#was that part of their consideration at all?

[kaisaerinlover]

tw: mention of abuse

michael kaiser’s birthday, the twelfth to be precise, marked the first time he ever did something for himself. it’s when his life really began, when he finally started the long path of living for himself instead of just to serve as a punching bag for his piece of shit dad. a day when he became more of just a remnant of everything his mother left behind after she abandoned the small family that she began to build.

and now his twenty first birthday marks a new change in his life too. nine years after the fact. christmas means nothing to kaiser, so it means nothing to you too. kaiser doesn’t like getting gifts, they’re worthless to him. he has enough money, and was never taught how to react. but you are a gift within yourself, maybe the first one that he ever received. he knows he doesn’t know to act with you either, the same sadness he feels when he receives a present from somebody washing over him every time he mistreats you, his best gift. you’re the best thing within the possession of his cold hands and even colder heart; he swears he loves you. he loves you so much, you are everything and nothing all at once, he just can’t help himself.

he never gives himself a rest; after all, holidays are worthless to him. he doesn’t do christmas festivities, maybe he’ll take you to one of the many christmas markets berlin has to offer to get yourself some nice things, a sweet outing. a weak and cowardly apology for all the bad he does to you. he’s a fucking coward, he knows it. he can’t cover your bruises and cracks with cold hard cash forever, but you won’t care, you love him too. that’s the only festivity he doesn’t refuse to participate in. no rest and no breaks - he only has time for practice on christmas.

training in the empty club facility when everyone else is at home with their families, their wives, parents, hell some of his teammates have began building families already. he could never do that though, kaiser is a vindictive man; don’t let any of these words fool you into believing he is anything but evil and manipulative. kaiser knows himself what type of person he is. he knows he’s scum of the earth, but for the most part he simply doesn’t care. one of the very small amount of considerate things he has done is decide to not have children. he doesn’t want to hurt his own child someday, doesn’t want to have you pack up and leave just like his mother. doesn’t want to subject anyone to the torment he grew up with all those years ago. he only thinks he can’t fix all of the bad caused by his brutish nature to you with cash because even after almost a decade of being away from the shithead he’s forced to call his father, he still isn’t fully healed. hell, that’s why he takes it out on you so much. he kicks the ball extra hard at the thought of that. he’s a real piece of work, and if he wasn’t so selfish, he would leave you. it’s best for you anyway.

on the walk home in the snow he ponders hard. he didn’t want kids, so why did he allow himself a girlfriend. kaiser is a selfish man, he’s a really fucking disgusting person (don’t doubt it, seriously) so why is he indulging himself with you? he’s not quite sure himself, he also refuses to acknowledge the warmth that grew and expanded since he met you and passed time with you. he didn’t drive today, the streets are cold and quiet and he likes the alone time. the winter is cold and lonely, a fitting sentiment for him. solitude matches him the best, which again leads to the question, why does he indulge himself in you so much? he’s trudging through the snow on the path, fresh snow. pure white and innocent snow. it reminds him of you. you’re so sweet, pliable, innocent. everything he isn’t. every crunch he hears from under his boots, every piece of dirt he imagines he’s leaving in his trail; it reminds him of you. how he’s so scared to corrupt you. but he only thinks of the negatives and never the positives. stupid micha, doesn’t he realise the snow is still falling? fresh snow covering his tracks, covering the dirt and cleansing all of the bad - of course he doesn’t think of that, this man is so in his head!

stepping into the warmth of his lavish house is liberating. a stark contrast from the cold nonstop nipping at his nose. the man is white as the snow outside, his face probably looks ridiculously red. he lazily kicks off his boots and unzips his coat and tosses it across one of the stools situated on one of the stools to the kitchen island; you’ll clean it up anyway, you always do.

he glances at your empty cup on the island. it’s cute and pink, like you. you’re so sweet. but he’s a little disheartened, you’re probably asleep already. he glances at the grandiose clock you insisted you had to buy for the kitchen which sits on the wall above a picture of you two sitting next to each other. it’s 11pm, he didn’t realise it was so late. no wonder he’s so worn out. he lazily crosses off the 24th before he trudges upstairs and goes to bed. he smiled a bit when he did, you decorated the 25th with such cute stickers and a big pink heart drawn around it. you’d never forget his birthday, even if he wanted you to oh so desperately. sweet angel that you are.

he strips and flops into bed next to you, feeling your warmth and gentle breathing is enough to lull him to sleep instantaneously. he’ll shower in the morning, he can’t be fucking bothered right now; cut him some slack too, it’s his birthday!

as soon as you hear him snore you jolt up. michael kaiser you will not escape your birthday, you promise him that in your head. missing christmas is a crime in itself that maybe you can let slide (well not really, he always indulges you and lets you put up a few decorations around the house. but you digress.

you work yourself tirelessly putting up birthday decorations and getting the food you had baked a few days ago for him, and you also baked him a cake yourself. you’re surprised he didn’t notice the white boxes in the fridge, but honestly christmas season is when he stresses himself out the most with soccer; so it doesn’t surprise you the more you think about it. he must be really tired ‘cause you almost fell down trying to hang up the big ribbon banner at least five times and not once was he awoken by the nuances of the night caused by your sub par decorating abilities.

kaiser is awoken suddenly, and he jolts up confused and (embarrassingly) a bit frightened. but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees your big eyes in front of his face blinking. he’d be a bit alarmed if it was anyone else but you’ve always been a bit of an odd one, so he just brings his hand up to lightly pet your cheek as he yawns. “morning engel, why are you all up in my face, it’s too early” his voice is really hot after he’s just woken up, you observe. “micha, it’s your birthday” you say in an oh so monotone voice. he knows it’s his birthday, so why are you telling him this?

his question is answered when you throw yourself on the bed out of his face in exhaustion and he sees what you’ve done to your shared room. balloons and a nice happy birthday banner across the wall directly infront of your bed, ribbons everywhere, sweetly wrapped gift boxes and a bowl of his favourite garlic bread rust sitting next to a birthday cake and cupcakes. he’s actually in awe, like, really. he doesn’t know how to react at all. he just looks at your form flopped down on the bed in exhaustion and feels even worse seeing the bruises he’s left on you before, feels even more guilty for all the harsh obscenities he’s shouted at you more times than any normal person would like to admit. he swallows the build up of saliva caught in his mouth he didn’t even realise was there.

“das alles ist für mich...? du hast das getan...?” he swallows again. his throat is so dry, his voice shakes a little. he really can’t believe it. he is showered in love every day by adoring fans and the whole nation of germany. the whole world for that matter, he’s one of the best players of today. he’s a prodigy, a gem, a talent and everything else synonymous to this. yet all the love and adoration thrown at him by all of these people cannot even compare even by a tiny fraction to your love. your adoration. the way you cherish him. he’s so blessed, he never believed in gods before, he believes in the impossible but not those types of things. he’s not a follower he’s a leader, he is the only god. but jesus fucking christ, god has to be real. you must be one of his angels, he swears it. you’re way too fucking good to be true.

you prop yourself up on your elbows to answer him, “ja, who else?” and kaiser’s eyes seriously water, he’s not even the emotional type, but he’s a bit moved. he also tries to uphold that stoic front of his, but man, he’s just so affected by this. in a good way; at least he thinks it’s good. he just can’t hold it anymore and shifts to pin you down to the bed and kiss your face all over. he feels even more bad about the black eye he gave you too. you’re too good for him, you really are. he feels his heart clench a bit; an unknown sensation. he loves you so much, he really does, and he knows he’s so disgusting sometimes and he doesn’t show it, but he promises he does. he shoves his tongue down your throat and grips your wrists so tight they could shatter, but he doesn’t care. he’s so fucking in love with you, you’re so fucking sweet. you’re panting for air and you’re seriously in pain from his rough display of love, but when are you not hurt by this man? you are light and he is dark, you are an angel and he’s the sin of man embodied. you are every single good thing in this universe and he is the complete opposite. you both acknowledge this, and usually he relishes in the dynamic. but he feels so guilty. you’re as sweet as sugar. he’s kissing you so hungrily; as if he wants to eat you.

when he finally pulls away, he’s hovering over you. his hair is so beautiful, he’s so beautiful like this. you have to blow a piece of his hair out of your eye, and he laughs. you’re priceless, you really are. you’re so cute. so special. you’re everything. holidays and birthdays were always foreign to him. he doesn’t care for them at all - or didn’t. he does now, he really fucking does. love does that to you. he’s so glad he took the risk, took a risk of dating you, found someone so angelic. so perfect for him. he can’t help but think about what his 12 year old self would think of this. if he would have even believed he would have someone so loving and compliant by his side ever in his life. believed that he was anything other than a worthless piece of shit.

all the years of pain and longing for a love which he believed could never be bestowed upon a man of his caricature paid off. all the time he (begrudgingly) yearned for love. for a partner. a princess to call his own. the lonely emperor who wanted nothing more than to be treated as if he was someone special and meant something. he’s so emotional, very rare for him. he’s so emotional seeing how much he means to you. how much you’re willing to do. and for the first time in his life, he feels joy on his birthday. “prinzessin, i love you” he leans down to whisper in your ear. and you giggle and kick your legs as much as you can beneath him like a giddy schoolgirl. “love you too micha, you deserve the world”

he doesn’t know how you do it, how you can act like this despite the way he treats you. he knows he’s a manipulative asshole, but he never took the time to care about anything other than himself and maybe you. but now he almost feels sorry. almost feels like his heart could open up into a black hole and swallow him up for doing this to someone so sweet. but he told you before, if you didn’t like this you could just leave (he’d never let that). you also told yourself something, you would fix this man. you’re an empath. a pure soul full of compassion. you’re as broken as he is. maybe that’s why you stayed, why you grew to like the toxicity, why you believed you could fix him. and it’s paying off.

you did get up eventually, to sit on the floor and open the gifts he got from yours truly. you’re in pink panties a pink bra and his jersey, currently getting frosting all over it from a slice of cake he cut for you. isn’t it funny, this jersey would go for thousands on the internet, so many fangirls would kill to be wearing this. and you’re messing it all up. his piece is sitting next to him as he holds a particularly sentimental gift from you in his hands and stares down at it. he doesn’t know how to react. he never did know how to react to gifts. but he wishes you knew how grateful he is for you. so grateful that you stay through all of this.

you do know, you really do.

hours later and his pure unbridled joy is yet to die down. you’re spoon feeding him cake as you’re both sat on the floor laughing. the pains that his birthday brought him are forgotten for now, as are the injuries he inflicted upon you. the holes in the wall he leaves when he’s angry are covered with decorations. the small specks of blood adorning the floor from a particularly nasty nosebleed you had caused by his fist are hidden by the wrapping paper from all of the thoughtful gifts you bought for him. his tattooed hand is on the floor ontop of your smaller one. the crown covering your own. his princess.

michael kaiser was born on christmas, he was a gift his parents neglected. weren’t grateful for. a gift to his parents that they didn’t even realise. a gift to the soccer world. a gift for you. special gift for you. the best gift you could ever receive. so you’ll treat him like that, despite the violence. you are so empathetic to him. so sweet. kaiser deserves the world he really does.

and as he watches you giggle as you feed him cake and eat spoonfuls for yourself too, he realises you’re a gift too. you���re not born on any particularly noticeable holiday the way he is. but your birthday is the biggest celebration in itself. he’s so thankful to whatever god decided to grace the world with your presence and then send you in his direction. his eyes are so soft for once and he wears a small smile. let’s forget about all of the violence and anger, all of the sadness, the shattered and messily glued back pieces of the little boy he truly is for once. let’s just have fun.

he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear as he looks into your eyes so deeply. “you are the best gift i could ever ask for, mein schatz”

[bwat5-blog]

The Commander: Part Two

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

***LONG I AM NOT KIDDING***

We jump back into the exploration of Caitlyn's story ash she leads the strike team into Zaun. She names three objective:

Locate Jinx

Dismantle Shimmer

Neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco

Now in the interest of clarity and rational thinking, let us take a moment to examine each of these objectives without consideration of Caitlyn's current mental state, as well as an objective look into the use of the grey. I will indicate the beginning and end of this section clearly. The reason I am making a point of this, is so that you know I am going to discuss the moral and ethical concerns here. But, this is really when people started losing their mind regarding Caitlyn's arc so lets begin with turning down the temperature, and taking a more rational look at what unfolds.

The Strike Team:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and living by a couple deadly sins just to make sure I finish what you began..... let it rain down hellfire, can't hide away. it's judgement day, and no one gets out alive"("Hellfire" Fever 333")

Logic Based Examination Of the Strike Team's Objectives And Methods:

Locate Jinx- As members of the audience, it is easy to hear Caitlyn and feel outrage. We have seen Jinx's suffering and struggle since she was a little girl named Powder. We have seen that Silco used Caitlyn's presence in the undercity to drive Vi and Jinx apart, and that Sevika did so with the express intent of driving Jinx further into chaos. But to the entity that is "Piltover", what does Jinx actually represent?

A- The theft of the gemstone in which six enforcers were killed, and a building was burned down.

B- The bombing of the Bridge, in which several enforcers were killed.

C- The assassination of three councilors, destruction of the council chamber, paralyzing Salo from the waist down, and maiming Shoola's eye

D- As I stated in part one, although we the audience know that Jinx was not involved in the attack on the memorial, in the wake of her killing the council members and being known as the "daughter" of Silco, it is completely reasonable that the people of Piltover are linking her to this attack as well.

Caitlyn's emotional link aside, Jinx has come to represent a dangerous and highly intelligent threat to the safety of Piltover. They do not see her wandering the streets of Zaun afterward, ready to die. They see that a violent terrorist gained access to the most powerful innovation of their life time, weaponized it extremely fast implying her brilliance, conducted what they understand to be a political assassination, and then sent soldiers into Piltover during a time of grief to kill more. Again, this is all to be considered without Caitlyn's impact. It is simply the facts as they understand them.

2. Dismantle Shimmer- Shimmer and Hextech are the answers to each other. Topside has their great source of power, and the undercity has theirs. And while the intent to dismantle it seems to have more to do with taking that weapon away from their enemies than anything, Shimmer is a dangerous, unstable, highly addictive drug that caused a tremendous amount of suffering in the undercity. It's long term exposure leading to addiction, mutation, and death.

3. Neutralize Any Agents Still Loyal To Silco- So what we see when the strike team begins their operation, is that they are targeting the Chem-Barons and their operations primarily having to do with Shimmer. The Chem-Barons are dangerous crime lords pushing Shimmer and murdering those who stand against them. As we see in "Watch It All Burn" they are ripping the undercity apart in their struggle for power, despite Sevika's efforts to make them stop.

"Dirty little animals, you cannibals, eat your supper.. one by one all these vultures keep coming".. ("Sucker" Marcus king)

These are NOT good people. They are not freedom fighters. They are not speaking truth to power and standing for the oppressed. They are violent and selfish criminals who even if they believed in a cause once, have long since abandoned it in favor of greed, and power.

Now, moving forward from that look at their objectives, let's talk about what got our hash-tagger (I haven't forgotten about you and welcome back!) and their friends rage smashing their keyboards.

The Grey-

Origin-

Using the Kiramman key, Caitlyn learns that her forebears created the ventilation system used filter the toxins from the air in the undercity. It is first described as "factory smog trapped underground", and from what we are given to understand, Piltover scientists have weaponized it for the strike team's purposes. Although we do see Silco use some version of it to bring the Chem-Barons into line when they question him.

Confirmed Effects-

Painful irritation to eyes: We this across its multiple uses for the most recent example, look at Cait's eyes during the final fight against Ambessa in season 2.

Nasal irritation: Heenot seems to sneeze quite a bit from exposure

Painful irritation to the throat: Every person exposed immediately starts to cough, hack, that sort of thing quite violently

Trouble breathing to the point of incapacitation: Multiple examples, some people seem to take it better than others.

Now, what did I not list? Death. There is a reason. There is not a single indication anywhere that the use of The Grey in these short term combat situations has killed anyone. In fact, we have repeated examples of characters who are exposed and are very much alive:

Caitlyn Kiramman: Exposed during fight against Ambessa and her forces.

Steb: Exposed during fight against Ambessa and her forces.

Heenot: Left hanging exposed in the grey By Jinx.

Jinx: Exposed when the strike team comes for her in the arcade.

Finn (dead but not because of gas): Exposed by Silco in season one. Now in fairness, whatever Silco had was clearly not the same form as what the strike team are using, but if anything it seems more violent, as the Chem-Barrons react far more quickly than we see people reacting to the grey.

Throughout Arcane, there are multiple statements regarding the "poisoning of our air" when people of Zaun speak about Topside. This is to do with pollution,smog and runoff from the mines and industry of Piltover. That's what the strike team is using, weaponized pollution to incapacitate enemies and drive people off the streets who are not fighting. And just like severe pollution would there be long term health effects if you were consistently exposed? Certainly. We see this in the diagrams Caitlyn is inspecting regarding the ventilation. But that is not what is happening here. In order to maintain proper perspective and not let rhetoric blind us, below you will find a very brief list of real world chemical weapons and a few of their side effects:

Sarin Gas: Cardiac arrest, coma, paralysis, respiratory failure

VX Gas: Seizures, Increased fluid buildup in airway and digestive tract, flaccid paralysis, death

They are quite clearly not the same. And if you consider the fact that they are chasing someone who is quite fond of using explosives, using a weapon that clears innocent people off of the streets and incapacitates enemies meaning they don't have to kill them, is far from the great crime against humanity people have made it out to be.

End Of Logic Only Based Analysis

Okay, now that we have that out of the way let's get back to why we are all here, Caitlyn Kiramman. If you refer to the lyrics of the song that plays during a look into the strike-team's actions, even just the first line tells us where her head space is. "Can I do the right thing, for the wrong reasons". The reason I just went through all of that above, is that it is easy to see how Caitlyn can justify all of this in her mind. The Strike Team is the alternative to a full-scale invasion, first off. And they want to dismantle the operations of the violent criminals that are tearing the Undercity apart, as well as catch the person who brought this most recent storm of Piltover's wrath upon the innocents of Zaun.

But as we see, Caitlyn is falling further and further into her rage and pain as this operation continues. Even in the cinematic for hellfire, her face is so clear. This mission is not about justice or liberating Zaun from the criminals so willing to harm their own, it is about revenge. If you recall, in part one I discussed and cited the potential emotional and mental effects of exposure to violence someone may suffer from. Caitlyn has in NO WAY BEGUN TO HEAL. And now she is leading her team in urban warfare, in the streets of Zaun losing more of herself day by day.

To conclude, we need to discuss two primary factors in all of this regarding Caitlyn's mental state, as we lead up to the battle of the ventilation chamber.

The Grey:

Have the fandom completely and totally lost their minds regarding the grey. Yes. I'm sorry, but yes. Take a moment and consider if they weren't using it, it scares away innocents and incapacitates those who would fight. Whatever the death toll was during this operation, it would have been much worse if they had a full-on firefight in every situation.... And to those who say "well they didn't have to be there in the first place" remember that the alternative here is a full-scale military invasion with hex-tech wielding enforcers. After the memorial attack there is no question, Piltover is coming.

However, what it is also, it is a perversion of Caitlyn's families good work. A twisting of what her forebears designed to give the people of the undercity good clean air. The point here is following the theme given to us by song in the beginning, the right thing for the wrong reasons. Caitlyn is able to hide from the truth of the darkness growing in her because this all seems so righteous. But the woman who loves her and she loves in return sees through her, which brings us to another consideration.

Vi:

Vi's turn as an Enforcer is extremely controversial in the fandom, and there is a lot of discussion about the various facets of her story. Here, we are focusing on Caitlyn, but for what I should hope are beyond obvious reasons, Vi is immensely important to Caitlyn's story. So that end, we need to understand a few points:

Vi made her own choice: Listen y’all, anyone who has been keeping up with me knows Vi is my favorite character. I have vigorously defended the character against the bizarre and idiotic criticisms that have been levelled at her since this season and will continue to do so happily. But people blaming Caitlyn for Vi being here are wrong. There is a conversation to be had about Caitlyn asking Vi to come and wear the uniform (and we are going to), but Vi made the decision for herself. No one put a gun to her head.

Caitlyn asked Vi to come and wear the uniform: As previously stated, Vi made her own choice. But, I think if we consider how Caitlyn has treated Vi throughout the story, the fact that she would ever ask Vi to come and do this, to wear the symbol of her parents murderers and do violence in Zaun's streets, speaks fairly significantly to her tunnel vision regarding their mission and her lessening ability to consider the consequences of her actions as she becomes more and more violent. Caitlyn has only ever been kind and loving to Vi, but the part of her that has to know what all of this is doing to her, is sinking further and further below the waves.

The Kiss-

Before confronting Jinx and Sevika, Vi asks Caitlyn for a moment, having seen the darkness consuming her. They come to an agreement on sending the rest of the team home, for fear of Jinx using their inexperience against them. It is then that they have a discussion that will impact both of them for months to come:

Caitlyn: "I can't let her get away again. Are you sure you're ready to..?"

Vi: "My sister is gone... there's only Jinx now. It has to end. I'm so sorry about your mother, I'm sorry I can't bring her back. Please just, everyone in my life has changed. Promise me you won't change"

Vi tears up, clearly overwhelmed and Caitlyn kisses her, saying "I won't".

It's a very moving moment and one fans of their love have been waiting for a very long time. Sadly, it is also quite clear that it was a doomed promise to ask for. Because the reality is that Caitlyn has already changed and been changing. It isn't a fair thing of Vi to expect Caitlyn to remain unchanged in this overwhelming situation. But Vi isn't being malicious, she has lost quite literally everyone she has ever cared for, and sees the last person she has left changing in front of her, she is afraid. And for Caitlyn's part, she sees the woman she loves, showing the vulnerability and fear and need of comfort that she knows Vi will only let her see, and she wants to be that for her. Wants to make her feel better. But on some level Caitlyn knows she can't honor that promise, so she doesn't make one. She says "i won't".

