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eustasskidagenda · 6 months

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Hi, I dunno if it's the case or not, but maybe u have some pegging HCs for Sanji, Kidd, Law & Ace, I'm so obsessed with this kink orz. Tyyy! Anon or not, I don't mind.

Hello! I must admit it was quite challenging to write this, because I never thought about how they would act in this situation. I tried not to detail that much for Kid bc I also have to write an OS with Kid+pegging and I'll develop more of my thoughts in this fic. Anyway, I hope the result will match your expectations, thank you for requesting. ☆

☆Pegging HCs for Sanji, Kid, Law & Ace

CW : g/n reader, MDNI, smut, pegging, Kid is cursing obviously, oral sex (Sanji receiving), rough sex, gentle sex, hair pulling, rimming (Sanji, Law receiving) , fingering (Sanji , Law, Ace, receiving), slight dirty talk, praises. Let me know if I forgot something

WC : 1,9k

Sanji

Well, it's Sanji we're talking about. As long as you don't ask him a threesome with Zoro or to inflict you any kind of pain, he's willing to try and do everything for the sake of making you smile. He doesn't care about what people think and say.

Please, don't go for the biggest size, he has never done that before. He will choose it with you, just to make sure it’s the perfect size. He's likely a little agitated because he's a huge soft boy, but it's fine, he trusts you.

"Are you sure the door is locked?"

There's no way for him to be caught.

Sanji is fond of holding your hands, kissing you softly, and looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes, even when he's rough. He expects you to do the same. Take your time to explore his entire body. Kiss his neck, run your fingers through his hair, feel the softness of his hair, and squish on his nipples. That's what causes shivers to run down his spine.

Prepare yourself to hear the most delightful moans and whines when you begin to stroke his cock while rimming and fingering his hole. Sanji is a whiny mess; he just can't control how good it actually feels. His cock is hard, almost painfully hard as he praises you for the good job you're doing.

If you ask him, he prefers to see your face and eyes, but if you want, he doesn't mind being on all fours or whatever.

Please let him rest on his back, with his beautiful, strong legs wrapped around your waist. He will ask you to hold his hand, fingers tightly entwined as you start to push the dildo covered of lube inside him. Imagine him moaning loudly with completely red cheeks as he indulges in a whole world of new sensations. It feels so good, he can't help but start begging for more, harder, and faster. The feeling of your skin against his, your wet kisses, gentle touch, and firm grip on his legs or hips is too much for this poor man. "Plus fort, je t'en prie." (Harder, please) Will come fast and hard.

During the aftercare, you have to keep him back from running into the kitchen to cook something for you. Just hold him tightly and hug/praise him for how good he was. He needs reassurance and to make sure you had a good time too.

And then, he'll run into the kitchen anyway.

Kid

Kid is not against pegging. He's being portrayed as a punk, and punks like nonconformism. So maybe the society is not really open-minded about pegging, but Kid doesn't give a damn. If he wants to do something, then he'll do it. He doesn't believe in gender roles.

However, Kid cares way too much about his reputation and he knows it could ruin all his notoriety, so he really has to trust you to let you peg him. It will only happen after a certain time in your relationship because Kid is slow to both open-up and offer his trust: he has been betrayed so many times, he's just unable to take his guard off immediately.

You better take the bigger size, he's not a pussy. If you try to choose a normal or less size, he's so pissed off. "You really think I can't take it? Ugh, fuck off, I won’t do it."

It doesn't matter if you're pegging him: he's still the same stubborn hot-headed mess. If you give him an order, he'll get mad. You should use your hands to gently guide him if you need him to spread his legs or roll onto his stomach because words won't work. Like "Kid, please spread your legs" And his only answer is an angry scowl and low grunt. But if you use your hands then… he’ll comply.

And let's say the view is quite interesting, because Kid is named Eust-ass for a reason. His booty is incredibly juicy. It's a gift to see his beautiful body being offered to you. He probably prefers lying on his back because he rarely uses his robotic limb in bed. It's easier to stay still or just breathe if he can remain on his back.

"Ugh, I don't need lube, nor rimming, nor fingering, I'm not a wimp"

He’s a liar. Please use lube.

Kid is the king of low grunts, growls, and shaky breath whenever he fucks you. If you peg him, if it feels too good, maybe you'll hear him moaning. Moans that are really low and husky. Do not dare make a comment about his moans, or you'll never hear them again.

He likes rough sex, so go ahead and bite him or pull on his hair. He will secretly enjoy it. As he loves leaving marks on your body, he also likes when you do the same. But do not dare to humiliate him by calling him a good pet, slut, or whatever because it is not okay in his book. No one can humiliate him and if you try, the mood is just ruined. Do not try to control his orgasm or whatever. His only answer would be to show you his manicured middle finger.

If you start to praise him for how amazing his ass is or how well he's taking you, he gets totally flustered. If he's lying on his back with his hair spread out around the pillow, you can take a look at his red cheeks in embarrassment. "Shut up."

When he's all flustered and flushed, he's so cute. He's just not used to being praised, so he doesn't know how to react.

Regardless, rest assured that he will enjoy every second of this moment. He feels nervous at the end because he can't help but overthink the idea of being betrayed. Just reassure him and he'll let you rest your head on his chest.

And sure, he'll make sure to fuck you hard later. Whatever you give it to him, he will give it to you harder.

Law

Well, Law is a little more complicated. Sure, he's not totally against the whole idea, but as Kid, he's really slow to open up, and winning his trust is not an easy task. Of course, he knows where his prostate is. He's not stupid and is perfectly aware of how the anatomy works. He's literally a doctor. But that doesn't change the fact that he's aloof and distrustful.

The first time you talk about your fantasies of pegging him, it's too sudden and off guard, so the answer is automatically "no." He can't take a decision without taking some time to think about it. After that, he becomes somewhat suspicious. To take things slowly is the best thing you can do. Don't rush him or he won't accept.

The idea will slowly but surely make its way through his mind. Of course, you don't know what's going on in his mind.

(If you wanna know : he's searching for the perfect dildo without telling you anything.)

One day, you're in bed together and he suddenly shows you the dildo he bought. "Hey, y/n-ya, do you still want to try this thing called pegging?"

He is secretly hoping that you forget about your fantasies.

When you say 'yes', he thinks he's totally doomed, but it's fine. He's willing to at least try.

Law is completely flustered if you ask him to lay on his back. He will always turn his head to avoid crossing your gaze. Imagine him with soft red cheeks. And if he is on his stomach or on all fours, maybe he will feel a little more comfortable and relaxed because you can't see his reactions. Despite this, he's also nervous because he's unable to closely observe what you're doing. And this man is so stressed, he likes to have the control all the time.

"Don't forget the lube y/n-ya.", "you know, even if it's a toy, you have to put a condom on" He can't help but guide you. He must feel in control even in this situation, otherwise, he will overthink and you will never be able to enter even one finger inside him.

Ho honestly wants to 'room, shambles' and disappear while you trace his tattoos with your fingers, pinch his nipples, and leave a trail of hot kiss along his happy trail. Law is always tensed and stressed, so he needs a lot of gentle touch to relax enough. The best thing you can do for him is to suck his cock while fingering him, or even rimming. He's so embarrassed, but it feels good. He can't lie.

When you finally enter him, he doesn't moan or grow, he's all about low, deep, husky breaths. It feels good, the toy is hitting his g-spot with each thrust. The moment you glance at him, he wants to bury his head under the pillow. His hair is messy and he is beautiful, with his eyes flashing of both annoyance and pleasure.

"Does it feel good to be fucked in the ass?"

Law.exe has ceased to function.

He's going to end up with his legs wrapped around your waist, pressing his feet against your back to force you to move faster and harder. You can sense his legs shaking with pleasure. If you play with his nipples or stroke his cock, it's over, he won't hold back.

Again, he's so embarrassed with his belly covered in his own semen. He just wants to disappear. And he would never admit he loved every single one from this moment.

If you want to peg him again, you'll have to take the initiative.

"Ugh fine, y/n-ya, we can do it again." He'll pretend to be doing a great favor to you (he's a great actor).

Ace

Ace, like Sanji, is willing to try almost anything for you because he's a sweetheart. Actually, the only problem is that he doesn't know what 'pegging' means. His first reaction is to ask Marco what it means, as he doesn't want to look foolish in front of you. As soon as he knows, well...

"Hey y/n, you want to peg me?" Out of nowhere, in the middle of the dinner. He's impulsive, he can't keep his thoughts to himself, so hey, deal with it.

No matter what you ask, he will do it. But don't choose the biggest size because poor Ace can't figure out how something that big could fit inside his body.

Ace is playful, so what's going to happen is not a big deal for him. He wants to laugh with you while you put your strap on, and will make random comments while you thrust your fingers in and out his ass. "Remember when I burst into flames the first time we fucked? Hope it won't again."

Damn, you hope as well.

He's a cutie with his freckled cheeks completely red.

As your figure looms over his body, he can't help but think you're absolutely beautiful. He feels so lucky to have you by his side and to feel comfortable with you. How could a good thing happen to him? He is not worthy of you. His eyes are filled with pure admiration and love for you. And a spark of amusement, obviously.

Loud moans, he doesn't care if he's being noisy. Hair is totally messy on the pillow. Shaking legs and shaky breaths.

His voice is beautiful and soft as he moans.

If you give it to him harder, his cock will remain painfully hard.

Of course, he is capable of controlling his DF, but the sensations are too unfamiliar and overwhelming." Whoops, I burned the bedsheets" with a cute laugh. That was your favorite bedsheet, but you can't be mad at him, he's so adorable.

Will ask you the permission to cum because he's a good boy.

And totally willing to be pegged again.

Ace's goofiness will make Marco know everything. "Marco, I did this thing called 'pegging' and it's amazing. Have you already given this a shot? You should try!"

Poor Marco, leave him alone, he cares about his privacy.

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luvring · 9 months

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Niaaaa //wailing, heaving, rolling around on the floor

I cannot stress enough how much I adore your works and love rereading all of them from time to time

Am here to ask if you have any more touchstarved hcs,, or thoughts,, im dying over here

Literally starved for content

gn!reader | REG!!! //waving both hands, jumping up and down giggling. Thank U. this is an honour and incredible compliment. scary bc my old works are...old... but Thank u. U mean the world 2 Me. i didn't thoroughly check what hcs i've already said so sorry there's repeats orz

i'm not saying the LIs would all go to the barbie movie but if someone does make art of that please let me know and tag me especially if it has the i am kenough shirt

they ruined my life saying kuras doesn't eat how is he going to join my girl dinners now. /j but i'll continue to believe he can appreciate how good a meal looks! & he can still sit with you and try to get his hands on your favourite meals for you to enjoy :-)

that thing where they do push-ups and kiss you when they come down with...leander was the first one i thought of tbh. but if you aren't able to lie underneath him he'd just ask for the same amount once he's done!

leander doing the thing he did in the prologue where he took his glove off with his teeth every so often just to see your reaction. like if you react in an amusing flustered staring at him kind of way. i couldn't relate personally (lying) (liar) (huge lie)

i'm sorry for my leander bias but if one of his favourite things is MASQUERADES and we don't see him at a MASQUERADE well it's so joever like him in a suit and mask and showing off how he knows how to fit in because of his past and also he can waltz now or something I'm dizzy i can't breathe

ais using 0.5 camera on people while they're caught off guard. him asking you to take a video of the fight For him because he's going to be part of it. vere selfie folder. mhin 5 followers no icon no posts gc lurker.

mhin would stick to enough of a routine that they'd have a specific spot to sit at different places,,, like a cafe or the library or bus... corner. it's one of the corners. and when someone's taken the spot they're thrown off then have to walk around for a new one (not happy about this) but take it back once they leave. you spend enough time together and they start keeping the spot next to them open for you

^ also they'd always order the exact same thing at restaurants. wouldn't like going to a new place because now they have to find a new default order. just like me fr

is no one going to talk about the idea that vere doesn't like snow because he's chained outside and it's cold . to be fair it could Totally be for a less sad reason like how it gets his Fur Wet (valid) but i've been thinking about that possible angst

also his gloves are just. like. ? odd. inverse drawing gloves. claws... but why only the 3 fingers.... btw his outfit means a constant thigh holding opportunity

kuras and mhin having long conversations about alchemy and sharing their findings with each other ;; mhin at some point getting just a Little excited about something and kuras choosing not to comment on it but being happy to see them let their walls down a little ;; o(-(

ais coming into your room and wordlessly lying next to you in bed and when asked if he needs something he says no? with a smile. he was just feeling lonely and wanted to find you

saying "you look like you can't swim" or "you are an odd individual" to any and all of them . something about it is amusing to me

if you celebrate christmas or like the idea of kissing underneath some mistletoe,, i think it's a good thought that you hold one over your head and wait for a kiss Or that Some of the LIs would Definitely do that themselves.

who do you guys think has the saddest birthday celebration (/no celebration at all.) who's relating to girls who spend their birthday alone and crying and be honest with me

rambling but i just want to say kuras's monster form looks sick as FUCK and i'm so excited for it. it looks like whatever left the scar on his hand seems to be there.. in his monster form...? i thought it was a claw but the positioning is under/through the hand so like??. do i have to bring up the significance of that if true

also is his outfit (minus his jacket)...like a jumpsuit... or can i just not tell because of his three (?) belts. that's not how you wear belts btw /lh. and is the sheer part Part of the top or is he wearing something sheer underneath the white. his sleeves are also sheer but the neckline means his shoulders are out . take off ur jacket

also mhin !! i want to know how big they get and if the transformation is sickening to watch and if they're still aware of everything around them and !!! THERE IS A SPINE(?) COMING OUT FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE SILHOUETTE THAT I NEED TO SEE NOW! & i'm assuming the senobium is Shit so even if we do get in there and get 'help' there would be another shitty price to pay. possible bad ending...??

scenes with all their monster forms where you're asked if you're scared and you say no / yes but you care about them and they falter because they didn't expect that

true good ending is everyone meeting at the wet wick and making a toast and laughing and saying this truly was our touchstarved before the credits roll

#touchstarved #touchstarved ais #touchstarved leander #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved mhin #touchstarved vere #redspring pls continue to drop lore. gimme. GImemeeme...#not a single one of these birthdays sound good to me btw. closest to happy is how leander would say all drinks on him for the night #but it doesnt change the fact he has no close friends 💀💀#Im serious about the masquerade scene bc i need to see him in a formal setting. how hes different but still charming/the same in a way etc

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fortune-maiden · 11 months

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Finished all the individual chapters of Live A Live :D

Edo Japan: I have so many mixed feelings about this one xD So many game over too! I think once I was able to level up enough against the ghosts I got really into it, but the chapter plays a really mean trick on you if you want the bonus sword an full pacifist run ;w; But on the other hand, the sequence of events that ruined my run was really fun, and there’s a lot of fun intrigue going on in the castle to discover if you’re willing to murder your way through a little. I don’t think I would want to do a genocide run though. Seems like a pain ^^”

My final kill counter was 8

Distant Future: Cube my beloved T_T I love Cube, I love the atmosphere and the plot of this chapter, and all the little worldbuilding to discover but... I’m not good at survival horror. Anytime the behemoth showed up my brain shut off orz. I probably missed a lot because of this.

It’s a little unfortunate that everything I love about the horror genre is also the main reason I don’t play it ^^”

one day i will gather my courage and play ib

Wild West: My big takeaway from this chapter is I need all the Sundown & Mad Dog interactions! This chapter was short and sweet and very fun. The aesthetics! The cheesy western dialogue! Mad Dog! The Horse!

I am never getting over the horse.

(spoiler chapter under the cut)

Middle Ages: And here we go - the chapter that turns everything on its head and......... is kind of tedious to play tbh ^^” I’m also not sure how I feel about Oersted as a silent protagonist - on the one hand, we don’t know if Streibough and Alethea are assigning personality traits to him to justify their own actions. But on the other, there may be some truth to it! I’d like to think it’s a bit of both. Oersted was arrogant and self-centered and lost in the hero sauce, but they also both suck.

Anyway, Uranus & Hasshe are the real highlights of this chapter for me.

But the biggest heroes are the localization team who wrote the whole chapter in iambic pentameter! I loved that so much!

#live a live #fortune plays live a live #only the final chapter left!! :D #i'm torn on who to make the protagonist xD #on the one hand - Lei is the character i like best and think she has one of the most personal reasons to take charge #(Akira too but he's kind of weak...)#but on the other Sundown is apparently a pita to recruit otherwise #and also i want to see the Masaru dialogue xD

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linssikeittomies · 1 year

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Pivot Points - Chapter 1: Hard Left

Masterpost / AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

CW: attempted suicide

You wouldn't believe how much editing I did on this chapter. About 5(five!!!) times I was sure it was done, and just kept finding small things to add and/or change orz I would recomment reading this on AO3, I have more thorough notes and tags there.

The final straw isn’t Spriggs getting uppity with him. That’s such a common occurrence these days it barely fazes Izzy anymore. There’s a real chance he’d be more shocked if Spriggs actually did listen to him instead of shucking off his duties.

“You’re not the first mate on this ship, Dizzy Izzy.”

It still wouldn’t look good to let anyone talk back at him, so every time this sort of thing happens, Izzy is forced to act. Words stopped getting through to Spriggs months ago, but fortunately bodily harm is his weak point - quickest way to get him to do fucking anything is to threaten him with something sharp.

