#those are just in the second half. the first half is only discussion of murder

[training4theapocalypse]

Never Been Kissed (Adrian Chase x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: SMUT, Second chance romance, Canon typical descriptions of murder and violence, Oral (fem receiving), P in V, Safe sex (male condom), Multiple orgasms

Summary: You're a PI who joins the 11th Street Kids after a chance meeting with John Economos on the dark web. Unfortunately for you, your ex-friend-with-benefits Vigilante is here too. (Based on this ask by anon)

A/N: This took a hot minute. The M&Ms were originally cigarettes but these days I'm a healthy queen free of nicotine -purr.

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Chapter text:

The dim fire exit sign outside the back of the abandoned video store flickers as you suck a peanut M&M between your tongue and the roof of your mouth anxiously. You hope your contact hurries the fuck up - if he makes you wait any longer you’ll finish an entire party bag from nervousness.

It was stupid, really, even reckless, to meet a stranger from the dark web. But when some guy called TechConomos_11 had responded to you in a chat room where you were discussing the intel you had on some sinister goings-on in Evergreen, you knew you had to meet him and his team.

Because you’ll be damned if anyone catches the escaped gorilla before you.

There’s a clink of a padlock and chain falling to the floor, the sound of a heavy emergency exit bar being pushed down and when the door opens you’re face to face with a large, bearded man wearing glasses. 

“Are you the PI?”

If you had to draw a sketch of what you thought a guy you met on the dark web would look like, he would be it. Not a neckbeard, exactly, just someone with the distinct aura of having too much time spent in front of a screen.

You nod. “TechConomos?”

“Call me John. Come inside - the team’s all here.”

You shove the half-empty pack of M&Ms into your bag and he leads you through to the back office. 

“This is Murn, Harcourt and Adebayo.” He gestures to his three associates sitting in the office who each acknowledge you in turn. “And these guys-”

“Fuck it! Fuck, fuck fuck!”

The yelling draws your attention to the window separating the office from the rest of the video store and it’s like a knife in your gut when you see him.

Vigilante.

“Ugh, fuck! It hurts to walk!” Vigilante whines as he limps around. He turns to pace some more but stops in his tracks in alarm when he sees you. He immediately dives to the floor, launching himself behind a desk in a futile attempt to hide.

Vigilante is the last person you expected to - or wanted to - see here. It’s not his usual MO - normally he’d be out hunting thugs and drug dealers. What was he doing caught up in this operation with some tech guy and a team who you suspected were either current or former soldiers?

There’s a roaring laugh and your eyes find Peacemaker, doubled over in his chair, laughing like an idiot at Vigilante sprawled on the ground. 

That explains Vigilante’s involvement. Looks like his idol, Peacemaker, is finally out of prison and the first thing he does is rope Vigilante into whatever this is. The whole thing stinks. Why is there an entire team with two capes looking for an escaped zoo animal? Any why did one of those capes have to be Vigilante? 

You close your eyes and groan. “You didn’t tell me you were working with them.”

“You know each other?” asks Harcourt.

“Just Vigilante.” You sigh and follow them into the video store.

“Hey, asshole,” you say, peering over the desk Vigilante is hidden behind. He looks up at you and props his masked head up on his arm casually as if you didn’t just see him throw himself there a second ago.

“Oh, hey!” he says, feigning pleasant surprise.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I hurt my pinky toe.”

“Yeah? Which one?” You walk around the desk and stand at his feet to get a better look.

“Nononono! Wait!”

You clock the way his visor-covered eyes dart down to his right foot in panic. 

“Woah, did you think I was gonna kick you or something?” Sure, you have beef but you’re kind of offended he’d think that you’d harm him on purpose.

“No…” he mumbles sheepishly.

“Asshole.” You roll your eyes and sit on the hard wooden surface, turning away from him to face the team.

“Who the fuck is this?” Peacemaker asks Murn before looking between you and Vigilante. “Do you two know each other or something?”

You don’t deign to reply.

There’s a squeak of a chair being dragged on linoleum as Vigilante pulls himself up onto a seat next to Peacemaker with a wince.

“Economos says you want to join the team,” says Murn. 

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I know everything that goes on in Evergreen.”

“And?”

“I have information and skills that I want money for. Obviously.”

“How much?”

You were talking about splitting the reward for the gorilla but Murn’s expectant look makes it clear this is a contract. What’s that saying again? A contract in the hand is worth a gorilla in the bush? … Something like that.

“Well, what are you paying him?” You cast your eyes at Vigilante who shrugs. Unbelievable. “They’re not paying you? Idiot.”

Murn and Harcourt glance at each other awkwardly. “This is strictly off the books,” says Murn.

“So you were just going to take advantage of him? No way. I want my pay backdated for all the intell I’ve found for you. And his too for whatever it is he’s doing for you.”

“How do you guys know each other?” asks John, pulling up a chair behind his laptop.

You look at Vigilante warningly and answer before he can open his fat mouth. “I’ve sent some work his way once or twice. And compensated him fairly for it,” you add pointedly.

“Oh, they’ve definitely fucked,” laughs Peacemaker.

“Shouldn’t you be in Belle Reve?” You glare at him.

Peacemaker ignores the question. “Did he keep the mask on with you too?” He pouts faux-sympathetically.

This catches you off-guard. Not Vigilante and Peacemaker fucking - Vigilante is so obsessed with him that you guessed it was only a matter of time.

But he did keep his mask on.

Vigilante groans and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring determinedly at his injured foot.

“Ha! I knew it!”

���Enough!” Murn gives Peacemaker a severe look before turning his attention back to you. “John says you know the location of what we’re looking for.”

“I’m not telling you until you get me up to speed with what you’ve got so far. John wouldn’t tell me shit online. Call it a show of good faith.”

“And we’re supposed to just take your word that you actually have useful information?” asks Adebayo.

John opens his mouth to reply but Vigilante beats him to the punch.

“She knows,” says Vigilante, finally looking up. “She’s… she’s a good PI. If she says she knows, she knows.”

“Well, we can’t divulge state secrets just because Vigilante vouches for you. Tell us the ‘where’ and if it checks out - you’re in,” says Harcourt.

You look around at this unlikely group. If you want to catch the gorilla you need their help. You need their weapons. You need their money.

“It’s at the Glan Tai bottling plant. You heard of it?”

“Pulling it up now…” John types on his keyboard. “It makes sense, Murn. They’ve got the production, the distribution channels… This is probably it.”

Distribution channels? What’s the gorilla at Glan Tai got to do with distribution? 

You keep your face neutral - if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this job, it’s when to sit back, shut up and listen.

You try to piece things together as Murn talks about ‘butterflies’ and their ‘food source’. Economos checks highway CCTV footage and confirms that your intel is correct. This is extremely lucky for you because you’re clearly talking about two entirely different things. You wonder if these ‘butterflies’ are some kind of parasite-induced sleeper agent. And maybe the food source is a drug to release them from their fugue state?

“...And the gorilla?” you ask eventually.

“What about the gorilla?” asks Harcourt.

“The gorilla is at Glan Tai.”

“There’s a Butterfly gorilla?” asks Vigilante excitedly. “That is so cool!”

“Is that even possible?” Harcourt asks Murn who nods.

You’ve seen some shit but a gorilla sleeper agent takes the fucking cake. They all seem totally unfazed so you pretend to be too.

“So, what’s our next move? When do we start killing these aliens?” asks Peacemaker.

Aliens.

You discreetly scan the others. Nobody else bats an eyelid at Peacemaker’s use of that word. 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

“You two get some rest, come back tonight,” says Murn to Peacemaker and Vigilante. “And you - you’ve got evidence of what we’re doing here?” There’s no point in lying so you nod. “Bring it back here so we can destroy it. All of it.”

You, Peacemaker and Vigilante, leave the video store. You cross the street to get to your car but Vigilante calls your name. You turn around to see him hurriedly limping over while Peacemaker climbs into the Vigilantemobile.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re part of the team now.”

“I can’t return the sentiment.” You scowl at him. Peacemaker beeps the horn of Vigilante’s car. “You’d better hurry up - you don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”

“We’re not in a relationship. You know I only wanted to be with-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“C’mon, can’t you at least tell me why you stopped answering my calls?”

“I already told you - I’m not going to wait around my entire life for a guy who won’t even show me his face. Or tell me his real name.”

“I can’t -”

“Save your excuses for someone who gives a shit.” Peacemaker blasts the horn again. “At least I know you keep the mask on when you fuck him too. It’s not like he’s seen your face.”

Vigilante’s visor-covered eyes avoid contact with yours. His hesitation is like a punch in the gut. 

“He’s seen your face?” You don’t mean to whisper it. The words just spill from your lips like you’ve been winded.

“Not like that. That was just a meaningless threesome-”

“But he’s seen it?”

He nods.

You push him aside to throw your car door open and get in. “Fuck you, V.” You slam it shut and drive away, not even bothering to glance at him standing haplessly in your rearview mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, you and John cross-check your intel. It’s becoming clear that this is way out of your fucking league. But if Vigilante can do it, you can too.

Right?

“You want some peanut M&Ms?”.

He accepts a handful gladly. “Why is so much of this about the fucking gorilla?” John asks with his mouth full, looking over your shoulder at your laptop screen.

The necessity of any quick thinking on your part is interrupted when you hear Murn’s voice ringing from the back office.

“You told Vigilante to kill Peacemaker's father?!” 

You and John drop what you’re doing and peer tentatively around the door of the office where Murn is berating Adebayo.

“I didn't tell him to… I just kinda put the idea in his head,” she explains.

“That Peacemaker would be better off without his father?”

Oh no.

“Where’s Vigilante?” you ask suspiciously, joining Murn as he stands with his arms crossed. He looks furious.

“He’s in jail,” mumbles Adebayo. “I might have suggested that if someone were to go in and kill Peacemaker’s dad, all our problems would go away.”

You run your hands through your hair.

“How could you manipulate him like that?” Your combat boots squeak on the floor as you pace across it, catastrophising aloud. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Vigilante is very fucking easy to manipulate. And he has a record. What if he kills someone in prison and gets locked up for life? Or what if he gets himself killed trying?”

“Peacemaker’s gonna see right through this. He’ll know exactly what you tried to do,” says Murn to Adebyo sternly.

They’re fucking crazy. 

“Who gives a shit about Peacemaker? Vigilante is locked in jail with the White Dragon!” You plead urgently. Vigilante is in real danger and all they care about is Peacemaker’s feelings.

“Economos, can you get Vigilante out of the system before he screws us worse than we're already screwed?”

John sighs. “I don’t even know this guy’s name.”

The four of them look at you.

You cross your arms. “I can’t tell you his name.”

“Guess he’s gonna die in prison then -”

“Last name Chase. First name Adrian.” You blurt out his secret that you’ve been holding deep in your chest. “But you can’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t know I know.”

You crowd around John’s laptop as he pulls up Adrian’s file. 

“We shouldn’t be looking at this,” you say as you stare intently at his mugshot - the mugshot you’re so well acquainted with. You’d rather die than admit how many hours you’ve spent sitting at your desk late at night, looking at his police record on your laptop.

And suddenly, it’s like you’re back in bed with him, as he stares breathlessly at the ceiling and you lie there naked on top of his bare chest, looking into his masked face, picturing that very same mugshot underneath it.

“Guess again,” Vigilante says. You can tell even under the mask that he’s grinning, enjoying your questioning.

“Hmm… are you a doctor? You’ve stitched yourself up a lot.”

“You think I’m a doctor and live here?”

Vigilante watches as you make a show of pursing your lips thoughtfully. The warm afternoon sun streaks through the gaps in his blinds onto his bed. It makes it look like there’s a golden halo around your messy bed hair. He tucks a small strand behind your ear as you walk your index and middle fingers along his chest and down his shoulder. 

“Maybe a fireman with these big strong arms?”

He likes you when you let your walls down like this. You’re almost downright playful when he’s satisfied you - a personality trait he still hasn’t extricated from you outside these four walls.

“Man, I am so good at this secret identity thing if I can keep it a secret from a PI.”

You laugh. “I guess so.”

He didn’t know that you had long known his real job. And his real name. Or that you’d trace your fingers over his face on your laptop screen as you tried to reconcile it with the masked killer who was content to let you into his bed but never his real life.

“Wasn’t he our busboy at Fennel Fields?” Adebayo’s question snaps you back to the present. 

“Can you pull him out?” You ask John.

“It’s… done.” He says, with a final click of his keyboard. “Let’s just hope he hasn’t done anything stupid. Yet.” 

Harcourt shrugs her leather jacket on. “I’ll pick him up.”

Great - first he reveals to Peacemaker who he is and now Harcourt who he’s known for a hot minute is about to see his face too. 

You frown. “He’s gonna be really upset we know his identity.” 

“You wanna come and soften the blow?”

“I’ll drive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harcourt sits in the passenger seat of your car outside of the Evergreen Police Department. You’ve been sitting here quietly in the dark, staring at the front doors for almost an hour.

“So what’s your deal with Vigilante?” She asks, finally breaking the silence.

“I told you - I threw some contract work his way. Used him as a bodyguard from time to time when I needed the extra muscle.”

“And then what? Why did you call him an asshole?”

“Because he can be an asshole.” 

“That doesn’t sound right. A psychopath maybe. But an asshole? I don’t buy it.”

You keep your eyes focused on the police station door to hide your face. “He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.” You swallow with difficulty. “He just has a code. Lots of quirky little rules he has to follow that makes it difficult for someone ordinary like me to be - I mean, to work with him.”

“Like not revealing his secret identity.”

It’s not a question but you nod all the same.

“So this is your first time seeing him without his mask?”

“That he knows of.” Your forehead touches the cool glass window. It’s like if you stare hard enough at the door he’ll appear in one piece. “I had to do my background checks.”

The doors open and you see Adrian Chase in his cardigan and jeans walking out into the dark night, illuminated by the fluorescent streetlights.

He’s alive.

You roll down your window and he stops dead. He stares at you in shock with his lips parted slightly - unsure whether you recognise him or not.

Harcourt stretches across your seat and calls to Adrian. “We’re here to take you home. Get in.”

When he climbs into the back seat of your car you both turn in your seats. You breathe a sigh of relief seeing him up close - physically he’s unscathed.

“He’s still alive…” He says. “I’m Adrian.”

“Okay,” Harcourt says simply.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” you tell him.

He looks up at both of you sadly over his wire-rimmed glasses. “I think I might have made things worse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After you drop Harcourt off at her motel, Adrian gets into the passenger seat. You let him give directions to his apartment, even though you already know where he lives.

“This is me,” he says when you pull up to his building and park in the spot you’ve parked in on countless occasions.

“I know.”

“Right. Yeah, you’ve been here.”

“A couple of times, yeah…”

His stupid code. You could know where he lives but never see his face. And now you can’t stop yourself from drinking him in - his slightly stubbly chin from his day spent in prison, the way his curly hair is all messed up. He groans heavily and leans his head back against the headrest. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“The guys know how you ended up in jail - they don’t blame you.” He doesn’t say anything. You search his face as he stares gloomily ahead. “What happened in there, V?” you ask.

“I tried to provoke Peacemaker’s dad into a fight. It worked at first - the Aryans took the bait but his dad saw right through it. I think I’ve fucked up the whole mission.”

So Vigilante went into a viper pit unarmed and provoked a bunch of nazis into fighting him.

Deep down, you know it’s fucked up to be attracted to someone capable of such violence but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s what drew you to him in the first place. You knew about the headlines before you met him. And the idea of him taking on a dangerous prison gang really shouldn’t make your heart pound the way it is right now.

You take a deep, steadying breath. ��You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

You’ve never touched his hair before but you want to stroke it and comfort him. Tell him that it wasn’t his fault and it’ll all be okay. But he interrupts your train of thought before you can reach your hand out. 

“I meant I’m sorry about us.”

Why is your first instinct to tell him that it’s no big deal that he broke your heart? Stupidly, you want to protect him from it - from the hurt he caused you. Comfort him, put his feelings before your own just because you can tell that right now he needs it.

But it is a big deal. 

As soon as you remind yourself he couldn’t trust you enough to let you in, it feels like your heart is shattering all over again, mourning what you could have had.

Trust.

“I told the team your name so they could bail you out,” you admit, desperate to get the fact that you betrayed him off your chest. “I was worried about you locked up in there.”

He turns his head to look at you properly for the first time all night. The streetlights are reflected in his dorky little glasses.

“You knew my name?” He doesn’t look betrayed - he just looks surprised. “How…?”

You lift your finger from the steering wheel to point at his apartment. “Anyone with your address could find out who you are. And your full name appears on my checking account when you cash the checks I write you.”

“So you know… everything?”

“Yup.”

His eyebrows knit together in a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to want me to know.”

“Knowing my secret identity would put you at risk.”

“That bullshit and you know it, V. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Yeah you do - that’s why you had me come with you on jobs.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Then why did you hire me?”

“I was curious about the man behind the headlines, I guess. Then I nearly went broke trying to spend time with you. Do you honestly think I wanted to give you a cut of my contracts for months? ”

He presses his palms into his eyes, pushing his glasses up out of the way and trying to make sense of it all.

“So those jobs were just you finding a reason to hang out?” He drags his hands down his face.

“Well, not at first. But then we started sleeping together after jobs and I wanted to keep doing that.”

“I would’ve wanted to be with you even without those jobs.”

“Oh yeah? You’d have taken me out on a date as Vigilante?” He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again - as if reconsidering whatever he was about to say. “After all that time you still didn’t trust me enough to take off your mask. The last time we saw each other I practically begged you to show me who you are. Then Peacemaker comes back in town and you - what? Just rip off your mask and spill the beans without a second thought?”

“I was being tortured by Goff-”

“The senator tortured you?”

“Well, the Butterfly who had taken over his body. But yeah. He - I mean she - ripped off my mask and tried to cut off my pinky toe. Peacemaker was just there.”

You feel sick thinking about him being tortured. Then you feel sick about feeling sick. It’s not just normal empathy. You want revenge. But you know you shouldn’t care this much. Not when you’ve been broken up for so long.

“Shit, V. That’s horrible.” 

“Besides, if I was gonna show someone my face it would have been you. Not Peacemaker.” He looks at you sadly. “I wish you hadn’t left.” 

“And I wish you had given me a reason to stay, V. I deserved someone who could trust me. And you… you deserved someone you could be yourself with. We couldn’t be that for each other.”

The hurt on your face is plain for him to see - there’s no point trying to hide it. 

“I do trust you. It’s just…” He hesitates. “You’re the only person I know who thought I was cool.”

“Adrian… that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Adrian.

It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that and it makes Adrian’s heart leap. Like the two sides of him have finally met you. After all this time.

“It’s not. Everyone else who knows me as Adrian knows I’m a loser. And I thought if I told you I was a busboy with no friends, you’d think that too.”

“You have friends.”

“Yeah, right.”

“The guys in the video store? They were so worried about you in jail. They like you a lot.” He allows himself a small smile like he doesn’t really believe it. “And I…” You pause. How do you feel about Adrian? “I still think you’re cool.”

“You do?”

He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re actually saying the words he was afraid you’d never say.

“Of course I do. You’re still the masked Vigilante of Evergreen. And I’m just… ordinary.”

He scoffs in amazement. “You’re not ordinary - you’re like the smartest person I know. And you don’t need to hide behind a mask to do your job. 

“I’m not that smart.”