The Ventilation Chamber:

        Finally, for the first time since Jinx killed her mother, Caitlyn is face to face with the living embodiment of her nightmares. I am certainly not going over the entire list again, but I encourage you to revisit the list of reasons Caitlyn has to hate/fear Jinx.  When it all comes to a head, Caitlyn has her rifle on Jinx, with Isha trying to shield her, and Vi makes her stop. Trying to reason with her due to the risk of hitting Isha. After Sevika detonates the charges and Vi and Cait are thrown into the next chamber, Caitlyn insists she had the shot still in defiance of Vi’s bringing up the risk of hitting Isha. They lash out verbally at one another, with Caitlyn hitting Vi in the stomach with her rifle and leaving her behind. We need to more closely examine what we are seeing to understand this situation appropriately:

Vi tries to call out to Caitlyn repeatedly and tell her “She’s a child”, all Caitlyn responds with is “Move, she’s not getting away again”: We know Caitlyn. There is quite literally no scenario in which the Caitlyn we know would endanger the life of a child. But here, it’s like she can’t even see Isha. She is wide eyed, breathing heavy, looks incredibly angry, and even fires twice, striking Vi’s glove once.  She is showing extreme tunnel vision and single-minded rage putting the life of a child and the woman she loves at risk with her actions. Everything about the way she is behaving suggests a severe episode related to her PTSD, standing face to face with the source of her trauma.

Caitlyn tells Vi she is no different than Jinx because of the blood in her veins and hits her in the stomach with her rife stock, abandoning her: Okay, as I have said, Vi is my favorite character. So yes, when I saw this part I wanted to reach through the screen and choke her out. But again, we have to take a step back for a moment. I know I have not done much of a job in explaining it, but Caitlyn has been demonstrating consistently mounting psychological trauma since this all started. Now she has survived a violent confrontation and come face to face with the symbol of all of it. Just a refresher as to what she is feeling in this moment:

Guilt- She had a shot on Jinx that very first time. So, she has been carrying that with her regarding her mother’s death

Hatred- I think it’s totally fair to say she legitimately and completely hates Jinx given everything that has happened

Fear- She is terrified of Jinx. I have listed all of the reasons why, but for Caitlyn this moment is being face to face with the monster and at the end of the movie. Except in this version, the person you love stops you from finishing the monster. (in Caitlyn’s emotionally overloaded POV)

Betrayal- Although Vi had a totally valid reason for stopping Caitlyn, Caitlyn is not in a place where she can see that. In this moment all she can process is that Vi told her she was ready for it to end before they went into that chamber, and then Vi stopped her.

Shame- Look at her eyes a moment after she hits Vi. She is clearly full of regret and leaves quickly

As I have stated previously, simply from a layman’s perspective there seems to be quite of bit of evidence of Caitlyn’s trauma wreaking havoc on her ability to process and deal with this situation in any way that she normally would.

A Lamb To The Slaughter:

Standing at the general assembly while Ambessa makes her speech, we need to take stock of where Caitlyn is at this moment emotionally and mentally:

Survived series of multiple violent incidents that almost claimed her life over very short time

She is twenty-three years old

Abducted from her childhood home and terrorized

Mother murdered

Survived attack at mother’s memorial

Lead team in urban warfare in Zaun

Stopped from getting revenge on jinx for all of it

Romantic partner is gone

Grieving, exhausted, angry, afraid, guilty, betrayed, and full of hate

So when Ambessa Medarda, a warlord, a literal leader of men promises justice and names her the commander, she has no chance at resisting her. She is vulnerable and alone, with a highly intelligent older figure filling the role of the parent she lost, telling her to weaponize her suffering, promising her justice. Sound Familiar?

Before we move into discussing her time as the "Dictator", I do also want to draw attention to something. As I said, Caitlyn is 23 years old. Every person in that assembly knows who she is. They know she is extremely young, and despite her remarkable accomplishments she is also in immense emotional turmoil. Do any of the older people there do anything as a warlord in her fifties calls Caitlyn and essentially rubberstamp's her forehead with the word "SCAPEGOAT!". No they don't. And please, don't misunderstand this to mean I do think Caitlyn is accountable for her mistakes and decisions both up til now and moving forward. But you have to actively be ignoring details not to see that Caitlyn has been manipulated and used by Ambessa.

The "Dictator":

First and foremost, a word on the pacing of this part of Caitlyn's story. There are many varying opinions on the handling of pacing in season 2. I have made mine known, and so will spare you the diatribe here. I will simply say, that for such an important part of her story, we don't spend a lot of time with her. The fact that she doesn't have one scene clearly indicating she is thinking of Vi is a felony offense. I don't care where the pillows are with Maddie.

Hashtagger! We are finally here, she is the figurehead of a system of marshal law. Very exciting stuff. I know you have been waiting, eager to use the word fascist and other fun names. But stick with me. You will be surprised what you can learn when you actually watch the show.

What We Actually Know:

Per comments from Amanda Overton, it has been 3-6 months since the events of "Finally Got The Name Right"

She is in a romantic relationship with Maddie, who we have the hindsight of knowing is a Noxian Spy

Zaun has been fully occupied with checkpoints and inspections

Jinx has become a symbol to Zaun

Ambessa conducting secret hex-tech experiments and brutal interrogations

She has forbidden use of the cells like Vi was in

Has become close.. or at least something like it with Ambessa

In the time since we last saw her, Caitlyn has become a very different person than we left off. She seems tired, cold and withdrawn. She frequently expresses doubt and concern over how things are happening but cannot bring herself to put a stop to it when given the chance at various points (or more accurately being tested to see if she will try to put a stop to it I suppose). The fandom at large has taken this part of Caitlyn's story and used it to turn her into Idi Amin. This is completely laughable. While Caitlyn is responsible for her mistakes and her bad decisions, the truth here is that she is a young woman who has been totally submerged by her inner darkness. She is being manipulated to the highest degree, and has been made a scapegoat by a woman she has come to trust. First and foremost to get an understanding of this time for her, we have to discuss she and Ambessa.

Caitlyn & Ambessa-

Much like Silco and Jinx, I do not doubt that Ambessa has come to care for Caitlyn in some way. Ambessa has focused a great deal on teaching her and does seem to actually believe in her to some degree, as Rictus will later share with her. But ultimately, Caitlyn has been a target of Ambessa's manipulations much longer than she can image. We know that the Memorial attack was orchestrated to exacerbate the conflict between the two cities. And when Caitlyn enters the council chamber afterward to announce her strike-team's mission, Ambessa is quite clearly impressed. So when it all comes to head after the Strike Team's mission has failed, Ambessa moves in, filling the hole in Caitlyn's life and guiding her away from the light. We learn some important things in these interactions between or about them, regarding Ambessa's manipulation of her:

When speaking to Rictus, Ambessa says "the moment WE seize control of this backwater". She is not talking about Caitlyn. There are no illusions here as to who is in charge.

"I've learned so much from her..she delivered us Zaun as she promised... who knows how many would have died". Caitlyn talking about Ambessa to Maddie. The Noxian spy Ambessa put in Caitlyn's bed.

Caitlyn and Ambessa acknowledge mutual lack of trust between them.

Caitlyn questions Ambessa over violence being done by them. States arrests require cause. We see that Ambessa likes that fire in Caitlyn , and they have conversation regarding forgiveness: "Maybe you have the strength I do not.. to forgive.. and trust in tomorrow"... This is a powerful moment because Ambessa is using it to guilt Caitlyn into keep fighting, but in reality it becomes Caitlyn's greatest strength.

Ambessa trains Caitlyn in combat, calls her kin. And teaches Caitlyn the very thing she will one day use to defeat her.. sacrifice

"There are moments when your in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down...." (It's quiet uptown, Hamilton)

We are not witnessing the reign of a power hungry despot in Caitlyn. We are seeing a broken and angry young woman whose greatest failing is believing what this vastly more experienced mentor is telling her is the right thing. And even when she knows deep down it's not, cannot bring herself to believe there is any hope left. We are given many examples of the conflict she is feeling:

"Up again?"- We learn from Maddie Caitlyn has not been sleeping well

"I never thought it would go on this long... I don't know what I thought"- Caitlyn expressing clear regret over how things have gone down

Questions Ambessa over Rictus inciting violence

Questions Ambessa as to why peace is always the justification for violence

Has forbidden the use of cells like the one Vi was in

Considers Singed a monster for creating Shimmer

As I have stated in other documents moving forward from here especially we just take off at a dead spring regarding Caitlyn's story. From here on out we are dealing with her making things right with Vi and the fallout of that decision regarding Ambessa, and of her time as the Dictator over the two cities. I know I have done the pivotal moments of Caitlyn's story in the past, but given the pacing here it still seems the best way to dig into this, so that is how I will proceed.

Reunion with Vi & Beginning Of Redemption:

Vi and Caitlyn finally meet again, on the ridge outside of the commune. Caitlyn is scouting and jumps Vi, not realizing who she is due to her appearance. I have spoken on this quite a bit recently, and I even enjoyed a lovely conversation with some people who feel differently than I do. But that being said, this is how this all reads for me. Caitlyn has shut herself off completely to the chance of Vi still caring for her. All that we have seen of Caitlyn during her Dictatorship is that she has essentially given up. She won't risk pulling out of Zaun for fear of something worse happening, she bends to Ambessa with every explanation of why these wrong doings are necessary, you get the idea. So she certainly is closing herself off and distancing herself from the chance of the woman she loves still caring for her. Until she hears her nickname.

Now I have seen someone say that her eyes soften because it means the distance between them, like she is upset. I disagree. Caitlyn is extremely stiff until Vi calls her cupcake. And if Vi was holding her at arms length by using that nickname, she wouldn't trust her with the information about Vander. In truth, it takes the love of her life, a woman who refused to give up on those she cares for completely even in the darkest of times, to reignite hope in Caitlyn that there is a way out of that darkness. And so she makes the decision to help. Now what does that actually mean:

Turning on Ambessa

Losing support of the Noxian soldiers

Losing control of undercity which means Jinx

Starting A War

This takes us to our next moment showing the changes in her. Once the violence in the commune has already started.

Choosing Love: Part One

It's a quick moment. But right then and there the object of all of Caitlyn's hatred and rage is running by her, her back exposed to Caitlyn's rifle, and her eyes never leave Vi

Choosing Love: Part Two

So first of all not the right GIF i know, I couldn't find one of her in Caitlyn's bed for season 2. But the point, is that Caitlyn has been watching over Vi personally in her own room.

Taking Accountability:

Vi wakes from her injuries sustained saving her sisters life, and she and Caitlyn finally have a chance to talk. First and foremost she just looks so downtrodden. She knows how badly she has hurt the people she loves and is trying so hard to hold it together to make things right. But when she and Vi get into the crux of the conversation there are several important moments:

"I KNOW!"- Caitlyn admits to everything Vi is accusing her of

"We can't erase our mistakes, none of us"- Caitlyn including herself in those who have done wrong

Caitlyn then goes to speak with Jinx and gives us another big clue as to where her mind is:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes"- Once again, placing herself on level ground with jinx

"Hating you.. I've hated myself.. I just don't have the energy for it any longer"- Admitting to hating herself for what she has done

Choosing Love: Part Three

Think back if you will, to the Battle of the Ventilation Chamber. Caitlyn Kiramman, wild eyes, ragged breath, completely enraged beyond reason, tried to take a shot at Jinx that could have easily killed a little girl, and then struck Vi and abandoned her. With everything they have through since that terrible day, Caitlyn has opened the way for the woman she loves, to free her mother's killer if she chooses. And when she finds Vi, she goes to comfort her, to validate her, to let her know that she is loved and that her undying heart is special and worthy of love as well. This is a truly beautiful scene that goes so far past a sex scene it's really hard to put into words how much meaning is conveyed in how it all plays out. There are a lot of excellent breakdowns and such if you wish to look, but for me I will say this. Caitlyn has shown Vi that her love for her is more important than hate could ever be. And in that moment, showed a strength Ambessa herself admitted she does not possess.

The Commander Reborn:

When she was a young girl, Caitlyn was asked a question. "Begs the question young Kiramman, what are you shooting for?" She knows now. Caitlyn stands on the front lines of the battle with her people. She is involved in a variety of incredible action sequences but the point, is that while she did lose herself, her values and her purpose to all of that rage and pain, she found her way back again.

Where once she allowed Ambessa Medarda to put her boot on the neck of the Undercity in the name of Caitlyn's grief, now Caitlyn stands on the front lines against her former mentor at only twenty-four years of age. And it is not without cost. She is stabbed, beaten, almost killed when Maddie's betrayal is revealed, and utilizing Ambessa's lesson sacrifices her own eye to stop her. And that is to say nothing of the mental trauma she has endured. But she is stronger, more resilient, and more sure of herself than she ever was. And, she is no longer alone.

With the occupation of Zaun ended, the council restored, and Caitlyn surrendering the Kiramman seat to none other than Sevika, she and Violet finally are allowed to just live, love, and heal with one another. It seems she has suspicions that Jinx survived the final battle (as we all do) but the show runners made the decision not to address that for now.

Caitlyn's story is truly one of dramatic change. She begins as a well intentioned but naïve enforcer, and ends as a respected commander who shed her own blood to keep the people she once failed safe. She and Vi have immeasurable healing before them, that is undeniable. But in such a dark and violent world, these two souls found one another and clawed their way back to each-other in the face of everything that was thrown at them. And it is through that bond that they will find their happiness.

My friends i went way... way... more in-depth on some of this than I thought. But I thought it was important... I think so much of the nonsense regarding this character is because she being labeled according to a single fast look instead of people seeing the truth of her incredible story. As always with these long ones, i feel like I probably wandered a little and if so I apologize. But I hope I managed to convey the depth of this character in at least some small way. To anyone patient enough to read this I thank you, to those who go even further and respond, I love learning more about this story from you all. Keep standing up for stories that matter.. Til next time!

[delphi-shield]

— 「 FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT 」

fake dating/christmas party/hurt/comfort ❄️ leon secret santa ❄️ gift for @mydarlingclaudia

MERRY CHRISTMAS MISS CLAUDIA i'm your secret santa! i've wanted to write og4 leon for this blog for a while and when i got you for secret santa i was like IT'S TIME lmao. i hope you enjoy and i hope you have the best christmas!

wc: 5k

summary: leon's in a bind. he thought he would have a love life by christmas, but the holidays have rolled around and he's still single. you'll pretend to be his date for just one night, right?

content: fake dating, real dating, coworkers, christmas parties, mistletoe, lots of late night conversations, lots of self-doubt, secret loser leon, technically post-re4. divider from @/strangergraphics

Over the past year, you've discovered that Leon's really good at pitching a fit when he doesn't want to do something - or, at least, when he thinks he doesn't want to do something. He'll bitch and moan about being tired, about how he just wants to stay in and have a 'chill date' with some old movie. No amount of assuring him that he would have fun once he got there would make him stop dragging his feet. That very night, you’d been waiting for him at the door with arms crossed, already decked out in your Christmas sweater, cheap reindeer antler headband affixed to your head.

Leon lets out a quiet puff of laughter when he slouches into the room, looking considerably less festive than you. He takes in your appearance - your tacky sweater, your headband, the way you pout and tap your foot impatiently. How, exactly, was he supposed to take this seriously?

“What, no one let you play any reindeer games?” Leon quips, taking his sweet time putting his shoes on.

You roll your eyes. When you finally manage to get him out the door, he has a blast. You know it, he knows it - this part is just mandatory torture, a bonding experience he loves to put you through.

"We go, we say hello, we leave." You assure him. “We don’t have to stay long.”

Leon might buy that at this moment, but you know the second you step through the door, you won't be leaving that Christmas party until the very end. Two hours in, you would be ready to go and Leon would be having the time of his life. You would be tugging at his sleeve, checking on him:

Ready to go? No, sorry, hun. Let me finish my beer and we can go. 

Like clockwork. You weren't even sure he knew that he did that.

The Christmas music on the radio doesn’t do much to assuage his mood. He’s pouting the whole drive over. As soon as he pulls up to the house, he repeats the same mantra:

"We get in, we say hello, we leave." His hand smacks against the steering wheel to emphasize each point in the plan. You already have your door open, swinging out the side and marching up the freshly shoveled sidewalk.

"The decorations are so cute," you coo, crouching down to examine a particularly adorable light up gingerbread house - and to give him time to catch up.

Leon guides you up from the ground with a hand hovering behind your back. He herds you further down the sidewalk, still eager to get this over with. By the end of the night, you would be the one begging him to leave, but for now, you let him grouchily jam the doorbell.

Warmth floods out to greet you when Claire opens the door, the scent of cider and cinnamon rushing up to usher you in. Claire coos over your outfit, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"I should have put more effort in," she says, the pom of her Santa hat bouncing against her cheek. She's otherwise under dressed for the occasion, choosing comfort over festivity.

"What? No. Look at this place. You did all the decorations. That's way more effort," you counter, toeing off your shoes and stripping off your heavy coat.

Claire laughs. "I made my brother do most of it."

"Good to see you, too, Claire," Leon says, bristling over being ignored. She waves her hand, half hello, half dismissing him, and guides you further into the house, pointing you to the refreshments and giving a quick tour of the decorations.

Wherever Leon slinks off to, you're unconcerned. You have catching up to do just as much as he does.

Claire pops her hip up against the drink table. You twist the cap off your beer. Claire fishes one up for herself and pops the lid off against the table in one fluid motion. You huff a quick laugh - her party, her rules.

"So," Claire starts, leaning back against her elbows and surveying the crowd. She tracks your eyes for a moment, watches you watching Leon across the room. "I’ve been wondering. How did you guys actually meet?"

"What?" You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. You take a drink, buy yourself some time to feel out Claire's intention.

"Well, obviously, the first story you told me was a crock of shit," she laughs.

You can't argue with that. The first time you had met Claire, you had been masquerading as Leon’s partner, sparing him the embarrassment of turning up to her Christmas party alone. You hadn’t exactly announced to his friends that your first time meeting them had been a lie.

"I didn't lie," you point out. "Not totally."

"A lie by omission is still a lie."

"We actually did meet at work."

Claire rolls her eyes. She won't put up with this for long. “I mean, I buy that. But he absolutely did not charm you over the comms on some classified mission.”

There’s no part of you that wants to argue in Leon’s defense. He was a nightmare to work with, knew just how to get under your skin, and you were more than happy to have Hunnigan continue to babysit him.

“If you really want to know…”

It was the Wednesday before Christmas Eve when Leon's coiffed head popped up above your cubicle. Never a good sign. Where he went, trouble (and acclaim) followed. You filled in for Hunnigan once when she was out with bronchitis, and now you can't get rid of her puppy. He keeps coming back, a particularly malignant tumor that metastasizes over the walls of your cubicle, spills onto your desk and messes with your letter trays.

“You busy?” His arm slings over the top, hand drumming against the wall of your cubicle.

Stay strong, you think. Try not to move. Play dead. Maybe he'll get bored and move on. You try to type faster and only wind up jamming the keys down harder. Leon drums his hand quicker, rhythm irregular.

“What does it look like?” You bite out.

Mission failed. You weren't trained to resist torture like he was. In fact, you specialized in answering stupid questions and pointing out the obvious. It was a key component of your job.

Leon’s job, apparently, entailed blatantly ignoring hints. He swings into your cubicle, brushes aside a stack of documents to sit on your desk. His forearms balance on his thighs, hands held together between his knees. 

“I need a favor.”

It just gets worse. What kind of favor could Special Agent Kennedy possibly want from you, and why did you have a feeling that it was going to be off the books?

"If I'm doing favors, I'm staying clocked in," you drone.

"Not possible for this one," he shrugs. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you."

You roll your eyes. Silence stretches between the two of you, filled only with the intermittent clicks of your mouse as you try to track down the most up to date geospatial information for your assigned agent - you know, the one you're actually supposed to be dealing with. 

Leon's both annoying and persistent. He shakes his fringe from his face, stretches out 'so...' into an elongated, cowish sound that sets your teeth on edge. You roll your hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"I need a date," he blurts out. He's smart enough to continue speaking quickly, hand already raised - palm outward, begging for peace. "Not a real date. Just for a couple of hours, for a party. We go, we say hello, we leave."

A beat. You give him time to throw in a ‘just kidding’. God knows you aren’t throwing him a life preserver. When he twiddles his thumbs, content to sink instead of bail himself out, you scoff. You don’t even look up from your computer. 

"That is, by far, your worst line."

"I’m serious. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking. You don’t have to talk to me ever again."

Your eyes cut over to him. Not a single smug smirk in sight. You're almost surprised by the pleading hiding behind his eyes. You take it all in, try to assess him for any hint of deceit. You only find the bags under his eyes, darker than you'd seen before.

“Go alone,” you shrug.

“I can’t. I’ve been –” Leon stops. He sits up tall, peers over the top of your cubicle to see who’s around. Meerkat is a good look on him, his nose sharp in profile, brow furrowed and focused. You avert your eyes back to your computer. He lowers his voice, his eyes still flitting around for eavesdroppers. “I’ve… exaggerated the truth about my love life to a few friends. I promised I would introduce them to someone at this party.”

You note the desperation, try to stay impartial. You're good at that part, too. Trained for it. He’s in a bind of his own making. Some humility would do him good. You’d be doing him a favor by making him own up to his lie.

Your gut flips when you consider his proposal. What was this, high school? Why could he possibly need a fake date? It was so immature, you almost couldn't believe it.

Another thought burns at the back of your mind, keeps you wary. You can't help but feel used. What, he was fine pretending to take you out but couldn't conceive of actually asking you to go to his stupid party? It had to be fake, a preservation of his ego. You weren't even a part of this equation.

You should say no. You should leave him high and dry, make him look like an idiot in front of his friends - because that's what he is. An idiot. An idiot who can't get an actual date to save his life.

