#minuscule improvement is still improvement! right? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indigosunsetao3 · 3 months

Note

Hey! Sorry I'm not sure if you're taking requests but there's this trend on tiktok where people are calling their boyfriends their husband and I thought it would be cute to see 141s reaction to the same🥰

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGey2YkXT/

Feel free to take creative liberties otherwise there's no pressure at all to do it! :)

I am definitely taking requests! It's fun to get different prompt/ideas and figuring out to make them work.

This is too cute! I was going to just do a list-type answer but then one thing turned into another and I had all sorts of scenarios running through my mind while at work. So, I took a little creative liberty. Some of them are acknowledging the trend, others are situational conversations.

Hope you enjoy! And you know I had to put Alex in 😘

Alex

It was the second time in a month that a stupid pipe burst. That’s what you got for insisting on buying a fixer upper in the coldest winter the area had seen in years. You had managed to get the water cut off before it completely flooded the whole downstairs then set about cleaning up the mess.

Alex had arrived to find you a frazzled mess as you mopped up the water when your phone rang. The plumber. Alex quickly handed you the phone before he went about mopping. The plumber couldn’t be there today, earliest it would be was Monday. You couldn’t be home that day.

Looking at Alex, who could hear the call, he nodded and mouthed he could be there.

“I won’t be here, but my husband will,” you say. It’s a slip of the tongue. Alex and you didn’t even live together yet but just calling him a boyfriend seemed so minuscule compared to how you felt.

Alex had instantly stopped mopping and watched you curiously. The plumber continued talking but you barely heard what he said. You could feel the burning red of embarrassment on your cheeks as you watched Alex's face for his reaction. This was not a conversation you were ready for. You had wanted to talk to him about it, soon, but not today.

“Right, okay. Yes, his name is Alex, I’ll send you his number,” you assure the man as you continue to stare at Alex. Alex had gone back to mopping but you saw the stupid happy grin on his face as he worked and a hint of a red tinge to his cheeks. Hanging up you set your phone on the counter and take a deep breath.

“Listen I didn’t mean,” you start but Alex leans the mop against the fridge and steps toward you, his feet splashing in the water a bit.

"Oh, I think you did mean it," he answers grabbing your hips. "And here I was thinking I was just your boy toy for home improvement."

"Hush," you answer still feeling the tingle of the blush that had gone up to your ears.

Gaz

Gaz insisted that you still do your monthly book club even though you protest , preferring to spend time with him. Him being home was a luxury and you had honestly started the online club as a way to pass lonely days counting down his return.

Leaning down you read the chat as people start joining. You grin at the number of people you managed to amass in the past few weeks. The beauty of online was anyone from anywhere could join. You had a few people from other countries even and always tried to set the meeting times to be accommodating for all.

After you all start talking and chatting about the book Gaz flops comfortably on the couch next to you handing you a glass of wine. He hadn't read the book but he was still interested in what you were doing so he peers at the screen, the side of his face visible to everyone for a fraction of a second.

It sends the chat into a tizzy. Everyone knew you had a significant other but they had never seen him. The comments are flying which makes you laugh before pointing a few out to Gaz who grins.

“They’re dying to know who you are,” you venture looking over at him. “Comfortable saying hello to my friends?” You raise your eyebrows and Gaz pauses before straightening his shirt in an exaggerated manner, preening himself. He nods and you turn the camera to face him so you are out of screen.

“Everyone this is Kyle,” you say grinning before tacking on, “my husband.” It was a joke, something you had seen people doing online as a trend.

It got his attention though. His eyes flick up to yours as the sounds of the chat pinging start going off tenfold. He's ignoring what people are saying verbally and written as his eyes rake over your face while you casually sip your wine staring back at him.

“My deepest apologies,” Kyle says after a moment as looks back at the camera while undoing the top button of his polo. “But I’m going to have to cut our session a little short. My wife,” he emphasizes the word as his eyes lock on yours, “and I have something to tend to.” He doesn’t give them a chance to respond before he snaps the laptop shut and all but chucks it on the recliner.

He’s on you in a moment, pining you down into the couch as you giggle. “Husband?” He grins and you swear you see him glance at your empty ring finger.

Ghost

Simon wasn't a fan of pictures of himself if his face was visible. He has loads of you though, his camera roll was just random shots of you mixed in with work items and stupid memes from his team. But you barely had any casual pictures of him in return. The pictures were always of you holding hands, or you pressed up against his chest with his arms around you. He didn't mind taking pictures that way, always holding his pose for you until you got it just to your standards after the first or fifty tries. Photography made you happy and even if he was a bit self-conscious about it, he fed your hobby.

The few times you could get a picture of his face with his approval he always had his mask on, only his striking eyes were visible as he stared at you. It was fine, you understood why, but you missed looking at his face when he was gone.

So while you were at a local cafe, safely tucked into a back corner, and he takes off his mask you dare to snap a picture. His hood is up, his lower half of his face obscured by the cup but you could still see his light blond stubble on his jaw. The slight crook of his nose where it had been broken and not set properly years ago. Even a small glimpse of the corner of his lips which were a natural pink that made you envious.

"Love," Simon says quietly as he looks at you from over the cup.

"I'm sorry. The light in here was too good to pass up," you sigh and scroll to delete it, savoring it for a second as your thumb hovers over the trashcan icon. "I miss looking at my husband when you're gone," you explain as you hit the button and watch the picture wipe away.

"Husband?" Simon asks quietly as he sets down his cup and carefully pulls his hood forward a bit to make sure his profile is covered.

You don't answer as you look back up at him and set your phone on the table between you. Instead you grab your own cup and stare right back at him. It was a joke you had seen online, see how your boyfriend reacts to the official title. You didn't expect much from it, maybe a laugh or a joke in response but he doesn't do either.

He instead reaches out to nudge your phone back toward your hand and cock his head to the side a bit. Then he smiles, a genuine heartfelt smile that sets your heart fluttering.

"Go on then," he says nodding his head at the phone. "One picture, just for you. From your husband," he smirks as you fumble for the camera in a rush.

Price

You snuck out of bed early that morning, having to creep quietly out of the room because John was such a light sleeper. It was his birthday and you were determined to give him some sort of a surprise. He always made sure your day was special, always took care of you, so it was your turn.

Shushing the dogs you set about making breakfast, careful to not bang the pans too loud and diving for the kettle as it starts to whistle. It was a simple dish of eggs and bacon with hot tea, but John loved anything hot and homecooked. You had to shove the dogs outside before walking back up the stairs balancing everything carefully before hipping open the door.

"Damn it," you mutter as you see him half sitting up in bed smiling at you. "How long have you been up?"

"Mmm, since you tripped over your slippers," he answers with a small chuckle at your face. You thought you had gotten away with it, he hadn't even twitched as you cussed and caught yourself on the dresser. "You were so determined I didn't want to ruin it," he grins.

"One day I'll surprise my husband," you say with a sigh before setting his tea on the nightstand and the breakfast in his lap. He doesn't answer, doesn't move, as he looks at you. It seems you managed to surprise him after all as his eyebrows climb up toward his messy bed tousled hair.

"Sorry I shouldn't have," you start back peddling. "It's just a joke my friends told me to try. It's all over social media, they did it with their boyfriends and thought it was funny." You explain as he slides the plate off his lap and sets it on the night stand next to his tea.

"Do you think it's a joke?" He asks tilting his head to the side a bit, watching you get flustered and trip over your words. He's grinning now though as he crosses his arms over his bare chest waiting for you to get yourself out of your rambling.

"I mean the trend is a joke," you start, "but I mean if," you were making a mess of this.

"Sweetheart, I was ready to marry you after our second date. I am your husband, even if I haven't managed to get you down that aisle yet." He smiles and tugs you toward him as you attempt to reconcile how a simple joke had John confessing he'd had marriage on the brain for almost a year.

Soap

Another conference for work. At least this time you were able to bring Johnny along. You had forced your boss to agree to let you bring him even if it was only supposed to be for spouses. You told him it was either Johnny came or you wouldn't be there. You’d be damned if you were missing Soap’s short leave to sit in a stuffy room full of men praising their own egos ignoring you because you were a woman.

“Am I fancy enough to be here?” Johnny asks, a teasing smirk on his face. He was in a button down and slacks with a tie to match your cocktail dress for dinner.

“Plenty fancy,” you answer back smiling as you take his extended elbow. “Let’s get this over with,” you huff as you step on the elevator. A networking dinner with other people that were in your field and while it was better having Johnny here it was still not your favorite thing to do.

Johnny gently leaves you to go grab drinks while you stake out an empty table. It's not deserted for long before one of your coworkers stands right next to you at the high top giving you a once over. You had managed to avoid him all day but he had managed to spot you alone and swoop in out of nowhere.

“Who’s the guy?” He asks as he eyes Johnny at the bar striking up a genial conversation with the bartender. You really couldn’t take Johnny anywhere without him making friends. “I thought we were only allowed to bring spouses,” he tacks on. You had been fighting off Mark's advances for months, as politely as possible, but you'd had enough.

“John,” you answer coolly as you set your purse on the standing cocktail table. He didn’t get to call him Johnny. “And who says he isn’t my spouse?” You ask raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t your spouse, you weren’t even formally engaged but to you Johnny was the one anyway.

“Says the lack of any ring,” he says pointing to your hand. He never took no for an answer, ignored you when you said you had a boyfriend. He was persistent and creepy but it was ending tonight.

“John,” you say as Johnny walks over to your other side with a beer and your vodka soda. He knows something is up, his eyebrow quirks at the use of the formality of his name. “I’d like you to meet Mark,” you gesture to him emphasizing the name because Johnny had heard all about him.

“Mark, meet my husband,” you say boldly.

If Johnny was shocked he didn’t let on. He just gently places a hand on your lower back before setting his beer down and extending the other to Mark to shake his hand. You can see him squeeze a bit too hard despite being jovial and kind. The conversation remains casual and a bit forced after that before Mark excuses himself.

Johnny doesn’t say anything at how you introduce him to everyone as your husband, just exchanges pleasantries in return. But you notice his hand never leaves your body in one way or another and he’s been grinning to himself the whole evening. Cutting his eyes to you with a shine to them every time you say husband and even stepping in himself to introduce himself as your husband to a few people.

“Husband, lass?” He asks once he gets you alone in the elevator.

“Sorry,” you mutter kicking off your heels to which he extends a hand to take them without you asking. “Mark just won't get the hint and I,” he cuts you off crowding you into the corner as the lift steadily rises.

“Don’t apologize,” he grins tilting your head up. “I like how it sounds.”

#asks #ask me things #cod #husband trend #alex keller cod #gaz cod #ghost cod #john price cod #soap cod #tf 141 x reader #fluffy

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zqmbiescorpse · 1 year

Text

𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗘..

kaitlyn ka x female reader

a/n: i've been dying for kaitlyn fics, and just the quarry fics in general, because there's hardly any and that makes me want to cry. anyways, first thing i'm hopefully posting so no bullying pls. no werewolves! also sorry if the ending feels like it could be improved, i just really wanted to be finished with this <3

warnings: nothing serious, some making out

word count: 2.4k

(masterlist)

The joyous, fun atmosphere surrounding the gentle flicker of the campfire quickly disappeared, leaving the mood somewhat awkward as everyone who had remained (being Dylan, Ryan and yourself) turned towards Kaitlyn with a disappointed look.

"What?" questioned the small ravenette, sensing the glares from the three of you while she feigned innocence at the situation she, may have, intentionally, created.

"You totally ruined the party man," Dylan absentmindedly responded, taking a sip of whatever beer was left. All of you were a little tipsy, sober enough that thinking clearly wasn't an issue but drunk enough to feel a warm woozy sensation floating around your bodies.

In all truth, you weren't bothered in the slightest by the absence of Jacob, Abi, Emma or Nick. You did like them, sure, though being with them throughout the summer was often challenging - you typically found yourself enjoying the company of the others instead.

The four of you had stuck together for a large portion of the time, and you felt you'd become pretty close; so close that, naturally, you formed a humongous crush on the confident, very attractive, super cool dark-haired girl that was sometimes a little mean to you.

With Kaitlyn, you could never be quite sure about how she felt about you, there had been a few occasions where you doubted if she even liked as a friend. She was hard to read and you were a bit sensitive so, as you can imagine, things got tricky - having a ton of feelings for her only made you suffer greatly.

Then again, when these times occurred where you were miserable, Kaitlyn would periodically open up to you and let you know that, yes, she did appreciate you. Small moments of affirmation after so much doubt made you feel so unbelievably fuzzy inside. Unfortunately, the pair of you were tremendously insecure, because of this, there was a lot of dancing around each other the entire summer, similarly to Nick and Abi.

Suddenly desperate to relish in what could be the last evening with her, a rapid demand to continue the entertainment of 'truth or dare' came spilling from your mouth.

'Someone's...eager," Ryan chuckled slowly, glancing over at you and then at Dylan with a knowing glint in his eye.

Following this, Dylan offered, "Y/N's just disappointed she didn't get to smooch anyone this evening."

"You and me both, Y/N."

It was such a quiet array of words yet everyone heard Kaitlyn mutter them - nobody said anything back.

You were so hopelessly in love with her, that you couldn't help but hang onto anything Kaitlyn said that remotely resembled a reciprocation of feelings.

Shyly, you lifted your gaze from the muddy floor to your friends around you, careful not to stare directly at her gorgeous face. Whatever you were about to say next needed to be calm, one hundred percent normal and definitely not suggestive of anything.

With a brief amount of consideration and overthinking, you said, "Well, I don't know, what else is there to do right now? We can keep playing without the others."

You needed to stop working yourself up over such minuscule things; with Kaitlyn anywhere near you, you couldn't control yourself. Not being a fumbling mess was incredibly difficult.

"Yeah sure, why the fuck not?" Dylan chimed back in with a sense of glee, intrigued to see what would happen next.

"Cool alright, Kaitlyn?"

Deep down, it was clear to you that she would join back in, but part of you still inwardly thanked Ryan for ensuring that she was interested in continuing.

"I'm in, of course," A short pause. "You're a bit far away from us Y/N, you should get a bit closer, come here..."

Watching as Kaitlyn patted the empty space on the rough log impatiently, indicating you join her, an eruption of warmth covered your cheeks at her attention being on you; her wanting you next to her.

"Yeah, come on over here Y/N!"

Obviously, it didn't feel as special when Dylan said it, though, you appreciated how it got rid of some of the tension.

"Okay okay, yes, I'm coming," You spoke up, giggling, absolutely infected with giddiness that was bursting to show. You're sure it did, a big goofy smile plastered to your face as you made your way to the opposite side of the campfire. Apparently, the delight spread to Kaitlyn since you could've sworn she was attempting to mask an excited grin too.

Immediately, a soft scent of honey mixed with something floral was all you could smell, each and every time you inhaled. It made you feel very comfortable.

"Who wants to start it off this time?" inquired Ryan, yet your attention was instantly torn away from him due to the sensation of a soft, smaller hand brushing over your slightly sweaty one.

There was not a doubt in your mind. You had already jumped to the conclusion that it was intentional. From doing an action so small as turning away from you to face Ryan, how could Kaitlyn's hand touch yours in the process if it were on accident? There was no time to think rationally, you were already freaking out like mad. And she loved it.

"I'll go."

Leaving no room for arguments, Kaitlyn's head whipped back round to face you once more, this time with a playful theme prominent within her features.

"Y/N. Truth or dare," she asked, intently, her pretty eyes trained on your very nervous self.

You couldn't pick a place to focus your line of sight, eyes darting from her straight to the floor and back at your two shaky hands resting in your lap. Not in a million years were you prepared to answer 'dare'. In what world did you have the confidence.

Telling yourself it was the sensible response, you requested 'truth' like the jittery coward you are - to nobody's surprise but to Kaitlyn's disappointment.

"Tryna play it safe, are we, Y/N? I'm not letting you off that easily," was all she said as you sat there, patiently awaiting for whatever abomination that was heading your way.

Finally, you observed as her eyes lit up with a sudden delight; her full attention, once again, solely focused on you, not quite prepared for what was coming next.

"Out of everyone here, meaning me, Dylan or Ryan, who would you be the most interested in dating...and you have to answer otherwise it's no fun."

The situation wouldn't have felt awfully suffocating if it weren't for your stupid crush, which you were starting to suspect Kaitlyn was fully aware of. Her plump lips contorted mischievously into something smug - a perfectly arched eyebrow raised while she continued staring you down.

Because of the intense stare and immense amount of pressure you felt you were under, you missed a faint flash of worry flicker in her eye at your hesitation; uncertain whether or not her question had backfired on her.

Words couldn't describe the newfound urge tugging at your stomach to let her know that you so badly wanted to date her, to be with her, to kiss her. You couldn't handle rejection in the slightest but also couldn't bare the thought of letting this go on much longer - missing your chance when you had it.