The final straw isn’t Edward grabbing his wrist to stop him from pulling out his sword, either. Izzy would’ve appreciated him not doing that, but all in all, it isn’t that surprising these days. He’d gone real soft after fucking Bonnet came back. Despite having known him for thirty years, despite seeing him grow from average sailor and scrappy brawler to a fucking legend, or even a force of nature, despite seeing his lowest points where he wouldn’t get out of bed for a week straight, despite all that the Edward in front of him these days is a practical fucking stranger. Because he had fallen for some lily-livered fucking idiot who got bored of having a good life and decided to make a fucking mockery out of hard choices and necessity and nab anything he felt like along the way.

“Sorry, Izzy. Stede’s ship, Stede’s rules- no threatening the crew.” Fucking Bonnet. It’s like that fucking moron wants to get shipwrecked with all this fucking shoddy rigwork and crowded decks. Fine by Izzy if he feels like dying, but he doesn’t need to take his useless fucking crew with him- actually, no, he can take his whole fucking useless crew with him, just leave Edward and Izzy out of it.

“These lazy fucks won’t do their fucking jobs when I tell them to, and then you stop me from doing them myself! So what the fuck am I supposed to do, then?”

And Edward just groans and waves his hand like that was supposed to fix anything. As if just ignoring a problem would make it solve itself - or more likely, Izzy would find the solution in his place because that's how it’s been ever since Blackbeard started gaining a reputation, once Edward started feeling like not doing actual work. Which had been vast majority of the time for the last few years.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re, like... above that and shit, Iz. You’re not some deckhand.”

It’s been a fair while since Izzy really exploded at Edward. Trust him, they’ve had their fair share of arguments, as all couples do, and his respect for Edward usually overrides his need for personal pride, and besides, more often than not Edward proved to have been in the right at the end, so Izzy’s learned to defer to him anyway. But he’s no doormat - he lets Edward have it when it’s deserved. And in this case it’s been deserved for months.

“Well if I’m not the first mate, and I’m also not a deckhand, or the helmsman, or any other rank, then what the fuck am I supposed to be doing all day when there’s a ship full of -”

“I dunno, man, just - “Edward sighs heavily, like he can’t be bothered. Because why would he be bothered, it‘s only his whole fucking ship and first mate and, oh yeah, his fucking matelot that are going to ruins at this rate! “Just relax, maybe? Have a vacation? Catch up on your reading? You’ve worked hard enough, you deserve some down time.”

Nearly anything else Izzy could have endured. He has endured many things - Edward sending him off after a rigged duel hadn’t been the final straw, Edward cutting off his toe hadn’t been the final straw, Stede fucking Bonnet traipsing back like the world owed him a favour hadn’t been the final straw, being demoted hadn’t been the final straw. They hadn’t been good times, but Izzy got through them because at least Edward had still cared, had still wanted him around, had still looked his way sometimes.

The final straw is Edward wanting him out of sight, so he can forget Izzy ever existed.

“Edward -” he starts, but stops himself. Also stops the hand reaching out to Edward. Draws a deep breath, reigns in the words he wants to say, shuts off the parts that want to kick and scream. Pulls himself back together.

Edward had chosen Izzy because he is put-together, effective, and good at following directions. “Captain. You could’ve told me this sooner. I would’ve gotten out of your hair.” It’s hard, keeping out the tears and rage out of his voice, and he isn’t sure if a perceptible amount seeped out. He can only hope Spriggs - who is still standing right there like a fucking twat that can’t tell a private affair from a dinner show - can’t read him well enough to know what the quiver means.

“Try to relax for once in your life, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe start with planning an itinerary for your leave, you like those”, Edward says airily, because to him bookkeeping doesn’t matter. He’s good at nearly all piracy-related things, and he’s a bloody brilliant sailor, but keeping logs and inventories has never interested him. It isn’t that Izzy particularly likes keeping them, either, it had just fallen to him because he had been the only other literate person on the Queen Anne and a habit is hard to break. Because Edward has never cared for having duties. Because he has never felt like making an effort where it really matters. With anyone that should matter.

“Captain.”

Izzy doesn’t know why he said it. He doesn’t know what he would continue it with. Edward doesn’t grace him with a response, because what is he supposed to say to such a non-statement? He just waves his hand non-committally and leaves. Izzy stares after him helplessly.

“Wow, a vacation. What a terrible fate”, Spriggs drawls sarcastically, and Izzy will fucking stab him to death right then and there, he swears he will. His life is already over, Edward can’t threaten him with anything anymore.

But he won’t, because he is good at following orders. No threatening the crew, Captain had said, and so Izzy will obey. Even if it is Spriggs, who was insufferable and has a weird look on his stupid fucking face and can’t tell when he isn’t wanted.

Izzy snatches the broom Spriggs hadn’t been using in the first place and starts swabbing the deck in his stead.

“Um, Blackbeard literally seconds ago told you to relax, don’t you think -”

“Let me get my affairs in order!” Izzy snaps at him. Spriggs raises his hands in surrender and doesn’t complain any further.

Izzy spends the rest of the day trying to get the ship in order. He inspects the rigging, provides Feeney with a note of which sails need mending, services the cannons, makes inventory of the weaponry and gunpowder, even scrubs off some barnacles from the hull. The crew give him looks, especially Spriggs, but say nothing. Even Edward says nothing, when he catches Izzy re-organizing the armory. So much for Izzy being like, above that and shit. He isn’t above anything. Isn’t below anything, either. He’s just falling apart inch by inch. He’s cracking at the seams. He’s boiling and he’s melting. He’s doing all the things he isn’t supposed to. He’s pointless. Reverted. Head empty. Gone back to his origins. Or not. He can’t tell, he isn’t coherent. Isn’t a man, at least. For the first time in a year.

The only thing he is anymore is resolute.

When the sun starts going down, and Izzy feels like he’s done as much as he’s able with the time he’s been allowed, he goes to his cabin. It’s only his because no one else wanted it - it’s a miserable trap without a porthole, so the only light comes from the candle Izzy has set on he small table he snagged from the - for heaven’s sake, the fucking rec center, honestly what was fucking wrong with Bonnet - and it gets stuffy in barely an hour when the door is closed. It’s as close to a brig as this bloody joke of a pirate ship has. Izzy imagines it was originally meant to be a storeroom, then was going to be converted into a cabin, but the work had been left unfinished for whatever reason - there is a bunk, and the beginnings of a wall sconce, but nothing else. Izzy could’ve used a bit more comfort, but he’d been happy enough as it provided some privacy. He was never much of a social person, and he also firmly believes in separation of command. Hard to command someone’s respect when you’re palling around with them, which is why Izzy stopped sleeping on the deck with the rest of the crew right as he gained a high enough rank.

Not that Izzy has been commanding much respect lately, anyway. Fucking Bonnet’s crew of fucking disrespectful imbeciles have turned him into a fucking joke that can get nothing done, since he isn’t allowed to beat them. Spriggs is the fucking worst of the lot, looking down his nose at Izzy, studying the best ways to push his buttons, knowing if anything happened then Izzy would get the blame.

Fine. So Spriggs has won. What does it matter anymore. All that’s left for Izzy to do is to put his meager property in order. He wants to change into a spare outfit, but that would raise suspicions, so he has to keep the black leather on. It’s been a long time since it last felt this uncomfortable. At least the ring feels as natural as it ever has, that one he will keep on gladly. He needs the dagger, but not the sword - on some level he wants to take it with him, because it’s his sword, it’s been with him for a long time and sits in his hand like a friend, but it’s a fine blade and deserves to find a new master. A good one. He hopes Edward will sell it, because no one from this shitty crew was worthy of this sword - apart from Jimenez, skills-wise at least, but personality-wise they’re a vindictive asshole - and Edward himself is more partial to knives. It would sell for good money, so Edward could buy another one of those ridiculous banyans he suddenly likes.

The money Izzy isn’t petty enough to take with him, but the letters he will. He hasn’t kept many of them, only the most important ones - a few from Suzanna, some from Sam, one from Anne. There are none from Edward, because he has never needed to write to Izzy - they have been together for thirty years. Side by side for twenty-five. Estranged for a few months. Apart for eight hours.

He wishes he could take something to weigh him down, but there’s nothing that’s both heavy enough and easily carried, and the last thing he needs is anyone waking up to him dragging his trunk around on the deck. The current should be enough to carry him away from the ship even if he floats, but he would prefer to be sure. He really doesn’t want anyone to see him. Couldn’t take a little teasing, they’d say, or about fucking time. If he just disappears, then they would think he’d finally had enough of this fucking farce and signed on somewhere else. He briefly wonders if Spriggs will keep up the mocking pretense of affection even after Izzy is gone, or if it’s only fun when Izzy’s there to witness it. Jesus fucking Christ, Izzy should’ve just let him die back then, and he would’ve if he’d known Spriggs would become this fucking annoying. Even sparing Edward the moral panic wasn’t worth all the needling. Bare your soul one fucking time and get shit for it for the rest of your life!

He chose the last hour of the morning watch, so the ship would be unguarded for the shortest possible time. Izzy would get to do his deed in secret, but the dawn would wake the rest of the crew soon. It’s a stroke of luck Fang has this watch - Ivan would have done almost as well, but he took longer to fall asleep, leaving Izzy less time. They both know Izzy sometimes has trouble sleeping, and would take over a watch to have something to do. Everyone on the Queen Anne knew Izzy doesn’t do well with idleness - everyone except Edward, evidently.

Or maybe he does. This could be his way of shirking off his duty and going oh well, he didn’t want to stay so there’s nothing I could do. Izzy wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always fucking loathed doing anything he doesn’t like, no matter how detrimental. Case in point, fucking Bonnet.

And now Izzy. Edward knows he should cut anchor, but he doesn’t want to. The reason Izzy can only speculate about, maybe it’s sentimental, maybe it’s practical, though Izzy can’t think of a reason for that - he’s basically doing nothing these days. Maybe it’s just for the amusement of the crew. But one thing is for sure - by this point, it isn’t affection anymore. It burns that Izzy’s been abandoned like this, but he supposes Edward could’ve been crueler about it, and perhaps Izzy himself could’ve been nicer about everything else. It was just - for years, he thought Edward had chosen him, the way Izzy had chosen him in return. To have and to hold, even if the words hadn’t been said. And Izzy has held - kept holding as his matelot slept with other people, kept even when Edward’s interest waned, is still holding when everything is finally over. Because he had chosen the duty to love and to hold Edward until death do them part. But Edward hadn’t taken his part seriously, he’d started dodging his duty almost right away, and then dropped it altogether barely a few years in. It hurts, when you think someone loves you and then it turns out you were just another fling. Anyone would get bitter.

A little past four o’clock, Izzy acts. Puts on his boots and waistcoat like nothing’s wrong, combs his hair, puts on a brave face. Stuffs the letters inside his shirt. Straightens everything out. Goes up on deck.

Fang is up in the crow’s nest.

“I’ll take over”, Izzy tells him in a tired voice, and little of it is acting. He is exhausted in all the ways a person can be - physically, mentally, spiritually. Fang makes space on the railing, and Izzy goes to lean heavily on it.

“Can’t sleep again, boss?”

“Yeah. Still a few hours before sunrise, you can get a nap in.”

Fang gives him an odd look, almost worried, but that can’t be right since it’s directed at Izzy. One: because there has never been a need to worry about Izzy, and two: Fang hates him, anyway.

“Or I could just keep you company. That’s nice, sometimes.”

It’s been several years since anyone offered to keep Izzy company. At the start of his pirating career, thirty-some years ago, he’d had some friends, and of course Sam. He’d been a different person, then, naturally. As he aged, he became happy with only having one’s person’s affection and attention. Of course, he’s since lost that, too, leaving only those who merely tolerate him and who he tolerates in turn. Mostly it doesn’t bother him - he’s made his bed, and he hasn’t felt like completely overhauling his personality. And now there is no longer a need.

Still... it does feel nice that Fang has noticed something’s off, and cares enough to try a little bit to fix it. Even if his method is the exact opposite of what Izzy wants.

“Better not. I’m not in a good mood.”

“That’s even more reason, in my experience”, Fang argues nervously, starting to lean slightly away from Izzy. Expecting a hit, maybe.

“Go to sleep. I will not repeat myself.”

Fang still hesitates, and his hand goes up to cover his beard. Izzy rarely feels shame for his actions, but this is one of those rare times - strange, since he’s never particularly liked Fang to begin with, and likes him even less after participating in the mutiny against Izzy’s extremely short captaincy. Granted, he’d basically been trying to incite a mutiny so he really shouldn’t be blaming Fang and Ivan. But there isn’t much you can do about feelings.

Unfortunately.

“Sorry for pulling your beard all those times.”

Fang forces an awkward smile, and finally climbs down. He’ll likely bunk down next to Spriggs and Pete. He’s been smitten ever since getting his cock sketched. Izzy never knew he was that easy, but then again, Spriggs is a special kind of fruit. Novelty can be surprisingly enticing.

Izzy enjoys the darkness and quiet for a while. He isn’t as good at reading the stars as Edward is, because no one is as good at it as Edward. He had taught Izzy a little, but he’s a bad teacher - because he’s so good at everything, he’s terrible at explaining anything. He just gets it, he doesn’t need to think about it. And he’s a fucking show-off, too, loves withholding information so he’ll look like a wizard when an unexpected fog rolls in or something. Fucking sausage clouds. Izzy can’t blame Bonnet for falling for Edward, because who wouldn’t have? Fucking magnificent twat.

After a while, everything on deck is quiet. Everyone in deep sleep. Even the moon is hidden behind the clouds, like it doesn’t want to spy on anything that happens. Just in time before sunrise, even. For once Izzy’s plans are going perfectly. He climbs down quickly, then walks quietly to the empty poopdeck - they’re anchored, so there was no need for a helmsman, thus no one to see him moving about. There’s a bit of wind, making the ship creak quietly, masking small noises, so maybe he’s being overly cautious, but Izzy hasn’t grown this old by being careless. He can only hope the splash won’t be heard over the waves. It is a fairly high drop, after all, and Izzy won’t have much control of how he falls in.

He stares down at the black water.

It... it should be warm. It’s the middle of winter, but it’s not like the Caribbean actually gets cold at any point in the year, so it would make sense for the water to be warm. At least it shouldn’t be cold. He won’t be feeling it for long in either case, but Izzy would still prefer his final moments to be warm. The biggest reason he left England had been to stop feeling so fucking uncomfortable in his own skin, but the shitty fucking weather that was always either wet or cold, or often enough both at the same time, had been a close second.

He draws in a breath, and lifts himself up on the railing. He takes a moment to take in the night air one final time, and lets himself enjoy. He was made for the sea, and all in all, he hasn’t had a bad life. He got most of the things he had asked for, and for a short moment he even had Edward’s love. Even more than that, he got all those while riding the waves in his own wooden kingdom, at home.

“Izzy.”

He nearly drops in prematurely as Edward’s voice suddenly pipes up behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing up? It’s still over an hour until sunrise!” Izzy scream-whispers, still wary of the crew. He doesn’t hear them stirring, and since he didn’t heard Edward coming he doubts they did, either, but you can’t blame him for being on edge. The whole point of doing this at night, alone, in the poopdeck, was so no one would see him! And now Edward has. Why not stick the knife in his neck right then and there if he’s been caught, anyway. Goddamnit.

Fuck, he really could’ve done without the attention, not like he’s getting it any time he asks so why does fate have to fuck him over like this?

“Knee’s acting up, needed to move it a bit. Thought you could use the company.”

Right, so Fang went to get him. Otherwise no one would know Izzy was on watch in his stead. Fucking tattletale. Should’ve pulled his beard after all.

“Don’t need it. Go back to bed.” Back to Bonnet.

“You giving orders to your captain?” Edward warns, and usually that voice would send a thrill down Izzy’s spine. But finally his body has gotten the memo, and knows it won’t lead to anything. He just sighs and turns back to the sea, so he won’t have to see Edward’s mussed up hair, trimmed beard, green banyan. His resigned eyes.

If Hell turns out to be real, Izzy’s greatest regret would be never getting to see Edward’s doe eyes again.

“You really going?”

Izzy’s hands grip the railing tight, and he feels his face twist in defensive anger.

“Fucking Bonnet won’t let me be first mate, you won’t let me be crew, I’m just - doing fuck-all while the rest of you play house. I can’t stay here.” And I can’t start over again with someone else, he doesn’t say out loud, because that would sound pointlessly needy when Edward can’t understand that some people don’t just move on.

And Edward just sighs. He can barely muster together enough of a fuck to make a fucking noise when his first mate and matelot of twenty five fucking years is about to fucking die. Izzy would’ve been less offended if he’d stayed silent and just fucked off.

A tense moment passes, where Izzy refuses to look at Edward, and Edward doesn’t bother doing anything. Until there’s another fucking sigh, and Izzy almost throttles him.