"Match my salary, then we'll talk."

Leon groans, head flopping back against your cabinets. He’s considering it, you can tell.

What’s the harm in it, you wonder, casting him a sidelong glance. It would be nice to have something to do on Christmas Eve.

"You owe me for this. You're gonna pick me up."

Leon's eyes light up. He hops off your desk, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. You hold up a finger to stop him before he can talk himself out of this.

"And you're gonna buy me dinner."

"There's food at the party."

"Good food?"

"If you don't like it, I'll get you something on the way home."

That's more like it. You spin back to face your computer, pulling your report back up.

"Deal. What's the dress code?"

Leon's silence speaks volumes. He's completely helpless when it comes to the details. You had figured someone with his looks had a social life that was bursting at the seams, that he was taking the fat field agent paycheck and he was hopping from party to party.

It's at his friend's house, he explains. You note the hesitation before he says 'friend'. Maybe it is all a front. Kennedy can't really go home to an empty apartment and a silent phone, can he? Everyone made him sound like such a big shot. You didn't expect the snapshots of your lives to be matching photographs, a wide shot when you held them next to each other. You try to picture his living room and all you can envision is a beige box.

You wring what little information he has out of him with a series of direct, probing questions. You're both comfortable in this routine. The quick, perfunct back and forth, an exchange not unlike one you might have over comms. He scribbles his number onto a sticky note and slides it over to you. You’ll work out the details of your story later, make it bulletproof.

The idea has been ghosting around the crevices of your mind for the entire day. You force yourself to wait a little longer before calling him, give him time to get home and get settled in. Trying to do the same is fruitless. Your appetite has mysteriously vanished, your Wednesday night show not catching your attention. You choke down half a bowl of cereal before you drum up the courage to call him.

"So, how did we meet?" You start, skipping past hello.

"Work."

"Going with the truth on that one?" You toss a piece of popcorn into your mouth, eyes fixed on your show.

"Helps to sprinkle the truth in with the lie, right?"

You can practically hear the grin on his face. You roll your eyes and bite back a sharp response. No need spoiling the mood immediately. You already agreed to do this. You won't make it harder than it needs to be.

"When did you ask me out?"

“Does that seriously matter?”

Of course it matters. Leon’s completely useless at this kind of thing, it turns out. You had expected more. He seemed the type to have experience. Maybe your own naivety had caught up to you. His confidence had you fully convinced that this would be a cake walk.

Was this seriously the guy who had single-handedly rescued the president’s daughter a few months back? Because he was floundering when you asked him if he had met your parents yet.

“Do you want me to meet them?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “No. They would eat you alive.”

That one stays in the story. It’s too believable not to. You bet Leon makes a real fool of himself in front of parents.

That’s where you went wrong. As soon as you started to rationalize what a relationship with him might look like, to add that touch of realism that would sell this story, you were fucked. He indulges all your questions and your musings.

Thursday night, you call him to ask what shows you watch together. He doesn’t see the point, doesn’t get that TV is such an important, ritualistic component of a relationship - or,  at least, one that you want. He lets you pick, snorting in surprise when you name a dating show on VH1. You assign him homework. Watch the newest episode the Sunday before the party, and you’d fill him in on the details on the ride to the party.

Friday, you ask him what pet names he wants to use. He flounders again, acting dismissive in a way that you’ve now identified as embarrassment. You bite back the urge to tease him and offer up some suggestions instead.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I guess,” he says, “but I’m probably just going to call  you by your name.”

When you hang up that night, you wonder if he meant it. Babe fits your perception of him from a week ago, but now you aren’t so sure. You turn the question over and over in your head for the next day, trying out different names in his voice. Something simple and classic, maybe. ‘Honey’, or ‘sweetie’.

The question is still turning in your mind when he calls you on Saturday. You don’t have a chance to get your question out. He blindsides you with his own.

“Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Your mind races to catch up. Had he? No way. He mumbled when he got off the phone sometime, but there was no way that was an ‘I love you’. There was no way. It hadn’t even been a full week yet.

Then it clicks for you. Right. This is fake, all of it. Every phone call was for his benefit. You had initiated all of this. You should be happy that he’s finally contributing to the planning. You feel sick to your stomach instead.

“I don’t care,” you say, entirely nonchalant, none of it forced. The silence hangs over the line. You pray for Leon to let it go, to give you the grace that you haven’t given him.

He’s smooth with it - doesn’t point out the strain in your voice, blames it on a bad connection. For once, he takes the reins. No ‘I love you’ yet. He’s working up the courage, he says, and your heart clenches, breath catches, head spins.

You make an excuse to leave early. He reminds you to tune in for your show tomorrow. You hang up without saying goodbye.

He picks you up just like he promised. As much as you’d wanted to wear the silly, light-up Christmas sweater at the back of your closet, you couldn’t. You couldn’t show up as his date looking like that. No one would buy it. You already look out of place on his arm.

You’d expected the car ride to be awkward. The last time you’d seen him in person had been when you struck this whole deal. Instead of rehashing your story, though, Leon asks you question after question about the dating show you told him to watch.

To your surprise, he’d actually watched it. You go over the contestants, the washed up rock star they were all attempting to date, even recap the most notable drama. He’s hooked. The veneer of disinterest he tries to keep up is so thin it’s see through. You almost want to tell him to turn the car around so you can catch the reruns instead of suffering through this party.

You don't know what kind of party you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Every corner of the place was saturated in Christmas, inside and out. Garlands of popcorn and dried orange slices, a tree decorated so heavily with strands of lights and garish ornaments that it's branches sagged. The warm lights bathed everything in a smooth glow. The chill that had stung your face on the walk in melted away, leaving only the pulsing afterburn across your cheeks.

Plenty of people had already arrived - thank god. If you'd had to make awkward small talk with the host until people arrived to take the heat off of you, you might have just said fuck it and marched back to the car. You keep a firm grip on Leon's arm, eyes flitting across each and every face. You didn't recognize a single one of these people.

That's precisely why Leon chose you. It makes your stomach lurch to think about. You're convenient. A face to put to a title, to apply to the vague stories that Leon has fabricated. Anyone could be on his arm right now, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would know.

You stay glued to his side for the first hour. It works well enough, a handful of people overjoyed to meet you after all the stories that Leon’s told. You do your best to keep the sparkle in your eye, to look at him like he makes the sun shine. It’s hard when it feels like the floor could open up and swallow you at any given moment, when each affectionate touch is just a tool.

You excuse yourself for a drink. That will help your nerves. It can’t make them any worse, that’s for sure. You have a clear window, the drink table empty. In and out, then back to Leon’s side.

Fishing up a beer from the ice chest, you scavenge around for a bottle opener. Christ - all these preparations and no bottle opener? You’re tunnel-visioned into your search, don’t even notice the woman joining you at the table

“Want some help with that?” A redhead chirps, sidling up to you. She holds her hand out for your drink.

What’s the harm? You pass it over with a ‘thanks’ that quickly turns to a sharp inhale. She pops the lid off the beer with the edge of the table, tears a jagged crescent through the plastic tablecloth - cut one of Santa’s reindeer clean in two.

“My party, my rules,” she laughs. “I’m Claire. You’re with Leon, right?”

Your stomach drops. You can practically peer down at yourself, your soul leaving your body for a brief moment. Shit– Leon had warned you about her. Said she wasn't malicious, per se, but she could sniff out bullshit quicker than most. You run the facts back in your mind. If you could get past her, you'd be golden.

Claire's finger bounces between you and Leon. She leans her hip against the table, folds her arms across her chest.

“I don't get that at all,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “What's the story?”

Holy shit, that was quicker than you expected. Stay cool. Remember your lines.

“We actually met at work,” you start. Easy enough. It’s not even a lie. You unravel the rest of the details for her one by one, plodding through the steps of your imagined romance with deliberate care.

Claire’s eyes stayed fixed on you. She smiles and laughs where appropriate, but she tracks you with the cold eyes of a wolf on the hunt. A chill pulses down your spine. Is it really so hard to believe that you’re with Leon? Do you look so out of place?

“Good for him,” she finally says. She takes a long drink, still watching you.

“He’s great.”

“He’s okay.”

Maybe she meant it as a joke, but you have to force your laugh out from around the lump in your throat. Did she buy it? You can’t tell. She claps you on the shoulder, harder than you expected.

“It was really great to meet you,” Claire says. She slips back into the crowd with a smile, flowing naturally into a group of guests. Your eyes linger on her, but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slip into hushed whispers, no one turns to stare in your direction.

You wind back through the crowd, glue yourself back to Leon’s side. He lifts his arm instinctively, curls it around your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even pause his conversation.

How is this the same clueless man that you had spent half a week planning out every minute detail of your imagined relationship? How can he be so relaxed and in control now?

That’s the difference between the two of you, you realize. There was planning, and there was doing. Clearly, Leon could see his commitments through. You were botching this. Everyone knew you were a fake. They had to.

“You okay?” Leon asks, head inclined closer to your ear. You swallow thickly, force a smile.

“Are you about ready to go?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

He’s not - you can tell - but he tosses his snack plate in the trash and says a round of goodbyes anyway, urging you out the door.

The car is silent. Leon flips through radio stations, never staying on one for long. Christmas music, rock ballad, regular ballad, Christmas music again - repeat. He fidgets with the vents, turns the heat up, then down, one degree at a time.

"Seriously, you good?" he asks.You keep your face turned to the window, watching the decorations roll by.

Leon glances at you - or that's what he thinks, at least. His eyes linger for too long. He corrects his course sharply, swerving away from the curb at the last possible moment.

"Yeah. Fine."

Neither of you believe that. You’ve spent the whole night lying - he knows what it looks like, and he lets you get away with it.

Leon turns the music up a tick. You spend the rest of the drive in silence. He pulls up in front of your place and cuts the engine, and that has to be the record for world’s most awkward drive.

Bundling your things in your arms, you hurry out of his car with a quick ‘thanks for inviting me’ that feels misplaced given the circumstances - but what the hell else were you going to say? You needed to sleep this whole thing off.

"Hey."

You stop in your tracks. You're almost positive you've left a drag tail in the snow, stopped so fast you nearly slipped on the sidewalk. Leon's window is rolled down, his body nearly halfway out of it.

"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," he says.

Your heart deflates, a balloon released in your chest, bouncing off your ribs and drumming against your lungs before it floats pitifully to a rest in the pit of your stomach.

"No problem," you say, shoulders back, head held high. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would buy it."

His head tips to the side. His eyes narrow, studying you, trying to figure out your meaning.

"Why? You did great."

"I don't know. I didn't think we would look like a very believable couple."

He sticks his head back into his car, fumbles with his seatbelt overlong, and finally pops the door open. His feet find traction on the icy sidewalk much easier than yours. You chalk it up to his boots, his training, anything to keep your mind on the little details instead of the big picture.

“I thought it was pretty believable.”

Don’t read into it, you tell yourself again and again. It’s just going to hurt if you try to interpret greater meaning from that.

“Yeah? Glad I could help.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, fishing clumsily for your keys. “Guess I’ll see you at work, then.”

Leon’s eyes cut back to your door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, balanced perfectly on the ice. For a moment, you think you see his hand twitch towards yours. You linger, waiting for the touch of his hand around your wrist, willing the warmth that you imagine to be real.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods.

“Yeah. See you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Claire interjects. “He didn’t even ask you out that night? He walked you to the door and bailed?”

You shake your head. “I asked him out like a week later. We were working late on New Years. He said he knew a great spot for coffee if I wanted to go on break. I said we could only go on our day off.”

Her eyes sharpen, casting her hunt out into the crowd of party-goers. You find Leon first - hunched over a snack platter across the room, contributing minimally to conversation with some people from Claire’s work. Claire, experienced hunter that she is, tracks your sight to find her quarry.

“He is so stupid. So dumb. Look at you,” she declares, waving you up and down - presenting you. “He made you ask? Ooh, I’m gonna – Leon!”

Leon’s head pops up from the cheese tray - meerkat chic, swiveling in the direction of the woman on the hunt. Claire points to the ground in front of her sharply, doesn’t even have to bark out ‘c’mere’ before his training kicks in and he’s marching himself over.

“What’s up?” He pops a palmful of cashews into his mouth, then slides the same hand against the small of your back.

His casual attitude earns him no favors. Claire thwacks his shoulder, berates him for making you ask first. He shrinks away - play dead. You taught him that one.

“You ready to go?” You ask once Claire’s done ragdolling him and marches off to tell the others how spineless Leon is.

Leon surveys the party - that’s what you think he’s doing, at least. His gaze is focused higher, examining the doorways carefully. His eyes sharpen, lock on their target. He nods, his thumb rubbing gentle arcs against your back.

“Yeah. Let’s head out. Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll get our stuff.”

You follow his directions thoughtlessly, planting yourself in the hallway he had pointed to. Leon flits about, saying goodbyes as he weaves through the crowd. Your coat is slung over his arm when he winds his way back to you.

Before you can protest, tell him he forgot your bag and your scarf, he smacks a hand dramatically against his forehead. He holds up a finger - hang on, here, take this, I’ll be right back – kisses your forehead, and floats back into the crowd.

He comes out only holding your scarf. You huff. Leon’s not a forgetful man. This is clearly on purpose, for his own entertainment. He loops your scarf around your necks for you, settling it into place and tying a clumsy knot.

“Your bag. I forgot, I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek as he turns.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he turned. You’d caught it. It wasn’t just the shine of the lights. He was up to something. You scan your surroundings, look for cameras hidden, for guests watching a little too intently. Nothing immediately jumps out at you. You glance up - and there’s the culprit. A little branch bound with twine, berries dotting the little branches, suspended over the doorway.

Schooling your face back into mild annoyance, you go so far as to tap your foot. If he wants to put on a show, so will you.

“Here you go,” he says, handing over your bag. You wait for his next move. No way this was the end of his plan - and you’re right. As soon as your bag is slung over your shoulder, he’s patting himself down. Front left, front right, back pockets at the same time, chest at the same time. “Shit. My keys. One second–”

You kiss his cheek before he can strike first.

“On the key rack,” you point out, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s bad karma to abuse the mistletoe, you know.”

Leon huffs. He spares the mistletoe above your heads a glance.

“You made that up.”

Absolutely, you did. He crosses through the doorway and snags his keys. Before you can head out the door, he dangles them over his head. You roll your eyes and kiss him square on the lips before he can justify his poor man’s mistletoe.

You’ll risk bad karma for a kiss.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding: size & numbers (pt. 5)

attribute of quantity: about, affluent, altogether, below, better, bountiful, brimming/brimful, depleted, double, elephantine, excessive, exiguous, extravagant, extremely, flush, further, hardly, inadequate, just about, leftover, limited, lush, many, most, new, other, over, residual, rich, slender/slim, spent, supplementary, thin, unreasonable, wholesale

attribute of range: abysmal, across-the-board, all-out, besides, blanket, bounded, broad, catholic, comprehensive, dead, deeply, diffuse, eclectic, encyclopedic, expansive, extensive, far-reaching, full-scale, general, global, inclusive, indiscriminate, international, lower, mixed, more, most, motley, multinational, multiple/multifarious, overall, pervasive, primarily, quite, rampant, relatively, slightly, substantially, sweeping, universal, utmost, very, wholesale, wide, within, without

attribute of size: angular, baby, better, brief, burly, capsule, chubby, commodious, compendious, corpulent, cumbersome, elephantine, extensive, full, giant, grand, gross, hefty, hulking, immeasurable, imposing, incalculable, inflated, large, major, massive, midget, miniature, miniscule/minuscule, minute, monstrous, narrow, pocket, prodigious, puny, roly-poly, scrawny, small, small-time, stocky, strapping, stunted, teeny/teensy, thin, titanic, vast, wee, wide

capacity: brimming/brimful, compact, crowded, full, spacious, vacant, void

change of quantity: accession, develop, grow, growth

decreasing: attrition, cut, deduction, depreciate, diminution, drop off, fall, recede, sag, sink, taper/taper off, wane

depth: abysmal, profound, skin-deep, unfathomable

distance: about, away, contiguous, distant, far, far-flung, farthest, immediate, near, off, onward/onwards, yonder

height: alpine, elongated, gigantic, lanky, long, midget, precipitous, short, squat, stubby, tall, towering

increasing: accretion, accrue, amplification, bulge, enlarge, expansion, increase, inflate, leap, peak, reach, swell, widen

large: abounding, aggregate, appreciable, colossal, considerable, excessive, extremely, fantastic, generous, gigantic, great, handsome, hulking, incalculable, inordinate, legion, massive, mighty, monstrous, multitudinous, numberless, opulent, plentiful/plenty, prodigious, redundant, stupendous, surplus, tremendous, unwieldy, voluminous, whopping

length: extended, lengthy, short, tall

measurement: degree, mark, proportion

number: amount, estimate, number, pair, point, quotation/quote, sum, trio/triple, zero

portion: among, asunder, fragmentary, half, sectional

quantity: agglomeration, amount, avalanche, backlog, batch, bundle, cascade, cipher, deluge, duo, extravagance, figure, flow, gust, lot, mass, minimum, myriad, oodles, pile, plenty, surge, total, trio/triple, turnout

range: bound/bounds, compass, expanse, gamut, length, scads, scope, superabundance, waterfall, width

relative: cumulative, fairly, influx

small: compendious, dinky, few, infinitesimal, less, little, marginal, measly, miniature, minimum, miniscule/minuscule, minute, nominal, outside, piddling, scant/scanty, scarcely, skimpy, teeny/teensy, trifling

unit of distance measure: depth, foot, mile

unit of height measure: altitude, height, mile

unit of measure: acre, degree, dimensions/dimension, mass, measurement, proportions, size, volume, width

unit of scalar measure: above, lesser, over, under

unit of volume measure: capacity, volume

unit of weight measure: ounce, weight

width: broad, wide

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[wilhelminyard]

part 3 of the foxes being brutally honest and insulting people to their faces because they are SAVAGES

NEIL :

"I figured he was an egocentric maniac who was so desperate for his own glory he refused to see the potential in anyone else"

"tell me you're not that stupid"

"I might have been a little more considerate if I'd known how stupid you are"

"you being an asshole at heart means I was right about your chances. you do understand by now that your cowardice is what's keeping you and andrew apart, right?"

"you're a spineless asshole. you let the world happen to you and don't bother to fight back. you let other people dictate how you can live your life and who you can spend your time with. remind me why you put up with your mother's abuse for so long. did you actually love her despite her madness, or were you just too afraid to walk away?"

"what do you think?" "I think fuck you"

"your false bravado helps no one" "neither does your cowardice"

"you already walked away from him once knwoing what riko would do to him in your absence. don't do it again. if you don't protect him now, his death is on you"

"die free or die a failure. the choice is yours."

"I'd ask you how it feels but I guess you've always known what it's like to be second, you worthless piece of shit"

ANDREW :

"is your learning curve a horizontal line?"

"a privileged child like you has never seen the real world"

"I've had enough of your stupidity to last me a week"

"I'm volunteering my opinion" "don't. children should be seen and not heard"

"you're stupider than even I gave you credit for"

"you have a problem wherein you only invest your time and energy into worthless pursuits"

"you're a different kind of suicidal. didn't you figure that out in december? you're bait. you're the martyr no one asked for or wanted"

"I hope you two are miserable together"

WYMACK :

"anyone have ideas on how to make neil look a bit less like a battered wife?"

"I can't tell if you're being obtuse to fuck with me or if you're really that dumb."

"I need you to derail that one-track fucking mind of yours for two seconds"

"great. kevin's turning into another you. that's just what I needed."

"get washed up before your stench kills me"

KEVIN :

"we need you on the court but not if you're going to drag us down with you. in the shape you're in right now you'd be a complete waste of our time."

"even if you'd stepped it up when I told you to a year ago, you would have no chance of beating them. there is nothing at all you can do this late in the year. they are better than we are and they always will be"

"stop acting like a spoiled child"

"you've got a thing for controversial teams, I think, but I like this one much better than the last one" "they're mediocre at best but they're easier to get along with"

NICKY :

"do you get off on being such a debbie downer?"

AARON :

"it wasn't the drugs that made him crazy"

"I'm walking away and pretending I don't know you"

"I want to drink and pretend I don't know any of you"

MATT :

"good to see you're still fuck-all crazy"

"one of these days you have to let me hit kevin."

ALLISON :

"you are on messed-up child. you come by that naturally or did your parents do that to you?"

"seriously you guys? it's like you don't know us" "we try not to"

RENEE :

"I tried taking you off his hands at one point. andrew refused on the grounds he wouldn't wish you on anyone except a mortician"

[stoat-party]

Awkward Ways the Companions Show Affection (Part III)

Curie just likes being around you. When she decides she’s made a friend, she’ll follow them around and chatter away about whatever’s on her mind, which is a lot. You can’t blame her, she’s been alone with her thoughts for ages! Almost everyone has been on the receiving end of this, but X6 oddly takes it the best. Maybe obsessive scientist types remind him of home.

~

If Hancock starts to care about someone, he can get a little intense with the displays of affection. His favorite is gifts because they’re easy — it’s like bribing someone to keep loving you, and who doesn’t like narcotics? But it turns out chems aren’t everyone’s thing. So Hancock resorts to other methods like buying you booze, threatening strangers for you, and some very uncomfortable serenades.

~

Nick is a very socially intelligent person, except for being constantly preoccupied by the specter of death. Between his mind being permanently preserved in fresh bereavement, and having outlived almost everyone he’s ever met, he tends to see all his loved ones as cadavers in training. If Nick cares about you, he spends a lot of time mournfully watching you like you’d watch an ancient great-grandmother who could drop at any moment.

~

MacCready is friendly to everyone, but his circle of trust is very small. You’ll know if you’re in it. Growing up, survival meant giving nothing to most and everything to a few. As a result, he’s very cuddly, especially drunk. He’ll put his chin on your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing, throw an arm around you, mess up your hair, stuff like that. He’s not all that considerate about the time and the place. Why wouldn’t someone want to be hugged in full armor, covered in blood, and surrounded by corpses?

