#and i want to release myself from this prison /silly
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Fall Unto Me (part four)
Part one, part two, part three
The end of Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren yayyyy I'm sooo excited to have the rest of my brain back!!! IT'S FINALLY OVER (mostly).
A very long and nonsensical string of writing thoughts and notes on it will be posted much later. Also if anyone wants to ask questions I can answer them in the infodump or on discord if you want a more immediate response... I hope you enjoy da finale 👉👈 sorry this is my baby i really love talking about it but it was impossible til now fjdslkjflks
cw// religious themes
14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI
That mundane, quiet night had taken a turn for the better. You could barely move a muscle after trying to settle your curious desires for your devilish companion, though they still remained. The books and red string were put back where they belonged before you found yourself cradled in strong arms and curled under silken sheets.
Ren had brought you to rest in bed, arms keeping you securely nestled at their side. His bare chest felt incredibly warm against your cheek. The sound of their heart beat steadily, and you moved your head to hear it better. Mesmerizing, and comforting.
“I'm… tired? Fatigued?” you muttered aloud. It was so hard to stay awake, your eyes kept fluttering. You’d never been quite so drained before.
He gently held your chin to look at you, smiling all the while. “Why do you think? You’re an absolutely ravenous angel. Were it not for that fatigue, you’d surely still have me pinned on the floor with your head thrown back in—”
“Hey!” you interrupted him. The casual way they said it had you suddenly embarrassed. Being aware of your newfound… ‘ravenous’ side was something else entirely.
“It was a wonderful sight, my love, little angel,” he sang your praises with adoration, ending at a word. That word. The one you didn’t know.
An odd little pet name you were all the more curious about.
“What's that word you keep saying?” you asked and his eyes suddenly widened. “I love all the endearing things you call me, but that one—I can't place it.”
“...Oh, love,” he whispered, muffled as they leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’m so sorry. I won't use it anymore.”
“Huh? Is it something bad?” You weren't sure what he meant by that, but you knew well and good they'd never say something cruel to you, let alone call you by a cruel word. Nonsensical as the question was, no other reason came to mind.
“Not at all. It's my favorite word,” his voice was soft, almost heartbroken. “I didn't think you'd forget it so soon… I'll tell you when you're ready, I promise. For now, you only need to rest.”
A simple nod in response on your part. You accepted the answer so easily. There was nothing to worry about anymore. With how exhausted you were from the act, sleep was a natural decision. You could talk in the morning. Or any morning after, you no longer minded. Eventually you'd leave, so what was another few days or weeks?
You settled in and closed your eyes, lulled to sleep by their heartbeat in your ear.
💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤
Cold. You woke up cold. Jolted awake from your own nightmare of falling, drowning in the endless clouds that you once walked upon with ease, only to land in the depths of the freezing ocean below you. With a hushed gasp, you sat up in bed.
The devil was asleep right beside you. Pink hair stained with eerie grays from the moon’s glow through the open window, horns so dark they almost blended into the shadows, ghastly inked patterns that crawled from their shoulders down to their hands.
One of his was laced tightly with yours.
You trembled as you slowly pried his fingers away, crawled backwards on the bed until you felt nothing under you and almost fell like that cursed dream.
But the same hands you struggled to get away from caught you. You found instant comfort in his touch, despite the disgust that climbed up your back when you woke—where did it come from? Why were you even trying to get away?
“I've got you, it's alright,” Ren murmured softly. He guided you to stand, wrapping a wrinkled shirt over your naked shoulders along with his arms. You held on as tight as you could. Your fingers were shaking.
“I need to—I need to go, Ren. Now,” you gasped into his chest. Your entire body was unsteady, vision blurred from tears you weren't capable of shedding. Whatever you were saying didn't make sense in your head. You needed to go… somewhere. You could picture the place—it had sunkissed clouds as far as the eye could see—but did it have a name?
He read your mind, gently offered the word you couldn't think of, “Heaven?”
There. Home. You nodded.
“You'll only get hurt.”
“I already know I'll have to repent before my god,” you muttered sheepishly and pulled away, clutching the shirt like a cloak. His knowledge was vast as ever, but what did a demon know of heaven’s affairs?
“No, little angel. If you even make it that far,” they cursed the realms under their breath and followed as you left the room in a sudden hurry. “They'll take whatever is left of your halo and wings.”
You didn't waste any time throwing open the cabin’s door and walking out into the cool night air. Forced to pause at the sight in front of you, you stared; the breathtaking field of flowers was fully blooming. They were finally as high as Ren promised, the tallest with their golden petals proudly on display in the hallowed shape of a halo.
The beauty only helped his words to sink in. Whatever is left of your halo and wings? You turned around, fully expecting him to be right behind you.
You were face to face as you questioned him, a bite of anger held in. “What do you mean?”
Blue eyes that only seemed paler in the night, once full of hatred for heaven, pooled with long lost grief. “You've fallen from their grace,” he said quietly.
“That doesn't happen.” You denied it quickly. Such a thing had never happened in all the histories of heaven, you at least knew that without ever reading those records. If what he said was true, it’d be common knowledge. A warning that all angels would heed.
“It does, because I—”
A bell rang in the darkened night sky above. Ren froze with unknown fear for a split second and hurriedly reached towards you, shouting something. Another bell obscured their voice, then another and another until the number grew to so many your thoughts drowned in their thunder. Someone was calling you home.
Before you even realized it your wings sprouted forth and threw the unbuttoned shirt he'd given you to the wind, bringing a burning anguish so suddenly intense to bloom in the middle of your back that you fell to your knees. Ren immediately kneeled in front of you. The pain and desperation in his voice pulled at your very core, except you couldn't understand a thing. The bells were so loud. You cried out sharply. It may as well have been silence from what little else you could hear.
A cracking noise managed to cut through the clamor of the bells above. Translucent shards of stained glass dropped from your head and piled themselves in the dirt at your knees. There was so little of it but you recognized the golden shade, illuminated by the fire licking at your shoulders.
The halo that you'd gained once the library's doors had beckoned you. The few pieces that remained of it, anyway.
Your heart stopped, then started anew. A feeling worse than the holy fire that was turning your beloved wings from feathered grace to ash. He was right; you'd fallen long before this night.
A thousand bells began to still, one by one. You could start to hear Ren again, though only a few words were clear.
“...At night… Forgive… Happen… …Never wanted this for you.”
The last feather fell away into nothing, and the burning in your back, along with the bells, died with it. All the heat you could feel was the demon only inches away, his desolate gaze fixed to you.
You blinked, tear stained cheeks now icy from the salted wind blowing across the ocean. Bits and pieces came back as memories.
The simple, towering clouds that decorated the heavens far as the eye could see. A sun that shined brightly, an everlasting sunrise that greeted you no matter the day. The library that once seemed like paradise you were destined to guard for the rest of time. All echoes of the being that was no longer you.
Something was missing.
“My… that word,” you whispered. He'd told you it was his favorite word. One that you’d forgotten. “... It was mine?”
He smiled as best he could. It didn't reach his eyes. “You remember it.”
“A little.”
“Then... let me say it for you?” he asked and you nodded. They leaned close, the word slowly leaving their lips with reverence, sadness, unwavering love.
Nothing about it sparked as familiar on the surface. But the word once belonged to you, that empty part inside understood it. Fresh tears welled in the corners of your vision. “When did they take it from me?”
Ren gently wiped your cheek as the tears overflowed again. “I don't know.”
“How—it was mine,” you repeated with a sob. You felt the cold seeping through you and huddled into his embrace. Their body felt more warm and inviting than anything around you. There was nothing—no one else you could ever reach out to anymore.
“I’m sorry. We only have eternity together, my love,” he breathed, tucking your head below his chin with a strangled noise. “I'll say it each and every day so you'll never forget it. I don't want to lose your name, either.”
#14 days with you#14dwy redacted#14dwy ren#cw religious themes#momo writing#posted a little early#i'm impatient#and i want to release myself from this prison /silly#AM I REALLY EVER FREE THOUGH?#my fingers are enjoying their break except i'm losing my shit trying to NOT write redacted stuff#that's totally normal right#if you've seen my brain leaking out in the discord for the past few weeks MY BAD!!!#<- it will keep happening
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let me worship you | samurai!noah
Summary: She's curious about Noah's skills when it comes to binding prisoners and restraining... her, so she asks him to teach her. Noah is just trying to be a good instructor, considering skills with the rope might be practical for her, but his princess is a minx and her intentions are a bit mischievous.
can be read as a one shot ✨ but it's part of the samurai!noah fic™ (this takes place before the main storyline)
pairing: samurai!noah x his princess | words: 3.4k
tags & trigger warnings: set in feudal Japan, forbidden love, clandestine rendezvous, references to f/m intercourse (p in v, unprotected), shibari (bondage, rope play), dry humping.
“You wanted me to teach you, and I’m going to teach you properly. You don’t need to be naked for that.”
“Are you sure?”
Author's note: Everybody say "thank you, @somebodyels3" because this was her idea. I just turned her 100 words into 3k. I hope everybody learns something from this piece and that we all go to bed knowing how to tie a handcuff knot... for protection purposes, ofc.
Also, i just edited this very quickly because I wanted to share it tonight, so there might be a bunch of typos. Sorry.
Tagging the beautiful @thescarlettvvitch because she likes to read my stories before bedtime. 🥹
It was just an innocent question.
A question that spurred from curiosity about his mastery of ropes and his ease in tying intricate knots in mere minutes.
When I asked Noah to teach me how to perform those knots, I was still lying on the mattress in my grandmother’s village house. It was past midnight, and I had spent the last half-hour at Noah’s mercy, my hands tied while resting on my own stomach as Noah, kneeling between my legs, held my thighs and penetrated me again and again until, with a contained roar, emptied himself, his release coating my skin.
I hadn’t yet cleaned myself when, somewhat composed, he allowed my feet to touch the softness of the mattress again and approached my side to untie my hands.
First, he inquired about my well-being, deftly unwinding the red rope from one wrist and then the other with his fingers. I responded affirmatively after he gave me a concerned look for my intial silence, as I had been captivated by watching him untie me. Then, he gently massaged my wrists. And that’s when I posed the question.
“Would you teach me how to tie those knots?”
He appeared puzzled, but persuasion wasn’t difficult.
When he inquired why I wanted to learn and how I thought I could benefit from them, I shrugged, though I managed to coax him with mentions about the value of knowledge in general and how they might be practical in certain situations, perhaps even for my own protection.
Before long, he was between my legs with a cotton towel, wearing a silly grin as he cleaned me, his head shaking from side to side. It was as if he knew I was relentless and wouldn’t cease pestering him until I was content. Because I was aware there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me, and sometimes, as selfish as it seemed, I took advantage of that.
“It’s also time that I worship you too, isn’t it?”
At those words, he froze. His gaze traveled from my core to my eyes. I blinked a few times, feigning innocence, as if I hadn’t been begging him just minutes earlier to be rougher with me because he was always so gentle, treating me as if I were made of glass.
“It’s getting late,” he said through clenched teeth, reminding me that our time was limited. “Stop tempting me before I cease caring whether your parents notice you’re in your bedroom or not.”
The next time we saw each other was in the small shelter nestled within the forest, a forty minute walk from my father’s estate and the same place where Noah and I had lost our virginity years before. Noah brought along the rope and offered to instruct me, his demeanour serious and determined despite my occassional mischievous smiles.
The situation struck me as amusing because I had a singular purpose behind it all, yet Noah seemed to be approaching it way too seriously. But then again, that was typical of him, embodying the spirit of the Samurai he was.
His katana rested peacefully on the wooden floor beside the bed, never too far away in case he might need it.
“Give me your hands. I can’t teach you if I don’t actually tie you up,” he ordered.
“Well,” I quipped, “can’t we undress? I’m thinking we could have skipped this part much earlier, considering the amount of times you’ve tied me up already, while I was naked.”
He responded with a raised eyebrow and a reproachful gaze.
“You wanted me to teach you, and I’m going to teach you properly. You don’t need to be naked for that,” he asserted.
“Are you sure?” I teased.
“Yes,” he affirmed, holding my gaze until he saw my nod of agreement. “Now, be still and pay attention.”
I did. I set aside the lewd thoughts, presented my wrists to Noah, and focused on how his hands presented the rope to me, then, how his fingers moved slowly to avoid disorienting me from the explanation as they wound around my wrists.
“You’re holding the rope like this, with one end in each hand,” he began. “Start by making a loop with the right-hand side of the rope. You want it to be about the size of your opponent’s fist. Then, take the left-hand side of the rope and wrap it around the loop, going underneath and then over the top. Make sure to leave a little bit of slack, understood?”
I nodded, committing to memory the trajectory of each end of the rope and gripping it firmly. I remained acutely aware of every instance Noah’s fingertips brushed against my skin.
“Next, bring the left-hand side of the rope back around and insert it through the loop you just made, going over the top, like this. See? It creates sort of pretzel shape with the rope.”
“It’s cute,” I commented, just a genuine thought, no mischief intended.
“Not as cute as you look when you’re tied up and happily at my mercy,” he replied, causing me to shoot him a scowful glare.
He had insisted I pay attention, and now he was interjecting with these comments.
With a chuckle, he pecked my nose and continued his instruction.
“Now comes the tricky part. Focus. You’ll want to pull on both ends of the rope, okay? Tightening everything up. As you do this,” he demonstrated, “the loop you made at the beginning will start to cinch down, forming a secure knot. Like this.” He paused to ensure it wasn’t too tight on me. I assured him it wasn’t. Only when he was certain he proceeded. “To finish it off, just make sure everything is nice and tight, and you’re done. You’ve got yourself a handcuff knot. It’s great for all sorts of things, not just to tie up a prisoner. It might come in handy if you ever need to secure a weapon, for instance.”
I mentally reviewed the steps before nodding. I examined the knot that held my wrists together. I made attempt to free myself, a gesture I had repeated many times before to test Noah’s effectiveness and skill with the art of knots, but the knot didn’t budge an inch.
“Can you repeat it again, so it’s clearer to me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied.
With the same skill but faster, he undid the knot and freed my wrists. He repeated the process of tying me up, once again indicating each step and having me verbally repeat the instructions.
“It doesn’t seem difficult,” I mentioned.
“It isn’t,” he confirmed, still seated on his heels in front of me. “It’s one of the easiest knots. You’ll have it mastered in no time once you practice a bit.”
“Can I start now?”
“With what?” he inquired, furrowing his brow genuinely. It wasn’t that he was playing dumb. It was that he literally didn’t conveice the idea that I could practive with him, that I could tie him up.
“With you,” I said seriously.
He chuckled at first, but as my seriousness sank in, his expression shifted to one of disbelief. Why did he always have to be so challenging? He arched an eyebrow at me.
“You want to tie me,” he clarified, more to himself than to me. “A Samurai. You want to tie up a Samurai.”
“For practice,” I emphasized fighting back a smile that threatened to betray my intetions.
Noah relented with a resigned sigh, muttering to himself that it was a useful skill for me to possess, so why not give it a try.
“How will I know if I’m doing it right if I don’t actually try? And if it’s not with you, who else can I possibly practice with? Would you prefer my first attempt to be in a life-or-death scenario?” as I noticed his expression darken at the thought of such a dire situation and the potential danger it posed to me, I knew I had him convinced.
“You have a point,” he conceded, though suspicion lingered in his gaze, suggesting he thought I might be enjoying this more than I let on. With some reluctance, he handed me the rope and extended his wrists, positioning them side by side.
I shook my head, causing Noah to furrow his brow in confusion.
“I should tie them at your back. If I ever find myself in such a situation, I’d likely be behind the enemy, not in front of them.”
“If you ever find yourself in such a situation, it’ll be because I haven’t been a good enough samurai,” he replied with a hint of self-criticism.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You know I don’t like it when you’re overly critical,” I gently chided. “Please, turn around.”
“Hm. Only because you’re actually good at being persuasive…”
He turned around to kneel with his back to me. He crossed his hands behind his back, interlocking his wrists. I flashed a wide smile as I bit my lip now that he couldn’t see me.
“I’ll let you know if you make a mistake,” he said.
“How will you know if I’m making a mistake when you’re facing away from me?”
“I know the art of knots like the back of my hand. I don’t need to watch to know if you’re doing correctly. “
“All right…” I murmured, then couldn’t resist making an annoyed face behind his back.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied innocently.
“Don’t tempt me to turn around and tie you up completely; not just your hands—maybe your ankles too.”
I sighed, pretending.
“Will you relax? Drop that Samurai attitude for a moment. Pretend you’re a captured soldier, because that’s what you are.”
“Not yet.”
He was fortunate I was deeply enraptured with him. Otherwise, I would have bound his hands and instead of granting him what I had in mind, I would have left him there tied up for hours without further ado.
It didn’t take me more than two minutes, a fact that surprised me greatly given it was my first attempt. When Noah tried to pull his wrists apart and the rope held firm, I nodded in approval, tilting my head to the side with a hum of approval and feeling a swell of pride in my chest.
However, the expression on Noah’s face —as he strained to look over his shoulder— told a different story.
He had doubted my capability, and now he found himself bound and at my mercy.
“As I was saying, a captured soldier.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, a compliment hidden in his words. “That’s a damn good knot.”
“Are you impressed?”
“Yeah, of course I—“ his words caught in his throat as my lips brushed against his nape.
This was the reaction I had been hoping for.
In mere moments, Noah would realize my true intention from the start, understanding that he had no choice but to let me take charge for the rest of our short time together that night.
“You’re mine now,” I concluded.
Standing up, I circled around him, eager to witness his bewildered expression.
There it was.
He attempted to free himself once more, but soon realized the futility of his efforts. Even if he were the most cunning and well-trained samurai in my father’s army, he wouldn’t be able to break free. He had taught me himself, and I had learnt quickly.
“Well…” he began, still maintaining a semblance of composure, “I’ve always been yours, haven’t I?” A hint of sweetness and pride danced across his features and echoed in his voice. He never missed an opportunity to say the right things and make me melt.
However, the atmosphere shifted in the next few seconds.
“You did a good job. Let’s see if you’re as quick untying me.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m going to enjoy this,” I declared.
When realization hit him, he tried to stand up.
Of course, having his hands bound behind his back wasn’t much of an obstacle for him. In any other situation, he would rise and find a way to free himself, using his legs to attack his adversary.
But today, there was no enemy in the room.
Only his lover.
He might have been stronger, but I was faster.
Before he could fully stand, I guided him back onto his knees and straddled him, the weight of my body keeping him in place. I was certain no other foe had ever put him in such an intimate position.
My hands found their way to his shoulders, and as I smiled down at him —a gesture he didn’t reciprocate as surprise, anger, and perhaps a hint of pleading flashed across his face—, I trailed my fingers along the exposed skin of his neck.
“Untie me. Right now,” he demanded.
“No,” I repeated softly, my lips tracing a path along his neck.