“I mean, you found out more about the butterflies than the US government.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Can I tell you something? And you won’t tell the rest of the team?”

“You can tell me anything.” 

“I didn’t know what butterflies were until today.” He looks extremely confused so you press on. “I met John in a dark web chatroom when I was researching the missing gorilla. And I thought you guys were looking for it too.”

He laughs. A merciless side-splitting laugh that doesn’t take your embarrassment into consideration at all. But it shows off his beautiful smile. And when you see it you can’t stop yourself from joining in too. It’s so ridiculous. You wanted to find the gorilla, and maybe get your PI business mentioned again in the local paper. Now you’ve been roped into saving the world with a black ops team and Vigilante.

You both try to regain your composure and stare at each other, catching your breath. He shakes his head, grinning.

Christ, look at him.

“I sometimes wondered if you wouldn’t remove your mask because you were just a bad kisser. I mean, I saw your mugshot so I already knew you were pretty.” You can’t help but tell him. You know the grainy photo on his record like the back of your hand but in person, he’s frankly gorgeous. 

“Thanks, I know.”

You laugh again. “And modest.”

“You think I fund being Vigilante on a busboy salary? I get a lot of tips.”

“It all makes sense now. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Because she didn’t want to wait around for an idiot who wouldn’t even kiss her.”

You stare at each other in the shadowy silence for a few moments. 

“It’s late, we should both get some rest.”

“Wait, don’t go.” His hand touches your thigh and it feels like there’s an electric current buzzing between his hand and the fabric of your jeans. The atmosphere almost crackles, like lighting about to strike in the middle of a storm. It’s the first time he’s touched you since you walked out on him six months ago and never went back. “It’s super late, you should crash at mine.”

“If I come upstairs we both know what’s going to happen.”

He tilts his head and you watch dimples form as the corners of his mouth turn into a mischievous smile. “That’s kind of the idea.”

“A bad one. We need to work together.”

“When has fucking ever stopped us from completing a job?”

“It hasn’t. But when we stopped seeing each other… I was really cut up. I couldn’t concentrate on work for a while. It’s why I needed the reward for the gorilla so badly.”

“Then we just won’t stop this time.”

“Adrian… I’ve only just pulled myself together again. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.”

He removes his hand from your leg to unclip his seatbelt. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Adrian gives you an apologetic look. 

You stare at his lips. They’re just there. His whole face is out in the open. And now his lips, and the rest of him, are about to leave your car and you never know when you’ll see him unmasked again. He opens the car door.

“Wait -”

He turns back around in his seat.

“Let me find out if you’re a bad kisser. At least I can tell myself I’m not missing out on anything if you are.”

“You’re gonna be so mad…” He cups your face and brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m a really good kisser.”

You smile and his lips meet yours. 

It’s nothing like you imagined.

When you had sex it always felt urgent, even dangerous, getting into bed with a masked cape who was wanted for murder. More often than not he fucked you from behind, tugged fistfuls of your hair and slapped your ass. 

But his kisses… his kisses are soft and slow. And good.

You’re totally screwed.

He sucks your lip gently and then his tongue traces across yours. You urge yourself forward in the driver’s seat closer to him, bringing your hand up to cradle the nape of his neck and lace your hand in his soft hair.

Warmth spreads in your chest when he deepens the kiss. You secretly hoped he’d be like this when he was unmasked. Your hot and rough encounters were always fun but in your heart you always wanted him to want you like this. Deeply. Reverently. 

You break apart and press your forehead against his with your eyes closed, feeling your heart hammering against your chest.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks.

You open your eyes to see his green ones searching yours from behind his glasses. He lets out a long, happy exhale when he hears your seatbelt unclick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrian’s bedroom is neat, clean, with framed vintage comic books on his walls and illuminated by a lava lamp on his bedside table. Details you remember from previous visits but barely register this time as you both burst through his bedroom door while he kisses you. Refusing to take his hands from your body, he kicks the door shut behind him forgetting about his injured foot. He regrets it immediately.

“Fuck!” He pulls away and winces.

“Careful,” you soothe, shrugging your jacket off onto the floor and he lifts your shirt off. As soon as your skin is uncovered his mouth finds it. He drags his tongue across your collarbones and between your breasts, nudging the cup of your bra aside so he can find your nipple.

His warm mouth feels almost too good to be true as he sucks on the hard, pebbled skin and moves on to taste every inch of your exposed chest, his deft hands unhooking your bra and tossing it aside quickly. 

The entire day could have been a crazy fever dream. You’ve gone from your heart sinking at the very sight of him to it fluttering like crazy as you lie back on his mattress so he can pull your jeans and underwear off.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says, sinking to his knees between your legs at the edge of the bed.

Even though you’re completely naked on his bed while he’s still dressed, you somehow feel less on display than he is right now without his mask. It feels taboo watching his jaw muscles tighten as he works his mouth all over your inner thighs. There’s something so controlled about the way he meticulously kisses the sensitive skin at the crux of your thigh that makes your lip quiver. 

You’ve spent enough time around his quick reflexes to know Vigilante is going to be skilled at eating you out but sometimes, especially in the depths of your despair during your breakup, there was a niggling inkling at the back of your mind that the mask might just be a convenient excuse not to. 

You had suspected, or maybe even hoped, when you hooked up that he had come really, really close to rolling up the bottom half of his mask and tasting you. More than once, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of him at odds with himself, his eyes behind his visor staring at your pussy and his neck muscles contracting as he swallowed thickly, strengthening his resolve and deciding to protect his own identity instead.

But tonight - finally - his tongue slides between your folds and you let out a low whine when the furnace-hot heat of his mouth besets itself over your clit.

Adrian groans when he tastes your arousal flooding his mouth. His hands cup under your ass as he pulls himself closer. You dare yourself to run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. It still feels like it shouldn’t be allowed but he doesn’t seem to mind at all as his lips suck on your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Adrian…” His real name still sounds foreign on your lips, like you have to make a conscious effort to say it. 

Adrian looks up at you over his glasses, his pupils wide in the dim violet light of the lava-lamp-lit room. He takes in your glowing face and chest as you lie propped up on your elbows, enjoying the sight of him on the floor between your legs.

His fingers knead the soft, pillowy flesh of your ass like he doesn’t want to let you go anywhere ever again. And you don’t want to. Fuck the mission. Can’t you just stay here forever? In Adrian’s bedroom, panting while his tongue runs firm circles over your clit.

When you roll your hips in encouragement, he lets out a soft little moan sending vibrations over the bundle of nerves - it almost makes you dissolve right there and then. 

“I can’t believe I let you… fuck - let you get away with not doing this before,” you whimper. “So - s’fucking good, V.”

“Adrian,” he says and the tiniest absence of friction when his tongue leaves your clit makes your fingers tighten in his hair, urging him to return to your aching pussy.

“Adrianadrianadrian,” you babble, scared that his lips will leave you again. No more V. No more Vigilante. Just Adrian. Here. Eating your pussy like it’s you who’d been depriving him of this for months on end. Pleasure rises deep in your core like the tide getting ready to crash against the cliff face.

Your brain becomes fuzzy as increasingly desperate noises escape your throat - something strangled between a whine and his name. You squirm against his tongue as he relentlessly continues, determined to draw from you the orgasm that you’ve been desperate for since he kissed you in the car and you realised his mouth would feel like heaven.

The pressure of his tongue against your soaking wet pussy makes you writhe in exhilaration. You barely notice his fingers digging harder into your skin as you arch your spine and throw your head back.

Your thigh muscles tense and relax, trembling on either side of his face. “Adrian, I’m gonna - gonna cum…”

Instead of responding, he sinks two fingers deep inside your cunt, giving you something to squeeze around as every muscle in your pelvis tightens. He curls his fingers slightly and it’s just enough to push you over the fucking edge.

The purplish glow of the room turns blinding white as waves, hot and wet, break over you and your body floods with ecstasy. Your whole lower body stiffens as your walls clench around his fingers and you grind your pussy against his mouth.

Fuck, you’ve been missing out. You haven’t been with anyone else the entire time you’ve been apart and it’s like your body has been crying for exactly this moment without you realising how much you needed it. Needed his mouth on you.

The room comes into focus again gradually as Adrian gives you a last few slow, gentle kisses before sliding his fingers out of your still-twitching centre.

You breathe heavily and look at him kneeling on the floor.

He looks stupidly pleased with himself, the corner of his wet, glistening mouth upturned in a self-congratulatory smile at the way he’s taken you apart piece by piece. You can’t help but giggle from endorphins buzzing through your body. It makes your abdomen hurt from all the tensing you were doing. 

Adrian slaps the side of your ass and gets to his feet, undoing his belt buckle. “C’mon, bend over,” he grins.

You sit up, shake your head and smile. “Nuh-uh, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” He blinks a couple of times dazedly. “Did you forget about your mask for a second?”

Adrian clears his throat. “Uh...No?”

He so did.

“C’mere.” You hook your fingers through his belt loops and pull him closer. You kiss the light trail of hair covering his hard abdomen while your fingers work to undo his jeans and pull them down to release him from the confines of his boxers.

God, you missed it. He has a pretty face alright but his cock is fucking perfect.

Your cheeks grow hot feeling him so close. You grip his hard length and draw your tongue across the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum. 

“Take your top off,” you say, looking up at him before running your tongue along his shaft, keeping eye contact.

He grips the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head. Seeing him in the purple glow, every contour of his sculpted abdomen illuminated sends burning heat to your pelvis. You never thought you were into muscular guys, not until you saw Vigilante take his suit off for the first time. Now you’re not sure if you could go back to anything else. Anyone else. 

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock but he interrupts you.

“I need to fuck you. Please.”

At this point, you’re so turned on it’s an offer you can’t refuse. You release him and scoot back on the bed. He goes to crawl on top of you but flinches when his injured foot meets the mattress.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to - ah fuck.”

“It’s okay. Here, lie down. Let me go on top.”

He does so with relief and you swing your leg over his thighs.

“Better?” 

“Fuck yeah,” he says, looking at your naked figure sitting on top of him.

You reach into his bedside drawer where you know he keeps his condoms. Your fingers skirt over what you suspect are bags of candy until you find the corrugated square shape you’re looking for. You take it out and roll the condom on him.

“Okay, easy,” you say, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. He throbs under the grip of your hand in anticipation. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“You were totally cool with me over-exerting myself on the floor a second ago.”

“I was talking to myself,” you smirk. “It’s been a while.”

You ease yourself down onto his cock, feeling the beautiful stretch as you adjust to his size. 

“Shit…” he breathes, clamping his hands down hard on your hips, forcing you to bottom out. His eyebrows knit together and he sighs through parted lips, feeling the way your walls stretch around him. He looks so beautiful - you can’t stop looking at his lips.

You lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his head so you can lean down and kiss him. The taste of your juices registers on your tongue as his enters your mouth. You deepen the kiss and Adrian responds by jerking his hips up needily, pressing into your g-spot.

You moan and suck on his bottom lip, gently rolling it between your teeth as he pushes into the most sensitive part of your centre. Searing heat burns low in your belly, spreading to your thighs. You push yourself back up to ride him and grab his wrists, dragging them from your waist to grope at your chest.

“Fuck, you look so hot riding my dick.”

“Yeah? Rose-tinted visor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

You’re teasing him but it seems to spur him on, as he squeezes your tits and jerks up into your bouncing hips. Every wet slap that meets your ears only increases your neediness for him. It burns brightly in your core, making you wetter and even more desperate for your next orgasm.

Every roll of your body sends his cock plunging into you, pushing against you at the perfect angle. God, he feels incredible. Your walls start to convulse around him, clamping down and gripping his cock as your second climax rears its head.

“Adrian, fuck, I’m close…” you plead, frantically chasing your high, wildly gyrating and bouncing in time with his thrusts.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“No, say my name,” he says, through gritted teeth, his neck muscles tightening in the soft light. 

His neck.

“Fuck, Adrian.” You lunge forward and bite on his neck. He grabs handfuls of your ass, anchoring himself into you as he thrusts savagely upwards sending pleasure rocketing through you. Fuck he’s deep. So fucking deep.

His name leaves your lips over and over, broken and ragged as every jerk of his hip knocks the air out of your lungs. Bliss ignites and your cry of pleasure is muffled as you moan and run your tongue over his neck, smelling his aftershave mixed with his musky sweat. An explosion, more fierce than any grenade blast bursts through your centre as he pummels his cock with unparalleled force and precision, even as you squirm and shake, unable to keep moving your own hips in time with his.

With every ounce of strength you have you lean up on your arms to look at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and his facial muscles contort as he sucks through his teeth.

“Cum for me, Adrian,” you murmur sweetly in his ear and he opens his eyes, giving you a terminally helpless look as he slams his hips into your hot, wet cunt and you squeeze around him as tight as you can. With a final thrust, you feel his thighs tighten and his cock pulsing inside you as he cums.

You flatten your body back on top of his - the warm, damp sweat between your chests feels strangely pleasant. His fingers trace circles up your spine, gently tickling your back. Adrian turns his head to kiss you and you both lie for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his lips on yours.

After what feels like a long time of lying in quiet elation, you make yourself climb carefully off of him and roll over, resting back on his pillows.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says and you lie back watching him dispose of the condom, taking care not to put any pressure on his bandaged toe. He launches himself back on the bed with a thud making you bounce on the mattress. “Good, you’re still here,” he says, leaning on his elbow and looking down at you.

“Where else would I be?” you laugh.

“Well… you usually leave right after. Except that one time I accidentally bought peanut M&Ms.”

You look at him apologetically. In fairness, the mask was hardly an invitation to spend the night - what was he going to do? Sleep in it? “Do you have peanut M&Ms?”

He nods to his bedside drawer and you open it to see that it’s stuffed with the little yellow bags.

“You like peanut M&Ms now?”

He pulls a face. “No way dude, they’re so gross.”

“Then why…?”

“I guess I always hoped you might change your mind and come back. So I bought them whenever I thought about you.”

You look at the drawer - there’s practically enough that Adrian could have made a trail of peanut M&Ms from your apartment across town to his. “You would have made a really sweet boyfriend,” you sigh.

“Well, I mean… I still could,” he says in a would-be nonchalant type of way, pushing up his glasses with his finger and avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure if he’d be open to picking up where you left off. But it feels right when it didn’t before. Now you know him. Really know him. 

He pulls his eyes up and meets your gaze with a smile. “If you want me to?”

“I’d like that. A lot.”

“Sweet,” he says with a wide smile, not bothering to hide how giddy he is.

You open the packet. “For the record, I’m not just staying because of the M&Ms this time.”

“I know.”

“And I’m glad you’re on the team.”

He nods happily, watching you pop a few into your mouth. “Hashtag me too.”

[ticklishraspberries]

Gotcha (Billy/Stu)

Summary: Before enacting their plans, Billy and Stu need to be sure they’re physically fit enough to pull it all off, leading to ridiuclousness. (Based on this anonymous prompt, thank you so much for sending it in!! Warnings because there is mentions of canon-typical violence. Hope y’all enjoy the fic!! xo)

“If we’re really going to do this, we should start training,” Billy says idly, like they’re discussing running a marathon rather than a murderous plot.

Stu laughs at first, before realizing that Billy is serious. “Train? Like, go hunting?”

“No, dipshit,” he replies, but there’s a lack of venom in his voice. “Have you ever seen a movie where the victim just lays back and lets the killer stab ‘em? People are gonna fight back, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

It’s a good point, Stu concedes, and thus begins their ridiculous regime of what he likes to call “Killer Camp”, and even though Billy rolls his eyes at the title, Stu knows he finds it funny as well.

True to its name, Woodsboro has many spots that are thick with trees and shielded by the dark of nighttime, giving them an ideal place to practice. With nothing but two flashlights and two knives, the boys set off into the forest at least once a week. It sort of feels like playing a combination of hide-and-seek and tag, except when you get caught, the other person pushes you to the ground and presses a semi-dull blade to the side of your neck.

Stu has the advantage of being taller, his long legs carrying him through the dirt at a naturally quicker pace, but Billy still manages to catch up to him with cunning, sneaking around the trees and jumping out when Stu thinks he’s clear to slow down for a breather.

And every time, Billy grins down at him, presses the cool metal against his pulse point, and says, “Gotcha” in a tone that makes Stu feel terrified and excited all at once. There’s a strange mix of boyish glee and creepy intrigue that shows in those brown eyes, and it should scare the shit out of him, but Stu trusts him entirely, sometimes against his best judgment.

They aren’t officially keeping score, but Stu has the numbers in his head, and he’s sure that Billy does too. He's behind by just one point, and he intends to even the score tonight.

See, Stu’s not the brains of their operation, but he isn’t stupid. He’s been studying the way Billy behaves on these nights, the pattern he inevitably falls into despite trying to keep Stu on his toes. Because while Billy is pretty smart, most of the victims in horror films aren’t, and it's hard not to fall into that mentality when you’re getting chased through the woods.

Billy always runs to the left rather than straight ahead, and he always finds a place to hide so he can try and strike back when Stu gets close. This time, Stu isn’t going to let him turn the tables.

It’s only been a few moments since Billy darted off into the trees, and Stu doesn’t bother running, just idly creeps through the fallen leaves, peeking behind every trunk.

“Billy,” he sing-songs, unable to keep from grinning.

Billy is always quiet when he’s in this mindset, a stealthy predator. But Stu likes to play with his food, so to speak. The anticipation, the taunting…That’s the part of their plan he really likes.

Just ahead, he sees a sliver of light from behind a tree, like a flashlight half-covered by foliage. He smirks, making his way towards it, but at the last second, he pivots on his heel and finds Billy standing there, eyes going wide when he realizes his trick hasn’t worked.

Stu easily grapples him down to the floor, now that he’s caught off guard.

“Fuck you, dude,” Billy pants. “How’d you know?”

“You’re not dumb enough to accidentally leave the light on,” Stu replies. “It was obviously a trap.”

Although he’s clearly disappointed that his plan failed, Billy grins. There’s a leaf stuck in his hair, and he’s smiling, and Stu wonders how a boy could be so pretty while lying in the dirt like this. 

“You gonna let me up now, smart guy?” Billy asks.

Stu hums, like he’s considering it. “Make me,” he says.

Something in Billy’s face darkens at his words, and Stu worries for a moment that he’s actually going to get stabbed. With surprising ease, Billy shifts his weight and sends them tumbling to the side, but the last thing Stu expects is for fingers to jab into his ribs, making him yelp in surprise before starting to giggle.

“What the fuck, man?” he asks, his own hands darting around, trying to catch Billy’s wrists, but his attempts are easily evaded, and those fingers just make their way beneath his arms, making him clamp his arms down with another high-pitched sound.

Billy just smirks at him. “You told me to make you,” he says. “I figured this was a better method than hurting you.”

‘What a gentleman’, Stu’s mind sarcastically supplies, but he can’t spit it out between his laughter. He doesn’t think Billy has tickled him in years, and the fact that he still remembers his weak spots is both inconvenient and oddly touching.

And although he’s technically beaten Billy at their game, the taste of victory is too sweet to fully let go of, especially because he refuses to tap out from tickling of all things.

Despite the urge to keep his arms glued as tightly to his sides as possible, Stu forces himself to fight back, reaching out to squeeze Billy’s hip.