Part 1 | Part 2

[takes1]

p.2 bokuto x inexperienced!reader

bokuto is so fun to write it's crazy. merry christmas eve 😋

warnings. nsfw themes, future nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / kuroo's little sister!reader / touchy!bokuto / flirty!bokuto / corruption kink!bokuto / virgin!reader / nerdy!reader / kuroo cockblocking / petnames / protective kuroo / praise kink!bokuto / brother's best friend trope / bokuto being a bad friend / bokuto crushing on you / 2.0k nsfw + future parts to follow, reply to be added to taglist

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my request box. part one here.

"Why are you out?"

You can't help but guffaw at Tetsurou's accusatory tone.

There was no evidence to condemn you for instigating the whole Bokuto situation, except for maybe the deliberate change in attire before you decided to leave your room. You had to put something more skimpy on than your usual house clothes.

You had no plan, no real intentions other than the overwhelming desire for his friend's attention. Pacing around your room for hours had gotten old.

It wasn't too much, but it didn't help you make a strong case to come down from your 'tower' to Tetsurou - who was guarding the bottom of the stairs like a dragon.

"It's 5? I'm feeding your cats? Like I do every day--," You never let him get in your way or push you around before, and today would not be the first.

His hand flew to the other side of the railing. Thanks to his freakish arm span, he was successful in taking up the whole staircase, and then some.

"Fat chance. They're fed. Go back to your room, square."

"Eat shit-- and- die-!" You struggled to muscle your way around him, but it was accomplished- the only problem was that he had you by one ankle. He sat, leaned into the top of the stairs with his bodyweight.

You couldn't overcome a move like that, so you sat down too when he started to crawl, leading with only one arm and drag you back up the stairs. You were trying to use your weight to balance it out like he was, but he was older, stronger, bigger, and meaner, so you were slowly getting dragged up.

The whole ordeal was loud, thunderous because of the hollow floor beneath the even louder, creaky hardwood staircase.

Your head closest to the base railing, you made eye contact with some of his friends on the first floor, watching in giggly fascination at the struggle-, you sneered, rolling your eyes. You were getting so tired of his theatric bullshit making a clown out of you.

"Hey! Kuroo! That's not a fair fight, cut it out!" Somebody, somebody gracious and considerate, shouted to your defense.

Finally, an ounce of kindness.

It made his grip soften just enough for you, with the help of the railing, to take your ankle back.

You sighed and used your hands to pull yourself back up. The two of you were pissed off and out of breath, staring each other down.

"Yo! You almost ready?" Bokuto called from the first floor.

The two of you turned away from one another to look at him. He only spared a small glance towards Tetsurou, coming back down past you, before settling into an obvious, slow scan of your body in that new outfit.

His long arm stretched up the handrail, fingers waving toward you.

"Heyy, Prettyyy," Was gentle, brushing past his perfect lips.

He behaved as if he wasn't in your house, as if you hadn't met a few hours ago, as if Tetsurou's proximity didn't bother him in the slightest.

That was all you wanted. You leaned into your side, weak under his handsome stare, practically melting against the railing. A dreamy smile gave way for an absent giggle to follow, "Hii..."

Bokuto looked so perfect in his athletic clothes. You looked to your brother and realized he had his knee pads on. There was a hustle and bustle about the first floor and you instantly pieced together that they were going to play a game somewhere.

"Watch it," Tetsurou slapped the back of his hand on Bokuto's chest.

He held a firm glare between them for a moment. Bokuto didn't return the intensity until Tetsurou turned to address you. Only then did his brows drop, his frown grew a little darker. His airheaded, empty eyes narrowed with ill intention.

"Go on, go back upstairs," Tetsurou shooed you away like one of his cats.

"What?!" Bokuto scoffed, his friendliness was back in a flash.

He grasped for a quick argument, "We need a score keeper, man!"

It was a glorious opportunity to jump at and defend. No matter how much Tetsurou argued, he couldn't change either of your minds. In the process, you got a few other Nekoma guys to agree with you, and suddenly he was the odd-one-out, unable to make any solid case to keep you stuck at home.

You scrambled up to your room, thanking god for this one in a million chance, to grab a few things. When you barreled out the door, about to fly down the stairs, you nearly trampled over the only tolerable cat of your brother's.

"Woahh, sweetie,"

You stopped to let your door open so she could wander inside while you were gone.

Bokuto eyed you carefully from the first floor, thumb mindlessly brushing over his bottom lip. The little top you opted for was fucking glorious when you leaned down to pet her. He knew he couldn't afford to be careless with you, like most other things. But something about you sabotaged his already poor ability to keep his excitement contained.

-

That's why he squeezed a heavy arm around your waist once you had all made it to the gym- at first, nothing but an enthusiastic, friendly gesture.

Then that cute little laugh, the purity in your eyes avoiding his sharp-toothed grin, got his mind racing again, thinking about all the ways he could make you blush both on and off this court.

"You gonna watch me wrack up all the points today, babe?" Just flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Akaashi raised his brow at both his confirmed suspicions and the cocky assertion.

It was natural that Bokuto was preoccupied performing for the only audience there. The attention whore couldn't get enough of your captivated reactions. The way you ogled at him and gasped at every impressive spike, block, receive fueled his ego so bad that he was getting into an annoyingly good groove.

Every time he did something he wanted to be worthy of praise, his eyes preyed off of you; validated with exactly the kind of reaction he wanted, needed to see.

Since there were so many players, they switched out almost as often as anyone on-court needed a break.

Bokuto stayed until he was drenched in sweat, ragged in breath, and too exhausted to shout anymore.

Usually, members of his actual team liked to switch him out more often than this game called for. But he was riding such a manic high from your feedback that he never crashed like normal.

It wasn't until Akaashi encouraged him to go talk to you on the sidelines did he accept the chance for a rest.

He sauntered to a stop so intimately close to you that it made you side-step away from him, sheepish, eyes firmly on the game.

You could tell he was tired in the way he held himself, hands on his powerful mid-thighs, back expanding and shrinking with uneven breaths. He would only stand upright to drink some water, just to let it spill down the corners of his mouth and onto his sopping shirt.

"(Y/n)! Point for us!"

A panicked flip of the score.

"Sorry!"

Maybe you hadn't been watching the game so well.

He stood up straight, finally rested enough with a big groan, "Aaagh-!"

You briefly caught Bokuto's eye when you looked up from his form-fitted shirt. Your heart nearly stopped. Arms crossed, chest filled with a big breath in, your worried eyes struggled to look straight forward.

His chuckling grew in volume at your mannerisms under a bitten lip.

"Don't worry so much, babygirl," Bokuto finally said something, hand rested right at the base of your neck as he leaned down to speak only to you, "I wantcha to watch me."

The lengthy bout of quiet between you may have given you the impression that he was deliberate in his words. But the reality was that nothing he said was very thoughtful. His petnames, his touches, his abundant and inappropriate honesty were all products of his failure to control himself.

Your head was swimming, overwhelmed at his touch and his words.

He was rubbing his thumb against the side of your neck, still bent to watch you closely. Of course, now you wouldn't look at him.

He noticed how, if he tried, he could probably wrap his hand all the way around your throat. His jaw worked, as his hardened gaze flickered from your chest to your lips.

The slam of a ball on the court spurred you to quickly move, turn the score again.

Bokuto straightened, clearing his throat, rubbing his face with intensity at your absence, "Shit."

He realized his team was getting behind when he actually looked at the score. Akaashi made eye contact with him from the court and motioned a switch-out.

In his reluctance to leave, the best idea he'd ever had crossed his mind and he couldn't help but verbalize it.

"How 'bout a good luck kiss?"

Your eyes widened at his suggestion. For a second, you weren't sure if he was making fun of you, so you looked more uncomfortable than anything. Half of your attention was on the game, the other was on him.

"No?" Bokuto looked downright depressed.

His massive shoulders stooped, his pouty eyes so pitiful it spurred you to comfort him.

"Well- waitwait, I- don't know," You were getting warm quickly, unable to tell him yes or no, "I--,"

"Just a peck?" He begged.

Time was up. You couldn't form a word, let alone an answer, under so much pressure.

"Airhead! Your setter wants you," Tetsurou called from the court.

That could've been a deliberate way to get him away from you, but Akaashi did legitimately need him. He trudged onto the court, looking less energized than when he left for a needed break earlier.

He played like it, too. It could have been argued that he was the very reason their slapped-together team ended up losing. His heart was not in it.

All the guys were satisfied and tired, so they called it there, ending on a low note for you, since your brother's team was automatically vilified in your mind.

Your presence was small, apologetic as you passed Bokuto the water he had abandoned.

He barely met your eyes. He was moody and feeling sorry for himself since he felt like a loser in a couple of different ways.

"Akaashi said I pressured you, earlier," Was so quiet that it surprised you. You had no idea he was capable of that volume.

He sighed through his nose, squinting around as he took a big gulp of water. It gave you the opportunity to look for the setter in question, grateful for the consideration, and that he had such a good friend in his life.

"So I'm- sorry," He struggled, eyes on you but not your face, "If I did."

You were holding yourself tight. Heat crawled up your neck and ears.

A small motion for him to come to you, presumably so you could whisper something in his ear. His brow raised, a cute, intrigued look across his face that made you want to swoon as he did so.

You controlled yourself for just long enough to press a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

It felt foreign, like something you had to hold your breath for, being so close to another person. You were hoping you did it correctly as it shocked him upright.

His mouth hung open, his excitement enough to make you laugh under your hands.

"Dude!" He laughed with you, silly and so handsome because his grin fit his face just right, "Fuck yes!"

Bokuto couldn't help but to scoop you up off of your feet in a big bear hug and swing you in a circle, unable to control himself despite the fact that just about everyone left in the gym was watching. When Tetsurou observed this show of affection, he went to separate you.

Yet, in the process, he got picked up instead- and swung around in a similar fashion.

And to your surprise, it did help to shut him up. He couldn't quite remember what he was so concerned about, vision still spinning as he stumbled back, laughing.

"Akaashi! Come here, you're next!"

♕VIP♕

@integers @yuchacco

taglist. thank ya'll!

@tuamadrequellavacca @dumbpuppyluv @raracha @jenerator10 @thisiswhereishitpostalot @feiwelinchen @loodleloodle @partyinthepants @ghostreader0307

my masterlist. my request box.

reply to be added for future parts!

[bunni0nbanhg]

|Ink| 01

Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship

Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink

Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 2 ࿐ྂ

The black ink of a slightly faded tattoo stared back at you, right on the inner part of your left wrist.

It’s been almost a year since you broke up with your last boyfriend, the relationship lasting far longer than it should have. The toxicity and constant insecurity while being with him took a toll on you until you finally broke.

Moving to Seoul was an abrupt decision. Your main goal was to just get as much distance as you could from him, in hopes he’d fade with your memories.

This tattoo on your wrist fails to help you forget about him though.

You had gotten it as a matching couples tattoo. Despite all the warnings from people and the internet to never get matching tattoos with someone, you had made yet another impulsive decision.

Your old tattoo artist, who’s worked on majority of your tattoos, is now too far away. You’d have to take time off work to see her, and with the recent dent in your bank account due to the move, you couldn’t afford missing a day.

You turned to face your nightstand and grab your phone off the wooden furniture.

A quick google search leads you to: Stray Kids Studio. It’s not a common name for a tattoo parlor, but the prices are in your range. Ratings say they’re good and when you’re able to find their Instagram account you see countless amazing pieces.

Still, with another glance at the tattoo, you don’t know if you’re able to cover it up well enough to forget the original design.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“The 16th?” A smooth voice confirms, the subtle sound of clicking on a keyboard could be heard over the phone.

After a week of consideration you finally decided to make an appointment at the tattoo parlor.

“Yeah, any time after… 3 pm? It’s a small tattoo, fine line.” Another hum is followed after you answer. “We have an appointment for 3:30 pm, two of our artists. Are you looking for color or traditional?”

“Traditional.”

“That works! Our artist Chan will be the one to cover your tattoo up. Just make sure to bring in some sort of identification and payment, we’ll get you to the back as soon as we verify everything.”

You had already given them your name, so the appointment was finalized after you gave them your number and email so they could contact you in case you forget.

You still weren’t sure how the tattoo will end up, it’s almost worst to have a shitty scribble on your wrist than an old couples tattoo.

Luckily it isn’t his initials, only a small outline of a hummingbird from an intimate inside joke between you two. It’s totally not as if it makes your chest burn hot with rage and jaw clench at just how fucked up that relationship was.

Maybe a blacked out wrist wasn’t so bad after all.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“You sure you’re up for going out tonight?”

One of your friends sit behind you, sitting on the edge of your bed as she watches you get ready in your mirror.

You glance at her through the mirror with a beauty blender in hand. “It’s been a while since I went out, I need to make the most of my twenties.”

She sighs with a small smile and shake of her head. “Your impulsive decisions are going to get you in serious trouble. Not just shitty tattoos or moving to a whole new city. We’ve made it this far without my phone ringing from the county jail.”

You roll your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in her last sentence, shoulders slumping. “I’m not going to hop in someone’s backseat of their car or anything. I’ll stay close.”

“Sure.” She chuckles before pushing off the bed to help you with your hair.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

It’s been what feels like years since you last were at a club. The hot air from a crowd of people and the nauseating bumping of loud music.

Some places could be really chill, not so cramped. This place, the White Rabbit, is extremely busy on Saturday night.

Knowing this however, you’ve taken some precautions.

A group of your friends already have a booth claimed, a tray of clear liquor shots.

“Tito’s, Everclear and Absolute Vodka.” One of your friends, a small and usually energetic blonde, pointed at each round of shots.

“I can alreayd feel the vomit in my throat.” You mumble, grimacing but picking up one of them readily. With a chaser in hand you shoot back the first one.

Then the second, third, onto your fourth.

Throughout the night, past 3 hours, the shots kept coming. You tried your best to pace yourself, not wanting to get alcohol poisoning.

It was hard when you wanted to get that fuzzy warm feeling fast in your chest. Fast, ended up with it all crashing at once like a train wreck.

“Where are you going?” One of your friends slurred, trying her best to yell over the music and conversations all at once. “Bathroom!” You lied, purse around your shoulder and phone in hand.

You can’t remember if you still had your wallet, but you left your credit and or debit cards at home beforehand. You could afford to get another ID if you did happen to leave it.

What you instead did was go outside, taking in the biggest breath of your life to calm down the spinning feeling in your head.

A groan slipped past your lips, squatting down to the ground to clutch your head between your hands.

You took deep breaths to stop your chest from heaving and trying to throw up the poison in your system.

Your ankles felt weak, vision going spotty. It had been so long since you last partied that you didn’t realize your tolerance was so shit. It made you want to take the longest sleep of your life.

Something cool touched your temple, leaving a wet spot on your flushed skin.

To your right was a man, all black outfit and bottle of water in hand. The streetlight did a poor job of providing enough lighting to see his face but you could make out the slight smile of amusement.

“Where’s your friend? Friends? Need me to call a taxi?” His voice is slightly deep, a little more raspy than anything but what catches your half lidded eyes is the silver jewelry on his lips.

You point to your own lips, head tilting to the side absentmindedly.

“Did that hurt?” You mumble, eyes widening at just how slurred your speech sounded.

He chuckle, squatting down to mimick you and press the water to your free hand. “Did them myself, always hurts more.”

That’s when you notice two other guys, seemingly hanging back and waiting for him with the open door of a taxi.

He follows your gaze and points at the yellow car with his thumb. “Wanna ride with us? Or we can call a different one for us and you take that one.”

The answer is obvious in your drunken mind, a car ride with an attractive sounding man makes your face flush more.

“Friend.” You mumbled back instead, your mind not letting you forget about your friend you drove with you. Your car should be nearby, she said she’d be the designated driver but you lost each other in the crowd after your something odd shot.

He nods with a hum and stands back up, the water still in your hands. He looks back at his waiting friends who almost instantly sigh and close the door.

It makes you raise an eyebrow as the two walk over and the stranger pulls you up abruptly.

You would have screamed in fear, the situation suddenly feeling like a kidnapping, but he set you back down immediately as soon as you regained proper footing.

“Do you have your phone with you? Try calling her.”

Your purse suddenly felt heavier, the reminder of the cellular device in there making you blink your eyes rapidly and look down at it.

Luckily muscle memory helped you type in your password without much thought, but you held the screen up to him with squinted eyes.

“Her name is Haeji.” You slurred, feeling too nauseous suddenly to stare at the bright light for too long.

The stranger looked down at the phone screen and let out another small laugh. He hesitated at first, but clicked on the contact app nonetheless and scrolled till he found Haeji’s name and number.

She was panicked at first, hearing a male voice after picking up the call, but he was able to explain before she drew conclusions.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t run off!” Haeji sighed in relief, crouching down to your drunken form as you hummed back. “Nooo, I said I wouldn’t get in someone’s car.” You replied with a slurred giggle.

Haeji looked up to thank the three men, but found them already waving down another taxi and preparing to leave.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” She mumbled, looping an arm under your left arm with your right arm over her neck.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Getting a tattoo post hangover is not ideal. You hoped they couldn’t tell how exhausted you were, with sunglasses and hood up.

You hadn’t bothered applying anything more than mascara and lip balm, not in the mood to try and look presentable.

The person at the counter you spoke with truly didn’t match his voice, it was only did he address you by confirming you’re who you are, did you realize it was the same guy.

“I’m Felix, if you decide to book another appointment with us; I’ll be the one you’re most likely talking to.”

He smiled a sweet smile, pearly white teeth and slightly scrunched nose. You couldn’t help but internally oogle at how attractive he is.

Next, he gestured to a curtain, pulling it back for you to see a short and well lit hallway. “It’s the one in the far right.” He pointed to it, the door with a big silver 4 on it.

“He’s just coming off lunch break so you won’t be waiting for long.”

You nodded and stepped into the room, the decor minimal but sleek at the same time. It didn’t feel cold like a standard office would but the lack of colors and mostly blacks with dark grays provided a layer of mystery to whoever your tattooer is.

Hopefully he’s not the opposite of Felix, zero smiles and a deadpanned voice. At the same time you didn’t care, just wanting to cover this tattoo up as fast as you can.

“I’m sorry- usually I like introducing myself in the lobby but I ended up a few minutes behind.”

The rushed words and opening of the room’s door made you break out of your thoughts.

Familiarity struck you, silver lip piercings and protective atmosphere.

He seemed to recognize you too, a smile breaking out on his face. “You sure you shouldn’t be at home right now? You looked pretty shit faced the other night.”

Your tongue clicked and shoulders sagged at his easy teasing. “I was just a little rusty, should I be concerned about you though? Don’t want my tattooer to be hungover.”

He mimicked the noise you made earlier with a slightly more sarcastic click of his own. “I’m guessing you made it home fine?”

His coat was hung up on the door, making your eyes trace his bare arms. In the middle of August it’s to be expected people wear tank tops but you weren’t prepared for the gains this guy had.

Not the mention the think black lines of a tattoo of his own swirling from his elbow up.

“Who did that peice?” You hummed absentmindedly, head tilting to follow the curves. He glanced down at his own arm and tapped it twice.

“My good friend, he works here too. Changbin. If this is your style I recommend coming back for something similar.”

He grinned at being able to promote one of his friends, and bringing back another customer at the same time.

“Maybe, I’m more into meanings behind tattoos.”

“What meaning is the one I’m covering up then?”

As he asked this question he’s pulling out a drawer to gather his things and snap on black rubber gloves.

You laid back onto the tattoo chair, left arm already stretching out to rest on one of the arm rests.

“Something to do with my ex.” You mumbled back, shoulders slumping.

“I know- cliche, and not a good idea.”

He chuckled in agreement, eyebrows raising at he looked at the poor quality humming bird.

He grabbed a tablet from one of the cupboard tables off to the side along with his Apple Pencil, drawing app already pulled up and ready to do.

“So what style are we going for, any inspos?”

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Making a design went smoother than you thought, he was able to draw a sketch pretty fast with help of your input.

When he put the stencil on your wrist, it looked promising as it did well to blend in with the muddled lines of your old tattoo.

The finish work as way better however.

“You can’t even see it…” You mumbled in shock, moving your wrist side to side as if trying your best to pick out the old tattoo.

“That’s the point.” He replied with a small chuckle, always prideful when a client compliments his work. Even more when said client is gorgeous.

He did a last wipe before applying the protective layer over it. “You know how to care for it as I’m assuming, and if you ever want to add something more or schedule for another I’m sure any of us will be more than happy to.”

He lead you back out to where Felix was still stationed, the blonde giving his usual friendly smile.

“Everything go well?” He asked as he pulled up your name. “Definitely, glad I was able to find such a good parlor. I was nervous since it’s obviously not my usual.”

“What place do you usually go to?” Chan asked, right hip leaning on the counter as he took off his gloves to throw away.

“It was called 8-Teez, it’s far away and I just moved.”

Felix turned around the monitor as he finally was able to pull up the payment screen.

You grabbed your card along with cash, knowing to always tip your tattoo artist.

“There’s a really good Pho place over at 7th Street, if you ever need a good food suggestion.”

You grinned at the hidden implications of his words, or, what could be there at least unless he really was just being nice.

“Yeah? I live right by there. Those new high rise apartments.”

Chan’s eyebrows seemed to raise at what you said before pointing a finger at himself.

“Me too, Apartment 143.”

You gasped as you grab your Apartment key and show him your number. “146!”

"Only 3 rooms apart." He said with obvious shock in his voice, Felix leaning over the desk to look at the key too. "Wow, what a coincidence!" He laughed while tilting his head to the side to make sure he was reading it correctly.

"Guess I'll have to drop by one of these days, Y'know, see if you're taking care of my work right."