I could sense he was holding his breath.
“I was wondering…” I began, my words barely grazing him. “If you would tell me more about your tattoos.”
“What do you want to… know?” he managed to say after I focused on a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.
“Hmm. I’m curious about a few things…” I continued, trailing kisses from one side of his neck to the other, moving upward to nibble at his jaw and peck his lips once. “But I don’t remember exactly what I was curious about, so I might have to see them again.”
With that, I leaned back slightly, my hands stealthily sliping under our bodies until they found the belt of Noah’s black kimono. He muttered my name in warning, but I paid no heed.
Letting the ends of the belt fall to the sides, I slid my hands up through the sides of his kimono until I grasped them and slowly moved them aside, revealing Noah’s naked torso underneath—muscles, scars, and secret tattoos.
I couldn’t help but bite my lip again.
As my palm pressed against his chest, I could feel his rapid heartbeat beneath my touch. Beneath my body, I could sense his erection growing.
I raised my gaze back to him and I showed him a smirk and a special glint in my eyes, revealing that this had been my intention from the very beginning, and now he had no choice but to surrender to me.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, young lady,” he warned, though his voice was restrained.
“Am I?” I questioned, my fingers tracing down the lines of the snake tattooed on his chest.
Bending down, I kissed the creature’s head before trailing kisses along his clavicle, then down, and down again, until I found his nipple and touched it with the tip of my tongue.
I noticed him close his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and a vein pulsing in his neck.
Taking a long lick at his nipple, I waited for his reaction.
With his hands restrained at his back and me straddling him, there wasn’t much he could do. I would do as I pleased for the remainer of the night—touch him, kiss him, adore him, and worship him until my heart was content.
So I traced every inch of skin, every scar, and every tattoo without feeling rushed, comitting each of his faults and perfections to memory, adoring them all the same.
When I kissed him on the lips, sweet yet seductive, he tried to keep me there by nibbling at my lips. But tonight, he wasn’t in control and he couldn’t deal with the idea. Tonight, he couldn’t halt my movements by seizing my wrists or flipping me over onto the mattress to devour me.
He could only let me do.
And I would do.
There was a spot under his clavicle that would hold a love bite for days, a reminder of the promise that my love held. Nobody would see it, but it would be there—a temporary tattoo made not by a needle, but by the suction of his lover’s mouth.
As I tended to him, I sensed him trying to find a weakness in the knot, but there was none. That’s what happens when you’re the best at tying knots and you teach your girl, I suppose. I wanted to tell him that, but I couldn’t wait any longer to see how aroused he’d become.
Sliding my hands down his chest, I found the bulge in his pants. When my hand pressed against it, palming it and feeling it pulsate beneath, his voice emerged hard and restrained, as if in pain.
“Don’t.”
“But where’s the fun, then?” I countered.
“I swear to the Gods, if you even think…”
But as he uttered those words, I freed hiscock and watched in awe at how hard it was.
“What do you swear to the Gods?” I asked, my eyes locked on his shaft, marveling at its beauty, imagining how warm it would feel in my hand, how wonderful it would feel inside of me…
His response came out as a low growl, cut off before he had a chance to answer. Shifting my position atop him, I positioned his erection snugly between my legs, tantalizingly close to my core, separated only by the fabric of my own clothing.
With delicate kisses peppering his jaw, neck, and cheeks, my fingers roamed every inch of his body on display.
Not long after, his lips were swollen, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, and his heartbeat quickened. He clenched his teeth, a pained expression crossing his face as he leaned his forehead against my shoulder.
“Untie me. I beg you. Let me share this with you. I want— I need to be inside of you.”
“No.”
His eyes shot open.
My decision was final.
“Please.”
Oh, it was exquisite to hear him beg for a change.
“Do you think you can convince me with those beautiful brown eyes? You forget, my lover is…” my lips found their place on his neck once again, “ a Samurai, and he’s been teaching me…” another kiss, “how to be disciplined, resilient, determined, and…” I fought the urge to bite him in temptation, “lethal.”
His hips arched instinctively, seeking friction, his hands flexing with the urge to touch me.
“Make yourself feel good, then. Please.” There it was again, this time his voice deeper. “For me?”
“No.”
He swallowed, realizing this wasn’t going to play out as he desired. Not even a bit. He might as well admit defeat. He was still too proud to do so, though.
So, I ground myself against him, a sinful dance, feeling the hardness of his length pressing against me, wondering if I could withstand this much longer before I gave in and untied him, letting him fill me with every inch of his cock.
I was on the brink of moaning into his neck, so close to setting him free… But his hips jerked up suddenly, accompanied by a guttural sound, and his head pressed against my shoulder, halting my movements.
We fell into silence for a minute or so, his breathing shifting from rapid to slow and steady. His heartbeat beneath my palm was gradually relenting, yet his dick still throbbed under me, slick and wetness seeping through the fabric of my kimono.
“Noah,” I spoke, my voice barely a whisper in the confines of the small room we were in, “did you just…?”
“Do not say anything,” was his reply, stern and cold.
Uh-oh. I was in trouble.
“Untie me right about now,” he demanded, breathless.
I almost chuckled, amused by the unexpected turn of events. I hadn’t actually contemplated the idea of him coming so hard and fast by just being restrained and having me on top, fully clothed. That hadn’t been my intention, but it was hilarious all the same.
However, I knew better than to mention it, especially in that moment. So, I kept it to myself and shifted away from his lap, noticing how his release had stained not only my kimono but his as well, the black fabric now marred with a conspicuous whitish, sticky stain.
He noticed it at the same time I did, and I swear I saw fire in his eyes.
“Untie me, I said.”
“Okay,” I replied quietly, moving to his back and kneeling down to undo the knot. “But…” I hesitated, knowing what he needed, but our time together that night was coming to an end. “We don’t have much time,” I acknowledged, finally releasing him. He shook his hands violently, attempting to rid himself of the restraints once and for all. “I should head back to my father’s ca—”
“The Shogun can wait,” his resolve was now absolute.
And dangerous.
Before I could react, he was already rising to his feet, his hands reaching out to grab me.
“I’m not done fucking his daughter.”
#noah sebastian#bad omens#noah sebastian x you#samurai!noah#the unmaking of a warrior#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfic#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#noah sebastian x reader#noah sebastian x ofc
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Borderline Kotoko and why.
(I'm not a psychiatrist, a specialist, or anyone else. Everything that follows is just my own vision of the character as a person with bpd. I like to headcanoning to my favorite characters what I have, especially if I see similarities with their feelings/behavior/relationships. I don't headcanon to the characters and my kins what I don't have myself and what I don't know much about. It's just a hedcanon and you may disagree with it, if you want.)
Since her second MV has been released, I can finally put all my thoughts together and write this post. (thanks to my mutual who told me to post this here. Without her little support, I wouldn't have done it)
I would like to start by saying that it is obvious that Kotoko divides the world into black and white, good and evil, allies and enemies. This is one of the main themes that can be traced throughout Kotoko's narrative. There is no middle ground for her, It's either this or that. This hinders Kotoko in her relationships with others, it hinders her in her relationship with herself and the perception of everything that is happening around her.
A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation.
During all this time, it has been shown how Kotoko is able to idealize people or just treat them well, but then push them away from her if they do or say something that undermines her trust in them. She takes a defensive position, because an opinion different from hers is equated with a threat and danger.
"Lucky"
Kotoko treats the rescued girl quite well only as long as she doesn't read the news.
_
Kazui
The 1st trial. Question 6.
"Who's the prisoner you have the most interest in?"
Kotoko: It's hard to say.
As of now, if it's about whose character I can't quite grasp,
it'd be Kazui with his strong sense of intellectual curiosity.
The 2nd trial. Timeline (2022/08/05)
Kotoko: ……Mukuhara Kazui.
Thanks to you, I wasn’t able to properly serve justice to those who did something unforgivable. I’m currently acting as an agent for our prison guard Es. Don’t get in my way next time.
Kazui: Oi oi, don’t be silly, Yuzuriha-chan.
There’s no way I could just look away from your outrageous display of violence.
Anyway, even disregarding the fact violence against those voted guilty isn’t a part of Milgram’s system, what you’re doing is just acting recklessly based on a broad interpretation.
As long as I’m free myself, I’ll stop you.
Kotoko: ……what a pointless argument.
Hmph. Since Es forgives you, I have no choice but to forgive you myself too. If you to keep to your words, then you’d best do what you can to keep being forgiven. If you’re not, then next time you’ll be one of my targets.
She is interested in him and communicating with him. They really have common topics to talk about and maybe they could even get along. But he does something that she doesn't like and is directed against her and her ideals. Kazui stands up for those whom Kotoko planned to punish, thereby turning her against himself, despite the small number of common themes that seemed to make her a little more loyal to him. This act alone is enough for her to instantly begin to see him as an enemy, not an ally.
_
Es
Kotoko's idealization and disillusionment with people are best manifested in her relationship with Es. In the beginning, she offers them cooperation, seeing that Milgram is somewhat similar to what she adheres to, only to push them away when her opinion was not agreed.
The 1st trial. Voice drama.
Kotoko: Some scenes.. you can only see it in a cell. Because you and I are the same, always observing the other prisoners.
Es: Kotoko. A person like you.. What have you planned?
Kotoko: Heh. Me, I want to be like you. There's no way I can tolerate sin.
Kotoko: To be honest, I don't know your true intentions. And I don't know whether you are a similar person with similar thoughts. Who knows, maybe it's just my delusion of wishful thinking.
The 2nd trial. Voice drama.
Es: Listen to me. You're wrong.
Kotoko: What? We've decided to work together, so i've become your fangs.
Es: That's enough. We have different views on it. I'm not continuing to work with you.
Beginning. They make it clear to her that they disagree with her and consider her wrong.
Es: Kotoko. I will not do what you say. I will determine the way i see both sin and punishment as i want it. It may seem wrong from your point of view. And that's understandable. I'm pretty aware of it.
Kotoko: How ridiculous... It's always like this... All of you weaklings always act like this... All of you enjoy seeing someone getting hurt...
Kotoko: You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility... You're always like this... Always such idiots!
Kotoko: You have no power, and yet you make no effort to gain it! You're talking about justice, but it just doesn't make sence! You're invested in people's disasters, yet you take a position of "i have nothing to do with it"! You can't even face your true selves!
Ending. After they disagree with Kotoko, she instantly forgets everything she said before. Now they are no longer similar people with similar interests. Now Es is the exact opposite of that.
_
It is also worth recalling that since her birthday in 2022 to birthday in 2023, Kotoko has never contacted any of the other prisoners. She isolated herself from her surroundings for quite a long time, only to then offend them all. She didn't trust any of them before, but now, when she sees that no one agrees with her, she has done everything to build a barrier between them and herself.
Most people with BPD react sharply to rejection, disagreement with them, actions directed against them, and so on, which they can interpret as betrayal and something that threatens their own safety. Sometimes it doesn't matter what a person has done or said. The reaction to this can be strong and vivid.
___
Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.
Here I focus only on paranoia and stress. Kotoko doesn't trust anyone, she's always tense and wary. Even in simple conversations with prisoners, she may feel threatened and something directed against herself. Actually, there is already a post that would fit this point and which is a little more detailed. It says more about PTSD, but still.
The 1st trial. Timeline (2020/05/30)
Mahiru: Hey, Kotoko-chan. There’s something that’s really been bugging me, so do you mind if I ask?
……how do you style yourself so well? Have you always dressed like that?
But it also looks like something you’d wear for training.
Do you play sport? Ah, or maybe some kind of martial arts?
Kotoko: ……you really are carefree. Everyone in here is a “murderer” right?
Is this really the time to be asking questions like that?
Mahiru: Hmm, I guess so. That’s what they said.
But nobody here seems particularly scary or anything, right?
If I had to pick someone, then maybe you’re the scariest!
Ah, wait, do you do like yoga or something?
Kotoko: ……I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or are just an airhead.
The 1st trial. Timeline (2020/07/09)
Kotoko: Kazui, you do martial arts right. ……what type? Judo?
Kazui: Ah, my main is…… judo, and kendo. I also know a little bit of karate.
You must have some martial arts experience too, right, Yuzuriha-chan? I can tell by looking.
Hmm… probably a combat type…… I’m guessing not karate…… is it Taekwondo?
Kotoko: ……I’m not telling you. Stop ogling me like that. It’s gross.
Kazui: I-isn’t that a bit unfair?
+ Literally this moment.
___
Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
+
Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events
or
or
In both of her MVs, from time to time there is a sudden transition to wolves, the red moon and Kotoko's inner world, during which she gives free rein to her emotions. It's like emotional outbursts and outbursts of aggression, the appearance of which you cannot predict, which is why they cause damage both to the one who has them, and, perhaps, to those who are around.
Not that I can say anything about symbolism, I don't think i understand it. But since this is my post and my headcanon, I can interpret what is happening the way I want.
For all its secrecy and unsociability, most of Kotoko's outfits are quite open, compared to the outfit with the red jacket. When she's in this outfit, she's either in her inner world, or with an emotional outburst, or hurting someone. Wearing a hood is an attempt to protect yourself from the outside world and the people around you, to keep all your emotions to yourself, which are already suppressed. Kotoko, with her hood up, is cold and aloof from everyone. She builds a kind of wall between herself and the others. When she removes the hood from her head, she breaks down these walls, allowing a bunch of different emotions to break out and mix.
I would also like to mention how she sounds in her second voice drama and second song. She goes from emotion to emotion and pretty quickly. The way she quickly goes from laughter to intense anger, from intense anger to utter despair and is on the verge of tears, only to then return to anger again, and then suddenly quiet down.
___
Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
+
Chronic feelings of emptiness
+
The 1st trial. Question 1
"Just who are you?"
Kotoko: Yuzuriha Kotoko.
Someone who plans to fight for your sake.
Well, that depends on you too, though.
Kotoko doesn't perceive herself as a person, but rather as a tool to achieve a particular goal. Someone who will do the dirty work that others won't do. She has a first name, last name, age, and that's all. Her whole definition goes through her own ideals, which she desperately clings to and clings to. Kotoko's views are radical and in most cases don't imply compromises. She's either a hero or nobody, so she always needs a reason to follow her ideals and do everything according to them.
Otherwise, there will be nothing left of her.
___
What can I say at the end? Well, this is my headcannon and that's it. I could have forgotten something, made a mistake somewhere, or not completed it. It's hard for me to keep track of it.
Kotoko is one of my favorite characters and some of the things related to her evoke a strong response in me, even if these things show the negative side of the personality and cause a pang of guilt/dislike. It's like you're being shown those disadvantages of yours that you're trying to ignore.
I like to think that she crushes a lot of emotions inside herself, trying not to let them escape. I like to think that sometimes she's afraid of herself, and sometimes she's not. Her cooperation with someone is both a feeling of being needed, and avoiding loneliness, and a moment of socialization. But she can't stand it, because any little thing or the wrong word triggers a survival mode in her head, which is why she builds high walls between herself and the environment again.
I have a lot of thoughts about her. I just wanted to pour at least a small part of these thoughts out of my head into a relatively structured post and that's all. Thanks for reading it. I've been carrying it all in my head for quite a long time and I don't want to wait for the release of her answers to the questions, you know...
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Just A Silly FanFic Writer! My Masterlist
Hello and welcome to my Tumblr account. I post all my writings in Fanfiction, A03 & Wattpad. Everything is under my user id Thiefoflight68.
I consider myself a girl but use She/They as I am pansexual. I generally write Fanfiction, play Dungeons & Dragons and walk on the beach all the time with my dog listening to music for my fics. I love music and try to put some good songs into my stories to help get the vibe of the scene. I do try to keep characters as canon as possible but I like to change up personalities so that it's not always the same for my readers (and myself). I mainly write MHA at the moment. I've also started doing Fem Reader Inserts and am enjoying those.
It's finally happened - I wrote a fanfic that is not MHA. A smutty Omegaverse one shot for a challenge of MCU
Current WIPs:
I am SO excited to be back to a Baku/Deku again. This time going Fantasy and Western AUs!
The Kingdom of the Six Pillars - Being pulled into another world through a magic portal only happens in stories, right? Not for Izuku Midoriya. Finding himself in a strange realm, he has been brought to the Kingdom of the Six Pillars as a Magical Transfer. This world only is able to survive by the magic created between a bonded pair of a Transfer and a Pillar. Except Transfers must have magic to be bonded and as Izuku steps into the dark water, it shows... nothing. Now stuck in this world for as long as it takes for a bonded pair to form, Izuku decides to explore and discover the world around him.
Second Chance Ranch - When life hasn’t gone the way you wanted, shouldn’t you get a second chance? Bakugou found himself trying to get a job to restart after being released from prison but fate had other ideas. A chance meeting brought him to the Midoriya Family Ranch, also known as Second Chance Ranch by the ex-convicts that had made a new life there. But is he the only one needing a second chance? Destiny seems to have brought him here to be the rescuer as much to be rescued.
My Current Works:
One Shots -
Waiting for The Ghost King - Fluffy one shit of Xie Lian on Mount Tiacang alone.
Broken Heat - MCU Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson. Omegaverse plot bunny challenge.
A Cowboy in Chaps - A fun Sero x Reader off of my new Western AU Second Chance Ranch (not yet posted).
Taming Of The Crew - Sequel to @succibisblog story 4M/1F Bakusquad GB with fluff (gotta have my fluff) Bakugsqaud x Fem!Reader insert
The New Employee - Reader request for an edgy but soft 6M/1F Bakusquad gangbang with fluff Bakusquad x Fem!Reader
The Drop - Baku/Eijiro x Fem!Reader - A BDSM series Part One
The Scene - Part Two
WIP Third Part - Someday, I promise. It's written but I don't love it and I won't publish what I don't love! SIGH
Kirishima Drives Like A Maniac - Highjacked from I Will Always Love You. Funny one shot - Kirishima x Fem!Reader
What If You Couldn't Sweat Kacchan? - This is a K+ (language) silly one shot for a competition - Baku/Deku
Reaching For Gold - Shoji's Wish - This is a request from a reader for a one shot from Reaching For Gold - Baku/Deku/Shoji Smut
My long Fics -
If I Have a Quirk, Then Why Do I Need a Gun? - Baku/Todo After the loss of their friend and the government revoking their Pro Hero licenses. Several members of the 1A class have become detectives. During their investigation they began unraveling a mystery that may lead them to understanding what happened to their friend or to their own deaths.
I Will Always Love You - Baku/Deku Bakusquad on tour as a professional music band. Super hot Shinso/Ojiro side ship, they about steal the show.
Let's Give Them Something To Talk About - A Small Town Romance- Baku/Deku with side ship of Sero/Kiri
Reaching for Gold - Baku/Deku with side ship of Miro/Sero - Sports Romance
A Succulent Prize - The Anti - Cupid (Written in a COVID Fever - so just...) Baku/Deku strange little story - Romance + ? (I adore all my fics but this weird ass story is my low key favorite.)