You felt yourself tearing apart because of a silly crush on a girl who was way too good for you; evidently taking this unimportant game way too seriously. This time, you locked eyes with Kaitlyn, your heart racing, making an effort to bring any remnants of confidence together to prepare an answer.

"Uhhhh, I'd probably wanna date you, Kaitlyn?"

You had never experienced something simultaneously this underwhelming and overwhelming. Really, your response was very simple, basic, and not that huge. If, by chance, the beautiful ravenette was utterly disgusted by your answer it could be put down to merely a game and everyone would move on. You would be devastated but you'd get over it.

Having said that, repulsion was the last thing Kaitlyn felt regarding your answer, instead, a frantic fuel ignited within her. For a moment, she kind of just gawked at you, a bashful awkwardness radiating from your features.

"Truth or dare," she asked once more, this time the question coming across as more demanding, and a slight shake was apparent in her voice. Desperation spurred over her yet she seemed to be concealing it quite well, aside from the little chew on her lip while she awaited your answer, the nervous habit being the only indication of how Kaitlyn felt.

"Hey, what!" Dylan interjected, "Why are you going again, Kaitlyn? It's Y/N's turn."

Though you had to admit that Dylan's disapproval was amusing, you were too engulfed in whatever was happening between you and her. Nothing but you and her. Bathing in her alluring nature, you really did not mean to take this long to respond, you shouldn't be keeping someone that exquisite waiting.

"Dare..."

To outsiders, the atmosphere didn't appear tense at all. The luminous blaze of the golden camp, flickered and your chest tightened by the second.

"I dare you," Kaitlyn breathed out, her words trailing off implying a wane in confidence. Again, she was doubting herself, even when, at this point, the both of you had been as open as you could about your intense romantic interest for each other without explicitly saying anything.

You observed her complexion closely, each insecurity conveyed on her face made your heart rate increase consequently. You yearned for her to give in and do something to relieve all the built up anxiety, yet couldn't blame her too much since you found yourself incapable of initiating the first move.

An abrupt change conjured. Kaitlyn ostensibly bolder.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Silence. You inched forward but couldn't quite make it all the way. You didn't know what it was, something was holding you back. Also, with the audience of the two boys, you couldn't help your sheepish nature.

As though she couldn't handle it anymore, impatient because of your hesitancy, Kaitlyn took matters into her own hands and closed the gap, her soft lips meeting yours. Certain she would tease you about your failure to for fill the dare, you decided it was best to concern yourself with it later - a highly insignificant worry, really.

The kiss didn't last too long. The bliss you felt quickly overpowered by insecurity, and maybe disappointment too. You had hoped the moment you had been chasing for months would at least be longer than a few seconds. Grateful you got to kiss her, yet, you needed more.

"That was...terrible. I'm sorry," You mumbled bashfully, barely audible for Dylan and Ryan.

"Nu-uh baby, it was good," She whispered back, then tugging your face toward her once more.

Whereas the first peck was delicate, shy and over in a few seconds, in this instance, the kiss was deepened almost immediately. Her gentle hands cupped your flushed cheeks, promoting you to tightly grasp at her clothes. It took all of your power to not let any whimpers or whines escape you, making out with someone while other people were around was embarrassing enough as is.

"Okay...guys..." Ryan, being the first to speak up, broke the immersion, the two of you reluctantly pulling away from each other.

"Totally digging how happy you are right now, but, you know, lodge is empty..." Dylan chimed in, somewhat less awkward than Ryan.

You shared a look with Kaitlyn, your shortness of breath mirrored after your lips had been pressed against one another's for an extended period of time.

"Sounds great, thanks Dylan," Kaitlyn rose from her place seated on the log, enthusiasm oozing from her. "Let's get going huh, Y/N?" She proposed, laced with sultry.

You stayed seated, a little dumbfounded about the kiss and relishing in the electric sensation circulating in your body. Kaitlyn gripped your wrist, gaining your attention as her request caught up with you.

"Uh, yeah...yes we should go," Stumbling over your words, you got up, waved to Dylan and Ryan and began your journey back to the lodge. Incoherent mumbling could be heard from the pair left behind. You ignored it, giggling slightly and walked beside Kaitlyn.

When you arrived, you opened up the wooden door and stepped inside, Kaitlyn not giving you an opportunity to voice your opinion on anything; her mouth soon latched onto yours.

It was hungry, and you returned the passion. Although she may have been smaller than you, she still forced you up against one of the aging walls of the building; her tongue buried in your mouth. There was no fight for dominance, Kaitlyn was in control, not that you minded. It was such a rush, her lips all over your cool skin, your trembling hands in her dark hair, the occasional raspy chuckles from her, and the whines from you. Anything either one of you did spurred the other on wildly.

Eventually, distances had to be created since you couldn't keep going without catching your breath.

"I can't believe it took us that long to do this. We could've been having hot make-out sessions all summer" Kaitlyn beamed with genuine delight, her hands retreating from being all over you to placed on her hips, taking her usual sassy stance.

"I know," You agreed, laughing," I was so scared about being rejected"

"It's okay, I was equally terrified. Better late than never I suppose. At least we know now." The ravenette smirked, gazing into your eyes, entertained by how dishevelled you looked, encouraging her to admit, "I seriously am so fucking attracted to you."

Again, you let out a giggle, a noise that Kaitlyn thought was endearing. "Well, I've been fawning over you for like ages now." You blushed, the confession sparking a wave of heat to pass over you. Even though your actions had already said enough, disclosing the information made your shoulders feel externally lighter.

"It does really suck that it's the end of camp, going our separate ways and all" You continued, dejectedly. You were overjoyed that you were finally sharing these movements with Kaitlyn but hated yourself for holding off this long.

She examined your rapidly declining mood, likewise, she was regretful for waiting, however, not an ounce of uncertainty clouded her mind.

"What is there to worry about? Of course, we can stay in touch, I'm serious about this and...I do want to be with you." She reassured you, offering a loving smile filled with comfort. "Just give me your number, baby."

#the quarry #the quarry fanfic #the quarry fandom #the quarry kaitlyn #kaitlyn ka #kaitlyn ka x reader #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #emma mountebank #jacob custos #until dawn #supermassive games #the quarry x reader #until dawn x reader #lgbtq #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #x female reader

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synthesin · 8 months

Text

PERVINCO

tanthamore

summary : for her pride (all pun intended) kit, unable to accept her fate as a pillow princess, tries to top jade. simple! ...she just has to figure out what the hell she's doing.

warning : bad writing ⋆ lemon (!smut!) ⋆ mature language ⋆ canon compliant ⋆ smut is in fact the plot ⋆ !! includes - body worship, teasing, praising, edging, oral, fingering, tribadism and a minuscule amt of impact play ❤︎

word count : 3.2k

ᥫ᭡. ~ as the self-proclaimed overlord of the pillow princess kit crusaders, even i adore the idea of her getting in her ego about being a bottom and trying to top jade. ( im also highly in love with the concept of jade being topped.) so i hope you all enjoy this !

one | two

credit to cafekitsune for the lovely dividers and banners (they're all so stinkin' cute, right !!?)

Fuck. Kit groaned mentally; it still wasn't enough.

"Done already? We just started," Jade's teasing frustrated her more. She wanted to wipe that smug smile off her face and see it contorted in vexation, irritation, and... pleasure? "Think you're in the position to be distracted, princess?"

Jade's sword swinging at her head pulled Kit from her derailed train of thought. She blocked the attack swiftly, but Jade was just as quick to swing at her chest, immediately slowing it to soften the impact. Kit fell back and

Smacking the ground in annoyance. Kit chided, "You didn't strike properly."

"And you weren't concentrating properly."

Jade helped Kit off the ground, grinning as she saw her become angrier. "That doesn't matter! When I'm open, take it; I told you not to hold back anymore."

"I wasn't holding back; the strength I used was what you can handle for now. Once you suppress that-"

"I can handle more now," Kit ranted, gesturing to her armor.

Jade scoffed and crossed her arms. "Just because you have that cuirass doesn't mean I'm going to strike you to kill."

It was no use arguing back and forth, so Kit shrugged her shoulders and began to walk off. "Whatever, I'll have Boorman actually spare with me."

"No, you won't." Her voice raised a bit, and though Kit enjoyed the firmness of her tone, it was a bit too much; she didn't back down. Biting the inside of her cheek, she glared back at Jade.

"I won't?!" Kit laughed sarcastically and turned away once more. As stubborn as Kit was, Jade knew her threat wasn't empty. Huffing, she sped up to her retreating lover and struck her sword before her. The blade was inches from her throat; Kit turned her head and smiled. Standing still for a moment longer, staring into her eyes, Kit quickly knocked the sword away with her own and struck back.

A chain attack opened between the two; their surrounding area filled with grunting and the clashing of steel. A few nearby animals scurried off as their spar became more hectic. Jade, being entirely on the offense, oddly excited Kit; her swings were aggressive and unforgiving. Admittedly, they were becoming more challenging to keep up with, but that's all she wanted; she wouldn't learn if Jade baby walked her through training. She'd never be able to protect her against the Wyrm and whatever obstacles it throws at them in her current state.

Her reflexes have gotten better. Jade praised and began attacking faster. She watched Kit stumble slightly, giving her an opening, and as requested, she took it. In one fell swoop, Jade struck Kit's sword, disarming her, slammed the hilt of her sword right above her diaphragm, and tripped her. Kit hit the ground harder this time as she fell flat on her back, knocking the little bit of air she had in her chest. Tossing her sword aside, Jade quickly straddled Kit as she tried to recuperate before grabbing her wrists and pinning her back down.

"You've improved greatly, Your Highness," Jade started as she leaned closer, leveling their faces. "but you're still not ready. Understood?" It was too much. Adrenaline was high; their bodies were too close, and everything was getting hotter. Kit whined in response, struggling to free herself from Jade's tight grasp.

"Understood?" Jade repeated once more, this time just above a whisper and dripping with sultry. Breathlessly, Kit finally replied with a rushed yes and freed her wrist. She pulled Jade into a kiss that became desperate and intense.

Knowing what was needed, Jade pulled her body off Kit's and kneeled, sitting on her heels, then leaned over to take the Lux Arcana from the cuirass. Deactivated, the shiny body armor contracts and the breastplate is back in its dull, tattered-looking state. Kit sat up, ripped it from her body, and aimlessly discarded it before straddling Jade and capturing her lips again. Her hands cupped Jade's jaw and neck while the others roamed her waist.

Jade busied her hands with unbuttoning Kit's top as she moved from kissing her lips to her neck. She nibbled and sucked various places, all receiving the same airy whine. Kit threw her head back, granting Jade more access, and latched her hands onto her soft curls. Pushing open Kit's shirt, Jade's hands went straight to her breast, kneading them softly over her thin brassier. She teasingly peppered kisses over Kit's collarbone and the exposed areas of her chest and chortled as her hair was gripped tighter. Kit tugged it back, forcing Jade to look up at her, and immediately attacked her lips.

Feeling she had withheld pleasure from Kit long enough, she began unbuttoning her own top. A twig snapping followed by a deep and familiar 'Oh' made her stop dead in her tracks. She quickly snatches both sides of Kit's shirt and wraps it back closed over her exposed torso before holding her own together. Kit instantly removed herself from Jade's lap and turned away from the intruders. Craning her neck, she saw Airk and Boorman standing awkwardly behind them. Only Airk radiated awkwardness; Boorman appeared somewhat amused as he leaned against a tree, giving her a knowing smile. Airk scratched the back of his head, looking anywhere else but them.

The twin cleared his throat, gazing at the suddenly interesting grass while passing his basket filled with wild vegetables between both hands. "Ah... I see this spot is occupied; we can go find clovers elsewhere, excuse us."

"Yeah, don't let us stop you! Sparing sessions are important; at least, that's what you said to get out of herb hunting early. Anyway, we'll leave-" Boorman added, receiving a nudge from Airk and a glare from Jade.

"No! We'll go." Kit rushed out, still not facing the rest; she grabbed the cuirass and its key before rushing off. Boorman coughed to poorly stifle his chuckle, causing Jade to shake her head before picking up her and Kit's sword and following her.

Come nightfall, the crew, tired from traveling and forging, were bathed and huddled around the fire, eating roasted duck. Sparing had worked up Kit's hunger, so her portion didn't last long in her bowl. Jade gave her bowl over, causing Elora to frown.

"You don't like it?"

"I did, 'm just not that hungry."

Mouthful, Boorman chimed in, "Really? After we interrupted your royal feast early, I'd think you'd be famished by now."

A flush crept up on Kit's face, "I. Will. End. You." sword in hand, she was on her feet just as Jade threw a bone in the cackling man's direction and pulled Kit back beside her. Willow and Airk kept their faces shoved in their bowls to avoid the confrontation.

"Right, this is for you," Elora exclaimed, tossing her a small vial of greenish cream. Kit caught it, tearing her eyes away from Boorman, and scanned it, confused, before letting Jade take it to inspect. "What is it?"

"Helps repel mosquitoes and soothe their bites; I don't think we'll make it to Wildwood before they spawn. I see one has already gotten to you..." After that last line, the rest of the group was thrown into a fit of laughter right along with Boorman. Even Jade was chuckling, which sent Kit over the edge. She snatched up her belongings and then began to storm off.

"Where are you going?" Jade called out, amused when she heard her grumble something about patrolling.

Going far enough to be unable to them or the fire crackling, Kit threw her things down and screamed in frustration. After straightening her blankets, she sprawled out on her back and sighed. A soft rustle of leaves disrupted her short moment of peace. Kit raised up on her elbows and watched Jade come into view.

"You forgot something,"

"What?"

Jade pulled the vial of cream from her pocket, causing Kit to roll her eyes and turn away. Jade's laugh filled the air; it took everything in Kit to keep from smiling. She felt her lay down behind her before being tugged back into her chest. Her lips instantly attached to Kit's neck, making her moan lightly. "What do you think? Will it repel me?" Annoyed, the princess shook off her knight and scooted away.

"Leave."

"Alright, I'll stop," Satisfied, Kit lay flat on her back again and stared at her. "Brat," Jade muttered, pulling her into a kiss. Kit's body didn't take long to return to the same touch-craved and needy state it was in that afternoon. Their clothes were shed soon after, and Jade began gripping and rubbing Kit's inner thigh, causing her head to feel fuzzy. She wanted this, but still, she grabbed Jade's hand, stopping her.

Jade looked at her, confused, "What's wrong,"

"Let me top this time." This caused the redhead to laugh a little before sitting up.

"Why the sudden interest?"

"Well... Why not?" Kit questioned. It wasn't a crazy request, right? The times they- 'played'- it's always been her on the receiving end. It's only fair she gets to have a chance.

"Is this because of the teasing?"

"Wha- no," Yes. "Why are you against it? Scared, I'd do better." Kit taunted.

She had to flip the situation around as her body began to betray her. Jade was well aware as she had been lightly dragging her fingertips over Kit's body the entire time. Take advantage of every sensitive zone. She loved seeing her try not to show a reaction, only for her body to jolt a bit as Jade inched past her naval. "I know you can't,"

"It's- mmh," She bit back a moan as Jade slid her hand over her clothed cunt. "It's not like it's hard," She rushed out and quickly sat up. Jade grinned, unfazed, before pulling Kit on top of her.

"Alright, then do it." Kit's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected response. She was sure Jade would fight her more on the topic, but now that she'd let her win so quickly, everything to do next seemed all jumbled. She straddled her waist and began fidgeting with her hands.

Jade smiled and whispered, 'Go on' after laying flat. She rubbed Kit's thighs softly, waiting patiently for the princess to make her first move. Kit nodded hesitantly and leaned down to kiss Jade.

Topping shouldn't be too hard, but the sudden pressure suffocated her. What was she to do first? How long before moving on to the next thing? What exactly are the things she's to do? Her second mistake was figuring she'd think of the next move while occupying Jade's lips with her own. The first was mindless, challenging Jade tonight. All it took was Jade's tongue invading her mouth to make Kit falter. She tried thinking of what was usually done to her, but the way Jade began biting her low lip and gripping her waist, all that flooded her mind was how wet she was becoming and how she was sure Jade knew. It never failed to amaze herself how much something so simple affected her.

Thinking quick, Kit moved to Jade's neck. Envisioning how Jade gives her love bites, she attempts the same—problem three. The stifled noises she heard slipping past Jade's lips made her proud until they became audible cackles. Jade tried covering her mouth and containing herself, but it was too late.

"'m sorry- Kit, wait, I didn't mean to laugh." Pushing off over her, Kit sat between Jade's legs and bit her lip in anger. Jade sat up and wiped the tears that formed in her eyes, finally stopping her giggle.