You shook your head with an amused smile. "Totally; and I'll make sure to order takeout for two, Y'know, because starving artists and all."

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Eighteen - Headaches

Part Seventeen

———

Copper, a surprisingly good conductor of heat and electricity. It’s used for building materials and in various alloys. It is used in wiring, plumbing, and industrial applications, such as mecha suits.

They are also used for a number of other applications, the metal is malleable and can be bent into ideal shapes for specific applications. It has antibacterial properties and is resistant to corrosion, it’s often used in the making of spirits. The heat applied is spread evening to the surface area and can heat the liquor evenly to make the process simple enough that it has been known to happen in military housing or on fronts.

Copper stills range in size and capabilities, able to make several types of liquor depending on the resources accessible to the user. They can make whiskey, though the aging process takes a considerable amount more time in separate barrels, than several clear liquors such as vodka, gin, and moonshine. All taking different ingredients and time frames.

Though distilling without a license is illegal in the United States, it doesn’t stop people from learning how to distill their own liquor and distilling in international territory depends on whose territory you are currently at host to.

—

The apartment was nearly cold and they were all out of their suits, Prowl had yet to make an appearance as he was still dealing with details down at central. For the moment, Hound was up in Breakdown's suit and had his tool kit with him. It had been moved from the Odyssey the first time one of them burst a line, the poor shuttle was getting less and less use the longer they were working with the Cybertronian’s. Breakdown was laying down in their makeshift bedroom, it was a platform with cots on it for them all in the bedroom, so the lights were turned down in there for him. Sunstreaker was watching Hound work, trying to take in the repairs and understand what he was doing, but unlike Hound who’d worked on military machinery before being a pilot the only experience Sunstreaker had was super-charging cars. Sure, there was some overlap but not nearly enough.

Hound swore and pulled his hand back, it was covered in oil from a burst line, though the glove he wore protected him somewhat, “Sonny, grab me that line clamp.” His hands were halfway into Breakdown’s shoulder by the time Sunstreaker handed over the clamp, “Fuck, I’ll have to get fluid for the system.” They worked like that, every few minutes Hound would swear and Sunstreaker would dive into the tool kit for something he needed, “I’m going to hold this piece back, you’re going to go in with the wrench to finish the repair.” Pausing, Sunstreaker looks up, “But, I don’t know how to repair a suit,” “And you’re going to learn cause my hands can’t reach the inner joint.” Sighing deeply, Sunstreaker adjusted his stance on the plating before going into the joint.

It took then a few hours to get the arm adjusted and recalibrated, Knockout did a great job but the lines needed to be redone in the spare material from earth, the cybertronian stuff just wouldn’t hold up to the suit's weight or stress.

Sideswipe comes out of the bathroom, groaning, “Are you two almost done up there? I want to head into Iacon Central.” Sunstreaker gives him a look, face streaked in oil and grease, “Sides, now is not the time. If we don’t get Breakdown’s suit repaired everyone will start to figure out what they're not supposed to.” He crossed his arms, frowning, “Well Prowl doesn’t want us going into town by ourselves, Jazz is asleep, and you two are more so breaking Breakdown’s suit.” Sunstreaker groaned and pulled away from the wires, pointing at his brother, “Just, hang on,” Shaking his head, Hound turned toward them both, “If you two are just going to bicker do it elsewhere. I need to focus.” Sunstreaker turned, “But Hound,” “Now Sunstreaker. If this isn’t repaired before our meeting with Joan— I mean the Prime, damnit, then they’ll insist that Breakdown goes to Knockout again.” Sunstreaker sighed slowly, “And he’ll actually run the scans this time,” “Only to find a tiny organic in his chest instead of the typical spark.” Sideswipe almost looked sheepish, almost, “So please, for the love of god, go argue somewhere else. But don’t disturb Breakdown.” Hound wipes a hand across his forehead, smearing the grease across it while he goes back into the repair. Leaving the twins glaring at each other.

—

Hound was the only one going to the meeting, Jazz was taking the twins into central Iacon just to shut them up for a klick or two and Breakdown was still resting though his suit was at least repaired. Hound had a pounding headache, once Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had stopped arguing they’d turned music on just low enough to not wake Breakdown but loud enough to grate at Hound’s migraine. Prowl had come to let them all know they were effectively free and Jazz had made quick work of cornering the twins, “Let’s go into Iacon Central, go to the market. Hey, there is a pretty cool upgrades place I think you two will love.” Sunstreaker had tried to argue but Sideswipe covered his mouth with a far to practiced ease, “Yead, that sounds great. Just the three of us hitting the town. We can get the stuff for our project while we’re out.” There was a moment of pause before Sunstreaker lout out the biggest and most dramatic sigh Hound had ever seen, “Fine, but only for the parts we need.” Jazz was grinning, which couldn’t be a good sign. His head was pounding.

”I worry I don’t even want to ask what you’re getting parts for,” Hound was back in his suit, rubbing his forehead as the twins to into their respective cockpits, “Oh don’t worry commander,” That was never a good sign, “This will be something we all can enjoy, after a few tweaks.” And that really wasn’t a good sign, “We’ll have to stop by the Odyssey for some stuff too Jazz.” Sunstreaker was the first up, stretching lightly while waiting on his brother, “Oh yeah, if we could get this stuff going tonight it would be perfect.” Hound’s head was throbbing and their conversation was not going to help ease it, Jazz laughed, “Yeah, we can stop in at the warehouse on the way back.” Sideswipe stood and started to usher the pair out, “Alright, don’t wait up. We’ll see you two sticks in the mud tonight.” The door slid open and shut harshly, as if they were able to slam a door like that.

Prowl stood there, staring after where the three of them went with a frown, “Should we be concerned?” “Definitely.” Sighing Hound moved around and grabbed the tablet that he’d been given when they landed, rubbing his face, “Is Breakdown joining us?” Shaking his head, Hound tucked the tablet into his chute holder, “No, I’ve ordered him to rest and last I checked he was sound asleep.” Prowl nodded slowly, frowning, “Will he be alright?” With a nod, Hound starts towards the door, “It’s a concussion, he just needs rest and time to heal.” “I don’t think Jazz has had a concussion before,” Prowl’s voice was tinted with concern, “Well, after you’ve had one you’re far more susceptible. The older suits, like Breakdown's, don't have all the same protections for concussive force.” He knocked lightly against his chest, “Or the same structure for the assistance suits. We have this guy, named Blur, he used to race back on Earth. he said it would be smart to put something called a HANS device in. Most of ours are attached to the piloting seat then clip onto our suits, Breakdown only got one installed before the mission.” Sighing a bit, Hound shields his eyes a bit as they go out into the hall, “It won’t stop everything, but it’s meant to help for impacts and things.” Prowl nodded slowly, watching before falling into step with Hound.

They walked together in silence, which Hound was grateful for, able to turn down his audio receivers for a bit before Prowl cleared his throat, “Hound, are you feeling alright?” He was thankful the mech kept his voice low, sighing as he nodded a bit, “Yes, Prowl. I’m alright. Just a headache.” Prowl’s steps slowed, he was frowning, “Do you want to postpone the meeting? I know that when Jazz gets headaches they can be helped with being in the dark and not in your suit.” Sighing, Hound shook his head, “No, no the meeting is too important to postpone. Plus, it could help with some of my headache. Once we’re there I’ll take something for it.” Nodding, Prowl fell back into silence, Hound smiled a bit, “So, uh, How are things with Jazz?” Prowl chuckled lightly, shaking his head, “I can see small talk carries over no matter the species.” With a shrug, Hound looks at him, “Well?” Prowl shook his head.

It didn’t take long to hear what though, “Things, as you phrased it, with Jazz are fine.” Hound hummed and Prowl almost whipped around, “I know that tone.” Laughing and holding his head, Hound held up his other hand, “You can’t answer the question with just rephrasing it on Earth, otherwise people will definitely think things aren’t fine.” Prowl sighed, rolling his eyes a bit to Hound’s amusement, “Then Jazz and I are doing well, certainly better than others.” There was a touch of tone there that Hound thought sounded like sarcasm but this was Prowl, nodding a bit, Hound cleared his throat a bit, “I take it you spoke with Mirage and found out what uh, a word that doesn’t translate is.” Frowning, Prowl shook his head, “What are you talking about?” At least you could count on Prowl for being the last one to hear the gossip, “Mirage and I were speaking on the shuttle back here, I mentioned being divorced—“ Prowl almost jumped out of his plating, “Which clearly translates to something horrible but it’s just the legal separation between two people on Earth, two people who were married but no longer want to be.” It took a minute for Prowl to be able to speak, “That word translates into the breaking and permanent separation of a joined spark,” He takes a breath, “It effectively would mean, for us, that your Conjux has since passed and that is an incredibly painful experience.” Nodding a bit, Hound sighed, “Yeah, I figured it was something like that. No, I was married young and it didn’t work out for a lot of reasons, but she’s not dead.” Prowl cracked a smile at that, nodding.

The sunshine made his head throb again, wincing a bit as he turned down the brightness of his visual feed. Prowl rested a hand lightly on his arm, “Are you sure,” “Prowl, this meeting needs to happen.” His steps stalled for a moment, “Why?” Hound sighed and glanced back towards the apartment building, “We need to rethink the structure of our team, right now if we continue the direction that we are, I doubt it’ll end well.” “Meaning?” Prowl was trying hard to keep his tone neutral, but Hound knew, “On Earth, pilots rarely work with other pilots, because we’re all stubborn and hardheaded. We don’t take orders well and the risk of death is high, the longer you work with another pilot the more connected you get and when they get hurt or worse it becomes harder to do the mission.” His hands clasp at his sides, taking a deep breath, “In the last two days we had one pilot try to kill a specialist and another got hurt, it will only continue to happen if we remain in the structure that we currently are.” Prowl was just staring at him, his eyes focusing and unfocusing, clearly running the statement through his tacnet. Hound waited, nodding his head slightly when Prowl looked at him and not through him, “That’s why this meeting is important, I need to discuss spreading out my team with Optimus Prime, a higher chance of survival and success for all of us.” Prowl bowed his head slightly, staring at the 97.6% in the corner of his own visual feed, the number that had been rising since their arrival.

Stepping onto the transport, Prowl fell silent again as Hound sagged into a seat, wanting to give him some relief to his migraine. In that moment, he could truly see the title commander written all over his plating, having seen both Optimus and Megatron fight these same internal battles over the years. Sidestepping slightly, he blocks the worst of the sun from Hound’s visual feeds, crossing his arms and guarding his friend from what little he could, either the sun or the stares of other Cybertronian’s.

—

Iacon Central was beautiful, it honestly reminded Sideswipe a lot of Miami and eased some of the homesickness. Though it was also staggeringly different, with the transformation lanes and flight-frames overhead buzzing the buildings every few minutes. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time, him and Sunstreaker were following Jazz down the road, “We need copper, preferably copper tubing but still copper and an oversized cube.” Jazz looks over his shoulder, “What are you two planning?” Sunstreaker scoffs, “We. Aren't planning anything. He planned it and I’m going to build it.” Sideswipe clasped his hand against his twin's shoulder, “Oh come on, this was always the dream, we just have the space for it now.” Jazz’s visor darken slightly, “I don’t like that you’re using my apartment for unknown mystery projects.” Sideswipe comes up and throws an arm around his shoulders, “Jazz, I swear, you are going to love this. Now,” “Yeah yeah, copper tubing and a giant cube. I heard ya.” Sunstreaker sighed deeply, still dragging his feet a bit as they headed into the marketplace.

—

Autobot Central, now known as the headquarters of the primal vanguard, was massive and reminded Hound of some state capitals back on Earth. Not in the appearance really but in its grand scale. Prowl and him were climbing the steps to the main entrance, several guards standing out front stoic as statues though they opened the gate as they got to it, “Thanks,” Hound nodded to them slightly as they went through, Prowl nodding as well, “I have primary access.” That made a lot of sense. They had to climb more steps to the building, sighing a bit Hound followed Prowl up and inside.

The halls were massive, even by the standards of mechs it was huge, certainly bigger than any of the warehouses that Hound’s suit had been stored in. A few of the mecha that they passed were familiar but none were ones that Hound knew well. Prowl nodded to a few, keeping a low voice and telling Prowl who they passed, “That was Tracks, generally not friendly. That one is Swerve and no, I don’t know why he’s acting like he saw a ghost. He acts the same way around Jazz, and primus go this way.” He redirects Hound with a shove down a separate hallway, “If we ran into Starstream we’d never make it to the meeting.” Hound tried not to smile, nodding a bit, “Yeah, I know plenty of people like that back home.” They kept walking together though going quiet as the number of people dwindled the deeper they got into the fortress.

Ironhide stood outside the door, looking bored, “Took the two of you long enough to get here,” He smiles, “Everyone is inside, I’ll join you as soon as my replacement shows up.” Prowl nodded and scanned in for the door, letting Hound enter first.

Hound had seen this room over video several times but had never been inside, it was command, the main command that Prowl generally worked from. Looking to Prowl, who simply shrugged, they entered. There weren’t many people in the room, Megatron and Optimus Prime were sitting towards the front of the room, talking quietly with each other. Mirage was standing to the side with a mech that Hound didn’t know, Red Alert was on the command desk with another mech that Hound really didn’t know though had what was best described as a cat in his lap. There was a pink mecha stood to the side with a flight frame that looked a great deal like the Starscream that Prowl had insisted they avoid. Hound knew several seekers though and was at least vaguely familiar with the frame type, how they stuck to groups of three or trines, as well as what happened to the trine if one or more of them died. Optimus looks up and the smile reached his eyes, the room almost growing uncomfortably warm, “Hound, just the mecha we were waiting on, please come have a seat and once Ironhide is able to join us we can start.” Nodding a bit, Hound moved over and took a seat that looked the least comfortable, he could hear one mech sigh from relief before they took a different seat.

It didn’t take very long before Ironhide was able to join them, two other Seekers following him in before joining the blue one across the table from him, though one distinctly taking the seat near Megatron, Optimus nodded before sitting up, “Right, now that we’re all here we can start. Hound, I understand there is something you desire to discuss with us?” Nodding a bit, Hound pulled the tablet he had from his plating and set it on the table, “I want to restructure my unit, sir.” Everyone was watching intently now and Hound was far from a public speaker, “I think it will be best for the war and our joint effort.” Megatron tilted his head slightly, “How so?” Hound sighed slowly, “On Earth,” “You’re not on Earth, your on Cybertron,” And he suddenly understood why that mech was called Starscream, he winced slightly and turned the audio receivers down more, “On Earth, those of us found compatible are more often spread out across the planet to defend cities or regions.” Optimus nodded slowly, folding his hands, “Pilots, what we are called, we don’t work in units. We work with crews and teams in command, soldiers on the ground, but not other people who fight like we do. It’s too much of a liability, too much of a risk.” Megatron shifted in his seat, looking to Optimus, who held up a hand to let Hound continue to speak.

Shifting uneasily in his seat, Hound cleared his throat a bit, “With Breakdown getting hurt in the manner that he did, plus the disagreement between Sideswipe and Bluestreak, it’s becoming apparent to me that we need to be split amongst your units for the best outcome.” Starscream scoffed and several others looked around uneasily. Megatron was glowering, “As Starscream said, you are not on Earth, so why is it that your suggesting we follow the suicidal path that they had you on before?” Hound shook his head, pushing up off the table, “The last two days are only the start, it will continue to grow worse. When Breakdown got hurt it took two of us from the fight and if the others had been alerted it would have been all of us. It’s how we work, how we function.” Sighing, Hound picks up the tablet and offers it down the table, “I would suggest that we break up with mecha we’re familiar with and can work well with. This is what I would suggest.” Optimus takes it and quickly plugs the tablet into the table, bringing the files up in front of their eyes.

Megatron stared and set his jaw, “I don’t know how it is done on Earth, but we do not split up split sparks, ever. The fact that you rate suggesting it with your own kind.” Hound shook his head, “Being split spark is being two halves of the same whole effectively, from the moment that you are sparked. Well, it is not like that for us. Yes, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were born on the same day, within minutes of each other to the same creators but they aren’t connected in the same manner, they can be physically separated for a period of time with limited psychological distress.” Optimus rubs his forehead and a few of the mecha shifted uncomfortably, Hound cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Sideswipe attacked Bluestreak because of a misunderstanding dealing with his brother and it will only grow worse the longer that those three work together, but I think Sunstreaker and Bluestreak are well paired for this.” He took a breath, “It won’t be permanent, I think we should only be separated for around a quartex or so, then reevaluated.” Slowly sitting back down, he folded his hands a bit anxiously, Optimus was nodding slowly and looked over, “Prowl, your thoughts?” Prowl nodded and plugged a drive into the table, “Every fight, their risk of death grows while ours has decreased rapidly, if my projections are correct then their risk will fall while separated and ours should remain mostly unchanged.” Megatron’s fist collided with the table, no one flinched but Ironhide winced, “Damn.”

”It isn’t right and we all know it.” He was practically growling, Optimus sighed and shook his head, “We know Megatron, but what else is there to do with such poor projections?” They stared at each other, clearly speaking over comms as the others around the table started to whisper to one another. Hound shifted a bit, “We know that these smaller attacks are happening both on Cybertron and in Cybertronian space, sending all five of us to one location isn’t going to help those areas.” Prowl sat back, staring off in the middle distance, “They are the units which now are taking the heaviest losses.” Hound nodded slightly, sighing, Megatron looked up, “I want to maintain two of you for my unit, not the twins since you seem so dead set on separating the pair,” “Megatron,” Megatron waves Optimus off, “You and Breakdown will remain with me, since Knockout has taken such a likely to the mech, once he is healed he can join us.” Nodding, Hound scratched at his jaw a bit, “I think that is fair,” “Also, we are going to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in separate units but in the same detail.” Optimus leans forward slightly, “I can understand why you feel the need to separate them and they will spend their off time apart, but they work better together in the fight than not, I can assume.” Nodding again, Hound sighs, “And Jazz?” Prowl leaned forward a bit, “Will return to his speciality work, what he was doing before you all arrive. It gives us four speciality units instead of one without losing much.” Hound bit his tongue lightly and nodded, it wasn’t what he’d been asking for but it was certainly better than their current downward spiral.

Optimus nods and looks to the pink mecha, “Elita, I want you to take Sideswipe and Ironhide will take Sunstreaker,” He holds up a hand lightly, “I will be safe in Iacon without you Ironhide while we attempt to deal with situation at hand, I need you in the field with Elita and the others.” “But Prime,” “Would it make you feel better if I were to join you?” The chorus of nos was certainly enough to make Hound wince and lightly hold his head, Megatron was staring at him so he slowly lowered his hand, “I will have Soundwave and be in Iacon, if an attack were to happen here then you’d all fall back to this position regardless.” Hound could see why he was the leader, certainly, once everyone was quiet again Optimus nodded, “We will send out the orders when each team is to depart, but for now there isn’t anything in the nearest system. We will remain on alert,” He pauses before looking to Hound, “Hound, I apologize but now I do have to ask you to leave the meeting, we’ll be discussing planetary objections. Ironhide, Elita, Blaster, Red Alert, Mirage, Skywarp, and Thundercraker will join you.” The two seekers were the first up and out, already talking painfully loudly even as Starscream puts his face in his hands, “They are idiots.” There were a few chuckles as chairs scraped, “Here Hound, I’ll walk you out of headquarters.” Mirage stands and walks over, smiling to Prowl as Hound stands, “Thanks, this place looked like a maze coming in.” “It basically is,” Mirage smiled and started out of the room, Hound glanced toward Megatron and Optimus before saluting and following Mirage out.

Once they’d left the room, Optimus chuckles lightly, “It would seem many of our own continue to find the odd visored mechs, uh, appealing.” Prowl’s faceplates burned as Elita burst out laughing, a hand covering his mouth, even Megatron chuckled.

———

A/N

Considering I had the weekend to write, I will be honest and say I wrote most of this today even though I was very much lacking time.

To be fair, it would have been up around 30 minutes sooner if my room hadn’t caught on fire (it was actually the top of the chimney, and it was hardly a fire) but still.

Things are starting to pick up, the fall out of the next part is going to be very interesting for all included parties, muhahaha.

I also wanted to know if you’d guys want me to link the next part in the pervious post or not? I know I link the previous chapter but I wasn’t sure if after the next part is posted you’d want a link to the next one at the bottom. Or just a link to the masterlist maybe? Which will be getting a revamp very soon.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @astridkolch @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend

And as always, thank you to the amazing @keferon for this amazing AU! (Sorry for the span in this, 18 parts is a lot)

[lynzishell]

My 𝐓𝐨𝐩 24 30 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 from 2024🎉 (because rules were made to be broken)

TYSM for tagging me @herecirmsims, @elderwisp, and @changingplumbob 💖 As per usual, I went overboard... oops!

Before I forget -- I am going to tag @honeyjars-sims, @raiiny-bay, @havenroyals, @likelyamused, and @dandylion240 (ofc, feel free to ignore me if you've already done it, or if you just don't wanna)

JANUARY

We started the year in Sulani where Phoenix and Dawn got engaged! Let us all take a moment to remember the glory that was Phoenix with a tan 😍

I call this - My Love Affair with Brindleton Bay (Part 1)

I love them. This isn't even the greatest screenshot, but it will forever be one of my favorites. One day I will put together a collage of forehead kisses for these two.

