made, that would determine if Steve left here with a job or without one.

“As all of you know, I am the lead official investigator for this case, Mr. Hammond. We have spent many days conducting individual interviews with all parties present, as well as group interviews and other individual interviews with students and teachers at the school. We are here today to allow both sides to state anything they may have left out during interviews before we make our final recommendation on Mr. Harrington’s employment.” He cleared his throat before turning to look at Joyce and Will. “We will begin with you both. You are not required to add anything, but if you feel there is anything else you’d like to say, now is your chance.”

Will stood up immediately.

“I’d like to say something, please.”

The group in front nodded.

“Mr. H has been the best thing about school for me. He’s helped me really feel comfortable with myself, and helped me make new friends, and helped me understand that my art can be special to me and can provide a future for me if I try hard enough. No other counselor or teacher has ever been there like he has. My grades have suffered since he was sent home,” he sighed. Steve didn’t know that, and he felt anger rise up as he thought of the counselor in his place turning Will away while he struggled. “I haven’t been able to focus on my portfolio. I get encouragement from my mom, but she works hard and sometimes it’s just nice for someone who isn’t related to me to offer their support. Mr. H was that support for me, and no matter what decision you make today, I know he will do his best to still give it to me in whatever way he can.”

“Thank you, Will.” A woman next to Mr. Hammond gave him a smile. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Will sat down and Joyce hugged him, whispering something into his ear that no one could hear.

“Mr. Harrington, now is your chance to speak. You may say anything you wish to discuss your actions.”

Steve looked at Anne, who nodded at him encouragingly. They’d agreed the day before that she would only step in if things got ugly, and it seemed calm enough that he could speak on his own.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood. “I believe I spoke a lot during my interviews about how much my students, not just Will, mean to me. I got into this profession because I want to be a support for kids who may not always have it. That isn’t to say Ms. Byers doesn’t support him, but she’s a hardworking single mom, and it does take a village to raise a child, as we all know. When I first met Will, he barely spoke to anyone, he was barely passing his classes, and he was on his way to being a statistic that doesn’t look good for the community, the school, or himself. After a few sessions, he started opening up a bit more to me, and I saw a major improvement in his grades. He started making friends, he started becoming more involved in school activities like art club, and even got encouraged to apply for an elite art program. As you all are aware, his mother barely makes enough money to pay the necessary bills, and an art program like the one Will deserves to be a part of requires a lot of funding just to apply. He came to me as a trusted person to ask for help, which is something we encourage all students to do without fear of punishment. Instead of that happening, he was punished. I was punished as well, and trust me, it’s been difficult, but this entire time, I’ve been worried more about the impact this will have on Will.”

Steve looked over at Will, who was wiping tears from his face.

“My boyfriend Eddie was the one offering financial assistance. If you remember, he knew the Byers before we were even together. He knows what Will is capable of and didn’t want him to lose out on a big opportunity for his future because of a couple hundred dollars. I supported them because Will deserves it. If our job is to care for these kids, and make sure they have bright futures, then that’s what we did. Punishing any of us for it seems like the opposite of what our mission is. It’s been a privilege to be able to provide Will, and many other students, a safe place to be themselves, and I hope to continue to do that in this school.”

Steve sat down before anyone responded, his mom squeezing his shoulder and Eddie taking his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. If you would give us all a few minutes to deliberate in the other room, we will be back shortly,” Mr. Hammond said seriously.

As they filed out, Steve’s nerves grew exponentially.

His legs were bouncing up and down until Eddie’s hands were on his knees, putting pressure on them to keep them still.

“Look at me, Stevie. That’s it, good boy,” Eddie whispered to him. Anne was busy speaking with Joyce and Will, so they were practically alone. “You did amazing. They’d be idiots not to reinstate you. If you’re not back in your office tomorrow, I’ll move us to another school district so you can find a new job. Will can come, too.”