“If that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you.” Because why would he, when he so clearly wants this. He can’t wait for Izzy to fuck off out of his life. “Look, Iz, I know you’ve been unhappy, and I’m sorry for making -”

“Don’t fucking start with that pansy-ass bullshit -”

“No, I will.” And it’s such a tragedy that this is the time when the old Blackbeard comes closest to making a comeback. Edward’s eyes have that steel in them again, his body moves with the dangerous languor of a gun ready to fire, and his voice accepts no arguments. At that moment, he returns to being Izzy’s Captain, and angry as he is, he can’t help but be compelled to obey. This is what had drawn him to Edward in the first place, his confident authority, his violent magnetism. “Stede’s taught me that talking is good. Think it would’ve done us some good, even.” But then his authority fades again, and he returns to being Stede fucking Bonnet’s boytoy. Izzy can’t understand that, for the life of him he cannot fathom what compels Edward to Bonnet the way Edward compels Izzy. “Just... too late to start now, I guess. But I’m sorry I’ve made you not want to stay.”

It is too little too late, after the last few years, he’s right about that, but Izzy’s cold bitch of a heart has never known how to not melt at Edward. So he forgives Edward, of course he does. Suddenly he’s glad Edward is there, oddly comforted by his presence. Izzy’s life had really only begun when he met Edward, and now it will end, with Edward still next to him. A life encapsulated in Edward. His Captain.

He smiles, just a little bit, without meaning to. Perhaps he doesn’t matter much to Edward anymore, but nothing could erase those early years when they’d been the centers of each other’s worlds.

Izzy slips the ring off his cravat. He stopped believing in any kind of afterlife early on in his life, so he needs no reminders of Edward. And maybe Edward, who will keep living, doesn’t want reminders - but he could choose to think of it as Izzy giving him permission to be with Bonnet.

And judging by the brightened look in his eyes, he does choose to think of it like that.

“Not asking you to think of me or anything. Throw it out of you want to.” But secretly he hopes Edward will keep it, and think of him.

“I’ll keep it safe.” And Edward says nothing more, just slips the ring into a pocket, then stares out to the sea, in silence.

So that’s how thirty years go down the drain - quietly. Izzy supposes he should feel angry that his dedication means so little, that Edward hasn’t tried to make him reconsider even once, but in a rare event, he just feels calm. He hadn’t wanted to turn this into a number, and Edward hadn’t. He gave Edward a memento, and Edward promised to keep it. He had made a decision, and Edward hadn’t countered it. Izzy has gotten all he asked out of this.

He makes a light chuckle as he draws the dagger from its holster. “Would be nice if you did the honors. Starting and ending this whole thing.” But Edward can’t, for reasons Izzy has never understood. Even so, Izzy can honor them one last time.

He fiddles with the dagger in his hand. Just one quick slice, should be easy. Doesn’t even need to be deep, the sea would take care of the rest. Just one quick slice.

His hands are not shaking as he lifts the dagger to his neck, they are not shaking. Just one quick slice, justonequickslice.

“Izzy?”

Just one quick slice.

“Izzy -! MAN OVERBOARD, MAN OVERB-”

#pivot points #fan fiction #our flag means fanfic #ofmd #steddyhands #izzy hands #blackbeard #linssifanfiction #wiptale #suicide cw

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ploffskinpluffskin · 2 years

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Title: The Ruins Rating: PG-13ish Warnings: god Implicit and explicit character death(s), unhappy ending, Natori spends the entire fic grieving and/or trapped in a bleak situation orz, probably manipulation and gaslighting, some short-lived violence and blood at the end, being at the mercy of someone who thinks they love you......... 6^6;; Characters: Natori, mostly (sorry). An OC by the name of Caishen. Other characters like the Cat King, Natoru, Lune, and Yuki are mentioned or make brief appearances but it’s mostly comprised of interactions between Natori and various OCs rip. This has become pretty much an exercise in ‘I wonder how much suffering I can dump on my favorite character’ Summary: How many strings does one good deed pull? For the Cat Kingdom and its residents, the absence of one impulsive act of goodwill possesses farther reaching consequences than anyone could have expected.

Notes: So this idea originally came about from just kind of a small part of @catsafarithewriter‘s Disappearance of Haru Yoshioka which mentioned briefly that without Haru's rescue of Lune, the king died without an heir, and the Cat Kingdom descended into chaos. Me, being lightly obsessed with the Cat Kingdom and also being an absolute sucker for bleak situations, saw My Favorite Character Natori to the side, thought about how losing not only Lune and the Cat King, but also the entire kingdom's peace and prosperity, would just utterly destroy him and quietly wondered if in this kind of situation he would be one of the first casualties or if for some reason someone might want to keep him alive for ‘useful knowledge’ and voila. You have this pit of despair. I did ask catsafari if it was alright to take inspiration in the way I did, just for the record `~`;

I wasn’t certain for a while whether I would eventually publish this one or not, not only because the idea came from someone else’s fic, but also because it’s. well. very dark compared to what I normally write, and I feel I’ve long since sorta pigeonholed myself into being the Cute one who writes just lighthearted subjects, and even when I do venture into darker, sadder topics, it’s usually still with an overarching sense of idealism to it— that things will be alright Eventually. This… is not that

because of that, i have decided ultimately to just post it here on this private-ish side blog. also be aware this sucker is Long As Hell and unfinished, but i’ve added notes for the missing parts

+++

The kingdom feels Lune's loss keenly, but perhaps none so noticeably as the king himself— he becomes quiet, listless. He vanishes from the kingdom's affairs, and no prodding to the contrary is enough to galvanize him back into his old life; too much pressing, in fact, and Natori learns rather harshly that he will retaliate, and violently so if he feels it necessary. But his anger remains the mercurial spark it always was— it burns itself out in seconds and then disappears as if it had only been imagined.

By the time he begins to spend long hours shut resolutely in solitude, Natori simply lets him be outside of the occasional admonition to eat or drink, the aching tenderness of his arm an effective reminder. He takes only cautious and dutiful steps in private to keep his old companion looking at least a little presentable, if he cannot nudge him into eating.

Grief is an unpredictable animal, he reasons desperately to himself sometimes. If it's more time the king needs before he can return, then he can certainly have it. Natori can endure and hold fort in the meantime. Anything, he thinks, if it means he will recover eventually.

But not everyone feels that same gentle, forlorn patience. He catches rumors sometimes, whispers which were not intended to reach him— stirrings of resentful unrest, nonchalantly-spoken rambles about aspirations of luxury and authority, and improbable jests to test the waters (waters which are looking quite captivatingly viable by the day). They can not be stifled; at best, Natori can only hope the king returns to his position before they can root themselves too firmly.

It's one particularly warm day when Natori feels he hits the ledge of what had been perhaps naive hopefulness, when it's shown to him in stark, vivid relief just how bleak the situation has become, and that frail hope is laid to rest with all the quiet resignation of the waning moon.

It had begun so conventionally, so innocuously.

He’d led the king to a chair in his bedroom, and Claudius had followed him dutifully, in much the same unthinking, silent way an obedient and browbeaten child might.

Once, Natori recalls wishing the king might mellow some in his old age, and now he can’t help but to look upon that wish as if it had itself brought them to this state of affairs. He would give anything, now, he thinks sometimes, for the king to toss some unfortunate entertainer out a window or make some no doubt inane proclamation about Casual Fridays because he’d heard some passing mention of the same thing in the human world.

His poorly-named conversations with the king during their time together always meander, necessarily superficial and perfunctory, as Natori mentions old favorite subjects and sidles past memories of the ash-colored kitten they all so dearly miss.

Today, however, he can not seem to stop himself.

“It’s almost his birthday.”

Even saying it aloud is like a lightning rod right to his heart, but he can not help but to continue. “Do… Do you remember, sire..? That one birthday? H-He must have been only four or so at the time. You had gotten him an aquarium, but he was too young— he didn’t understand. I still remember him, even now, looking back and forth between it and you, admiring it as he tapped his little paws together—” Here he cuts himself off with a painful gulping breath. He can not go any further. If he does, he’ll break down; he’ll scream. Instead, with a steadying breath, he rubs at his face and changes topics in desperation.

Yet his newest topic ends up being of little more comfort.

"There's been some rumblings, sire," Natori says as he shakily continues to comb through the occasional mat. The king is silent still, languid. When Natori continues, his voice trembles as well despite his best efforts, prey to the helpless frustration churning away in his chest, the fresh grief which was just upturned, "They're saying there are changes coming, and I— I think they may be right to believe so. Some of our residents are growing restless, and wish to take matters into their own hands, sire. They see opportunity, understand."

Natori hesitates there, breaths shallow, thinking distantly of the too close, trailing looks he's glimpsed when their owners think he's not paying attention. Something rises in his chest then, whether it is that apprehension, or perhaps his agitated strain finally getting the better of him, and for the second time that day, he cannot help the words which next erupt from him.

"I'm— I'm frightened, sire. Please— I-I’m so afraid. This has stretched on for so long, I suppose it's little wonder they might begin to feel so bold. I-I know you don't wish to— it's... I understand perhaps it's still so soon, but... there remains still the question of succession. I cannot make that decision myself, sire, not if we can expect it to be upheld. I— we need you to come back. Please..."

The metal comb in his paws seems suddenly quite foreign and heavy, and so he sets it down on the side table and rubs hastily at his eyes with shaking paws. From there, he wanders around to the king's front, kneels before him in a beseeching way he's certain he hasn't before. Muted shame at his own weakness is evident on the proverbial horizon, but for now the trepidation he's spent too long repressing is in firm control.

"...please, Claudius," he echoes, a mournful plea which is near whispered.

Yet the king seems unmoved, taciturn, staring down at him in blank but resolute detachment.

He should have known better, Natori thinks to himself mournfully as hot tears gather in his eyes against his will— banking on his physical frailty when it comes to Claudius has never worked. The king forgets far too easily, even when emotion isn’t clouding his judgment. Never before now has Natori had the despondent thought that perhaps the king simply doesn’t care to remember.

“...answer me.” Natori is surprised by the harsh stillness of his voice. “Say something, sire.”

Claudius remains silent. That earlier frustrated emotion which had risen in his chest and churned returns, but this time it utterly boils over, just as he’d feared. From far away, Natori watches himself reach for the king with trembling, clumsy paws, gripping at his lethargic companion’s fur and all but frantically shaking him as he cries aloud, his voice broken, gasping.

“Do you understand that we will collapse without you, sire?! The castle, the kingdom, all of us who— wh-who care for you—! Th-They’re going to seize the throne and drag it all out from under you, and I daresay it’s a matter of mere days before they do..! Do something— say something..!”

It’s at the king’s continuing, obstinate silence that Natori utters an exasperated sob, gradually becoming aware of his lapse in self-restraint and the callous words he’d spoken.

Overwhelmed by both guilt and dying, worried anger, he pushes away and hides his face in the fabric of his oversized sleeves, working futilely to get himself back under control. He’s only distracted from his stubborn tears by a very soft touch to his shoulder, feather-light and hesitant, and when he looks up to find the source (vaguely expecting to see Lune’s winsome, sympathetic smile, because he supposes his mind hasn’t been cruel enough to him already), it’s to find himself face-to-face with the king.

The ghost of his earlier forlorn hope flutters weakly… but is ultimately stamped out.

Claudius stares at him blankly for a fleeting moment, and then wordlessly moves to lay his head against the space between Natori’s neck and his shoulder, and although he does rest his paw on his advisor’s as if in reassurance, it's limply, without interest. His apathy is clear.

Natori feels quite cold; some deeply betrayed part of him wishes to pull away, but the looming separation he can now so clearly see on the near horizon keeps him where he is. He will soon stand alone. He already does. His explosive emotion from just moments ago seems now like some hazy, hard-to-comprehend dream. Perhaps because of that, he bows his head so his face may also be hidden against Claudius' shoulder, and draws him close to him for the first time.

It proves also to be the last. When the king is gone, Natori waits, and he doesn't wait for long.

They storm the castle’s rooms, and weary from grief and loss and too much time spent cultivating what has ultimately proven to be fruitless, he offers no resistance when they do.

+++

It is nearing winter, he thinks, in the human world. The sun shines warmly still in the Cat Kingdom, however, and by some equally-aching miracle, Natori remains as well. He counts down his days in silence until he loses track, and then he waits in stillness for the day when his apparent usefulness is extinguished.

It is nearing winter when he snaps out of a thick fugue to find himself alive. The air feels cold. Stale. Empty. His paws, where they've settled limply in his lap and across the chair's arms, are shaking ever so slightly in his sleeves. He is crumpled in a chair, and from the stiffness in his back, he has been there quite some time.

There are voices outside.

No— there is someone across from him, murmuring contentedly in the gloom.

Natori gradually recognizes him as Caishen, the Siamese cat's identity coming back to him in scattered pieces and indistinct interactions. An ambitious noble, unfittingly mild-mannered and retiring for his lofty, covetous goals. They'd spoken on many occasions before this, with a telling increase in frequency the longer the king's absence had persisted. He was well-spoken, persuasive, Natori had often thought to himself… and always a little too close for comfort, in a way Natori had felt reluctant to put a word to. He had often breathed a private sigh of relief once he was out of the other cat’s presence, and that he appears now to be saddled with his company without any obvious escape inspires quite little optimism in him.

Today, Caishen seems to have brought a spotted hairbrush with him, which he is now using to gently brush through the thin fur on what Natori slowly registers as his own leg.

He's speaking.

"...ould have you reinstated— no, raised above even your old position. Not one courtier would dare speak against you nor my decision for fear of incurring my ire, not were I in charge. A familiar, comfortable little nook for you, don't you think..?"

Here he notices Natori’s gaze on him and his movements, more clear-eyed attention than the grey cat has ever given him before today. When he continues, it's with a noticeably more roused tone. He looks up to Natori with the stifled, knowing excitement of a child on the morning of his birthday.

"Yes. I remember you back then. You worked hard, didn't you? And yet it was so, so often thrown away. Left by the wayside. I remember you then— there was a haggardness to you then that I don't see anymore. You're free. You’re free because I released you."

Natori's eyes feel warm. His throat aches.

"But to retain that freedom, that's the impasse we've arrived at. All you need do is speak to me. Tell me what you know, and give me something compelling. I'll continue to guarantee your safety, as I've been doing, you know, no small feat considering your close ties to the last king, you must understand— and your reputation, of course. You will live comfortably, and finely, and be properly appreciated for all you've done bes—"

"...curled demurely in the palm of your hand," Natori wearily interrupts him, and he's surprised by the sound of his own voice— soft, hoarse from disuse. Unfamiliar, now.

Caishen shares his gaze just long enough for his expectant expression to darken into a scowl, after which he looks away with a disappointed tsk. He stands and starts for the door in an insulted huff, and before he leaves, turns to face his captive companion again with what seems to be a final word of warning.

"You've been more trouble than you're worth, Natori. And that's not going to change. But I want you to remember that I offered you an out."

You offered me a worthless shroud to hide the dehisced wound.

Yet, as the trackless days wear on and his implied execution never comes to pass, it becomes quite clear to him that Caishen has something more particular in mind for him, and it must extend beyond whatever inane secrets he believes he might glean from the ex-advisor. Natori isn't certain how much more time he spends lost in that dazed dream, nor how many more times the noble visits him in that time span. One particularly lucid day sees him recalling his time caring for dear ailing Claudius with a faraway stab of grief, musing on his continued survival, and coming quite abruptly to a conclusion which should already have been obvious— he is valuable.

And once that realization takes root, it’s not long at all before he understands his dilemma; he thinks back to the other cat’s gentleness, his insistent tenderness, in his mind’s eye, the sharpest it's been in quite some time. What questionable acts have taken place while he’s been metaphorically away? No more.

Somewhere, also, the bare, surface fact that he might indeed be manipulated into betraying that which remains still precious to him should he not gather his wits reignites a powerful resentment he'd not been entirely aware of harboring before now.

From there, Natori waves a proverbial farewell to the comforting fugue. He takes a deep breath, wades into the muck which has accumulated about him in his stupor, and begins walking resignedly forward.

+++

When next Caishen sees fit to visit him, he finds Natori seated bonelessly in the ragged, once-elegant chair he's been provided, staring up at the ceiling with an odd amount of intensity, rumination— attention which very quickly moves to center on him when he enters the room. Were it not for the cold hostility lining that focus, he might find the grey cat's unusual lucidity favorable.

Ever the optimist, he approaches Natori and kneels before him, pats his leg as if nothing is out of the ordinary (noting the apparent irritated twitch in Natori's expression as he does), and airily remarks, "Someone looks quite hale and hearty today."

Then, conversationally, peering up at Natori as if they are only two old friends meeting up after a long separation,"Has your stay been comfortable? Have they treated you nicely?"

Natori narrows his eyes at him. Caishen certainly knows the answers to those questions already (as well as the fact that Natori himself doesn't), so he doesn't bother providing his own, instead moving his gaze pointedly away.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

An offer which the both of them know cannot be genuine; again Natori remains silent and pays him little mind. It's there that Caishen sighs with affected exasperation in response, as if he is the long-suffering parent doing their best to cajole an uncooperative child into sharing a toy or finishing off a detested vegetable. He pushes himself up to a standing position, now staring down at his companion with a bemused smile.

"You're finally lucid enough for proper conversation, and you still choose the path of petulant reticence. You can't ignore me forever, now."

Natori scowls lightly despite himself.

A tsk. "I'm not so bad, you know. And I only have your best interests at heart. Which is more than I could say for yourself, if this pathological stubbornness you've been so committed to is anything to judge by."