"You're messing me up on purpose."

"I'm not! Honestly, it was just a bit funny-"

"It's never funny when you do it to me,"

"That's because I know what I'm doing." Pulling at her hair in frustration, Kit pushed Jade back down. "I know what I'm doing; stop cheating."

Kit couldn't wrap her head around the ordeal; she did exactly what Jade usually does. So why was it different? When Jade kisses her neck, Kit loses all control of her senses, and her body listens only to Jade instantly after. So why was it so weird when she tried it?

I won't lose.

Her mind went to the one place she was sure Jade wouldn't be able to giggle if it was kissed. She kissed Jade's lips down to her pelvis. Humming in satisfaction, Jade began playing with and pulling at Kit's hair. "That feels quite nice."

"Don't patronize me," Kit muttered, not sparing her a glance, and tried to ignore how good the hair-pulling felt. Kissing her over the thin cloth, Kit remembered how Jade does it to her—problem four. Hands or mouth, when Jade gets below the belt, Kit's brain stops functioning. She can't even kiss her neck correctly; how was she supposed to do better down here?

Jade condescendingly asked if she was doing alright. Shushing her, Kit stared down at her own hand, confused. Should she start with one or two fingers? One would obviously be first, but she wanted to do her better; more is better. Right?

Kit pulled off the thin cloth and tossed it aside. Let's just wing it, she thought to herself. Her mouth latched onto Jade's clit and began sucking harshly. Before Jade could address her current discomfort, mercilessly, two fingers were jabbed into her, causing her to scream out in pain. Kit removed herself at once and watched, worried, as Jade squeezed her legs close and turned over in pain.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Once the pain eventually let up, Jade huffed out, still clutching herself, and peered at Kit wide-eyed.

"What happened?! You attempting to impale me!"

"I don't get it; I just do what you usually do," Jade clicked her tongue. "I have never done that to you, first of all, and as I said before," She started, pulling Kit flat onto the blanket. "I know what I'm doing, princess,"

True to her word, as soon as her lips touched Kit's neck, a tingly coursed through her body. Instinctively, she wrapped her limbs around Jade and moaned out in pleasure. To add insult to injury, she was doing precisely what Kit had just attempted and far better. She couldn't act like it didn't feel good, even if her life depended on it. Jade began massaging her clit at a torturingly slow speed. Laughing softly into the crook of Kit's neck as she pleaded for her to go faster. Done teasing her, Jade obliged and sped up. Occasionally, sliding her fingers between her folds, taunting Kit's entrance.

"Please, Jade... lick." Maybe she wasn't done teasing yet. She couldn't help herself when Kit acted like this. "Lick, what?"

Letting herself be pulled into another messy kiss, she slowed her speed again and smiled as Kit cried out more. Kit's hands left Jade's hair and pressed down on top of the hand, tormenting her, trying to force her to go faster. Jade responded by sliding a finger inside her. Kit threw her head back and let out a throaty moan. Her back arched off the ground as Jade kissed down her torso. Her right hand gripping Kit's thigh, forcing her leg apart, giving herself space to lay in front of her dripping cunt. After marveling at the mess she had created, she gave Kit her tongue like she had been begging for.

Whenever she tried wrapping her leg around Jade to hold her closer, she'd receive a hard pinch, forcing her leg back into submission. She was sure her thigh was covered in tiny bruises, and she knew Jade would spend time kissing all of them later, making her wetter.

Hearing her princess cry out her name made Jade's body quiver. She pulled her finger out of Kit, leaned up, and forced it into her mouth; she watched Kit shamelessly suck on it before pulling her hand away and kissing her. She touched herself with the same hand, and the other quickly entered Kit, adding two fingers. She moaned into Jade's mouth and rode her fingers.

Feeling her climax creeping up, Jade pumped inside both of them faster, kissing along Kit's jaw as she screamed louder as they came. Jade kissed Kit's breast one last time before flopping down beside her.

Coming down from her high, Kit realized what had happened and slapped her hand on the ground "Fuck," She looked over at Jade and rolled her eyes at the grin on her face.

"Cheater,"

"Cheater?! You were me begging so sweetly for more the entire time; I won fair and square."

"Let me try again," Jade shook her head and pushed her exhausted body off the ground, "Absolutely not stabby, c'mon."

Kit groaned and let Jade pull her to her feet and shuffle along bitterly as she was led to a spot to pee at and watch Jade walk off to find another for herself. She can't lose like this, she thought sorely to herself. Not only would Jade never let her live it down, but she was also sure the others' incessant teasing would drive her insane. After finishing, she walked off to find Jade and pouted. She led them to the small waterfall nearby and pulled Kit under the pouring water.

The cool water felt nice against their warm bodies; tonight was particularly humid, making the cold shower much more appreciated. She racked her hands through Kit's short hair, letting the water wash away the sweat.

Kit began badgering Jade again. "This time was just practice; let me try again." Jade, acting as if she couldn't hear her over the rushing water, began rubbing her body down. She took time gently rubbing and kissing all the forming bruises on her body that came from their spar, and as predicted when she saw the tiny bruises littering Kit's inner thigh, she kissed every one of them gingerly.

"You're not being fair," Kit moaned, trying to steady herself; Jade's kissing was getting dangerously close. Her torment ended as Jade stood and began rubbing her own body down. Not even attempting to act as if she was helping, Kit's hands rested on her breasts and began groping them. Jade wiped the water from her face and smiled as Kit leaned in and kissed her.

It was slow and sweet. Jade cupped Kit's jaw, deepening the kiss before pulling away and resting their forehead together. They stood there holding each other, letting the water rain down on them. Kit sighed out contently. She loved how Jade was with her after sex; it helped clear her mind. Jade kissed her forehead before leading the way back to their pallet. The distant sound of the waterfall was soothing. Silently, they took turns drying each other off and putting back on their clothes.

Jade hummed, "I'll let you try again," Beaming Kit pecked her on the lips and sat down happily. "Stab into me like that again, and I'll have you regret it, your highness."

Coyly, Kit smiled, "What will you do to me?"

"You'll find out; let's sleep. We're traveling all day and night tomorrow."

Kit obeyed, leaning against the bags as makeshift pillows, and opened her arms. Jade laid in them and got comfortable, tightly wrapping her arm around Kit. Her face nuzzled against her princess's chest, making her hum contentedly. Kit kissed her damp hair one last time before they both let slumber overcome them.

ᥫ᭡. ~ don’t you just love it when sapphics. yea me too. part two, the final part in progress ❤︎

#tanthamore #kit tanthalos #jade claymore #tanthamoretober #willow 2022 #save willow #wlw #sapphic #fanfic #ruby cruz #hazel callahan #bottoms 2023

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benjaminthewolf · 11 months

Text

Garcello Gives You Snuggles (Remastered)

The difference between this and the original is night and day, and I couldn't be more happier at my improvement.

****

The only two things your ears are able to detect in the present moment are both the ragged, labored, desperate huffing of your oxygen-depleted, withered lungs, as well as the overheating, cramping, constant, pounding of your poor, throbbing, shriveled little heart, as your all but entirely numbed feet continue aimlessly striking their force against the concrete of the filthy city sidewalk right below. With a form so utterly miniscule against the relatively gigantic world all around you, there could be no better display of cruel irony as to just how, exactly, your emotions had engulfed your being. Especially in the dead of night.

Vigorously forcing your body as such to do whatever it physically could to hold back your sight-submerging, stinging flood of minuscule tears, if for no other reason than your lungs’ momentary inability to handle the inevitably resulting gasping and wheezing, you were now all but rendered physically unable to continue in any direction but forwards, for the energy required to overcome your present inertia in said direction would prove simply far too much for your body to actually handle. Still, you carried on with your sprinting.

And then, just like that, your form was struck with the oxymoronic comforting shock from an equally as oxymoronic mysterious, yet familiar, teal glow. It didn’t matter in the slightest that you couldn’t detect rigid shapes for the moment, as all the information you already had was undeniably more than enough for you to piece together what was happening.

Your being instinctively swivels its current momentum, the wavering sparks of what could barely be described as hope for anything making use of its natural inertia to practically fling your poor form into the alleyway. Ignoring in its entirety the consequential pain of skidding against the rough asphalt seconds later, you instantly force your head up in order to confirm with absolute certainty your past assumptions about the teal glow.

Low and behold, there he is, and quite thankfully for your horridly gagging, strained lungs, you are not even forced to call his name in order to get his attention.

“Woah! Hey there, little one! I….didn’t know you were there!” the ethereal, wispy ghost form of the man only known as Garcello gently addresses your battered, jittering, scraped-up being whilst simultaneously attempting to carefully scoop it all up in his hands. As he does this, the one, single, little thing you can get your quavering self to do now is just cry. Now that your body didn’t have to focus on running, it could instead redirect all that energy to what it had previously held back for so long, and for that exact reason as well.

“Awww…. Hey now, hey now, it's perfectly okay for you to cry. I have absolutely no idea what’s happened to you, but you gotta be able to trust me when I say that whatever you experienced back there, it cannot hurt you right now. And that means it's safe to let it out.” Garcello softly explains to your torrentally sobbing, trembling being as he tenderly snuggles you against his dark teal abdomen.

You absolutely didn’t need to be told to keep crying to keep crying. Nonetheless, in essentially instant response to the tender, sympathetic, soothing words of the ghost, you promptly bury your face in his t-shirt and immediately unleash the, somehow, now even harsher flow of your tears into the soft, ghostly, thin, silky fabric. Garcello says absolutely nothing as you only continue to bawl. Neither of you had even the slightest clue as to just how long this scene lasted. Yet, upon your fierce wailing giving way to pained sniffling, Garcello still doesn’t dare to break the silence.

Eventually, however, you do remove your face from his abdomen. And that was when the words began to come. It wasn’t an elegant, nor a succinct explanation by any stretch of the imagination, but you couldn’t care less about that. All that you cared about was that someone was legitimately taking the time to let you incessantly ramble on about what exactly had happened to you, and was actually paying attention with intent of helping you recover from the experiences you’d revealed after the fact. Once again, the time it took for you to finish your rabid release could’ve been anywhere from five minutes to half an hour, neither of you had any way to know with any certainty. And, once again, Garcello remains completely and utterly silent as you just continue to rave about…well, pretty much everything you needed to rave about. It wasn’t until he was absolutely, positively sure you were finished that he finally took in a breath to start talking.

“First of all, I just want to say that you are very brave for telling me this. Ultimately, the only way that you can get proper help is to talk to someone about what you’ve gone through. And I guarantee you, there ARE people out there who can help. …professionally I mean. Ya know, like licensed therapists, and…obviously I’m not one of those, so… But yes, talking about all this is a very big step. I can see you’re already jittering a whole lot less because of it. Just letting out all your emotions verbally can be a huge factor in regaining control in these kinds of situations.”

Garcello takes a moment to pause as you continue your exhausted heaving.

“For right now, you just need to keep breathing. I don’t want to overwhelm you any further by diving into the nuance of what you’ve told me. Just breathe in and out. That’s it. I’ve got ahold of you. Nothing can hurt you right now. You’re safe.”

Your positively drained, depleted being proceeds to tremble only slightly as it softly wells up with more tears. A far less violent flow begins to stream its way out of your eyes as you once again bury yourself inside Garcello’s abdomen. The squishy, comfortable, warm flesh seems to somewhat wrap itself up around your being as you lean into it, whilst the places it couldn’t reach, such as your back, are gently caressed by the ghost’s delicate fingers. And that’s when you started to hear it.

The low-pitched, subtle grumbles tucked away behind many layers of ghostly flesh immediately grab your attention whilst the gears inside your head begin turning. Garcello is slightly confused at first, but upon you turning your head to the side just a little, in order to squish it into his midsection, he begins to understand your thought process as well.

“Do you…do you wanna go in there?” he eventually manages to ask.

All you would give in response was a vigorous flurry of nods, prompting the ghostly teal man to let out a short, friendly chuckle.

“Well, it is nice and warm in there! Makes a great resting spot I suppose!” he affirmingly speaks with a smile, whilst raising you up towards his face. “...and let’s be honest, you really need a good rest after all this…so yeah! You can stay in there for a while!”

You are now inches from the ghost’s mouth, waiting patiently for the reveal.

“...just let me know if my smoker breath is still there…I wouldn’t want ya to have to suffer from that because of me…” Garcello hesitantly requests as a great twinge begins to form across his face.

You briefly reassure Garcello that if he did still have smoker breath, you would’ve definitely picked it up by now. And since you smelled none, that meant it was certainly gone.

Garcello simply blushes just slightly in response, before swiftly thanking you for the reassurance. Now, there was only one more thing he had to do. And so, the unveiling commenced seconds later.

The mint blue colored chamber starts to flow upon your body its natural, soothing, calm, inviting warmth, something which eagerly prompts you to start crawling all the way past Garcello’s lips, and therefore have the comfort douse over the whole of your being.

Over his incisor teeth you went, as a result, before you finally squished a single palm down into the smooth, slickened form of his tongue. Eagerly, yet carefully, hauling the rest of your body onto the muscle soon after, you almost instantly collapse down upon its soft, warm, pillowy surface, before nuzzling your cheek deep into it, in order to show your deep gratitude unto the teal man outside.

Once the ghostly owner of the tongue is absolutely certain it was safe to close his maw, he slowly brings his lips together, thus sealing you out from the cold, whilst his jaws lying past them parted just about as far as they could. This was because Garcello knew that you were far too exhausted by now to make your way towards his open, tight, and squishy gullet. Because of this, he needed to elicit the aid of good ol’ gravity in order to get you down to his gut.

You are soon able to sense the ghost’s tongue lifting up rather slowly and gingerly. You therefore give the muscle a slight pat to let him know you’re okay before it starts to slope down, and towards Garcello’s now gaping laryngopharynx.

The plump, rounded form of his uvula gently sways back and forth above the drop whilst you start to slide down the slick tongue. Gradually slipping downwards and towards Garcello’s ghostly throat, it isn’t very long before your form becomes lodged nice and tightly against his tonsils, whilst you start to gaze down into his trachea. Garcello’s slightly wavering vocal cords are then naturally covered up by the epiglottis as you are promptly squeezed into his esophagus. It takes one more gulp before your lower legs and feet slip all the way through the upper esophageal sphincter, but once this is accomplished at last, Garcello heaves out a slight sigh, before placing a couple fingers over the slight bulge in his throat. Now, his ghostly body would handle the rest.

Casually floating over and towards the side of the alleyway as a result, Garcello sets himself down rather cautiously, not wanting the force of the motion to disturb your own journey within, before curling his ghost tail over his middle. Accompanying his ghost tail with both hands before the slight bulge in his throat disappears behind his collarbone, Garcello thus gives a slight smile. You on the inside were soon to pick up a soft heartbeat, and when you did, you would know you were close.

Back on the inside, meanwhile, the warm, squishy squelchings of peristalsis from the throat muscles are able to massage your poor body as they continue to escort you on down. Sure enough, however, you did indeed pick up rather soon an ethereal, ghostly replication of a heartbeat, though the fact of it not being from a living source did little to make a meaningful difference. The wondrous, continual kneading pushes you deeper and deeper towards Garcello’s stomach as the heartbeat pounds gently within the ambient background of the ghost’s internal body.

Eventually though, there was to be far more joining along with the baseline beat of the heart as both high-pitched and low-pitched gurgles and grumbles begin to echo about the awaiting chamber just below. With the lower esophageal sphincter coming into your sight seconds later, you are gently squelched out from the natural valve head-first, before at last, the rest of your body follows through, and you take the deep plunge down below.

Promptly rising up from the harmless liquids sloshing around within Garcello’s warm, churning stomach, touching your feet down upon the very bottom of the shallow pool as you did, you then proceed to give a rather visceral full-body shake in utterly cathartic release of pent-up tension. And then, immediately after, in use of ol’ reliable once more, your utterly exhausted being flops directly onto the pillowy walls as your eyelids droop down and close your eyes.

Garcello on the outside is able to feel all this happening within his gut, and yet, decides not to interrupt you for the moment, as you did need to rest rather desperately. Slowly rubbing his hands all over his middle for a while, Garcello can sense you shifting around just a little deep within, presumably so you could find a more suitable sleeping position. For you down below within the walls, it wouldn’t take very long for you to fully accomplish this task.

Heaving out a gigantic yawn, you subtly nuzzle your head into the squishy, cushiony, heated form of the stomach walls as the gently sloshing liquids around you calmly envelop the lower half of your being. Slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness as the soft gut’s natural heat drags you further and further into comfort, the very last thing you could sense before finally falling asleep was, indeed, the constant white noise all around you. The gurgling, growling, and groaning of the stomach of the ghost who had saved you tonight.