Steve let out a small giggle at the thought of moving their entire lives just so he could have another chance to be a counselor somewhere.

“Everyone here knows you did the right thing. That’s what matters most. We’re all proud of you.”

Steve nodded.

He looked behind him at Robin and Chrissy, who both waved when he looked back, their hands still clasped between them.

He sat silently for a few minutes, looking down at his lap, trying to believe Eddie’s words, but not get his hopes up too much in case things went badly.

The door opened.

The group walked in.

No one’s face gave anything away.

Steve’s nerves grew, but Eddie’s hand in his kept him here.

“Thank you for your patience,” Mr. Hammond stated. “At this time, will Mr. Harrington please stand?”

Steve stood, his legs wobbling slightly as he let go of Eddie’s hand.

He felt every eye on him.

“Mr. Harrington, you understand that this has all been following a very strict policy in regards to confidentiality and personal relationships with students?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand it was our responsibility to fully investigate all claims made to ensure the safety of the student in question?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand that reinstatement of your position will still show this investigation on your record?”

Steve heard Will cheering before he truly registered what was being said.

“I’m sorry?”

Mr. Hammond smirked. The rest of the group was smiling at him.

“You’ve been reinstated as of today. You may resume your position as guidance counselor as early as tomorrow. Please keep in mind any future claims will require an immediate suspension of duties. Please stay here while the paperwork is drawn up for signatures. Thank you all for your cooperation.” Mr. Hammond turned to Will. “And good luck to you, Will. Your art is quite spectacular and deserves a place in that art program.”

“Thank you!” Will said, maybe a bit too loudly for the location and occasion, but it just made everyone let out laughs at his excitement.

Eddie was suddenly pulling him into his arms, kissing the top of his head and saying so many lovely things that Steve could barely hear.

“You’re incredible, oh my God, I’m so happy for you,” he whispered into his ear before Anne got in between them.

“Let me hug my son!” She said half-jokingly. Eddie let him go so he could be enveloped in his mom’s arms. “I’m so proud of you, honey. I knew you’d be fine.”

“Probably not without you,” Steve admitted.

“Maybe, maybe not. Important thing is you get to go back to work and make a difference for these kids, right?”

He nodded and then got wrapped up in Robin’s arms.

“You did it dingus! You get to be back with the rugrats!” She was bouncing up and down, making the hug a bit awkward, but Steve was used to her energy.

“Congrats, Steve. I’m so happy for you,” Chrissy added from behind her.

Steve felt loved.

So many people came to support him, to show him that no matter what decision was made, they were on his side. That he mattered.

But he didn’t really start crying until Will was hugging him again, thanking him over and over again for being the best and for not giving up and for caring so much.

He let Will sit next to him while he signed all the paperwork, his mom reviewing everything before he did so.

Will was telling him all about the piece he started working on in art club, and how he thought it was good enough for his portfolio, but kind of wanted to get his opinion first. Steve listened, unable to stop smiling at his excitement.

It was contagious, the excitement.

Everyone in the room seemed to feel it, all of them practically bouncing in place as they waited for Steve to finish.

When he did, Anne took everyone out to a celebratory brunch, bribed Joyce to keep Will out of school for the whole day with the promise of the best mimosas she’s ever had.

As Steve rode home after in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car, he looked down at his sun tattoo.

Somehow, despite every cloud in the way, he was still shining.

“You okay, sunshine?” Eddie was looking over at him out of the corner of his eye, a smile pretty much permanently plastered on his face since the decision was made.

“I’m perfect,” he replied.

He’d never been perfect before. He’d never thought perfect was attainable.

But perfect to him wasn’t the lack of problems or imperfections, it was knowing that even with them, he was happy.

He felt bright. He felt warm. And with Eddie next to him, he felt like the sun.

epilogue

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[riality-check]

Surprise! More cult stuff! Part 1 here.

All his life, Eddie has worshiped one god: the lesser of two evils.