"...I'm not going to give you what you want." It's quiet, but spoken with the weary resolution of the steadfast bastion Natori feels he's been reduced to. Just as obstinately, he also doesn't raise his eyes to meet his companion's, still gazing into the shrouded corner to his right.

"You don't even know what I want, dear," Caishen responds gently, unfazed, and right then and there Natori is abruptly aware of how much he detests the softness with which this cat is intent on treating him. Having pulled the same tricks and tactics countless times in his lifetime as advisor to a temperamental king, he's not at all fooled nor made docile by them, and the very idea this condescending noble might assume otherwise irks him.

Perhaps because of this, his tone is quite biting and icy when he replies in kind, and he makes no effort to temper or retract his words. He finally locks eyes with the other cat, too, just to sharpen his point, to leave no room for doubts. "You could desire your own undoing, Caishen, and I still wouldn't give it to you."

There's little change in Caishen's outward demeanor— only a tightening in his jaw, the barest glimpse of teeth, and a coldness to rival Natori's own.

"Well," he finally says, brisk and chagrined. "We'll see what you end up giving to me."

Natori flashes him a brittle, wan smile, but in the end he chooses not to offer his own dispute. He is not an aggressive creature, but he most certainly can be a mercilessly stubborn one, and the other cat will learn that even more emphatically in due time.

Caishen does not call him ‘dear’ again.

+++

He has no evident place in the kingdom, not anymore. He supposes it's little surprise. Outside of a select few who know otherwise, most he imagines are likely to assume he'd met a grim fate at the hands of zealous nobles. Yet to have subtly vanished in such a way leaves him uncertain how to feel overall.

Strange, too, to have gone from near sole executive to secluded ghost story in only a matter of hours. He wakes occasionally with a start, certain with the persistent haze of the dream world that he has abandoned an important task, that he has left the king, or Lune, or sometimes even his sisters too long without guidance, and always he will come to in this unadorned room alone. He aches terribly sometimes. He presses his paws firmly against his eyes sometimes, so that he doesn’t stare too deeply into that yawning despair.

The bedroom he's been confined to is small, similar to the one he'd called his own throughout his residence here. He thinks it must have once belonged to a handful of servants before all this. It would have been decorated and enveloped in various personal effects then, awash in countless minuscule signs of life and history and love. Now it is bare, dark, and crumbling, home only to an old chair and a thin bed.

Natori spends most of his time pacing wearily from one end of the room to the other, lingering occasionally before the boarded window to peek out at the kingdom he will most likely never see unobscured by those shutters again. But that also aches relentlessly, so he begins avoiding the window. The gaps are too small to see much of anything anyway; even the sunlight seems to find it difficult to penetrate them.

Staunchly avoided also are thoughts of family; he hopes they are safe, that they will forgive him for his most likely fatal obstinance, and then quite mechanically moves on.

And Caishen continues to visit him. He talks to Natori, tells him stories of questionable veracity about the state of the kingdom, its victories and its beauties, how dreadfully hard he is working against those other nefarious, power-hungry nobles to get his own way (a goal which is exceedingly benevolent, of course). He seems to find particular amusement in combing through Natori’s fur as he speaks, and the once advisor puts together quite swiftly that his own feelings on the matter are of meager significance. If Natori is standing when he arrives, he will insistently entreat him to sit, to rest, and if still he stonily refuses, Caishen will none-too-gently wrest him there himself with that ever-present grim tolerance of a put-upon parent tending to his unruly toddler.

Natori will stare up at the darkened ceiling, numb but for the roiling sense of resentment and revulsion, and silently pick apart Caishen’s words in the same manner as a seasoned critic. He will unwillingly remember his own stint as faithful attendant for Claudius as he’d declined, and feel as if the hot contempt it sparks within him might burn him down from the inside out. He had looked after the previous king out of earnest devotion, out of love, much as it aches to admit it. He’d wanted nothing more than for the king’s recovery, and he had wept quite sincerely in his own time when the fact that that recovery never would come about finally became unequivocally evident. That Caishen might believe his own intentions are in any way comparable leaves a sharply bitter taste in his mouth.

It's one such trying day when the Siamese cat brings to him an ostensible gift— a richly-colored maroon changshan, not entirely unlike the one Natori is presently clad in. When it catches the meager sunlight, he glimpses the looping pattern which sprawls idly across the glossy silk. There are floral designs stitched onto the sleeves' black trims. He has hazy memories of once wearing something similar for another of Lune's birthday celebrations (albeit markedly more worn), and the memory, muddled as it is, still scalds him like a hot iron, and he flinches away on instinct.

Without lifting his gaze from the fabric, mildly he asks, "Does my appearance perturb you..? Too starkly haggard for your taste, perhaps?" When he does finally look to Caishen, it's with a hooded, austere gaze. Something about that word picks futilely at an indistinct memory from their early days together; somewhere Natori knows using it in such a way will irk his companion. "You seem to be laboring still under the delusion that I'm only a wayward guest."

The smile Caishen gives him is urbane enough, but frustrated, irritated, and Natori realizes he finds some passive-aggressive pleasure in prompting that reaction from one he despises so immensely.

"It has nothing to do with me," the other cat eventually responds, laying the material across Natori's seated form as if to assure himself it will be the right size. Natori raises no efforts to help him, gaze wandering instead to the window again, where his eyes eventually droop shut. "It's for your own sake. Think of it as... mm, a very small piece of dignity given back to you."

Then, as he lifts one of Natori's limp arms to gauge how long the sleeves of the changshan will be on him, he adds, "I can't imagine you would be all that enthused by the prospect of attending the upcoming coronation in this old thing." A disdainful pluck at the high collar of his current threadbare attire.

Natori feels as though he's been dropped into a vat of ice water, and the jolt this news has given him quite clearly doesn't pass Caishen by, if his crooked, knowing smile is anything to go by. He glances from his work to Natori’s face with a cursory interest, before he straightens to inspect the changshan’s overall length.

"Yes. A sovereign has been decided upon. You will never guess who it is."

Exactly how long has he been confined to this room? Natori wonders dizzily to himself in a feverish frenzy. It frustrates and alarms him even more than he could have imagined to be unable to differentiate what time has passed, his memory still stubbornly, permanently, shrouded in a fog he can not hope to ever penetrate.

Yet despite his fractured, hazy recollections of his past… while, he's very close to certain it's not been nearly long enough for Caishen to have secured his position so firmly.

Somewhere distant, there begins a panicking dread, frantically picking through the conversations he does recall, fearing he may have cracked after all, yet he thankfully comes up empty-handed.

What underhanded, unscrupulous manipulations must Caishen have undertaken in his pursuit, to have risen so rapidly to triumph over the others?

How long has he been confined..?

“...already..?”

“Already, you ask? It’s not been a mere eyeblink, now. Let’s not go minimizing my hard work.”

The fatigue he's been staving off now for some trackless eternity finally overwhelms him; Natori is certain he must look much like a tired, wilting plant— the lame beast which has finally found itself facing down the barrel that will end its torment— and can not find the drive to work to obscure it.

"...then what do you still need me for..?" It's fainter than he'd expected, mournful and weary.

Caishen, by contrast, only gives a pensive hum, having moved on to measuring the body of the new robe across Natori's thin frame (thinner now than Caishen remembers it being; silently he makes a note to inquire about his little jewel’s meal allowances when next he speaks with the chef). "No one has ever said anything about need, Natori. You’re here because I want you here, and my mind has yet to change on that front— despite your best efforts, of course."

As much as he wants to plead for that finishing gunshot he'd been so certain was right on the horizon, or argue that Caishen has indeed implied his necessity to his goals many times, Natori falls silent and turns his head away in defeat.

+++

Despite Natori's vain attempts to otherwise remain cognizant of his surroundings, the coronation passes in rather disjointed chunks of hazy time; he is moved from place to place seemingly without logic, in erratic ways he can not altogether grasp. He recalls being led to a cushioned seat decorated with a veil and an opaque strip of red fabric spilling over its edges, and that the proceedings had seemed unbearably long, and then suddenly comes to some time later sitting slouched languidly in a different chair some short distance from Caishen. The Siamese is chatting amiably with another handful of nobles like himself, but Natori glimpses flashes of bitterness and umbrage among them all, a second-long lapse in a smile here, a surreptitious flex of the claws there. It’s telling, particularly when those gestures of suspicion and disdain dwell on him.

To himself he thinks that Caishen’s succession is not nearly as ironclad as he would prefer Natori to believe, and again his own suspicions regarding the speed at which it was obtained resurface. As well, and of perhaps more pressing significance, his own continuing survival appears to be a matter of contention.

He remembers Caishen's original 'offer', that proclamation that he would so gallantly protect Natori from the wrath of the other nobles if he would only cooperate, and wonders if the Siamese is primed to follow through on that promise.

Someone sneezes beside him.

There's a guard there, he notices belatedly. When Natori twists in startled alarm to survey him, he recognizes the cat's face with another twitch. Vino, if he recalls correctly. He'd been a young cat the last time Natori had seen him, new to the kingdom and his position among the guards, eager but markedly careless. On more than one occasion, Natori had thoughtlessly reached for his arm (or his tail, in one notable instance) in the hopes of stopping him in his tracks as he’d set off for a confrontation for which he had little hope of emerging victorious.

At the time, Natori had found the parallel in their respective impulsive behaviors rather amusing, if a little revealing.

Now, however, those memories of kinder, brighter days which come to him unbidden, unwelcome, with the distinct lingering contentment of tranquil dreams, bring also a potent sorrow to the surface, and for a fleeting few instants, he is certain he’s drowning above water.

“Um— h… hey, are you doing okay..?” Uneasy words accompanied by a tentative, feather-light touch to the side of his face, and Natori feels as though he crashes headfirst back into the present. Vino had settled in the chair beside him at some point, and now sits staring at him as if terrified he’d broken him. When he sees the awareness filter back into Natori’s expression, he removes his paw and sets it in his lap.

Here Natori is suddenly uncomfortably aware of both his swimming vision and the wet fur about his eyes, and he hastily rubs at his face once it registers just what had transpired in his split-second collapse.

“Sorry,” Vino says awkwardly in the meantime with a shrug and a long sniff, rubbing at his grey nose casually. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that. If I’d known you were dozing, I would have taken more care to smother it. I mean, you know, for all the good it’d done.”

“...no,” Natori finally manages, muted and hoarse. “No, you’re fine.”

Then, after a good stretch of silence between them, Natori slowly becomes aware of the fact Vino seems to wish to tell him something, uncertain gaze moving back and forth between the mingling courtiers out in front of them and Natori at his right. Eventually, once Natori turns his own half-lidded gaze to him and stares impassively without blinking, Vino clears his throat and comes clean, so to speak.

“I— um, I didn’t know you were still— er, around, you know? Not until tonight, when that guy asked me to look after you.”

Sitting straightly is proving to be quite tiring; Natori’s posture slackens, and he moves his despondent gaze from Vino to the ceiling.

“I won’t hold it against you,” he murmurs. “Doubtless you’re far from the only one.”

There Natori frowns, however, even as his attention remains fixed on some indeterminate spot above him. “...Did you say he asked you to look after me..?”

“Huh? Oh— yeah, he did. His words, exactly, not mine.”

To that, Natori doesn’t respond, but it’s no great feat of brainpower for him to glean that Vino’s presence is not for mere companionship, nor is it intended as a safeguard to foil any escape attempts— no. His current companion has been tasked with shadowing his unsteady steps as protection against the other nobles, and something about that knowledge leaves Natori quite agitated, in a way he can’t quite comprehend.

“...You know, also,” Vino begins unexpectedly, startling his ‘charge’ yet again, “I’m, uh, guessing since most of us didn’t know you were still around, you’re probably not all that up-to-date on everyone else’s situations, huh..?”

It takes Natori a minute to catch on, but once he does, all of his attention is on Vino.

“Who..?” He all but croaks.

Vino seems surprised by Natori’s keen interest, blinking once with his ears pinned back, but he recovers soon enough, looking to the side with a cough.

“Uh— well, Natoru, for one, I guess? Not that I know her exact condition and whereabouts, but… I can make an educated guess, you know?”

“How is she? She’s safe..?”

Vino nods at him, just once, with a blink. “I think so. I last saw her disappearing through the tower’s portal. As far as I know, she’s still out and about in the human world. I dunno what she’s doing there, though. Probably enjoying the street food or something.”

Natori feels his drained expression shakily quirk up into a smile at that familiar sentiment, an instinct he hasn’t felt in what suddenly seems like decades. Something about the idea of Natoru so characteristically chasing after the human’s street food heartens him, even as tears cloud his eyesight again.

“A-And my sisters..? Their families? Have you seen them? Are they well?” He hears himself asking, as well, though even as he says it, the amount of optimism he feels over receiving a conclusive answer dims.

As expected, here Vino shrinks, ears flattening only slightly. “Oh— sorry, sir, I don’t know that. I wasn’t even aware you had sisters before now.”

The potent mixture of yawning disappointment and regret which opens up at this admission almost winds him, but Natori manages a sigh instead, closing his eyes with a nod and a twitching smile which is threatening to shift to a tearful grimace.

“No, I understand. Not… not many I worked with then knew about them, I believe.” A helpless laugh, one he must cut off prematurely lest it dissolve into a sob.

“Vino.”

Natori jumps quite dramatically, but Vino only turns his attention out to the newcomer to their ongoing conversation with the same informal, unconcerned energy of a teenager. It’s Caishen, and he’s gazing upon the two of them with a not altogether kind look. Vino seems to realize belatedly that he is perhaps inappropriately sitting beside his charge as if the two are nothing more than a pair of old wives trading gossip, and he is quick to stand… though his posture remains rather slouched.

“Quite dutiful of you to keep Natori company, as I asked you to. Your service is no longer necessary, however. I will accompany him the rest of the night. So you are dismissed.”

Vino straightens with a brisk nod. “You got it, sir. Let me know if you need me again.”

“I will.”

It’s there he leaves the two of them, glancing back only once before wandering out the banquet hall’s door and into the hallway. Caishen waves to him, a motion that almost seems to double as a gesture shooing him away, and then, after contemplating Natori for a long moment, sits in the now vacated chair beside him with the decorum of the sovereign he’s been allowed to believe he is. From there, it’s a long stretch of silence, Caishen gazing out at the few remaining stragglers, and Natori doing much the same, but with a blankness which makes it clear he’s not entirely present.

“What charming conversation did the two of you have, to have elicited such a smile from you?” Caishen eventually asks, and although his words are pleasant enough, the cool stiffness of his tone is unmistakable.

Natori, sensing all too familiar warning signals and thinking distantly of young Vino becoming a far-too-artless target of the other cat’s ire, responds offhandedly… but carefully. “It was too short to be a conversation. He told me a joke.”

“Oh? It must have been quite a joke, then. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile, and I’ve known you quite some time, haven’t I?”

“It was a very good joke,” Natori says, clipped, gaze dropping so typically to the floor, as if the ongoing exchange is tiring him. “It was one I’ve never heard before.”

“Is that so.” Caishen is losing his patience. The mask of affability is showing some cracks. “Am I to be let in on this secret, or shall I simply have to languish forever with the unsolved mystery of some humble guard’s marvelously clever wit?”

“...The man who created the umbrella was originally going to name it simply the ‘brella.’ But he hesitated.”

It’s clear to Natori that Caishen is not impressed by his last-second substitution, though one corner of his dark muzzle remains curved in evident amusement (or exasperation, perhaps). He stands quite abruptly, pulling Natori up into a similar standing position by the paws, and then tugs him into a brisk walk beside him toward the same exit Vino had just disappeared through. Natori stumbles some, resorting to clinging to his companion’s arm with a sharp stab of fleeting hatred. Caishen most certainly would have known this pace would be difficult for him to maintain, particularly given the floor-length robe the cat has seen fit to dress him in. Distantly, Natori realizes he couldn’t have fled from the scene even if he wanted to, not with his legs so bound.

“I had no idea that your sense of humor was so vapid, Natori. Seems a shame to me.”

“If I didn’t know better, I might believe you were feeling some measure of jealousy,” Natori eventually remarks as they move into the hall. Nonchalantly, flatly, he also adds, “I imagine it must sting a great deal, after all, to have never brought a smile to one you proclaim to hold so dearly.”

Caishen’s grip on his arm tightens noticeably, to a painful degree (Natori can’t help but to gasp feebly, on old instinct he doesn’t wish to reveal the roots of); the corresponding smile the noble intends as genuine shows far too many teeth to successfully conceal his fury. His voice, as well, resonates taut and cold.

“Shall I tell you an amusing joke of my own, then..?”

“You may try.”

“My joke is about a child,” Caishen continues glibly. “This child accompanied by a man deep within the unforgiving woods. Certainly, not an ideal situation for this child, don’t you think? Well, he doesn’t think so, either. And the woods are so terribly dark. He complains to his escort, then, perhaps in the misguided belief to do so might inspire some mercy within him. Isn’t that charming? How silly of him. ‘This is a forbidding place,’ he says, ‘and it scares me, sir.’ Do you know what the man said back to him, then, Natori..?”

“No.”

“Why, as most likely expected, he admonished his young companion, as this eerie scenario wouldn’t have been necessary had the child simply done as he was told. And then he says ‘Besides, how do you think I feel? I shall have to walk back through here alone.’”

In the silence which settles after the conclusion of this ‘joke’, Natori eventually mumbles, “So much for your unconditional love.”