Garcello on the outside only lets out a soft sigh of contentment as he senses you settling down against the squishy walls of his stomach.

“Goodnight, little one…” he whispers very quietly, as he himself begins closing his eyes very slowly. It would not be very long then, before the both of you were softly slumbering away in silent peace; both of Garcello’s hands against his rumbling stomach housing your tiny form deep within.

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snezus-christ-risen · 29 days

Text

Stubborn Things, Part III - Plato Fuerte

Wherein Julieta beats herself for not being perfect, Bruno continues to make himself more miserable than he needs to be, and Agustin is just sort of… living his best life for no reason lol

—

“I hope you’re hungry,” Julieta said, adding another sprinkle of salt to the pot. “It’s almost ready.”

Two recipes down, and Bruno remained undeniably sick. If anything, he seemed to be feeling worse by the minute. He was back to pretending he was fine, which would have been sweet had he been doing it to protect her feelings and not to dodge another round of testing. Julieta offered him several opportunities to lie down in the parlor if he promised to submit to supervision, but his stubborn devotion to conveying the illusion of health kept overruling his instinct for self-preservation.

“It smells fantastic,” Agustín said. “And I bet it will taste even better. I really think you have it this time, mi vida!”

Having finished all the prep work that didn’t involve sharp utensils, her husband was seated across the table from Bruno, pretending to read a copy of La Vorágine that he grabbed off a bookshelf at random. Julieta had tasked him with keeping watch over her brother and, if necessary, intercepting him if he tried to bolt again. Julieta wasn’t sure if he was doing his job well or if Bruno was simply too tired to move.

“Gracias,” she said, grateful for his support but growing weary of his cheerful optimism in light of her terrible track record. “Pero, I’m not worried about the taste or the smell.”

“I am!” Bruno interjected weakly.

“My concern,” she continued, choosing to disregard his unsolicited input, “is that it works.”

“Of course, of course,” said Agustín, finally remembering to turn the page of the book he was supposed to be reading. “I’m just saying, I have a good feeling about this one. They say third time’s a charm, right?”

He threw an expectant look at his brother-in-law, who usually had a lot to say when it came to matters of luck, but this time Bruno had no comment. His head was resting on the table beside an empty cup that stood as a testament to Julieta’s latest failure. The guava and mango juices she had blended together with Isabela’s pelargonium and a dash of aguardiente made for a refreshing morning cocktail, but a woefully ineffective medicine. Bruno claimed to feel better just a few sips in, but then sneezed in short, strangled bursts not long after finishing the concoction. He tried to blame the cooking spices lingering in the air from breakfast, those new plants Isabela had growing just outside the kitchen window, even the minuscule amount of alcohol in the drink, but when Julieta kissed his forehead, it was warmer than the last time she last checked. He muttered an apology that only added to her mounting aggravation. It was her fault, not his, that she couldn’t figure this out.

Now here she was, pouring all of her prayers and frustrations and love for her brother into a pot of ajiaco. It would be cruel to keep him hostage much longer if he didn’t improve after this dish. He hadn’t lifted his head from the table since the juice; the only indication that he was still awake (and alive) was the occasional cough or sniffle, wise-ass remark, and knock knock knocking of his knuckles against the tabletop. Once an annoyance, the repetitive thumping was now a strange comfort, a reassurance that her brother was still here with her.

Julieta was ladeling steaming hot ajiaco between two bowls when she noticed a shift in his breathing. It was subtle, but just obvious enough to someone who knew him as well as she did. When she turned around she found Bruno sitting up but hunched over, gripping his nose between his thumb and forefinger. She couldn’t tell if he sneezed already and was waiting for more to smother into silence, or if he was waiting for a fit to start. Either way, she felt compelled to speak up this time; she could tell that those last sneezes he bottled up left him with a headache, though he refused to admit it.

“Bruno.”

Her tone was just firm enough to pull him from his daze without startling him. He waited a moment, then released his nose from the punishing pressure of his fingertips, huffing sharply and shooting Julieta a look that struck her like a thunderbolt from Pepa. She couldn’t remember the last time her brother looked at her with anything but adoration; whatever this was, she didn’t like it. Her eyes darted to Agustín, seeking backup, and she found him engrossed in the book that he was only supposed to pretend to be reading. She wasn’t surprised or even disappointed; if anything, she was impressed it hadn’t happened sooner. To his credit, he closed the book dutifully upon his wife’s silent request, but not before folding the corner of the page to save his place.

“That really isn’t good for you,” he lectured, adjusting his glasses. “And what a terrible feeling, to waste a sneeze like that. It feels so much better to just let them out, ¿verdad?”

Bruno didn’t seem interested in entertaining Agustín’s musings today. Keeping his fingers curled under his nose, he dropped the bits of leftovers he stashed away from breakfast onto the floor for his rats. They were gathered at his feet, which was odd; normally they were nestled in his pockets or perched on his shoulders. Maybe his fever turned their usual habitat into a inhospitable environment.

“We don’t mean to nag, manito,” Julieta added, drawing his ire back her way. “We just want you to be comfortable.”

What she really wanted was her brother to quit being such a cabezota and stop suppressing a natural reflex like it was some sort of personal failing. She didn’t care if he was annoyed with her, because she was annoyed with him, too. Walking over to the table with the ajiaco - slowly, so as not to spill a single drop of what could have been liquid gold - she watched him paw at his poor nose with increasing aggression. Rather than extinguish it, the rubbing seemed to stoke the lingering embers of irritation back into a roaring flame. Grabbing a clean napkin off the table, he shook it open and brought it up to hover near his face, the cloth fluttering slightly with each trembling exhalation. Julieta decided to hold off on giving him his food and instead stood quietly beside the table, ready to chastise him if he stifled again but hoping he would just listen to his family for once.

Agustín stood up to help her with the bowls, but with an eagerness that suggested he was more excited to start eating than itching to lighten her load. He started to say something, but Julieta bumped him with her hip and gave him a stern look. He seemed to get the hint, but just in case, she shoved one of the bowls into his hands and produced a spoon from her apron pocket. Maybe some food would keep him quiet for a bit.

It didn’t matter anyway, if Bruno’s defeated sigh and deflating posture was any indication. Once again the urge to sneeze strung him along before abandoning him completely, leaving him in a state of bewildered chagrin, but this time it wasn’t Julieta’s fault. She sat down across from him as a plank on the table tilted slightly, sending the salt cellar and bowls of crema, lime halves, and sliced avocado skittering to their end of the table. Bruno turned away from the food to blow his nose, then folded the napkin and clutched it in his fisted hand. He pressed the palm of his other hand against his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. Julieta frowned as he bit into his bottom lip hard enough to leave marks. Definitely a headache.

Tentatively, she pushed his bowl and spoon across the table. Bruno peered out from behind his hand to inspect the offering. His eyes flickered briefly to his sister’s face before settling back on the bowl in front of him.

“Ajiaco?” he asked, squinting.

She gave a quick nod, uncertain if what she was about to say was still true. “Your favorite.”

“Juli,” he said, taking a moment to appreciate her presentation. She felt the knot in her chest loosen when he finally smiled at her. “Gracias. It looks wonderful.”

Agustín indulged in a long whiff from his own bowl and sighed happily. “It smells wonderful.”

“I wish I could smell it,” Bruno said, watching Agustín longingly. “I guess I’ll have to settle for sort of tasting it.”

“I added some red ginger,” Julieta said. “So it should help your headache, even if it doesn’t help with the… everything else.”

Bruno nudged absently at his nose as he studied his bowl. It was filled to the brim, though Julieta wasn’t sure if he had enough of an appetite left to finish it all. He took a deep, resolute breath that, miraculously, did not trigger a coughing fit. He held it in his cheeks and then exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his furrowed brow.

“It’s going to work,” he said. “Gus is definitely onto something, because this…” He tapped the edge of the bowl with his spoon for emphasis. “This is the one.”

Just as Julieta was wondering why his voice sounded sort of wonky, Bruno dropped the spoon with a clatter and brought his hands up to rub urgently at his nose. He managed an exasperated “De verdad?!” between hitching breaths before stifling violently into his crumpled napkin, each sneeze sounding itchier and more desperate than the last. Even with the fabric locked in place to muffle the sound, he insisted on holding them in. He kept his nose buried in the napkin for a moment, then dropped his hand to knock against his chair three times, a delayed echo. His shivering exhale and subsequent coughs disrupted the graceful curl of steam rising from his ajiaco.

“Ay, Brunito,” Julieta sighed, unsure of how else to express her frustration and sympathy at the same time. “Salud.”

Bruno sniffled, expression hazy and nostrils flaring slightly, before giving his head a shake. The movement seemed to dispel whatever irritation remained. His hand crept across the table to the salt cellar to grab a pinch of salt, which he threw over his left shoulder. He hesitated before grabbing another and tossing it behind him in one swift motion, as if Julieta and Agustín wouldn’t see his do-over if he moved quickly enough. Then he muttered something to himself, something with the cadence of a prayer that Julieta didn’t recognize. He scooped up some broth, making sure to capture a good sized chunk of potato. His hand shook, causing some of the liquid to splash off the spoon and back into the bowl. All of his certainty from before seemed to evaporate as the moment of truth drew nearer.

“This is the one,” he repeated, as if saying it more would make it so. “This is the one.”

Taking another deep breath, he held it, then released it and took his first bite. He swallowed, wincing, and took another bite. Then another. As the contents of the bowl dwindled, Julieta felt herself growing more apprehensive. She was too nervous to eat any of the ajiaco Agustín kept trying to share with her. Bruno was still sniffling and coughing between spoonfuls, which wasn’t a good sign. As soon as he drained the last of the soup from his bowl Julieta studied his face, waiting for the first sign that he was still ill, that she failed yet again. He just gazed back at her, expression strangely unreadable.

“So,” she said, when he didn’t say anything first. “What’d you think? How do you feel?”

“It was…” The muscles in his jaw were tense as he paused to swallow. His next breaths sounded a little uneasy as he pushed himself to try again. “It wuh-hh! Sorry, J-Juli, I… h’hiihh!”

Oh.

Julieta felt her stomach sink as Bruno crumbled into his napkin with another string of stifled sneezes. They seemed to be coming on with little to no warning now. He whimpered after the last one, pressing his fisted hand into his forehead and gently pounding at the table with the other. It didn’t even help his headache, Julieta realized.

Something about reliving the same failure over and over again despite her best efforts shifted something inside of her. Before she could stop herself, Julieta was getting up from the table and marching towards the stove. Grabbing the handles of the pot, she hoisted it over to the sink and dumped her cooking unceremoniously down the drain. Steam rose in an angry cloud as the lid crashed against the ceramic. Somewhere behind her, Agustín squawked in surprised dismay.

“Mi vida!” he exclaimed. “Que haces?”

Julieta watched the liquid swirl in the basin before it vanished down the drain, leaving behind chunks of potato and shredded chicken. Her cheeks felt hot and her eyes were burning. “It didn’t work,” she said, speaking slowly in an effort to keep her voice steady. “I was so sure I had it this time.”

She pretended to busy herself with cleaning up, but when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her she dropped the act and turned into Agustín’s embrace. Suddenly she felt very silly, getting so upset over something so relatively minor that her husband felt he needed to rush to console her - that was Pepa’s move, not hers. Julieta closed her eyes and tried not to replay the image of the hard work she sent swirling down the drain in one impulsive swoop. She wondered what her mother would say about her wasting perfectly good food.

Except it wasn’t perfect; that was the problem. She mended four twisted ankles this month, reset a foot full of broken toes, and made countless scrapes and bruises vanish with her food, but when it came to helping her brother with one little thing she should have been able to handle, something that should have fallen within the scope of her gift, something she spent most of her life trying to figure out because it didn’t come naturally to her like everything else did, Julieta was completely and utterly useless.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice muffled against Agustín’s chest. “Why can’t I figure it out, after all this time?”

Agustín squeezed her tighter, then cleared his throat in a very specific way. He only did that when he was going to say something she didn’t want to hear, but needed to.

“I say this with love, corazón,” he said, drawing back to look at her tenderly. “Abuela isn’t the only one who needs to work on relaxing her standards.”

The only thing that stopped her from getting upset with him was suddenly remembering that nobody had eyes on Bruno.

Her poor hermano, who she had somehow forgotten in the midst of her self-pitying tantrum. Her blurry gaze landed on the chair where he had been sitting a moment earlier, empty now except for a rat grooming itself. Julieta sighed, bringing her hand to her forehead and suppressing the urge to pound against it. She opened her mouth, but Agustín beat her to it.

“Miércoles.”

#sneezefic

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commentaryvorg · 6 months

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The Great Ace Attorney Final Trial Commentary: Day 3, Part 1

This is an ongoing mini-commentary covering the final trial of The Great Ace Attorney (Resolve) in line-by-line detail. It’s written from a perspective of already knowing the full truth of things, so there will be spoilers for facts that only get revealed later on in the trial. This is not a commentary to read along with one’s first playthrough!

(The commentary will update on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Check this blog to find any other parts currently posted, and if it’s not yet finished, follow to catch future updates!)

Now that we’re below the readmore, I can add that this isn’t quite a commentary for everything going on in the final trial. It’s focused specifically on Kazuma and what’s going on in his head, only covering things which are relevant to him in some way (for the most part). I already had a lot to say about him in a big analysis post over on my main blog – but I have even more to say about him during the trial in even more detail, so here we are!

Time for the final day of the trial!

Van Zieks: “On what grounds is Kazuma Asogi permitted to continue in his role as prosecutor? He has admitted to colluding with the victim in a plot to assassinate an innocent man. He shouldn’t be enjoying the privilege of freedom, let alone be leading the prosecution.”

Of course it’s van Zieks who points this out, when nobody else was going to bring it up.

(Kazuma should be in prison right now for a lot more than just this, but we can’t have that, grumble.)

Kazuma: “I submitted a written petition to Lord Stronghart… requesting that judgement of my transgressions be delayed by one day.” Van Zieks: “You did what?”

This is probably highly irregular and not something that someone would usually be able to get away with. But Stronghart wants van Zieks convicted and figures Kazuma’s the best person to have do that… and Kazuma is so, so desperate to get to do this.

Kazuma: “In today’s proceedings… I intend to expose everything. My whole life for the last ten years… has all been leading up to this one day!” Ryunosuke: “Kazuma…”

Hnnnngh, Kazuma. The outcome of this trial is everything to him, everything he’s been working so hard for, for so long. And now he’s trapped himself in a situation where he has to finish it all today, or else he might never get another chance.

I enjoy Ryunosuke reacting to this, at getting a sense of just how huge this is for his best friend.

Kazuma: “Whatever the outcome of this trial… I give my word that I will accept whatever punishment is deemed appropriate. However severe.”

Kazuma means this, too; I don’t think he was ever intending to escape repercussions for his actions forever. All the way back when he agreed to the assassination mission in Japan, and when he went with Gregson and threatened him – he probably did all this while fully expecting to face the consequences for it in the end. He just needs to be able to finish getting justice for his father first, before all that happens. Afterwards? It doesn’t matter what happens to him afterwards. So long as he can fulfil his mission, that’s the only thing that’s important.

The ”however severe” especially brings this home. Even if it was capital punishment, which might actually be on the table under the circumstances. He is and has always been determined to avenge his father at any cost, even if it’s literally the last thing he ever does.

Of course, it’s not like he didn’t also have other things he wanted to do with his life – he still did mean it about wanting to study in Britain to be able to improve Japan’s legal system. But all of that is minuscule next to his main goal. He would sacrifice anything for this. Anything.

(The game actually kinda drops the ball on what’s supposedly going to happen with Kazuma’s own trial after this main trial concludes. The writing sort of just forgets about it and doesn’t bring it up again? So I can only assume that the British legal system also kind of forgot about it, or at worst let Kazuma off with only a minor punishment. That certainly feels most fair to me, given that his only real crime was saying that he’d kill someone, which he was emotionally manipulated into in the first place, and that his own guilt over what he’s done is more than punishment enough already. It did rather bother me on my original playthrough, though, that there was this apparent nebulous future punishment for his transgressions hanging over Kazuma’s head, and the game acted like it kind of just didn’t care and didn’t want to push for him getting a reasonably happy ending… until suddenly his ending did come across as reasonably happy after all.)

Ryunosuke: (Kazuma is bristling with hostility today. I get the distinct impression we’re heading into very dangerous territory.)

I dunno, Ryunosuke; while Kazuma might be even more hostile than usual today out of desperation, we were already deep in quite some territory regarding Kazuma’s twisted tunnel-visioning on van Zieks’s guilt.

Susato: “Is that even really Kazuma-sama standing before us?”