Open For Business - Baku/Deku - My first and super sweet Romance - Hurt Comfort but a little rambling LOL
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take your pick.
a/n: i have this idea i've wanted to write since last vday! basically a sort of CYOA, but it’s choose your own date. i just really wanted to write a multifandom blind date drabbles. these will be sfw, and not exceedingly long since i’d never get it done if that was the case LOL. i tried to keep it to seven of my fandoms, but motivation and time permitting, may add more fandoms? who knows. btw, this is just meant to be a silly thing LOL pls don’t take it seriously :))))
various x reader
fandoms: devilman crybaby, bleach, genshin impact, hunter x hunter, jojo’s bizarre adventure, jujutsu kaisen, one punch man.
You, by all respects, lead a fulfilling life. You have a nice job, you’re doing well in school. You have a wonderful network of friends, and a supportive boyfrien—
Well. Scratch that last one. Maybe you don’t have all these things. Or even one of these things. Maybe you have none of these things.
But that’s okay. It’s not like you’re dissatisfied with your life. It’s not like you love it either, but on a scale of 1 to 10, it would rank at least a five on most days. And that’s better than nothing, right?
Right?
There’s a lot of things you can’t fix overnight, no matter how many pep talks in front of the mirror or pints of ice cream you devour on late nights, but your friend suggests a band-aid solution—it is the easiest thing to address, after all, considering just how many bored, single men exist in the world. A local dating app recently came out in your city, and the developers were kicking off its beta release with a February blind-dating event. It wasn’t even a day after she told of you about it that she was at your door, demanding she help you set up your profile on the app.
“But I’m not lonely,” you protest.
“I saw you crying at videos of puppies the other day,” she says, scrolling through your phone, before typing furiously. No doubt trying to spice up your profile. You wonder what light she’ll portray you in this time? The artistic recluse with an air of intrigue? The peppy optimist with a dark past filled with daddy issues? She’s definitely used that one before... “You baby-talk your pet goldfish.”
“I like animals,” you say defensively.
“All you do in your free time is binge telenovelas,” she continues, as if reading off a mental checklist she’d made of you. “You used to have those posters of cute boyband groups on your walls.”
“Shh! We don’t mention that stage of my life.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, swatting your hand away when you reach for your phone.
Your hand falls onto the couch as you groan. “I don’t wanna meet some weirdo though.” Your nose wrinkles at the memory of her past efforts at finding your next fling. “Remember that double date I went on with you?”
“He was a nice guy—”
“He came straight out of prison! He brought his parole officer with him.”
She meets your gaze, nodding painfully. Yes, she did remember her date bailing only to be replaced by the parole officer. The two of you share a look before bursting into giggles. As the laughter recedes, she puts down your phone.
“But seriously—you’re going on that date.”
You sigh. “Dating is so hard, though. At least when I’m on my own, all I have to worry about is myself.”
She squints. “Weren’t you wearing those sweats when I stopped by two days ago?”
You look down, examining with renewed interest at the crusted-over pizza sauce stain on your pants. "...Maybe?"
She sighs, putting down your phone. Reaching for your shoulders, she gives you a good shake. You can almost feel your brain rattling around—or maybe that’s the lack of sleep speaking. You blink, disoriented.
“Try it, please? Putting yourself out there might be a nice change of pace. You’ve been such a shut-in lately. Who knows—you might even enjoy yourself,” she says soothingly.
You consider it. You really do. Your plans for that week—and the week after, and the week after that—were the same really: stream shows all day, browse social media until your eyes burned from being glued to the screen, fall asleep with the lights on and starfished about your bed.
What was the harm in changing things up a bit? What could go wrong?
Truthfully, many things could. At least you might get a good story out of it, though.
You sigh. "Fine. Let's do it."
She cheers, drawing you into a hug. You pat her forearms awkwardly, attempting to slip your phone out of her lap discretely. She notices through, slapping her hand over yours. You frown.
“So... who’d you set me up with this time?”
She purses her lips. "I can't tell.” At your look of confusion, she clarifies, “Because it's a blind date, no one's profile has their faces. It just has bios and pictures of random things."
“Random things?”
This time she hands you your phone, showing you the matches that have popped up. An assortment of items meet your view, underneath the prompt.
“Pick something that best represents your ideal partner."
You squint, clicking on random images to view the profiles. Hmm. While the bios give you some insight into their personalities, each image is oddly specific and gives away little of the appearance of the person you’d be going on a date with.
"Well, the app has great ratings so far,” she offers, noticing your hesitation. “Plus, If they live here, they can’t be that weird, right?”
True... Ruling out the fact that you could accidentally be going on a date with a foot-licking creep. It wouldn’t be the first time.
You scroll through the images, pondering them.
What have you got to lose, really?
WHICH ONE WILL YOU PICK?
a. devilman
A photo of someone tying their running shoes. The presentation is a little bland, but you are curious about these references to demons and devils. You are not sure if the location glitched, because why is he 666 km away…?
b. jojo
The eccentric cover of Prince’s 1999 album. Whoever wrote this seems to be flirty, confident—definitely someone who knows how to have a fun date. You’re curious about what his hair looks like, if he goes as far as to mention it.
c. darknight
An elegant photo: a bottle of… wine? grape juice? clutched by a gloved hand. Their bio is short and to-the-point. They seem to be someone who doesn’t like mincing words.
d. Prince of Silence
A traditional background, sakura petals scattering in the wind. The person must be one of aesthetics. Their bio is a simple haiku. You are a bit thrown off by the age though… surely, that must be a typo.
e. The Phantom Thief
A book with indecipherable text splayed upon a cluttered desk. It gives off the impression of long nights spent poring over readings. The bio is equally as intriguing—it seems this person is intellectual and enjoys philosophy.
f. infinitely cursed
A simple ring whose gemstone glints in the sunlight. An earnest bio—whoever wrote this seems to be the protective sort, if not somewhat lonely.
g. Speed of Sound.
You are… not sure what to make of this photo. Are those ninja weapons? The bio reads more like a listing for a hitman. Plus, who is this ‘Saitama?’
#genshin x reader#bleach x reader#jjk x reader#jjba x reader#dmcb x reader#hxh x reader#opm x reader#vday event: blind dates#tati writes#lmao it was pretty fun to make those fake dating app profiles ngl
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ALRIGHT I know part 2 just released, but any theories for part 3?
OHOHO HELL YEAH >:) these may be a bit sporadic and out of order, a catastrophic amount of sillies, perhaps some hooliganism, etc, etc, y'all know the drill by now <3
[IJ part 2 spoilers, ofc]
Same cold open as always (in front of the whitehouse, etc) except this time its RON >:)
he MENTIONED being a huge conspiracy nut in college - considering he's most likely gonna remember elements of Reagan's script, I 100% believe he's gonna slip back into that.
WE GET A GIGI BACKSTORY EPISODE!!! Otherwise I will just start biting people
ok this is just a plea to the IJ writers BUT STILL
JUST,,, PLEASE </3 I want Gigi lore. Her character is delightful, and there's so much potential for interesting backstory. They've set up all these little threads [her working her whole life to get where she is but still being unsatisfied, 'I could get used to being unremarkable', feeling ignored] now I just want them to elaborate on them.
I might be biased bc I love Gigi to death but COME ON, IT FEELS LIKE SHE'S GETTING SHELVED SO MUCH!! I'm so glad she got to do more this season, esp w/ Reagan, but I'm yearning for lore
tldr. Give me a Gigi episode or give me death.
Air Bud (AB) and Alpha-Beta (AB). Can you see where I'm going with this can you see the wires crossing
I'm sorry but I need the silly robot man to get jealous of the team paying more attention to Air Bud than him.
I can picture it so vividly like a vision from an angry god just
'Of course we're a team! we've even got loveable non-human sidekick who grew beyond his original purpose, gained human traits, and became all the better for it!'
-haha, well, I wouldn't exactly describe myself as a side-'
'Air Bud :D'
'I beg your fucking pardon, Mister Hand?'
in short I need smb to offhandedly refer to Air Bud as AB, and watch this man have a cyberstroke from pure jealousy.
speaking of my favorite man,
ALRIGHT,,,, I DO KINDA REALLY WANT TAMIKO DATE 2.0,,,,,,,
I don't really ship them but the potential here is too powerful. I need to experience more of Whatever The Fuck Happens To AB's Mind When He Sees A MILF
Tell me it wouldn't be delightful to see this clown try and ask Tamiko on a proper date. Tell me that wouldn't be magical to witness. It'll be an absolute car crash and I pray the writers give it to us.
also because if (lets be honest, when) he gets rejected, his dramatic, self-pitying crywank moment is going to be. so good. Teenager sulking in their bedroom watching rom-coms and crying about how 'that was just like me and Tamiko 🥺🥺🥺' levels of pathetic. I know it in my heart of hearts. I physically can't wait.
I think overall I just want this man in situations. bad situations. bad not good situations where he will act both bad and not good <3
THE ROBES,,, UH,,,, HRM,,
*GESTURES VAGUELY* THERE'S SO MANY OPTIONS IDK YET GIVE ME A FEW MONTHS TO STRATEGIZE
They could be anything from aliens, to time travelers, to 4th dimensional beings, robots, clones, ghosts, Just Some Guys (tm), to all of the above in some hodgepodge fruitcake situation.
I will however say that,, at least half of what the Robes told Reagan was probably bullshit. The stuff about all catastrophes having meaning? Not buying it, there's smth up here.
[ALSO,, I'm 90% sure that season 2/part 3 is gonna be the start to an actual Longterm Overarching Plot, which the Robes will no doubt be involved in. Please Please Please, this show is already delightful, and a broader plot would just. *italian hand kiss*]
MISC SHIT, MOSTLY JUST HOPES AND DREAMS:
JRand prison moments. homoerotic prison escape. two bisexual men pressed into a dirt tunnel, who knows what might occur in the heat of passion etc, etc
GLENN CHARACTER ARC!!! We're getting little hints at it,,,, he's tried shrooms,, he's growing closer to the team,,, the bisexual arc is right around the corner for this man I can FEEL IT.
I think we might see Atlantis? We've been getting more stuff about them, and since we've covered pretty much all other Already Mentioned Funky Locations, I think that's gonna be the Big Travel Episode next season!!
BEACH EPISODE!! PLEASE GOD!!! Either combined w/ the above, or separate
[Also, shamefully, I'll admit,,,, I kinda want a musical episode. I have no excuse I just think it'd be so delightful. Please Once-More-With-Feeling, Guy-Who-Didnt-Like-Musicals these bitches Shion, I know you have the power.]
A deep-dive into Andre's psyche. SO many things have been brought up, and I hope they really go in on them. He's coping in 1000 different ways and I don't think a single one of them is good for him.
HM. okie this is getting rambly - I'll probably add more within the next few months as these episodes congeal in my brain, but for now, tysm for the ask!!!
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LawNa one-shot involving a proposal and Penguin being the best crewmember ever
“I can’t.”
Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo looked in disbelief at their Captain, “You can’t?!”
“Come on, we’re leaving.” Law said as he adjusted his nodachi and turned around but then a hand grabbed his shoulder and he turned to see it was Penguin who stopped him, “What?”
“Captain...” Penguin shook his head, “Law…you’re not backing out of this.”
Penguin then turned Law fully around and grabbed his shoulders, “Look at me! We’ve known you for how long? Since we met on Swallow Island?”
Law glared back, “Release me, Penguin.”
“No I won’t! You can chop up my body later but I’m not letting you go back to the Tang to marinate in self-pity!” Penguin said, “We all know you were dealt with a shitty hand in life but look! Cora-san’s been avenged! Doflamingo is in prison! And now you have this wonderful opportunity right at your fingertips and you just want to throw it all away!”
“I’m not throwing it away! It’s just not the right time!”
“You think that, but Nami might not! Enough of the excuses! Are you a man or not?”
Law frowned, “She’s a Straw-hat pirate! She belongs with them!”
“But you love her!” then Penguin went silent as the cogs started turning in his head and then he sighed. “I see now.”
His Captain was hopelessly in love and afraid. Afraid that loving her would mean taking her away from the things she treasured most and dragging her down the murky depths devoid of the sunlight that fell on her orange hair in a soft glow.
“Law…I’m sure her crew would be more than happy…well maybe not Black-leg…but everyone else would be fine with it. Especially Straw hat.”
Law grimaced as he thought of how Luffy had recently made him the target of silly pranks involving Nami by either shoving the two in each other’s arms, dragging one of them to sit next to the other, or grabbing their hands in his own and placing them together. Shit, now that he really thought on it, Luffy had given him his blessing in his own quirky way.
“Besides, if Nami comes on the Tang she can help me practice drawing maps!” Bepo gushed.
“Law won’t marry her for that reason idiot!” Shachi scolded.
“Sorry.” Bepo mumbled as he lowered his head.
Law looked at all the members of his crew and pulled out of Penguin’s grip which had loosened before looking down at the simple black box that was in his hand. He looked back up at his men, “Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“I don’t know.” Penguin shrugged, “But you won’t know until you ask her.”
Law regarded the box and then looked up ahead at were the Thousand Sunny was docked. He nodded his head, “Okay then…”
---
The Heart Pirates and Straw hats were gathered together on the beach when suddenly Usopp came running towards the beach and grabbed Luffy before whispering something into his ear. They all watched as Luffy’s face spit into a wide grin, “Shishishi! Really?”
“It’s true! I saw it myself!” Usopp said loudly and then his eyes almost popped out, “Damn! I saw! Oh man Nami’s going to kill me! No Tora-o’s going to kill me! Oh God they’ll both kill me!”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Uni shouted.
“Tora-o proposed to Nami!” Luffy said happily relaying the message Usopp gave him.
“EEEEEHHHHHHHH??!?!?!!”
“What…what did she say?” Bepo asked.
“I said yes.” Everyone looked as a cloud had landed on the beach carrying the couple in question. Law slipped off first before holding out his hand to Nami who took it and slid down as well. The hand that she used to hold his had a gold band on it that shined in the light of the evening sky.
#LawNa#LawXNami#Trafalgar Law#Nami#Penguin#Shachi#Bepo#Heart Pirates#Luffy being luffy#opfanfic#oneshot
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Have you heard of the LOL/ Arcane theory popular on Twitter right now that Vi so far has been coded as a... wife-beater for a lack of a better term? What's your opinion on this? Do you feel there's any room created by the narrative to consider this?
Yeah ok that's a rough one… Might lose some followers over this lol
I stay far and away from "twitter fandom drama". I don't think the limited word count is very conducive to productive dialogue. Here? Sure. I can write an essay on silly meta and my silly mutuals (affectionate) will actually read it and even reply.
So no, I use twitter to reblog art and post some of my own for Arcane, but I'm almost never on it and not interested in whatever "Arcane Twitter" has to chirp. I was completely unaware of this nonsense.
Now, to answer you…
WHERE? Where is the proof? The textual, in the show, screenshot to screenshot proof that Vi is even remotely "coded" as a "wife-beater"? Do the little birds provide it? [this is a rhetorical question, don't feel the need to provide links, I've lost as much brain power on this theory as I'm willing to]
Is it that clip I've used myself, that hints at Vi hitting Powder in the Enemy video? Has like… none of them gotten mean to your siblings when they drove you mad? Did they all have golden childhoods? Vi sure didn't. She's an orphan at this stage, just moved in with a man whose nickname is the Hound, who she just saw cave someone's head in with his fists. Her younger sister is basically her daughter, and she's already shown signs of mental illness, probably from before the bridge.
Vi, as a kid, is incredibly disadvantaged. She's dirt fucking poor, her role model rules their criminal underground with his fists, and her sister/daughter/ward is a chronic problem-maker with mental issues and probably her own boatload of trauma. I mean, they both walked into an actual charnel, amid dozens of dead bodies, to find their own dead mom (and presumably, dad?). As preteens!!
I think, by and large, we can cut Vi some slack for hitting Powder. The Enemy video hints she pushed her to the ground. Is that the wife beating coding? I see nothing else. And if that's in, then it's actual bollocks.
Meanwhile, do you know what you get if you type "What Profession Has The Highest Rate Of Domestic Violence?" in google? Yeah, that's right. Non-Fictional Enforcers
A couple between a victim who was falsely imprisoned for 5-to-10 years and is trauma ridden by the way her entire life was shaped by systemic injustice, and a cop… Who has the highest percentage chance of beating who? As you may have guessed, I'm not a big fan of Caitvi as a season 1 ship.
There is NO evidence in the show that Vi would be a wife beater. Slapping your sister for murdering your entire family in a moment of blind sorrow and rage isn't the same as being an abuser. Worse, the show takes insane pains to showcase Vi as being basically the same in act II and III as in act I.
They make such an effort to make her seem to still have that "good heart" of hers. She is precipitated into a relationship with an enforcer mere days after she's let out of prison. It's completely unrealistic. The show is ready to bend itself into a pretzel to tell us that Vi is fine, and she is SO kind actually that she will let one cute enforcer prove to her that her prejudices are wrong! uwu
Do you have any idea what 6+ years in a jail would be like, as a complete innocent, being beaten so many times the warden forgets? And please, it's a mixed prison too, since she's in there with Mek? The show bails out of making Vi as dark and traumatised as she ought to be, by all rights.
The show chickens out of taking the time to make Vi scary. To make her hate and distrust Caitlyn, who is the pretty face of oppression, who didn't even think to release her on her own after finding she was wrongfully imprisoned, and instead needed to be threatened.
They unrealistically sped up their relationship because they wanted the fandom working its teeth on their lesbian romance like a chew toy all the way to season 2.
So no, in my blunt, honest opinion, there's no "coding" for Vi being a wife beater. She's "coded" as an unrealistic goodie who came out of prison emotionally stunted, stuck in her 15 yo self, refusing to see reason when it slaps her in the face—but very ready to see how pretty the enforcer lady is—and otherwise unaffected.
She's cool, she's strong, she loves her sister, she's so kind she won't even make a convincing effort at hating Cait… but she lets her ruin things between her and Jinx. Vi suffers the most in act II and III, characterisation wise.
I find it incredibly frustrating because building actual earned trust between Cait and Vi is not actually that hard. There's a few changes to be done in the way they interact, especially early on, and it becomes so much more convincing.
Worse regarding this theory, the one Arcane writer who has been… oversharing… her headcanons, is Amanda, the Caitvi bandwagon driver. You think Riot would let her hype Caitvi as a cute ship for season 2, only to tear them apart with domestic violence?? It'd be like strangling the golden goose. And after they went and took out all the police brutality lines from Vi's LoL character too! No chance.
People who speculate that Vi would hit Cait or be a wifebeater are probably projecting what they want to see and calling it "X-coded" because it makes them sound serious. The doctor's prescription is a whole day at the park touching the grass, and then a whole month watching quality essays on media literacy and analysis.