“Unconditional love is a fallacy, Natori,” Caishen responds smoothly. “And I have never promised it to you.”

To that, Natori has no response; his gaze moves again to the floor, to his concealed feet buried within the folds of this ridiculous outfit.

“No doubt you’ve deluded yourself into believing that slavish devotion you once heaped upon our last king was, in fact, a kind of unconditional love, but we both know now that simply isn’t true… don’t we?” Caishen goes on with too much relish for Natori’s liking.

It feels now as if it’s been quite some time since he had been removed from his position of tacit authority, that senseless stretch of time when he had spent his days numb and detached, oblivious to the chaos he’d eventually awoken to. Between Caishen’s needling words and his continuing touch, the way he squeezes Natori’s paw as if he is offering support through an interminable, onerous trial, Natori is beset suddenly by the powerful urge to succumb to that unfeeling languor again and this time never resurface.

"...he wasn't the only one I was devoted to," Natori murmurs, subdued, regretting the words the very second they leave his tongue. He turns his head away.

At this, Caishen stops, looks him over with a searching, almost pitying, curiosity.

“Is that so..? Why, pray tell, what other no-doubt undeserving soul found themselves the recipient of your boundless obedience?”

“Do what you do best and jump to your own witless conclusions,” Natori says lowly, already curling in on himself in an effort to emotionally exit the conversation.

Caishen again grips his arm too tight, this time yanking him closer to him as they come upon the door to an outside balcony.

“Another secret, I see. Well, I’ll be acquainted with them all someday. In fact, I have quite the secret for you now, Natori, dear.”

The pet name still rankles, even after all this time.

[ i can’t for the life of me remember where this was going to go rip i think i might have had some vague idea of caishen showing natori like vino’s execution or something but it seemed too dark and mean-spirited lmao and then i had nothing to replace it with and i was too burnt out to figure out how to rework it orz ]

[ there’s also some connecting stuff through here about natori being moved to a different room and Stuff Like That, but the main thing is that somehow he comes face to face with yuki, who he recognizes bc this fic was meant to go the ‘lune and yuki’ were childhood friends route :v ]

It’s another familiar face, although this one elicits perhaps a touch more pain than the last— too intimately connected to young Lune for Natori to remain comfortably detached from the loss as he has been for so long.

As well, Yuki’s appearance tells him that whatever the life she’s been leading in the time since the kingdom’s collapse, it’s been an invariably arduous experience, and he finds himself distantly pained looking upon her. From the subdued pity he sees reflected back at him in her own expression, however, he can only assume he must look rather careworn, as well. (And what an odd thought that is. How long has it been since he had access to a mirror..? Suddenly, he’s aware that he scarcely remembers his own face.)

It’s only the distant crash of something and some clamorous voices which shakes them out of their shared stupor— Natori peers down the hallway to the source of the noise briefly, gesturing for Yuki to enter the room behind him. She wastes no time in doing so, and he hastily closes the door behind her.

When he turns, he notices first that she is gazing hungrily upon the plate of fish he’d been too heartsick to eat, the one which is still sitting forlornly abandoned on the lavish bed. Gesturing with old, stilted manners to it, Natori stammers, “Please— take as much as you want—”

Yuki doesn’t hesitate.

It’s as Natori anxiously watches her wolf down his untouched breakfast, settling in his usual seat as he does, that he eventually and hesitantly speaks up. “...Is it… quite harsh outside..? I, ah, assume it’s where you’ve come from.”

Yuki nods, though her attention doesn’t waver from the food. She speaks still with the same soft, sweet voice, even when it’s around a mouthful of cold fish, breathless and brisk.

“It’s hard. There’s not much food, and everyone is always hungry. And sometimes… sometimes people do wicked things to get it.”

“Ah. I was afraid of that.”

“..and you..?” Here Natori sees the faintest glimmer of suspicion in her eyes as she looks up from the plate, and he can not find even a bare speck of insult within himself for it. He looks to his folded paws.

“...I’ve been, ah, made into something of a special interest, it seems. Someone has argued against my inclusion into the ranks of the deceased in the hopes of—” He hesitates only briefly. “—the hopes of uncovering whatever absurd secrets about our last king he’s certain I’m holding on to.”

“Are there any..?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Natori replies, in a firm tone which is perhaps the closest he’s come to his old formality in quite some time. “The answer remains the same regardless.”

Yuki doesn’t respond, and the conversation fades.

[ something more was meant to happen through here-- i really wanted to write the two of them reminiscing or cheering each other a Tiny Amount or something but i’ve just run out of steam lies down they make plans to sort of meet again whenever yuki can manage it and discuss secret signs, etc, as natori is happy to provide her with some food, at least, and she can give him info on what’s going on Outside. but she never does return

instead here we have the beginning of the end ]

He thinks his heart is starting to beat harder every day. Sorrow and worry weigh heavily on him; old grief sits undigested deep within him somewhere, and he’s certain with each day that passes it sinks further, reaches with sharp, inky little tendrils and plants itself deeper. The nebulous comfort of his once fugue calls to him now with more determination than ever.

Caishen still comes to tell him stories, but Natori finds himself unable to focus on them as he once did. He thinks, if nothing else, that if he doesn’t speak or speaks only very little, then he can not betray what he loves, not even when he drifts against his will.

He thinks often of kinder days, sweeter days— sneaking away at odd intervals to steal naps in the sun, when the eternal noontime of the kingdom felt less like an unending eternity and more like a brimming, warm drink. He will reminisce on birthday celebrations, and impulsive outings to Little Sister Lake, and quiet work in the study, even as each one distantly wounds him. He claws at them in the way a drowning man might desperately cling to some floating, flimsy wreckage.

“I have something for you, dear,” Caishen says today, in an almost lilting tone. Natori can not say how long they’ve shared the room, and he makes no move to flinch away when the other cat kneels before him with what seems to be a bundle of objects clutched closely to himself.

“I’ve been saving these for some time now,“ the other cat continues, and it’s there Natori notices something inexplicably strange in his voice and manner, the near lilting aside. He is… excited. Had he the energy to be wary, Natori might have braced himself.

It’s another gift, but this one expresses quite a different message than the silky qipao Caishen had originally bestowed upon him. Natori’s indolent gaze moves over the cluster of items the Siamese holds out before him (a gathering of peonies and a poppy-like bloom Natori doesn’t recognize lying upon a crystalline platter, surrounded by a handful of scattered pomegranate arils, an ornately-decorated red veil with a pearly sheen, a wine bottle wrapped too loosely in twine and ribbon), and a sickened dread in the pit of his stomach grows infinitely more pressing with each one that’s identified, until he is shaking.

Yet it’s only the look he spies upon Caishen’s face, the unmistakable glow of anticipation and unhinged eagerness in his expression, and the burgeoning realization then that there’s any optimism that he might accept this proposition, which proves to be the hardest to swallow.

Natori straightens in his seat without realizing it, reaching first for the platter with a mechanical manner that his companion misses— not only does Caishen’s expression perk noticeably, but he sets the wine to the side and gently tosses the veil over Natori’s head, smoothing it into place with shaky, fumbling paws so that it frames the once advisor’s face. The look in his eyes seems glazed, far away, as he works, and when he speaks, that same dazed excitement permeates his tone as well.

“I knew it would happen this way, dear— I knew I was charming you, slowly but surely. I knew— oh, I knew if I only kept at it, then I could win you over. You would admit your feelings. You would yield to me.”

Natori looks from the plate of seeds and the bouquet in his lap to Caishen, studying his face with a numbness he knows must make him look quite cold, forbidding.

“I would yield to you.”

Natori’s eyes narrow, and he pulls himself up to sit even straighter yet, but those are the only warnings Caishen gets. With a sudden invigorating sense of insult Natori won’t, can’t, ignore, he raises the platter in his paws, nearly to Caishen’s own eye level, and then simply lets go of it. The shattering crash of it hitting the ground and splintering into pieces strikes Natori as a deafening boom.

It seems to take Caishen an aggravatingly long time to register just what has happened, what message Natori intends to send, but it’s unmistakable once it does— his hopeful, manic expression crumbles, darkens, and he twitches away as if he’s been struck in the face with an exposed wire. The ugly scowl he’s left with is quite a far cry from his giddy excitement from just seconds earlier.

“You— you’re such a— you’re so infuriatingly, needlessly stubborn, Natori..!” His name hissed like a dirty word, practically mangled with enough contempt to show just what he thinks of the old cat. “I was charming you—! I’ve gotten through to you! I’m certain I have!!”

“Who could be charmed by a snake?” Natori isn’t altogether sure where his sudden sharp tongue is coming from, but he does little to rein it in.

“This is why you’re here,” Caishen continues then in a low snarl, towering over Natori’s seated form after kicking the remains of the platter away; he rests his paws against the arms of Natori’s chair, settling his weight into the menacing position in a manner noticeably reminiscent of the predator they both are, forcing Natori to lean against the back again lest they be nose to nose. “You were always so devoted, so concerned with him that you ignored and belittled every other opportunity to find love for yourself. And look where it’s gotten you. Old, bitter, and all alone. And he didn’t even feel the same, did he? The prince entertains one little fatal dance with a human’s truck, and he fades away and leaves you here because you weren’t enough.”

Natori can scarcely breathe. This is too much, the one transgression he can not bring himself to abide nor forgive.

It isn’t enough to present him with an offering of items so cloaked in covetous symbolism yet twisted beyond their original sentiments, sentiments he had once quite admired, and behind which lies binding obligation. And it isn’t enough for the other to assume he might feel some ridiculous resentment over Claudius valuing him less than his own son. No, Caishen must also dig his intrusive little fingers into past wounds, pull out staples and unravel stitches until he can study the raw gore within, and then chide his victim for screaming. Between this jab and his vicious reminder of Lune's fate, Natori finally feels his fortitude dissolve. Finally, the tears come.

"...Yes, I loved him," he says, and he's surprised by the great tremble in his words, though in hindsight he supposes he shouldn’t be. "I loved him uncontrollably! I spent the greater part of my life by his side, and he will never know just how dearly I cared for him. Neither of them will." He doesn't remember when he'd covered his face, but although it does well to obscure his tears, it isn't so efficient at masking shuddering breaths. He can't recall the last time he was this distraught, the last time he'd lost his composure to such a profound degree; his voice sounds like that of a stranger's in his ears.

"There is nothing you can offer me that will ever overcome that monstrous wound— no wealth, no privilege, not another, and most certainly not you—" Practically spat out like poison, and he hopes beyond hope that it burns Caishen like the vindictive acid it is. "And the sooner you come to terms with it, the sooner we can end this ludicrous charade—!"

In the silence which settles after his second outburst in the span of a few minutes, as he tries in vain to regain his composure, Natori feels acutely that his value lies shattered across the metaphorical floor like the splinters of the crystal platter beneath their feet. This is it, he can feel it. This is when he finally meets his end.

There is something quite gaunt, wounded, perhaps, in Caishen's face. A bubbling rage behind his usual cool anger; something finally breaking loose. He's still and cold for only a fraught moment. When he crosses the distance between them in seconds, Natori is unsurprised, yet still had made no attempt to evade him. He's never been a fighter, always more content to talk or flee, and he stands little chance of victory against a younger, fitter cat, no matter how few years truly separate them. Caishen easily shoves him to the ground with a hissing snarl, all bared teeth and injured, furious pride, and when he speaks, it's with the unhinged ferocity of an animal denied its true nature for too long.

"Then I would make you..! I would make you! I would bind you to my side with shackles if I had to, and you would come to love me..!"

Natori had been listlessly resigned to his final fate, looking upon Caishen with a tearful but wearied gaze, until he'd uttered that foolishness. Until he’d become quite explicitly aware of their arrangement, the way he is pinned to the ground like a lifeless specimen soon to be dissected. Rage, the likes of which he hasn't felt in recent or distant memory, which overshadows even both his outbursts from just moments earlier, and an overwhelming sense of revulsion flood his senses in an instant. From seemingly far away he watches himself rear his paw back, claws unsheathed, and strike Caishen's face with a viscerally satisfying impact. He digs his claws in until they catch in whatever flesh he can find, until it takes all his withered strength to drag them through.

Caishen yowls in startled pain, jerking backwards and falling clumsily to the side. Natori clambers out from under him, scrambling for the door with the desperate blindness of an injured hare.

He doesn't make it far.

Caishen catches him by the ankle and sends him crashing to the floor again, and when Natori rolls over in a panicked effort to kick him off, he only scarcely glimpses the glinting of something in the other cat’s paw before pain erupts along his side— twice, then three, four, times— exploding across his ribs and sternum in a fiery wave. It’s enough to sap his breath away, leave him shaken enough that Caishen effortlessly subdues him again; holds him down, blade raised in the air for another plunge.

He should have known better, Natori despairs to himself distantly through the haze of pain— nobles, even in the idyllic Cat Kingdom, were by and large quite dangerous folk. His lashing out had been based in impulse and unthinking fury, but he should still have known the reprisal would come swiftly and without mercy.

It’s instinct, more than anything, which has his paws weakly scrabbling across the floor at his sides and above his head, and it’s instinct again, after he slices one of his paw pads open on an errant fragment of broken glass, which has him gripping its jagged edges in his bloodied paw.

Caishen notices it too late.

Impulse and instinct are what got him into this mess to begin with, yet they seem fair-enough guardians, as they’re also what get him out— with strength he can’t quite fathom, Natori drives his makeshift blade into the vulnerable flesh and muscle of the other cat’s neck.

The noise Caishen gives this time is… odd, strangled. He cuts himself off as he stumbles back, one paw reaching dazedly for his neck, grazing against the jutting glass there. Eventually, he hits the wall, and collapses there, still tapping hesitantly, gingerly, at the protrusion which will with any luck spell his end. Natori pushes himself away, huddled panting by the door he’d initially run for, weak now that the immediate threat seems to be extinguished.

Caishen looks confused, pitiful, from his crumpled spot against the wall; he stares out at Natori with the doleful incomprehension of a dying animal, and traitorously the grey cat thinks to himself that were their circumstances different, he might indeed feel some measure of absurd sympathy for the other in this moment.

“I only wanted you…” The words are gurgled and hard to understand, halting, and the sentiment sounds patently unfinished, but Caishen ultimately trails off and leaves it that way.

“ …If you come for me, I will kill you,” Natori rasps. It’s an empty threat, and both of them know it. Still, heaving himself up onto unsteady paws, he wrenches open the door and flees without a look back.

He has no destination in mind; the castle hallways he initially staggers through are starkly empty and devoid of life and activity, and in the part of his mind not overrun by pain and overwrought instinct, he realizes something about that is quite troubling, eerie. When he does finally hear voices, panicked and unable to focus, he climbs through a nearby window and leaps (falls?) to the ground. It’s certainly no elegant landing— he lands heavily on all fours, and they give out beneath him, resulting in him pitching forward into an ungainly sprawl. It’s only his continuing, nebulous fear which ultimately spurs him on, hauling himself back up and tottering on his way.

From there, he runs only until he stumbles one too many times, until he is too weak and dizzy even to crawl, and he at last collapses into a dense patch of cattails and wildflowers, where he lies for an insensible stretch of time. Natori has never been a terribly sturdy creature, less so now while steadily dwindling from the combined strain of his long confinement and his wounds.

How long has he been confined to the castle? He still can not say. As he struggles to roll over, panting from the effort he’s so inadvisably expended in his flight from his prison, he wonders if the kingdom has at all changed— if he will turn his face to the sky to find it bleak, ashen. Unnaturally overcast, just to make it quite clear everything is wrong.

Yet when he lies finally on his back, he's greeted with the pale baby blue it's always been, cradled on all sides by gentle, evergreen hills and grasses, the snow globe effect he'd once found to be quite charming, bucolic. Sunlight streams through densely-crowned branches above him, dotting his surroundings and his own blood-stained frame in speckled patches. He cannot decide whether the familiar scenery is comforting, reassuring even, or simply an extra twist of the knife.

Out a little ways beyond him, he hears the telltale crash of gentle waves on the shore of Little Sister Lake, and the wind rustling the long grass which obscures his leaden form. To himself, hazily, he remembers his forlorn assumption from long ago that he would never again see the kingdom unencumbered by shutters, and is abruptly afflicted with an exquisite despair, one which is tempered rather oddly with some edge of heartbroken gratefulness. A cruel kindness to allow him a glimpse of that which he's long cherished only as he lies dying within it… but a kindness nonetheless.

Somewhere, he wonders if he may ask for one more of those backhanded kindnesses— that his grief and hardship fade into obscurity, never to be uncovered by family nor friend, that they may be allowed to believe he had met his ultimate end quickly, painlessly, and be at peace. No one need grieve wretchedly for him the way he had for little Lune. No one need know how gracelessly protracted it all was.

He'd remained dutiful and devoted to the end. Watching the blurred, wavering sky gradually fade from his sight, Natori supposes he can't have hoped for any more than that.

#typewriter ghost #the ruins #ufjfdka this is my 420th post here w at

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yesterdayscake · 3 months

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in the last few days I’ve designed about nine different dresses, including a small capsule party dress wardrobe, and had another little gender crisis thrown in there, but I think i’ve managed to get through my (partly heatwave induced) tizzy, and get all my wiggles out in a way that won’t derarail the actual dress making process but…who tf knows.

most of the ideas and fabric and ribbon hunts were centred on a black dress, because of my fond ‘party dress’ memories brought up while trying to get a handle on all the thoughts swimming around my head. and I think those feelings were good, but they are going to be placed in a basket and put on the shelf as a fun future project if me and sewing get along ok.