Billy lets out a startled sound, and his hands falter, giving Stu the leverage he needs to wrestle his friend back down, straddling his thighs and tickling up and down his sides, making giggles bubble from his lips in the most adorable way.

“Asshole,” Billy grits out.

“You started this,” Stu reminds him, moving up to dance over his ribs, sending Billy into a new fit of laughter, thrashing wildly in the dirt. Memories of tickle fights back when they were younger have flooded back, and he remembers how this spot always got Billy to give in.

Clearly, not much has changed, because it only takes another moment before Billy is chanting, “Okay, fuck, stop—!” and Stu obeys, giving him a moment to catch his breath before he leans down, their noses just barely touching, and plucks a leaf out of Billy’s brown, wavy hair.

“You suck,” Billy says.

“You love me,” Stu replies.

They’re so close, Stu can feel the heat rise in Billy’s face when he says it, and even in near pitch-darkness, he can see the flicker of emotion in his expression.

Even when it seems like a bad idea, Stu trusts Billy. He’s known him for so long, has felt this way for so long…He closes the gap between them and presses their lips together, and is shocked when the kiss is immediately reciprocated. He was worried that this would end with a knife stuck in his gut, but he’s much happier with this outcome.

When they pull back, Stu can’t help but chuckle softly, and whisper, “Gotcha.”

Billy snorts and shoves him to the side, standing up and brushing dirt off of his jeans. He extends a hand out, and Stu takes it, rising to his feet.

They drive back to Stu’s house, the radio the only sound. He worries that Billy’s gonna pretend this never happened, or worse, be pissed off at him about it. But when they get inside, wash the dirt off of their hands and faces, and change into pajamas (Stu’s shirt is big on Billy, and he looks fucking adorable in it), he’s pleasantly surprised when Billy crawls into bed beside him instead of taking the floor.

“We’re tied now,” he says.

“I know,” Billy replies. “Don’t get cocky; I’ll get you next time.”

Stu snuggles closer, throwing an arm over Billy’s waist, spooning him from behind. Billy sinks into the touch willingly, like he’s wanted it as long as Stu has. “I feel like we should make tickling against the rules,” Stu adds after a pause. “I mean, I can’t imagine anyone doing that while we’re tryin’ to stab them.”

That makes Billy laugh again. “I mean, you never know. We should be prepared for anything.”

“You’d be fucked if someone tried that,” Stu teases, poking his stomach, making him flinch.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Maybe I should do it more, try and build up your resistance. Remember, we can’t afford any mistakes!”

Billy swats his hand, still giggling. “Goodnight, dumbass.”

“Night, giggles.”

He doesn’t protest the nickname, nor Stu’s suggestion that this will happen again. Stu takes this as a good sign. He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Billy’s breathing, hoping that this is just the start.

[sillypiratelife]

Funny / dramatic moments between fake prince!Zoro and his equally fake royal advisor!Robin:

She doesn't advise him for shit.

What actually happens is that Robin sits to read under the shade of some pretty tree while Zoro trains (shirt on to cover his scars) nearby and they discuss their thoughts on what could be going on in the kingdom.

From afar everyone thinks they are gossiping (typical of young royals), but everyone who's near enough to listen is incredibly impressed and intimidated.

This is the trip where Robin realized that Zoro barely knows how to read and decided to do something about it.

Aka Robin learns a lot about swordsmanship from the books she picked for Zoro and Zoro includes reading in his training regimen.

Zoro baits at least half a dozen people into asking Robin for "a hand". She responds by making a third hand appear out of nowhere. Every. Single. Time.

Robin is fascinated by the amount of lies that Ussop can tell about his fake childhood as the Prince's best friend. She has the memorized just in case, but it's still entertaining to see Ussop struggle.

And also very entertaining to tease Zoro with those stories. Peak royal advisor behavior.

Robin and Zoro are absolutely bullying those old men. They pass judgemental looks during their (meant as practice) court sessions that have the (very very real) captain of the royal holding his laughter.

EKRJKFJDKDK RESTING BITCH FACES not really but those people swear the smirk and relaxed behavior means Zoro and Robin are planning to murder them. No one knows if they are being sarcastic.

When they finally leave the King laments long and loud that his court sessions will never be as funny as they were with Robin and Zoro around.

They're like three different times when Robin covers Zoro with something-turned-blanket while he naps, including one time when Zoro raised his cape and invited Robin to rest her head on his shoulder and take a nap with him.

Robin is the first to notice that a) the captain of the royal guard is the real prince and b) the dude has a crush on Zoro.

She's also the only person who notices that Zoro is in love with Sanji and that Sanji is starting to realize he's not jealous of Zoro for getting to play prince, but uncomfortable at how much it makes Sanji see a different side of Zoro that he might like. A lot.

Which means that every comment she makes is undecipherable to Zoro, but means to help him realize his, uh, situation.

The local cook thinks that Robin and Zoro are together and that Chopper is their son.

Zoro chokes on wine and Robin laughs when they hear the old cook calling someone a homewrecker in the middle of dinner.

Sanji and the real prince go red in a second, which is funny on its own right.

When the fire breaks out in the castle, Zoro is the one that saved the book Robin said she really needed for her research. The way he captured the culprit was by jumping from the library window and landing on the guy.

There's a moment when they almost go on demon mode after they find the basement full of chained children in the abandoned castle. It's only almost because the children awoke when they approached and both acted all light to not scare them.

The kids get eldest daughter!Robin and oldest brother!Zoro instead. They end up with their white suits all covered in mud + blood, but there's definitely something to see them walk in through the main gates carrying so many children, soft expressions and relief on their faces.

The glint they have on their eyes when Zoro asks about the story of that castle is enough to send the castle personnel on their knees. It's only when it's revealed that the king of that particular "castle" died a few weeks ago that Zoro and Robin turn back and everyone breathes again.

Somehow they develop a kinda dry(?) sense of humor that they share mostly with smirks and the most mysterious comments ever.

Robin takes on calling Zoro "your highness" from time to time.

Zoro takes on cleaning and sharpening Robin's knife from them on.

[captain-astors]

Do you think if it were possible for Ghouls to somehow eat human food and react to it like a normal human would (taste it and digest it), they would probably all take the opportunity (even ghouls who are happy and content in their lifestyle and existence) and never eat human meat? Basically, have a natural born One-eyed Ghoul’s tongue and stomach. 

I think it’s interesting to consider, as many human individuals let go of their humanity in the show to become ghouls to get benefits of kagune and strength.

It seems like a clearcut situation, but then again, maybe some ghouls would not be content with that, as they suffered discrimination for being themselves biologically and have been pursued by the CCG, and this could be seen as one-sided conformation to human standards of acceptance.

Another problem with this solution, is that Ghouls would still have their superhuman strength and kagune, so they would probably see themselves as superior to humans. In addition, they would still perceive human meat as delicious with their taste buds. If they no longer consume human meat, do they lose the benefits of strength and kagune?

With Rize, I am not so sure, because she's really fluid and whimsy as a character, and so much of her is mysterious and ambiguous even as she haunts the narrative. She thinks of herself as a lion, thinks little of Shu for his "delicate tastes", she's sure of herself, but at the same time, she's curious, she likes literature, she gets bored. So I think that, ultimately (maybe), she would want a taste of human food that has been denied to her taste buds for most of her life. I think she, and honestly most ghouls, would have some semblance of a Hannibal-esque lifestyle (while Shu would probably embody it). 

I think Eto's perspective would be somewhat like that, even though she wants Ghouls to be in society and have access to human things and experiences (she's somewhat privileged, as a natural half-ghoul that can eat food, but also has suffered persecution for her existence, like most Ghouls).

First of all this is all very interesting, second I must disclaim that I don’t have a fraction of the psychological or biological mental index that other people on this website in the tg fandom crafting headcanons do, that said! I’m happy to discuss this topic.

Honestly I think you answered your own question pretty well when it comes to specific examples and for the bourgeoisie of ghoul society, even if they don’t need to it becomes a status thing just like anything else But I feel like there’s an interesting input from the lower class or outright homeless in ghoul society. 

See, ghouls who were already attempting to seamlessly integrate themselves into human society and hide as an average person would largely gladly drop the consumption of human flesh, I think, for those like Ryoko, Touka, and Yoshimura, who have housing and jobs and the means to acquire alternative food, eating humans is pretty much just a liability. 

However, what about those who live on the streets and can’t afford food, or can only afford the minimal shelter they have so long as their food budget is nothing? There’s an interesting question of how many would be willing to give in to something they’re disposed to do and take the lives of others to save their own, even if they know it would perpetuate the idea of their species as dangerous and potentially prevent them from ever getting back into a place of financial stability once they're on record as a murderer. All in all, an interesting concept.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Do You Want Me, Cyar'ika [dark]

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: HEY THIS IS DARK WATCH OUT, stalking, manhandling, slight choking if you kind of squint, dubcon (reader is willing, but is def under the influence of the darksaber), smut, hand job, unprotected sex (p in v), mentions of blood and injury, ruthless murder

Word Count: 5,136

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you. Part One: Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika Part Two: I Love You, Cyar'ika

[a/n: THIS IS THE DARK ENDING TO THIS TRILOGY. My suggestion is to read the version you really want first b/c the beginning half is the exact same. It's only the end that differs.]

.

"she's hell, he's the devil⏤ the demons see no end to this love." -amber anwar

.

The echoing of your footsteps bounced off the walls and the quick pace seemed to match the racing of your heart. No looking back. You needed to get to the tarmac. Din was supposed to be in the war room with Bo Katan and the others in his council discussing something or another. This morning he had told you that he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch until a bit later in the afternoon. Half an hour after he had told you this, you grabbed your stuff and started running. 

You had the right idea months ago when you first tried to leave. This was going to be your last chance. If he caught you this time you don’t know that you’d ever get the chance to run away again. Memories of that beskar chain and anklet hung heavy in your mind as you picked up your pace. A terrifying thought occurred to you. Would he stop there? How far would Din go to keep you by his side? You truly believed, deep down, that Din wouldn’t hurt you, but… were you just being delusional? At some point, he’d consider the line to be crossed.

The tarmac was mostly empty. The few Mandalorians that were in the area gave you curious looks, but nobody dared stop you. That was a side effect of being ‘owned’ by the Mand’alor and though you found it disturbing previously it was truly working in your favor now. Everybody on this rock, save for a few people like Bo Katan, were too terrified of Din to even look in your direction for longer than a few seconds. As you sprinted to the closest ship you knew how to pilot, the Mandalorians began to disperse. You had a suffocating suspicion that they were in the process of calling Din.

You made it further than you had last time. You were on the ship, ramp closing behind you, and you clambered into the cockpit and got things running. As the ship slowly began to rise, you saw him. Din stood at the edge of the tarmac with his hands on his hips. The wind tunneling through the ship’s exhaust and down onto the ground below caused Din’s thick cape and hair to whip around. Even from this distance, you could feel Din’s gaze burning straight through you. The look on his face was haunting⏤ a mix of devastation and unbridled rage. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Even after the ship was in the atmosphere and Din was far out of view, you stared down at Mandalore in pain. Your chest ached as your heart already begun to miss the man you were running from.

Before allowing yourself to wallow, you input the coordinates to Tatooine and let the ship slip into hyperdrive. The second those all too familiar lines of blurred space cast a blue glow in the cockpit, you pulled your knees up into your chest to bury your face there. If somebody were to ask you the exact reason why tears streamed down your face you would not be able to give them an answer.

You just knew, everything was wrong.

You agonized over who to send a message to. As you drew ever near to Tatooine, doubts began to plague your mind. Should you reach out to Boba and Fennec? They were obvious choices because they cared about Din and they knew how to hold their own in a fight. However, you had a nagging fear at the back of your mind that would not silence. It blared like a ghostly siren. Din was not himself right now, and though you knew without a doubt that he would not hurt you, could the same be said for Boba and Fennec? Especially if they stood in the way of Din getting to you?

You hated that you were unsure of that.

You hated that a part of you honestly thought Din might hurt his friends or worse.

There was no changing course though. The best solution you had was to get in touch with Luke Skywalker. He might have answers about this. Even if he didn’t, having him and Ahsoka by your side would help. Three Jedi surely could get that cursed saber away from Din. Granted, there was no assurance that separating the saber from the love of your life would actually work, but it was all you had. It was the last bit of hope you could cling to. 

Upon your arrival to Tatooine, you immediately slunk away to a crowded cantina. You were not a fool. You knew Din was not just going to let you wander away and you knew he was one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy. He was very good at what he did⏤ especially when passionate about the mission. That didn’t leave you very much time to get the information you needed. 

You sent out a decoded distress message to the number Skywalker had left you when he took Grogu. He left it strictly for emergencies and this obviously classified as one. After it was out in the universe, all you could do was wait. So you saddled up to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a drink. It was all you could think to do. This was the first time in ages that you were in a space not clouded by Din’s presence. You hadn’t realized until now how suffocating it had been.

Being with Din, watching his slow descent, you had gotten accustomed to that cloud of darkness that hung over his head. To the point where you didn’t notice it worsening and worsening. It felt as if your body had acclimated to living under the ocean. Your body grew used to the crushing depths. Your lungs shriveled from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes grew blind from the absence of light. Now? Sitting at this dingy, dirty bar, it was as if someone had forced you up from the ocean floor and dragged you quickly up to the surface. It was jarring. The fresh air was painful as it filled your lungs, your eyes burned from the disappearance of darkness, and suddenly it was freedom that felt wrong. 

A sudden beeping made you glance down at the communicator. Eyes wide, you answered it, “Hello? Luke Skywalker?” Your name was spoken over the line in concern. “Thank the Maker. I⏤ Din and I are in trouble.”

“What has happened?”

“It’s…” You took in a slow breath and began to walk him through what was going on. You started with the moment he took Grogu and described every single downward step the two of you had taken with the saber in his possession. When you finished, your throat felt thick with emotion. “I got away, but he’ll be after me soon. I know it. Luke, I… I don’t know what to do. I just know I need help, and I’m too afraid to go to anybody other than you.”

“You were right to reach out to me.” Luke sighed. “This needs to be handled by us. No need to risk anyone else.”

The thought flickered through your head without warning. You were okay with putting Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka in danger. It came quickly and you swatted it away just as fast, but it felt like poison. Obviously, Boba and Fennec meant more to you than Luke and Ahsoka. You were closer to the first two. However, it still didn’t make risking the lives of the latter two okay. The fact that the belief attempted to nestle in your head reminded you of the dark saber. Your hand wrapped around your own lightsaber⏤ seeking comfort in the energy it radiated.

“You believe he’ll follow you, correct?” Luke questioned.

“Absolutely.” You answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Luke hummed on the other end of the line in thought. “I will send you coordinates. Come to us. The Mandalorian will follow and we will handle this from there. You just need to get here. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, trying to convince yourself. “I can. I’ll leave as soon as you send me those coordinates.”

“Of course. Call us again if you have trouble.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended and you threw back the remainder of the drink before rushing for the door. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the tarmac and you assumed you’d get the coordinates by then to use. The crowded Tatooine streets made you anxious. Shoulders clipped into yours as people rushed past you in the opposite direction. It felt like there were eyes burning into your skin, but every scan of the crowd told you it had to just be your paranoia. 

Your communicator beeped again and a quick glance down revealed the coordinates you’d be heading to. Good. You quickened your pace to turn a corner to the last leg of the path that would take you to the public tarmac when you spotted him. A flash of glinting silver under the hot Tatooine suns. Your feet came to a screeching halt, and for a moment the two of you stood stock still. Din was down the road. Closer to the tarmac’s entrance than to you. His hands rested on his hips, and he was helmetless. Even from this distance the darkness swimming in his brown eyes sent a chill down your spine. He had been a sight to behold in his full armor, a faceless figure of intimidation. However, you knew now that it was worse without the helmet. Actually seeing those burning eyes, rather than just feel them, made your stomach flip.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, a small group passing between the two of you, and when they passed fully Din was gone. You couldn’t see him. Without a second more of hesitation, you spun on your heel and sprinted in the opposite direction of where he had been standing. The public tarmac was a bust. You’d never be able to successfully route yourself back around, but you still needed a ship.

Peli’s shop. As soon as it came to mind, you altered course to head in that direction. You prayed that Peli wasn’t home. Hopefully she’d be out losing credits to a group of jawas in sabbac or conning some poor sap at the market. Your chest burned in the effort it took to keep your quick pace, your heart pounded painfully, and you could still feel Din’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced over your shoulder or down alleys there was no sign of silver, but you knew⏤ you just knew⏤ that he was hot on your heels somehow. 

You finally reached Peli’s shop and the garage was closed which meant she was not home, but you remembered the way in through the back. Peli had shown it to you and Din ages ago. Even if she didn’t have a client’s ship sitting in the bay, you could steal her land speeder and come up with a different plan from there. Once in, your eyes landed on a small ship parked in the main bay and your lips curled up into a relieved smile. Find the FOB, get the ship open and started. You rushed to Peli’s office and cursed the wrecked state it was in. Her baseline was chaotic and it showed in her organization choices. You dug through the mess until you found a FOB that seemed to match the ship waiting for you.

Victorious, you sprinted out of the office back down to the bay, but the second your feet stepped into the open area something hard slammed into you. The air was knocked from your lungs as you landed on the ground. Din’s features stared down at you as his body straddled yours. One of his gloved hands pinned down your dominant hand while the other clamped down on your throat⏤ not enough to restrict air, but just enough to convey his warning. You could see your fearful eyes reflected in the beskar covering him as he towered over you. Din’s face didn’t look angry or worried. He didn’t look scared or confused. Din looked cold. Emotionless. Somehow that was worse.

“Din⏤”

“Don’t.” Din said sharply. The fingers on your neck flexed once. “Don’t speak, cyar’ika.”

More suffocating than his demeanor and broad figure was the poisonous energy seeping out of the saber hung on his belt. You were drowning in it, struggling to keep your head above it’s dark waters, and Din was pushing you beneath the waves. He held you under. Din was a man drowning and in your attempt to rescue him he was dragging you to the depths as well. 

“How could you do this to me?” Din asked. His voice cracked⏤ the only sign of his pain. “Cyar’ika, you…” Din swallowed. A flash of heartbreak filled his expressive brown eyes and the degree of his hurt briefly made you feel guilty. Like you had been the one to betray him. “I love you. You are my everything. I would burn the world for you. How could⏤ How could you leave?”

“I never asked for you to burn the world for me, Din.” You whispered. “That’s not what I want.”

Din shifted and leaned down so he could rest his forehead against yours. His hand hung loosely around your throat, forearm pressed against your chest, and it was a position your body was familiar with. If you closed your eyes and gave into the darkness trying to claw its way down your throat and into your lungs, then you’d simply feel like you were sharing a private moment of intimacy with your love. Din’s lips suddenly ghosted against yours and you felt your body tremble.

“What is it you want?” Din begged. “I will give you anything. I just want you safe by my side.”

“I told you what I want, Din…”

Din sighed, his hot breath fanning across your lower face, “I can’t do that.” His voice was strained as if her were in agony. “The saber is how I protect you, cyar’ika.”

“You’re losing me because of that saber, baby.”

For the longest moment, Din remained silent. His eyes were closed and you could see him ruminating over something. After a second, he opened his eyes and Din’s eyebrows furrowed in defeat. A flicker of hope burned in your chest until he opened his mouth and spoke. 