Oh nooooo, Susato, my heart. Ryunosuke also said something similar during the intervening scene at Baker Street – that Kazuma’s no longer quite the friend he knew and that he’s changed. I really wish the game did more with this! Kazuma is still the person they both know and hasn’t actually changed; it’s just that he’s dealing with a hell of a lot more issues than either of them expected him to have. I wish the narrative had gone more into exploring this and having them realise in the end that he is still their friend, instead of, again, having things between them suddenly be okay again in the ending scene with no real transition.

(There would have been a perfect opportunity for such introspection and development regarding this if only Kazuma had been arrested for Gregson’s murder and Ryunosuke had had to defend him, just saying!!! Again, this is why I wrote my AU fic.)

Ryunosuke: “The defence is ready, My Lord.” Kazuma: “The prosecution is more than ready.”

Once again, Kazuma is more than ready. He didn’t say this on the second day of the trial, but today of all days, on which he plans to bring this to an end – on which he has to bring this to an end because he won’t get another chance – of course he’s more ready than he’s ever been.

Jigoku: “Haah… So it was you who issued this, was it?” Kazuma: “Your subpoena? …I did what was necessary.”

It’s interesting that the game highlights that it was Kazuma who issued Jigoku’s subpoena. Without that, Sholmes and Mikotoba wouldn’t have been able to bring Jigoku with them off the Grouse yesterday, and he’d have got away. They had the subpoena with them when they went after him, meaning Kazuma must have issued it shortly after the first trial day at the latest, just in case it became necessary.

This is in stark contrast to how Kazuma was on the second trial day, where he was absolutely convinced that Jigoku must have been killed, and it didn’t even seem to occur to him that the court could possibly want to hear testimony from Jigoku about what happened on the Grouse if he did happen to be alive. That is not a Kazuma that I would have imagined preparing a subpoena for Jigoku in advance at all.

I guess what this speaks to is partly a hint of that very small and buried part of Kazuma that isn’t actually sure if van Zieks is guilty and genuinely wants to give him a fair chance. But perhaps it’s also partly a sign of something else I’ve been meaning to bring up at some point – that Kazuma’s tunnel-visioning has been getting worse as this trial’s gone on.

See, I roasted him a lot for his terrible logic yesterday, but it actually wasn’t nearly as bad on day 1! There was that part near the beginning where Susato commended him for not trying to argue that the gun might have belonged to van Zieks – and yet, “this gun could have been van Zieks’s, and so that somehow proves it definitely was, which means he totally did it” is an argument pretty much on par with his day 2 arguments in terms of logic.

So it seems, perhaps, that Ryunosuke casting very valid doubt onto the Fresno Street crime scene on day 1 made Kazuma become more desperate. With less confidence in the actual evidence, he began pulling more and more from his own hatred and twisted justifications that van Zieks is the worst and must be the killer and the Reaper and everything bad, to the point that he ended up with logic as flawed as in yesterday’s session.

Jigoku: “…but my decision is unrelated to this case. I can’t be bound to testify.” Stronghart: “Unrelated, you say?” Kazuma: “………”

Kazuma is again pointedly shown being silent, and I imagine what he’s thinking is similar to what he was probably thinking at the end of the trial yesterday. Jigoku’s actions on the Grouse totally are unrelated to this case, because van Zieks definitely killed Gregson at Fresno Street, and so bringing Jigoku onto the stand is just a dead end that’s going to do nothing but quickly put an end to Ryunosuke’s hypothetical version of events. Right?

Susato: “It has ties to another murder. A case that was tried in Japan almost a year ago now.” Kazuma: “A year ago in Japan… The murder of Dr John H. Wilson, you mean?”

Kazuma looks to be in thought for a moment here, as if he’s only just realising the connection Gregson’s assassination has to Wilson’s death.

Kazuma: “What’s this all about? Why is my name on that list?”

Here, too, is an indication that Kazuma had no idea about this being an entire plot with multiple assassinations such that there’d need to be a list of four names and not just two.

Ryunosuke: “K. Asogi and A. Shinn… are the names of assassins.” Kazuma: “No…”

It seems like Kazuma was really hoping he could at least get through things without this assassination agreement also coming to light – but nope.

Ryunosuke: “…were masterminded by a pair of individuals from each country as a form of assassin exchange! And the telegram the defence has acquired is proof of this international ‘contract’ to kill!” Kazuma: “Wha… WHAT?!”

And again: Kazuma’s reaction to this is distinctly shocked. He did not have the slightest idea that the assassination he was involved in one of a pair – that back when he was furiously defending Ryunosuke from false charges in Japan last year, that crime was the counterpart to the very murder he’d been forced to agree to himself.

Kazuma: “Judge Jigoku…? What’s this all about?!”

Kazuma’s pretty forceful in questioning Jigoku here. Obviously he already knew Jigoku wanted him to kill Gregson in England, that’s not a surprise – so this is about the other crime. He’s probably only just realising now that for the entirety of the trial for Wilson’s murder, Jigoku – who was the judge – knew who the real killer was and yet cheerfully tried to get Ryunosuke convicted as a scapegoat. Kazuma faced a lot of roadblocks back then to even be able to defend Ryunosuke in the first place, which he must have at least partially known were thanks to Jigoku; now he understands exactly why.

Meanwhile, Ryunosuke accuses Kazuma of having lied in court yesterday, because his mark wasn’t actually Jigoku but Gregson.

Kazuma: “……… Very impressive, Ryunosuke. But actually, I didn’t lie.” Ryunosuke: “…!” Kazuma: “The name of the target I was ordered to kill never passed my lips yesterday. The idea that Seishiro Jigoku was the mark… came entirely from you!”

I like that we have this one moment of Kazuma getting to show off and draw attention to his incredible skill at hiding the truth without actually lying. He’s done it a lot more than just this once, but explicitly pointing out this one instance invites us to look for other times he’s done the same kind of thing!

He’s also smirking a little bit as he says this. Apparently he feels at least somewhat smug about his prowess in deception-without-lying, although he probably wouldn’t consciously think that.

Ryunosuke: (You… deliberately avoided saying a name?)

Oh, Ryunosuke, there are so many more things that Kazuma has deliberately avoided saying than just that.

--- Testimony 1 ---

(The game’s chapter select calls this one “Testimony 3”, because it seems to want to treat this day and the previous trial day just one long extended day. Which is pretty silly, because it isn’t. We may have had much less of a proper investigation in between than usual, but it is still day 3 of the trial now! So anyway, I’m going to ignore the game and number these testimonies based on what number they are in this trial day. Add two to these if you want to match them up with what the game calls them.)

Susato: “To use such a worthy practice as foreign study to coerce somebody to commit murder… It’s the most appalling thing I’ve ever heard!”

Usually-soft-spoken Susato is not pulling her punches! She is incredibly disgusted at her family friend for manipulating Kazuma into agreeing to be an assassin. The fact that she sees foreign study as such a “worthy practice” in itself probably stems from how Kazuma wanted so badly to study in Britain all along – and as far as Susato knew, that was entirely for its own sake and not for a specific purpose.

Jigoku: “Asogi had a reason for taking his sword to that British inspector, you know.” Ryunosuke: “What?!” Jigoku: “Which is why he accepted the mission in the first place. Isn’t that right… Counsel?” Kazuma: “………”

I’m not convinced I believe this claim of Jigoku’s. Obviously we know Kazuma does have a motive to have wanted Gregson dead, now. But I’m not sure about Jigoku’s implication that Kazuma was aware of that when he took the mission, a year ago. The only person who could have told Kazuma about Gregson’s connection to his father’s case is Jigoku. For one, I’m not entirely sure Jigoku even knew that much, since he was only involved in the prison escape half of the plot – but more pointedly, I doubt he would have wanted to tell Kazuma anything he knew, because that’d cast suspicion on his own role in Genshin’s death, something he very much would not want Kazuma figuring out.

Nonetheless, Kazuma is evasively silent in response to this, because while he may indeed not have known about Gregson’s involvement back then, it’s likely he was able to piece things together enough to suspect something. And of course, it all eventually came to a head with him actually wanting to kill Gregson in that terrible moment, which Kazuma must not enjoy thinking about.

Kazuma: “As I said yesterday, I’ve killed nobody. I freely admit that I accepted the mission, but on the night the plan was to be executed, I backed out.”

Kazuma is still wording things carefully. While talking about the night in question, he simply says that he didn’t go through with it, and not that he didn’t want to go through with it, because that would be a lie.

Kazuma: “Gregson was killed after returning to London. In the room on Fresno Street. And the perpetrator of the crime was the Reaper, Barok van Zieks! The prosecution’s accusation remains unchanged.”

Naturally, Kazuma wants to remind everyone that van Zieks, who is definitely the Reaper, definitely did the murder, and everything we’re talking about now is just an irrelevant dead end. He is still genuinely convinced of this.

Susato: “It’s unforgivable! Using Kazuma-sama’s feelings to manipulate him into agreeing to such a despicable plan…”

In the testimony’s recap dialogue, Susato has more Strong Opinions. I love that she’s thinking about Kazuma’s feelings and fully realises that he was manipulated and should barely be morally condemned for this decision at all. Honestly, I agree with her – despite all of Stronghart’s many crimes, the thing that gives me the biggest emotional reaction out of any of the villains’ actions in this game is Jigoku doing this to Kazuma. He knew that Kazuma was so desperate to get to Britain that he’d agree to absolutely anything if it was presented as his only way to do so, and ugh. To his friend’s son, and all. What a bastard.

Ryunosuke: “But I think Kazuma manipulated Judge Jigoku, too. He completely double-crossed him.” Susato: “Oh dear… It’s hard not to see that as a stroke of brilliance on Kazuma-sama’s part…”

I wouldn’t quite call it “brilliance” when it was as simple as “not keeping the promise he never wanted to be forced to make in the first place”, but I’m still with Susato here. Kazuma didn’t do anything wrong by refusing to go through with Jigoku’s expectations when Jigoku was the one who wronged him first by expecting him to do it at all.

Susato: “I know I shouldn’t let my emotions cloud my judgement… but you must destroy him, Mr Naruhodo!”

Yesss, Susato. Love her being so furious on Kazuma’s behalf, not even caring that Jigoku is a respected figure and a family friend.

Kazuma: “I thought it was a joke at first, of course. But then… it was made clear to me that if I didn’t accept, I wouldn’t be considered for the study tour.” Ryunosuke: “So, so you agreed to it… just for that?! I mean, I know how much you wanted to study in Britain, but… assassination?!”

Ugh, I get it, but it still hurts to see Ryunosuke react with horror like this. You know he wasn’t planning to go through with it, Ryunosuke! His only crime was agreeing to something shady without any intent to follow through!

But even then, it’s still not remotely something he would have expected from his best friend a year ago.

Kazuma: “………”

Kazuma’s not trying to defend himself. No doubt he always felt guilty about hiding this from his friend, and always expected it would make Ryunosuke think less of him.

Ryunosuke: “Why Kazuma? Why did you pick him as the assassin?” Jigoku: “He was the most capable of all the applicants. And in addition… I knew his desire to travel to Britain was very strong. In fact, it was almost more than a desire. It was his whole purpose in life.”

Ugh. Jigoku knew exactly how desperate Kazuma was and took advantage of that. He couldn’t risk bringing up the assassination mission to any potential candidate unless he was already sure that they would agree, lest they just turn him in to the police. But Kazuma was someone he could be certain would agree to this, so long as Jigoku threatened his chances to ever make it to Britain if he didn’t.

And conveniently, the candidate who was so utterly desperate to do this that he’d agree to an assassination for it was also the candidate who’d studied ridiculously hard to the point that he was the most capable applicant anyway and it wouldn’t look suspicious. Funny, that.

Kazuma: “There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to get here. Be that agreeing to assume the role of an assassin… or betraying people’s trust.”

Guhhhhhh, Kazumaaaa. This line really punches me in the gut with how completely desperately determined Kazuma was and is. And it’s interesting that he’s saying this to justify his decision… but he didn’t do so just a little earlier when Ryunosuke was directly accusing him. This time it’s directed more at Jigoku, or just the court in general. Perhaps he doesn’t really feel like these words would be enough to justify his actions to his best friend.

The “betraying people’s trust” part especially hit hard on my first playthrough. What with the more distant and hostile way he’d been acting lately, it felt like Kazuma could have been talking about betraying Ryunosuke’s trust. Aaaagh.

Jigoku: “Well, you certainly did a fine job of betraying mine, Asogi.”

What Kazuma actually means, though, is this. He promised Jigoku he would carry out the assassination, Jigoku trusted him with it… and then he betrayed that.

And yet it’s so incredibly grossly entitled of Jigoku to be angry at Kazuma over this when he was the one who betrayed Kazuma’s trust in the first place by forcing him into this at all. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t have trusted Kazuma’s promise, when it was a promise made out of coercion.

(I guess this is Jigoku being mad that this then meant he had be the one to murder Gregson in the end. Oh no, you had to get your hands dirty yourself instead of coercing the son of the friend you also killed into doing it for you, how terrible.)

Ryunosuke: “But why was Inspector Gregson the target?” Jigoku: “I have no idea. Those were the orders from Britain. I was in no position to question them.” Kazuma: “You have no idea? Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Kazuma’s right to. Not only is he bound to suspect that Jigoku knew something about Gregson’s involvement in his father’s death from his time in Britain ten years ago, but also, Jigoku literally just told the court that Kazuma had a reason to kill Gregson, which definitely implies that he knows the reason too!

Ryunosuke: “Obviously, Kazuma didn’t actually die at all. But he did lose his memory. Including all details about his special mission.” Kazuma: “………”

This bit is very rude to me personally, because on my first playthrough, I thought, “Why are they making a point of Kazuma’s silence here? Surely this is meant as a hint that he didn’t really lose his memory?” Which led me to continue to entertain that fervent theory of mine just a little more, even after I’d mostly abandoned it. First-time-me had further ammo for it by this point, too, because wanting to pretend he’d forgotten about his assassination mission would have been a very plausible reason for Kazuma to have faked amnesia!!!

In reality, we can presume that the actual reason the narrative is making a point of Kazuma’s silence is that he’s thinking about how losing his memory was painful and difficult, but god forbid Kazuma ever actually talk about or openly acknowledge the suffering he’s been through.

Kazuma: “But I’d never intended to go through with the assassination mission anyway.”

Again, some very careful phrasing. He had never intended. Meaning he’s referring to a period of time in the past, around when he accepted the mission, at which point he did not intend to go through with it. A certain point in time much closer to the present day? He’s not talking about that point in this sentence. That would be a lie.

Jigoku: “So you were playing me right from the outset, were you? Is that it?” Kazuma: “I’d sooner be guilty of that crime than of taking someone else’s life. I was prepared to do whatever I had to in order to get myself here to Britain.”

Yes, Jigoku, and you should have realised from the start that he was planning to repay you in kind.

It is something that Kazuma still considers this – simply double-crossing Jigoku and making a false promise he intended to break – to be a “crime”. Kazuma cares a lot about honour and integrity, and it really hurt him to have to tarnish that in order to make it to Britain! Even though he was only doing this to somebody who’d already done much worse to him. Really, Kazuma, don’t beat yourself up over this – Jigoku deserved it.

Ryunosuke: “I suppose Inspector Gregson was there in his capacity as the Reaper… He was intending to take the witness’s life.” Kazuma: “Exactly. As I’ve said numerous times now, I had no intention of killing anyone.”

Once again, Kazuma is referring to a specific time period here – the point at which he and Gregson entered Jigoku’s cabin. At that point, he had no intention of killing anyone. Later than that? He’s not talking about that. Because he doesn’t lie.

It’s also starting to seem just a little suspiciously specific that Kazuma keeps repeating that he had no intention of doing any murders. Overcompensating for that guilt much, Kazuma?

Kazuma: “I stayed to talk with Inspector Gregson for a short while… and then I left him there and made my way off the ship alone.” Ryunosuke: “Was the guard still at the door when you went?” Kazuma: “Yes. He glared at me as I walked past.”

Yes, just a short, casual conversation in which nothing at all serious happened, don’t worry about the blade tip in Gregson’s trunk, it’s totally irrelevant to the case.

Given that Kazuma must have been in rather a panicked state of mind after finding himself wanting to kill Gregson and very nearly doing it, it sure is something that he then immediately passed by the guard glaring at him. He must have managed to put up one hell of a poker face.

It’s surprising that the crewman didn’t hear the sound of Karuma hitting Gregson’s trunk, honestly, but then that could easily have led to Kazuma being arrested, and we can’t have that, apparently

(…Actually, scratch that – there’s a specific reason he wouldn’t have heard it. Someone had muffled the speaking tube in the cabin with a piece of cloth, which likely wouldn’t have drowned out a gunshot, but I could buy it muffling less loud sounds. It’s never revealed who did that, but it could very easily have been Kazuma, given that he wouldn’t have wanted anybody to overhear him threatening Gregson.)