I joke about it in my header but…fashion school was…a lot, and I’ve kind of stuck to mostly handstitching for a lokg time but though I do have the patience and fastidiousness for hand stitching a twenties style frock I don’t currently have the elbow grease to do it, and also it’s summer, my hands are already swollen as fuck right now. I’m probably going to have to ice my hands after cutting my pattern as it is

so yeah no. seeing machines are awesome. I just…need to remember that…and hope tension issues don’t drive me up the wall

so.

the reason the black dress (party dress 2.0) isn’t happening right now is because there are some absolutely beautiful and very beloved pieces of of silk that ended up in my fabric box at some point that were a gift to mom from dad. I was sort of like, ‘I shouldn’t just use it, but mom gave her ok. (I think I should check in with dad as well because I don’t want him to get blindsided and then see me wearing it at the wedding and be writing an aita post about ruining my sisters wedding…so that conversation will have to happen at some point….but tentatively I am able to use the beautiful silk I have rather than spending over $100. and when I make my party frock Inwon’t be feeling as much pressure about nice-nice-super-special-enough-for-my-sister’s-wedding fabric so that’s lovely

so that saves me like $100 or something. which is good because I found a gorgeous pair of shoes I’ll happily spend the money on lmao orz

but first comes the trial run with my cotton which I managed to find today

it’s really lovely and will make a lovely dress for a tea party or something.

I haven’t done measurements, but I do think that the width isn’t quite wide enough for the bottom, side/branch/‘skirt’ part of the pattern, so I think I’ll probably have to add some on. which means longer on the sewing machine. which sucks, but we do want it to be roomy enough to be breezy and nice

I drew up some options for the design tonight but I think I’m going to stew on it and feel the lace I have coming before making my decision

#project file #one hour dress #cotton voile #photos tomorrow because it’s after midnight #2024

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 299: No Chains Left

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “and then AFO broke out all of the inmates from six other prisons and took a nap. well anyways, here’s the hospital angst.” Kacchan woke up two days later and was all, “WAIT BUT HOW ARE DEKU AND TODOROKI AND ALL OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS EXCEPT IIDA DOING” and then we cut to Shouto’s room where the other U.A. kids were sitting around being Mutually Traumatized and giving each other moral support and such. Everyone was alll, “...”, and then the rest of the Todofam showed up, INCLUDING POSSIBLY REI?! which, omg. The chapter ended with Kacchan STOMPING THROUGH THE HALLS all “WHADDYA MEAN DEKU HASN’T WOKEN UP YET”, dragging along Satou and Mineta behind him, fueled by the power of ALL OF THE FUCKS HE NOW GIVES. He gives so many fucks now you guys. This boy cares so much he can probably deduct it on his taxes.

Today on BnHA: SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO GIVE A LOT OF FUCKS, the story cuts abruptly to Hawks, freshly recovering from his near-death experience, and pondering the threads that have weaved the tapestry of his life and led him to this moment. Basically he grew up in poverty with his Jerk Dad and Jerk Mom until his dad got arrested one day and his mom sent him off to go Find Money Or Something, and so he rescued a busload of people and found himself a new career. Back in the present day, Hawks and Jeanist ride around town in Jeanist’s Jamborghini having awkward encounters with civilians in a country on the brink of social collapse, and visiting Hawks’s mother’s home. Hawks is all “I know from an outsider’s perspective it must look like my life currently sucks, but now that the HPSC is gone, my public image is shot, and my parents are finally out of my life, I’m actually feeling SURPRISINGLY GOOD.” Anyway so he’s gonna go meet up with Endeavor now, and p.s. this chapter was fucking fantastic though, damn.

oh my god?? is this Hawks narration?? something about him growing up watching the heroes on TV and thinking of them as fictional characters

okay I scrolled down a little bit more to see the rest of that “Keigo” panel, and wow

this is basically a shed. poor boy definitely grew up rough. let me tell you guys, I came in here ready for some BakuDeku shenanigans; I was not prepared for Hawks Flashback Angst. I AM HERE FOR IT, but also wow I gotta brace myself now lol

HELLO MISTER HAWKS’S JERK DAD, SIR

BnHA sure does have an array of Jerk Dads, doesn’t it. makes me appreciate characters like Masaru and JirouDad all the more for bucking the trend

anyway. so Horikoshi, you really thought that one itty bitty chapter of hospital catharsis would be enough to calm us all before you went right back to showing us child abuse huh. my god man can we rest

BABY HAWKS

swear to god this kid can’t be more than five or six, and yet he has this completely blank look on his face even with his dad looming over him being all threatening and shit. like he’s shut down his emotions to protect himself. imagine what has to happen to a child for him to have learned this at such a young age. fuck

AND MEANWHILE THIS GUY

don’t mingle with humans?? not “other” humans, just humans?? what is this implying here?? and also holy shit Hawks definitely didn’t inherit his looks from his dad orz

then again he doesn’t really bear much of a resemblance to his strung-out mom here either

omg omg omg. and this child is basically trapped here in this environment with these two people. this explains a SHITLOAD about Hawks’s personality though you guys. his ability to completely separate his real thoughts from the face he presents to the outside world. his pragmatic approach to analyzing and solving problems. his layers of emotional walls. turns out almost none of that came from the HPSC training -- that was all learned hands-on in his own personal do-or-die survival nightmare childhood!! oh, boy

and small wonder then that he latched on to Endeavor so strongly if he really is the one who brought down his dad and inadvertently saved him from this. also, just putting this out there, I know people are always talking about him and Dabi being foils, and I think it’s very interesting how Touya grew up in a household where he saw firsthand the dark side of hero society, and so ended up becoming a villain in order to bring it down. whereas young Keigo had almost the exact opposite experience, growing up experiencing the dark side of villain society and becoming a hero in order to bring about a world where no one else has to experience that. just. both of them are so determined not to become their fathers. some interesting parallels there

so Hawks was sort of an accident after his parents had “thanks for helping me not get caught after I killed that guy” sex, and now this little boy is growing up in squalor and being beaten by his father for things like Sitting In The Wrong Out-Of-The-Way Corner Trying Not To Be A Bother To Anybody. holy fuck. this is so rough to read through you guys

wait so does Jerk Dad have a an eyeball manipulation quirk?? because he doesn’t have the wings like his son, but wth are these things??

this presumably also means that Keigo has never been to school or anything either. he basically doesn’t exist. he thinks heroes are fictional characters, he doesn’t realize that they’re real people. these are people who could help him if he could escape and find them, but he doesn’t know, and they don’t know about him

OH MY GOD HE’S JUST SITTING IN HIS CORNER HUGGLING HIS ENDEAVOR PLUSH OH MY GOD

how could this child possibly have an anti-fandom when he’s done NOTHING WRONG HIS ENTIRE LIFE. huh. just explain that to me. lol I mean I’m not looking to pick a fight with anyone, but also, MAYBE I AM, idk?? this kid has gotten me all riled up lmao

anyways, Protect Keigo 2021, and thank you Horikoshi for these three very terrible pages. I am pleased to inform you that you’ve effectively gotten your point across and you may now commence saving this kid already

YAY

oh no, Keigo’s dumbass jerk dad tried to steal a car and the popo nabbed his ass and now his mom can’t just sit around neglecting her VERY YOUNG SON all day long, oh horrors. sorry lady my tiny violin is on backorder. just imagine that I’m playing a very sarcastic song on it for you

anyway so what are you gonna do now, abandon him? I can hardly imagine he’d be worse off, if anything it might be a near-instant improvement

LMAO HE’S ALL “WAIT WHAT ENDEAVOR’S A REAL FUCKING DUDE?!”

AND THEY SAY THAT A HERO CAN SAVE US~~~~ I’M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAAAAAIT~~~~~ I’LL HOLD ONTO THE WINGS OF THE EAGLES, WATCH AS WE ALL FLY AWAAAAAAY~~~~

lol what a randomly pivotal moment in his young life. TIME TO GO MAKE THESE MEMES INTO DREAMS YOUNG ONE

anyway so his mom freaked out and grabbed him and they wound up at a train station with her TELLING HIM TO GO GET HER SOME MONEY, oh my god. SURE MOM LEMME JUST WALTZ RIGHT ON DOWN TO THE “JOBS FOR FIVE-YEAR-OLDS” STORE AND TELL THEM I NEED SOME CASH. ffff manifesting someone to come help him in 3... 2...

...

SIGH, JUST GO RESCUE THE PEOPLE FROM THE BUS, KEIGO. is this the outfit he was wearing when that happened?? it must be, right?? I can’t imagine them surviving more than a couple days out here unless this starts getting REALLY dark in a way I know that even Horikoshi won’t explore, so yeah. cut to the HPSC now please. never thought we’d be glad to see them. I mean sure, it may be an “out of the frying pan...” case, but good god

THANK YOU!!

and I guess it was his mom’s eyeball quirk then. anyway, whatever, see you again never, hopefully. lol oh man. thaaaat, was upsetting. need to center myself here for a sec. NAMASTE

OH YAY THE PRESENT

so we cut from Baby Hawks Angst straight to Present Day Hawks Angst, huh. not that this exhausted and traumatized lil lad isn’t still a baby to me too, I’ll have you know

BEST JEANIST, ALWAYS WITH THE JOKES

“WHEW, THOUGHT YOU DIED ON ME FOR A SEC THERE KID.” lmao. Caleb will no doubt ruin this by making his word choice all stiffly formal as usual, so I’m just going to treasure this “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, I’M FRESH OUT OF FUCKS” version of Jeanist while I can

look at him, driving his Jeanistmobile

again, is it any wonder Kacchan was bitching about Endeavor’s dinky little car when he was used to riding around town in style like this. anyone else staring at this panel trying to figure out how this car is somehow secretly made of jeans

NOOOOO

FUCK YOU DABI LMAO. PUTTING THESE VOICE ACTORS OUT OF A JOB ONE BY ONE

anyway so Jeanist is all “GOOD THING IT’S THE FUTURE AND WE’RE SO GOOD AT MEDICAL SCIENCE” to handwave how Hawks went from one step shy of being a very handsome corpse, to sitting around texting Jeanist in a car all of two days later

OH MY GOD, AND FINALLY AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS

wait a minute. I’m so confused lmfao. soooo, was Hawks all “anyway, here’s Jeanist’s dead body, you can examine it but please don’t look at him too closely and also I’m gonna need that back unharmed.” how tf did you pull that off lmao

(ETA: also isn’t this technically confirmation of the ol’ Noumu Jeanist theory lol. I’m gonna go ahead and say it is.)

NO BUT PLEASE, CONTINUE. I unironically love reading Horikoshi’s overly convoluted “SEE IT’S NOT A PLOT HOLE” explanations

lkldslfk so wait, you’re telling me Hawks convinced Dabi and the League to put Jeanist’s body in storage, and basically just hoped they wouldn’t use him for any experiments until he could put his plan into action and have the HPSC’s people break in and find and revive him?? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG. A FOOLPROOF PLAN IF I’VE EVER HEARD ONE

fff this man really asked Jeanist to risk it all to prop up his little cover story, and Jeanist was all “sure why not” omfg. anyways, thanks for recapping all of this out loud for no particular reason in your car conversation you two

LMAO NOW WHAT

TROUBLE YOU SAY? GOOD THING THE NEW NUMBER ONE HERO IS ON THE JOB THEN

okay no it’s just some random thugs strolling around terrorizing the downtown. fuck ‘em. so Jeanist is making short work of them now

uh oh

won’t come? not can’t, but won’t?? what???

WOW

well I guess that makes the local heroes A BUNCH OF SHITHEADS now doesn’t it?? jesus

and okay, serious question, if the cops are spread too thin and the heroes have literally walked out on the job, what exactly is stopping everyone from deciding to use their quirks to defend themselves, legal or not? nothing, as far as I can tell. society just got a hell of a lot more chaotic

anyway so this is an interesting panel here

man, Dabi really did pull it off, didn’t he. well anyway so here’s that better world all of the villains were wanting, you guys! isn’t it so great?? everyone’s terrified and angry and losing hope and society is inches away from collapsing into total anarchy! but hey, at least we exposed the number one hero as a hypocrite

anyway so what are these guys up to

fucking hell, he’s visiting his mom. I really wasn’t prepared to commit this much emotional energy towards reading this chapter today. BUT VERY WELL, WE PRESS ON

?? wait she’s not there?

is this supposed to explain how Dabi knew who Hawks really was? except that there’s the little matter of how he even know where to find his mother in the first place. feels like we’re still missing something there, but oh well

OH MY GOD

RHA I TAKE BACK EVERY WORD I EVER SPOKE AGAINST YOU. YOU ARE A SCANLATION GROUP FILLED WITH ANGELS LMAO. I WILL TAKE THIS PANEL IN MY HANDS, AND TREASURE IT AND KEEP IT SAFE

ANYWAY, BECAUSE MY TIRED BIRD SON’S LIFE SUCKED SO MUCH ALREADY, IT TURNS OUT HE’S ACTUALLY PLEASED WITH THIS NEW TURN OF EVENTS LOL HOW ABOUT THAT

GOOD FOR YOU BBY. YOU GO OUT THERE AND BE YOUR OWN PERSON

and in all seriousness, I love that identity he chooses -- chooses, because it actually is him making a choice now, possibly for the very first time in his life -- is “guy who helps people”, though. it really is nothing short of miraculous that he held on to that kind of optimism and desire to do good even with everything he’s been through. there were so many times he could have chosen to turn his back on the world in retaliation for the way it treated him. but he didn’t!! and here he is now, finally free, and what he wants to do with the rest of his life now is simply to help others. anyway please excuse me for a moment, I need to go find some sort of basket or a big vase to put all of my fresh new Hawks Feels in, pardonne-moi

YEAH BOIIIIII

“FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, MISTER JEANIST, WHERE DID YOU FIND YOUSELF THAT SWEETASS CAR.” hey, all I’m saying is if this boy’s wings really aren’t growing back, he’s gonna need to find himself a new means of transportation y’know?

oh my god you guys it’s a flashback to his mom buying him the Endeavor plushie when he was like two because, and I quote, ALL MIGHT WAS TOO EXPENSIVE

oh my god oh my god. my boy out here with a new lease on life finding hope in the darkest of times

wasn’t your throat supposed to be all fucked up lmao. Horikoshi was suddenly all “oh shit the VAs are gonna be pissed at me if I keep this up huh”

“that’s why Bubaigawara was such a great guy” motherfucker IT IS A TERRIBLE DAY FOR RAIN. FORECAST SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS

:’)

yes ma’am. yes indeed. confirmed, I really will straight up fight some motherfuckers for this child. well not really, but YOU KEEP YOUR DISCOURSE OFF MY LAWN AND OUT OF MY BLOG YOU HEAR. THIS IS A HAWKS-FRIENDLY SPACE. WE RESPECT TAKAMI KEIGO IN THESE STREETS

and he’s saying (or is he thinking?? what a weirdly shaped speech bubble this is) that even if what Dabi said about the Todoroki household is true, “I’m not sure it’s the same now.” which happens to be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT. man this whole chapter really is all about saying “fuck the past” and moving forward and I am living for it

SON!!!!

“the first step is at my beginning” fklkjlk. what an iconic fucking line??