“Things were okay. We just need to start from scratch again. I know you hated that chain, cyar’ika, but it’s for the best.” Din said softly and your eyes widened at how serious his words were. How much he believed that to truly be the best path. “It won’t be forever, I swear it. Just until I trust you again.”

“Din⏤”

“No.” Din snapped. His soft despair turning to a firm demand. “There will be no argument. I’m taking you home.” You opened your mouth once more, but Din’s fingers began to tighten around your throat marginally. “You’re already in trouble, cyar’ika. Don’t make it worse.”

Panic began to make your heart race. You were sinking fast and the light was beginning to disappear from your sight⏤ your freedom with it. In a poor attempt at a final chance of survival, you spoke up despite his order to stay silent. “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Din scoffed. “You understand why I find it hard to believe you.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Please, baby. I’m sorry. Please believe me. You know I love you.”

You could feel Din’s thumb around your neck tracing the skin under it as he stared down at you. He took in a deep breath and leaned in to press his forehead against yours once more. Din brushed his lips lightly against yours. “You’re always so pretty when you beg, cyar’ika.” That was the one thing you had working in your favor. Din always had a hard time telling you ‘no’ when your bodies were folded together like this. “I’ll hear you out, but let’s get to our ship first.”

“Why not now? Let me tell you how sorry I am, Din.” You begged and he let out a soft sigh as his eyes closed. Your eyes darted to the saber on his belt. If you ended up back on Mandalore it would be over. There would be no second chance. Determined, you rolled your hips up and just as you suspected you were met with the firmness of his half hard cock. Din groaned. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” Your non-dominant hand had been clutching at the hand he had at your throat, but you very slowly let it travel up his arm to bury in his soft hair. “Please, baby.”

You tilted your head up as much as you could with Din’s hand clamped around your neck. Carefully, in fear that too quick or sudden a movement would break the spell, you began to pull Din down closer. Din hesitated against the slight force of your hand only for a second before he slotted his lips against yours. As always, Din’s touch set you aflame. He released the wrist he had pinned and hooked that hand under your thigh to spread your legs so he could settle between them rather than straddle you. You should be focused on escape alone, but the taste of him made you hungry for more. You weren’t sure how much was your love for Din and how much was the saber twisting it into something recognizable. 

Din’s teeth caught your lower lip, and he pulled back a breath, “You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are, cyar’ika.” He leaned back down to lick into your mouth, his kiss crushing and near painful as Din’s hips pressed firmly against yours. He left his lips close enough that you felt every word he spoke. “Yet here I am…” Din gave a sharp thrust and even with layers of clothes between the two of you he was able to snap the bulge of his erection right where your clit was hidden. You gasped at the pleasure that rocketed up your spine as hot pangs arousal pooled in your lower belly. “...doing all the damn work.”

At his words, you closed the space to press your lips against his again, deepening the kiss, as your hands traveled to his belt. You undid his belt with practiced ease, and while one hand slipped under the waistband of his flight suit to find the base of his cock the other went to grasp the saber.

Your fingers brushed against the thrumming metal of the saber for only a second before Din’s hand slapped on top of yours pinning it to the saber. Everything froze. Din and you were both panting, breathless from your kiss. You had one hand stuffed into his pants with your hand pressed against his skin on the space above the base of his cock and the other on the saber. Din had one hand tightening around your neck while his other crushed your fingers against the darksaber. He chuckled and the sound sent chills throughout your body.

“Let go, Cyar’ika.” Din’s voice was gruff and seemed to rumble out from his chest. You began to try and pull both hands back, but Din grunted. “Not both. Just the saber.” You sucked in a sharp breath and remained frozen. “What? You don’t want to finish what you started?” He shoved one hand down his pants to roughly grab yours and force your hand to wrap around the entirety of his throbbing cock. It was like this tense moment was spurning him onwards⏤ filling him with a thrill you had never seen before. “I thought you were sorry.”

You hated how his words made your own core ache with want. 

Din snapped the saber off his belt tossed it off to the side. Too far for you too reach, but close enough that its influence weighed heavy on you still. He did the same to your own weapon which was hooked in its usual place on your belt. Din threw that one further, more carelessly, before lowering his face back down toward yours. His hand was still wrapped around yours, and Din thrusted into your dry grip. It couldn't be comfortable you thought, but Din moaned in your ear as if it were already drunk in pleasure.

“Din…” You murmured.

His hot mouth enveloped yours, tongue licking into you, as he thrusted twice more. Din’s teeth caught your lower lip again, but this time he bit down hard enough that the taste of metallic blood flashed across your taste buds. You yelped, he thrusted into your grip, and then Din pulled back just enough that you could see his lips painted with the red of your own blood.

“Are you going to make me take you?” He asked in a harsh whisper. “Or will you come willingly?” Din pressed his bloodstained lips against the side of your face, dragging, and you shuddered as a cold, but tempting, chill filled your body. “I’ll spend eternity chasing you, cyar’ika, but it will be more enjoyable if you just agree to be mine again.”

His lips found yours once more, and for one second you weren’t in your body. Your mind clouded with a sort of vision. You saw Din sitting on Mandalore’s throne splattered with blood he had drawn from others and his features masked in a cold indifference. The saber was not on his belt, but any confusion you had on it’s location faded as a different version of you came into view. She wore an elegant and revealing gown that was as dark as a starless night, and the inactive saber was held tight in her grip as blood covered her hands and left a trail of red petals as she passed. While Din’s face held a cold indifference this version of you looked feral with enjoyment. 

She settled herself on Din’s lap and the mask he wore cracked to reveal adoration as he stared up at this other you in awe. Without wasting a beat, this unrecognizable version of yourself pulled Din into a firm kiss. The blood on the hands that resembled yours smeared against his stainless beskar, and the blood on his face left smears along features you spent your entire life staring at in a mirror. Suddenly, the other you broke away to turn and it seemed she was glaring directly at you.

The saber in her hand activated and burned with a soul sucking energy that seemed to draw you in.

“Be mine.” Din’s voice snapped you back into the moment. “Be my queen, cyar’ika. I want no else.” He pressed his lips to yours again but in a way that was too soft to match the rest of this situation. The tip of his tongue dragged through the torn tissue of your lower lip and you shivered. “Let me protect you as you rule by my side.”

And you wanted it. It was like your body had finally reached the lowest depths and your lungs were filling with the dark water you were drowning in. It was almost peaceful allowing yourself to settle into the cold⏤ allowing it to swallow you whole. Distantly, you could feel the crystal in your lightsaber desperately calling out to you, but you were certain no light could reach you where you were. Cold turned to pleasure as Din’s hands began to map the familiar planes of your body. 

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered. Din molded his lips to yours and he pulled your hand out from where it was hidden under his waistband so he could have to room and access to begin frantically undoing your own belt. You lifted your hips so he could tug your pants down past your ass and off entirely. He didn’t bother with his own pants, deciding to just tug them down enough to be useful, and  Din settled between your legs. As he worked himself out of his pants he planted his lips against the hollow of your neck.

You tilted your chin up, panting, as you gave him more room to work his tongue against the skin there. Every atom of your being was throbbing and aching for the man on top of you, but briefly a glimmer of pain lanced through your heart. A reminder. You thought you were too deep in for the light to reach you, but your lightsaber’s call managed one faint echo. A weak lifeline back to the surface. Without thinking, your hand reached reached out to where the sabers were cast aside and for the first time in your life you felt the Force do more than just read an energy. It enveloped the space around you and seconds later something firm was in the palm of your hand.

You cried out, managing to roll Din and yourself over so you now straddled him. The saber activated in your hand and rather than the warm familiar glow you wanted, you were greeted by the soul sucking, burning energy of the darksaber lighting up in your hands. Your eyes widened in alarm. The power that washed over you was overwhelming. It rocketed up your arm and pierced your very soul. Din laid on the ground under you as you stared at the cold glow of the saber burning in your hands, and you heard him begin to laugh in amusement. 

“Maker, you’ve never looked prettier, cyar’ika.” Din grinned⏤ the look in his dark eyes was wild with desire. “How does it feel?”

Your skin was crawling as if someone was holding a live wire to it. A tremor shook your body as your lips began to twitch up in raw pleasure. This felt wonderful. You had never felt more powerful and strong. It filled you with so much confidence that you didn’t even mind the bloodlust that came with it. Slowly, you lowered the saber so it was hovered over Din’s throat. He didn’t flinch or blink. In fact, as your free hand grasped the hair on top of his head roughly you felt his cock twitch under you. 

You gave his hair a slight tug, lifting his chin to tilt up, and Din chuckled, “Do you want me, Cyar’ika?”

“What I want,” You smirked and leaned down so even you could feel the heat radiating from the darksaber’s cold burning against your own skin, “is for you to open your mouth, baby.” Din did so without hesitation and you spat between his open lips possessively. Another tug on his dark locks and your love closed his mouth to swallow. “My King. So good for me.”

You shifted your hands so they were planted on either side of Din’s head. The saber rested on the dirt floor of Peli’s garage⏤ dangerously close to your lover. Din didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as his hands grasped your hips tightly. He lifted a knee to shove you closer to him while also lifting you up. You followed the momentum, letting your hips hover over him so he could work your underwear aside, and you slammed your lips against his. The kiss was rough. A clash of teeth and a fight for dominance. You felt the tip of his cock prod against your clit and you gasped. Din used it as a way to take control of the kiss. His tongue shoving into your mouth and keeping your own confined. Before you could regain the slight upper hand you lost, Din dragged his tip through your slick then roughly yanked your hips down onto him. You cried out as you felt his entire length stretch and fill you. 

The entire time that you and Din got lost in one another, the darksaber burned brightly only inches away. Din fucked up into you brutally as you chased that carnal release in the shadows cast from the saber’s cold flame. The darksaber sung in victory, content and prideful, as the lightsaber left inactive in the dirt a few feet away screamed in mourning. If you focused your attention you’d be able to hear both, but currently the only sound you could focus on was the way your cries of pleasure mingled with Din’s grunts of fulfillment. 

.

[six months later]

.

You straddled Din’s lap, your thighs poking out from the slits alongside your dark gown, and as Din barked out in Mando’a to the crowd at your back you continued to pepper the skin of his neck with soft kisses. There was a pause in your King’s lecture and you let your teeth drag against the tight tendon under his skin before licking up to press another kiss behind his ear. Din trembled under your touch and you chuckled against him.

“Please! I’m sorry. Ni ceta!” A man was begging and the shakiness of his voice told you he was probably crying as well. “I came to Mandalore with only good intentions, your highness. Peace. I never meant⏤”

You leaned back, peeling yourself away from Din, and sighed. “Baby, can we be done with this?” Din focused his loving gaze on you as he offered you a soft and kind smile. Din cupped your jawline and let his thumb trace the shape of your lower lip. You gave him a small pout. “Please?”

“How could I ever deny you, my Queen?” Din chuckled and you could feel the rumble of his chest under the beskar. He pulled you in for a quick, but tender kiss. “Go ahead.”

You beamed at him and felt him use his other hand to squeeze your ass as you rose from the throne and his lap. You spun on your heel and stared out at the crowd before you. Loyal Mandalorians stood at the ready, eager to serve their Manda’lor, and a stranger cowered on his knees begging. An older man who came to Mandalore with a peace treaty from another world in the same corner of the galaxy as the world you ruled with your love. You held a hand back toward Din without looking, and you felt him slid the familiar metal of your shared weapon into your grip.

The man began to cry harder as you skillfully activated the saber⏤ spinning it twice in your hands with the muscle memory of a once renowned Jedi. You and Din had gotten a taste of power, of ruling, and you both began to wonder: Why stop at Mandalore?

With a steady swing, you cut the man down and watched his body crumble down the steps. There was no room for peace. With the saber at your side, you and Din planned to take and conquer as your hearts desired. 

After all, who could possibly stand in the way of the ruthless Mand’alor and his bloodthirsty, once Jedi trained Queen?

.

[here is the happy end]

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 261 (Spoilers)

The Fuck

We start with Yuji's last attack and a redraw of last chapter's last scene. Yuji didn't manage to injure Sukuna's heart further and gets thrown to the side being forgotten immediately together with Todo because Sukuna has a new/old opponent now: fucking Yuta.

We do get one more panel of Yuji thinking of Choso which fits my recent post about Yuji's accumulated trauma. Other than that Yuji/Todo get sidelined for the rest of the chapter but that was needed to explain what the fuck Yuta had done

Also, Okkotsu Yuta is now on name-basis with Sukuna, a place only very few people have reached at this point like Fushiguro Megumi and Gojo Satoru.

When I first saw the stitches on Gojo's head, I thought of Kenjaku and Kenjaku only. Even after Sukuna called him Yuta I needed a moment to understand what had happened here. Do you all understand how awesome that is 👀 JJK has an active theory based fanbase and I at least have never heard or thought of this possibility 😣

We get a flashback to explain how we got to this point: the idea of taking over Gojo's body came from Yuta and most people were initially against it. Of note: Yuji was not part of this discussion probably for the same reason why no one told him about Todo.

We get a reminder why it has to be done this way but Maki throws in that Yuta's copy only lasts 5 minutes. So the question is, what happens when those 5 minutes are up?

Yuta dies because Kenjaku's possession ability needs to be active constantly

Yuta dies at some point because Kenjaku's possession ability needs to be activated again and again

Yuta's new body permanently becomes Gojo's body

Honestly, I don't think 3) will be endgame for Yuta. It might happen that he will become Gojo in body permanently but story-wise his death signs are through the roof. I don't believe that Yuta will survive inside Gojo 😢

1) is has to be false otherwise Kenjaku wouldn't be able to use other CTs like CM and AGS. 2) is a probable option as in Kenjaku had to intermittently re-activate his original CT but he still had the option of using other CTs as well.

Also, secret 4th option: Yuta dies but his body hopping shenanigans bring Gojo back to life.

It's good to see how Yuta is concerned about Gojo. Yuji would've been right there with him. He told Gojo about his plan but the guy was absolutely sure that he wouldn't lose anyway, haha...

Gojo speculates that Yuta might also be the descendent of the Fujiwara in addition to being one of the Sugawara and I'm not a genetics experts but I'm pretty sure that after 1000 years without migration happening in your family tree that you're descendent of everyone who lived that long ago. Except for Sukuna because he never had children.

Also, the original gang from JJK 0 came together to be part of some murder. The deaths of the higher-ups we saw at the very beginning of the Sukuna fight is now explained: Gojo killed them for a better future of the JJ Society but he was a little hesitant about it.

The flashback jumps first to Yuji's old friend who's name I forgot. We learn that his CT is sugar (??) based which leads to him becoming part of the medical team. Then the FB jumps to the aftermath of Yuta's fight against Sukuna: he was cut in half and is about to die

In a funny call back to when Yuji died at the Detention Center, Gojo is both dead and completely naked on a table. Just like Yuji, he also rises again albeit not completely alive when it comes to himself.

(Why did Yuta waste crucial seconds to put a shirt on?)

Shoko says that she fully sutured Gojo's bisected body and because Kenjaku's CT (as far as we know) only works on dead bodies, we have the confirmation that Gojo has indeed died against Sukuna. Except of course that he's about to be revived again.

Let's not forget that as far as Kenjaku's CT is involved, body and mind are treated the same. Something that will involve Gojo and his consciousness is going to happen at some point because of Yuta's decision to do this body hopping.

A new Domain Battle between Sukuna and GojoYuta is about to start. Yuta not only watched the previous battles, he also acquired Gojo's memories so it's exciting to see how that will play out.

It's also interesting how the visuals of the domain clashes changed so much. GojoYuta's is still the same (the first confirmation that a possessor can use the possessed's DE) while Sukuna's deteriorated somewhat, represented with the beastly construct in the background. He also has to use Gojo's handsign.

Break next week but now we can speculate to hell and back about what will happen now.

[rulanarinrush]

drdt ch2 ep 14 spoilers. just general thoughts. also, i express a bit more opinions in here than normal, but I don't mean it as criticism. It's just personal preference, so please don't feel offended if you disagree.

So Ace vs. Eden huh... if I hadddd to bet on those two and not a third option it would be Ace? Just purely from an evidence standpoint. David is kind of right that this "bda" rule is incredibly flimsy not just for the scenario he pointed out, but because Eden could have closed her eyes and flinched right at the moment of Arei's drop, because even if she could do something if the mechanism went wrong i severely doubt Eden is faster than gravity. Not much to be done there even if something doesn't go according to plan. Like with the "all murderers must be punished" rule im sure that will be used in a murder plan at some point.

There is one thing I think that wasn't discussed in Nico's attempted murder plan, and that's how did they get Ace in the gym? I don't mean "how did they knock him out." I mean that the plan is very specific, and the playground and relaxation room don't exactly have things that are easy to hang someone from(without a rope, obviously.) I can't measure the length of the wire but considering that the playground is two-storeys tall if Nico's plan could've also worked in the playground, does that thing even count as a wire anymore or is that just a sharp whip that was condemned by god.

Back to the main point, how did Nico just happen to get Ace on the right floor? I don't think they had to knock him out in the gym specifically, but it is WILD to me that anyone would take the risk of knocking Ace out on the first floor and dragging him to the elevators like at that point just stab the guy and be done with it. So it makes more sense to me that Ace went to the second floor of his own volition, and Nico followed him. But this is where I think Teruko and Nico might become pivotal in defending Eden. I can't remember the episode she says this in anymore, but right before they hear the fan break, Eden says "I know you've been following me!" She could of course just be paranoid that someone watching her prepare for a murder,(starchy ball of clothing, esp with teruko's clothes right there and teruko) but it could mean that she sensed someone following her right after the Arei-Arturo thing. Ace can of course easily defend this as saying he went to the gym to work out(makes sense tbh) but if Nico says they caught him off guard with the chlo-- turpentine because Ace was hiding and watching something, that may definitively prove that he is at least more suspicious than Eden. After all, this guy is no stranger to eavesdropping on people's conversations, and it is an ... interesting coincidence to be both where the victim was right before she was lured out and the person the killer intended to frame. Also for this to work, he was probably the one eavesdropping on at least the first half of the infirmary conversation(this part still gets me confused, but im going to assume he ran into the cafeteria after hearing arei coming) and that he saw Arturo leave, but guessed the part about "Arei promising to do anything." Then it makes a bit of sense for him to stalk eden that day, stalk arei the next day, then commit his murder in the morning after gathering all the information he needs. It also makes sense for him to be waiting for the right time to get the fish. He and Eden are also the only ones that could've grabbed the tape before the gym closed, because apparently it closed right after they left and I missed this detail. so Levi couldn't have investigated it immediately after.

As for Hu and Nico I do like the themes of infantilization and self-worth and helplessness. Levi is taking being judged with very neurotypical condemning language pretty well actually, but I assume he's probably heard worse in his life. And also knows there's more on the line now than his feelings, or Eden's. I never really assumed Hu was the killer because so much of her alibis would need to be waved off for this plan to work, and that feels kind of sloppy to me. I believe that any talented writer can make any twist work but it would be very hard to do I think, and perhaps more effort than it is worth.

I don't hang around here much(I say this too often but it is true. Social media does not make me feel particularly great.) so I don't know everyone's big theories and all but from what I do see the main rebuttals to Ace being the killer is that his intelligence is too low and that he doesn't fit the theme of the chapter. The first point is somewhat fair to make I think, but I do think that "someone is too dumb to commit murder" is a poor argument to make when it applies to people like the ultimates. All talents require a level of strategy, sports are no exception. And lets not forget he did have a model murder to use(Eden too).