Ryunosuke: “But a hole like that made by a bullet was found in your cabin, Judge Jigoku! That’s compelling evidence that a gun was fired in there!” Kazuma: “What’s that? A bullet hole…?”

Yes, Kazuma, speaking of bullet holes—

…That aside, Kazuma’s reacting to this in surprise because he’s only just realising that Ryunosuke has actual evidence that the murder might have occurred there. What do you mean it could have actually been Jigoku who did it, and not van Zieks.

(Jigoku goes on to write off the bullet hole as totally just woodworm or something, and Kazuma probably justifies it that way in his head, too.)

Kazuma: “All crewmen were… away from their posts?!”

Kazuma also reacts to this. He’d been seeing Jigoku’s testimony as open and shut, he obviously couldn’t have done it because the guard would have heard the gunshot – what do you mean it actually was possible after all?!

Kazuma: “A twenty-minute window of opportunity… That’s an excellent find, Ryunosuke. But it amounts to nothing!”

Even though he’s proud of his friend for figuring something out, Kazuma is still quick to brush this off as definitely irrelevant, because a mere possibility isn’t proof that anything actually happened.

(Funny how he’s able to acknowledge that proving something is possible is not the same as proving that it definitely happened that way, now that we’re talking about it being someone other than van Zieks who maybe did the murder.)

Kazuma: “Unless you have some decisive evidence […]… your accusation is nothing more than conjecture!”

So is yours, Kazuma! Someone is still managing to forget this.

Ryunosuke: “Judge Jigoku! This was found in your cabin yesterday.” Stronghart: “What is that? The crown of a pocket watch?”

Interestingly, it seems Sholmes missed out a few details when he passed the evidence from his investigation of the cabin onto Ryunosuke. The crown of the watch was actually found in Jigoku’s trunk, which is distinctly not the same thing as his cabin. It could have been in the trunk without ever actually being in the cabin itself, so this technically doesn’t prove Gregson was attacked in the cabin… but on the other hand, it being in the trunk pretty much already proves that Gregson was inside there at some point. That’s not something the game wants us to get to just yet, so instead we have this little discrepancy that’s honestly very easy to not even notice (and makes sense to have happened, since Sholmes could have just not mentioned it).

Ryunosuke: “Moreover, this crown is a perfect fit on the spindle protruding from the victim’s watch.” Kazuma: “…!”

Kazuma’s shown being alarmed as he realises that Ryunosuke has some actual compelling evidence here. But barely a minute later…

Kazuma: “Expertly manoeuvred, Ryunosuke.” Ryunosuke: “…!” Kazuma: “And your argument sounds entirely plausible… at first. But rather like this pocket watch, it’s full of cracks.”

…even despite praising his friend (I love how Kazuma’s always proud of Ryunosuke for coming up with his arguments even as he’s shooting them down, they are friends), he’s already figured out a way out of it. It’s probably easier than it would otherwise be to come up with ways in which this still doesn’t prove Jigoku’s guilt when you’re utterly convinced that van Zieks must have done it.

--- Testimony 2 ---

Jigoku: “When I walked through the door, a mustachioed Englishman was there, foolishly waving a gun at me.”

Here’s an interesting point: I don’t think Gregson actually did point a gun at Jigoku. Sure, he was technically supposed to kill him since Kazuma had walked out, but I don’t believe he actually wanted to, given that Jigoku isn’t the kind of irredeemable criminal that the Reaper usually kills. He was probably feeling pretty conflicted about this whole mission, especially with his imminent transfer to France in which he was going to finally be done with all this murdering.

That and, if Gregson had had his gun out during their struggle, it rather begs the question… why didn’t Jigoku do the murder with Gregson’s gun? That would have been much easier to pin on somebody else, because anyone could theoretically have turned Gregson’s gun on him. As it is, by using his own gun, Jigoku limited the possible suspects to other judiciary members who carry the same model of gun (and coincidentally happen to have misplaced theirs). Framing Hugh Boone, like he'd originally intended to, wouldn’t actually have worked, because where would that guy have obtained such a weapon?

Ryunosuke: “Far from being impossible for you to do… the transporting of Inspector Gregson’s body back to Britain is something ONLY you could do!” Kazuma: “What are you talking about, Ryunosuke?”

Kazuma’s leaning forward and seeming quite urgent with this. What do you mean, it was possible, and maybe Jigoku did do it, and not van Zieks.

Ryunosuke: “The actual scene of the crime…” Kazuma: “The prosecution’s stance is unaltered. The killing took place on Fresno Street when the gunshot was heard… as the accused, Barok van Zieks, shot the victim at point blank range!”

Kazuma’s still insisting on this, again. He has to be starting to think by this point that maybe Ryunosuke’s onto something, but no, it was definitely van Zieks, it has to be.

Stronghart: “Since no tangible evidence exists to disprove the prosecution’s claim at this time…”

No tangible evidence has existed to prove it for quite some time now!!!

The part where you have to prove Gregson couldn’t have been shot at Fresno Street because he died instantly and couldn’t have curled up like that is a bit silly and unintuitive. This is something Ryunosuke could have pointed out at any point earlier in the trial, to support his argument that the murder took place elsewhere! I suppose it makes some sense that it’s coming up now, because now that we know Gregson’s body was in a trunk, we have an explanation for why he was curled up, but still.

(But then if Ryunosuke had brought it up earlier, that might have been seen as actual proof that Kazuma’s argument is all wrong, because apparently the scorch marks on the candle were not already enough proof of that, even though they were and just got conveniently brushed aside and forgotten.)

Also, we could have just skipped this awkward unintuitive bit by simply forcing Jigoku to present his trunk for inspection, which would prove it anyway.

Ryunosuke: “…before it was coldly turned out on the floor… from the inside of a large travel trunk!” Kazuma: “No!”

Anyway, here’s Kazuma with a powerfully shocked reaction as he realises how much sense Ryunosuke’s argument makes and that Gregson couldn’t have been killed at Fresno Street at all.

Jigoku: “Present my trunk? I refuse!” Kazuma: “What?!”

What do you mean Jigoku’s being suspicious in a way that implies he obviously did it?!

Stronghart: “Well, Mr Jigoku… what’s it to be?” Jigoku: “………” Kazuma: “You can’t be serious! You did it?!”

What do you mean, Jigoku did it, and it really wasn’t van Zieks at all???

Kazuma’s reaction here goes to show that he had still genuinely managed to keep convincing himself it was van Zieks until only just now, when the truth becomes completely impossible to deny.

And then Jigoku admits to moving the body but accuses Kazuma of the actual murder in a last-ditch effort to defend himself, which is far too little too late, grumble grumble. There’s no interesting narrative tension surrounding the question of whether Kazuma really might have done it when it’s already so obviously Jigoku at this point!

Jigoku: “As you know, there was one other person in my cabin that night. He had the opportunity.”

We’ve known that Kazuma theoretically had the opportunity to do the murder for a while now, which is such a juicy point, but the narrative’s done nothing with it until just now! Like, I get why Ryunosuke and Susato wouldn’t want to think about it, but why has nobody else even pointed out this possibility until it already became clear the killer was someone else anyway???? Bah.

Stronghart: “Well… the prosecution counsel has already admitted to visiting the witness’s cabin on the night in question.”

And this is all we get from Stronghart on the matter – the vaguest indication that he’d be more okay with throwing Kazuma under the bus for this than Jigoku. Because somehow he was not more okay with sacrificing Kazuma rather than van Zieks, even after Kazuma had repeatedly shown himself to be impossible to keep in line.

There’s not even that much narrative weight behind Ryunosuke being the one to prove Kazuma’s innocence in this one brief moment here, because Kazuma could perfectly well have done it himself anyway!

The “Overture to Pursuit” music kicks in about here as Ryunosuke begins to do so, which is a track that I love and that usually gets me really hyped. But no matter how much the music wants me to be, I can’t get hyped here over the fact that it was always literally impossible for Kazuma to have done this murder. He just had a freaking alibi the entire time, removing any potential for tension over whether or not it could have been him!!! Why.

And the thing is, Kazuma’s alibi is a really incidental, offhand sort of thing. Him staying at that boarding house in Dunkirk is only mentioned one other time and isn’t connected to any other part of the plot – it could have been completely removed while keeping everything else intact! This is particularly notable when almost every other plot point in this narrative serves multiple purposes for the story one way or another. Kazuma’s Dunkirk stay is one of the only things that doesn’t! It’s just… there, purely to give him an alibi and nothing else.

This means that it would have been so, so easily possible to write a story in which Kazuma theoretically could have done the deed and we’d actually had something come of this! If he’d just been on the ship the whole time – perhaps because the cabin’s guard had actually done his job and refused them entry due to Kazuma’s two fricking swords, meaning they had to wait until that window when all the crewmen left – then Kazuma would have been a perfectly viable suspect!

But nope, he just gets an alibi, making it that easy to prove his innocence when things actually come to this. Grumble grumble grumble.

(I think I am probably done complaining about this, finally, now that we’ve got past this point. Please read my fic in which Kazuma does get arrested if this idea seems enticing to you too.)

Jigoku: “To lure the man in, he was given a sham mission by the Reaper.” Ryunosuke: “W-What?!” (The Reaper…?) Kazuma: “But there’s only one person who could have done that! The mastermind of the entire operation: the Reaper himself!” Ryunosuke: “Ah!” Susato: “So… that means the assassin exchange was… It was all planned by the Reaper!”

Kazuma is the first person to jump on this and point out that Jigoku has just effectively told the court that the Reaper mastermind and the exchange mastermind are the same person. As I touched on earlier, Kazuma would already have been pretty sure of that himself due to the circumstances of him getting the mission to supposedly kill Gregson, and he’d have been itching for an opportunity to prove as much in court, so that he can use his father’s case as evidence that van Zieks is the Reaper.

Jigoku: “I decided that man [Hugh Boone] would be the perfect person to set up as the culprit.”

Framing van Zieks was actually an unexpected accident! While it’s a little frustrating that this means that Stronghart’s insistence on using this trial to get rid of van Zieks (and not Kazuma for some reason) wasn’t even planned, it does actually matter that Jigoku’s intended scapegoat was not van Zieks, as we’ll see later.

Kazuma: “………”

Kazuma’s shown silently uncomplaining as Stronghart accepts Jigoku’s confession. No doubt he’s just waiting until he can get to the part where he accuses van Zieks of being the Reaper and the man who ordered Jigoku to kill Gregson.

Ryunosuke: “Mr Jigoku! One last detail! Who was your counterpart in Britain? Who was the mastermind behind the assassin exchange?” Jigoku: “………” Ryunosuke: “Nothing you say now can make matters any worse for you! Just tell us!”

Ryunosuke’s got a point here – Jigoku’s apparently going to go down for murder, so he really shouldn’t have anything to lose. Even the fact that Stronghart’s holding him shooting Genshin over his head shouldn’t really matter any more, because one murder or two doesn’t make a difference to the death penalty. (Although I do suspect that Jigoku might feel a certain amount of personal guilt over shooting his friend dead, to the point that he just doesn’t want anyone to know about that, regardless of the consequences.)

But mostly, I think the reason Jigoku insists he can’t say anyway is that, despite what he keeps saying, it’s not actually over for him. Not as long as Stronghart’s still able to pull some strings behind the scenes to get him out of this.

Stronghart: “Seishiro Jigoku, it is the opinion of this court that you should be found… Guilty. And may I remind all those present of the strict confidentiality demanded by this closed court!”

Stronghart’s approach here certainly implies he’s planning as much. Look, everyone, he’s unofficially declared him guilty here, so that totally counts right? And nobody’s allowed to tell anybody that this happened – which means nobody can complain if Jigoku conveniently gets let off the hook in his actual trial later.

(It is a bit silly that it does the whole flames-in-the-scales thing for the Guilty, but not only is that setup for Stronghart’s breakdown later, declaring an unofficial verdict here actually does make some sense with the manipulation Stronghart’s trying to pull for Jigoku. See – most things in this story serve multiple purposes!)

Anyway, that was a point I found interesting and non-obvious enough that I wanted to talk about it even though it has nothing much to do with Kazuma, but let’s get back to Kazuma.

Stronghart: “In short, the defendant’s innocence has therefore been established beyond doubt.” Kazuma: “………”

Kazuma’s still biding his time, just waiting for the perfect moment to object and argue that no, it hasn’t.

Ryunosuke: “I’m just a little troubled… by his silence.”

Ryunosuke notices it too! He knows his friend – which in this instance means he knows Kazuma’s fervent determination to convict van Zieks well enough to be sure he’s not just going to give up and accept defeat like this.

Stronghart: “I hereby declare the defendant, Barok van Zieks………” Kazuma: “Objection!”

Seriously, Kazuma, you really were just waiting for the most dramatic possible moment, weren’t you? Dork.

#ace attorney #great ace attorney #the great ace attorney #the great ace attorney chronicles #tgaa #dgs #dai gyakuten saiban #the great ace attorney resolve #the resolve of ryunosuke naruhodo

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writingformyblorbos · 2 years

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Si un día

Jake Lockley × gn!Reader Summary: You meet a cab driver the night you leave a relationship. Warnings: Mentions of DID, unhealthy relationships, infidelity, and canon typical violence. Not proof read. Word count: 4.5k a/n: This story is based on a poem written by Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez called "Si un día", and as soon as I read it, I just KNEW I had to write something with Jake (Let's be honest, my boo doesn't get as much love as he should). I hope this is an improvement from the mess that part 5 of ica turned out to be. I hope you enjoy this!

Si un día quieres llorar, llámame,

Heavy water drops hit against the pavement of the street and thunder could be heard in the distance. Your lack of umbrella made your dampened clothes cling onto your skin, and you could no longer tell if your face was so wet because of the rain or because of you crying non-stop.

Alone, you stood in the middle of the ruthless storm, suitcases full of your belongings right next to you, trying to fetch a cab to take you as far away as humanly possible from that place.

After what seemed like an eternity of waving your hand, one taxi driver had been decent enough to make a stop for you.

Hastily, you pulled your bags inside the car, apologizing to the driver for taking too long in doing so.

“Where can I take you?” he asked.

Where were you going? You had nowhere else to go. You had moved out of your old apartment about a year ago and had no relatives nor friends nearby to crash with.

You remained silent for a while, thinking about what your next move would be.

“Do you know any cheap hotels nearby? I need somewhere to spend the night.”

“Sure,” the driver replied and pulled out of the driveway and into the street.

Working as a cab driver, Jake had seen many people from all over the place, heard and taken part in many stories, some good, and others not so good. The usual for someone in his line of work. However, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that bad for a person.

His heart sank in his chest whenever he caught a glimpse of you through the rear-view mirror, your nose reddened, your eyes puffy, and as if it wasn’t enough for you, absolutely soaked from head to toe.

The drops of water on the window raced to the bottom in a similar fashion to the tears on your face, reflecting the lights adorning the streets as they merged into one.

You thought it to be beautiful. Two water droplets, combining in order to reach a common goal. Or was one leading the other one directly to its downfall, selfish enough to bring the other drop down with itself?

Your finger traced a droplet on the glass as it made its way to the bottom.

“Two years.”

“Excuse me?” Jake was caught off guard by your brief comment.

Normally, you wouldn’t share your problems with strangers; that was something reserved for your therapy sessions. Yet you figured bottling up your resentment and anger wouldn’t do you any good. Besides, you would most likely never see him again, right?

“I spent two years in a relationship,” you continued, “Gave up on a lot of things. Turned down so many opportunities. All in the name of keeping things afloat. To keep the relationship going.”

Jake stepped on the breaks at the sight of the red light, his brows furrowed as he paid careful attention to your words.

“And for what?” you scoffed, “To end up getting cheated on?” your voice broke while saying that last sentence.

You shook your head, disappointed of yourself. In hindsight, there had been signs of an affair. Minuscule hints. You had your suspicions; whether you hadn’t noticed or had decided to look past them, it didn’t matter anymore. Today, everything had become crystal clear. Catching them red handed was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

How could you have been so dumb? Regardless, it was far too late to regret things. Wishing to change them wouldn’t do a thing. Even if you could somehow travel back in time, the sentiment behind the cheating still stood. The need for cheating might have come from a lack of adequacy from your part.

“Maybe no matter how hard I tried, I would never be enough,” you whispered.

Jake couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of your mouth. You got cheated on and you blamed yourself for it?

He opened the glove box to reach for a box of tissues he kept for emergencies such as this one and handed them to you.

Yes, it was a small gesture, nevertheless, you lightened up a bit. He didn’t seem to be judging you either, his brown eyes staring at you understandingly.

The light turned green, the cab continuing its trajectory.

no prometo hacerte reír, pero puedo llorar contigo.