#Vi#arcane vi#arcane#meta#anon ask#thanks for the ask#i guess#that was a weird one#caitvi just not my cup of tea#making vi the aggressor when she's paired with a fucking cop#REALLY not my cup of tea#come back to me with H/C of wife beater coded Caitlyn#(jk pls don't)#someone ask me my opinion about Silco or Mek I beg of you#arcane meta#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi
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Somewhere Inside, by Laura and Lisa Ling; The World is Bigger Now, by Euna Lee
*This was written about two weeks before the current news about someone crossing the North Korean border broke.*
Awhile back, I watched a Nat Geo documentary about North Korea, where the journalist was Lisa Ling. I found the documentary interesting. I didn't know that she and her sister had written a book about the time that Laura spent in captivity. I was trying to find something to read to put between the entries of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, just so I don’t end up with three weeks straight of writing about the sane books, and I found Somewhere Inside on the random page in Libby.
I find most unknown things to be fascinating and North Korea is no exception. I often find myself thinking, as I do mundane things, that most people, all around the world do the same things, no matter the culture.
I get up in the morning, get dressed and star my day. People all over do variations on the samething
The experience in North Korea is so different from anything I know, but so similar too. Their political system is different, their freedoms much reduced to my western mindset, but there are still people doing the same things we all do.
Connections can still be made.
Somewhere Inside is interesting because the situation the girls found themselves in was so odd. While on a trip to China for a documentary about North Korean defectors, they follow a guide to the frozen river that served as the best crossing. While walking on this river, they briefly cross over into North Korea. Border Gaurds chase down Laura and Euna and drag them into North Korea.
That begins the five month captivity, much of it in the capital city of Pyongyang. During captivity they were subjected to daily interrogations and threatened with long prison sentences, eventually culminating in a trial where both woman were sentenced to 12 years hard labor. This was in part due to the fact that they were coheresed into a confession of wanting to harm the Democatic People's Republic of North Korea.
Eventually, they were released when Bill Clinton was allowed to come and apologize and take them home.
The World is Bigger Now is Euna Lee, the documentary's editor's side of the story. Through most of the captivity, the two woman were held separately. It almost feels as if Euna, originally from South Korea, was treated more harshly, or that could have been her mindset. Laura never thought that they were going to be killed. Euna, however, frequently wondered if they were going to simply kill her.
Somewhere Inside's narritive is split between Laura in her captivity and Lisa doing everything she could in the US, to get her and Euna home.
Both books are inspirational stories Laura and Euna did endure a frightening and traumatizing time in a country whose people are taught that Americans are enemies and want to make their lives worse. During this captivity, both able to make connections with their guards, and their interrogato, and in Laura's case, her interpreter. The young woman who gaurd them like music, and tv, have families, and act silly. Laura's interrogator is a feeling man who doesn't like sending people to prison, and when he feels like he can, is almost brotherly to Laura.
It is important to say, that besides their being held prisoner, and the beating they recived upon being drug nack over the border, (Which I get the feeling was not looked kindly on by people who were tasked to care for them),all the physical hardships that the girls suffer,are suffered by the citizens of the DPRK. The frequent power outages, the cold. They were likely fed better than the average citizen could afford.
This is not to defend the mental torment that was afflicted on to them, its just true.
It shouldn't have happened. They should not have been lead to that area to film, they shouldn't have *asked* to be taken to that area to film, they shouldn't have crossed over, the guards shouldn't have chased them down and they should not have been held. My feeling is that the guide double crossed them.
They showed amazing fortitude during their captivity, even if they, out of fear and not knowing any better, did some not too smart things.
Now, I have to say that what struck me most is the fact that Laura's story in particular shows the amazing privilege of people in the media.
I think that Laura and Euna got out as fast as they did, entirely because of Lisa Ling's connections. Not only did Laura and Euna work for Al Gore's TV network, but Lisa has contacts high up in CNN and other media (Anderson Cooper and Oprah). I mean, shit, she knew someone who knew then sitting President Obama's sister and was able to get a letter to the man himself through that contact.
Now, I don't blame her in the slightest for utilizing those contacts. If it were someone in my family, and I had a way to get the ear of people in the Whitehouse or Hollywood, you better believe I would do it! The point is, if this naive and reckless film crew would have been a group of independent documentarians without connections to the who's who of government and media, would they have been able to get Bill Clinton to fly over there amid nuclear tests and government officials sniping at each other?
I don't know the answer to that, but the cynical side of me has its doubts.
There of course, is a flipside here, if they had. Not been working for a former vice president, and Laura had not been related to someone who was known in North Korea an an enemy, would they have been held held as political bargaining chips? Again, I don't know.
They are interesting books, that made me think.
#books#book blogging 2023#book#Somewhere Inside#Laura Ling#Lisa Ling#The World is Bigger Now#Euna Lee
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Greetings, I’m Freddy Fazbear. In this post, I will be introducing myself and how I will treat this blog. I’m quite a simple bear, though I do expect to be treated with respect. Not only am I the name of such a popular corporation, I’m also one of the only sensible people on earth despite being a mechanical machine.
Who are you?
If you don’t know who I am, then you must be out of your mind. Are you really that underground you don’t recognize such an iconic design? I’m Freddy Fazbear and I don’t take kindly to idiocy.
What do you stand for?
Isn’t it obvious? I’m a man, or bear, of pride and strength. I stand for many different things, but I like to believe what shines out the most is my heart. I am passionate and I love passionately, not in a necessarily romantic sense. My heart defines me just as other parts of me do.
My interests, desires, dislikes, hobbies, traits, and values will always be what makes me me. Why should I have to stand for one thing? Do you think all I do is live everyday singing to children I’ll never seen again? That’s quite dull.
What’s your dream?
That one day, I can finally escape this prison that was unwillingly set for me. I think everyone deserves freedom, even if you may have been bad in the past. While there are some exceptions, being locked up and caged to a wall never released an animal of their ferocity. So, why do it to a human? Or even a robot? Or ghost, if you will.
If all humanity ever did was take and take and take, expecting that to improve the wrongs, then humanity in it’s entirety was never going to be better than that one person they’re depriving. If someone took something of value to you, whether it was your freedom or an object of some kind, would you return to them with kindness in your heart? Would you relieve yourself from your box of spite in this time apart from what made you you?
What inspires you?
A rather silly question. Nothing. When all you’ve known in life is stand, stare, perform, you never get a chance to live a life worth living. I can’t find an ounce of control in my own establishment because I am permanently stuck in this husk of a body.
That is part of the reason I’ve made this blog. To help me see more, learn more in the short time I have left.
Anything else?
I don’t appreciate being rushed. But, I stand by any and all of my beliefs and thoughts. I am not going to succumb to anyone because they may be wary of one thing or two that makes me who I am. If you can’t learn to respect, no one will ever respect you. Who says you’d even deserve it, though?
Quick Blog Rules
If you’re going to comment or reblog anything with extra comments, be sensible and logical. Idiocy is a curse that weighs many down from their potential, I don’t want to deal with mental 10 year olds.
Respect me and I will respect you. I suggest you fear me, I am not your typical person and will do anything in my power to enhance that weakness in your mind you may refer to as “strength” despite knowing you’d never even reach the first step of the ladder. If you can’t order a meal in a restaurant on your own, don’t even try arguing with me.
Don’t be anti-animatronic. Do I really need to explain?
Don’t fucking interact with my blog if you’re Phantom fucking Freddy. Goddamn son of a bitch, I’m gonna fucking find a way to suck your damn ass into a vacuum like those bitches from GhostBusters.
You don’t like my interests. Not sure how often I’ll use this blog or what it’ll be for, but if I have something to share, be. Fucking. Civil.
If you’re gonna ask me anything or PM me, don’t be a douche. I may not take idiocy well but disrespect and hatred? A much different deal, but really? Is it any different at all? Why would you waste time trying to bring someone down when you could be productive instead? Are you that pathetic or is it truly just your low intelligence making all the decisions?
Don’t try to state you’re me. It’s pretty obvious you aren’t.
Celebrate any and everything that has to do with me. You may call it narcissism, I call it self-respect. If you aren’t the one constantly cheering for yourself, who will? Learn to take pride in everything you do. Did you just finish making a cheese sandwich? Celebrate your low skills. Did you just watch a kid get beaten down by their bully and do nothing to help? Celebrate your independence.
Don’t expect anything from me. I may be open to almost everything you lot have to throw at me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be anything predictable. If you want something from me, be patient and maybe before you die, you’ll have the chance to bask in that victory. If not, learn that not everything will go your way.
Don’t talk to me about my personal issues or “bad behaviors.” How I am and what I do is my business, it will never concern you or anyone that isn’t me. When you read the newspapers that dramatically explain how I’ve killed a night guard, will you take that knowledge as truth without confirmation? How can you believe something you weren’t there to witness? How can you truly live life if all you do is assume and believe? I may have killed a few night guards in my lifetime, but that is nothing but a hobby I partake in. So ask yourself, does having an interest make me a bad person?
Extra
I have many thoughts and will share them. If you can’t deal with that, perhaps this isn’t the blog for you. Perhaps even… the world isn’t the place for you. I couldn’t imagine going my life and avoiding others’ opinions because of one little thing. Disliking things is over.
Don’t fuck with me.
If I ever begin to act like a lunatic or simply just stupid, get onto me. Either it’s not me (Foxy fucking taking my computer) or I have finally reached a breaking point I cannot escape without proper support.
Don’t come into my blog if you’re a weirdo. I don’t use the term weirdo lightly or any of the words that fall into how I’m using it. Though I’d prefer any form of discourse off my blog, this is not what that is. These are real world issues and I would like for any of you fucking insane maniacs off my one source of comfort. That being said, pedophiles, zoophiles, racists, lgbtphobes, anti-religion, irl shippers, anti-self diagnosis, and more that fall into this category, STAY THE FUCK OFF MY PAGE.
That’s all for now. Don’t be afraid to interact, do be afraid of how I respond.
#introduction#intro#who i am#who am i#meet me page#freddy fazbear#five night’s at freddy’s#fnaf#freddy fnaf#freddy fazbear fnaf#yes i am the real freddy#dont act surprised#thanks to foxy for getting me on this site#read everything if you wish to be apart of my life#this introduction isnt for show or aesthetic
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fafs, twenty five
WHEEEEW BOY. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. busy winter all around, and a bit of writer’s block later, and we finally made it. Y’all, this chapter is 6.6k words, and pushed fafs over into 100k total words. I’m so fucking speechless? April is a really bad month for me, my anxiety has been absolutely killing me, but i feel so proud of myself and accomplished right now. maybe it’s the week i’m having, but i’m shedding real author tears over this. hopefully the size of this bad boy makes up for the wait. i promise it won’t be that long ever again. if you read this, and are taking enough time to read this note, thank you. thank you for reading, and for your comments, and for your love of my silly little story that i hope to one day turn into a real book you can hold in your hands. now... on with the show.
CW: i don’t want to give any spoilers but this chapter is for mature audiences for various reasons.
His face.
His stupid, godsdamn face.
Aelin couldn’t remember the last time it had been an effort to pull the swaggering assassin persona up to the surface, but she felt like she was digging through an empty chest in the pit of her stomach. Nothing but cobwebs remained; too much of her soul laid bare for the man that stood in front of her. He would see through her as he so often did, leaving no room for Celaena Sardothien to slip back into her skin.
That was fine. Aelin herself was full of more rage than she’d ever been as Celaena. Her eyes burned with unshed tears begging for a release, but she refused to let them fall. Her life had been nothing but a wheel of betrayal and trauma. Sam had been so rife with ambition he had thrown her under the bus more than once. Aedion, too, if she thought about it for more than a second, but she pushed him from her mind, refusing to let his giving up on her fall into the same cycle. He hadn’t known who she became, and she hadn’t let herself tell him the truth before it was too late, so she couldn’t really place any blame at his feet.
Rowan, though. His betrayal sliced deeper than any wound she had ever received in a fight. It was a gaping, fresh wound in her soul, as jagged and ugly as the one losing Aedion had left behind. Maybe worse because Rowan had seen her for everything she was and still decided she wasn’t good enough, decided she was no more than a criminal that deserved to rot in prison for her crimes. Aelin had told him the truth. The whole messy truth. She erased no part of her story in the version she gave him. Yet it wasn’t enough.
There had been plenty of time for her to turn the events over in her mind. Most days she was tipsy by noon, emotions scorching the back of her throat as much as the liquor. But even that hadn’t dulled the pain that came from her torturously going through a catalog of memories, trying to sort out the moment where Rowan had decided to lure her in with his words and his body for the sole purpose of stabbing her in the back at the right moment. It would have hurt less if he had just used a knife.
Even now, with him standing in front of her, she had to crush the fresh wave of hurt that threatened to consume her. Her cheeks burned red with a drunk flush as she looked him over, eyes silently scanning his body for anywhere he might have hidden weapons. Small knives could be tucked into his pockets and tennis shoes, and a gun would be easily hidden beneath his t-shirt. The open flannel would easily hide any bulk on his hips or back. Even the sling on his shoulder–
She averted her gaze, bleary eyes focusing once again on his godsdamn face. The way he was looking at her pinned her to the chair she slumped against, that painful chasm in her stomach ready to swallow her whole. Rowan’s eyes were scanning her, too, likely to find where else she might have hid another knife to chuck at his head. To silently answer his question, she ran her hand along the arm of the chair to tug another free from its sheath. Aelin pushed the point of the blade into her bare thigh, holding the dagger in place with a single finger.
The pain from the prick sent a rush of blood to her head, dusting off her thoughts enough for her to open her mouth to speak. Rowan, however, beat her to the punch by saying, “Stop it.”
“Stop what, exactly?”
“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Indeed, a quick glance down revealed a tiny bead of blood around the tip of the knife.
“Wouldn’t want me to bleed on the seats of your cruiser, now would we?” The tremor in her voice nearly gave away her emotions, but the sharpness in her tone honed it into anger. To his credit, the man before her didn’t flinch. Merely arched a brow at her until she adjusted her grip on the handle and twirled it between her fingers. “Am I surrounded?”
“I’m alone,” he said, and Aelin couldn’t hold back her snort. She highly doubted he’d been sent to apprehend her on his own with no backup. Not after what happened in the lobby of the bureau that ended with multiple people clutching bleeding wounds, Aelin and Rowan included.
“I don’t believe you, and I won’t be walking out of here to return to a prison cell.”
“I’m alone,” he repeated, leaning against the doorframe, “And I don’t want you to be in prison, either. I’m not here to arrest you.”
“Why are you here, then?” Aelin’s head tilted slightly, a lioness assessing her prey. She hoped it made him uncomfortable for her violent attention to be fixated on him. She pushed the thoughts where she couldn’t hurt him into the back corners of her mind. Maybe if she turned off her brain and emotions, she could fight her way out of this one and flee once again.
“To talk. To explain. To help you—“
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she hissed, stabbing the dagger into the arm of the chair. She used it as leverage to pull herself up, the wooden floor of the cabin creaking and cool against her bare feet. The lies had fallen from his lips too easily, and it had her grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table to take a long, burning swig. “You told her everything.”
“Aelin, I don’t know what she said to you, but I never told her anything.”
“She knew everything.” She hated the way her voice tripped up over the last word, saying it out loud, chipping away at her stone-cold exterior she’d been trying to live in lately. Flinging a finger toward the window, Aelin took a few steps toward Rowan. . “She knew about Arobynn and Sam. She knew about my parents. Everything I’ve told you, she knew. Maeve even said–”
“I don’t give a shit what Maeve said!” The outburst surprised her. Even when she had been in prison, Aelin couldn’t remember a time that he had raised his voice at her. “I didn’t tell her a godsdamn thing.”
“You’re the only person who knew aside from Arobynn, and he’s dead. I made sure of that after what he did to you. And you manipulated me into a false sense of security–”
“I told you that I’m in love with you. You think I did that as some elaborate scheme to throw you back in prison? Don’t you think if I was going to rat you out, I would have done it the second you told me everything? Why would I have waited?”
“To get back at me! I lied and betrayed you before–”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m still in love with you, despite everything.”
“Stop saying that.” Aelin was close enough now that it was easy for her to jab a finger at his chest. This close, she was sure he could smell the smoky whiskey on her breath. “Stop lying to me. It’s over.”
“Bullshit, it’s over.” Rowan’s hand closed around her finger, squeezing tight enough that when she tried to jerk away, she didn’t immediately slip free. Aelin jerked again, putting more of her body into the pull, but he moved with her. Nearly chest to chest, she used her other arm to shove him back, but he didn’t budge.
“Let go of me,” she breathed, voice low through clenched teeth. Tears pricked at the corners of her vision and emotion scorched the back of her throat. Again, she jerked her arm and managed to nearly slip out of his grasp. Rowan was too quick, though, tightening his grip on her wrist until it almost hurt.
Every emotion she had been burying at the bottom of various bottles started to bubble to the surface. Every tear she had refused to let fall, every atom of sadness and rage that she had managed to swallow filling her veins, her vision, her lungs.
Aelin wasn’t entirely sure when or how she started swinging her limbs at him in a nearly-blind attempt to cause some sort of harm. One moment she had been tugging away from him, and the next she was crowding him until his back was to the wall while she swung and kicked and he did what he could to deflect every hit. More than once he managed to catch her hands, but her white-hot anger proved to be too much. She landed hit after hit to his chest, one to his jaw, several kicks to his legs.
Someone was screaming in a raw, animalistic way. Someone was sobbing. She didn’t realize that it was her until her throat felt so raw it could have been bleeding from every emotion clawing up her throat.
His mouth was moving, the shape of her name so lovely on his lips that it broke her heart even more. It had been weeks of doing her damndest not to think of him, not even his name, and here he was standing in front of her looking exhausted and rugged and so handsome it only twisted the knife in her heart even more.
“Fuck, Aelin. Stop,” he groaned, a sharpness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. It was enough to give her pause while she scanned his features. Pain was etched across his face, heavy in the wrinkle between his brows as his eyes squeezed shut. Aelin’s hands dropped immediately, one of them sliding down the arm housed in a black sling. The shoulder she had aimed and shot at when she fled the bureau, leaving a hole in his skin that would surely bear a scar for the rest of his life.
And just like that, the anger diminished. Guilt flooded her, clouded her senses as she stumbled away from him. Still, his right hand gripped her fingers and kept her from getting too far away. Aelin didn’t bother trying to tug her hand away. She stood in front of him with her shoulders caved forward, body shaking with grief and guilt. Everything she felt was stripped bare, bleeding and raw before him. An alternate version of the woman she’d been that night on the balcony when she had told him her deepest secrets. When he had held her hand while she wept at her lost life and family, when he hadn’t wavered for even a heartbeat.
“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice anchored her where she stood as he stepped closer, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Aelin was fully trembling now, everywhere from her lips and chin to her fingers and toes. It was nearly impossible to get any amount of air into her lungs. Each breath was short and sharp and not nearly enough. Her gasps choked her between every broken sob. “Aelin. Look at me.”