FEBRUARY

My Love Affair with Brindleton Bay (Part 2)

Mario, Luigi, and Yoshi were always happy to steal focus when I needed to blur things happening in the background... 😏

Atlas forever being the best uncle in the world... and fascinated with his niece having his eyes

MARCH

Me peeking through the foliage while Phoenix introduces his wife and child to his mom... the only way he knows how 🥺🤍

APRIL

😂 Ok so March and April are pretty sparse... I took a break in the Spring because I was going through a breakup and a move. I spent that time focusing on things that made me happy - like writing The Past arc for the boys and laughing at Dawn's ridiculous in-game expressions 😂

MAY

I'm so glad I took that break because I was able to come back and give Phoenix and Dawn the wedding they deserved! I also LOVE these last two shots... After the party ended, those three were goofing off and having so much fun... and then giving Phoenix the MOST thoughtful gift... it still makes me tear up! 🥹

JUNE

And so it begins... This nightmare sequence was so much fun to put together! And this shot is by far my favorite... it was totally by accident, but oh so perfect

The Past my beloved... I love this shot sm... the morning light, the fall colors, Ash and Lex being Ash and Lex while Atlas tags along behind them (he'd only known Ash for 24 hours and was already crushing... poor boy didn't stand a chance)

Oh yeah! Remember Chestnut Ridge?! The way I jumped around in this part istg... You're all incredible for putting up with me this summer 😂 Okay but I love this one because of how all the animals are turned to look at Danny... again, a total accident, but perfectly foreshadows what I have in mind for his future!

Back the The Past - What's perfect about this one is how the only thing in focus is where they are touching.

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

JULY

AHHHHHH!!! I still lose my mind over this moment!!! Like... the way physical touch plays such a big role throughout this arc, and getting to see Atlas evolve from someone who always kept his distance from people to being the affectionate teddy bear he is today... and the way Ash is so sweet and mindful and considerate through it all...

And then I look down, down to where I feel his hand come to rest on my leg, the heat of it warming my thigh. “Is that okay?” He asks, “Do you want me to move my hand?” I look up into his eyes and shake my head slightly, “No. No, it’s okay.”

THEIR FIRST KISS!!!!! The tippy toes pls!!! 😭 I'm not gonna lie.... I forgot the entire purpose of this post and am now lost to reminiscing... I already miss this arc so much!!!

Taking my time, I brush my lips lightly against his before kissing him softly. Holding myself back, not because I’m unsure, but because I’ve never been more certain of anything. I want to savor this moment, commit it to memory so I can revisit it tomorrow, and every day after.

A brief look into The Present as these two make plans for the future that I will inevitably ruin for them because I felt compelled to go into CAS and play around with genetics and rewrite the entire ending to this arc. Sorry not sorry boys!

aaaand back to The Past for our first peek at Ash's POV as he realizes he may be falling for Atlas

Y’know, my biggest fear is drowning, especially in the ocean, and yet, my favorite place is the beach near my parents’ house, sitting right at the water’s edge. Being with Atlas, it reminds me of this place. The bright blue of his eyes, the sandy color of his hair, and the dusting of freckles across his nose. And the way being near him makes me feel just a little nervous, like at any moment I could get swept away and lose myself completely.

AUGUST

Oh yeah! Chestnut Ridge and Joey's cliche dad-logic moment! Seriously guys... thank you for putting up with my nonsense... But OMG! Did you know you can set the horses to buck riders off every time they try to get on? 10/10 recommend if you need a laugh! I had so much fun with this scene... Phoenix, on the other hand, did not 🫣

This one. You have no idea. I struggled SO MUCH with trying to figure this scene out... and only those in our discord writing group will know how I lost my mind when these poses were released and gave me the inspiration I needed... I'm pretty sure I shot this scene a month before I even started this arc because I couldn't get it out of my head... I should also add that these two died in process of making it, and I fucked up this lot while trying to place all the lights and decos via TOOL and had to start all over in another save (which worked out because the Romance Festival spawned in the new one making it all so much better and more lively)... I went through a lot for this shot, and I will hold it near and dear to my heart forever as a result.

SEPTEMBER

Just them. Holding hands. In The Present. 🥹 I just like this one a lot... it's actually the desktop background on my PC lol

A hazy dream in neon pink

Don't worry... they're JUST FRIENDS (who are clearly in love with each other and on mdma and suddenly can't keep their hands off each other)

As he backs himself against the wall, pulling me into him, I finally understand. “Is this okay?” he asks. I lean in so fast that I practically breathe the answer into his mouth, “Yeah,” and before I know it, we’re making out again. But this time is far more intense, our kisses deeper, our breathing ragged, our hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and clothing and clawing at skin as though our desire for each other has grown into some kind of wild animal. Finally free from its cage, there’s no going back now.

💛🩵💛🩵 What am I doing again? I think I've lost the plot...

OCTOBER

Oh yeah... fave screenshots of 2024! We're so back! San Myshuno my beloved

The Proposal 😭 Spoiler alert... they were never "just friends" ajsdkakljs Also, I had to exit and go back in game three times to keep those bright red/orange skies for this scene... worth it!

NOVEMBER

A glimpse of The Future... and bb is confused af

DECEMBER

Things are different now in ways they don't quite understand, but they have each other 🥹🩵💛

For the rest of our lives, we're in this together.

[fandomsandfoxlore]

For real! There's still so much we don't know about Atsushi and he is supposedly the main character. While we do have a considerable amount of lore on him, we don't know the "how"s and "why"s. I'm not asking Asagiri for an info dump here, but after 120+ chapters we should at least have a good enough understanding of why he is who he is today. Especially after the latest bombshell reveal. Like, it's cool and all and I'm not upset about it... I just need CONTEXT! How is it possible? There has to be some reason he is "different".

All we know is he grew up at "the orphanage" and it was traumatic and played a huge role in why he is the person he is now. But HOW did he end up there? Who are his parents? What is it that makes him so special? Or maybe a little more about the orphanage director and how he knew all that he did.

Even Dazai, who is probably the character we know the most about, is still not as fleshed out as he should be, especially considering how much of the story has been devoted to his past. Yes we know his reason for leaving the PM, we know how he met Oda and that he was the person Dazai cared about most in the world. But again, there are still so many questions! How did he meet Mori and end up mixed up with the PM to begin with? Considering he was roughly 13/14 (maybe younger) when his shady activities started, how did he end up there as an actual child? Any "new" information we get about Dazai lately is just much of the same but from different POVs.

The same can be said for pretty much every character. I just feel like we should know more about them at this point. Some people say that the characters' pasts don't really matter in a story like BSD where the focus is on the present. To a certain extent I agree, I don't need to know their entire history, but knowing a little more than surface level lore helps us (the audience) understand them more, it gives us some insight. I know there is SO many fan theories and headcanons for any given BSD chara out there, some really well thought out and extremely logical stuff too! And I'm not invalidating anyone's theories and personal headcanons. That isn't what annoys me. What annoys me is that the fans are essentially writing their own stories as they would like it while Asagiri has never confirmed anything. We're basically writing a portion of BSD for him, which is just lazy writing on his part.

This is one of the main things that drags BSD down for me. It's a good story and I do enjoy it, despite my issues with how Asagiri handles the writing. BSD is good, but it is far from being "great"

(P.S. Please don't come for me, I'm not hating on anything. I'm just looking at things critically and without bias. It's the World Lit major in me talking, not cringe fail fangirl Savannah 😂)

Also where's Atsushi's backstory. HE'S THE MAIN CHARACTER.

Who are his parents? Why was he in the orphanage in the first place?

And what about the Headmaster? How much did he know about Atsushi's ability? Did he want to tell Atsushi something the day he came to Yokohama? Was his death really an accident or was he silenced?

WHY DO WE KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT?!

I WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ATSUSHI NOT READ THE TENTH LN ABOUT DAZAI

[sasahuaa]

Can you add scaramouche to your omega character series? He'd be a disastrous omega that needs lots of healing but I'm sure his partner can provide

You're doing great! I love reading your fics and characterization

Scaramouche as an omega

I was really considering Scaramouche before to start with genshin! I was a bit scared to start with Scara because I could see that I would start yapping, and almost did, I had to cut so many things bc my initial idea was to write him in all stages of his life, also not sure if you meant the canon timeline or fatui!scaramouche, but I can do that in the future, for now this fic has some brief mentions of Kabukimono and the fatui. And thank you for the kind words, it means a lot!

gn!reader; cw: contains deep dives into his mindset so he has pessimistic thoughts in some parts (like him thinking that reader is a sort of player, bur nothing too heavy)

This poor omega is indeed disastrous, since the moment his creator abandoned him, Kabukimono was left with a lot of questions regarding his worth. He does not understand, truly, by venturing around he discovered that omegas were not treated with much respect, was that the reason why his mother abandoned him? Does she think an alpha would be more appropriate to be an archon? But he was a puppet, designed by her will, it didn't make sense why she would make him an omega to begin with if that was her reasoning, so what was wrong with him?

The little fledgling was happy during his stay in Tatarasuna, Niwa was a father figure that teached him many skills, and the village helped each other, he was pampered by everyone. What a pity that disaster caused by a doctor's interest befell such a kind community.

Scaramouche felt his dignity crumble more each year, month, day, second that passed. At every step that he was corrupted by the fatui's ideals and methods - his body torn apart from Dottore's experiments - the thoughts of self-doubt grew in his mind. He wasn't enough to be a god, discarded before he had the chance to try, his hands didn't purify the water nor cut through mountains, no one would sing his name in worship, but he also wasn't enough to be human, his skin is artificial, unflawed like porcelain, not even a mechanical heart occupy the emptiness of his hollow chest. Forever lost in between the limbo of where his existence belongs.

For a being so emotional, Scaramouche wonders when was the last time he felt anything besides rage, it doesn't matter too much for him, as he learned how to use his anger as a tool. His underlings - though only in the fatui, as the people of Sumeru never faced the omega's wrath (or better worded, don't remember) - whispered out of his earreach, murmurs wondering if the beautiful omega was capable of love.

And now, carrying the title of Wanderer and face to face with the reason that made the vacant part of him tremble, he finally found the answer.

Courting

Nahida's orders indirectly led him to you, to be a student of the Akademiya would eventually force him to interact with other scholars, you being from Vahumana or not didn't matter, as students from different darshans would often benefited from cooperating. And like many people he met nowadays, he was indifferent at first, which considering his past as The Balladeer, when everyone was an annoying fly in his way, is a considerable improvement.

But for many aspects of life, even as he accepted that this would be something that he never would reach, he was interested in humanity. What makes people human, their flaws, traits, mannerisms and personality, what makes them yield or fill them with confidence. His almost deification didn’t bring him the same satisfaction as he felt with Niwa and the rest of the Tatarasuna people, but watching the Sumeru's citizens may be close enough.

If it's something he can't be, then he will appease himself by observing.

As he looks at alphas, he thinks that this is another thing that he is flawed at. In his studies, Scaramouche determined that omegas supposedly went crazy over alphas, but he never felt it before, or maybe he never gave himself a chance to try. A long time before he learned the consequences of creating genuine connections, that humans tend to betray the same way gods do.

But… he learned that they never did abandon him, that maybe he can trust again.

And while you both worked on your project, these types of thoughts ushered to the top of his mind like never before. You were nice to him,and laughed it off when he was being purposely cunning. You were also attentive, meticulous in your work and doting on him, always bringing him tea or other types of bitter delicacies, and just shrugged when he said there was no need to feed him.

He liked to see your reactions, there were moments when your behaviour took a tired and upset turn, when you mumbled curses about the things that went wrong with your work. It was somewhat relieving and entertaining to witness, that the gentle façade crumbles when faced with challenges.

“It's always better to work with a full stomach” you said, not sparing a thought that he didn't need to eat.

“This is pointless” the omega grumbled, he took a step away from the food.

“So just eat for the satisfaction of it, the success rate of content workers is higher than stressed ones” you insisted, and Scaramouche hated that.

Why do you treat it like there was no trouble in taking care of him? Getting out of your way to please others is dumb, especially for the likes of him.

The omega knows that he is a pessimist, that people always have motives behind their actions, and even Nahida didn't escape his judgement as he does not believe she is merely being kind and benevolent. You are no different, and when he is alone with his thoughts after bidding you goodbye and retiring for the day, he must find your intentions.

As he looks himself in the mirror, Scaramouche looks carefully at his appearance, “alphas and betas are always kinder to pretty omegas, we all know that they only want one thing” it's what the older men from the bazar say. He raises his hands to cup his face, fingers touching smooth skin with no marks, doe indigo eyes look back at him with something akin to divinity, and as he glances lower, he does not think his body lacks in beauty.

That must be it, they clearly are being good to me only to get in my pants!

Scaramouche is not a saint, he knew that, but since he started to work on his path to atonement, he was completely honest about himself. The omega knows that not everyone is like that, people that mask themselves behind lies and generous mannerisms are the worst kind of evil, and to think that you would be capable of that-

Hurts.

There is an annoying pain in his chest and a prickle behind his eyes. He needed proof, he will uncover the worst in you, that's a promise he made to himself.

Scaramouche was snarky and insufferable the following days, refusing to cooperate at all. And though he won't admit it, it was hard for him to do that, your scent wavered with a hint of sadness everytime he was rough, and he felt a need within him clawing to be free, he had to fight himself against releasing a comforting scent to appease you.

But his instinct quieted down whenever he saw you acting honorably to other omegas, when you held the door open for a nobody, or when you generously lent a hand to someone feeling troubled. The rage he felt was immeasurable, he growled lowly and was almost convinced to attack whoever was taking your attention from him.

So he wasn't special at all, he wasn’t needed, he wasn't wanted, it's always like that.

It all came to a boiling point when he snapped at you, harsh words thrown at your directions about what he thought you were doing, messing with omegas hearts just to set them aside when you were done getting what you wanted, truly shameful. Nonetheless, he felt regretful when he saw your pained expression.

“What made you think that?” your voice was quiet, and Scaramouche would prefer if you looked pissed by his accusations, anything to reassure him that he was right “You could have told me you were uncomfortable, I would've stopped”

Uncomfortable? He isn't uncomfortable by your actions towards him, he is… pleased that you did not shy away from a broken thing like him. What he did not like was when you did things for others that he believes should be only for him, and the perceptions he created himself even when you never gave him a reason to.

During all this time Scaramouche was overwhelmed by feelings, and though he is used to feel too much, what he felt about you was completely foreign to him, not the familial care he felt for Niwa and the kid from ages ago, not the gratefulness he felt for Nahida and the traveler for giving him a chance to atone for his mistakes, and not the kinship when he met Durin.

“So are you saying that you were running away from it?” Nahida questioned, placing a flower crown above the omega's head, aranara's joyfully circling around both of them “It's fine to be scared, and if you talk to them about it I am sure they will understand”

“How are you sure that people won't disappoint you? Don't you believe it's easier if you cut the problem by the roof so you never have to discover it?”

“I decide to give an opportunity for everyone to prove themselves, and maybe you would be happily surprised by the results” the goddess cupped his face, pinching the fat of his cheeks and giggling when Scaramouche bat her hands away “You look different since you met them, even your scent doesn't hold that sour end from before”

And he followed Nahida's advice, not because she told him what to do, but staying away from you was killing him inside. This is not normal, is it? To think the world is falling apart just because your desired person is not close by.

Moreover, he guesses that since becoming a citizen of Sumeru he started to work on redeeming himself, what is one more person to apologize for when you acted out of line?

Scaramouche prepared a basket of fruits and Padisarah flowers and headed to your work station, exchanging these types of words is still unfamiliar to him, but he made it very clear that he wanted to improve your relationship.

It's possible that the state of your relationship was just confirmed when someone he was jealous of before questioned him.

“Of course we are courting, don't ask stupid questions”

Honestly, it's possible Scaramouche just came to terms with his feelings after he said that. The omega was still astonished that he is loved back, he doesn't know if he deserves this.

And yet, he can't deny himself the pleasure of being in your arms, taking deep breaths of your scent and resting his eyes with your rumbling under his head. If he is being selfish and taking a good alpha form a good omega, so be it! No one deserves you anyway, if another omega even thinks of taking you from him they will be met with sharp teeth and claws.

You both become inseparable, while it's mostly because he enjoys spending time with you as much as you - and he sees you as one of the few people that it's not a waste of time to be together -, it's also a result of a deeply buried insecurity of being betrayed, he knows that some were misunderstandings, but it's hard to change a mindset after hundreds of years believing in it.

He prefers the reassurance coming from actions instead of words, so when his alpha permit him to scent all of their clothes and also their body, or hold him tight and shows that he belongs by their side when he is feeling bothered by the presence of another, it's moments like this that he feels the most complete.

Scaramouche is truthful in a relationship and he expects you to do the same, if he feels that he needs something and you can provide he will ask, he may not be the romantic type, but everyday he makes it very clear how much he adores you.

He doesn't have a favorite gift to receive - unless you make a table full of sweets, he will complain non-stop if you do that. Spending time together is enough for him, but he appreciates anything you give him, gift him a small plushie and say you thought of him when you saw it, perhaps he will tease you and joke a little, but he will keep it safe. If you give Scaramouche jewelry or any small token, he will bring it with him anywhere he goes. His gifts to you include artifacts he finds when Nahida sends him on expeditions, also Scaramouche doesn't have hobbies for himself, so instead he will engage on yours.

Growling

During the fatui era, growls were very frequent sounds he made, it was almost impossible that someone that worked with him and never heard him growl. And he felt so powerful doing so, a long time ago, while he still lived in Inazuma, omega's were heavily punished if they growled at someone, and though this conservative behavior diminished a lot compared to the past, it was far from being extinguished.

So with his title as a harbinger, Scaramouche growled until they all cowered by his feet, just like a god should be revered.

But since living in Sumeru, he doesn't growl as much anymore, this is because he is not as stressed as before, he lifted the weight off his shoulders that was having to act like something he would never become, he was not trying to sacrifice his body for his objectives anymore. There's the occasional growl when other people irritate him, as a warning to watch their words and actions.

In a relationship with you, Scaramouche also growls when he is feeling jealous or insecure, but overall, he does not growl at you unless he is in a deep mindset that something feels wrong, he will require reassurance in times like this.

Purring

Scaramouche doesn't remember the last time he purred, and now he is almost sure his purr box is broken. The omega has two reasons to think that, one is that it has been centuries, he does not know how to purr due to the disuse of that part of his vocal cords, another is because of the experiments Dottore made on him, turning his body almost inside out.

Nowadays he does not care whether he purrs or not, it's a thing he lived almost his entire life without, and he does not miss it.

If he somehow discovers that he can purr again, it would be an almost inaudible sound. If you want to hear it, you would need to rest your head over his chest, it's more vibrational than vocal. Scaramouche will not purr in public, for him, it's a thing that just both of you should be aware of.

Nesting

Scaramouche does not have a proper nest, actually, what he calls his nest is merely two pillows and one blanket that he carries around his home. at max he will try to put the blanket in a circular shape.

He took a while before introducing you to his nest. He was a bit insecure at first, other omega's have big and filled nests, with an enormous assortment of colors and textures, while his… during the fatui, he would say it was just another thing that proved something was wrong with him.

And he enjoys it so much when you are with him in his nest, you could be just relaxing around the house, and he would bring his blanket and wrap it around you wordlessly. It made him feel warm with adoration whenever he saw you inside something purely his.

He won't get out of his way to buy or make things for his nest, but he will increment it if it is a gift from his alpha. He thinks it is kind of lovable that his alpha would try to get things to make him more comfortable, and Scaramouche deeply appreciates that.

Marking

He marks you all the time, even before you started to officially court. His scent is now almost ingrained into your skin, and if he already had permission to give you a biting mark, he would.

It's not just a sign for other omegas that you are already committed to him, it's also a reminder for you, that you have an omega to come back to, and that he would do anything to keep you with him.

But even after he becomes confident that you won't leave him behind - no omega or yourself is going to separate you from him - he still covers you in his smell, Scaramouche became very fond of the whole process of scent marking and to claim you for himself.

It's therapeutic to him, he will nuzzle quietly your cheeks and bring the scent glands of his wrists to your neck, not a single gland of your go untouched. For him, it's a mandatory procedure that you must go through before leaving home, especially if your agendas oblige you to not be together for the rest of the day.

Subspace

He never entered subspace before you, and it also took a while for you to achieve that. He denied himself the mindset many times before, he felt kinda scared by it, to be so vulnerable. Anytime he felt that his mind was starting to feel like it was becoming cotton filled, Scaramouche immediately backed away from you and tried to distract himself.

When he does enter subspace, he is whiny and clingy, following you around your home and hugging you when you are busy, from behind if you are cooking, sitting on your lap and throwing his arms around your neck while you work.

Scaramouche feels like he took a shot of serotonin when he smells your skin, he is addicted, touching every exposed part of your body to his contentment. He also likes to bite, so you probably will be covered by marks of nibbles by the end of it.

And when he sobers up again he gets flustered easily, he can't believe he let instincts control over his body. He will hiss if you mention anything that he did during subspace. Nonetheless, he will eventually get into it again and the cycle will repeat itself.

☽ ☼ ☾

Scaramouche supposes things should turn out like they were before, that everything would come back to normal, he followed Nahida's advice, the instinct in his gut that begs to be with you, and yet, it seems worse than before. The omega may have had a strong reaction before and jumped into conclusions far from the truth, but he has also gotten used to silently pine for you, not expecting anything from it - maybe he can be and was aggressive towards other people that had your attention, but he won't mention it! -, for he can count the number of times in his long life that situations turned into his favor.

But Scaramouche reminded himself that he has to learn that your entire existence is too good to be true. You give him hope in many ways that he never imagined before. Your arms are stretched before him, holding a light blue and soft blanket.

“And for what reason would you give me that?” he stepped forward, picking the material from your hands.

“Can't you guess?” you chuckled and shook your head, the movement dispersed your scent that was reeking of amusement “If anything, see it as a gift to compensate the time we spend apart, to show how much I cherish you”

His eyes widen at the proclamation, under his nose he can smell that the blanket is scented. An item for a nest and carrying your smell, isn't that a sign of a courting gift? He couldn't help but hug the blanket tighter at the thought.

“Thank you for trying to look out for me”

For a long time he desired for a normal life, all his objectives from the past had the intention to lead to it, sadly all was for nothing, and he hopes he didn't look pitiful for that. And yet, in front of him, he saw an opportunity for that, he just needed to reach for you.