It took a while for him to break the silence, mostly because he was uncertain as to how to approach such a sensitive topic, “From what I’m hearing, you tried your best. If your partner took it for granted, then that’s on them.”

Despite his best efforts, his words came out somewhat harsh and unfiltered. Jake was a man of many skills: he was a good hitman and an even better cabbie; on the other hand, having heart-to-heart conversations with his passengers wasn’t exactly his forte.

You thought perhaps his words had some truth to them. At least, you hoped they did.

“For what it’s worth, relationships are overrated. The media paints them as something magical, but it’s all bullshit, right?” Jake chuckled. You remained silent, though. Again, his specialty was beating up guys, not comforting others.

You understood where he was coming from, and even appreciated his attempt at making you feel better, but it didn’t really fizzle out the betrayal in your gut.

“My bad, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re sort of right,” you interrupted him, wiping away your tears with a tissue. “Things are a lot more complicated than what they make it out to be on tv.”

About ten minutes later, Jake parked in front to the main entrance of a hotel and exited the pilot’s seat to help you with your bags.

“It’s no fancy place. Their sheets smell kinda weird and the elevator is often out of service,” he placed the suitcase in front of him, “but compared to other hotels I’ve been at, this is the most decent one.”

“Thanks,” you replied and paid him.

Jake entered his car, relatively satisfied by knowing you would have a place to safely spend the night.

Before he left off, you knocked on the glass window of the cab, to which he lowered the window so he could hear you.

“Is there any way I can call you? You know, in case I need a ride,” you asked. He certainly didn’t expect you to ask for his contact information, especially after the comment he’d made earlier. “I’ve had my fair share of bad experiences with Uber and other apps like that, so I’d rather not risk it.”

In a way, he was honored you felt like he gave you a good enough service to merit that kind of trust. He nodded and reached for a sticky note he had on his cup holder, writing down his name and the phone number.

“Thanks for the ride,” you took the piece of paper and read the name on it, “…Jake.”

“Sure thing,” he looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to introduce yourself as well.

“(y/n).”

He tipped his flat cap, “I’ll see you around then, (y/n).”

Sí un día logras escapar, no dudes en llamarme,

Two weeks later, Jake received a call from you. He didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon. His mood had lightened up when he heard you wanted him to take you somewhere. He walked with a pep in his step and jammed out to songs on his way there. He thought if the chance arose, he could actually get to know you better. He could even ask you out?

Stop right there.

No, that would be very unsensitive on his behalf; you were fresh out of a relationship, and he had seen firsthand how sudden and awful it had been for you. He shut down the idea as soon as it had appeared on his mind.

For now, he was content with the fact that you two would see each other again, even if it was just for a ride somewhere.

Once Jake arrived, he could see you standing outside the same building he’d picked you up from the night you’d met, boxes full of your belongings on the floor.

You knew your ex wouldn’t be at home, so you’d decided to pick your things up and bring them over to your new apartment.

Though, you would have to spare the trouble of packing all of your things, since your ex seemed to have already done the job for you, apparently eager to get you out of the apartment you’d once shared. The life you’d once shared.

At the very least, you were glad things were over and you were beginning to get a hold of your life once again. You were aware it would take more than two weeks to get over your tumultuous breakup, but things were looking on the brighter side.

You waved at Jake, and he quickly exited his car to help you carry the boxes to his cab. Once you were both inside, you gave him the address of your new place and drove off.

no prometo pedirte que te quedes, pero podré escapar contigo.

The talk while on your way was much more lighthearted than when the two of you had met. You avoided at all costs talking about your ex; instead, you went on about how excited you were to move in into your new apartment, how you’d had your eye on that specific area for a while now, and most of all, how relieved you were to start from scratch.

Jake, meanwhile, listened to you with undivided attention. Even if his eyes were glued to the road ahead of him, he heard every tiny detail you had to tell him: how much you loved the view you had from the apartment, how cozy your new bedroom was, the new throw pillows you had bought for your couch.

God, he could spend the rest of the day hearing you go on and on about what made you happy, catching an occasional giggle every now and then that would play like a symphony in his ears, and still, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

It would never be enough.

You felt you had talked poor Jake’s ear off, so you considered it to only be fair to give him a chance to speak.

“I was wondering, how long have you been a cab driver?” you asked.

It was funny. Time was an odd concept for him, since having to share a body with other two individuals who would front more often than him would tend to warp his perception of it.

Jake rubbed his chin, “Too many years. But don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change professions for anything in the world.”

He truly believed that. If it were up to him, he would break the deal with Khonshu in a heartbeat and live out the reminder of his days in peace and quiet as a cabbie. Sure, all within the limitations being part of a system entails, but he’d try to make up for all the years of wrongdoings he’d been forced to do on Khonshu’s behalf.

A smile crept up on his face at the thought of a life free from the ancient god’s grip. You, unbeknownst to what was going through his head, interpreted it as a sign of love for his profession, which compelled you to know even more of what made working as a driver so charming to Jake.

You asked him what his most interesting story in all his years of driving a cab was, and oh boy, did Jake Lockley have a repertoire of the stories from his many years of driving people around.

The rest of the ride to your new apartment was spent listening to Jake telling you the many experiences he’d had in his years of driving people around, stories of a guy who had chased a girl to the airport rom-com style, a teenage kid who had clearly had his first drink ever and threw up all over the floor of his cab, an old lady who took her four cats to the vet all at the same time and one ended up scratching Jake in the face; the list of his adventures could go on and on.

Once you were in the apartment, with some help from Jake, the last boxes were finally set inside.

What you loved the most about your new home was that it was your own. While yes, you were renting it, the only limit you had when it came to customization was money. Other than that, this had been the most you’d been able to express within a space. Tiny details scattered around were hints of what you liked, what your hobbies or interests were.

There were no more eye rolls or complaints from your ex about how or where your things were placed, or how your styles collided with each other. This was truly yours and yours only.

Rubbing off the sweat from his forehead, Jake decided it was better to not overstay his welcome.

“I should get going.”

“Wait!” you stopped him before he reached for the door. “Wouldn’t you like to stay for dinner?” he had helped you get your things from his car free of charge, it was the least you could do in return. “If you’re not busy, of course.”

You wanted him to stay? The idea didn’t quite click in his head. Most people always avoided his company; even his alters, Marc and Steven, whom had a vague acknowledgment of his existence, evaded reaching out to him like the plague for whatever reason Jake was unaware of.

What was it that you saw in him that made you actively seek out spending more time with him?

It didn’t matter to Jake, because for the first time ever, he didn’t feel so lonely in this world.

“I’d love to.”

Si un día no quieres hablar con nadie, llámame,

It had been four months since that fateful night that led you to meet Jake Lockley, your newest friend, confidant, and first choice for transportation.

In the past, he would prefer to be inside the headspace, letting Steven and Marc live out their lives happily. He enjoyed the temporary silence he could get, since most of the times he fronted, it involved dealing with the chaos of his life.

However, things had changed ever since he became friends with you. Now, he tried fronting as much as he possibly could.

After so many years of a meaningful connection with somebody else being something intangible, he finally knew what it was like to have someone else in his life. Never would he have thought he would have any friends. He wasn’t the social type, which didn’t exactly make him the best candidate for friendship.

Somehow, you managed to see the good in him, oblivious to the many atrocities he’d done. You made him a better person.

Which is why he worried as soon as he saw your text messages.

‘Can you come for me asap?’

‘Something happened’

‘I need fresh air and I don’t want to be alone.’

He felt panic brewing on his stomach when he saw those words reflected on his phone. Were you hurt? Did something happen? He had no idea, but he had to know if you were alright, right away.

By the time he got to the building, you were waiting at the foot of the stairs, just as red faced as you’d been when the two of you met. The trail of tears on your cheeks spoke a thousand words, unlike you.

Numbness spread all over your limbs. A thousand thoughts were racing in your head, yet you were unable to put them into words. Anger and misery, all mixed inside of you, overwhelming your every sense. And to think you had been the one to bring all of this upon yourself.

Against the advice of almost everyone you knew, you had decided to look through you ex’s Instagram. You had no idea why they were so adamant on you not going there. What could be so bad for them to warn you to stay away from it at all costs?

You wish you’d listened to them.

The very first post on the profile was a video of your ex, kneeling in front of the person he’d cheated on you with, holding an engagement ring.

An engagement ring.

Marriage was something you would’ve liked, yet you’d both reached an agreement that you’d never marry, since your ex despised the idea of it, even going as far as describing it as ’bureaucratic nonsense’. And you were alright with that if it meant both of you would stay together.

So much for bureaucratic nonsense now, huh?

You wanted to spill your heart out to him, tell him how everything that had happened made you upset, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to it. Even if you tried, the lump in your throat rendered your voice useless, making anything you said a garbled mess.

Jake didn’t need any words from you, however. He reached out his gloved hand and helped you get up from the stairs and to the car, one hand gently placed on your back.

Once you were both inside, he tapped the steering wheel, trying to come up with a way to get you to feel better. And then he got an idea.

There was a park he liked to go to whenever he felt stressed, melancholic, or overwhelmed in general with his emotions. More specifically, there was a spot with a bench that was mostly out of sight, surrounded by beautiful sycamore trees. His safe spot.

“I know a place. Can I take you there?”

At that very moment, you trusted Jake’s judgement with every fiber of your being. So, you nodded, willing to go wherever he took you.

estaremos en silencio.

The drive to the park was a quiet one, neither Jake nor you uttering a single word. He was desperate to know what had made you so blue, but he was aware that, at the moment, what you probably needed the most was silence.

At the park, you followed Jake through the stone path, and eventually, into a spot hidden from plain sight with a worn-out iron bench and a single streetlamp next to it. You both sat in it, taking in the nocturnal breeze that slightly swayed the tree branches.

Your lip quivered as tears fell from your eyes, feeling the cold of the autumn air on the trails your tears left behind. You wished you weren’t crying for what your ex had done, but you couldn’t help it.

The empty whole that had been left on your chest the day you left, that you had been trying to desperately fill for the past four months, became undone in a matter of seconds, your emotions flooding everything all at once.

Jake watched as you held your face in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. It made him feel powerless to watch you suffering like this. He had no idea on how to calm you down, how to comfort you, and it tore his heart to shreds. He wanted nothing more than to share your pain, so it could be more bearable for you, but he couldn’t.

With no idea on what to do to make things better, he sheepishly placed a hand on your back, carefully rubbing and patting it. It wouldn’t make things better, but he hoped you would find comfort in his touch.

And you did. The warmth his timid hand offered grounded you back to reality, bringing you back from the pit of your thoughts, like a lifesaver tied to a rope dragging you out of the ocean, or the comfort of sitting next to a fireplace in a cold winter night.

Involuntarily, your forehead went to rest in his arm, seeking more of that solace you were urgently craving and were finding in his being.

His heart melted when he felt the weight of you leaning against him. He reciprocated wrapping his arm around your back and resting his chin on top of your head, giving you as much consolation as he possibly could.

You remained in Jake’s embrace for the rest of the night.

Pero si me llamas un día y no te contesto, ven corriendo a mí,

With the holidays just around the corner, you had brought it upon yourself to begin gift shopping for your friends and relatives. You had spent the majority of the day going from store to store, picking out the gifts for the people on your list. You glanced at it, only to see one person you hadn’t bought a gift for yet: Jake.

Since the meltdown you had at the park, the two of you had grown even closer than before. You would spend hours together, talking about whatever it was that was on either of your minds. Though he remained relatively hush about his personal life, never mentioning any family nor friends aside from you.

Amongst the few things that you had learned about him through the past months was that he liked Frank Sinatra and Pedro Infante, Gabriel García Márquez was his favorite author, and that he loved having a cup of coffee in the mornings.

So, your choices were split between a Sinatra vinyl, a beautifully illustrated collection of Garcia’s most popular books, or a stainless steel mug to keep his coffee warm in the mornings.

Unfortunately, the sun was setting in the horizon, and the weather forecast predicted heavy snowing during the evening, which meant you would have to look for Jake’s gift tomorrow.

You managed to fish out your phone from one of your pockets, despite the many bags you were carrying, to call Jake to ask him to pick you up.

After a while of waiting for him to pick up, though, you were sent to voicemail. Which was weird, seeing as he always had his phone with him and would usually answer. You tried again, thinking maybe he was busy.

Voicemail again.

Now you were beginning to worry. When it became evident that he wouldn’t pick up, you tried texting him to verify if he was alright.

'Jake?'

'Are you ok?'

'I'm worried about you.'

Radio silence.

Seeing as he wasn't going to respond anytime soon, you decided it would be best if you got a bus back to your apartment and then tried reaching out to him once more.

As soon as you arrived to your apartment, you set the bags aside and tried calling Jake again. Nothing. Another text message. Nothing. You tried looking in the news for any car accidents, silently praying you wouldn’t find anything pertaining to a taxi. Still nothing. He had truly vanished off the face of the earth. What was going on?

That was until you remembered the park Jake had taken you to that night. He mentioned something about him going there when he didn’t feel okay. If luck was on your side, maybe you would find him there, right?

With no time to waste, you geared up properly to go out into the harsh winter weather and made your way to the park.

When you arrived, you began following the path Jake had guided you through that night, which was perfectly camouflaged by a layer of fresh snow. You could see a cloud of your breath in front of you and could feel your ears starting to go numb, and still you went on with the hope of finding Jake.

Finally, you made it to the lonely bench, and that was when you saw Jake sitting there, his expression blank and his eyes watery.

"Jake?" you called out his name, and he seemed surprised by your sudden appearance. You sat down next to him, trying to read his expression.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured.

"Why not?"

His brow furrowed and his gaze dropped to the snowy ground. "I'm no good to be around."

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you and took a deep breath. "I'm not a good man, (y/n), I've done horrible things. Unspeakable things. I don't deserve anything."

A tear rolled down his cheek and he clasped his hands together so tight they started to tremble.

"Don't say that, Jake," you reached out to gently grab his hands with his own, "that's not true."

He shook his head. If only you knew. You were always too kind to him, and he was sure that if you ever found out about the other side of his life, you would go running the opposite direction.

The day prior, Khonshu had sent him on one of his usual missions. Nothing out of the ordinary, pulling off a hit on a local gang. Except this time, a kid spotted him while on the act.

The poor boy must’ve been 7 or 8 years old. He stood quietly as Jake was surrounded by the bodies of the people who had died by his hand. The blood of the men on the ground trickled down his tattered gloves, landing in the white snow, painting it like watercolors on a wet paper.

Pure terror emanated from his eyes as he met eyes with Jake. It didn’t matter how long the kid had been there, Jake was sure the little one would be scarred for life, and it would all be his fault.

“It was foolish of him to be there.”

Those were the only words Khonshu offered to Jake, which certainly didn’t make him feel any better.

He was exhausted of being Khonshu’s fist of vengeance. The many people he’d had to kill weighed on his conscience like heavy boulders, tearing him apart. The constant danger he lived in only made him more paranoid, doubting the intentions of anyone who ever crossed his path. He wanted out, to live a normal life, but he knew that was impossible.

And what worried him the most was that all of his actions would eventually harm you. You were one of the few good things in his life, and he would never forgive himself if something ever happened to you.

“Jake, listen to me,” you urged him to look at you, “You are a good man. Whatever it is that you've done in the past, you clearly regret it. And that's all that matters."

You reached out to gently grab his hands with his own, "You've taught me something very important in the past five months, and that is that we can't allow the past to define our present. It hurts, but we have to learn from it and keep going forward."

Jake looked up at you with misty eyes and held your face in the palm of his hand. You were truly a sight for sore eyes.

He gave you the tiniest of smiles before he leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips. A passionate kiss that told you how much he had wanted to do this all along.

Your heart melted at the feeling of Jake’s warm lips caressing yours. You pulled him in closer, and as you became lost in each other, you realized that tears were falling down his cheeks. You brushed them away with your thumbs and pulled away to kiss his nose softly.

"You're a good man, Jake. I promise."

porque sin duda, te necesitaré.

Translation of the poem: "If some day you want to cry, call me, I can't promise I'll make you laugh, but I can cry with you. If some day you manage to run away, do not hesitate to call me, I can't promise I'll ask you to stay, but I can run away with you. If some day you don't want to talk with anyone, call me, we'll be in silence. But if you call me some day and I don't answer, come running to me, because without a doubt, I'll need you."

#moon knight #moon knight series #moon knight disney+#moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockely x you #jake lockley x gender neutral reader

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breadandbloodybutter · 5 months

Text

I'll probably clean this up a bit more in the morning, but I figure I'll let my brain wander for now.

~☆~

And so ends the fall of another year.

Never content to settle in the dust of dashed hopes and dead dreams - the beginning of a cycle was to once again brush off the dust and begin anew.