There are no good choices. There never have been. Every benefit has a cost, every pro has a con, and every win has a loss. There are no good choices, but there are better choices; ones with a better low to high ratio, ones that make pleasure worth pain.

Eddie makes better choices. He wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t.

He shakes his head. The movement helps to get all the nasty thoughts out of it, the thoughts he isn’t supposed to think about until One asks him to at the next meeting.

Henry, he reminds himself. He said I could call him Henry.

He said more than that, actually. He told Eddie that he has “more than earned the right after so many years of helping the community become a more peaceful place.”

Eddie has only been here since he was thirteen. Half his life has been spent inside Honey Haven, though it feels like all of it has.

In the best possible way, of course.

Sure, there are rules. Lots of them. If Eddie thinks about them too hard, a part of him, deep in his chest, wants to break out. To rebel. To run as fast as his legs will carry him.

Every time, he clips that little bird’s wings, shoves it back in its cage made of rib bones, and sews his skin up tight.

The rules are his god. They’re the lesser of two evils. Because even though they chafe, even though they bind, even though he questions them privately, the rules are safe. Honey Haven is safe. It is kind and beautiful, while the world is cruel and beautiful.

Eddie knows that firsthand.

He shakes his head again. No use in thinking like this when he has no one to share it with. He’d tell the bees, as he tends to them, but they aren’t much for listening.

He removes the frames, one by one, from Guinevere’s hive and stacks them in the box. Once it’s full, he’ll move it to the honey house and place them in the extractor. From there, it’s filtering and refining and the same peaceful, mundane tasks he has to perform every time the harvest rolls around.

It’s nice. It leaves time and space for daydreaming that the bees don’t allow, with their motion and their drone.

As Eddie turns to put the last frame in the box, he comes face to face with two people from town.

He very resolutely does not jump. He just blinks at them. Once, twice, again. Sets the frame down. Closes the hive. Takes off his helmet. And waits for them to talk.

It’s jarring, seeing people from town. Eddie is no stranger to the outside. He’s gone into town for books and music. He leaves to see Wayne a few times a year.

But it’s still strange. These people wear clothes that seem to swallow them, seem to draw attention away from their faces in favor of patterns and layers. They stand at the fence - only waist high, a reminder instead of a barrier - awkwardly, shuffling.

And they always have this look on their face. It’s so sad. They look lost and scared and unsure.

Eddie has never felt like that while he’s been here. He doesn’t want anyone to feel like that, ever. Not like he used to.

He would invite them in, but One - Henry - isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to break a rule.

There’s no rule against speaking, though.

He sets his helmet down next to the box and walks over to the fence. He reminds himself to be wary, to guard his heart, to remember that he is at peace and they could be too, if only they crossed the fence.

But they can’t. Not yet.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a friendly smile.

Always friendly, always kind, always beautiful.

“We heard about the bees while we were in town,” the woman says. “And they told us we could visit the hives, as long as we don’t disturb you.”

Eddie looks her up and down. She brushes her light brown hair away from her eyes and shifts her weight from one sneaker to another as she does so.

“Why the interest?” he asks. “The townspeople don’t like the bees much. They say they’re a nuisance. I doubt they advertised them to a couple of people just passing through.”

“They didn’t,” the man says. “We overheard and asked about them. They said we had to walk because you don’t allow cars here.”

“We don’t,” Eddie agrees. “They aren’t good for the bees. But you didn’t answer my question. Why the interest?”

The woman’s eyes widen, like he caught her breaking a rule. That’s ridiculous, though. The world has no rules, which is why it is cruel and beautiful.

The man has no such reaction. He looks Eddie up and down with dark eyes, runs a hand through brown hair, and says, “I like to bake, but none of my honey desserts have come out right. I wanted to see if this honey would work.”

The man is a liar. Eddie knows this. He is of the world, and the world is a cruel place filled with liars and cheaters and abusers of all sorts. But the world is also beautiful.