As for the second point, after doing some thinking, I think he does actually fit the theme of this chapter very well, especially as a foil to the victim, Arei. Maybe at first glance it doesn't make sense for someone who hasn't tried very hard to be a good person at all to be the murderer, but he and Arei have both had someone they deemed to be a "good person" watching over them, always willing to extend a hand despite the poor treatment. These are of course Levi and Eden, in that order. It turned out that Levi isn't exactly Ace's perfect idea of a friend(I mean at this point who is, no one can replace Taylor that's not how people work...), but he still, like Eden, was willing to overlook Ace's faults time and time again. Ace has a right to be upset, but he is cruel without trying to perform kindness like Arei was. Arei died trying to change herself into a better person. Ace never tried. By killing someone willing to put themself at risk for others, who ironically enough is like Levi in that way, he affirms his own worldview. Eden is also implied to be not exactly perfect as well, but the theme of this whole chapter challenges the idea of inherent good and evil. But you can always try to better yourself.

Eden being the killer also fits the theme of the story well and I think that it's not really a bad writing decision for her to be the killer, even if the parallels tug at your heart(they don't really for me truthfully, but if I wasn't moved by Min's I guess I won't be moved now either). It would be hard but not impossible for Teruko to trust again even if Eden is the killer after that performance. But that still doesn't change the fact that imo, no one has a motive to be her accomplice. How could she have gotten the fish then?

There is one more thing I'm thinking about with regards to the "intelligence problem" in that I still believe this case feels a bit sloppy, not narratively, but for the killer. 7:30 is a really tight time to pick, especially when you know that everyone is meeting up 30 minutes later, whether they want to or not. If it were me, I'd at least pick 7:00, not an unreasonable hour, but more time for the water to dry. Also, what if it turns out Arei is chronically late for things lmao? There is also the note. There is no way the killer could have predicted David's um. Fun exercises of one's patience, so trying to make an alibi for yourself by banking on the "in the evening" time of death is so very risky. Not to mention what if someone had gone to the playground at night with a group of people? Then it has to be in the morning. This leads to the note. I've talked about this before, but I wonder why it was discarded that way at all. The obvious choice is that they didn't want to risk the note being found shoved down the killer's skirt or pants when they had to meet up in like five minutes, but you can eat the note. That is just something you can do. But that might not occur to someone with an eating disorder.

(Thoughts on the episode are done, next part is just me kind of promoting.)

For my friend who knows who you are: i cannot believe the day i have to draw horseace draws closer. I can't even draw normal horses, how am i supposed to do this. born to write forced to draw.

For everyone else: I am doing drabbletober this year, and am open to requests. My ao3 has the same name as my tumblr if you want examples. Feel free to shoot me an ask here if you want me to write something. I don't take nsfw requests from anyone who isn't 18+ tho. Also, I'll try to write it when I can, which may be before October, but I will place my trust in you- please do not claim my writing as your own before I post it to ao3. pretty please okay.

[haberdashing]

It's been a while since I've posted any of my dreams on here, but I feel like tumblr would like this one.

I had a dream about a group of teenagers, or perhaps college kids in their early 20s, getting trapped in an upper-middle-class, three-story suburban house. The house was haunted and slowly drove several of the teenagers insane, to the point where only the ground floor could be used because the second and third floors were now occupied by fellow young adults turned into violent murderers who would now kill anyone who intruded on "their space".

You couldn't see the outside world out the windows, just pure darkness, and the first group to leave through the front door never returned from their scouting mission, left to an unknown but presumably horrible fate.

Fairly typical horror stuff, really.

But somewhere around where dreams meet half-awake thoughts, I realized that there wasn't one Final Girl to this story, there were three. (Although for one, Final Girl's a bit of a misnomer.)

The first was Luna, long-haired and pretty, who started out as the token group mystic pointing out that it was the night of the full moon. Turns out she knows a lot about nature and spiritualism in general. Also she was a trans woman; there was a throwaway line about how she was such a jerk back when she was (deadname). But she's a sweetheart now, if in need of some grounding now and then.

The second... I don't think ever got a name, but I have her mental image clear in my head. Scruffy short brown hair, glasses, fairly nondescript clothes. Started off as the quiet one. Then as things played out, she revealed that she had a history of depression and suicidal thoughts, which as it turns out is quite helpful for dealing with the whole haunted house thing. This wasn't her first time dealing with part of her mind turning against her and trying to cause her harm, after all. She dealt with that on an everyday basis.

The third was Piper, nonbinary, the one who actually lives in the house in question and invited everybody else over. Started off kind of keeping in the background, playing the good host while also trying not to answer too many questions. We learned that Piper grew up in a rich family, in keeping with the big fancy house... but was largely neglected by their parents, pawned off on various nannies and babysitters before having to make their peace with spending time alone more often than not.

Piper realized that the source of the haunting was their parents' jobs--the exact jobs weren't clear, but they were things like "engineer at Lockheed Martin" and "CEO of a health insurance company pushing claim rejections". Unethical jobs, albeit commonplace and lucrative ones. The house was bought with blood money, that's what the problem was.

And Piper figured that the house needed their blood, blood from the family that purchased the home with those dirty funds, their blood used to atone for the blood spilled in the name of owning the home... but after some discussion the three determined that it didn't need to be all of Piper's blood sacrificed to fix the curse. And hey, depressed girl has some experience here too, she can provide guidance on how to make a cut that will bleed plenty but won't cause any permanent damage...

It ended with the three hand in hand, leaving out the front door and walking down the seemingly-endless sidewalk with nothing but pristine lawn on both sides, unsure of what lay ahead of them but ready to find out together.

(And yes, they're all dating.)

[featherdusterbelphie]

WHB Belphie discussion! (Again)

I'm gonna be going back and rewriting some of my theories.

So first off, according to this post, Belphie seems... More lenient than he seems. Which means he's definitely not that strict and/or maybe doesn't care as much about what his people do or where they go? (Or maybe that's just because those three are high-ranking devils so of course they have more freedom)

Which makes me retract on my earlier statement from my previous post:

for some reason, I have a feeling that he's very mean? Or like, he's one of those who will bully MC LOL

(though I can't tell if it's bully because he likes mc, or bully because that's just how he is)

Or at least, he isn't the type to just punish his people because he got irritated (unlike Levi) so it makes me think that he probably bullies MC because he likes them. That's just his attitude when it comes to the person he likes. He treats them... Not like shit, but not very nicely either hahaha.

OH and I just realized from the post I mentioned earlier that Dre has a halo! What?! I completely forgot about that so I'm embarrassed about what I said regarding Belphie's halo—

......I was going to say something about Belphie wearing angel limbs/pieces as accessories, but after seeing @/aki-shun's and @/sparkbeast20's observation and theories, I'm starting to think that the halo is indeed because of an experiment. From their observation, Belphie, Levi and Mammon are the only kings so far that had their mouths closed in their teasers, all the other kings do not.

Which leaves me with a foreboding feeling...Both the halo and the double pupils are definitely part of that experiment.

I'm only aware with Levi's past of escaping from an angel camp, and I've only just recently (like, a few hours ago) found out that Mammon has been as well. Which makes me think Belphie definitely also got 'napped and experimented on by the angels. Which is just so 😭 I wanna hug him (until he pushes me away lmao)

Also, thanks for @/eternal-auditor for reminding me of Beel's obscenely delicious looking dick and the tattoo on it that Belphie also has on his forehead which is.... honestly so boring. They're devils and they have tattoos of The Devil's insignias...but I guess PB has done worse...

Ah, but having another devil that has tattoos is nice, don't get me wrong. I wonder how many Belphie will have. I reckon he has a lot (and I also reckon it's to cover up some of his lingering scars).

Also I drew him some more in school. I tried to incorporate that halo he has and changed his attire to resemble Dre's since it's supposed to be a uniform.

(sorry about the quality, I'm too lazy to redraw this in ibis)

I redesigned his hair in this because I just realized that he could also have a half-up do and still look like the teaser!!! I was wearing this style earlier (but less pointy and ragged because my hair was long and wet and incredibly straight) so I thought why not give him this? He looks like he could be drinking champagne while murdering people with Sanzu lmao. Very mafia-esque which I ADORE

Also also!!! Going back to sparkbeast20's post, there's a Twitter post by @/WHB_kiri where they drew Belphie's eye where it only shows the second (upper) pupil when he's serious. So here's the last of my two cents!

Wouldn't it be fun if his pupils rotated as well? Like the swirly spin wheel thing that hypnotists use to make someone fall asleep etc. but it's Belphie trying to threaten someone. That would be fun.

Aaaanyway, I will probably be making more of these because Belphie in general is very special to me<33......LMAO so watch out and filter if you're getting tired of it! Also I apologize if this whole thing is so gibberish and difficult to understand. I haven't been sleeping right and my brain is just scrambled ahahaha

Also, fuuuuck me. There's a new Luci card and it's only in the stupid premium pass?! Goddamn it! I didn't get Luci when he launched so what the fuck?!?! 😭😭🙃🤬🤬😭😭

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[king-and-his-consorts]

Need to get a little something off my chest.

I am currently avoiding twitter because lots of people seem to be at each other's throats currently. One of those topics discussed is Sanji's "betrayal" in WCI. WCI is a favorite topic of mine so I figured I'd share some quick thoughts on this.

I always see people say things like "why didn't Sanji trust Luffy?" "Why did he attack him?" "Why didn't Sanji just leave with Luffy?" etc.

We're just going to get the "Why didn't Sanji just leave with Luffy?" out of the way first.

Answer: Sanji was being threatened with the promise of harm coming to Zeff (and others). Sanji knows that Germa has incredible reach. For all Sanji knows, they could have Zeff just in the dungeon right that second. He can't take that kind of chance because he has no definitive answers on the health and security of any of his loved ones. It would destroy him if he let Zeff come to harm. Also, I'm sure he's thinking that Luffy would be disappointed if he threw a loved one under the bus to save his own skin.

Next: "why didn't Sanji trust Luffy?" and "Why did he attack him?"

Answer: The answer to these are deeply intertwined.

Sanji and Luffy canonly have an extremely close relationship. They're very affectionate towards each other. They share a deep, passionate bond. The trust expressed between them time and time again cannot be denied. So, you see, Sanji did trust Luffy. He trusted Luffy to act as Luffy does.

The thing to remember is, Luffy is extremely possessive and territorial as well as headstrong and foolhardy. Sanji is his. Both he and Sanji know that he will stop at nothing to regain what is considered his. Knowing this, Sanji had to try whatever pitiful means he had to make Luffy not want him anymore. Verbal and physical violence were the only tools Sanji had available to try and get Luffy to drop his possessive mindset.

Verbally and physically attack Luffy were Sanji's last ditch effort to get Luffy to turn his nose up and leave. I believe that by saying mutinous things and attacking his captain, he was trying to simulate the conditions that caused Luffy to turn on Usopp in Water 7.

Why would he want this, you ask?

The answer is actually Robin in Enis Lobby.

Sanji knows Luffy. Sanji was there when Luffy literally declared war on the World Government in order to get Robin back. Sanji knows that Luffy still has the foolhardy conviction to declare war again.

The problem is that this time he would be declaring war on both Germa and the Big Mom pirates.

Half the crew is literally on their way to fight a war against Kaido at that very moment. If Sanji lets himself be rescued then his captain will have started a war with two yonko and a deranged warmonger all at the same fucking time. The thought of that has got to be frightening, especially in Sanji's currently extremely traumatized state of being. He can't handle the idea of his crew being murdered by three incredibly strong factions. So, Sanji does what he always does.

Sacrifice himself.

Sacrificing himself to a life of misery and loneliness. Sacrificing himself to an existence of his nakama hating and resenting him. Sacrificing himself to eternal guilt and agony that he attacked and betrayed those he loves most in this world.

Unfortunately, I believe that Sanji has not realized how much Luffy's logic and ability to read his crew has drastically increased. Luffy read him like a fucking book and refused to fall for Sanji's game. All it did was tighten Luffy's grip on Sanji's metaphorical leash. Luffy is incredibly selfish. He wasn't letting go of what was his and that was devastating to Sanji because now he has to live with the memories of beating the shit out of his captain and the fear for his nakama's safety.

___

Anyway, that is my personal view of Sanji's headspace in WCI. It's a very deep and drawn out topic but I don't have the spoons to expand further. sorry.

[max1461]

Keeping thinking about my 50s-60s-70s hate. I just. I don't want to be a hater but I dislike those decades' aesthetics so much! They off-put me, like, to a really significant degree. I was reading about John List (mass murder) on Wikipedia and he did his murders in 1971 and literally the whole time I was just thinking "of course he did that shit in the 70s... this whole thing is such a 70s thing to happen... god I hate the 70s..."

Of course I'm talking about a very narrow thing here, like the aesthetics of clothing and consumer goods and general society that we associate with the decades in the US. Idk if the same thing applies elsewhere. But like.

I've made a bunch of conjectures about this before, like that this was the time around which mass-produced plastic goods started to be produced and society hadn't like, metabolized that yet. So everyone was still aspiring to this kind of pre-WW2 ideal of "classiness" or some shit and just didn't realize it Wasn't Working. And then by the 80s people were finally like "you know what, let's try something different" and went for like an actively kinda trashy look that worked in the age of plastics.

Yeah this is my best guess. But really I don't know. I am so enamored with anything produced in the first half of the twentieth century, I'm such of fan, and then I think most of the second half is basically a write-off. Even the 90s mostly I think were shitty. Really the 80s are the only part of that era that I like anything from.

Posting about this again because I wish to understand it. I wish to incite discussion with you people.

Oh right yeah I was thinking about this in the following context. Who built the society of each era? The 40s weren't built by the people who were young then, they were built by the generations like 2 and three degrees prior. The people born between like, 1880 and 1910. This is accounting for both stuff made in the 40s themselves and also all the background stuff made in previous decades that stuck around into the 40s. The way the forties looked and the social norms that existed and so on were decided by older people. So my conclusion is that when I talk about hating 1950-1980, really I'm taking umbrage with the people born from like 1900 to 1950... the exact set of decades that I like! It's their taste that I think was shitty!

So maybe this one of those like "hard times make hard men" or whatever things. "Ugly times make men who seek beauty... men who seek beauty make beautiful times... beautiful times make men who are content with ugliness" or some shit.

Obviously this is bullshit. But it feels true.

[archivalofsins]

So, before I watch the short music video and analyze the hell out of it let me put up my thoughts on the thumbnail and the gifs. I haven't been in the best mood for a minute and have been physically sick as well. So, I've mostly been talking to friends in private about my thoughts on the information.

Good news for all of those reading discussion is how I flush out ideas and opinions. So, I now have a lot.

First the thumbnail,

We believe that the thumbnail is a direct progression of the first one and meant to mirror it. Better highlighting the nuances of the situation.

The window replacing the mirror behind him in the original thumbnail.

The mannequin parts take the place of the broken walls.

The train seats taking the place of the couch and support bars taking the place of the armrest, while being vaguely similar to the staff we see The Fool card carrying-

this continues that caged in or surrounded feeling from his first music video thumbnail. Making the audience contemplate whether he's stuck in here with us or if we're stuck in here with him. A feeling that both of his thumbnail images subtly give off well.

The mannequin is split into pieces but there only seems to be pieces enough for one. Something I and @doctorbunny discussed. At which point I brought up that the thumbnail can be taken as a visual reference to the line,

"Maybe it’s ok to try to keep on living split in half, make that heart beat."

As it visually shows, trying to live his life as normal by doing his commute with these, possibly disjointed/at odds aspects of himself, constantly at his side. Reminded him of the division within himself. A good illustration of how living with a dissociation can be in my opinion.

Mikoto's clothes here are different as well. I do believe this is the other one going to work, and we will be seeing the trauma that Mikoto suffered to lead him to this point. Just as we did with Amane. I also spoke briefly about enjoying how the series confirmed this hinted at concept all the way back from trial one.

We've also discussed dissociative identity disorder here in regards to the other characters before. The information from that post can be applied here in regards to Mikoto's new outfit. As we've gone over before alters can have different body language and speaking habits. However, in that post we went over the myths around switching being incredibly noticeable and how the changes are not as drastic as one would believe.

Now of course, the problem can be exacerbated by how much stress one is under. However, for the most part the point is not having people notice a change has occurred. So, alters try to mirror the one who fronts the most when out depending on who they're around or where they are. Of course, this is different for everyone.

However, a change of clothes isn't enough to really make someone go oh you've changed drastically anymore. Unless the change is really out there, which it's usually not. So, using clothes and accessories to give a better understanding of the other we haven't seen is a great stylistic choice.

However, this isn't the only differentiating feature. There are also eyebags. As we discussed in another post people with dissociative identity disorder tend to be lethargic or really tired.

X

However, just because people with dissociative identity disorder are tired and probably would rather not bother with getting in a verbal argument let alone go through the trouble of killing another person, they'll still defend themselves if necessary. Because dissociative disorders form as a response and defense to trauma. So, there's no saying what will happen when some is exposed to that trauma that caused it a second time.

Also, literally anyone is capable of committing murder even though no one should do it. The bags could be being used to differentiate between them throughout the second mv.

We can also see he has his bat in his hands here in the thumbnail. This is all important when it comes to discussing the gifs that have been released. Ah, almost forgot many have been saying that the thumbnail is a fisheye shot but we believe it to be an arc shot because Mikoto himself does not have the distortion that would come with a fisheye lens shot.

Here's some information on the arc shot.

In the gifs we see that instead of the diamond shaped earring Mikoto is wearing earrings that more so resemble tires. It would be cool if all the objects within the tarot cards were variations of things associated with each of them. Explaining why the deck was split in half near the end of MeMe.

As the tires are reminiscent to the wheel of fortune, and as such, could be being used to highlight how little control over their life the other had. Yet that's not the only interesting thing. Instead of wielding his bat like in the thumbnail, Mikoto is shown holding his tote bag with no bat in sight within the gif of him sitting on the train.

This implies that he won't only be stuck within the train in his mental space but displayed on it in reality. Something that goes into what we speculated about the train being related to trauma they may have experienced. I discussed this with @candckirby in private.

Where I posited that the space in MeMe was as destroyed as it was because Mikoto had a problem with enclosed spaces for one reason or another. Plus, the fact that his mental space may be taking on the form of this train could imply that he's been forced to relive that trauma in a way. In the gifs from today that I saw I noted that Mikoto's swing looked odd with them.

We both ended up agreeing it could be a one-handed far back wind up swing. Yet, I still had some doubts because the bat being used is clearly not Mikoto's at least not the one he uses in the thumbnail. As it seems to be drawn with rust on it and the one he has in the thumbnail is devoid of that. The bat could degrade over the course of the video though. Just from that and how the bat was angled behind him along with his posture it didn't seem as though he was swinging it in that way.

All in all, it's too short of an image to fully parse out. However, at first glance it appeared he was being attacked from behind while attacking forward. The gif where Mikoto is yelling out shows that they'll more than likely be using the lack of eyebags and presences of them to differentiate between them. Something I find interesting mostly due to the lack of them during most of MeMe and he very intentional covering of eyes in certain scenes during that mv.

Which leads me to believe that the other one was there, and the eyes were obscured for that purpose. Outside of that my favorite of the gifs was personally the chase scene. I really liked the expression work throughout all of them. Yeah, that's it.