She tried, but her vision was so cloudy with tears it was hard to focus on his face. Each and every one of his features remained blurry, but she tried. Tried to focus on the feeling of the calluses of his palm against her cheek, of his fingers slipping to twine between strands of golden hair. Aelin didn’t protest, physically or verbally, when he pulled her to his chest and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. Nor did she try to duck away from his reach when his lips brushed the top of her head and then stayed there to murmur sweet nothings to soothe her.
Maybe she should have been embarrassed at her willingness to melt into him, but it wasn’t anything she could help. The fabric of his t-shirt was so soft beneath her hands as she slid them around his torso, fisting the hem between her fingers at the base of his spine. She did her best to avoid his left arm entirely, but still felt the soft rub of his knuckles against his shoulder while he held her and let her fall apart at his feet. Maybe she should have felt embarrassed, yes, but if she was going to be carted back to prison, she would allow herself to have this last moment with him when she was just Aelin and he was just Rowan.
It had all been a delusion to think any of it could turn out okay. To have believed that he didn’t see her as the hardened criminal that she was, that he had put his training as an FBI agent to the side. Maybe it had been silly to think that they might have had any sort of a relationship in this world or another. But it had been that hope that had her wanting to correct the course of her life and see where they might end up. If he had betrayed her, she couldn’t blame him for it. As deeply as it cut, she couldn’t blame him for doing his job.
But it certainly didn’t feel like he was doing his job as he held her in the living room of the cabin, a fire crackling and humming behind them. His body was a solid weight that she held onto, inhaling his cool pine scent until her breaths evened out and reached the bottom of her lungs. The words he whispered certainly didn’t feel like he was doing it to keep up a ruse; soft murmurs that she refused to let go of. She would hear them echo in her mind until her very last breath, she was sure of it.
A small panic began to bubble to the surface as he pulled back, her eyes wide and wild as she looked up at him with new tears beginning to form. But his gaze was warm and loving, his hands gentle but firm as he ran it up and down her back.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he breathed, and her heart squeezed so tightly it hurt. “Let's get you in bed.”
Bed. It did sound nice; the idea of falling into the mattress and burrowing beneath the blankets with him as if he was going to stay. So she followed him, merely pointing toward the door that was her room when he looked over his shoulder in question. Not once did he let go of her hand. If anything, he gripped it tighter in his.
After closing the bedroom door, Rowan took a brief glance around. It was nothing like her secret apartment in Rifthold. Where that had been all opulence and luxury, this room was one of functionality and necessity - a mattress on nothing more than a bed frame pushed into the far corner. The rumpled sheets were a plain white linen with several ordinary blankets heaped in the center from where she’d crawled out that morning. The only other furniture in the room was a nightstand with a simple lamp and a dim bulb. Even the closet was mostly bare, save for a bag stuffed with first aid supplies and a handful of very boring clothes she had picked from other safe houses along the way to this one.
Rowan guided her to the bed, taking a moment to make sense of the blankets before motioning for her to crawl in. As soon as she settled close to the wall, he joined her, wasting no time in tugging her to his side. His warmth was welcome, what with her body still trembling slightly from the meltdown she’d endured. It may have been the most at peace she had felt in weeks, and she may have hated it just a little. But she rested her head against his chest and shivered when his hand coasted between her shoulder blades.
The weight of the blankets and her soul made her sink further into the mattress, her cheek nuzzling against his t-shirt. She wanted to believe that maybe he needed this just as much as she did. That the physical contact was just as relieving and rewarding for him as it was for her. With hope unfurling in her heart, it didn’t take any time at all for her to drift off into a deep sleep.
~*~
Red and gold flames danced before her, reaching higher in the chimney the more she poked and prodded the wood. Sparks scattered up and vanished, the logs crackling and snapping into ashen pieces with a hard jab of the poker. Aelin was trying to ignore the overwhelming presence of Rowan on the couch behind her. The flames were the only thing that seemed to soothe her aching soul.
The man in question took a deep breath, exhaling with an even heavier sigh. She could hear his fingernail scraping at the scratchy fabric of the couch, and it was enough to set her further on edge. Instead of acknowledging him and putting an end to the pregnant silence, she stabbed at the fire again and smiled to herself at the explosion of sparks.
Aelin knew Rowan well enough to know that the silence wouldn’t last forever. It was just a matter of who was going to break it first. She was sure that he didn’t know where to start, either. They had so much to talk about, starting with their convoluted relationship. But what was there to say, really? Rowan, in some shape or form, had betrayed her. The only person who knew her identity, that knew about her parents, was Rowan. Yet somehow Maeve had made the connection. That was a conversation that needed to be had, but Aelin was uneasy about it. The only way Maeve would know is if Rowan told her. It was enough to make her blood boil.
Rowan cleared his throat, a sound that elicited a deep sigh from Aelin. She finally stood and turned, but didn’t lift her eyes to his. With one arm braced on the stone mantel, she ruffled her fingers through her hair while watching the flames twist and twine together.
The tension in the room was a living, breathing thing. It sucked all the oxygen from the space, straight from her lungs. Looking at him would only make it worse; still, she risked a glance over her shoulder to find his eyes boring holes through her skin. Aelin quickly looked away, settling her gaze back on the roaring fire before her.
“I thought it would help,” Rowan finally said, his voice warm despite the chilly silence that had grown between them. Aelin froze at his words, muscles tense and hands clenched into fists against her thighs as she rose to her feet.
“You thought what would help?” Her voice was cool, calculated, and sharp as the daggers she had hidden all over the cabin. Rowan sighed when she finally faced him, raking his fingers through his hair, and creating a scattered mess with the strands.
“I thought if she knew the truth, it would help. That she would see things differently knowing that you’re Aelin Galathynius. That the case could be dropped because you were tortured and abused and forced to do all the awful things you had to do to survive. I thought we could spin it in a way that would make the press and the world feel for you. The golden girl of Terrasen found at last, after twenty years of suffering abuse. I thought… I thought since she solved your parent’s case that she would want to help.” His voice got thinner and tighter the more he spoke, the muscles of his neck and shoulders tense and straining beneath his t-shirt.
“If you truly believed any of that, you are far more naïve than I ever believed you to be,” she said harshly. The betrayal of it all seeped through her pores and pulsed through her veins. Aelin couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this. Couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like she was on fire and burning in the pits of her rage. The flames at her back only stoked the heat, prickled at the back of her neck like a thousand fire ant bites.
“I wasn’t–”
“Thinking? Weren’t you, though? When you lulled me into a false sense of security while I was broken and free-falling into a void. You wormed your way into my life, made me believe I could trust you, then you turn around and betray me in the worst way possible. What are you getting out of it, Rowan?”
“Do you think I enjoyed telling her everything? I feel like shit about it, Aelin. I know I broke your trust, but–”
“There are no buts!” Like a banshee, her voice exploded from her chest. Sweat lined her brow as her arms flung out to the sides, as her eyes widened and her heart shattered. “You would gain something from this. Probably a fat ass promotion for catching the infamous Celaena Sardothien and unmasking her true identity in the process. I’m sure you have hard drives stacked with my secrets that only you know.”
“I don’t–” Aelin cut him off with a sharp snort that quickly devolved into manic laughter.
“You and the entire bureau, I suppose. Did you all sit around with that shitty coffee laughing about everything I said? Every word that was nearly a confession that you can use in my trial?” She cocked her head, eyes locked on him. A predator narrowing in on her prey. Even the steps she took toward him were slow and purposeful. Rowan, too trusting it seemed of the woman before him, did little else than adjust his position on the couch. When she was a meter away from him, he finally stood and reached for her.
“Aelin, stop.” There was a commanding tone to his voice, something soothing that she wanted to be wrapped up in. But her skin was still blazing; his confession was pricking at every nerve ending in her body. That white-hot rage was still a rising wave, waiting to crash down on both of them. She had come this far, and she refused to be taken down by something as silly as false hope and a love of lies.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Something flashed in Rowan’s eyes, and she understood. Even to her, the voice dripping venom from her mouth sounded entirely foreign.
“Listen to me. We’re going to figure this out. I love you too much to let anything happen to you.”
“Say it again,” she said, her voice still strange and disconnected. Her fingers toyed with a small pocket at her thigh, brushed at the dagger hidden inside it.
“I love you.”
It all crashed down.
The lie on his lips sent that wave of fury down hard, sweeping through every part of her body. The rage got the better of her in that moment as her hand palmed the dagger. Her hands took on a mind of their own as she slammed the dagger into his chest until nothing but the hilt was sticking out. Rowan’s eyes widened, mouth opening in a silent ‘o’ from the shock.
And then she really lost touch with her reality. Over and over, she ripped the blade from his body and slammed it back down. Her movements were furious, his blood splattering over the couch, the walls, her skin.
Rowan staggered back, collapsing in a bloody heap on the couch with this chest heaving. Still, she didn’t stop. The warm spray of his blood was familiar, something she had experienced more times than she could count. Death and darkness beckoned her, and she found she couldn’t stop herself from plunging the knife into his body over and over until she knew he was dead, knew his heart had stopped beating, knew his lips would never spill another lie. Blood covered his entire body, soaked the couch and their clothes. His eyes were open and glassy, staring at the ceiling with no light behind them–
Aelin jolted awake with a sharp gasp, tears burning her eyes and falling in silent streams down her cheeks. Every part of her body was shaking furiously as she grappled with what was a nightmare and what was a reality. Each breath she took was shaky and shallow, not hitting the bottom of her lungs as her eyes jumped around the bedroom of the cabin.
The wooden floor was cool and solid beneath her feet. Beneath the closed, and locked, door, the fire emitted a soft orange glow that crept into the room. With the curtains drawn shut, she could see little of the room around her. She heard, more than saw, Rowan rise from the bed and walk around to where she stood with shaking hands and a hollow heart.
“Aelin,” he whispered, his voice warm and lovely wrapped around her name. Trembling, she raised her hands in front of her body. Was it to keep him away or to surrender? Was she signaling to him he needed to stay as far from her as possible, or to show him the bare bones of her soul? “Look at me.”
“I– I– We– I–” With failing words, she looked at his face. Rowan’s eyes locked onto hers while he reached out to carefully drag his fingers down her arms, to her hands. Where her entire body was cold and covered in gooseflesh, his hands were warm when they encompassed hers.
The trembling wouldn’t stop. It was as if she had no control over her body as she shook violently. Each breath was short and quick, sharp, and unfulfilling. Tears dripped off her chin and splashed onto her arms, soaked through the thin t-shirt that hung on her thin frame.
None of it seemed to deter Rowan. Instead of backing away, he only came closer. His hand slid around her neck and pulled her to his chest. At some point, it seemed, he had taken off his sling because she didn’t feel the rough velcro of the strap against her cheek as she nuzzled her face into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped between loud, broken sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, shh, sh.” His hand stroked down her hair over and over for several moments before settling firmly on the back of her head. She forced herself to listen to the loud thump of his heart while she tried and failed to calm her breathing.
Rowan took long, deep breaths, whispering for her to breathe with him. Aelin was lightheaded from hyperventilating, stars pricking at the edge of her vision. To avoid the disorientation, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her body to follow the guide of his breathing, to concentrate on the thump, thump, thump of his heart. Balling his shirt into her fists, she pulled him as close as she could manage, holding him tightly as though he might slip through her fingers.
“Whatever it was, it was nothing but a nightmare. It wasn’t real. This, Aelin, is real. Me and you. Right here. This is real.”
Real. She knew he meant more than just their bodies. The tenderness in his voice made it obvious. The love between them was real. It had only been a nightmare made up of her deepest fears. He had never betrayed her, he’d never told anyone her secrets. There was a loyalty between them that was almost blind; their love was almost to a fault. But it was real. Real as the cold wood beneath her feet, real as the fire in the sitting room, real as the ache she felt in her bones.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. Tears still fell down her face and left blotches on his white shirt. His chin rest on top of her head as he rubbed his hand in circles over the center of her back.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I killed you in my dream,” she sobbed, rubbing her face into his chest.
Rowan was quiet for a moment, though he never stilled the comforting motions of his hand. After several beats of his heart, he asked, “Did I deserve it?”
“A little.” To her surprise, a soft laugh bubbled in her chest and poured from her lips. Golden hair caught in his five-o’clock shadow as his lips spread into a smile.
“Then I forgive you.” It was too easy, the banter. Being comforted by him. Loving him. It was overwhelming and all-consuming, and despite the situation, despite the nightmare, Aelin could have stood wrapped in his arms like that forever.
But she couldn’t. They had much to talk about, but not while the moon was still so high in the sky with a soft pitter-patter of rain beginning to tap at the windows. Now was a time for rest. Aelin didn’t object when Rowan pulled away and led her back to the bed in the center of the room, carefully tucking her into the blankets before crawling in beside her. She was quick to snuggle into his side, to rest her head on his chest and begin to count his heartbeats.
It was the lullaby of having him so close that gently rocked her to sleep.
~*~
This time when she woke, soft light was creeping through the cracks of the curtains. The rain had gone as quickly as it came, leaving a silence that was only achieved in the middle of a forest. It was peaceful and serene.
And warm. She was so warm she was sweating where a heavy arm lay draped over her side. At some point in the night, her t-shirt had risen up. Skin against skin, keeping her warm and safe even in sleep.
She wanted to believe that he hadn’t betrayed her, but a thousand questions still tore through her mind like a hurricane. They had much to talk about, yes, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy this moment while it lasted.
Much to her dismay, it ended much quicker than she would have liked. Ten minutes after she’d woken up, Rowan began to stir, too. His arm tightened around her for a brief moment as he let out a deep sigh, then removed himself from her and shifted. Aelin rolled over then, still laying with her hands tucked beneath her head. He was sitting now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching his legs.
“I didn’t expect you to be here when I woke up,” she said, breaking the silence with a whisper. She truthfully hadn’t. After everything… why would he stay? She had made more than one attempt to push him away, starting with yelling at him in the bureau lobby and shooting him in the shoulder. Yet he’d come back. He had found her when no one else had truly bothered to try. Sure, there was probably a low key manhunt going on at the FBI, because she doubted that Maeve would want it to get out that she lost the world’s most notorious assassin. But Rowan had stayed.
There were no handcuffs keeping her chained until backup could come. There was no sign of him even having brought a gun with him. Her anklet had yet to make another appearance, and she hadn’t seen his cell phone since he’d arrived. All signs that he wasn’t here to take her away, and that he didn’t want to be found by anyone else, either.
“I keep trying to show you that I’m not going anywhere. When are you going to start believing me?” The words clanged through her like a bell, her lips parting on a sharp inhale. Hurt flashed in his eyes as he rustled his fingers through his messy hair. “I don’t know what else I can do, Aelin.”
Rowan’s gaze was fixed on his hands in his lap, fingers picking at a stray thread. That deep wrinkle appeared between his brows and she hated that she was the one that put it there more often than not.
She sat up, blankets bunching around her waist as she reached for his hand. It was hard not to sigh when he turned his palm over for her to slide her fingers through his and her heart skipped several beats when he finally looked at her.
Aelin crawled into his lap, careful not to jostle his wounded arm too much. His fingers brushed against her side, against the cotton of her shirt. The calluses caught on the fabric that he gripped into a loose fist, but she understood. Sliding forward until she was as close as she could be, Aelin rested her hands on the sides of his neck.
Neither of them said anything as a thick tension settled over the room, filling every gap until it was nearly overwhelming. There was a slight tremor to her hands as she brushed her thumbs along the strong, chiseled line of his jaw. His other hand was on her side, sliding around to her back, and she shivered at the way he was touching her. The way she would have let him touch her for the rest of his life if there wasn’t a chopping block awaiting her in the center of the city.
“Rowan,” she whispered, her breath fanning over his face. His green eyes shifted from her mouth up to her heavy lidded gaze. With her heart thundering in her chest, she was aching to whisper the words that she’d never uttered to anyone else in her life. Not even Sam.
“Fireheart.” There was tension in his voice, tension like he was trying to hold himself back. Whether because it was a test of his self-control or because he physically had to for the sake of the gunshot wound he’d suffered to his shoulder. By her own hand. She would never forgive herself for that.
Aelin leaned down, her lips pressing against the scarred flesh. It was soft, barely a whisper, barely a breeze of wind against his skin. Rowan’s exhale was shaky and his fingers flexed against her back. That kiss was an apology in itself, one she would make over and over until he was certain it would never happen again.
When she pulled back, her thumb traced over his lips, and she leaned forward to kiss him. It was a kiss that, if they weren’t existing in a world where what they had was a ticking time bomb, it would have be full of a million promises. Promises of tomorrow, of waking up tangled together, of shiny stones and golden bands. Promises of a house with the soft thump of tiny feet running through the hallways.
It was a future that she had never allowed herself to even dream. That had never been in the cards for her since everything avalanched when she was a child, but gods above did she want it. Just for today, she decided, she would pretend that they could have those things.
Tomorrow she would worry about the bureau, her trial, the cell that awaited her until she rotted to nothing inside and out. But today…
Knowing all of this, knowing what awaited them, she pulled back and whispered the words she should have that day they’d spent in her bed weeks ago after his rescue.
“I love you, Rowan. I love you so much, I can’t– ” but she was cut off with a searing kiss that she felt in every atom of her body. It felt like coming home, because in a way, she was. Rowan was home to her. It didn’t matter what happened, or where they were, he was home.
The kiss was all consuming, stole the breath straight from her lungs until she was gasping. Aelin had never been kissed quite like this, with so much hunger and desperation that it felt as though they might die if they stopped. Yet it was still so tender like he thought she would disappear at any moment. But she wouldn’t. Nor would he. And it seemed they were both ready to burn until nothing else remained.
“I love you,” he breathed, pulling back to search her face. Aelin merely nodded leaning back for another kiss, but he stopped her with his thumb on her chin. “I need you to hear me, Aelin. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t push me away. Whatever happens from here on out, we deal with it together.”
“Okay.” It felt like a weak response, nowhere near the words she wanted to say back to him, but they all remained in a knot in her throat. Tears stung her eyes, reflected in his as well. They were mirrors, she realized. One soul separated into two bodies. The truth of it broke and healed her all at once.
“I love you,” he said again. “To whatever end.”
“To whatever end,” she promised, and he finally let her capture his lips in another kiss that set her whole body on fire.
Aelin wasn’t sure when or how their clothes were shed, it happened so quickly all of it was a blur. The only thing she could see was him, the only thing she could feel was his hands roaming her skin, the hardness of him pushing between her thighs. When she first lowered herself onto him, it overwhelmed and consumed her in the best of ways. His attention remained on her face, even when her eyes fell shut at the sheer size of him, how hot she felt all over with desire and need.