In truth, a year felt minuscule to the likes of a devil - a tiny scratch on the centuries he had already lived through and would live through. Mortals in their desperation, clinging onto the precious amount of time afforded to them. What hope did they really have beyond a hundred scattered years?

But a year, small as it was in the grand scheme of things, was still a measurement of achievement - and Raphael found himself less than satisfied with the weight of it. An agreement of fortune here and there - a handful of souls to join the collection. The overall goal however; the finishing line that he musy cross, ever getting further from his grasp than getting any closer.

The crown was still not in his possession, and steps to do so were painfully slow. So painful, in fact, that he'd find himself ringing in the new year by ways of bodily fireworks. Cracked spines, filling his guests full of explosive power and letting Haarlep have some target practice. All of which doing a minor footnote of a job in improving his mood.

His advancements were laughable - as if he could hear the likes of his own father whispering and mocking through the voids. No, this - this would be his year. No more games, no more charity. A bard does not a fool make - and if they refused to take his ambition seriously, then he'd just have to up the stakes.

Oh, he was a creature of patience - but he would be patient no longer. The crown would sit upon the rightful to control it, and he'd make the world fear to even speak his name. The mere thought of it alone was a delicious daydream.

This year - he would make it a reality.

#🌻 muntalk #✍️ writings #raphael #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #okay to reblog

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things-about-cars-in-posts · 8 months

Note

Have you learned any new fun facts about cars recently?

Of course!!!

Just today:

I learned that the Golf Country (wicked factory off road version of the Mk2 Golf) was lifted over 4 inches for a total of around 7 inches of ground clearance!

I learned the absolutely mental Cobalt SS was essentially a parts bin special -they had a powerful 4 cylinder from the Saturn Ion Red Line and figured they'd put it in the less weird Cobalt and people would care, which they did- and that its epoch-making 260hp powertrain was only a later upgrade -again, borrowed from another car, the Pontiac Solstice GXP- once the original engine no longer met emission requirements. And that it had a sedan version!!!

And, while writing this post, I looked for details on how this lapped the King-Daddy, longest and most gruelling monster of all circuits that is the Nürburgring faster than the all-wheel-drive six-figure Japanese demigod that is the Skyline GT-R, and found out about the popular misconception that this refers to the R34 Nissan Skyline (right), to date the most coveted and sought after, whereas it actually refers to the R32 (left), a prior version -though not much less groundbreaking in its own time- and that the nonetheless staggering feat may largely be attributable to tire formulations having vastly improved between 1990 and 2008.

I learned of the Ford Transit Sportvan, a confusingly diesel sporty? version of the Ford Transit!

Hell, I learned about a small 20s brand I didn't even know existed!

I find out new things about cars every week, and that's not every day just because most days I run out of time to read and listen and browse all the car-related content I would want to (hence me writing this at 2:30AM, cough cough). Every model has an intricate story usually originating years before its birth, thousands of parts, usually dozens of variations year over year, mountains of media created around it and thousands of examples that have gone around to be featured in movies, owned by celebrities, and participate in history in other thousands of minuscule little ways. Multiply this for thousands of models worldwide and then multiply that for a century and a half. However narrow your area of interest, if you think you know as much as most of the car trivia within it you are absolutely a fool.

Oh wait you were probably asking for an actually fun fact.

Oops.

Well, still today, I learned that our dear Saturn Vue, remember our dear Saturn Vue? Well, not @makenoplans's, the second generation, it turns out that 1. at fucking least it drove well and 2. it died along with Saturn itself when GM went bankrupt and a clause stipulated for the government bailout was to kill three of its brands - Saturn being one of their least successful at the time I WONDER FUCKING WHY I WONDER IF THERE WAS ANYTHING ONE COULD HAVE DONE TO SAVE IT LIKE NOT EVISCERATING ALL LIFE OUT OF IT AND TURN ITS CORPSE INTO AN AMERICAN DISTRIBUTOR FOR A MEDIOCRE GERMAN CAR BRAND i am calm i am calm i am digressing. Well they'd relatively speaking just started making the second gen Vue in Mexico and they were like aw cmon do we really have to stop selling it so soon? And so they just fucking. Used the "Chevrolet Captiva Sport" branding it was sold with in South America to sell it to rental companies. It's basically like a fake ID but it's no faker than the one you started off with.

Oh! And a bit less recently I found out that bafflingly you could get the first generation Honda Civic with three different trunk doors - seen here in increasing order of price and sense.

#saturn vue #chevrolet captiva sport #vw golf country #chevrolet cobalt ss #saturn ion red line #nissan skyline r34 #nissan skyline r32 #ford transit sportvan #honda civic

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strings0fcontrol · 9 months

Text

Hannigram – Post-Fall (7)

However, it might as well have been an inconspicuous, involuntary burp, a mere muscle reflex. Yet, to Hannibal, it reverberated like a hiccup in the grand cosmic order.

He continued to stare, his fork motionless.

Chiyoh, seemingly resigned, sank back into her chair, placing her fork on the table, all the while observing the tableau of frozen moments before her.

Will stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. His gaze shifted, meeting Hannibal's radiant smile, which welcomed him with the warmth of an early morning sun. Had he been right? Hannibal was alive, but did that mean Will had perished? There was a gap in his memory, a missing puzzle piece.

Where was he now? He couldn't discern.

Everything appeared so luminous and inviting, yet a peculiar moisture caught his attention. As he lowered his gaze, the sensation of glass became apparent, his reflection crystal clear in the milky liquid before him.

A piña colada. He noticed Hannibal holding the same in his hand, and Will couldn't tear his gaze away. The vibrant image gradually etched itself into his senses, and from afar, he could hear Hannibal's voice, a dark and soothing cadence that made him feel as though he could breathe once more. Yet, as his laughter bubbled to the surface, and tears welled up in his eyes, and his fingers slowly unfurled, releasing the glass to fall into the sand, he knew it wasn't real. And his anguish was too heavy to lift into a scream.

Though he couldn't perceive it through sight or sound, he sensed the Morningstar fracturing and descending like celestial rain upon the cosmic chessboard, its dying scream shattering a faraway heart. The universe appeared to possess a malevolent sense of humor, or perhaps it was some higher power ensnaring him in this nightmarish reality.

Will drew in a breath. Everything had returned to chaos without semblance of order. Predictions and assumptions no longer held validity. He hadn't expected it to improve, but neither had he anticipated the hauntingly surreal turn it had taken.

It bordered on the comedic, almost farcical. That is, if it didn't stir within him the urge to pluck every single eyelash from his lids and challenge God to a personal confrontation. Okay.

If logic had been cast out the window, then Will should respond with something entirely unforeseen.

And respond he did.

A resounding slap shattered the tranquility of the beach as Graham's hand connected with Lecter's cheek, jerking his face sharply to the side.

This wasn't real, after all, so he reasoned that the pen writing this macabre tale wouldn't mind the infusion of a touch of unstable plutonium into its ink.

Hannibal's head remained immobilized, his expression locked in a curious contemplation of the unfolding madness. His pupils shifted, fixating on Will, and then his head began to turn, the way it typically did just before he posed a question. Remarkably, Will sensed the precise moment when that silent pause of cognitive function would take place—a brief interlude between the physical motion locking into place and the formulation of his freshly minted inquiries, which flowed like a well-oiled assembly line. In that minuscule gap, Lecter lacked the resources to anticipate Will's actions, and Will seized the opportunity, delivering a sharp slap that sent his face veering in the opposite direction.

It acted as an off-switch for Hannibal, and he dared not make a move or lift his gaze as Will loomed over him, his hand still extended. Graham appeared almost disappointed, as if he had harbored a faint hope that he could shatter these illusions by confronting them head-on. This particular illusion felt disconcertingly real, far removed from the confines of his imagination. His hand throbbed, the sharp sting registering fully in his senses. He had been so convinced that he'd devised a way to deceive himself into discovering the truth, but instead, it had birthed more questions than answers.

In that suspended moment, Will couldn't help but acknowledge the maddening allure of Hannibal's exposed neck, the tantalizing temptation to fixate his gaze on the fine, pulsing line that lay beneath the skin. And an idea began to take shape within his mind.

As the next motion unfolded, Will descended upon Hannibal. Though Hannibal's arms did not instinctively rise to shield himself, they initially misjudged Will's intention to strike again. A beat later, comprehension dawned, and he surrendered to the true purpose, yielding beneath Graham's weight like a fragile house of cards collapsing.

He sensed the sharp sting of teeth and the warmth of fresh blood, caressing him like a velvety scarf delicately draped around his throat. The sensation of Will embedded in his flesh brought a smile to his face, his eyes gleaming with contentment as he felt his life ebbing away, devoured by the hungry maw that worked its way across him.

It was almost his ideal conclusion, though he had never expected Will to venture this far, to embrace him in the manner that he did, ultimately consuming him, each bite more fervent than the last. It almost felt like a whimsical fanfiction tale he might have penned in another existence.

But it led him to wonder, what was the alternate version of himself doing right now? Had that other iteration finally reached its own conclusion? It was the last thought that flickered through his consciousness before it seemed to transition elsewhere.

Lecter shook his head, feeling a dull ache in his neck. He set the fork down and gently rested his warm palm on the irritated spot.

His anticipation was playing tricks on him. Will remained lifeless, a mere puppet seated in the chair, and no amount of intense scrutiny seemed to alter that fact.

His gaze lowered.

But there remained a slender possibility, that if this hiccup wasn't a mere muscle reflex, perhaps Will required something more profound to rouse him from his slumber. He could only conceive of slaying an angel and offering it to the lamb. If that was what it took, then so be it. He would carve up the heavens, plucking every single feather from its living wings, and use them to gently tickle Will awake.

Where had the unexpected led Will? The simple truth was, he didn't know. Once more, he found himself on that peculiar island, the heavens darker than any previous encounter. But this time, there was no brewing storm, only an oppressive atmospheric weight that threatened to drive him to madness by withholding any discernible input.

No fresh variables emerged for his analytical mind to dissect. It felt as though he were ensnared in an unending loop, or perhaps he had never truly left this place. Had it all been a dream? A product of his fraying psyche, conjured with each passing moment as it unraveled further and further?

His fingers clawed at his scalp, their movements frantic and circular, as if attempting to soothe the panic within him.

"Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT," Graham's voice thundered.

Hannibal's head swiveled toward the window. He could have sworn he had heard thunder, yet there was no accompanying lightning. The sky remained ominously dark. His gaze shifted to Chiyoh, and he sensed the unspoken question in her eyes: Was Hannibal losing his mind, or did he perceive something beyond her grasp?

Their gazes remained locked, until hers gradually relinquished the very notion of such an idea. "Let's finish our supper, Chiyoh. We cannot let it go to waste," Hannibal's voice resonated with a depth she had never heard before, its significance eluding her. It was a compelling tone. She did not resist his directive, instead picking up her fork once more to silently consume every bite of the Great Red Dragon alongside him and Will.

Days drifted by, and Will remained unconscious. Hannibal granted him some space, no longer fixating on the tiniest details. He was wholly absorbed in his preparations for the grand moment, one in which he was confident Will would finally return to him. He believed the universe would yield to his demands when the golden hue of an angel was spilled in their altercation. A personal letter demanded an exceptionally unique edge, especially when crafted for someone special. He would employ his finest pen and his most exalted ink.

Perhaps sacrificing something that precious would finally outweigh the debt to regain Will. Or, at the very least, it would be a move on the chessboard. Regardless, it was a tangible task upon which he could concentrate, holding a glimmer of hope that it might alter the situation.

It felt as if he were awake, yet a sense of entanglement encircled him, eluding his perception, as though something remained just beyond his sight. The passing days had left him feeling disjointed; despite numerous events unfolding, it appeared as though not a single step had been taken forward. It was paradoxical and maddening, akin to the cosmic order taunting him with this ceaseless state of suspension.

It was a bold notion to believe that anyone could outwit Hannibal Lecter at his own game. No deity, no celestial being, no Jack Crawford and no mere pen would ever subdue him.

Even if this pen were a razor-sharp blade, he would wear it down with his patience. With every stroke, every letter, every heartbeat of existence, he would persist until even the cosmos grew weary of denying him his desires.

His gaze softened as it fell upon Will.

Or perhaps, he had received precisely what he desired, wrapped in the most twisted sense of humor. Lecter squinted. Will was his, and there wasn't a trace of resistance in him. Hannibal could manipulate him as he pleased, like a puppet on a string. Every aspect of Will, his very destiny, belonged to Hannibal.

Wasn't this precisely what he had always desired? To possess complete control over Will? To triumph over him in his own game? And yet, here he was, audaciously gazing upon his prized possession with a hint of discontent.

Instead of merely placing him on a shelf or encasing him in a showcase, Hannibal sought to rouse the puppet, to ignite that familiar, rebellious spark of life within him.

Even in this state, Will remained undeniably beautiful to behold, making him the most exquisite decoration in the room. Yet, it wasn't his physical appearance that made Will's presence so gratifying. It was the essence that resided within him, and Hannibal ached for it—the sardonic, biting remarks of Will, attempting to thwart his cunning schemes. He yearned for Will's voice, and merely looking upon him failed to satisfy the gnawing stab of hunger within his starving soul. The chasm of desire that yawned with every glimpse had grown so vast that nothing else could fill it.

On the flip side, Will confronted an equally unyielding void as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his languid hand. Rather than dwelling on the question of what was happening, he concluded that the best course of action was to engage in drinking.

After wracking his brain for an extended period, liquid seemed to be the only substance his body could process. He often forgot about drinking, only remembering to sustain himself when his throat felt as parched as a desert. No matter what kind of enigma he had become entangled in, his body still demanded nourishment. Consequently, it became one of the few reliable aspects to concentrate on. Nonetheless, it was clear that his reserves for sustenance were extremely limited, and he would eventually deplete his distractions and face the reality of the situation. Until fate compelled him to act once more, he relished the suspense. He was beginning to find a strange comfort in it, and the prospect of any resolution almost felt menacing. What if he disliked the outcome? But what if he found it agreeable? Could it possibly become more surreal than his present predicament? He took a sharp sip, savoring the burn as it clawed its way down his throat. Undoubtedly, things could always deteriorate further. The question lingered: What was preferable? Something worse or something that persisted in stagnation and predictability, akin to stillness?

The query nearly tore him apart, and he despised himself for even pondering it.

With each passing minute, it seemed as if another strand of reality was devoured by the entropic entity that he sensed lurking somewhere beyond the boundaries of the conceivable. And it appeared to do so with a certain gleeful sparkle, as though it delighted in observing him decay in his chair, awaiting the ultimate choice he would make.

So, what constituted the pattern here? It commenced with death, transitioned into an unsettling uncertainty, ripened into a moment of epiphany, and yet again veered into the realm of uncertainty. With a contemplative flourish, he swirled his glass in his fingers, his gaze locked onto the entrancing amber hue of the liquid within, then swayed upon the glistening, golden shimmers. Golden. Like hair.

Bedelia.

What irony that his thoughts drifted to her. Her name quite literally translated to 'Exalted One.' Was that what had enticed the Morningstar into considering her a suitable replacement for him? An angel exchanged for a demon?

In his eyes, she had forever been a sacrificial lamb, destined for a darker purpose.

His hand rose, traversing his bare skin with a slow, deliberate motion, encountering a few stray grains of sand beneath his touch.

Sand. Ah, right. He had acted in an unanticipated manner, allowing the most violently intrusive thought to seize his attention, and yet, it had propelled him right back to this point where things had semblances of sense but had grown even more surreal and uncertain with each thought he constructed around it.

What would be the next insane thing to do? In his meticulous perception, the most daunting task he could undertake was to make a phone call. And that brought a smirk to his face, as if he had cleverly outwitted the system.

He set the glass aside, his fingers finding their way to the device, dialing the number that had materialized in his thoughts.

While it might appear unconventional, his usual approach involved dialing multiple numbers to broaden his perspective. But to do so now would be a descent into madness. It would suggest that his logical faculties had abandoned their meticulous dissection of every variable, even the one hinting at the possibility of this being the genuine reality. Carelessly squandering his final strategic advantage threatened to disrupt the fragile balance of all he had endured.

What bordered on insanity, however, was dialing this particular number and expecting a divergent outcome.

The phone rang, a sudden intrusion into the quiet room.

Will leaned forward in his chair, his body snapping to full attention.

As the line clicked, he held his breath, his eyes widening and darting, as though salvation itself stood on the other end.

"Will, is everything all right?"

When he heard the voice, his eyes welled up, and his lips quivered, struggling to form words. A part of his very being fractured. It was as if his soul expelled all the pent-up anguish, a torrent of emotion pouring forth. The abyss of uncertainty stood silently by, a companion to his pain, lending its quiet presence.

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