It's not really a lot but I'm tired and sick so cut me a bit of slack- they said making late excuses for their weak delivery hours if not days after all this information dropped. Well at least we wrote something.

[creepswrites]

Mixing Slushies (Stu Macher x Reader)

oof I've been craving to write a solo for this boy for a WHILE so I hope you enjoy!! I feel like this story has a slightly different tone from what I usually write so please let me know if you liked it.

Stu Macher x AMAB!Reader (he/they)

Summary: He'd seen you crying in your bathroom over your parents fighting, seen you high and so out of your mind you had struggled to even talk, and knew you got slushies in both red and blue flavors but always poured red first and you never stirred it up. You let yourself hug him back, trying to avoid smudging the eyeliner you wore all over his shirt. WARNING: 18+, rude language, period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use, discussion of murder, knifeplay, fearplay, mild choking

Living in Woodsboro had come with certain... challenges. Your dad being on the police force had been one of those challenges, since being the chief's son and openly gender non-conforming came with a special kind of bullying. Kids your own age and adults your father worked with seemed to almost take turns giving impolite-but-polite comments about how you dressed or just straight up insults on your general person. It was all just a part of growing up for you, something you believed you'd be doomed to accept if you didn't conform.

Your father was certainly of no help, whining to your mother constantly how he didn't want a "sissy" for a son and only shouting at you when you tried to argue with him. So, you resigned yourself to being bullied, believing that to be your fate till you could blow this fucking town. Get out and never look back.

Until you met Stu Macher.

The two of you met properly when you were both freshmen in high school, but you'd known him since your father transferred to Woodsboro the previous year. Though he'd never really caught your attention then. Too-tall and gangly, the class clown sort of guy. You'd only had one class together in eighth grade so it wasn't like you had to deal with him often. You didn't hate him, he just didn't stand out. He'd notice your outfits though and the friends he hung out with at the time would point and laugh, even if he just smiled at you.

Thankfully, by the time high school rolled around, kids generally had better things to do than give a shit if you wore a skirt or eyeliner to school. Besides, it was fun, fuck all of them. First week went by easy but on the second week, some of the seniors were giving you shit, trying to pull on your hair and trip you up. It was quick to stop after Stu Macher punched one so hard he broke his nose. You still fondly remember the sickening crunch, the waterfall of blood, and the bright smile Stu had given you. Like he'd been holding that in for months.

No one ever really bothered you after that. But Stu still did.

He'd always be trailing after you, asking about your new skateboard or trying to steal your headphones to see what music you were listening to on your Walkman. At first it was annoying but you slowly began opening up to him, especially after he'd defended you. Only reason he didn't have detention was because the guys he hit didn't want to be humiliated by losing to a freshman half their size.

So you two started to hang out as friends. You'd drag Stu to some abandoned train tracks and teach him to skateboard or he'd take you to his house to watch movies. Horror movies quickly became your favorite, the two of you spent hours gushing over how the movies were filmed, the stories, everything. Even rewatching movies you'd seen was fun with Stu. He had an interest in becoming a director so he would always try to explain how the scenes were shot but you'd both become overexcited at the blood and gore.

It was common knowledge to most in your neighborhood that your parents fought. They'd have screaming matches well into the night and the cops had even been called to investigate 'domestic disturbances' that your neighbors phoned in. Whenever the screaming started now, you'd just sneak out your window and head to the Macher farmhouse or sneak the lanky boy in through your window.

He never judged you when you sobbed when the fights turned aggressive, shouts and the shattering of plates making their way under your locked bedroom door as they fought. He'd lay against your headboard with you in between his legs against his chest and let you listen to music, tracing idle patterns on his arm as you zoned out. By the time red and blue lights flashed outside, you'd both be asleep.

You remembered one night in particular, the last fight your parents had before the divorce, how he'd come crawling in your window after the shouting had died down and your dad had left for a bar and mom was sobbing in her room. How Stu had lay beside you in you bed for hours, the two of you pressed together on the twin mattress. You'd buried your face in his chest and he rubbed circles in your back, only pausing in his motions when your sobs shook your whole body. He'd whispered reassurances to you, promises that he'd kill them if he could to spare you the pain, and soft little jokes to try and get you to laugh.

You hadn't, but his efforts were appreciated.

You spent most of that school year with the Macher family. Mrs Macher adored you and was relieved her son had a friend like you. You helped out around the house way more than any of her actual kids and she understood what it was like to deal with divorced parents. She and Stu's biological dad had gotten divorced not long after he was born but her new husband was so much better for them. She hoped you'd find the same comforts if your parents remarried.

You didn't tell her how Stu still called his dad some nights. How he'd drag you to pay phones after school to call him all the way in Europe. He missed him, just didn't know how to cope with that. The dial tone you were met with broke his heart a little more every time and you'd take him to get slushies afterwards to cheer him up.

Taking Stu into town to raid convenience stores had been the most fun you'd ever had. He always got blue and you'd get red and blue, scolding him whenever he tried to mix your drink to see if it'd make purple. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he'd drink his own mixed up slushies with you on the side of the road. The summers were warm and it was easy for you two to stay out late, eating low-quality food and bathing in the LED lights outside wearing t-shirts and shorts, and holding hands as you ventured down the dark, empty Woodsboro streets together.

"I never want to go home," you'd told him one night while you sat on the curb outside the little store. "I just want to stay here with you forever."

He'd given you the softest look imaginable, half his face illuminated by the harsh blue lights leaking through the huge windows of the store behind you. "Yeah?" He'd had a particularly soft look in his eye when he spoke, voice all quiet.

You'd nodded, taking a loud slurp of your drink. "Everything's better with you around." You'd said it so plainly, brushing off the feeling of your own heart pounding at the admission.

He'd looked away, cheeks tinted pink, and you'd punched his arm gently for it and smiled when he laughed. The two of you sat drinking slushies alone together on the street. You'd only looked back over when Stu looked over his shoulder. When you followed his gaze, you raised an eyebrow. Why the hell was he staring at the cashier?

You got your answer when he quickly leaned over to kiss your cheek, a chaste thing that had your face heating up so fast that even holding your chilled hand to your face afterwards did nothing to cool you down. "You bastard!" You'd laughed, kicking at him while he stood up, giggling.

"You like me, you like me!" He taunted and you chased after him, the two of you laughing against the darkness, worn shoes hitting hard on the pavement.

It was that summer between freshman and sophomore year when you realized you were in love with him.

It had been an average summer day, lounging in Stu's room in a t-shirt and boxers. He'd gone out to grab snacks for you two and should've been back about half an hour ago. When he finally came home with a black eye, bloody nose, and bloody knuckles, he'd barely sat still long enough for you to bandage him. He wouldn't give you a straight answer about what happened to him or tell you what happened to the other guy.

But it was at that moment you'd wanted to kiss him and you felt so sick after the fact you couldn't even eat dinner, no matter how much Stu's mom pressed you to.

You did your best to keep Stu from finding out. Hanging out with him was still normal enough but it always left you with butterflies in your stomach.

It felt horrible. It felt like lying to him.

By the time sophomore year was in full swing though, Stu was all over Billy Loomis suddenly, leaving you alone most of the time. Which was fine, you told yourself. It was fine. So you made acquaintance with the skater kids, spent time smoking weed, and did whatever possible to avoid spending time at home, your's or Stu's. You ate alone outside the cafeteria and still wore skirts and eyeliner. You convinced yourself you didn't give a shit about Stu Macher. It was fine.

It wasn't.

The last time you saw him was when your mom was loading up her belongings into a small moving truck. The long, drawn-out custody battle had belongings split up appropriately, your dad being left the house while mom got the truck. So she wanted to move to pursue her dreams of becoming a famous Hollywood actress. You'd been helping load up boxes into the truck when you saw Stu watching you from across the street.

Once you'd set the box in the truck, you made your way over to him, frowning at the wistful look on his face. "So you're really going?" He hadn't looked at you as he spoke, just staring longingly at your empty bedroom window.

You crossed your arms over you chest, the fleece jacket you wore suddenly feeling too hot. "Guess so. Mom's found this shitty little apartment in Hollywood she wants to move to. Dad didn't want custody of me so... I'm going with her. Order of the state, I guess." Soft green eyes fell on you, unshed tears lingering.

You looked away from him when he spoke up. "I'm gonna miss you, y'know? Wish you could stay..."

You remember that you both had cried a little but you don't remember who had moved in to the kiss first. What you do know is you definitely kissed Stu Macher outside your shitty house in a shitty, bitterly cold November winter. And for the first time since you'd moved to Woodsboro, you didn't want to leave.

At first, you were incredibly supportive of your mother's dreams, a little happy to be away from your dad in Woodsboro and painful memories of the divorce, the bullying, and your unrequited-maybe-requited love for Stu Macher. Sure, you missed him like hell and it was annoying to change schools halfway through a semester, but the kids at your new school paid you little to no attention. Even when you'd let your hair grow down to your shoulders and cut yourself bangs with safety scissors in the school bathroom with some girls' help. You started selling weed and whatever stuff you could get your hands on to the older kids for cash and you were content for awhile.

You let yourself admire pretty boys in LA and made superficial friends with kids a grade above you that you didn't give a shit about but were fun to pass time with. One of the junior girls, Becky, had even taken you to their prom so you could all hang out. The rest of sophomore year and your entire junior year was mostly uneventful for you, thank god. Your older friends skipped their senior prom and took you out to McDonalds with the sole intent to get high later.

You were happy. As happy as you could be, anyways.

Until your mother stopped coming home. Always off to some rehearsal that was never always a real rehearsal and sometimes just her going off to get shitfaced with friends she'd made. Like mother, like son, perhaps. You rarely had food in the house anymore so you had to get a part time job in order to feed yourself. Most days, dinner was whatever you could steal from the cafeteria at school.

Things got harder when you both got evicted. Mom hadn't been paying rent. So you packed up your things and called your dad.

He had been... hesitant to let you move back home. After all, you only had one more year of school. But with your eighteenth birthday coming up, your dad agreed to let you stay with him for the last year of schooling. Your mothers drinking and drug habits eventually cost her custody of you. Most of the summer was spent packing your room and driving with your dad back upstate when he came to collect you.

If you closed your eyes, you can still hear her haunting wails as she begged you to stay with her.

Moving back to Woodsboro was... well, easy honestly. You settled back into your old room and had a chance to redecorate. Of course, dad tried to set harder limits with you but when you agreed to just pay part of the rent like you were a tenant, he relaxed a little. He didn't have to parent you, he could just be your landlord instead. It was an acceptable arrangement. You got a part time job at a records store nearby that summer, you turned eighteen, and you were surviving. Even if you had to buy your own food, that wasn't new for you. Thanks mom, you had groaned internally to yourself as you ate at Burger King more nights than not.

Senior year was going to be stressful, you knew that. A part of you had kind of assumed Stu wouldn't even remember you, that he'd likely gotten a girlfriend, joined some sports team, or had just plain moved on with his life. You two hadn't even kept up over the past few years, despite the fact you could have called to him or written to him.

You just... didn't.

You'd spend hours staring at the phone trying to will yourself to call him but it was too hard. It would be painful to listen to him gush about a girlfriend at school or talk about how successful he was compared to yourself. Though in hindsight, had you known you'd be coming back after a year and a half, maybe you would have just done it anyways.

Regardless, you showed up to senior year skating. You'd always loved skateboarding and had kept up the hobby while in Hollywood. Plus it made moving around faster. Your hair was still messy and intentionally unkempt, you had an oversized graphic t-shirts, and a worn flannel tied around your waist. The ripped jeans and dingy shoes you wore were the icing on the cake. You bailed off the board when you got close to the steps, carrying it under one arm as you made your way up to the front doors, ignoring the looks the freshmen kids gave you. The staring wasn't exactly new to you.

What was new was how fucking tall Stu Macher had gotten.

Seeing him leaning against a locker chatting with some girl made your stomach feel weird and tight. You'd recognize Casey Becker anywhere and suddenly found yourself wishing you could set her head on fire with your mind. You may have liked Stu when you were fifteen, but surely things were different now, you told yourself. Still... that didn't mean you had to like how goo-goo eyed he got while talking to her. So you looked away. You didn't see how he lit up when he saw you nor how he trailed off talking to Casey fucking Becker because he saw you. You just pressed onwards through the bustling hallways, headphones tight around your head and your eyes on the floor.

Until Stu lifted you up in his arms and spun you around.

"Fuck!" You screamed in shock, headphones falling off your head as he hugged you.

"You're back, you're really back! I heard you were back in town but I thought Randy was bullshitting me!" He was smiling at you with that bright look he always had when he was excited. "Hollywood not work out, superstar?" His snickering made you roll your eyes, mostly out of fondness. Same old annoying ass boy...

"More like mom crashed and burnt. I'm only back so I don't have to live on the streets," you shrugged but Stu's hands didn't leave their spot on your shoulders. "Didn't, uh... didn't think you'd miss me so much."

"Didn't miss you!?" He stared at you like you'd grown two heads. "Dude, I was fucking crushed when you left!" You bit your lip nervously and avoided his gaze. Neither of you were going to talk about the kiss, you knew that much. At least not in public. "I missed you more than anything. Missed you every fucking day." His soft tone had you staring up at him with wide, shocked eyes. He pulled you in for another hug and you immediately deflated, dropping the hard act you always put on for everyone else and wrapping your arms around him.

Stu wasn't like everyone else. He never had been.

He'd seen you crying in your bathroom over your parents fighting, seen you high and so out of your mind you had struggled to even talk, and knew you got slushies in both red and blue flavors but always poured red first and you never stirred it up. You let yourself hug him back, trying to avoid smudging the eyeliner you wore all over his shirt.

"I missed you too..." You mumbled, slowly becoming aware of the feeling of eyes on you. When you pulled back though, it wasn't the students lingering by their lockers or walking past you that were staring. It was Stu's friends, giving confused looks at you and each other. You recognized Billy Loomis and Randy Meeks at least but the two girls that followed them took you a minute to recognize. "They, uh, are they all your friends?" You gestured over his shoulder to where they were, which got Stu to turn and look when they approached you two.

"Oh! Hey guys, when'd you get here?" He grinned at you and you raised an eyebrow.

"Just arrived," Billy smirked and looked between you and Stu. "Tatum was looking for ya, actually." The ginger girl crossed her arms over her chest and was giving you a suspicious look.

"I thought you hated Tatum Riley." You mumbled to Stu's back as he led introduced you to the group: Billy Loomis, Sidney Prescott, Tatum Riley, and Randy Meeks. The latter couldn't seem to help his staring at you in particular.

"Nice, uh, style?" Randy tilted his head curiously at you. "What's the shirt for?" You glanced down at yourself and the shirt you had on. A sharpened candy cane with blood dripping down from it.

Smirking at Randy, you tugged the fabric of your shirt down a bit to let him see better. "It's for Black Christmas. A horror movie about a killer at Christmas who kills a whole sorority of girls."

Stu leaned up against the wall of behind you, peering over your shoulder. "That was always your favorite. We watched that at least, like, a million times." You shrugged lightly at his teasing with a soft smile. Of course he remembered, you made him watch that movie with you at least a dozen times in December alone.

Randy crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug all of a sudden. "Well, did you know that Black Christmas-"

"-was the inspiration for Halloween? Was filmed in Canada but the lead actress was British? Had so many people playing the killer that the director had no idea who did the iconic body-shot?" You cut him off, smirking at the clear surprise on his face. "Yeah, I'm not just pretty." Stu cackled at Randy's blush, obviously trying to hide how impressed he was.

"Ugh, not another boy obsessed with horror movies," Tatum rolled her eyes, nudging Sydney with her hip. "You and Randy will be like peas in a pod if you know trivia like that."

Something flashed over Stu's face briefly when she said that. "Well, sucks for Randy, I got dibs years ago." He said, straightening up.

As the group began chatting, you looked over at Billy Loomis, who had stayed particularly quiet the entire time, and were surprised to find him staring back at you. You raised an eyebrow and he tilted his head with a slight smile. It didn't strike you as strange immediately but you got the feeling Billy was sizing you up somehow. You didn't particularly care one way or another about the guy. He was friends with Stu, sure, but thats where it began and ended with you.

Not to mention you were still a bit jealous and bitter Stu had picked him over you all sophomore year up until you'd moved away.

But you got the impression Stu would be dragging you to group outings more. Maybe it would be better to get along with the rest of his friends.

The sound of rocks at your window was almost nostalgic, you thought, as you made your way to your window and slid it open. Stu was standing down in your front yard, his car parked in the driveway. Your dad had been called out for a night shift so you had been alone at home doing homework. The sticky September heat was getting to your head and you felt agitated and tired.

Seeing Stu boosted your mood a bit. "What brings you here, stranger?" You teased, crossing your arms on the windowsill as you leant against it.

The taller boy grinned up at you. "Wanna get out of here? Like old times?"

You scoffed. "Old times? Like, a year and a half ago?"

"Is that a no?" Stu pouted dramatically and you rolled your eyes fondly.

"Gimme a sec to change." You shut your window and blinds and started rooting around your room. A plain white tank top and high waisted jeans would be cute, you hummed to yourself. But it was too warm for pants, so you settled on a navy blue knee-length skirt you had in your closet. You usually went for darker colors when dressing but Stu wouldn't care how you looked one way or another. As if he knew a thing about fashion, you snorted to yourself as you recalled how he'd go days wearing the same pair of jeans.

Running a brush through your hair, you huffed at yourself. You could do your eyeshadow but with how dark it was, it wouldn't really be worth it. Instead, you put in your various piercings and made your way downstairs. Grabbing your wallet and keys, you made sure to lock the door behind you. Stu stood dressed in his classic jeans and a blue t-shirt, looking you up and down teasingly.

"Some things never change though, huh?" He gestured to your style and smiled wider when you flipped him off.

"You're still a jackass, so maybe you're right, yeah." You shot back, Stu laughing at your snark and watched with amusement as you took shotgun next to him. "Do you still have shitty taste in music?"

Stu balked at your tone as you started checking the radio stations. "I've never had shitty taste! Maybe if you had stayed, it could be to your standards." You knew he was joking but you still picked absently at a loose thread on your skirt, resting your feet up on the dashboard.

"I'm... you know I'm sorry about that, right?" Your voice was quiet as Stu started up the car. "I didn't get a say in the matter, dad didn't fucking want me."

Stu was quiet for a moment before reaching over the center console to squeeze your hand. Neither of you said anything but you let your fingers lace together in your lap and you blushed. Feelings for your friend hadn't really faded, just got put on a back-burner. It was... difficult to tell if Stu felt the same. On one hand, you suspected he was dating Casey Becker but on the other hand he was way too touchy with you to be completely disinterested.

The drive to the 7-11 was mostly silent except for the soft, tinny music leaking from the car's speakers. Some song by Nirvana, you recognized, but it was too quiet to make out the lyrics. Stu squeezed your hand as he pulled into the parking lot and the two of you stepped out.

The bright fluorescent lights felt more like home than your actual house.

"So, what trouble have you gotten into while I was gone?" You teased Stu as you followed him down the chips aisle. "Nothing I'd miss, surely?" It was mostly a jest but a part of you was a little worried he had more fun with you gone.