Because she did need this. They both did, evident in the way his hands trembled against her body everywhere he touched. Her thumb swept over his damp cheek blindly, realizing that this was leaving him just as raw as it was her. Everything was laid bare before them, and though they had so much to talk about, so many things to uncover…
None of it mattered. The sole thing in this moment was him, was the way he felt sliding in and out of her as she rode him with her hands tugging on the ends of his hair. The closer she got to her climax, the more breathless she got, the harder her heart pounded against his chest. He had his arms wrapped around her so tightly that there wasn’t a part of them not touching.
“Rowan, I–” she couldn’t get the rest of her words out of her mouth as she tumbled over the edge with him chasing close behind her. Their foreheads were pressed together as they rode it out with jumbled words falling from their lips.
It took what felt like an eternity to come down from it. Not just the sex, but the emotional upheaval they were both experiencing. She stayed atop him, not wanting to be separated in any way, until both of their breathing evened out and his grip on her body loosened. Still, his hands shook where he touched her, tilting her head back with his fingers at her jaw to look into her eyes, her soul.
“I love you.” She would never tire of those words from his lips.
“To whatever end,” she promised, her lips falling back down to his.
It was the first time that she could truly imagine what her life might be like, had she been normal. Had she been anyone else in the world, with nothing but silly skeletons in her closet.
But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Celaena Sardothien, and she was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. And it was only a matter of time before everything caught up to her and brought everything tumbling to the ground.
p.s.: big thanks to @punkassbookjockey26 for being the best editor ever, and bouncing ideas with me. and a huge thanks to @westofmoon and @shyvioletcat for always being around when i get stuck. this story (and my life) would suck without you.
#fafs#far away from sane#fafs25#fafs 25#rowaelin#rowaelin fic#tog fic#tog fanfiction#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfiction#rowaelin fanfiction#my writing#pls let me know your thought#i want all the keyboard smashes and screamin#pls reblog xoxo
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Look with Your Hands
Another old short that people on my patreon voted for! Demons and warlocks are always fun, especially when both are so very cocky. But only one can ever win...
~ ~ ~
Liam Avex, warlock of the Eighth Ring, threw open the doors to his dungeon with a grin. It was all he could do not to dance down the steps, but instead take them with mocking gravity, descending into the pit at the center of the room where a cage of steel stood like ribs curving up from the floor.
There was a woman within the cell. She had an impossibly perfect figure, amply demonstrated by the fact her ‘clothes’ consisted of some leather straps bound across her curves. Her skin was a deep red, her bat-like wings cramped about her shoulders by the cage, her horns curling up before a mane of black hair. Liam’s eyes lingered on her firm, large breasts and the soft curves of her rump, thrown into sharp relief by fluttering torches on the walls. He brazenly ogled his captive, his smile widening at actually seeing his accursed rival behind bars. He was going to have so much fun!
“Well well well,” Liam said, arms clasped behind his back and cloak fanning about him impressively as he eyed the figure in the cage. “At last. Janine, Demoness of the Lash, mistress of the Tower of Ecstasy, and now, my prisoner.”
“Am I?” Janine said with an arch of a flawless brow.
“Of course you are!” Liam scoffed, gesturing grandly at the cage. “This device prevents you from casting any spell beyond its confines. Go ahead! Drop a fireball at me. All you’ll do is roast that pretty flesh of yours. You’ve evaded me before, slut. But at last you’re mine. And you’ll not escape me! Now, you will tell me all the secrets of your realm, or I promise you, my dear, I will drag them from your tongue with hot pokers!”
Janine ran her eyes over the dark steel of the cage. Her eyes came to rest on him once more and she sighed. “Yes,” the succubus said. “It seems you have me, Liam.”
“Lord Liam,” he corrected. “I think it high time you begin to use my title.”
“Too true, Lord Liam. Forgive me. I suppose now you’ll use my body for your own pleasures as well.”
“Ha!” Liam barked. “As lovely as you are, my dear, you’ll not be leaving that cage!”
“Oh? Then… you don’t intend to enjoy the feel of my breasts?” she asked, cupping those plump orbs, gently lifting them, the rings that pierced her nipples jangling.
Liam watched them, smirking. “Hmph! No need.”
“Not even to kiss them, my lord? Surely I am your slave now?”
“You’ll not trick me like that,” Liam said as he watched her fondle her breasts. “I’m too clever by half to even think of releasing you.”
“Of course you are, my lord,” Janine said, her voice softening. Soft as those big red breasts as she fondled them. Squeezed them. Bounced them in her hands. “Much too smart for a poor demoness like me. I hadn’t a prayer of defeating you.”
“No,” Liam said, shifting as his cock thickened against his pants. “No, you didn’t. Those years of you eluding me… it’s all come to this.”
“It has, my lord. This is your triumph.”
“Yes. It is.” Liam blinked, shook his head and glanced at her face. “You’re awfully calm about this.”
“I have accepted my fate,” Janine sighed, and Liam’s eyes were drawn back down to her shapely breasts as she continued to mold them in her hands. Gods, but to fill his palms with those orbs… “I was much too foolish to think I could best you, my lord. Your triumph was inevitable.”
“Inevitable,” Liam agreed, nodding slowly.
“Will you not celebrate? Use me for your pleasure?”
“Ha! You wish I’d… I’d do that. Let you out of that cage…”
“Of course, my lord. But you’re far too smart for that. You’re not some brainless mortal easily tricked. You know I cannot cast a spell on you from within this cage. So, it should be okay to… touch yourself a little.”
“Touch?” Liam said, watching her breasts sway. He sucked in a breath as he felt his hand stroke the bulge of his pants. “Ooooh…”
“Of course, my lord. For you have trapped me. Why let your success wait? Why not use my body with your eyes? Stroke yourself with your hand while I’m at your mercy.”
“Yesssss,” Liam hissed as he ran his finger up and down his bulge, feeling it thicken further in his pants. He licked his lips, and after all, what was the harm? He had her. Captured her. She was his. All his…
“Just like that, my lord,” Janine said, her voice so soft. Almost a hum that seemed to thrum up his cock as he undid the front of his pants, letting his cock pop into the open. “Oh my. If I knew what an impressive specimen you were, I would have surrendered ages ago. Your cock is so big, my lord. So mighty.”
“Yessss,” Liam groaned as his fingers engulfed his manhood. As he began to slowly pump.
“In fact, my lord,” Janine continued, lifting her breasts, dropping them, bouncing them, squeezing them, rubbing them together as if his cock were between them. “In fact, I think it almost equals your intelligence. So well endowed in wisdom and manhood. So potent. So virile. So smart.”
“Yes,” Liam panted, grinning, his eyes glued to her breasts, only to be caught by her hips as they began to sway side to side, her tail flicking behind her, teasing like a beckoning hand.
“Why, I bet you put all your power into that cock. All your thoughts and mind fill it fit to bursting. Such big thoughts. Big, swirling thoughts. My lord always thinks with his cock. His big, powerful cock. My lord always obeys his cock. And his cock is so hard now. Isn’t it, my lord?”
“Yessss!” Liam groaned, frantically pumping his shaft, fairly drooling over her body. Why not? She was helpless. Helpless before him. Before his cock. He was so smart and she was so dumb.
“Your cock is far too smart to be tricked, my lord. You simply must listen to it. Let it tell you what to do. That’s the only way forward. Only way to power is to obey your cock. And your cock so wants to obey my big… bouncy… breasts…”
Liam’s whole body twitched as his hand pumped his cock. His mind was awhirl as he watched her breasts bounce. He found himself nodding. Was he nodding? Sure, why not. Why not listen to her? Her breasts were so big. So soft…
“Oh my lord, I think I know what your cock wants to do. I think it wants to cum. I think it wants to cum all your silly thoughts out. Because if you think with your cock, and your cock tells you to obey my breasts, you must do so. Mustn’t you, my lord?”
“Yes,” Liam gasped. “Yes. Obey… obey cock… obey breasts… obey… obey…”
“My lord! How clever of you to listen so closely to your cock. To let it obey my big breasts. My swinging hips. But I think you don’t want to be clever. Because only dumb cocks get to go between my big breasts. My lord, are you perhaps wanting to be a dumb cock bimbo?”
“Yes!” Liam cried, the word escaping him in a rush. He wanted that! He wanted it so bad. He needed it so much! “Yes! Want to cum… gotta cum… cum… cum bimbo cock. Cock have to… to cum dumb cock. Dumb…”
“Then cum, my lord. Cum those brains out. Cum for my breasts. Cum for my hips. Cum for mistress. Cum! Cum!”
“Nyaaaaaaa!” Liam howled as he came, the pleasure so intense it was like nothing he’d known before. His mind went white, spurted out from his cock, splattering on the floor of the dungeon and bars of the cage. The warlock whimpered, sagging where he stood, as if all the strength had gone from him.
“What a good boy.”
Into the emptiness of his post orgasmic bliss rushed those words. He shuddered, lifting his head to the succubus. To her. Radiant. Confident. To her big, soft breasts just tantalizingly out of reach.
“Open the cage, pet,”
His hands seemed to move on their own, a mechanical gesture made frantic by his need to obey. With a creak and a rumble, the spikes that made the cage opened like an iron flower, sinking into the floor even as Janine delicately stepped over their points. She swayed towards him, and Liam’s eyes were glued to the soft, rhythmic back and forth of her breasts.
The succubus smirked, pointed down. “Kneel.”
Liam obeyed.
Janine giggled, leaning forward and squeezing his cheeks in her hand. “Awww. What a good, dumb boy you are. You just couldn’t help but fall for my big tits, could you?”
“No mishtresh,” Liam squeaked out, his pupils fairly throbbing with love for the demoness.
“Of course not. And you thought you were so clever. But silly bimbo, you forgot! I may not be able to cast a spell on you, but I could certainly cast one on myself. And you were just so eager to watch my big hypnotits, weren’t you?”
Liam nodded as eagerly as he could with his face pinched in her hand. “Yesh mishtresh! Love your breashtsh! Love them. Good bimbosh obey!”
“That they do. And cum all their silly brains out. What little they had, anyway. And now that you’ve had your fun,” she added, straightening and grabbing his head, shoving it into the delta of her thighs. “It’s my turn!”
Liam moaned, his tongue drawn out, adoringly running up the velvet sweetness of her pussy. His tastebuds sang with the powerful flavour of mistress. That wonderful taste. Already he could feel his silly bimbo cock hardening again as he adored her cunny.
“Mmm. Good slave,” Janine moaned as she rode her new toy’s face. “Good bimbo. I think we’re going to have so… much… fun…”
Liam agreed, and as he resumed pumping his dumb cock, he knew that mistress would make it a joy forever and ever.
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Arkham Files: Pied Piper
Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Hartley Rathaway, alias Henry Darrow; also known as the Pied Piper. The patient shows signs of depression and general emotional distress, but I have not yet been able to give him a full psychiatric evaluation. Session One. So, young man, your name is Hartley Rathaway?
Pied Piper: Yes, sir.
Hugo Strange: Any connection to Osgood and Rachel Rathaway, the billionaire publishing magnates?
Pied Piper: They’re my parents, sir.
Hugo Strange: (Surprised) You mean to tell me that you’re that Hartley Rathaway? The boy who was set to inherit a fortune as large as the GDP of some small countries?
Pied Piper: I’m the only Hartley Rathaway! Ever! Nobody but my parents would stick a child with a name like that!
Hugo Strange: So if that is who you are, young man, why in the world would you have ever decided to put on a costume, call yourself the Pied Piper, and embark on a life of crime using weaponized musical instruments?
Pied Piper: Because someone had to even the score.
Hugo Strange: What do you mean, even the score? You had life handed to you on a silver platter. You grew up in a palatial mansion, with servants to tend to your every need. You had the best education money could buy, you traveled all around the world, and you were set to inherit one of the largest fortunes in the country. What injustice could a pampered prince like you possibly have faced?
Pied Piper: None, sir. I’m not evening the score for myself. I’m evening it for the poor, the downtrodden, the people who through no fault of their own are denied the opportunity to even know that they’ll have a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. My parents and people like them live in scandalous luxury that they didn’t even earn, and they have the nerve to say that the poor are lazy and selfish! It’s unjust and unfair, and yet everyone turns a blind eye! I...I had to do something!
Hugo Strange: (A bit taken aback) I must admit, young man, I was not expecting to hear a manifesto from someone of your background. (Pause) I take it that you don’t simply steal for kicks in the way that your file seems to suggest?
Pied Piper: Not often. Usually, I take the money from people who won’t even notice it’s gone and give it to people who really need it.
Hugo Strange: So you think of yourself as some sort of Robin Hood, then? Stealing from the rich to give to the poor?
Pied Piper: I wouldn’t have thought to put in those specific terms, but...I suppose I do, yes.
Hugo Strange: Why not just give away your own money, Mr. Rathaway? Certainly you have access to more than enough of it.
Pied Piper: (Laughs quietly) I tried that once. When my parents found out, it became part of the argument that got me disowned, disinherited, and thrown off of their estate without a dollar to my name.
Hugo Strange: Your parents disowned you?
Pied Piper: Yes. They even paid the FBI to give me the identity of Henry Darrow just so I could never be traced back to them. If the Flash and that brilliant young reporter hadn’t stumbled onto the connection between me and my parents somehow, Hartley Rathaway probably would have been effectively erased from existence.
Hugo Strange: That does at least explain why your file gives you two entirely separate names and histories. I admit that that had been puzzling me, Mr. Rathaway.
Pied Piper: Well, now you know. (Pause) How did I end up in Arkham Asylum, Doctor? Even if someone had become convinced that I was mentally ill, Breedmore Psychiatric Hospital would seem to be much more conveniently located.
Hugo Strange: It would be. In fact, there are any number of prisons and psychiatric facilities that would be more conveniently located to the area of the Twin Cities than Arkham Asylum...but through a series of judicial and political decisions to which I was not privy, somehow all of you “Rogues” were placed under my watch. (Pause) So, Mr. Rathaway, you went from being one of the wealthiest and most privileged people in the country to being homeless and penniless. I imagine that that was not an easy transition for you.
Pied Piper: No, it wasn’t. Although the panic didn’t kick in right away. It wasn’t until I used my sonic technology to steal forty thousand dollars from my parents’ company, and then gave the money away to people in need, that my anger subsided and it really hit me that I was impoverished. All I had left was my hypnotic flute and the silly costume I had made out of my mother’s nice shower curtains in order to disguise myself while I was stealing money from her company, and I was panicking. Which in hindsight is probably why I made the stupid decision to hypnotize a group of random crooks into becoming a sort of gang, told them that my name was the Pied Piper, and tried to become their leader. One of them probably would have ended up shooting me within a couple of days, but because my sonic abilities were quite unusual, the Flash showed up to arrest us before I got myself killed. They went to prison, but for some reason that was never adequately explained, I was released from the police station without even being booked.
Hugo Strange: How could that have happened, Mr. Rathaway?
Pied Piper: My parents’ money, of course. They hadn’t had the time to create a false identity for me yet, so I suspect that they simply bribed the police station into letting me go so that no one would know that the former heir to the Rathaway empire was now a common crook.
Hugo Strange: And what happened after that?
Pied Piper: I almost starved to death.
Hugo Strange: And what saved you?
Pied Piper: Well, I had sat down on a park bench and was sort of waiting to die when I suddenly came face-to-face with a pair of blue pixie shoes that were floating four feet off the ground. The pixie shoes were attached to a blonde kid in a garish leotard. He asked me if I was the kid with the magic flute, and when I said yes, he told me that he was the Trickster and invited me to stay with him in his apartment for a couple days. I agreed when he told me that he also had food. During the month I stayed with him, he gave me a crash course on how to survive on the streets...although most of the other Rogues insist that I must not have learned very much from it.
Hugo Strange: Why is that, Mr. Rathaway?
Pied Piper: Because I still give away basically all the money that I steal. Most of it goes to the poor, and the rest of it goes to my parents, to pay them back for the money they spent on trying to mold me into someone I could never be. That way, they can stop complaining about all the money they wasted on me. (Pause) Captain Cold insists that if I had any sense, I would keep some of the money for myself, but why would I do that? I spent my early life in unimaginable luxury. It’s only fair that I go without to help the poor now.
Hugo Strange: So you’re martyring yourself for the sins of your parents?
Pied Piper: I’m not martyring myself. I’m just doing what needs to be done.
Hugo Strange: Sacrificing your own financial well-being for the sake of others is not healthy, Mr. Rathaway. With a philosophy like yours, I’m surprised that you’re even still alive. (Pause) Incidentally, how have you managed to survive multiple stints in prison? A skinny, sheltered ex-aristocrat like you would seem to be an obvious target.
Pied Piper: Which is why I don’t call attention to myself whilst incarcerated. You’d be surprised how effective keeping your head down and your mouth shut can be. (Pause) Well, that, and Captain Cold has made it pretty clear that if anyone messes with me, they’re also messing with him. And almost no one is willing to get on Captain Cold’s bad side.
Hugo Strange: So your status as one of the Rogues protects you?
Pied Piper: Yes, sir. (Pause) But if I really had to, I think I could survive without them. I may be a sheltered ex-aristocrat, but I’m also a master hypnotist. I didn’t take up the name Pied Piper for nothing, Dr. Strange.
Hugo Strange: Yes, your file does go into great detail about the effectiveness of your hypnotic instruments. When you first arrived on the scene, there were even some people who thought that you might be the Pied Piper of the folktales, due not only to your powers but also the fact you seemed to appear and disappear almost at will, without ever really getting caught (Pause) Of course, from what you’ve told me, I can guess that the explanation for your remarkably infrequent imprisonments was due to your parents’ wealth, rather than to any magical powers.
Pied Piper: Those rumors were actually quite helpful. When people thought I might be magical, they put considerably less effort into tracking me, and that gave me a lot more freedom to do things like volunteering at homeless shelters and food pantries.
Hugo Strange: But you are not magical, Mr. Rathaway. You are only a man.
Pied Piper: I know that, Dr. Strange. If I had magical powers, I’d be a lot farther along in my goal of helping uplift the downtrodden than I am.
Hugo Strange: Mr. Rathaway, that was not what I was trying to tell you. Wanting to help others is an admirable goal, but the methods which you are taking to pursue it are decidedly unhealthy. You are a human being with human needs, and you are discounting them all in your desperation to prove that you are worth loving. While I believe that you honestly want to help others, I also believe that there is a part of you that is still trying to earn the love which it sounds like you were denied as a child. You’re hoping that if you sacrifice enough, you will finally be accepted as worthy...but you are giving too much.
Pied Piper: Too much?
Hugo Strange: Yes, Mr. Rathaway. Too much. (Pause) Think of it this way. If you starve to death because you have no money to pay for food, you will no longer be around to feed anyone else...and by giving away all of the money you bring in, illicitly or otherwise, that is effectively what you are risking. And it’s certainly what you’re doing to yourself on an emotional level.