AND HIS WINGS!!!! THEY ACTUALLY ARE GROWING BACK AHHHHHHH. “PUT A RAINCHECK ON THAT CAR, JEANIST-SAN.” THE HAWKSMOBILE CAN WAIT, RIGHT NOW HE HAS TO GO INSERT HIMSELF BACK INTO THE TODODRAMA WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

you guys. I came here ready for some BAKUDEKU HOSPITAL ANGST, and I got DIDDLY SHIT of that, and none of my other kids were even in this chapter, but!!! ASK ME IF I CARE LMAO omg. because bird son is hanging with his new best friend, and he’s out here Finding Himself and picking up the pieces and putting them back together stronger than ever because RESILIENCE HAS A NAME, AND IT’S SPELLED H-A-W-K-S, and you guys. profound, my love for this child. holy shit. hey google, play Silence by Marshmello

#bnha 299 #takami keigo #hawks (bnha)#best jeanist #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I found peace in your violence #can't tell me there's no point in trying #I'm at one #and I've been quiet for too long

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merakiui · 1 year

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thinking about scaramouche who, after being defeated by the traveler and nahida, never regains consciousness in teyvat and instead wakes in another world entirely (a world from one of yae publishing house's light novels LOL). at first it seems fine because surely, even if he's reborn, he can still claw his way to the top and attain unfathomable power, yes?

wrong. very wrong.

scaramouche finds that in this particular world he is a nobody peasant working as a measly servant for an all-powerful monarch (you). given his position as a harbinger, he rarely had time to entertain such foolish pastimes as reading silly light novels, so he has no idea what sort of plot this world follows and whether you're a kind-hearted monarch or a tyrant. he supposes he should lie low for now until he learns more about this place and the people in it.

if only it were that easy.

some of the servants are rather cruel to him, and because scaramouche has never truly had to serve others before (rather it was the other way around) he's unaccustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a servant. the others like to tease and bully him, making him seem inept by slyly tripping him in the halls when important figures are around or by conveniently forgetting to notify him of his duties for the day so he's left to wander the palace aimlessly. he's scolded nearly every day and he hates feeling beneath everyone. scaramouche is one more "harmless mistake" away from committing the worst atrocity in all of history when he realizes that, if he really wants power, he shouldn't wait around like a fool! he's lord scaramouche, after all! how dare they make a mighty figure such as he get on his hands and knees and scrub mud from the floor tiles?!

his plan is rather simple: if he can work his way up through the ranks of servants and earn your trust, he will have his chance at assassinating you and taking the throne for himself. all he needs to do is become your personal butler and then he'll have far more access to you than he does now. currently, he's only caught glimpses of you or listened in on conversations in which you were the subject. your staff speak so highly of you. perhaps this will be easier than he thought.

but then, on the night of your birthday gala, someone tries to kill you. scaramouche, infuriated that there's someone else who might try to steal his spot at everlasting glory and kingship, is quick to defend you. he's only thinking of his own selfish goals when he does this, but everyone else sees his potential. tonight, he's proven to everyone that he is highly adept in combat. your would-be assassin flees and scaramouche attempts to pursue them, only to lose sight of them as they blend into the inky vastness of the night. he's so frustrated. if he had his power and strength from his original world, that person would have been dead the moment they stepped into his line of sight. he's silently fuming as he stands on the balcony overlooking the forest and town beyond the palace, assessing his next move.

he doesn't get too far into his thoughts before a cheerful round of applause is thundering through the ballroom, and he whirls on his heel, stupefied. they're...cheering for him. for him. because he's saved your life. because he's proven not only loyalty but strength.

scaramouche goes from a nobody servant to a hero in the span of one evening and you, so touched by his quickness to protect, appoint him as a knight. tomorrow morning, bright and early, he'll begin honing his skills alongside the rest of the royal military. this may not have been part of his original plan, but it's a solid start. even if he doesn't become your personal butler, he can work towards becoming one of your few most trusted personal attendants. and now that he has access to weaponry with this newfound position (and has memorized the layout of the palace) he will be unstoppable in his pursuits!

if scaramouche had read the light novel, he would know that it's a romance between monarch and knight. but with his murderous scheme, it's going to quickly become a different genre...

#meraki mumbles #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche from teyvat: i have ended bloodlines. i have brought ruin to all i have encountered. bow to me!!!! >:)#scaramouche in the light novel world: my weapon is a broom and some cleaning supplies. i will end the existence of every stain i see >:)#forgive all of my excessive scaraposting #he's so fine and i need him orz

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sillyfudgemonkeys · 4 months

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to get right to the salt, do ya think P5 and the spinoffs lowkey ruined theorizing for ya? at least for atlus games?

Damn beat me to it! I was thinking of making a post bitching about how stupid it was to that we had to leave Sae's dungeon because of a "blockade" but like....that area is open to the public why is there a blockade???? TT0TT You just wanted a blockade for blockade's sake. Would've made more sense to have Mako do something at the house than the fucking court room you dinguses. orz*coughs* Moving on......

Anyway happy new year!

Yes and.....no. For both.

P5's made it hard to want to keep theorizing with P5 central games. P3R is in a spot of "why even bother, I'm setting myself up for more disappointment if I do." I had absolutely no want and desire to theorize P5T (even P5S I had SOME thoughts, but the Sophia char, you know being based off an aeon being, not getting the Aeon arcana.....kinda killed it for me. :'D PQ2 was a diff issue, tho it came out before P5S iirc so it was before P5 killed it, and P3/5D didn't have much to theorize over....P3D a bit more so but only by a bit, and P5R....well P5R gave me SOMETHING to work with at least). I think the most I wanted to do with P5T was figure out the place in the timeline exactly (which is something I love to do :3) and if it was going to have a memory wipe. Other than that nothing really.....stood out to me. TT0TT

I am interested in P5X and have a theory post buried somewhere (mostly it showing it's an alt reality, tho I subscribe to it REPLACING P5 rather than it being part of certain P5 endings). I'm just having a hard time keeping up with all the info atm so I don't talk about it.

Right now it's a waiting game for P5X to release and the announcements after P3R. (obvie excited for Refan but I'm talking about predictions and stuff and I'm not really doing that for Refan cause....I dunno what to expect TT0TT)

But as for P5(X) theories I have one now:

Timelines of P5. P5 has the original vanilla, the Kasumi version, and (Cognition?) Wonder ganking him. I'm thinking it's Cognition bc the one "Joker" That fought Wonder evaporates and it might mean it's a cognition of some sort (god I hope it is, I want P5X to have it's own timeline). But that's all I've got, I need to catch up on older stuff cause I'm not sure if this contradicts other existing info (then again info keeps changing atm, such as the 109 building TT0TT).

C!Joker I believe says "resist" to Wonder at the end of the new trailer (going off the chinese char, I don't think I'm hearing the Japanese correctly tbh). It makes me wonder (hehe) if Silly's about to get her 3rd star crossed lovers-ish/trans dimensional timeline pairing/duo (first Tats and Maya, then Hams and Mints/Kita, and now Joke and Wond 8U)

As for in general, not really, I've just been busy/needing to consume/refresh more of certain media before I find myself more comfortable to talk about it. But here's some theories I have that fit this description but I know the fandoms will kill me for reasons. (spoilers for Bleach, Naruto/Boruto, Frozen, Netflix's Wednesday 2022, Far Cry 5, Ju-On/The Grudge):

Bleach 1: I'm subscribed that the "happy ending" they got at the end isn't actually happy (despite the surface level). Because unlike Kishi, I think Kubo is a mean troll. TT0TT I don't think anyone won with him. Anyway, my theory is Ich*ka isn't R*nji's daughter because the ONLY aspect she has of him atm is his hair color and that's something that can be dyed. 030 And that Kaz*ui is some weird clone of Ichigo rather than a real son (the only thing of Oreo he has that Ichi doesn't, bc they both have orange hair and brown eyes......BUT Ichi had the same eye shape as a child so......even that can't be ONLY tied to Oreo TT0TT). Kaz*ui is a little monster I don't trust him. Plus that ominous opening in the Hell chapter w/the gold fish, him sending a soul to hell, and then stomping out Ya-badaba (Yawach? Idc.....)....I just don't trust him, and Kubo's a troll so :'D Whatever hurts the fandom the most I guess.

Bleach 2: I don't think Kubo has positive feelings the Tanabata, or at least it's mythos. I mean it's about two star crossed lovers who fail to do their job and that's why they are separated. TT0TT Between I*H receiving L after L in the series (like confirming Ichi didn't have feelings for Oreo until after the series was over, White attacking her and so on), both do fail to do their job (fighting off Yawach-ababa, both get stomped before someone else has to come in and help iirc, anyway a very twisted parallel off of Tanabata), but her also wanting to BE THE RAIN to connect heaven and earth. You know. Rain. The representation of Ichi (and Ruki's) depression. Rain. The thing that keeps the lovers apart in Tanabata.......WHY???? TT0TT (also the fact they end up together even tho it's a star crossed lovers story, and when that couple WAS together they were doing a bad job with their jobs which meant they NEEDED to be separated and...I dunno man I don't trust Kubo he's mean kfljaskfljsdl)

Naruto/Boruto 1: Sarada is actually Karin's daughter, but Kishi is too scared to go that route/not as mean of a troll as Kubo is....atm. (At least Kishi had the guts to admit he wanted a love triangle/considered N*S for a brief second, but just didn't have the chops to make the love/triangle aspects more focused in the story. Aka I don't blame N*S for being tricked by his red herrings). I dunno he keeps giving the S*S couple L after L after L I'm wondering if he's trying to ease more people into the idea of SK. TT0TT

Naruto/Boruto 2: this is what I think the Kaguya line looks like (aka where the Gold/Silver bros and Kimimaro's Kaguya clan fall, cause I haven't seen a tree like this, and The G/S bros could totes be from Indra's side tho. But I firmly believe the Kaguya clan is from Indra, since I think the madness they went through could be similar to the Curse of Hatred)

4. Naruto/Boruto 3 (I'm in the middle of a Naruto rewatch sue me TT0TT): What I think the eye evolution looks like (I don't think the Jogan's been explained yet? I still need to catch up, the byakugan doesn't evolve into a Rinnesharingan, it's that they obtain it later along with rinnegan's too in some of the designs, but I was mostly looking at Kaguya's since that's what most of these are derived from, Rinne can become Rinneshar aka you gotta activate it kinda like Sharingan to MS but it still requires you to evolve it):

5. Frozen theory 1: Ahtohallan is not a good place. It's constantly putting Elsa into danger (either Ahto it'self, or it's ways of making her look into the past). It's almost killed her twice: Once in F2 by going too deep and almost freezing, and once in the dubious canon sequel novel Polar Nights where she falls into a raging river and Anna has to jump in to save her TT0TT It also seems so good at driving a wedge between the sisters >_> Cause that's totally what they need >_>

6. Frozen theory 2: Partially related to the above, because of Ahto's influence, I think Elsa will slowly evolve into the Snow Queen from the original fairy tale. Unless Anna can rescue her that is. TT0TT

7. Frozen Theory 3: Oldie but a goodie, Anna has powers. It's super strength. Be it yeeting a bust, punching a grown man in the face w/o recoil, full swinging a bat lute into a wolf's face w/o recoil, easily tanking hits from a horse/falling down the stairs/falling off a cliff/Elsa's Ice magic, literally pulling her sister out of a RAGING RIVER (Polar Nights only, I'm pretty sure it was raging I don't care to look it up again). They need to play into this more as a running gag tbh. "Oh she's the normal sister *lifts up a insanely heavy object with ease* Yup totally super normal, so sad. :(" jkldjsfkajf

8. Wednesday 1: In the original comic stripped canon of Addams' Family, her brother (then unnammed) was titled a "Hyde" in his character description. I feel like that's going to come into play in the later seasons (esp with how much mystery is around the "hydes")

9. FC5 (I think this is confirmed in other entries, but it was my theory as I was playing): Faith is also a victim via drugging and brainwashing. They physically and chemically fucked with her head. Like the other cult members that are brainwashed similar to her, if they detox they'd realized how much of a fucked situation they are in. TT0TT I also like to think she's out there, alive. In some bunker. TT0TT

10. Ju-On/The Grudge: I prefer to think Takeo killed Toshio. I know the US ver made it more explicit that he did. But I also mean the OG Jpn vers (I know one of the novels might contradict this theory). It just makes more sense for Toshio to die at the same time/the same way as his cat (and we see what's implied to be the cat in the movie). I mean their souls are merged for crying out loud! And IF Kayako was involved, it was maybe to deliver a mercy kill for her son, after Takeo left him for dead (similar to Kayako). And maybe she didn't want him to experience the same slow death she did. I know it kinda implies all the evil is on Takeo and less on Kayako (oh no shocker I hate the guy who started it all, at least Kayako wasn't a killer until the curse was made u_u) in this case, but I just want the soul merging to make sense is all. TT0TT

Annnnnnd yeah I think those are all/most of the eh theories I have going on. Again I need to rewatch most of this stuff (well except Frozen/Wednesday/Juon klsjfdkljafjsa I'm good on those). My issue with Naruto and Bleach is how much of/what of the supplementary content is canon. TT0TT And if Anime original, what about if the creator approves of it *glares at Kubo* I've seen your likes and comments you little stinker. Let alone if it's crafted by the creator (RTN/The Last/Boruto Movie, tho RTN I've heard contradicts some of the manga's events TT0TT) Like I'm trying to fine tooth comb this stuff but lkdjflksjfja orz

#i'm using oreo as a term of endearment as well as a way to avoid this ending up in the I*H tag TT0TT #silly asks #silly answers #the only solace I get out of S*S is that they are both miserable <3 #honestly I*H should be owning the black sun/white sun dynamic bc the sun is a star and tanabata is also called the 'star festival' TT0TT #not to give them ideas ksadjfklajf (no hate to I*H it's not for me but all hate to R*R rukia deserves better)#I shouldn't call them hams and mina...it should be hams and kita TT0TT the fan names should stick together!#but it's hard to separate hams and mints orz the food!#but hams and kita are childhood anime based so ahhhhh

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yaekiss · 11 months

Text

꩜ Room Content: Dom! AMAB! Reader x Sub! IL Dan Heng, blowjob (reader receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: I'm supposed to be sleeping rn but I kept thinking about IL Dan Heng and an anon's ask that this idea gripped me so hard that I just had to write it out b4 I forgot about it orz...

Upon closer inspection, IL Dan Heng does in fact wear more stunning red makeup around his eyes. So what's stopping him from wearing rouge on his lips?

(Especially when he's sucking you off.)

He's not particularly vain but he does enjoy it when you compliment him on the colour of rouge he applies on his lips. (If anything, he looks forward to you noticing it and praising him for his choice in the shade, preening slightly when he hears the sweet words that come from you.)

And he knows that you love it when he leaves pretty kiss marks on your dick before he gives you head. You groan when you feel his soft lips against your length, and as his forked tongue traces a sensitive vein on the underside, you have to restrain yourself from grabbing onto his horns and pushing his head down. He coyly peers up at you, and for added effect, he flutters his eyelashes, further highlighting the matching shades of his eye and lip makeup. It's mesmerising how he takes you into his mouth and every time he detaches with a loud pop!, you can see the bright ring of ruby he leaves encircling your hard cock. It's difficult to tear your eyes away from the display before you as he gulps you down to your base, choking and gagging when you hit the back of his throat.

When the two of you are finally done, all the makeup he painstakingly applied in front of his mirror in the morning is completely ruined. His eyeliner? Smudged by all the tears collecting at the corner of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks as you ruthlessly fuck him. His lip rouge? Smeared all over after screaming your name and drooling over how fucking good you're making him feel all night long.

When March 7th asks you why Dan Heng needs to buy so much rouge, you just say that he's really putting it to good use ♡

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

#📜.qi rambles #honkai star rail smut #sub honkai star rail #hsr smut #sub hsr #dan heng x reader #dan heng smut #sub dan heng #dom reader #if this doesn't show up in the tags I'm going feral #📜.qi writings

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neonponders · 3 years

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Oh lord, here we go. Don’t be surprised if my sugardaddy!Billy and couture Steve turns into five parts orz for now, here’s part 3!

This is originally a birthday gift for @lazybakerart 💋and @edith-moonshadow enabled me to keep going with this with their Harringrove for Palestine donation🙏🏻.

Part 1 here ~ Part 2 here ~ read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

A week passed.

Billy didn’t leave a number for Steve to call, and when he tried to phone Billy’s secretary, she gave him a bullshit lie about international calls needing to occur within a certain timeframe, etc. Steve understood he was butting into Billy’s goings-on, during an hour he couldn’t play civilian.

That was another aspect of their relationship they kept dodging.

Steve did not consider white-collar crime unfamiliar. In fact, it’s wildly rampant in society; it just takes the right lawyers and judges to keep things swept under the rug.

Maybe Billy didn’t talk about it for the same reason Steve didn’t open up about his fears of being disposable. When they managed a safe little time capsule where underlying circumstances didn’t exist, things went great. Splendid, even.

But time capsules have to open at some point.

Billy called Steve.

“Hello?” he said to the unfamiliar number. If he sounded a little miffed, it’s because he’d taken more spam calls than genuine correspondences this past week, having not known what Billy’s international number was—

“Steve.”

That sounded…wrong.

“Billy?”

He could hear the man’s breath on the receiver. Heavier than it should have been. “I know you don’t like this. But I need you to come here.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Billy sounded half the man he was. Steve wanted to know what happened to the other half.

“I’m injured. I’ll be fine—”

“Define ‘injured.’”

“Steve,” Billy huffed like a laugh, but Steve could hear it stick in his throat. He hovered in the middle of his apartment, helpless to do anything but hold the phone to his ear. “I’m not arguing right now. Could you just…get in the car that comes to pick you up?”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“The driver will use the buzzer of your building. They won’t come up. Just get in the car and then the plane—”

“Plane? Billy, where did you go?”

He laughed again, a little of his voice leaking into it. “Steve, please. Can I see you or not?”

Steve croaked into the receiver, revolving listlessly in his apartment while his brain failed to keep up. “I-I—wha—um.”

Except, despite everything, like how very likely he would come back to only one or no jobs, it really wasn’t a choice for Steve. His chest ached for Billy. He missed the bastard’s smug smiles and longed for the animation he let fill his face when he relaxed with Steve.

And he felt the itch of being wanted. His ingrained eagerness to be with the person who needed him.

All of it scrambled in his brain so Steve wound up raising his voice while fisting his hair, “A plane? I have to pack! What do I pack?”

Billy’s voice came out breathily on the phone, like he filled it with relief. “You don’t need to pack anything—”

“I NEED PANTS, BILLY!”

Steve got in the car.

Steve got on the plane.

The stupid private jet in which Steve could have his own disco if he wanted because it seemed like only he and the pilot were on the damn thing. He brought the book Billy had gifted him about The New Yorker for something to distract himself, even though he mostly stared blankly at the pages while he waited for the plane to land.

A part of him expected to arrive in the middle of nowhere. Which, to be fair, they had to land in a private hanger outside of the city. But then the next car took him amongst grand buildings and turned into a narrow side street only residents would use. Steve burst upon the sidewalk, only hindered briefly by the receiving of a hotel key and the remark, “Room 532.”