Stu just laughed, grabbing a few small chip bags and tossing your favorite flavor to catch. "Nah, nothing's as fun as causing trouble with you," he gave you a playful wink and you lightly kicked at his ankle. "Though... I guess something weird happened when you left."

"Oh?" You tilted your head curiously and followed him to the desserts aisle, grabbing Hostess sweets and a cup of mini Oreos. "What happened?"

Stu rubbed the back of his neck, glaring down at a Twinkie in thought. "Well, uh, Sydney's mom got murdered."

Your head snapped around to stare at him, horrified. "...weird isn't the word I'd use to describe that Stu! Christ, what happened?" You pestered him, poking him with a Twinkie.

"No one knows," the taller man shrugged, "got killed by one of her many, many hookups. Police didn't give too many details." You whistled, shaking your head in disbelief. You'd heard of Sydney's moms... history. You didn't really care that much, it wasn't like it was your business. "Killer's been sent to death though! Injection, according to the news." Stu continued as he followed you towards the slushie machine.

"Sounds... really fucking horrible, god," you said almost breathlessly. "Is Syd okay?" You were never very close to Sydney Prescott or her parents but you still felt a pit in your stomach hearing about the horrors she'd experienced only a year ago.

Stu nodded. "Yeah, she and Billy have actually been dating for a few years now! Got together after winter break in sophomore year actually, she's pretty nice." He handed you a slushie, made exactly how you liked it. You gave him a slight smile and followed him to cash out, absentmindedly sipping on the drink and staring out the glass doors.

Once you both were back in Stu's car, he started driving. The cool night lit up by the city lights was pretty. You admired the way the lights got smaller as Stu took you both up a bit into the mountains. "Where are we going?"

"There's a pretty sick spot just up here. Gives you a good view of the town, I think you're gonna love it." He gave you a mischievous look and turned up the music. The soft indie music washed over you for the short drive up the mountainside until you reached a clearing. Tall grasses enveloped a few picnic benches that sat not far from where you parked but Stu didn't move towards them.

The car had AC anyways so the two of you caught up in relative peace while you ate. You told him about your weed habits, going to junior prom in sophmore year, and your inebriated mother that was probably still trying to drink her way into a job. He told you about his relationship with Casey Becker and how she'd dumped him not long before school started to date Steven Orth.

"Steven Orth?!" You gawked, disgusted. "He's, like, a total fucking douchebag!"

"I know!" Stu lamented, burying his face in his hands. "Honestly, all the football players are asshats, you have no idea!"

As was tradition, the two of you had been debating about A Nightmare on Elm Street when you'd felt the energy shift. You'd been in the middle of explaining how the police should have known Rod Lane couldn't have killed Tina Gray because he was absolutely spotless while the rest of the room was a bloodbath when you noticed Stu's looking you over. Closely.

"Do you ever think about it?" He interrupted you quietly.

"Think about... what?" You asked innocently, tilting your head. You both were sitting awkwardly in the backseat, cross-legged and facing each other. Stu lay his head a bit on the headrest of his seat as he stared at you, blinking slowly.

"You know what." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You did. But you wanted to hear him say it. "Nightmare on Elm Street? I mean, not usually, it's nowhere near my favorite-"

Stu smirked and nudged you lightly with his knee. "Not the movie, dumbass. I mean... the day you left."

You gave him a quick glare. "Say it."

Stu frowned, chewing on his bottom lip. "When we kissed." His voice was barely a whisper.

You folded your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you both avoided looking at each other. "Yeah, sometimes." You felt his eyes on you when you spoke. "Thought about it the entire drive to Hollywood too."

"Do you want to..." Stu trailed off and you gave him a look. "Do you want to do it again?" He was suddenly fascinated by your shoes, staring intensely to avoid looking at you.

The silence felt deafening as you weighed the pros and cons in your mind, of which there were only a few cons you could think of at the moment.

Quietly, you pushed his back up against the seat so he was now facing the front of the car and you straddled his lap, blushing when his hands instinctively moved to hold your hips. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates when you leant in to kiss him, effectively answering his question.

Pulling back and pressing your foreheads together, you were both effectively out of breath and you could feel you both were half hard. The two of you had been making out for the better part of half an hour and you felt your blood singing. Stu had one hand under your skirt, toying with the hem of your underwear, and another hand gripping your hips to help maintain a slow grind with you. Your hands were tight on his shoulders and your head felt heavy. "How," you panted softly, "far are we taking this?"

Stu pressed his forehead to your chest, grinning wildly. "As far as you want, honestly." He huffed before gazing up at you with bright eyes. "Would love to fuck you though." You felt your face heat up and you whined in response, rocking harshly against Stu. "Yeah?" He teased you, running his hands up your left leg and caressing your inner thigh. "You want that?"

"You're a bitch," you whined, tilting your head back. Stu took the opening to kiss your neck, biting down gently. You tightened your legs around his waist and tried to avoid hitting the horn on the steering wheel. He lifted your skirt more to give himself easier access to you, his hands reaching down to cup your ass.

"I'm your bitch," he countered with a giggle. You kissed him, biting on his lower lip to try and gain entry to his mouth. Pressing your tongues together was sultry, made your cock throb with need. When you scraped your nails down Stu's arms, he groaned into your mouth. "Oh god, fuck," he gasped as he pulled away, thrusting his hips up involuntarily as little pink lines popped up on his skin. "Fuck, please say I can fuck you babe, please."

You hummed, nodding enthusiastically. "Okay," you whispered to him, burying your face in his neck. "Just- Just be gentle, okay?" You didn't want to tell Stu you hadn't had sex before, but you hoped he could just tell. He pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the backseat. You kissed him again, tugging on his shirt as well. "Off." You said defiantly and he relented, letting you pull off his shirt.

"So bossy," he teased and kissed you again. "Missed you more than anything." Stu ran his hands up your flanks, hiking your skirt up.

The laugh bubbled in your throat, threatening to escape. "You jus' saying that 'cause you're gonna get laid?" You teased.

Stu pressed kisses to your throat with a thoughtful hum. "Obviously," he smiled, sarcasm oozing from his voice, "been waitin' to do this since we were, fuckin', fifteen or something. Sooo, obviously, once we're done 'm gonna go get a girlfriend or something." He joked, kissing you softly.

You just rolled your eyes when you pulled back. His words took a minute to set in. "Wait, that long?!" Your eyes widened almost comically.

Stu rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking shy. "Yeah, I, uh, I've liked ya for awhile, baby." For some reason, that was what made you blush.

"Gay," you grumbled, kissing him again. "You gonna fuck me or not?"

"Oh, such a romantic!" Stu fanned himself dramatically, fake moaning. You smacked his chest playfully as he shifted you off his lap. "One sec," he huffed, reaching over the center console to open the glove box. He pulled out a bottle of lube and sat back down.

You blinked. "You have a habit of having sex in your car?" Stu blushed and you raised an eyebrow.

"Nah, uh, just a habit of jerking it when I skip class." He shot you a wink and unbuttoned his jeans. You rolled your eyes, moving to pull your skirt down but Stu stilled your hands. "Uhh... can I uh- can I fuck you in the skirt?"

You stared at him. "Yeah, s-sure." You swallowed and tugged your underwear down, setting it aside before climbing back in Stu's lap. He looped his arms around your waist with a content sigh. "What, you got a thing for skirts?" You joked, running a hand through his hair.

Stu looked up at you, resting his chin on your middle. "Just got a thing for you."

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment before you sank onto his lap with a whine, kissing him deeply. He ran his hands up under the back of your tank top and pulled it off over your head. Slowly, he ran his hands slowly up your thighs and you felt yourself jump. "Cold," you mumbled, pressing your face into his neck.

He leant his head against yours with a soft chuckle. "You do this before?" Your deafening silence made Stu still. "Wait, really?"

"Who would I have slept with?" You pulled back to squint at him.

"I dunno!" He pouted. "Maybe I thought you got a boyfriend or somethin' out in Cali!"

Softening, you cupped his face. "No. Just- just you..." His eyes widened and you felt your face heat up. "Wait-"

"I'm your boyfriend?" Stu's voice was soft and you felt his arms tighten around you. You couldn't bear to look at him, face hot and embarrassed tears pricking your eyes. "Hey, don't cry- Baby, look at me."

When you finally looked at him, tears falling down your cheeks and burning your eyes, he was staring up at you like you were the only thing in the world. He brushed his thumb under your eyes and kissed you. "I'll happily be your boyfriend. If ya want, y'know." You giggled wetly at his attempts to be nonchalant about it. Nodding, you sniffled and he kissed along your neck.

Leave it to Stu to make you weepy and then immediately return to wanting to fuck you.

He bit down gently, sucking small hickies into your neck and making you writhe in his hold. "Stu-"

"Look, if I'm your boyfriend, I gotta make sure everyone else knows." He gave you a wink and your blush got worse somehow. His hands ran back up your skirt and you ground your erection against the rough material of his jeans. "Aww, want me that bad?" He taunted you.

You heard the cap of the lube bottle crack open and you tensed instinctively. "Shh," Stu whispered in your ear and let you hide your face in his neck. "It's okay baby, easy." His words soothed you a little bit but you still tensed up a bit. "Lemme love on ya a lil, yeah?"

In hindsight, Stu should have probably held the bottle in his hands a bit before prepping you. In hindsight, had you known the two of you would be having sex in his car, you would have moved to the back in the first place to prevent you accidentally setting off the car alarm when you leant back.

But neither of those things were considered. So, here you two were: in the backseat of his car, both now undressed minus your skirt, with you on your back and him leaning overtop of you, one of your legs hooked over his shoulder and the other pushed aside into the open space behind the driver seat. Stu's face was flushed red and you swung an arm over your eyes to avoid being looked at.

Gently, he brushed your arm away and pinned your arm above your head. You shuddered when he pressed the head of his cock against you - closing your eyes at the phantom feelings his fingers left behind inside you. He was shockingly gentle and thorough during the prep, pulling you apart to a begging mess with his hand alone. Biting and kissing on your neck as you rocked your hips against him, pleading with him for more, faster, anything-

"Lemme look atcha," Stu chuckled once your face was in view again. You whined and rocked against him, wordlessly begging. "Ask me nicely, baby. Tell me whatcha want."

You let out a helpless moan. "Fuck me, please, Stu. Need you so bad-"

"Anything for you," was the only warning you got before he pressed the head of his cock inside you. You threw your head back instinctively with a soft moan at the feeling of being opened like that. Hot and wet and-

"Fuck, please-" You begged, blindly reaching for your boy. He held your hand - because he was good like that - and kissed your knuckles. He gave you what you wanted and slid in deeper. Slowly. Making sure you feel every inch. Quickly, you snapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud moan.

Stu put a hand against your throat and squeezed. Not hard enough to choke you properly, but enough to make your body tense instinctively. "Don't do that baby, c'mon, you're doin' so well."

You dropped the hand and let out a moan, biting on your lip. Stu seemed pleased by this but he kept his hand on your neck as he moved his hips slowly. He hadn't bottomed out yet but he'd already begun a slow back and fourth, in and out of you. Working his way inside you, letting your insides get hot and gooey from the lube and from his pre.

When he finally, finally, bottomed out, you were shaking from the sensations of being filled, of being fucked. Stu leant forward and kissed you, squeezing harder at your neck to make you squeak. "That's my pretty boy," he said breathlessly. "Fuck, you're jus' made for me, huh? Made to take my cock, look at you."

You turned your head to the side, feeling yourself burn under his gaze - blue eyes completely eclipsed and making you feel seen. Your eye caught a glimpse of something metal reflecting the moonlight seeping in from the car's window. As soon as you realized what it was, you felt yourself clench down on the cock inside you.

Stu followed your eyes with a slow smile. Gently reaching over under the passenger's door, he pulled out a sharp hunting knife. Clean - too clean, your logical mind tried to scream but you were too focused on being fucked to care - and a mask. A white face that reminded you of Scream painting you'd seen in an art class in Cali.

He turned the knife over in his hand, looking you over almost curiously. "You like it?" His voice was practically taunting. "Just like those horror movies. Wanna be the cute slut who dies first?" His voice had a menacing edge to it, making you whimper. "Nah," he said softly, kissing you again. "You're my final girl, without a doubt."

"Stu-" You choked out, clenching your thighs around his hips.

Slowly, he looked at the mask, then the knife, and then back at you. You writhed under his gaze, wanting him to move. Slowly, he put the mask on over his face. The white mask combined with the black hood completely obscured his face. You could hear his heavy breathing as he turned the knife over in his hand.

You helplessly let out a moan as he snapped his hips forward.

"Please-" you begged, feeling the knife drag up and down your spread thighs. A featherlight touch but a touch nonetheless. It was fucked up. You knew that. You should tell him to stop, that this was insane.

But fuck if you didn't like it anyways.

Stu tilted his head - it reminded you of Michael Myers observing prey - and you rocked back against him. "Is this how my final girl survives?" His voice was lower, muffled by the mask. "Caught by the killer and offers him sex to survive?"

You nodded frantically, letting the fantasy of the words wash over you, and you felt his hand around your throat again.

Overtop of you, Stu barely looked like himself. Hand at your neck, knife at your thigh, and empty eyes of the mask boring into you. He picked up the pace, fucking you faster and tracing the point of the knife up over your abdomen. "God you're gorgeous," you heard Stu say to himself. "I wanna carve you open and keep you all to myself. Rip your heart out so no one else can have it."

Despite how fucked up it was, you only moaned louder.

The wet squelching sounds from the copious amounts of lube as well as Stu's own precum made the sex sound foul. Like you were some helpless final girl, caught and pinned by her own killer. But you liked it. And wasn't that the sick, twisted part of it all.

Because you knew it was Stu. Who would never hurt you really. Who you were pretty sure didn't have a killer bone in his body, much less against you.

"G-gonna- Gonna cum-" You gritted your teeth to hold back another moan.

"Go on princess, cum for me. Show me how good you feel." You felt the point of the knife teasing your cock and the cold shock of the metal was what did you in. You came helplessly, back bowing, and all but gushing over the knife and on your skirt. "Fuck, such a good boy." Stu growled, fucking you through your orgasm and reaching his own.

Cum pooled inside you, hot, sticky, and you fucking loved it. You felt drunk off the feeling, trembling in Stu's hold.

The mask came off then. Stu's hair stuck to his forehead a bit from sweat but his eyes were bright and he was smiling at you like you'd given him the world. You gave him a soft smile back and winced when he pulled out. "Damn, babe, I knew you had it in ya! You'd make a killer final girl." He shot you a wink before reaching for the center console to grab wet wipes.

You scoffed. "Obviously. I'm built for the role. Unless I'm the killer and then you're my final girl."

Stu seemed to light up at that. "Aww, that's the sweetest thing anyone's said to me," he fanned himself dramatically, making you laugh. He was methodical in cleaning you both up, letting you enjoy your afterglow. Once he was done, you snagged his shirt and pulled it on over your head.

That got a reaction. His eyes widened ever so slightly and you beckoned him towards you with a finger. "C'mere," you mumbled, "I wanna cuddle before we have to go back." It was late after all. And you still had school in the morning, as tragic as it was.

Stu held you in his lap, playing absentmindedly with your hair as he stared at the mask and knife he'd returned under the seat in front of him. Maybe he'd tell you. Let you in on his and Billy's plan for later that fall. Maybe you'd help out, join in on being Ghostface. Or, at the very least, know to stay out of their way to avoid being killed. Or maybe he wouldn't tell you.

But the thought of you getting hurt made his stomach hurt.

Later, he'd call Billy and tell him. That either you were completely off the table or you were going to be involved. Billy would listen to his rambles quietly the whole time. Once Stu was done, Billy would tell him they'd talk about it at school tomorrow - face to face. And Stu would recognize that Billy's wasn't that angry tone he sometimes had when Stu frustrated him. And Stu would hope that he could still have you, when everything was said and done.

But right now? Right now, he just closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head. He felt you huff, content, and stared out the foggy car window at the faint lights of Woodsboro below.

It really was a nice view.

[natsubeatsrock]

The Lucy Paradox

I'm going to get murdered for posting this on Tumblr, huh?

Somehow, I've never talked about this. I've made this joke in private. However, it's worth discussing in this format. Think of it as a celebration of International Women's Day.

Incidentally, Lucy isn't the one who I named this paradox after. The original name of this was the Sakura Paradox. For the record, I mean Sakura Haruno from Naruto.

It feels like a given that Sakura is a weak character. The way some fans talk about her, you'd think she was the worst character in the series. The closest example I can think of is Yamcha, whom no one takes as a threat past the first arc of Dragon Ball. After the big-time skip, he's treated as the joke of the group, especially by fans.

Here's the problem. Sakura's very strong. That's true in a literal sense, but she has more ability than fans give her credit for. It's not a stretch to say she's the strongest civilian in the series universe.

"Yeah, that's true in the second half. But what about in part 1?"

Do you mean the part where she has a better grip on chakra control than her teammates? Or the part where she's shown to ace the first part of the Chunin Exam without having to cheat? What about later in the exam when she breaks out two separate genjutsu? Yeah, I'm not hearing it.

Why do people say she's weak? Simple, she'd been dwarfed in power by monsters. It's not controversial to say Sakura is the worst member of Team 7, with the potential exception of Sai, if you even count him. It's not a close race between her, Sasuke, and Boruto's dad. She's a distant third. The only debate is how badly she's lapped.

If this sounds like I'm insulting her, it's not. Those two might be the strongest characters in the universe, with no qualifiers or exceptions. From what I've heard about Boruto, they're still doing crazy things years after their time in the spotlight should be over.

I call this the Lucy Paradox because fandom might not be fully aware of how incredible Lucy is. She's on the level of magic to use two gold Celestial Spirit Keys at the same time. It's impressive if someone's able to use two keys. She can mix and match between any of the ten she has.

Remember that she's the only wizard capable of Celestial Star Dress. At its introduction, it was just being able to take the abilities of her spirits. In the sequel, it's also the ability to combine the powers of two different spirits.

Let's take that for granted for a second. Lucy comes up with strategies that are helpful to her friends. And it's not just helping Natsu's fights. She's the one who recognized the true meaning behind Daybreak. She's the one who saw through the Eclipse Gate in two different timelines. She rewrote the entirety of the Book of E.N.D. after reading it once. Most importantly, she's the one who revises Anna's plan to make it possible to defeat Acnologia.

I say all that, but she's the weakest human member of the Strongest Team. She's never been on Natsu or Gray's level. Erza's not an S-Class mage for nothing, even if you want to argue that Natsu's overtaken her. While Wendy started weak, she's surpassed Lucy in the last arcs of the main series. I'm not cruel enough to say that Carla is even close to better than her. However, if your only meaningful competition is the Exceeds, that's not great.

Though, let's back up and think about that last paragraph. Lucy is the weakest member of the Strongest Team, no doubt. She's not the weakest member of Fairy Tail. Let's ignore the no-named scrubs who show up for a couple of lines every four volumes Lucy clears. If Lucy joined Shadow Gear, she might be the team's ace. She was able to hold her own with Cana as her partner. (Speaking of which, Tenrou Island is another situation where her planning came in the clutch, and I can't believe I didn't talk about it earlier.) She's more powerful than the Strauss kids not named Mirajane. I'd even go so far as to say she could make a solid member of the Thunder God Tribe.

This is probably where someone else would make this about feminism and how shonen writers aren't good at writing women. (Except for the rare female writers.) I get this for Kishimoto whose writing of women is indefensible. Akira Toriyama (R.I.P.), who influenced much of the genre as we've seen it, isn't much better with how he handles his women.