Pied Piper: (Quietly) It’s what I was taught to do, Dr. Strange. What I wanted wasn’t important. What I needed wasn’t even important. The only thing that was important was upholding the family name. My parents have always made it quite clear that their love for me was conditional on whether I would sacrifice what I was to be their idea of the perfect heir, and I tried. For eighteen years, I tried, but it was never enough. Not after I’d been born deaf.
Hugo Strange: Yes, your files mention that. Your files also mention that your deafness was cured thanks to a pair of highly advanced hearing aids, which were created by Dr. William Magnus. The operation cost millions of dollars, and it granted you far more than the normal range of hearing.
Pied Piper: 14 hertz to 55,000 hertz. I hear more sounds than a dog. (Pause) And all the nasty things that people whisper behind my back when they think I can’t hear.
Hugo Strange: Are you glad that you were given these hearing aids, Mr. Rathaway?
Pied Piper: Very much so. Without them, I’d never have known what music sounded like. (Pause) But to be honest? If I had to choose between being deaf and knowing that my parents loved me, and being able to hear and knowing that it was entirely because my parents didn’t want the social embarrassment of having a disabled son, I’d choose the world of silence. And I hate silence.
Hugo Strange: Mr. Rathaway, you have spent your entire life sacrificing your own needs, either for the needs of others or for your parent’s desire for a so-called ‘perfect’ heir. That is why the request I am going to make of you will be so difficult. (Pause) Between now and our next session, I want you to write down something that you really want to do. Not something you think you should want to do; something that you actually want to do.
Pied Piper: But-
Hugo Strange: Mr. Rathaway, you will never be able to achieve healing until you recognize that your wants and needs are just as valid as anyone else’s. You will not be able to care for others in a healthy way until you learn to care for yourself.
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Tonight’s Showing
Part 1 [CURRENT]
Part 2
DT: @bargledblocks my beloved <3 and @snapdragonfirefly my beloved <3
------------The screaming and yelling tore into his mind, filling him with pain. The screams, Tommy’s screams, called out to him, begging for him to save him. He didn’t want to leave the boy there, he never even dreamed of such a thing! That stupid security issue that occured a week ago had started all this, and Sam hated every bit of it. He didn’t know what to do in the situation. What was there to do?
“SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!”
His eyes widened at the tone of Tommy’s voice coming through to him from the communicator. Tommy sounded terrified. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t wait any longer. Rushing through the halls towards the main cell, Sam was fully prepared to get Tommy out of there. Fueled by the screams, he stumbled into the room, flipping the switch to undo the lava. His fear and adrenaline only grew the moment the screams fell silent. Why was Tommy silent? Before he could even see the lava fall, however, a bright light momentarily blinded him. Upon regaining his sight and senses, he was quick to draw his weapon, only to realize he had no weapons or armor on him. The only thing he had were his everyday clothes.
“Why am I here? Where is here?”
He quickly turned around to see that he was not alone in this confusing predicament. Everyone from the server was appearing into the strange room, all panicked and confused. Ranboo quickly rushed to check on Tubbo, who appeared to be digging around his pockets for some form of protection. Ghostbur, Techno, and Phil stuck close to each other, the latter two wary and ready to fight. Heck, even Drista was there! Everyone was the same, armorless and weaponless. Everyone, including-
SMACK!
Everyone turned to watch as Sapnap’s fist flew threw the air, connecting to a familiar mask. Dream. Dream struggled against Sapnap for a moment, his mask as crazed as his movements. Before the two could exchange any more punches, an invisible force separated the former friends. As the two regained their senses, everyone could get a good look at the freed prisoner. Whether the blood on him was from the altercation with Sapnap or not, no one knew. Standing there, mask facing mask, Drista could only stare as she questioned her older brother.
“What did you do?”
“He did something despicable and disgusting.”
The unfamiliar voice caught everyone’s attention, causing them to turn and face the direction of it. Standing there was a petite woman, watching them. Studying all their expressions, she snorted as she turned to face Dream, who was trying to walk forward.
“Don’t even try leaving that small area, Dream, you can’t. Then again, I’d enjoy seeing you struggle, Bitch Boy.”
“Who are you?”
“Didn’t Tommy tell you guys? Wait, I forgot that none of you ever took him seriously when he mentioned me. The name’s Clara, I’m the lady in the sky.”
Lani played with her fingers, unsure of what to say or do. Sticking close to her brother, she gathered her confidence before speaking to the mysterious “lady in the sky”.
“Excuse me? Clara? Did you bring us here?”
“Yes! Well, with a little help, of course.”
Clara smiled as a grand being glitched into the room, his white orb of a head spinning in delight. Stopping the orb from spinning, his shoulders shook in joy as his prominent ‘XD’ presented itself to everyone there. Techno and Phil pressed their lips together as they shared a knowing look, obviously not expecting to see the god once again.
“Oh, you make me blush, Clara.”
“I do no such thing, we both know that. Did you give unhacked access for the others to join us?”
“Yes, they should be here any moment now.”
“Wonderful.”
Just then, a dark door emerged from the ground. Watched as the knob twisted and jiggled, the residents of the server didn’t know what to expect. When the door opened, however, they could only watch in confusion. Everyone, that is, aside from Phil and Techno, who happily rushed to her side.
“Kristin!”
Said woman smiled and giggled as Phil gathered her in his arms, planting kisses on her face as his broken wings flapped in excitement. Her own wings, white and pure, happily fluttered behind her as she returned the gesture. Pulling away, she turned to face Techno, a hand on his face as she smiled.
“And how is my eldest child?”
“Eh, you know. Here and there.”
“Here and there, indeed.”
“I’m sorry, what is going on here.”
Quackity watched the scene unfold in genuine confusion. Who was this lady named Kristin? Why was she so important to both Phil and Techno? Where did she even come from? He wasn’t the only one confused, pretty much everyone in the room was. Smiling as she stood in front of both men, Kristin hummed as she extended her arms in a welcoming manner.
“My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself! Hello, my name is Kristin! I’m the wife of Phil, as well as the mother of Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy! I’m also Death itself.”
“I’m sorry, Philza Minecraft fucked death?!”
“Wait, Techno is Phil’s kid?! I thought they were just business partners!”
“Business partners? I thought they were just besties!”
“I’m still not over the fact that Techno is related to Wilbur and Tommy.”
“I knew about Tommy being brothers with those two, as well as being Phil’s son, but I didn’t know about death being his mother! You’d think he’d tell me, given that I’m his best friend!”
“You knew?!”
“Duh.”
“And you never corrected us?!”
“Thought it was just a dumb inside joke.”
Ignoring the chaos caused by those around her, Kristin made her way to Fundy, who was frozen in uncertainty. Smiling as she placed her hands on both sides of his face, Kristin gave the fox hybrid a sincere greeting.
“My my, what a lovely young man. It’s finally great to meet you, Fundy. Look at you, I’m so proud to call you my first grandchild.”
She knew that her words caused her husband to flinch, it’s what she intended. As much as she loved and adored her significant other, she did find it sad that Fundy was denied the right to be loved. He deserved to feel loved and important, because he was.
“I can’t wait to learn all about you during the free periods! Oh! Speaking of grandchildren, silly me.”
They watched as Kristin made her way back to her opened door. Peering in, she spoke out in a gentle voice.
“Twins? Can you two please come out? Grandma will make sure no one hurts you two.”
Everyone watched as two small figures made their way out of the door, tiny hands holding onto one another. Watching as the door disappeared back into the ground, the twins turned to face Kristin. Humming, she gathered the two in her arms as she presented them to the room.
“Family, not family, meet Clementine and William-”
“Hn.”
“-I’m sorry, love. Meet Clementine and Wilbur! They’re technically Tommy’s children, born from the debris of his star.”
“I’m sorry, his star?”
“That will be revealed soon enough, no worries.”
Clementine just glared at the occupants of the room, her pigtailed hair bouncing as she turned to make sure everyone saw her expression. Wilbur, on the other hand, opted to hide behind his curled hair, painted in the same blond color as his sister’s.
“Did he name his son after his dead brother? Because if so, that did not age well-”
“Fuck you!”
Everyone watched with apaled expressions as Clementine glared Dream down, flipping him off with her tiny fingers. Kristin shook her head in mock annoyance as Clara belted out in laughter, XD following in suit. Doing her best to regain her composure, Clara spoke up once again.
“Oh my Me, she certainly is Tommy’s daughter.”
“Well, as much as I don’t enjoy hearing my youngest son and my only granddaughter curse out their issues, she did do it in her brother’s and uncle’s honor, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Hehe.”
“Go on, go sit with your cousin.”
“M’kay!”
Kristin set the twins down back on the ground, smiling as Clementine immediately took her brother’s hand in her own. Pulling him along, the two happily ran up to Fundy, smiling as they did so. The moment was interrupted by Quackity, who was unsure of everything.
“As great as witnessing this family reunion was, why are we all here?”
Sam nodded as he agreed with Quackity, speaking up as he gave Dream a pointed look.
“Not to be rude, but I agree. Something happened back in the prison, and I haven’t been able to see what.”
“Ah, yes. That is exactly why we’re here. Kristin, XD, if you will.”
The two nodded at Clara before taking each other’s hands. Closing her eyes, Kristin began mumbling as XD stood there, waiting. Once Kristin finished her mumbling, XD released one of his hands from her, drawing invisible signs on the air. Once he was done, both deities gave a synchronized nod. Rumbling was heard as a tunnel emerged out of nothing. A train emerged from it, coming to a sudden stop. As the doors slowly opened, everyone froze as they watched the occupants walk out, confused and cautious.
“Wilbur?”
“Schlatt?!”
“And me, MD!”
Before anyone else could make a move or sound, Clara spoke up once more.
“As much as I want more of these sweet reunions to occur, we really do need to get a move on. Now, I am very tired of everyone treating my poor starchild with such unjust unfairness. Don’t get me wrong, Tommy does make mistakes and his narrative is in his perspective, but come on! Blaming everything on him? This is getting ridiculous at this point! Now, you are all going to sit here and feel and hear everything he did! I, alongside Kristin and XD, will be monitoring you all. And Dream? Don’t make me go over there.”
Without warning, the environment completely changed. The group suddenly found themselves in the vast emptiness of space. They didn’t know what they were looking for, no one but Kristin. Said woman could only grimace as she nodded to herself, unconsciously touching her stomach.
“I remember this.”
“Remember what-?”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
The group turned to see another Kristin scream out in pain, her hand resting on the bump of the belly. They watched as she tried to take a step, only to double down in pain again.
“FUCK YOU, PHIL. HOLY SHIT, I’M GONNA PUNCH YOUR FACE SO MANY TIMES.”
Phil grimaced as he leaned away from his wife, who laughed as she kept sikeing him out with her fist. Wilbur snickered at the sight. Turning back to the scene before them, they watched as Clara quickly rushed to Kristin’s sign, obviously not enjoying her distress.
“Clara, I- Ah! I don’t think- think I can make it to the bo-OOOOOOAH! The boys! I know I promised, but I can’t.”
“Phil will understand, dear. Breathe with me, in and out, okay? I don’t know a thing about human childbirth, but I know starchildbirth. Allow me to help, okay? I don’t like to see you in pain, and neither would your husband or sons.”
“Hurry!”
Clara pulled out a small orb from her pocket, holding it in the palm of her hand. Gently holding it against Kristin’s belly. Closing her eyes, she mumbled as the dull like of the orb brightened, growing in size as it did so.
“What is she doing?”
“That orb in my hand? That’s a dying star that I collected that morning. I’m using it to dub Tommy a starchild so that Kristin wouldn’t struggle with giving birth.”
Kristin let out a sigh of relief, her screams and sobs subsiding. Taking deep breaths to try and calm herself, she rubbed her face as she tried to wipe away her tears. Mumbling out a thank you, she watched as Clara extended the bright orb to her.
“Here he is, a healthy little boy! He’ll shine brighter than the sun, I’m certain of it.”
Kristin smiled as she took the orb into her own hands, watching as the light dimmed, revealing the newly born child. Tufts of blond hair poked out of his head as she adjusted the blanket. Kristin couldn’t help but let more tears fall as she held him close, kissing his forehead.
“He already looks so much like his father. Oh, Phil will be upset that he missed this.”
“Go and see your family, I’ll cover your shift for you.”
“Thank you.”
Kristin summoned a door, adjusting her youngest son as she walked through it. Navigating through the dark void, she came across another door. Opening the door, she stepped outside into a secluded area in the woods. Walking down the path, she approached the cozy cottage that proudly stood there. Knocking on the door, she cooed at the child in her arms as she waited for the door to open.
“Kristin?”
“Meet your son, Phil. He looks so much like you.”
The group watched as Phil dropped everything in his hands, startling his sons from the other room. Holding his newborn son and wife in his arms, he wept tears of joy as a tiny Wilbur and Techno rushed in, prepared for the worst. Seeing that it was only their mother, their worried looks morphed into joyful expressions.
“Mum!”
“Mom!”
“My boys! Come, meet your new brother.”
The two boys staggered for a bit, eyes widening at the revelation of the newest addition of the family. Watching as Phil and Kristin stared down at the bundle with great love and joy, they couldn’t help but feel excited at the sight.
“Can we hold him?”
“Of course, just be gentle with him, okay boys?”
“M’kay.”
The twins carefully cradled the bundle in both their arms, working together to keep him safe and secure in their arms. Watching the sleeping child, they were in awe at the sight.’
“He has golden hair! Just like papa!”
“Gold! Gold! Gold!”
Kristin and Phil both laughed as they watched, joy and love filling them. Humming, Phil spoke up in a gentle tone.
“Well? What’re you two gonna name him?”
The twins just watched their baby brother as he slept soundly in their arms. Suddenly, startling the twins, their new brother yawned and squirmed in their arms. Rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists, he blinked his eyes open for the first time. Blinking up at them, he tilted his head as he squirmed. It wasn’t until Wilbur spoke up that he reacted.
“Tommy. Let’s call him Tommy.”
Everyone gasped as the feeling of immense love and wonder filled them, something they weren’t prepared for. Doing their best to cope with the feeling, they watched as the baby let out gurgles of giggles, reaching for his brothers. It was only then that they realized that Tommy was a very emotion-driven person, and they were going to feel every bit of that.
#The Reluctant Hero's Tale#The Reluctant Hero's Tale AU#Tommy's POV POGGGGGGGGG#He's also winginnit#And a piglin hybrid can't forget that#This is for you Mr. Danger Kraken Innit
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St Vincent: “Pour a Drink, Smoke a Joint... That’s the Vibe”
Ding dong! Daddy's Home
By Johnny Davis
19/03/2021
Annie Clark, known professionally as St Vincent, picked up a guitar aged 12 after being inspired by Jimi Hendrix. During her teens she worked as a roadie and later tour manager for her aunt and uncle, the jazz duo Tuck & Patti. Originally from Oklahoma, she moved to Dallas, Texas when she was seven and later attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts for three years, before dropping out.
Clark worked as a touring musician with the Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens, before releasing Marry Me, her first album as St Vincent, in 2007. By her fifth album, 2017’s Masseduction, she had become one of the most celebrated artists in music, the first solo female artist to win a Grammy Award for Best Alternative Album in 20 years.
She became unlikely Daily Mail-fodder around the same time, thanks to an 18-month relationship with Cara Delevingne, and later Kristen Stewart. Her ever-changing music, dressing up-box image and head-spinning well of ideas have seen her compared to David Bowie, Kate Bush and Prince. To complete the notion of her being the "artist's artist", in 2012 she collaborated with David Byrne on the album Love This Giant.
Indeed, she is surely one of few performers today who could stand in for Kurt Cobain with what’s-left-of-Nirvana, performing “Lithium” at their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2014, as well as cover “Controversy” at a Prince tribute concert in 2020, with such guitar-playing fireworks its author would surely have approved.
Following the glam-influenced pop of Masseduction, St Vincent has performed another stylistic handbrake turn. Complete with a new image – part-Warhol Superstar, part-Cassavetes heroine – she has mined the textures of the music she loved most as a kid: the virtuoso rock of Steely Dan, the clipped funk of Stevie Wonder and blue-eyed soul of mid-Seventies' David Bowie, on her upcoming album, Daddy’s Home.
The title refers to Clark's own father, locked up in Texas for 12 years in 2010, for money laundering in a stock manipulation scheme, one in which he and his co-conspirators cheated 17,000 investors out of £35m. It is also, in typical Clark style, a bit of saucy slang.
Back on the promotional trail, Clark Zoomed in from Los Angeles one morning recently – fully caffeinated and raring to go. “My vices?” she pondered. “Too much coffee, man…”
What question are you already bored of being asked?
There’s not one that’s popping out. There’s no question where I’m like “Oh God, if I ever hear that again, I’ll jump off a building.” I’m chill.
I mention it because prior to releasing your last record you put out a pre-recorded “press conference”, seemingly to pre-empt every inane question the media would throw at you.
It’s so funny. It didn’t really occur like that. Originally that was supposed to be a legit green screen conference. Like, “I’ll just answer these questions ‘cos when they need to have me on ‘The Morning Show’ in Belarus they can have this and put their own graphics behind it”. But then when my friend Carrie Brownstein [collaborator and Sleater-Kinney vocalist-guitarist] and I started writing it and it became very snarky. For some reason it didn’t occur to me that “Oh, that might be off-putting or intimidating to journalists” I just thought "This is silly”. So anyway… I understand.
We're curious about your dad and the American legal system.
I have had a lot of questions about that. For some reason it didn’t occur to me how much I would be answering questions about… my hilarious father!
How do you view his time in prison?
Just that life is long and people are complicated. And that, luckily, there’s a chance for redemption or reconciliation, even after a really crazy traumatic time. And also anybody that has any experience with the American justice system will know this... nobody comes out unscathed.
You recently presented an online MasterClass: "St. Vincent Teaches Creativity & Songwriting". One of the takeaways: “All you need are ears and ideas, and you can make anything happen”. Who’s had the best ideas in music?
Well, you’ve got to give credit to people who were genuinely creating a new style – like if you think of Charlie Parker, arguably he created a new style. This hard bop that was just absolutely impossible to play. It was, like, “Check me out – try to copy me!” So, that’s interesting. I think Brian Eno, for sure, has some great ideas about music – and obviously has made some of the best music. Joni Mitchell – completely singular. I mean: think about that. There are some people who are actually inimitable – like, you couldn’t possibly even try to imitate them.
It’s a brave soul who covers a Joni Mitchell song. Although, apologies if you actually have.
No, I have not. And there’s a reason why not. Come on – Bowie. Bowie never repeated himself. David Byrne also didn’t repeat himself. He took all of his influences of classic songs and the disco that was happening at the time, and the potpourri of downtown New York music from the mid- to late Seventies… and synthesised it into this completely new, other thing. I mean, that’s impressive. Those are the ones we remember.
How hard is it not to repeat yourself?