Steve skipped the elevator. He wore heels in his spare time; he would’ve beaten the lift anyway.

As with any hotel, the key took some figuring out, but when he managed, he stepped into the suite. “Billy?”

It smelled like any other nice hotel. Cream carpets and matching walls. A splash of color on the rumpled bedspread amongst Billy’s clutter. Steve followed the floor plan of the sitting room to the bedroom and then the bathroom, where he heard the shower running. He knocked on the door, “Billy?”

And then louder, “Billy?”

“Come in.”

Steve carefully pushed into the room, unsure what he’d find…

What looked like two open first aid kits sat on the counter. Steve couldn’t read anything from those alone, but he didn’t have to because the shower was a large, glass cubicle. It stood big enough for four people. Billy sat on the floor, his chest wrapped in sodden cotton and gauze; barefoot underneath his black slacks. Steve opened the glass door as Billy lifted his head—

He knelt on the hard tiles, putting his arms around Billy’s neck to greet him, to hold him. Cool tendrils seeped through Steve’s hair, soft claws over his scalp until the water properly soaked his strands.

“Steve, your clothes.”

Instead of answering, he looked at the shower knobs and turned the hot water up. As soon as heat seeped over them, Billy melted against him. His head fell easily where Steve pulled him into the bend of his neck. Billy’s hands fumbled a little to find him, but all he could do was grasp onto him to avoid bending or twisting his injured torso.

Steve remained kneeling over him long past being soaked through.

He did not cry until Steve undressed, leaving his sodden raiment on the shower floor to retrieve the scissors from the first aid kits. He carefully snipped through the ruined gauze and medical tape. Soon a pile of white, and diluted pinkish-orange blood also sat on the floor. Whoever had stitched up Billy’s sides had done a good job, but Steve had to dry him off and rebind him.

After the first wince, Billy came undone. Steve wished he could say something to make it easier, but all he had were small reassurances and quietly given orders.

“Can you hold this here?”

“Lift your arm up.”

“Hang on. Almost done.”

An odd talent of Steve’s: tolerating pain with silent grace. A skill which Billy ironically lacked. But where Steve withheld, Billy knew how to release. Perhaps here was one of their bridges.

“Put your arm around me. Lift with your legs.”

The towels Steve put over their shoulders helped them grip one another. Once standing, Billy halted, “Wait. Take these off.”

To each of their credit, neither made a joke as Billy’s trousers and underwear landed with a wet slosh next to Steve’s pile. Steve wrapped his towel around his waist once Billy sat on the bed. With his hands freed, he went about drying Billy’s hair with his towel and opening the bed for Billy to fall into.

“Have you taken any meds?”

“Nothing spectacular.”

His head sagged on the pillow, following Steve to the bathroom, where he found an ibuprofen bottle and shook out two tablets. His eyes followed Steve’s hand raking his hair off his face, and the movement of his throat around a swallow. The filling of a glass at one of the sinks.

Billy let him wrangle a pillow underneath his body so he could swallow the pills with ease. Before he did so, Billy informed, “The blue pill bottle is sleeping meds.”

Steve went and read the label, even peeling the thing off to read the lengthy underside. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. I need to rest now.”

But Steve went into the living room and pilfered through the mini fridge. He returned with apple juice and a granola bar. “If you take this on an empty stomach, you might vomit. I’m not letting you suffocate in your sleep.”

“They put that on there to avoid lawsuits,” Billy complained even while he accepted the juice bottle. He munched slowly, almost carefully on the sugar-glazed nuts of the granola bar while…

Steve got dressed. In Billy’s clothes.

He crouched right in between Billy’s suitcase and the open wardrobe to select one of his long-sleeves and boxer briefs. Billy blinked softly, feeling warmth blossom through his chest and sink through his belly.

Regardless, he sassed, “You’re not gonna sleep naked with me?”

Steve climbed next to him, facing him as if he intended to get up again soon. He tore into his own granola bar. “I don’t know what to expect with you. I’d rather not be forced out of the building naked.”

Billy’s hand touched his leg as he bit into the bar. “Nothing’s going to happen. There’s a menu on the table out there. Order room service.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve refused with a cheek full of almonds. “We’ll eat tomorrow. Or…when the sun’s up in two hours.”

Billy didn’t ask him to, but Steve stroked fingers through his hair after Billy took his sleeping medicine. “Don’t leave,” he moaned tiredly, the force of the little pill dragging him under.

“I’m not leaving. But you can’t octopus me in your sleep.”

Billy sighed, intending for more words to come out than the ones that did. “…test me…”

When his breaths came and went like the heavy sway of the ocean, Steve kept petting through his hair. Even though Billy couldn’t hear him anymore, Steve sighed, “Scared the shit out of me, idiot. I missed you. Don’t do that.”

Billy hummed in his sleep as if he heard him. Even drugged unconscious, the man tried to retort.

Steve leaned down to kiss his temple and tucked him in to keep him warm. When a knock on the door sounded, Steve donned one of the bathrobes and held a shoehorn behind the door as he answered. The shoehorn was a ridiculous ornate thing from the wardrobe; more like a walking stick than a device to help a heel slip into a boot.

The woman on the other side of the door dressed as expensively as Billy and appeared just as austere. Steve had never seen her before even though she acted like she knew him. “Is he well?”

“He’s asleep. What do you need?”

“To go over his intended schedule for today.”

“Reschedule it. He isn’t doing anything for at least two days.”

She did not look anxious. Merely…disappointed? “That will be…difficult.”

“He’s a difficult man,” Steve sighed, his posture tilting back into the room and warranting an end to this discussion. “Whoever expects to see him likely knows that.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” she dismissed.

“What is your name?” he halted.

“Elena Varma. Hargrove knows me as Elicit Vagina.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and if she were anyone other than Billy’s secretary and personal guard, now would be the time to take his head off. Instead, she elaborated, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Right,” he nodded dazedly. “Are you single? I know somebody.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, but her mouth and brows moved with amusement. Like a test, she inquired, “Are they butch?”

“No,” he said a bit perplexedly, thinking of Robin’s amber blond bob and all of her many-colored Converse on which she doodled.

A pause. Then, “Does she have bad taste?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve exhaled, “Great,” under his breath as he shut the door. Crossing over to the living room, he set the shoehorn down and picked up the room service menu.

When Billy’s eyes next opened, it was to the beckoning of dishware clatter and summons of browned butter and tangy, aromatic cheese.

Steve sat much as he last remembered, sitting facing Billy while a tray sat where his pillows ought to be. A cart of more food stood by the food of the bed. Billy’s blurry gaze traveled back to Steve, who chewed on a croissant with a newspaper, of all things, in his hand.

It was perfect.

Minus the abhorrent headache and parchedness of his throat.

“Coffee.”

Billy couldn’t not smile at the wide eyes that lifted up to him. Steve rushed to swallow the lump in his cheek and handed him his glass of water from the tray. Billy shook his head. “No. Coffee.”

“Water first.”

Billy sighed and leaned over as much as his injured side allowed him to. He drained the glass. And he never got his coffee. Steve made him drink a strong cup of tea, as if that would replace Billy’s usual espresso in the morning.

“Your, um, personal assistant came by. She knows to reschedule all of your—whatever you do. I said you need two days.”

“Two days?” Billy chirped in the middle of grumbling over his tea. “That’s a vacation.”

Steve huffed a sound, but looked toward the window and it’s sheer, white curtains. “What street are we on?”

“What was that sound?” Billy diverted.

Steve looked at him. “What sound?”

“The sound you just made.”

“You mean the sound of you complaining that I work too much but consider two days a vacation. That sound?”

“Yeah, that sound,” he remarked. “I stand by what I said. You don’t need two jobs.”

“Billy, you got stabbed yesterday. Twice. Or whatever the hell happened to you.”

“I’ll have you know I was only stabbed once. The side mirror of a moving car clipped my other side.”

Whatever mirth he intended to be in that statement wilted in the face of Steve’s glare. Billy took the silent admonishment with grace and, after a moment, said, “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”

“I never said you were one.”

“Walking around with a stab wound and clear assault damage isn’t helping my case,” he responded with another unhappy sip of his tea. At least Steve put milk and sugar in it. Dessert for breakfast.

“Long story short: I got a job and the old man CEO noticed me. He liked me a lot. I was the one male secretary in the place; it was easy to notice me. The women liked me—”

“Women have always liked you,” Steve retorted quietly. But he set his things on the tray and laid across the bed to pillow his head on Billy’s thigh.

He gazed up at him while Billy continued, “It was easy. If the head of a building likes you, job promotions come fast. Training happens in the boss’s own office. Then the asshole died and both his heir, and the board, did not take it well to my name being in the will. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of their mess.”

Steve listened and processed, “This heir was driving the car?”

Billy snorted and instantly grimaced for the pain it caused him. Steve began to get up for the painkillers, but Billy’s fingers plunged into his hair; not gripping him, but softly holding his head. “Stay. I’m fine. No, I doubt the idiot even has a license. He can’t aim a blade, either. He’s running out of money, that’s why he’s so desperate.”

“Where is he now?”

Billy’s head tilted almost piteously at him. “Do you really want to know that?”

“Well I can’t decide which is more romantic: inviting me into a shit storm, or making sure I’m safe first.”

He could see some of the tension leave Billy’s face and shoulders as he reached for Steve’s tray and took his other croissant. “He’s in the hospital. But I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Steve could read between the lines. “Us trust fund kids. We’re not built for street fighting.”

That earned an animated frown from Billy, who spoke regardless of his full mouth. “You gave me a hell of a wallop once.”

“I lost that fight.”

“You didn’t have a homophobic, retired veteran waiting for you to bring your sister home. And this guy clearly doesn’t have a pretty boy waiting for him or he might’ve won.”

Steve laughed but it faded as he just…marveled at Billy. They had never talked this openly before. However proud of Billy he felt, though, the nagging dark corner of his brain turned his thoughts onto himself. He let slip:

“You work so much harder than me.”

Billy immediately wasn’t having it. His head tilted again but instead of pity, it was chastisement. “Steve.”

“No, no—I just mean I’m proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me without sounding like I’m about to toss you out onto the curb. I just told you the very idea of you helped keep me alive.”

“And I abandoned two jobs and an overpriced apartment to be here, so I hope you mean it. You might be keeping both of us alive for a while—Hey.”

In between thrown bits of croissant and grapes, Billy chided, “I’ve been. Trying. To convince you. That I mean it. And it takes a drive-by to. Get. Your. Attention.”

“Okay! Okay—this is disgusting. Stop it!”

Steve reared up only to be ensnared by Billy’s overstretched arms. Steve caught himself on Billy’s collarbones so he did not press on his chest, tugging the skin on his sides. “B! Be careful.”

A hand cradled the side of Steve’s head as a soft smirk lifted Billy’s mouth. “Let me kiss you.”

Steve, defiant till the last, pushed him down so he didn’t exert himself. Then he kissed Billy slowly, reverently. He liked kissing Billy a whole lot. Loved it. He liked Billy’s taste and the sound of their lips parting before meeting for more. He liked the puffs of Billy’s breath across his cheek and his hands reaching for Steve. Finding him. Holding him.

Eventually, though, Billy whispered against his lips, “Why did you ask what street we’re on?”

Steve rolled his lips together, perhaps seeking a balm for being chapped from kissing, or nerves. “It’s fashion week. We might be able to see stuff from the window.”

Billy claimed one more kiss and then released him to clean up the bed and scout the street below. Billy managed to reach the bathroom on his own, where he took another pair of meds and readied for a day in. With Steve.

Steve, who insisted he stay in bed.

Steve, who found a full-length mirror in the wardrobe and held it half out the window so Billy could see the horizon of the street reflected from his place on the bed. He watched Steve more than anything. His giggles at how ridiculous it was to hold a mirror out the window. When his features relaxed as he watched the traffic and people arriving to a place a few blocks down. When he asked Billy if

“Can you see the red coat? That thing’s massive.”

And, “Somebody famous just got there. The paparazzi are going nuts.”

Steve really should have expected the events of the next day, but Billy still faced the stern glare and long blinks when he sighed. “B, you’ve only rested a day. Your stitches could still tear.”

“One runway isn’t going to kill me. We’ll pop in and not attend the after party. Elicit’s already managed to get tickets—”

“Her name’s Elena,” Steve frowned with his hands on his hips.

“No, it isn’t,” Billy scoffed, and went to dissect Steve’s luggage himself...

He grasped the linen shoe bag, recognizing the shape inside. He lifted one of the Hot Chick 100s. “You took packing seriously, huh?”

Steve seemed to be really grappling with patience. “I didn’t know what you needed. A nurse or a kinky leg to hold onto.”

“So I got both,” he grinned.

A reluctant, little smile pulled at Steve’s face. “I’m not wearing those out.”

Billy had already set the pair on the living room table when he grimaced, “What? Why not?”

Steve glanced at the windows like they might hold an answer. “Because I’ll be giant and make more noise than anyone else in heels.”

Billy wasn’t buying it. He held onto the back of the couch to help himself stand and then made his way to his own clothes. “If there’s any time to wear what you want and get away with it, it’s fashion week. Come here, no one’s going to let you wear jeans beside a runway.”

Billy had way too much fun dressing him. A quiet little warning bell went off in Steve’s head over this, but he couldn’t listen to it without also admitting that he enjoyed himself. One of Billy’s silk button-ups around his body felt nice.

Intimate.

A black suit jacket over it made Steve feel chic and professional. And when Billy asked him to lift his foot onto the bed, Billy double wrapped the chain of his pendant around Steve’s ankle. Amber and opals on one side, and a golden saint on the other.

“If you’re tired or hurt at any point, tell me,” Steve lectured in the car.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, but Billy’s hand on his thigh tightened.

“I know, baby. I’m okay. The show’s not even two hours long. Try to relax. You look real hot.”

Steve snorted and rubbed the silk of his shirt between his fingers. “Is this shirt new?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear it. And it would’ve matched my green shoes,” he added with slanted eyes at him.

“So what if I wanted to match my partner? Try and sue me.”

Partner. Steve caught his face in his hand, eyes aching with the moisture overflowing from his heart.

The car pulled up alongside a bustling street. Elena Varma accompanied them through the open double doors, but she kept to herself. She sheltered Billy’s other side while Steve slid an arm over Billy’s shoulders and held onto him. If a pair of eyes scrutinized them, Billy was hardly the only rich man with a pretty thing in heels on his arm. And people only had compliments for Steve’s classic choice in shoe.

The off-duty models sitting around them in the chairs along the runway were very sweet. Steve and Billy kindly refused their inquiries over attending the later afternoon events, but gratefully accepted their information about the show.

Models talk. And in this world where everyone knows someone who knows everyone, the models explained the architecture of the runway, the designer’s vision, the gossip about the model opening the show, and the model closing the show, etc.

“I like the butterflies,” Steve said, pointing to the ceiling, where a myriad of paper butterflies on wires fluttered with the air conditioning ventilation.

“I like you.”

Steve pointed flustered but narrowed eyes on him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“To the important things,” Billy replied, leaning back with an arm over the back of Steve’s chair. He did contribute, “I like the columns. The effect of the eroded marble and gold filigree is interesting. I enjoy looking at it.”

Steve leaned into him, resting a hand on Billy’s thigh as the lighting changed and the show began. The fashion proved largely sculptural instead of practical, but Steve pointed as models went by.

“My mom would know what that means.”

“If the designer was inspired by Greece, then it’s something mythological. Greece seems to be very in right now.”

“You read my magazines,” Steve accused with a smile.

“I smell the colognes.”

That earned Billy a soft nudge before Steve’s jaw relaxed in sight of a male model striding past them. “You’d look really good in that.”

“The gold speedo?”

“No,” he lightly slapped Billy’s knee. “The shirt.”

“I don’t really go for pastels.”

Steve turned soft eyes on him. He touched the underside of Billy’s chin with a fond knuckle. “You and your jewel tones.”

Then a model turned onto the stage wearing a sweatshirt totally encrusted with jewels. Steve and Billy exchanged looks, which ended with Steve covering his laughter and Billy pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve and Billy left the show with at least one pocket full of models’ agents’ business cards. Steve had taken the time to write the models’ names on each card along with a descriptor, as if they actually intended to remember and reach out to them later that night, should their plans change.

Their plan did not change.

If anything, Steve and Billy only more firmly wanted to retire to their hotel room after they ordered coffees—and Steve nearly broke his ankle stepping off the pavement.

“The puddle lied! The water lied to me,” he lamented through laughter, having thought that the water was far shallower than it actually proved to be. He powered through their venture in the coffee shop, but as soon as they were in the car, Billy pulled his leg up to inspect his ankle and Steve held up one of the shoes.

“Holy shit. Look at that.” The flat of the heel now had a harsh angle to it, as if he’d worn these shoes for a decade instead of thrown off his stride by a waterlogged pothole. Both shoes had water and grit on the insides too.

“I’m sorry, B. These might need some work—Oo!”

Billy had touched his ice coffee to Steve’s ankle. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lighter note. “The ladies we sat with were really nice.”

“What about the show?”

That gave Steve pause. “Um. Honestly? They all walked too fast for me to really see much.”

Billy laughed so hard his stitches made him stop.

#harringrove #deeper than skin #neonponders #pondermoniums

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