This liar is beautiful, with constellations on his skin and his smooth voice and dazzling smile.

Eddie has always liked beautiful things.

“Come back tomorrow,” he says, though he shouldn’t. It’s not breaking a rule, but it feels wrong anyway. “I’ll be done processing this batch.”

“You don’t have anything we can buy now?” the woman asks.

“It’s better if I make it,” Eddie says smugly.

The man looks at him and smiles that smile again. “I believe you.”

And even though they certainly aren’t, Eddie hopes his words are true.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, leaving room for them to say their names.

“Robin,” the woman says.

“Steve,” from the man.

He offers them the same courtesy. “Eddie.”

Something shifts on the woman’s face. “Eddie-”

“-we’ll see you tomorrow,” the man interrupts.

And with that, they start walking back down the road.

Eddie watches them go, momentarily forgetting the hives and the honey. And he wonders if he made a mistake, somehow.

No. It’s alright. He didn’t break a rule, any of the numerous rules, so there is nothing for him to worry about.

While that would usually calm him down quickly, it takes longer this time.

He shakes his head again, picks up the box, and heads toward the honey house.

Part 3 (background lore)

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Can you rec me some angst fics where aziraphale betrays crowley somehow?

Hi! Here are some fics in which Aziraphale betrays Crowley. Mind the tags!...

Ambush by HopeCoppice (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale are having a lovely afternoon in St James' Park when they're suddenly surrounded by angels. Please note that there is a moderately detailed description of the effects of a holy blade on a demon, so proceed with caution.

Bitterness of Grief by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

When Crowley and Aziraphale run into Archangels, Crowley prepares to fight despite the odds. He’ll do anything to protect Aziraphale—but Aziraphale betrays him. Is there any hope for their relationship or is it all over?

a songbird with a new track by boughofawillowtree (T)

Prompt: Heaven manage to convince Aziraphale that Crowley has never loved him. He was only ever trying to make him fall. They present him with some kind of false evidence to this - maybe a recorded conversation where Crowley admits it, that they've managed to fake somehow? Aziraphale is heartbroken - and furious. He goes home to his unsuspecting demon - and proceeds to violently attack him. Crowley is too stunned and hurt and completely unprepared to defend himself. Aziraphale is all righteous(?) rage and devastation and vents it ALL on Crowley. When it's done, Crowley's badly hurt - physically and emotionally - and Heaven admits what they've done, laughing about it. "Mission accomplished - he'll never want anything more to do with you now." Aziraphale tends to Crowley's injuries, so apologetic, so gentle. Crowley is quiet and subdued and in tears, so very hurt. You choose if he's able to forgive Aziraphale, or if it's all over between them.

Two Evils by indigo (M)

How do you pick the lesser of two evils? And how do you live with the choice you have made? Aziraphale - even now, after all this time, after all the abuse that has been heaped onto his poor corporation, tortured then healed, tortured then healed, over and over again, even after all of that, the thought of the angel is the one thing that hurts him more than anything. Like a spear through his chest. Like a molten poker through his heart. Because he was stupid, wasn’t he? Stupid and naïve, guileless and gullible. Trusting. Him, a demon, the Serpent of Eden no less, falling in love with an Angel of the Lord and, even more pitiable, believing the angel in love with him...

Fluctuat nec mergitur by Katinka01 (T)

"Ligur stands in the doorway. Ligur stands in the doorway, surprised, soaked to the bone, and alive. Holy water destroys demons. There is no way around it, no questions, no pleading. Just a drop and you’re a goner. A puddle of goo. And yet, Ligur is standing there, not a scratch on him, confusion getting overtaken by anger, even though the water hit him fully. Which leaves only one option. It isn’t holy water." Aka: what if Aziraphale gave Crowley regular water instead of holy, but Crowley doesn't find out until he is facing down Hastur and Ligur.

- Mod D