Once again, he gives himself the chance to dream of a better future.

[spotlightlowlife]

Few hits, a helluva lot of misses this sinsmas

Season one was better. I stand by this. The foreshadowing of characters to come and what to expect from them, showing more than telling and the courage to have likable characters just be horrible seems lost this time around.

So here we will look into what and who had moved forward or back since season one.

Where there was progress

Handing over Stella's revenge to her creep of a brother, as disappointing as it is to have her sidelined here, I appreciate that he had his own objective to replace Stolas, it really leaves the door open to questions of who this family actually are (and typing this out only makes the suggested incestuous stuff even more solid, if this wasn't so safe they could lean into this more).

Still, she wanted revenge and she got it, acheiving more than most, she's now back in Stolas's fancy home a position to live it up again and her husband who humiliated her has now been humiliated 7x for all of hell to see. This worked out better than the hit.

Maybe her relationship with Octavia, whatever it is, will strain or maybe her brother will become and annoyance, both of which could spoil her comfort and how would she react to this? As before, with little screen time and all efforts intended to make her look bad, there's still a helluva lot that can be done with Stella.

moderate progress

We don't see or hear much from Millie but I actually think there have been numberours times she has hinted towards her relationship not being all wholesome and lovey dovey. Though you do have to combined the shorts and season one.

We meet Millie's family towards the start and get to see her hometown and know her upbringing, though she could have been cropped out the episode what we got was Millie not want Moxxie to try to impress her family who clearly didn't think he was good enough and not speaking up in defence of her choice. The next time her family get some time it is during a short when she would spend the day with Sallie and Moxxie would make the considerate move of silently and secretly passing by without interacting, in his own home. This tells us that these two families are separate and she's doing anything to change that. We had forced Sallie angst over Millie leaving which was a sidestep since Millie is now comfortably married to a partner they don't like and she works a job her family don't believe is a real one. In Sallie's few lines she poked fun at Moxxie as her parents made him know he wasn't welcome in their coldness, so as much as Millie episodes have been known to become Moxxie episodes, we could have addressed and maybe wrapped up a plot point in allowing Sallie to question, respect or agree to disagree with her sisters marriage, this too could still have served as Sallie angst rather than the parents being conveniently useless.

A short was the first to tell us that Millie doesn't like the musicals that Moxxie enjoys, this was bought up again in the finale, though one thing she does like is being serenaded, yet she has also shared that she likes attention, which could be a clue as to why she wants to be away from her hometown and in a city where she's different, and in a relationship with very someone different from her. A massive change from what she was used to and what is expected could have been a part of the appeal of her relationship with Moxxie and the best way for her to get the validation she craves?

On the subject of different, when and why did she date Chaz? Still one of the most pointless parts of this show to date was giving Millie and ex, an ex she's furious with and a shared ex with her husband, buy not exploring any part of that while we get a rundown of Chaz x Moxxie. When we finally saw Millie's background, we see that she was living as some rough neck when Blitzø was starting IMP, which was after Chaz and Moxxie ended where Moxxie would meet Blitzø in prison. What would the appeal of Chaz to this Millie?

There were multiple jokes about Moxxie being pegged and his bisexuality, other times he is in over his head and encouraged to toughen up and go battle, he has also proven to be naive and immature which has Millie having to be his keeper. Millie opened up about liking attention as she spoke about feeling unsupported, in the same episode she looked forward to going on a mission with just Moxxie and was ignored when she when she solved a mystery which would have saved a load of time and theatrics had she been heard.

When she had the moodswing and accused Moxxie of not being man enough, it didn't come out if nowhere.

Millie's pregnancy being the reason she gains some signature angst that all empathic characters get is such a waste of time, its formualic and bypasses an excellent reason to shelve her

this could be a great opportunity for more to be done with her besides getting an occasional action scene to give her some content. Any fallout from

work (the workplace she's nonchalant about not being a good source of income, the same work place that her husband works at)

family (who don't respect Moxxie and there's no proof Sallie warmed to him when she visited and they didn't interact, and Millie is just fine with that and why aren't they more worried about Crimson? an actual successful gangster who doesn't care for their marriage, tracked them down and used his estranged adult son as property, dispite setting up a decent villain he was reduced to a throwaway Saturday cartoon villain)

her life (does she have one? we learnt that she's greatful to Blitzø because she believed they were only good for being lackies, so her whole life is her hardly paying job where she met her man? her only friend seems to be her sister even though she managed to get a man before Moxxie and Millie and Sallie's dat out was so generic that we leant nothing about either of their hobbies and interest)

Could easily follow too. The end could have simply been Millie finding out she's pregnant as the cliffhanger minus joining the drama club and it would have made little difference to whatever actual story followed on in season 3. Millie being pregnant was a top topic in the fandom with some seeing suspicious behaviour, i see how people came to this conclusion of adultary seeing as the episode was otherwise dominated by Stolas's life being a mess down to his affair with Blitzø, but I'm willing to bet it's just drama for the sake of drama, which is unnecessary because she has been one of the better characters.

Some progress

Loona making progress with Blitzø has been nice, but he was and always will be supportive of her.

Loona's interactions with others however have held so many misses dispite us making great strides away back when Loona revealing herself to be friendless in season one, showing us that even though she was nervous and shy in the presence of Vortex, it was more than just a crush. It was interesting to see someone actually want to interact with others as Blitzø's loneliness was entirely comedic until the finale and actual finale and Millie and Moxxie just having eachother was played for cuteness.

Then Loona is casually invited to a casual party by Tex, which just so happens to be thrown by his girlfriend, the sin of gluttony herself, Beelzebub. She didn't have a good experience at the party but gave it more than one chance, she needed Blitzø popularity and charisma to piggy back off.

At Sinsmus, it was possibly a cute moment that Loona wanted to go out on a job with Blitzø, or she was just bored sat in the office and it's only now an issue? She has been a lot more chill as of late which could be down to their recent major trauma, or it could be because she now has friends? When did this happen? The only time we have seen her out socializing was during the actual finale of season one. The previous episode where Blitzø dragged Stolas to Ozzie's let us know that she had taken up the invite from earlier in the season and went to a party, actual finale would have us follow Loona and see for ourselves that this party and its godly host just weren't it. Loona leaves as the designated driver that night having been very publicly threatened by Bee who could have squished her in a moment, and for doing nothing to fit in with the 'good vibes' of the fakes around her, yet at some point between both season finales, she made friends?

There have been two great windows for Loona to stand out to others

When Bee made a scene at the party

When Bee failed to acknowledge her presence during a televised court proceeding where she was facing execution with three imps

Neither make Bee look good and since the public have been so quick to turn of Stolas, these friends, fellow hounds, could easily have been people who saw her and thought she was brave and cool. We could have seen communications with her in messages on the phone she us frequently scrolling through.

If they had bonded with her over these things, then would it not have made a good subplot to have the drinks Loona pulled out not be Bee's line of drinks?

Loona's ties to Bee are so strong, from the orphanage/prison/dog pounds, to the easily accessible parties the lowest of classes are welcome at, to drinking at home, yet efforts have been made to double down on how Loona and Bee mean nothing to eachother (seriously Blitzø stands out on trial and not the one and only hellhound who is muzzled) in a series that hinges on the plight of the abused and traumatised, but then I look to the late actual finale of season one and see that the first half started strong but soon descended into a taster of what was to come in season 2, with the neutering of powerful characters in order for us to just like them and see them as nice...

No progress at all, counter progress even

Royalty. The sins and Stolas.

Again, season one mapped out who was going to be important in the future well. From Verosika the sucubus travelling with an asmodean crystal, being a functioning addict who knows Barbie doing what a lot of addicts do and not straying far from their vice by taking with her Bee's alcohol with her, which wasn't to be consumed by non demons, to Mammon's Loo Loo land being a cheap knock off staffed by Fizzbots made by Ozzie, they played their roles before we ever met them.

Also Stolas was the powerful prince indulging in a fantasy regardless of how uncomfortable Blitzø was, to then look ashamed at being publicly called out and teased by Ozzie. This is how we left things in season one.

As mentioned earlier, the actual finale of season one had Bee start off strong with a catchy song, showcasing her powers and letting us know that she's a shallow love bomber. All this worked until her concern for Blitzø dispite encouraging destructive behaviour and wanting to get her hands on drugs that are another sins territory.

Now we have Loona and her new friends drinking Bee's supply at a party. As common as groups of friends drinking is, it's almost like Bee managed to get in there with consumption of her thing.

Do the not have options to boycott her? Does she supply all alcohol?

What about small business selling alcohol, do they exist and do they feed back to her, are they her jurisdiction?

Are bootleggers (please don't buy bootleg drinks people) and moonshiners commiting a crime by stepping into her territory and are they dealt with?

The last question seems unlikely when we factor in season 2 very disappointing neutering of fun mean guy Ozzie, who now isn't at fault for the Fizz sexbots that season one had no issue with because now he's nice, so blame is bypassed of these so sort after dolls that they managed a series crossover to Hazbin onto Mammon, and for what reason? Not wanting others thirsting over his boy toy yet the example of a creep predated Fizz's mainstream fame? There was no explanation other than wanting Fizz to quite his other job that he worked hard in and was what he had known all his life. We saw that Fizz was showy, his widespread fame complimented that and he looked a great example of a rags to riches success story, but one irrelevant knockback is the perfect opportunity for smothering Ozzie to coerce him into giving up and staying at home. It's sad how his behaviour is universally seen as sweet and not possessive. Sad for numberours reasons

coercive control is a real thing and hard to spot

this is an adult cartoon, this behaviour fits perfectly with lust, this could be a good things story wise with Ozzie being intentional in this behaviour because it's in his nature or not being intentional but realizing that he's being irrational for many the first time

They want to tell is that some sins have 'positive aspects' but at the same time the few deemed 'good' don't have the negative aspects?

Ozzie almost encouraged Stolas in his fling with Blitzø that ruined his royal marriage and divided his family, why is carrying around Fizz and doing whatever in privacy in any way a scandal? They look like like two people indulging in a fetish, which suits him. Ozzie is big on consent too and doesn't believe in love potions, so what is he doing about those who make them since he's do aware?

And another thing

So far IMP have used the asmodean crystal to carry out their work, we leant that the crystal means they're under Ozzie's jurisdiction, but we never leant what that meant even though this crystal would be a big deal because it replaced Stola's book.

In this last episode we watched IMP show up on earth, do nothing and leave. Do they not report anywhere on their reason for travelling? Are they commissioned to do stuff? If earth travel is no big deal than why is this magic so heavily kept under lock and key? What are royalty even doing with their ability to travel to earth?

We missed many opportunities in mastermind to

have the importance of Stolas's grimores be told and how it can't be in the wrong hands

importance of contracts which are a big deal in parent serise Hazbin Hotel

the fact that the book isn't missing from Stolas's possession

IMPs line of work being any form of big deal or not, can they continue? Obviously they did and how exactly are they getting to earth now?

that fact that IMPs are responsible for new sinners which contradicts the plot of the parent series Hazbin Hotel which this time around ran alongside HB

Ozzie is a side character who has got a good share of screen time, there's easily more to him than his relationship, especially when he's responsible for so much, but who had received a massive chunk of screen time and has legit been stripped of his power? Stolas. Who I'm sure the pilot that informed us that he was responsible for global warming, but now we don't know his role in anything, it now doesn't matter and he's only in his mid 30s.

The good guy badge has prevented so many things being allowed to be a thing. Bee, Ozzie and Stolas got off to a great start on introduction, their characters are a shell of what they were and were built up to be and Hazbin has told us that this is just fine. Good news is, when the bar is low, thing can only get better?

Anyway. Happy holidays readers.💗

[katuschka]

His Sugar-Dusted Skin – Part 1

Jake Kiszka x reader 5.639 words (Part 1)

So, After some consideration, I decided to split this one in two, because a) I promised to post it this weekend and it's not finished yet, and b) it might me too long. December's been a bit chaotic and as I said before, I've been struggling a bit with this one. So let me know what you think. Any feedback is much appreciated!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): alcohol consumption and heavy intoxication, mentions of the death of a close person (retrospective), allusions to a potentially promiscuous behaviour, some strong language, the twins being assholes (kind of... they're still cute), Jake's happy trail, I think that's it for now...

Oh, life…

How ordinary and boring it can get when you stick to thinking that there aren’t any other options. As far as I remember, conformity never made sense to me. And as far as I remember, I was being raised and forced to embrace it. My mind surrendered for a while, but my vagrant soul just kept resisting. I never wanted to fit in. I always wanted to fly.

When I left home three years ago, I didn’t take much with me. My parents didn’t approve of my choices and the only person who would’ve supported me in my decisions was already gone. My beloved grandma. She was the disruptive force that kept me on my toes, always challenging me in the most loving way, knowing too well that it was exactly what I needed. She gave me my first guitar, too. Even though sclerosis made her homeward-bound, her dreams and fantasies always kept her wandering. I loved that. She was always there to spark my imagination and in return, I wanted to be her legs and eyes one day. When I was little, my friends used to call her fairy godmother. “Keep your sails up sweetheart, the wind is whimsical.” That’s what she used to say. “All you need is that air in your lungs and love in your heart.” 

“You must never leave me, oma,” I said to her once. “I need that love in my heart forever.”

“Someone else will fill it, darling,” she replied. “I’m only here to make sure it is open. But one day, you won’t need me anymore.”

When she died, I lost my only reason to stay there. The world was slowly getting to its feet again and it was my turn to do the same. I had dreams that simply couldn’t be fulfilled at home. My heart was aching for adventure. So I packed my bags, just like they sing in old songs, slung my guitar over my shoulder and hit the road. A vagabond chick. 

As I came to Tennessee, all I owned could fit in my barely drivable car: literally just a few dresses, my phone, my modest savings, my old six string, my treasured voice and THE recipe. Aaaah, those were the days…

Who am I kidding? It was pretty rough at first. VERY rough, to be honest. I cried many nights. But the one thing my parents had taught me was to save money, and that helped me survive the first months, when I waited tables during the day and sang my ass off after dark. 

Many people never make it. Hell, even though I’m an optimist, I have to admit that most don’t. If you’re not strong willed and immune to shit, you’re most certainly destined to fail. I’ve seen way too many extra talented and broken people on my journey, just because they were too nice or too naive. Well, I’m not naive, but I’m definitely not a cold bitch either. I think I just got lucky, because I had my guardian angel with me the whole time. When she was still walking on earth, she absolutely loved the Beatles, With a Little Help from My Friends being her favorite song. My childhood memories are filled with those songs and how she sang along, and I believe that it was her doing that eventually turned this tune into the soundtrack of my life. I met a lot of fantastic people on my arduous journey towards my goals and dreams, and that’s how I got by. 

As a token of my gratitude, I baked cookies for them. My grandma’s famous linzer cookies. THE recipe. Fast forward a few years, I still keep doing that at Christmas. Apart from the fact that my friends simply demand it, it’s also my way of keeping her alive, to make myself feel like she’s still here with me… in a way. 

Back home, the whole neighborhood loved her art of baking. Me being her only granddaughter, she literally forced me to learn how to bake those linzer cookies – her own recipe, to be precise. Every time I rolled my eyes, while making annoyed noises, blowing raspberries and just being a little asshole about it in general, she simply smiled and said that one day I’ll thank her. Why – I asked – and she responded that one day it would bring me love. “Love goes through the stomach, my dear. Look at your grandpa. See how huge it is?” And then he smiled and kissed her hair and it always made me believe her.

Except it didn’t happen. At least not yet. It – however – gave me a semblance of home that I consciously chose not to have, but sometimes missed. 

Just last year, I decided to continue with the tradition my grandma  started back at home. “Love is a reciprocal game, my dear,” she said. “You get what you give, but do not lose yourself in giving.” 

They want my sweets? Fine! But let them show me how much. They have to “earn” it. At the beginning of December, I give my friends custom-made Christmas greetings, and if they want to receive their own little box of cookies, they have to send back a card of their own making. The first time was a success, and I ended up baking sweets for eleven people. And it didn’t stop there, as it earned me nine bottles of wine, a flacon of my favorite perfume and  a ukulele. All I really wanted was a thank you, but hey! I won’t say no to wine! So I decided to do it again, and this time I received seventeen cards, including three “masterpieces” from the members of the infamous Greta Van Fleet! Yeah, that’s right. While I still feel like I’m barely making it sometimes, I move in high-ish circles. El-oh-el. 

I met Daniel first, through a mutual friend, at one of the music clubs we frequented. He was actually one of the eleven buddies that helped me restart this Christmas tradition. Later I learned that he selflessly shared his portion with the rest of the group during a rehearsal he went to right after he dropped by at my place, and that’s how I got invited to one of their semi-private dinners. Dan kindly introduced me as “Joni”, which earned me two “woos” and one ironic smirk. To be fair, I didn’t like it either. It actually made me cringe, because the woman is an unattainable role model, but it was just Daniel being himself, aka the nice guy. Bless his soul. 

I went from an acquaintance with useful skills to a drinking buddy, because I’m good at that too. One of my less admirable strengths, but there are times when it comes in handy. Especially when a Johnny Depp wannabe from Middle-earth wants to outsmart you…

A year flew by and it was time to extend my offer to Sam and Josh, who made sure I wouldn’t forget them. Don’t ask me how. The video they sent me definitely had the potential to go viral. I wholeheartedly appreciate how much they trust me not to do that. 

They wouldn’t stop there, though. I had to laugh when I received their own precious hand drawn contributions. How sweet. They’re all so sweet actually… well, all except Jake. Aloof, taciturn and arrogant, that’s how he rolls. I’m pretty sure he just can’t stand me, because while he often laughs with others, he only ever laughs at me. His opinion on my baking goes hand in hand with what he thinks about my playing, preferring darker and more spicy shit, as he once put it. Well, whatever. He’s a colossal prick. 

It’s quite unfortunate that I’ve also had a colossal crush on him for quite some time now. As I said, I’m a vagabond chick, and he happens to possess all the right shit to lure me. Like a moth to a flame. And I got burned. 

See, oma? Not working. 

Well, I’m not the one to cry over guys, so I’m not going to lose my sleep over that. He can go fuck himself. (Someone else can do it. I swear he needs it.). 

Seventeen packages meant I was going to spend most of the Friday evening as well as the whole Saturday slaving in my kitchen. Thankfully, I really do enjoy doing this, so it’s simply an essential part of Christmas festivities. A good time spent with me, myself and Ella Fitzgerald. It’s still quite a lot of work though. 

Friday was just about making dough. It might seem easy, but you need to understand that in order to make enough cookies for 17 (!) people, I needed more than 5 lbs of flour, 3 lbs of butter, nearly 24 ounces of sugar, 23 egg yolks and zest from 6 lemons! I will say no more to protect the family secret, but you can see it takes a lot of effort just to put this all together. I take this very seriously. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. 

It had to be perfect. 

But alas! I couldn’t have known that one malicious and horny sprite who wanted me to spoil him with my art of baking was also going to sabotage my efforts in the most peculiar way. 

Once finished, I covered the dough with plastic wrap and put it in the fridge to let it rest overnight before I hopped in the shower to wash off the sweaty sugar crust that seemed to stick to every inch of my exposed skin. It was almost midnight when I finally managed to climb in bed, pleasantly exhausted and happy, only to be woken up by a frantic doorbell noise at around two am. A normal person would just freak out in such a situation, but knowing who that might be, I was already pretty much used to it as I lived nearest to their favorite bar. Our favorite bar, to be precise. 

Over time, they came to an agreement that my tiny apartment was a perfect place for nightcaps, the only problem being that the Kiszkas were usually quite loud about it, completely ignoring the fact that I had neighbors. Thankfully, this part of town is a bit specific in a sense that the said neighbors simply didn’t give a shit, with their own lifestyle not being much different. 

This is what I wanted. Friends, late night laughs, my life filled with music and hugs and kisses and peculiar outcomes of unpredictable events that could only lead to more hugs and kisses. 

There was this one time when Josh fell asleep on my couch while the others simply sneaked away giggling and left him there, spread-eagled and snoring his uvula off. Several hours later, I was woken up by the delicious smell of buttermilk waffles, served with maple syrup and a guilty, puppy dog stare. 

Simply put, they were (almost) always welcome here. Almost…

Sober, sleepy and disoriented, I was definitely in no mood for a late night party (or an early morning one… seriously Josh, wtf!), with all the baking lying ahead of me. I didn’t even have to guess if it was really them; I could already hear them the moment my heart calmed down a bit and I stepped out of my bedroom. Determined to chase them away with a rolling pin, I answered the door angrily and was nearly knocked down by the falling Oliver Reed who obviously decided to lean against it the very moment I yanked it open. 

It’s always intrigued me how the brain works in these situations, working so fast that the time seems to slow down to an almost comical pace. I watched in slow motion how his back slid against the wood, his arms flapping in the air in a futile attempt to regain balance. I could tell at the first fleeting glance that he wasn’t fit to keep his balance standing, let alone falling, so no wonder it was a completely lost cause. Some voice at the back of my skull tried to tell me to jump aside, but I was too mesmerized by the sight. Just when his shoulder hit me clumsily in the chest and I stumbled backwards, Josh finally managed to grab Jake’s arms to keep him from knocking me down completely. My rolling pin fell on the wooden floor with a loud bang that made my neighbor’s dog bark. Jake, now aggressively pinned against the corridor wall by Josh, only added to the ear-piercing nocturnal cacophony with his loud howls: “Whoa whooooa!” 

“Shhh, shut the fuck up, Jake!” Josh hissed through his teeth before he turned his concerned stare back at me. “Y/N, sweetheart, terribly sorry hun! Didn’t mean too…” I could tell that he was tipsy as well, but it paled in comparison with the state Jake was in. I had seen him drunk many times before, with his glossy, beady eyes and unfocused stare that always made him look a bit like a teddy bear. This was new, though. He seemed absolutely plastered. 