But Mashima?

I know the fanservice can be way too much at times. But, as I mentioned years ago, his women are better written than fans often give him credit for. Lucy loses to two women on her team. Some of the best story arcs in Fairy Tail revolve around characters like Lucy, Cana, and Erza. I'd put Erza's character up against almost any other female character in a similar narrative role in the same genre. I don't care that she punched that meteor that one time. She's still a better character than a lot of them.

No, this issue is more the fault of fans and their pesky expectations. They see characters who aren't the strongest and assume they're weak. Fans do this despite the advanced strength of other characters and the narrative role of the characters.

I wouldn't say that we have a feminist problem. I'd say we don't recognize the strength of femininity.

I'm just going to come out and say it. Women are great because they're not men, and vice versa. I'm in favor of getting rid of some of the restrictive gender roles culture places on both genders. That shouldn't come at the expense of making women more like men.

"Doesn't that mean that we can't have women who fight and have active roles in media, similar to typically male characters?"

You know what? That might be the most eloquent I've made this voice sound.

My answer is simple. Why can't we have both?

Why can't we have our Rukia and our Orihime? Why can't we have our Tifa and our Aeris? (Or is it Aerith?) Why can't we have our Lucy and our Erza?

Now, don't get it twisted. I love seeing physically strong women in fiction. She-Hulk is one of my favorite heroes in Marvel comics. (I hate that I have to specify comics.) Jupiter is my favorite of the Sailor Guardians. Homura is my favorite member of the EZ Crew. However, a strong character is a good character, and vice versa.

The best thing about the traditional female characters is how they manage their lack of physical strength. They use their wit and charms to their advantage instead of brute force. Men rely on power and speed. Women focus on flexibility and accuracy.

I like to think of it in sports terms. If traditional masculine traits are more offensive, feminine traits are considered more defensive. Both are necessary for teams to succeed. Some sports require people to switch between both roles. However, players usually excel at one of the two.

"What about sports like fencing and the martial arts?"

You need to switch between offense and defense quicker than other sports. However, is it good if a fencer only parries attacks and never thrusts? Is being able to throw punches without blocking a great boxing strategy?

What makes characters compelling has nothing to do with either masculine or feminine traits. (At least, it shouldn't.) What matters are their virtues and determination. It may manifest itself differently in male and female characters. However, it's not as if women can't show strength without sending people through walls. It's not as if men can't show tenderness without caring for children.

The most essential trait for characters might be weakness. How do characters make up for their failings? How do they overcome the conflicts they face? These things draw us to good characters, no matter their gender.

Let's compare two fictional women. Sophie Hatter from Howl's Moving Castle and Captain Marvel.

Carol Danvers is an unfortunate case. She started as a character with solid writing in the comics as a side character. Her solo series as Ms. Marvel in the Civil War era is pretty good. However, since becoming the new Captain Marvel, she's been defined by her power and little else. Despite Marvel's best efforts, fans have not latched onto her new persona.

The MCU didn't help. Captain Marvel was one of the weakest movies in Phase 3. Even at the time, it was clear that its success was attached to the Avengers' success. Few people praised the movie on its own merits. Even fewer had meaningful defenses for its many critics.

Captain Marvel was a physically strong character with no weaknesses. She was so strong that the government she was working for had to limit her powers. However, Carol wasn't the best character the MCU has put out. She didn't endear herself to the audience, had no real connections to the main cast outside of Fury, and became a textbook example of a strong female character without the character part of the equation. Ironically, the best movie to handle her was the one where she barely showed up.

Then there's The Marvels.

It's unfair to say that the movie only flopped because of Captain Marvel's character. That movie's failure has much more to do with the current state of Disney and Marvel Studios. However, part of the plot's failings is because of Carol's lack of weaknesses. They had to find a way to nerf her and chose to tie her to the other characters. They had to find a way to show her connections to the universe and married her off-screen to a South Korean actor on a planet where everyone communicates through singing. No wonder it bombed the same year Guardians of the Galaxy did well.

Sophie Hatter (it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that was her last name) is the protagonist of Howl's Moving Castle, one of Hayao Miyazaki's most beloved works and one of my favorite anime. Miyazaki is no stranger to writing strong women. While I could pick either of the women from Princess Mononoke, Sophie is for the point I want to make.

She is by no means strong. She has no magic and has to rely on Howl and Calcifer many times throughout the story for protection. In a cast of magical individuals, she might be one of the weakest members of the cast.

However, she is far from a weak character. Even at her most insecure, she shows great inner strength and determination. She's determined to find a way to get back to her younger self. She doesn't shrink at the task of cleaning Howl's house. Not to mention, she becomes the heart and soul of the castle. (No pun intended.) It makes sense that she gets younger as she becomes more assured in herself. Ironically, she proves to be braver than Howl. He gains strength and courage from her.

Sophie's strength doesn't come from her ability to use magic or how many soldiers she can knock out. Her strength is more of an inner strength. It's an unshakeable will to achieve what is necessary. That causes her to push past her insecurity and grow throughout the movie. It's no wonder that so many people love her and the movie.

In Conclusion:

If you want to make a strong female character, that's a fine goal. What matters is that you focus more on the "character" than the "strong."

[eclecticopposition]

tagged in six sunday by @grand-magnificent! we are tragically unable to post any Phrygian things today, as all of our Phrygian things are going In The Fic and we have no ideas. except for chapter six, and a little phrygian/corrasion bonus action thing on the side. but those have to wait.

instead you get to read one of our backdated snapshots of Kalrin Pyrhis, the fifth(??) worst motherfucker in clown school. Welcome to Havenfree!

(tagging if you want to join in: @aurochsent, @andromedasea, @circuitousmoths)

-----------

You take two and a half weeks to execute your revenge.

Royvin likes to stand in the same spot. She claims her place in every class, her massive bulk and leering face just daring someone to try and take it. No one ever does. 

It would be easy to trap her desk. Glue on the seat, bees under the table, acid on the pencil case, spikes on the roof. People do it to people who aren’t Royvin all the time. 

But that would be pedestrian, forgettable. No style at all. This requires artistry.

You are looking for a class that both of you go to, where everyone stands, and where Royvin has carved out a spot with all the subtlety of a jackhammer. Of those there are six. Gym class, theater, art and sculpture, food preservation, the debate side of debate and history, and sometimes (but not always) home economics. Also sometimes band, but you’re not doing this in band class. Out of the question.

Out of all of them, food preservation is the only one where the floor is made of the right material, and she happens to be standing exactly on the end of two long, wooden boards.

If this were a game of clue, then this murder is taking place in the wine cellar. The culprit: yours truly. Now you just need a weapon.

You creep out during the day to make your preparations. First, you examine the boards themselves. They are wide and thick, but they are also old; they won’t hold up to what you need them for. Improvements are needed.

You pay a little weirdo to get you a piece of metal that is exactly two boards long and two boards wide. 

Then you consider the matter of mass. Royvin is heavier than you; it will not do to balance this straight down the middle. The hinge will need to be much closer to her than to you. There is a space under the floor (this whole building is raised slightly off the ground, much to the pleasure of all the clowns who like to scurry beneath it) and the old floor rests on a perpendicular set of support beams. When you check, you find that the beams in question rest unfortunately right down the middle. 

You also pay the little weirdo to make a metal hinge attached to the piece of metal, about three quarters of the way to the top. You have them drill some holes in the corners while you're at it. Sawing through the support beam will have to come as a later step.

After some frank discussion about what exactly you want this thing to do (and no small amount of exasperation at your lack of understanding of basic mechanics), the weirdo gives you a hinge with two parts. The first is the part that is already affixed to the plate. A long, flat metal bar is now extending out to either side, with instructions to attach this to several planks that you don’t want moving – that will keep the whole thing braced with the floor. At the heart of it, there is the familiar shape of something like a door hinge. 

The second part is a metal rod. The weirdo shows you how to fit it into the hinge, so that relative to the metal bar, the original piece of metal turns. You ask if they can make it so it only moves if you step on it from one of the two sides. They give you a look like you are the biggest moron on Alternix, tell you that you should have asked for that in the first place, and say it will cost you extra.

You agree. They say they’ll have it by tonight.

You can barely wait.

It is with incredible, quiet care that you remove the boards and punch holes in the wood. You fit them with screws and affix the metal plate to the bottom of them, and then put them back.

This is the key to a good prank: doing all the steps that can be hidden first. The floorboards do not move at all; they sit there like nothing happened. Royvin stands right on top of them, none the wiser.

You are nearly caught, once, by Hanque and Ishaza. For a panicked moment you think that they are using the cellar as a place to conspire, but then you hear giggling, and – after another moment of confusion, you realize they snuck out together because they are looking for a place to make out, and cannot seem to keep their hands to themselves. This is a stupid and incomprehensible reason to sneak out, but whatever.

You scare them off by making a little noise before they can do anything gross. 

Your preparations continue. You make a little hole in the wall of the adjacent closet, carefully placed to give you a view of the scene of the crime. You enlist an accomplice (one of the students in the age group below you; for subjects like this, you often share a class.) on the promise that you’ll protect them, both generally and from consequences. You put a box of salt and pickling supplies (a wide one, one that can rest four boards across) on the other side of your contraption-to-be, one week before its fruition is due. This is to ensure that people are well-accustomed to not stepping there long before there is any risk of wobbling. It works; nobody moves them. They part around your plan like a river around a boulder. The food preservation room is always full of bullshit, and everyone just picks their way around it.

And then, with trepidation, you sneak in and finally put in the hinge. 

You are not the handiest of trolls, but it is a simple enough job that you manage. The hinge itself only goes one way, and was made by someone far more clever than you. You carefully push down on your side of the boards, making sure that it goes down while the other side rises. It works like a charm. 

You drag a bag of funky flour over to Royvin’s side of it. You leave it on where you like to imagine a big red X. 

You mostly manage to catch the bag out of the air before it breaks and gets bright orange flour everywhere. It wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion – this is a clown church, weird shit happens sometimes – but Royvin might get pissy if there is a cheeto crime scene directly on top of her spot. 

Great news: it works.

The only thing left is to wait. And oh, you wait with such delicious anticipation. You have some very stupid wheels that will be turning for a decade; this will happen so soon that you can hardly sit still. It takes all of your willpower not to burst out laughing in every class you have, thinking of exactly how funny this is going to be. Curse your incredible gift for visualization! 

You are ready three days before you do it. You wait in the empty closet and watch her like a hawk. The first day, she isn’t standing right; the second day, someone else is in the way. But the third day is perfect. 

You give a tiny nod to your accomplice – Candio, you think. He nods back, and once everyone else has filed in, quietly drags the box out of the way.

The teacher calls attendance. You wait. 

“Ishaza Ailmar,” says the teacher. Pretty girls always get their full names read, you think; pretty girls and teacher’s pets. That, or having the first name on the list. Or maybe this teacher is just weird. Being a pickler might do it to you.

“Present,” she says, sweetly. You roll your eyes.

“Jaipes.”

“Here.”

(Ohnyxx isn’t in this class, unfortunately; the list skips over the letter B entirely. Neither is Valope. You know Ohnyxx would fucking love to make terrible pickles in a cellar, but no dice. You hear it conflicts on the schedule with some sort of advanced math.)

“Garlad.”

A grunt.

“Gar-lad,” enunciates the teacher, icily.

“Here,” Garlad mocks back. He’s in the age group below you, too. You like this kid.

The teacher clicks their tongue and then clicks their pen, but moves on. “Jrapes,” they say.

“Present,” says Jaipes, or someone who sounds exactly like them.

The listing continues. You quietly open the closet door and slip out into the hallway. Slowly you creep up to the doorway, letting yourself feel the excitement pounding through you as you wait for the alphabet to tick down. So close to showtime. You know the order these names will go in. It won’t be long now.

“Hanque.” Ah, right on cue.

“Here,” drawls the jock.

“Candio.”

“Here,” says your accomplice. He sounds nervous.

“Olives.”

“Present,” whispers a girl you don’t know.

“Royvin.”

“Here,” Royvin says, sounding bored. She often sounds bored. 

Boy, that sure won’t last long.

“Rajole.” 

“Here,” he mumbles. It’s a funny coincidence, that you are right next to each other, you think, not for the first time. The alphabet itself contrives to keep you together.

Ugh. He’s rubbing off on you.

“Kalrin,” says the teacher. Curtain call.

You wait.

A silence.

“Kal-rin Pyr-his,” enunciates the teacher, clicking their pen. The disapproval is audible. Skipping class is even worse than grunting during attendance. 

You wait.

“Hm,” says the teacher, and makes a mark.

You sprint into the room at full speed. Everyone startles. A few people scuttle out of your way; Rajole is one of them, looking like a deer in headlights, and then looking like a deer looking at another deer in headlights once he realizes it’s you. Royvin’s head snaps around and her fists come out of her pockets, but she does not move.

“FORSOOTH!” you holler at the top of your lungs as you leap, and you stomp with both feet on the other end of the boards, launching Royvin into the fucking roof. You hear her shout.

She punches clean through the shitty wooden ceiling, hornsfirst, and gets stuck in the rafters.

You laugh so hard that you fall on your ass. Everyone loses their minds. Even the teacher.

Prying your legs out from the hole beneath the floor, you catch a glimpse of Rajole giving you a pained look. You are not fooled for a second; you can also see him trying to hide his mouth twitching. 

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!” Royvin roars. Her horns are stuck, you realize – even with her whole weight dragging down on them, they’re too huge to come back down through the holes. That has to hurt. You see her flailing her legs, trying to knock herself loose to beat you to hell. Her fists pound on the wood until it cracks.

You lose your shit laughing again. 

She falls back down as the old wood gives way and breaks the floor with a massive crunch. She is covered in splinters and dust and seething, embarrassed rage. Everyone has cleared well away from the impact. You leap to your feet, still wheezing, and nearly slip again in another fit of cackles as you start to run.

Royvin snarls, punches the ground, and gets up with the violent, unstoppably building momentum of a steam train that hates you. Her eyes have already gone from yellow to wrathful orange-red. 

You get the fuck out of there, trying not to let your cackling slow you down. She chases you down with another roar.

It takes half an hour to lose her, when Regius finally stops her in the hall. You can hear her voice, strained from cursing you out non-stop, protesting as you make your getaway.

You love it here.

-:-

Royvin is merciless in picking on you for the next two months. You break five teeth and three thumbs in the first two gym classes. You could not care less. Victory is irrevocably yours.

The story is still being repeated and laughed about. Royvin punches anyone she catches telling it. Everyone has started yelling FORSOOTH! before throwing things. It caught on like wildfire. Your fingerprints are on their souls.

You have never been so satisfied. This is your legacy, you think. You never assumed you’d have a long life; this is why you’ll never die.

[imagonista]

ANOTHER using songs from musicals to describe characters from M.O.T.H, multiple songs edition, so this brain dump will be longer than usual. Read if you dare.

"No One Mourns the Wicked" from Wicked - basically all of Manas when Mazzul dies. Just the sections when everyone is talking about how glad they are the witch is dead and how, well, "no one mourns the wicked," not when Glinda is explaining the circumstances of the Wicked Witch's birth.

One section of "No Good Dead" from Wicked ("Nessa....Dr. Dillamond....Fiyero...FIYERO!!!!!!); was relistening to the betrayal episode, the part right after Mirrin passes out and Zed is just...having a mini breakdown, and just starts calling out names, including Y'narri's, and my brain made the connection. Just the pure anguish of failure to help those important to you.

"Something to Believe In" from Newsies - I feel that this song definitely fits Makkaro and Gienne's relationship, just, minus the part that Makkaro is killing people. But the idea of the two of discussing that it was under strange circumstances that they fell in love considering their different statuses, as well as how even if something happens to either of of them, and how they both give eachother something to believe in.

"And if I'm gone tomorrow,

What was ours, still will be!

I have something to believe in,

Knowing you believed in me!

I have something to believe in,

Now I know that you believed in me!"

Note that protesting about newsie wages is MUCH different than murdering people to form a new society. Also Makkaro would NOT be a tenor.

Not any song in particular, but just Makkaro's character is fairly similar to Sweeney Todd; regular men who fell in love with a woman, and then the corrupted government unjustly imprison them and send them away, and once they return/break free, they go on a murder spree. Just take some lyrics from the opening number:

"Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned

Like a perfect machine, he planned

Sweeney was smooth, Sweeney was subtle,

Sweeney would blink and rats would scuttle"

"He served a dark and a vengeful god

(He served a dark an a vengeful god)"

"Dead Girl Walking Reprise" from Heathers - This could possibly be Gienne when she finally realizes that Makkaro's plan is not the solution she wants for the cruelty done by her family. Mostly the first half of the song, since in the second half, that would imply that Makkaro would try to kill Gienne (though, considering the experiments and the circumstances that made him a necromancer, it *could* happen, but I'm not sure).

Specifically these lyrics:

"I wanted someone strong who could protect me,

I let his anger fester and infect me.

His solution is a lie,

No one here deserves to die,

Except for me and the monster I created!"

Though the part when Veronica sings

"I wish we met before they convinced you life is war"

which is in the second half of the song also feels like it would fit Gienne talking to/about Makkaro (and yes, I'm aware that they knew eachother before Makkaro was imprisoned, but the idea of wishing to have stopped the pain someone went through that caused their murderous intentions probably remains) (also, JD in the musical is not as abusive to Veronica as he is in the movie; and it's genuinely sad when he sacrifices himself because he knows he's a lost cause)

"Home" from Beetlejuice - I definitely see this with Zed; it's a song about being lost without a loved one (who died) and how they have no home without them. In the musical it's Lydia's mom, for Zed it would be his sister Y'narri. Though only the first two thirds of the song, since the final third of the song goes from hopelessness to hope, and unless Zed gets at least a semi-happy ending when the series ends, I don't think it would fit. Also also, the song is set in a dimension where the dead are, which is why Lydia is trying to call for her mom. For Zed, this probably wouldn't be the case; connecting him with this song is for more emotional reasons than actual circumstances.

Lyric examples:

"You left, but I'm still standing,

Spinning on this infinite road,

Terrified of letting you go,

No light above and there's no hope below,

And I don't know which way is home.

(Sis) I got my heart in my hand,

Speak to me and I'll understand!

One little word to know I'm not alone,

And show me the way back home."

And

"The nothingness ahead of me,

Is this the end you meant for me?

Every living minute,

There's no home without you in it.

I'm falling!

Quit stalling!

Your (brother) is calling your name!

I've burnt all my bridges again!

"Not One of Us" from The Lion King 2 (yes I enjoyed this movie and the music from this movie, sue me). Basically all of Manas to the Mistwood siblings after Mazzul's death; hatred of the offspring/kin of an evil corrupted ruler. Only difference is in the song, they say "let him run, let him live, but do not forget what we cannot forgive!", and based on what happened to Y'narri, people are NOT willing to let the Mistwood siblings live.

"Made of Stone" from Hunchback of Notre Dame (the staged musical). Just a full song of self-blaming and self-regret. How everything he does just ends in disaster, so he just gives up. Okay, Zed doesn't give up like Quasimodo does, but I interpret he'd at least be in that hopeless mindset.

Okay, and that's all from my musical brain-dump. Hopefully, for everyone's sake, this will be the last one for a while.