It’s whether people have the Narcissus thing or not. Like, it’s always got to be a balance where you’re, like, “Well, I need to believe in myself to make something and be liberated. But I can’t look at that pond of my previous work and go ‘Oh you! You’re gorgeous!’” So I don’t go back and listen to things I’ve done. I finished Daddy’s Home in the fall and it was, like, “This is done” and it felt great. I loved the record and it was so fun to make. But what I did immediately afterwards was to write something completely different. But then I don’t know, ‘cos there are people who do the thing that they do just great. And you just want to hear more songs, in the style of the thing that they do great.
Right. No one wants an experimental Ramones album.
Exactly. Or, like, or a Tom Petty record. I don’t want a tone poem from Tom Petty! I want a perfectly constructed, perfectly written completely singalongable three-chord song.
The new album has a very “live” Seventies feel. I’d read that some of the tracks are first takes. Can that be right? It all sounds very complicated.
That’s not right. I should say [rock voice] "Yeah, that’s right, we just jammed…" But, you know, I’ll be honest. There are some vocal takes in there that are first takes. But it really is just the sound of people playing. We get good drum takes. And good bass takes. And I play a bunch of guitar and sitar-guitar. And it’s the sound of a moment in time, certainly. And way more about looseness and groove and feel and vibe than anything else [I’ve done before].
Amazing live albums, virtuoso playing, jamming – those were staples of Seventies music. Have we lost some of that?
I mean, I can wax poetic on that idea for a minute. In the Seventies you had this tremendous sophistication in popular music. Stevie Wonder, Steely Dan and funk and soul and jazz and rock…. and all of the things rolled into one. That was tremendously sophisticated. It just was. There was harmony, there were chord progressions.
What else from that decade appealed to you for Daddy’s Home?
It reminds me of where we are now, I think. So, 1971-1976 in downtown New York, you’ve got the Summer of Love thing and flower children and all the hippy stuff and it’s, like, “Oh yeah, that didn’t work out that well. We’re still in Vietnam. There’s a crazy economic crisis, all kinds of social unrest”. People stood in the proverbial burned-out building. And it reminds me a lot of where we are today, in terms of social unrest, economic uncertainty. A groundswell wanting change... but where that’s headed is yet to be seen. We haven’t fully figured that out. We’re all picking up pieces of the rubble and going “Okay, what do we do with this one? Where do we go with that one?” Being a student of history, that was one of the reasons why I was drawn to that period in history.
Also: that’s the music I’ve listened to more than anything in my entire life. I mean, I was probably the youngest Steely Dan fan. It didn’t make me that popular at sleepovers. People were, like, “I want to listen to C+C Music Factory” and I was, like, “Yeah, but have you heard this solo on [Steely Dan’s] ‘Kid Charlemagne’”? That music is so in me. It’s so in my ears and I feel like I never really went there [making music before]. And I didn’t want to be a tourist about it. It’s just that particular style had a whole lot to teach me. So I wanted to just dig in and find out. Just play with it.
Is there a style of music you don’t like?
That I don’t like?
You're a jazz fan...
I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”
I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”
That does sound quite precocious for a 14-year-old.
It’s annoying. Just insufferable. [Thinking aloud] What music don’t I like….? Here’s what can happen. And I feel like it’s similar to when an actor has some lines in a script and they’re not very good – not very well-written – so they overcompensate by making it very dramatic and really overplaying it. I would say that is a style of music that I don’t really like. Where somebody has to really oversell it and it all feels… athletic. Instead of musical or touching.
Did you put your lockdown time to constructive use?
If you need any mediocre home renovations done, I’m your girl. It was fun. I did – let’s see now – plumbing, electrical, painting. Luckily there’s YouTube, so you can more or less figure it all out. I did a lot of that stuff and I have to say it was such a nice contrast to working on music all day. Because when you’re working on music you have to create the construct of everything. You’re, like, “I need to make this song. But what is this song?” Everything is this kind of elusive castle in the sky thing. But then, if you go and sand a deck, you’ve done something. It feels really good. And it’s not, like, “What is a deck? And who am I?” You’re just, like, “This is a task and I get to do it and I can see how the mechanism works I understand it it’s not esoteric – it’s simply mechanical". I can do something mechanical. I loved it.
Which bit of DIY are you most pleased with?
Painting the kitchen cabinets. That’s a real job. We’re talking sanding. We’re talking taking things off hinges. We’re talking multiple coats. The whole lacquer-y thing at the end. That. I’m, like, “That looks pretty pro”.
What colour did you go for?
Oh, you know, it’s just a sort of… teal. But classy teal.
Of course.
Yeah. The wallpapering wasn’t as successful. But, you know, that’s fine. So that was really fun. And then I also went down a history rabbit hole. I realised I had some gaps in my knowledge about the Russian Revolution and life under the Iron Curtain and the gulags and Stalin and Lenin. So, I went down that hole. And then I was like “Oh I forgot – I haven’t read any Dostoevsky”. So I have been working on his short stories – which are great. And then Solzhenitsyn I really liked – I mean liked is a strange word to use for The Gulag Archipelago. I read Cancer Ward… All of them. I recommend all of it. And then, before that, it was a big Stasi kick. I can’t remember the last time I had time to brush up on the Russian Revolution.
There’s a lyric on “The Laughing Man”, “If life’s a joke… then I’m dying laughing”. It’s also on your new merchandise. What do you think happens when we die?
Nothing.
This is it?
Yeah. I mean, I understand that it would be comforting to think otherwise. That there might be a special place. It would be nice! The thought’s never really been able to stick for me. I would say that we are made of carbon and then we get subsumed back into the Earth and then eventually we become life again – in the carbon part of our makeup.
Well, that sounds better than an endless void.
I don’t think it would be an endless void.
In what ways are you like your mum and dad?
Let’s see. Well, my mother is a precious angel who has unwavering optimism. She is incredibly intelligent and also very nonjudgmental and able and happy to explore all kinds of possibilities. Saying that, though… it’s sounding not like me at all. I’m like my father in that I think we have very similar tastes in books, films, music and a very similar sense of humour. My mother’s so kind that it’s hard for me to… Her level of kindness and decency is aspirational to me.
How famous are you, on a scale of one to 10?
God, I mean, like, “TikTok Famous” probably a one, right? I’m gonna say – I don’t know about the number system – but I’m going to say I-occasionally-get-a-free-appetiser-sent-over famous. Which is a great place to be.
What do you look for in a date?
It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. You know, I once read something, it might have been something cheesy on a card, but [it was]: if you don’t like someone, then the way they hold their fork will bother you. But, if you like someone – or love someone – they could spill an entire plate of spaghetti on your lap and you wouldn’t mind.
You play a zillion instruments. What’s the hardest instrument to play?
Well, I can’t play horns or anything like that. The French horn is supposed to be really hard. I don’t like to blag… but I’m an incredible whistler. Like, I can whistle Bach.
Is Bach a particularly tough whistle?
I think… yeah. It’s fast. And noodly.
What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we're out of lockdown?
I’m gonna get a manicure and a pedicure and a massage. Massage from a stranger. Any stranger.
What about a night on the tiles?
I will probably attend a dinner party.
That sounds quite restrained.
It sounds hella boring. Sorry.
Clubbing?
No, I don’t really go to clubs. I think in order to go to clubs you have to be a person who likes to publicly dance. And I don’t publicly dance. I mean I would feel too shy to dance at a wedding. But for some reason I will dance on stage in front of 10,000 people.
That’s why alcohol was invented.
Exactly! But I swear I would reach the point of alcohol sickness before I would be drunk enough to dance.
The effects of drugs on creativity: discuss.
Unreliable. Really unreliable. Sometimes after a day’s work in the studio you’re like, "I’m gonna have shot of tequila and then sing this a few more times, and then play". It’s okay but you peak sort-of quickly. You can’t sustain the level without getting tired. And then I would say that weed just makes me paranoid and useless. Every once in a while some combo of psychedelics can get you someplace. But, for the most part, you either come back to [the work] the next day and you’re, like, “This is garbage” or you get sleepy or hungry or distracted and you’re not really doing anything. I’ve never had opiates. Or coke or whatever. So I don’t know. I can’t speak to that. But with the slightly more G-Rated [American movie classification: All Ages Permitted] thing, it doesn’t really help.
What do you have too many of in your wardrobe?
I’m not a hoarder. I tend to have one thing that I get really obsessed with and then I wear it every day. Some people, having a whole lot of things gives them a sense of safety and security. It gives me anxiety. I can’t think if there’s too much visual noise. If there was a uniform that I could wear every day I would absolutely do that. And at certain times I have.
Like Steve Jobs?
Or, oh God, what’s her name? The Theranos lady… Elizabeth Holmes!
The blood-test-scam lady?
Well, I guess it was unclear how much of it was self-delusion and how much of it was, you know, actual fraud.
Another black turtleneck fan.
And – again, this is unconfirmed – she also adopted a very low voice like this in order to be taken seriously as a CEO.
Like Margaret Thatcher.
Did she have a low voice?
She made hers “less shrill”.
Oh yes. Yes!
What movie makes you cry?
The Lives of Others
That’s a good one.
Right. I rewatched that during my Stasi kick.
I’ll be honest, your lockdown sounds even less fun than everyone else’s.
I mean… Look, I had to educate myself. I went to a music college [Berklee College of Music] where I tried to take the philosophy class and the way that they would talk about it… it was taught by this professor who was from one of the neighbouring colleges in Boston. And it was very clear that he really disliked having to talk Kierkegaard to a bunch of music school kids. He was just so bummed by it. I’m trying to learn, “What’s the deal with Kant?” and he felt he had to explain everything only in musical terms [because he assumed it would be the only thing music students could relate to]. Like, “Well, you know, it’s like when Bob Marley…" I’m, like, “No, no, no! I don’t want that!” So I had to educate myself. This is where its led me.
Where should we ideally listen to Daddy’s Home?
Put it on a turntable. Pour yourself a glass of tequila or bourbon – whatever your favourite hooch is – and smoke a joint and listen to it. I think that’s the vibe.
Daddy’s Home is released on May 14
#have u covered Joni mitchell? Annie clarkson: ‘I have not’#OKAY MA’AM WHATEVER U SaY MA’am#st vincent#annie clark#interviews#marfa was a dream#Apparently#and that one time she posted her singing jm in the car#also that time at Newport folk festival with doveman#‘maybe that’s her shtick this time around’#’to be full of shit?’#’yah’#that’s hot
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And Everyone Else Knew It
A drabble for Day 5 of @kakaobiweek Blue | Safe | Mutual Pining
Brief mature humor, romance, and fluff. I hope that you enjoy reading it!
And Everyone Else Knew It
Kakashi combed his cowlicks with his fingers and tried to steady his heart as he hurried to meet with Obito.
It was part of the latter’s conditional release to have regular meetings with a member of Konoha’s security force. As Hokage, Kakashi was not only the top of the law and order food chain in the village, he was also the only one with authority to pardon anyone for war crimes. As such, the Council of Elders decided that he would be the one assigned to supervise Obito’s rehabilitation and integration back into society. But there was a problem with this arrangement.
Obito was hot, and Kakashi had it bad for him.
His attraction to his old teammate and hero set in almost the exact moment they were reunited on the battlefield during the Fourth Great Shinobi War. The shock over the fact that Obito was most certainly not dead lasted for a fraction of a second, replaced by the shock over the handsome man he’d become. Kakashi barely had an opportunity to make sense of his conflicted feelings before they fought in their Kamui dimension, where he wished they were exchanging blows of an entirely different variety.
But that would be impossible, even after the impossible became possible.
Just because Obito was alive didn’t mean he could return Kakashi’s feelings. Any daydream in which the Rokudaime might indulge quickly ended with the cold, hard fact that a man who would start an international war over a female was probably, most likely, definitely not into dudes.
Even though he wore a watch these days, Kakashi checked the sun’s position in the sky to determine the time. He quickened his pace when he realized he was running late. Running late was Obito’s schtick, and now that he was back, it seemed silly to Kakashi to mimic the habit. At least, that’s what he told himself to explain why he would always hurry to their meetings, not because he was excited to see him or anything.
The funny thing was, was that Obito wasn’t arriving late to their meetings, either.
Kakashi attributed Obito’s punctuality to his desire to make a good impression on his parole officer instead of desiring his parole officer. But what a delicious fantasy that was; it was one that Kakashi turned to often in private and one that he shook clear from his mind as he opened the door to the restaurant where they agreed to meet. They had important things to discuss this time.
Obito said he'd undergone many changes recently, so Kakashi suggested they'd meet in a more casual atmosphere than his office. That way, it could be more like two friends having a conversation instead of abiding by the guidelines of Obito’s punishment.
However, when Kakashi spied Obito waving to him from where he was already seated in a booth, the Rokudaime wondered if he’d set himself up for additional hurt by arranging what could feel more like a date to him than a meeting.
Kakashi nodded a curt greeting at the three remaining members of Team Ten, who enjoyed their weekly dinner together in the booth next to Obito before joining his unrequited crush.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m starving, so I already ordered for us,” Obito said as soon as Kakashi sat down.
“That’s fine,” Kakashi was too nervous to have an appetite, anyway. “So, you mentioned that a lot has happened since the last time we met,” he folded his hands in front of him on the table, “you should be moved into your new apartment by now.”
“I am,” Obito nodded.
“How do you like it?”
“I mean, it’s an apartment,” Obito looked down at his lap. “It’s small, but it’s bigger than my prison cell and comfier than a cave.”
Kakashi hummed thoughtfully in response, quietly considering how Obito lived for so long in hiding and doing his best to ignore how his heart ached for the man.
“My neighbor is a kind woman,” Obito continued, briefly meeting Kakashi’s gaze. “She’s elderly; her eyesight isn’t great, and I don’t think she knows who I am,” he smirked sheepishly. “I help her carry her groceries up the stairs, and she brings a plate of whatever she bakes that day, which is really nice.”
This sent Kakashi’s aching heart into somersaults, and he figured he better say something while he still could talk. “Are you forming connections and friendships with others?”
“Yeah, y’know, Gai comes around with his student, Lee, and they invite me to train with them. They, uh,” Obito chuckled, “gave me a matching leotard, and I like sparring with them, but I don’t think green is my color,” he laughed. “It’s nice to feel included, though.”
“Gai is pretty great that way,” Kakashi agreed, thankful for his old friend and rival.
“Kurenai smiles and waves at me when I see her at the cemetery these days, so I hope that we’ll become closer over time.”
Kakashi nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and ignoring how his stomach tightened.
“I dunno, there’s only one person that I talk to a lot since I’ve come back, and that’s, well,” Obito mirrored Kakashi’s discomfort across the table, “I mean, everything about my life is complicated, but that’s really complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well, they’re pretty great,” Obito’s sheepish smile returned.
Kakashi noted that when it seemed that everything else about his old teammate had changed, that expression remained the same. Then he realized that he was lost in thought, not listening as Obito continued to talk.
“...And they make me feel safe. Which, after everything I’ve been through, that’s pretty important.”
Kakashi kicked himself for not paying attention to Obito because whatever he said made him blush.
“Anyway, that’s hopeless,” Obito muttered.
“Why?” Kakashi asked.
“Well, I was kind of a jerk to them when I was a kid, and… and then I went and messed everything up.”
Kakashi leaned over the table closer to Obito to emphasize his earnestness. “People are learning that you were taken advantage of, Obito. Yes, you did terrible things, but you were manipulated when you were vulnerable. Then, you fought alongside the Allied Shinobi Forces when we needed it, and most importantly, you aren’t running from the repercussions of your actions. That’s why I could pardon you, and it’s why people are able and willing to forgive you.”
“Do you forgive me?”
“Here’s your broiled saury,” a waitress interrupted, and Kakashi sat back in his seat so she could set his dinner down on the table in front of him.
Obito thanked her and assured her that they had everything they needed before leaving them alone at their table.
“This is my favorite,” Kakashi muttered.
“Yeah, I know,” Obito replied off-handed, reaching for his utensils.
As casual as it seemed to Obito, the gesture touched Kakashi. He swallowed down the dangerous beginnings of hope before it could take hold of his exhausted heart and sought to encourage Obito in all of his pursuits. “If I’ve learned anything from being Naruto’s teacher, it’s that nothing is ever truly hopeless.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Obito spoke through a mouthful of food, and it amazed Kakashi that he could find even that attractive.
“They’re popular, like, really popular, internationally popular,” Obito’s eyes bulged as he stressed the point. “They could seriously have just about anyone they wanted, and I can’t exactly compete with that,” he finished, clearly crestfallen. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”
Kakashi was not a romantic man, and he knew it, and he also knew that he didn’t have a chance in hell with the man that sat across from him, no matter how much he yearned to reach out and reassure Obito that he was worth loving, and—
Kakashi chewed his dinner and choked on the word ‘love’ when it crossed his mind. He was in way deeper than he thought and decided that a change of subject was probably best. “You mentioned that you found a job,” he offered.
“Oh, yeah!” Obito perked up at the opportunity to share his good news. “I may not be a ninja anymore, but I’m still in pretty good shape.”
Really good shape, Kakashi thought.
“So, I was offered a modeling contract.”
Kakashi dropped his fork in his surprise, and it clattered on the table.
Obito laughed at him. “I know, it’s unexpected, but,” he chuckled again and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Looks like I’m going to be the next bad boy in Blue Boy.”
“Blue Boy?” Kakashi repeated, astonished. “The gay men’s lifestyle magazine?”
“You know it?” Obito asked, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were into— I-I, I mean, I’ve bought a few editions,” Kakashi felt his mouth go dry, “for the articles.” And if Obito would be featured in its photo spreads, he’d be buying a subscription.
“Right,” Obito drawled sarcastically, and Kakashi felt seen. “Anyway, to be honest, I was amazed too,” he fiddled with the straw in his drink, “I don’t exactly consider myself to be fashion model material.”
“You’re hot!” Kakashi was juggling too many surprises, and as a result, dropped his filter. Then he did his best to pick it up and put it back on when Obito’s eyes snapped to his face. “I mean, that’s hot, I mean, good for you,” he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him, or for an assassin to show up intent on taking him out, or—
“You think I’m hot?” Obito asked quietly, tenderly, longingly.
Kakashi licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak but closed it when everyone heard Shikamaru’s groan from the table next to them.
“Mendokusē! Would you two just kiss already?”
Both men sat in silence, staring at each other. Kakashi felt as flushed as Obito looked.
“Shikamaru’s right,” Choji agreed. “You two are worse than a one-hundred-thousand-word slow burn fanfic.”
“Oh, I love those!” Ino gasped.
“A what?” Kakashi asked.
“Who cares,” Obito answered, his eyes beginning to smolder in a way that Kakashi had only dreamed. “Let’s pay the bill and—”
“My place or yours?” Kakashi flagged down their waitress.
“How about ours?” Obito asked, his Sharingan eye already spinning.
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