Out of the imminent danger, but with my heart still wildly pumping adrenaline-enriched blood into my veins, I grabbed the doorframe first to support myself before I tried to make sense of what was just happening in front of me. 

They weren’t alone. Right behind Josh stood a guy whom I had seen a few times before, but I couldn’t recall his name. He looked slightly uncomfortable. “What the fuck, Josh!?!” I hissed. 

Josh immediately tried to win me over with the most sheepish smile he could muster, but his involuntarily cocked eyebrow betrayed him, which only made me more furious. “Dearest Y/N, we need your help, baby!” 

“With what? I asked incredulously. 

“I need you to take care of my asshole brother, pretty pleeeease.” 

“You what?” I goggled at him, completely taken aback by his impudent request. “Why can’t you just take him home?” Much to Jake’s annoyance, we kept discussing him and his imminent future as if he wasn’t even there, which only resulted in another outburst of his loud and incoherent babbling and our collective attempt to shush him before Josh answered.

“Because, I am not planning on going home, honey,” he whisper-shouted, hoping that I would just get it without him having to be too obvious. Yeah, I got it. It didn’t mean I was willing to help him. I looked at the guy again, who suddenly pretended to be very interested in the hallway lights. At that moment, the owner of the barking dog opened his own door to passionately inform us what we all were. I had no other choice than to hastily usher them all in.

“You can’t leave him here just like that? Are you out of your mind? Is this some kind of retribution for what he did the last time? Because it’s not funny. This is my home, and not a fucking sobering center! Just call him an uber,” I continued to protest once we were all safely inside my apartment, and that’s when Jake chimed in for the first time with something that made at least a bit of sense: “Yeah, ah-don’ wanna…,” he hiccupped before he could finish the sentence, making me even more incensed with the whole situation. He quickly tried to amend it, but it was too late. I was seething, my nostrils flaring. “...bother-er. Ah-don’ wanna bother-er! She’s…fierssshe!” he spat in Josh’s face, making him scrunch his face in disgust. 

“Well, you should have thought about not bothering people before you got so shitfaced,” Josh spat back, completely ignoring what I just said. “This is your doing.”

What? I shot a deadly stare at Josh. No, it was absolutely not Jake’s doing that they were now standing in my living room. And regardless of the fact that I had work to do – and he knew that – he also knew how I felt about Jake, and was now putting me in a very uncomfortable position. “Out! All of you!” 

I’m pretty sure I must have looked like Wrath personified, because Jake whoa’ed again and Josh seemed to finally acknowledge his misconduct. He grabbed my hands in his, suddenly looking like a meek puppy. “I’m sorry, babe. Don’t be mad, hun. I know this is too much to ask, but do this for a friend. I beg you…”

“No, I beg you Josh!” I tried to sound as calm and collected as possible through my gritted teeth, knowing that being just mad would get me nowhere. Josh was too stubborn to ever acknowledge someone else’s anger and boundaries meant nothing to him once you became his friend, which basically meant family. However, he was empathetic. “You know I have a lot of baking to do tomorrow. I’m tired. Just please, take him home.”

Josh bit his lip and he looked like he was trying to say something and NOT say it at the same time. It was late and I felt awfully tired, but the whole thing seemed a bit fishy to me. Just when Josh nodded and finally opened his mouth to respond, Jake grabbed his shoulder. “Ah need to pee, Jawshy boy,” he whined and swayed dangerously, pouting his lips at his twin brother. He was already in his teddy bear phase which meant that he indeed wasn’t fit to be sent home alone in an uber. He’d be knocked out in no time, and even if Josh went with him, he’d have a hard time just getting him out of the car. 

Josh glanced sideways at the guy, who had been pretending to be invisible the whole time, and then looked at me pleadingly again. I capitulated. “OK, take that big baby to the bathroom and I’ll fetch some blankets,” I sighed. 

Together, they helped Jake get comfy on the couch and he fell asleep before his head even touched the pillow. And me? I felt relieved when I finally closed the door behind them and everything became quiet again, disturbed only by Jake’s light snoring.

They were taking their time, so once I fixed the makeshift bed, it was just me and the guy standing in the middle of the room, waiting, and it was getting increasingly awkward with each passing second. “So, you’re Y/N,” he finally spoke.

“Yeah,” I answered curtly, confirming the obvious. “We’ve met.”

“But we weren’t properly introduced yet. I’m Martin.” I shook Martin’s hand politely without really wanting to, because I knew that if they were heading to his place instead of Josh’s, it probably meant that the chances I’d see Martin again were quite low. Yet another reason for me being annoyed. 

I poured him a large glass of water, squeezed some fresh lemon juice into it and placed it carefully on a small table right next to his head before I switched off the light, leaving just a small table lamp on, and went back to my bed, hoping to spend the rest of the night in peace and get some much needed rest. 

However, the fact that there was Jacob Kiszka, Sir, lying unconscious on my couch right outside my bedroom door, made it a bit difficult to fall back to sleep. I had never been in a situation like this and it made me feel unpleasantly agitated. I wasn’t afraid of him. I just didn’t trust my own feelings. 

I should have been angry. 

But I was not. Not exactly. Not anymore. My heart wasn’t beating wildly out of annoyance. Instead, I felt like a schoolgirl, trapped in an elevator with that annoying boy from music class who was also her crush. There were many conflicting feelings inside both my head and chest; and knowing that he probably wouldn’t remember how he ended up on my couch come morning only made it all worse. 

I finally dozed off, but morning came sooner than I wished it would, and with it a headache. It felt like just a brief moment, filled with restless dreams about me and Jake dancing on the rooftop to Golden Slumbers playing out of nowhere, with sugar snowing down at us and our hands sticky with jam. Then he smeared some on my cheek and peppered it with kisses…

When I opened my eyes, the feeling still lingered, like powdered sugar on the top of my tongue. Soft and weightless like snowflakes, yet it lay heavily on my chest. Together with the lack of rest, it made me feel almost hungover-ish. I lied unmoving for a while, listening to the silence that surrounded me and wondering whether he was still there. Maybe he already woke up earlier and quickly sneaked out after realizing where he was. 

It was unlikely, but I could hardly ever control these self-deprecating thoughts. Especially regarding men. I cursed Josh once again and decided to take a quick cold shower to wake up my senses.

It helped only just a bit. Refreshed, I opened my bedroom door carefully and peaked inside the living room. He was still there, and fast asleep. Slowly, I creeped up on him on my tiptoes, and then spent several long seconds just watching him sleep, before I started to feel like a complete lunatic. But… he looked so peaceful and almost angelic in the milky morning light, lying on his side with his hands folded under his chin, his lips parted and brows relaxed. The glass was empty, and I couldn’t help but smile involuntarily. Once there was a way to get back homeward…

Then I remembered that this was no domestic idyl. I just had a drunk rock guitarist on my couch, and – let’s be brutally honest here – once I got past that dreamy visual illusion, a strong olfactory reminder of this much more prosaic reality hit my nostrils. 

I also had several large chunks of dough in the fridge and a debilitating headache that almost made me question all my life choices.

No, it didn’t.

But all those things had to be taken care of and I had no idea how. I tried to be as quiet as a mouse at first, but after realizing that it could take at least a couple more hours before he’d wake up, maybe even half a day – the time that I couldn’t afford to waste – I took Josh’s previous advice and decided to just ignore him. 

I really needed coffee… to get the stupid dream, and the song, and all my delusions out of my head. Did I forget that he was also a big-headed asshole? Yeah, that’s the spirit. 

It turned out that my worries were groundless anyway. I could make as much noise as possible in my adjacent kitchenette and he wouldn’t even stir. The motherfucker really seemed to be losing his hearing from standing in front of those huge amplifiers and the malicious creature inside my chest chuckled at the thought. 

I took the dough out of the fridge and let it soften at room temperature while I made myself some coffee and started to get everything ready. Clanking of baking sheets, coffee grinder, squeaking cabinet doors…nothing seemed to disturb my sleeping beauty. I kept casting wary glances at him every now and then at first, but soon I got accustomed to the unusual situation and just immersed myself in my work. 

I had my very elaborate system. I could fit twenty cut pieces – meaning ten cookies – on one sheet, there was roughly enough dough for approximately thirty sheets, it takes ten minutes to bake AND I had only four sheets. You can see I had to be very systematic. Preparation is the key and every minor disturbance could be disastrous. Thankfully, I’m a master multitasker. Still, I prayed to all the known and yet to be made-up deities that nothing would happen. No more surprises, please and thank you. 

A few hours passed and the delicious aroma of lemon and vanilla started to fill the room. I was also sweating like a pig, rolling and cutting the dough in haste, always making sure I had enough sheets ready so that there would be no idle time. Focused on the task ahead, I didn’t hear him stir, and my heart jumped in my throat when I finally looked up and saw those beady eyes watching me intently. 

I tried to keep my cool, looking down again quickly. “Well, good morning,” I mumbled. It was almost midday. 

“Morning, Y/N…,” he choked out huskily and finally tried to stand up, which only resulted in him groaning in pain and slumping back immediately. Oh yeah, consequences…

“Do you remember how you got here?” I asked tentatively. 

“I wish I could say I do, but to be honest, I’ve no idea,” he breathed out with his eyes closed. “I was just hanging out with Josh and the next thing I know I’m lying on your couch at blue hour, feeling half dead.” He finally opened at least one eye, just enough to be able to see me.

I nodded and continued cutting the dough. I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. The timer just chimed and I had to switch the sheets anyway. 

“So?” 

Did I just hear annoyance and impatience in his voice? Oh yeah, a hungover asshole is still an asshole. It shouldn’t have surprised me. “What?” I spat back over my shoulder.

“Care to explain what the fuck I’m doing here?” 

I don’t understand how he always managed to just smash all my buttons with one single blow, and once again he made me see red. I literally threw the next sheet in the oven and slammed the door shut with a loud bang before I turned around and lashed out at him. 

“Oh I wish I knew the answer. Be so kind and ask your precious brother who literally just pushed you through my door in the middle of the night, half-conscious and reeking of whisky, because he wanted to get laid. You’re welcome! Fucker…”

He blinked a few times, obviously taken aback. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” The tone of his voice changed and for a split second I almost regretted my curtness. Almost. “Just let me call an uber and I’ll be out of here in no time,” he mumbled, checking his pocket, while I watched him struggle with secret satisfaction. That headache must have been hellish. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one. 

He suddenly frowned and started rummaging in all his pockets frantically, including the jacket haphazardly thrown over the armrest. “Where the hell is my phone… and my valet… and my fucking keys. Y/N…did you take my stuff?” 

“What? No! The last thing I’d wanna do would be to prevent you from leaving.”

We were watching each other warily, both equally confused. Then it dawned on him. “I’m gonna kill that scrawny little bastard!” Straightening up, he closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath in a futile attempt to fight off his growing nausea as well as the rage that made his nostrils flare. 

My anger dissipated in an instant… or, to be more precise, it was instantly redirected towards his twin. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that? He knows how busy I am today,” I whined. 

Jake didn’t respond. Instead, he asked for my phone. I quickly dialed Josh’s number and handed it to Jake, because the timer chimed again. 

It went straight to voicemail. 

As I was stacking freshly baked pieces on a tray placed on the small kitchen island which also served as my dining table, Jake leaned against it right opposite to me, looking absolutely miserable. “What now?” 

Am I their mother or what? I couldn’t drive him, but even if I did, he still didn’t have his keys. I couldn’t even call him an uber to Josh’s, because I knew that scrawny little bastard wasn’t there. It became obvious that Jake was stuck with me for at least another couple hours. He kept watching, obviously still waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I just sighed and grabbed the rolling pin again, aggravated with both of them and feeling like their hostage, stuck in the middle of their infantile games. The time was ticking, with my perfectly planned schedule already disrupted.

“Let me at least help you,” he looked at me hopefully with those puppy eyes they both shared. Fuckers. Seriously. Quirks of the mischievous nature that at one point decided that one of them wasn’t enough. 

“I think you should take a shower first.”

It was a deliberate jab, and I expected him to retort back just like he always did. I did NOT expect him to widen his eyes in genuine horror. “Is it that bad?” 

I didn’t dare answer that question but my face betrayed me when I looked at him sideways and bit my lip. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and took one tentative whiff. “Oh my god, it is. I think I need more than a shower, actually. I smell as if I slept in a puddle of beer.” 

I immediately regretted that I let him sleep on my couch, but he looked completely bashful and embarrassed and my previous unwillingness to continue helping him was already in shambles.

“Ok,” I sighed and put down the cookie cutter. “Come with me. I have some spare sweatpants. Thankfully, my ass is just as big as yours, but it might be a bit too tight around the waist…”

“Excuse me?” he protested, but otherwise obediently followed me into my bedroom. 

“You’re right. My mistake. Yours is bigger,” I chuckled at my own joke while rummaging in my drawer, before throwing him a pair of my favorite grey sweatpants, an old, oversize flannel shirt and a clean towel. “Everything else you might need is in the bathroom. The washing machine’s down in the basement.” 

“Thank you. Uummm…do you, perhaps, have a spare toothbrush? For friends... and such?” He smiled cheekily, testing my patience once again. But to be fair, he couldn’t have known that there was a shortage of “and such” people ever since I met him, because I just wasn’t interested in anyone else for a while now. 

“Yeah, there’s a couple of them in the purple cabi… oh fuck!” I quickly excused myself, alarmed by the smell of something burning, because I forgot to set the timer…

Too busy trying to stave off the impending disaster in my kitchen, I barely noticed him sneaking around me on his way down to the basement. So, when he knocked on the door a moment later and I answered it, the sight in front of me threw me completely off-guard. Being no stranger to Jake’s exposed chest, there was a strange sense of novelty in seeing him in my own unbuttoned shirt. Paul started singing inside my head again, but only until my eyes involuntarily slid further down, putting the song to an abrupt stop, just like a torn magnetic tape.

I was right about the waist being too tight, which meant he had it pulled down well below his navel, and seeing his happy trail made me scream internally. 

And to top it all off, he still had the towel wrapped around his head. 

I was not prepared for the feral reaction he suddenly elicited deep inside my body, and I’m sure he noticed, judging by the cocky half-smile that followed. I quickly turned away before I would compromise myself further. 

“I made you some coffee,” I nodded towards the steaming cup waiting for him on the counter, while still not daring to look directly at him again. “... and there are some popsicles in the freezer.”

“Thank yo… popsicles?!?” I might as well have suggested cotton candy, judging by the look he gave me, making me feel like an idiot,  so I quickly explained: “Yeah, they’re perfect when you wanna get rid of a hangover. Orange’s my favorite.” I still felt like an idiot. 

“I’m feeling better now.” His tone was kind and friendly, for which I was grateful, and I could hear him smiling, with my eyes still fixed on the small yellow circles in front of me. “I think I’m getting a bit hungry, though.”

“I’m not cooking anything now, Jake!” I placed the last little yellow circle on the sheet with care, before I started kneading another chunk of dough frantically.

“No, I didn’t mea…”

“There’s instant ramen on the top shelf.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What are YOU going to eat, Y/N?”

“I don’t have time for such luxuries right now…”

“Y/N!” He was leaning against the counter desk right in front of me again. I hadn’t even noticed him sneaking so close again, so his sudden exclamation made me jump. “You have to eat something. Look, your hands are shaking.” 

Yeah, no shit. But I’m not exactly hungry. There was a huge lump in my stomach, making it quite full. I was getting lost in the sea of my conflicting feelings again when all of the sudden, he put an abrupt stop to it like a fierce wave that sent me crashing on the shore, as he lifted my chin up gently with his index and middle finger. “Look at me, Y/N. I am going to fix us a quick lunch, ok?” 

“Ok…,” I peeped meekly. 

Jake just nodded, bound his damp, uncombed hair in a makeshift low bun with the band he always wore on one his fingers just in case, and started rummaging in my fridge. “Allrighty then! What do we have here…,” he crooned cheerfully.

And just like that, Paul was back… lalalalala.

To be continued...

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep   @takenbythemadness   @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickittty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @hearts-hunger

[mysteria157]

Ryu!!!!

I’m so so sorry for the delay, but I’m here! Do not apologize for writing all of this because I loved it!! To see what made you smile and laugh and blush is the best part for me heehee.

Sukuna was so daunting at first. Because the only thing in my mind was the fact that he would never even entertain having a human next to him LOL. But I think that’s what’s so fun about fandom writing and characterization. You can think of the wonkiest scenarios and say to yourself “he might not ever do this…but if he did, what would it look like?” For Sukuna it was, he doesn’t even like other emotions besides power amongst others…definitely not love. But if he did experience love, how would that be shown for someone like him?

You’re a human yes, but you were the one who he saw as worthy to be called his Queen, so clearly there’s something there. So to show sukuna’s process of coming to terms with what he’s feeling…through his care and consideration he tries to wave off, I think it felt right for him. If he’s going to make a gingerbread house, I knew he would love the tale behind it LOL. If he’s going to watch Elf, I knew he would complain about Buddy. And at first I only wanted to write just little traditions, but the concept of him trying to guess his gift seemed so funny Lolol.

He’s experiencing love for the first time and you’ve given him the space and patience to process it in his own way.

When I looked at your blog to get inspo, I was so blown away. It’s beautiful, Ryu! Your fragrance posts?!? I took notes for myself LOL.

And I know you think you can’t see yourself with Sukuna but you should! I think that’s what makes selfshipping so amazing. We have the freedom to imagine whatever we want. And you should embrace that Sukuna doesn’t love…but if he is going to love, it’ll be for carnage and fighting and you. And you’re worthy of that, just like you said. You’re deserving of it. Don’t ever feel like you shouldn’t write about him. Because I would love to see more of it 💕

I hope your heart isn’t too heavy today and that your holidays are going well ❄️

Writing about Sukuna for you was such an honor. I had so much fun. And to learn more about you in the process was one of the best gifts of this entire journey.

Happy Holidays, Ryu 💐💕🎄

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

[roxineedstosleep]

Kid Fic Merlín Idea!!

Arthur, watching as Merlin fell asleep on the floor after playing with Uther's decorative swords… and wondering what redeemable excuse he can create with George so that Merlin won't be the youngest person to go to the dungeon.

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Merlin Kid Fic idea

Hunith decides to send her son to Gauis, everything follows the canon plot… until the moment where the false Lady Helen almost kills Arthur.

Instead of a dagger, she casts a spell. Merlin, noticing that he can't pull Arthur back with him, decides to push him towards Uther, causing the spell to fall on him.

And well… the false Helen dies shortly after, so there's no way to know what spell it is and everything else.

Within all the confusion and Uther trying to reward Merlin publicly, he realizes in the middle of his speech that where there was once a young man, there is a small boy - at most 8 years old, he doesn't know because of how skinny he is - trying to stand up despite the fact that his clothes are now too big for him. A boy who starts crying when he notices that he is not with his mother and that his uncle Gauis looks old and wrinkled.

And Gauis now not only has to care for a child, once his nearly adult nephew, but he can't do it at all because he has to figure out how to reverse the rejuvenation spell. Not to mention that Uther legitimately owes Merlin a life debt.

So, after much consideration, and much to Arthur and Morgana's dismay, the king makes a decision that helps everyone.

Uther decides to make Merlin an apprentice to the prince's main servant, under George's care. That, in part, covers some of the debt he owed Merlin, and helps Gauis.

Merlin is too young to do what an apprentice healer does (things like carrying the sick, going to where the illnesses are, treating broken bones or stitching wounds; which was what Gauis needed from him), not to mention that without that, he would have no one to watch over him all the time Gauis is outside the castle. Not to mention that Gauis is a bit old to keep up with a child.

But, Merlin is not too young to be part of the royal family's line of servants. Under proper care, he not only has someone to watch over him all the time and take care of him, but he would have a well-paying job when they manage to get him out of the spell.

Now. That's where the whole plot begins, with a child Merlin, under the care of George and the entire royal family's house of friends, trying to do his job.

Gauis is the first, as in canon, to discover that Merlin has magic. And, since he knows that Merlin can't fully control it, he's always on edge trying to find the cure for the spell.

George would be the second to find out, because we're talking about his apprentice. Something that makes him just as nervous as Gauis, because - albeit for the wrong reasons - he believes that the rejuvenation spell not only turned a young man into a child, but also gave him magic.

And, because George knows about Merlin's magic, ALL the servants and maids in the royal family know that Merlin not only turned into a child, but that it also gave him magic.

And everyone, because we're talking about a child, decides to act crazy and blind about it.

The last one to discover Merlín's magic was Arthur. But no so far from the tome of George's discovery. Almost at the same week, though. He was, for not say the least, terrified of the consecuences of Merlin's sacrifice. He and George think the same about the origins of Merlin's magic capacitys.

Merlin threw a tantrum, which ended with some vase exploding into thousands of strangely shaped pieces, because his flower arrangement - that ere meant for Arthur- didn't look pretty?

George and some maid make the excuse that a bird flew in through one of the windows and crashed into the vase… even though there weren't any windows in that hallway.

Do the squires and knights always complain about their armor disappearing from its place after one of them upsets Merlin?

George and some stable boy manipulate them into believing that they have left it lying there and that they do not know how to take care of their armor.

Uther asks why his boots disappear after not allowing Merlin to play with a sword?

George and Arthur lie saying that he must have left them there after staying up so late for his duties… even if the boots somehow end up on the roof.

Of course, that also makes the canon adventures a bit difficult.

We have a Tired Big Brother! George, a Near-heart attack Uncle! Gaius, a Big Brother who does not want to be a Big Brother! Arthur and all the servants and knights of the castle trying to keep up with Merlin. Who somehow or another, does not separate from the prince and seeks to protect him against all evil.

Even if it means that George, the servants and maids, and the knights of the round table are trying to hide Merlin's magic as best they can.