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caitlinbueckers · 21 days

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take care.

caitlin clark x reader type beat PART 2!!!!!!!!

6.2k (what the fuck)

ok. Listen!!!!!! This is long time coming and also is a disgusting amount of words and dialogue and like weird subtextual angst masked with smut honestly it’s pure delusion on a page also ending only slightly abrupt bc it was unfathomably long sorry

wasn’t gonna make the sequel so in depth like ??? How’d this one shot turn into a fic 😐 no Clue but all i know is that insecure sort of self deprecative caitlin clark with this soft dominance of a reader combined with two bitches who won’t admit their feelings is my crack!!!! let me know if a part 3 is even needed or if yall even care teehee

no beta simply just vibes

ANYWAYYZZZZZ love u guys sorry that i suck!!!

two weeks.

it had been two weeks since you’d texted that number with your name, a simple contact, and she’d liked the message, and that was it.

it wasn’t like things immediately changed— you still, somehow, made your flight despite the throbbing headache that reverberated in your skull, and you still were able to make sure you didn’t leave a toothbrush or a stray apple watch charger in the hotel room but, miraculously, you find a way to not mention a single thing about your one night stand until you touch down at home; manchester, connecticut.

you tell your friends all about it— probably missing some implied understanding about nda’s— and pretend like it isn’t that big of a deal that one of the biggest basketball players for women’s college wasn’t knuckles deep inside of you only the night before.

but it’s a big deal. and you know it is.

like her breath, fierce and rampant with each spellbinding curl of her fingers, wasn’t startlingly still replaying in your mind, her mouth soaking in each warm, huff of air that you expelled in the form of a moan. like she hadn’t watched as she fucked you, dark eyes somehow impossibly darker as her biceps flexed, the line of thick, corded veins that traveled her muscular arms somehow jumping with each pump of her fingers inside of you.

that the same, somehow blushing girl that stood in the elevator had regarded you like something to be challenged, like something she could fight for. something she could win.

you didn’t forget a single thing. not in the way she leaned down over you as her fingers quickened their pace, the force of it eliciting grunts from caitlin’s mouth as she tore you apart, piece by piece, licking the remains as her teeth grazed over a nipple, the sensitive jut of your collarbone.

“so pretty,” she’d murmured against your skin, almost absently, like she didn’t even realize she’d said it. “you like that?” obviously, it went without saying that you did (very much), but really, you’d learned that she wanted to hear you say it. it was in the same way that - as she’d recounted to you drunkenly in a hotel bar that night - she needed to hear the audience cheer. that the fans hollering and shouting was when she felt like she was on fire. it was the external validation that urged her forth, amped her up, kept her alight.

somehow, you could see exactly how it applied to her then, her eyes quick to scan over your face— your lips, to kiss them, before she’d ask again, urgently, “you like how i fuck you? huh? tell me.”

you’d nodded furiously, words tumbling past your trembling lips, “y-es, fuck, yes—“ god, it would’ve been impossible to pull more than a few words from you with how wrought you are, body unrelentingly tense, shaking and weak until she’d coaxed another orgasm out of you, her name sounding broken on your tongue as her fingers slow, the unrelenting grind from the heel of her hand finally relaxing to ride you through it.

she was unforgivingly good with her fucking hands, you’d come to realize.

and yet, beyond all of that, much to your friends dismay, you don’t call her.

no, in fact, you mute her name on twitter and block the IOWA womens basketball page because it becomes suddenly like a frenzy. she’s everywhere, more than usual, like some sick sign from the universe and as much as it seems almost the complete opposite of how you really feel, you decide that you can never see her again.

it’s not like the sex wasn’t phenomenal, or that when it’s late and your hand sneaks into your pants, your imagination doesn’t always seems to conjure up tall, pretty girls with brown hair and green eyes, or that she didn’t completely captivate you from the moment she’d looked at you, dumbfounded and sheepish in an elevator with a blush staining her cheeks.

it wasn’t that. in fact, it was the complete opposite.

it was because the moment you’d seen a picture of her online after the fact, looking tougher than you knew she was, you’d realized that the last place you’d seen her was from between your legs, and it felt like a fucking soul crush.

because she was beautiful, and smiling, and playing up that celebrity, all-star mentality that you knew she could back up, but that you realized wasn’t her in the slightest. because now, you knew her— sort of— and saw her in ways that nobody else had— that you knew of. more so, that she’d learned your body in the span of a night and then just left, and somehow that just wasn’t fucking fair.

there was a shroud of mystery that surrounded her, even if she belonged to the world, to her supposed boyfriend, to everyone, really— way more than she ever belonged to you, even if just for a night.

so you go on about your life, and you pretend you don’t notice the draft is coming, or that soon, the already well known athlete was gonna be world renowned, taking her biggest leap to play professional, and you’d be nothing to her, nothing but the girl she’d screwed in a hotel room when she’d gotten too drunk after the final four.

and sure, you find solace in it. but there’s also this lingering, nagging feeling of being unfinished, like there’s still more. there has to be more.

so, no, you don’t call her.

but, somehow, you find last-minute tickets for the draft— which, in the grand scheme of things isn’t completely selfish. the moment you’d seen nika muhl and aaliyah edwards up for the league, you’d known that you were going to try for tickets. you just, probably, maybe, weren’t actually expecting to hookup with the projected top number one draft pick, either.

but you did, so, you buy them anyway.

you let your friends tease you for picking a dress that’s sorta slutty and for spending more time than you should doing your makeup at whatever hotel you picked in boston, only a few blocks from the draft.

all in all, it goes exactly how you expect. caitlin gets number one draft, which only slightly makes you antsy in your seat, thinking about the fact that she doesn’t know you’re there, that she doesn’t know you saw her win big and that she possibly could’ve been thinking about anyone fucking else. your favorites, nika muhl and aaliyah edwards, get teams that you’re more than happy to celebrate, and watch paige bueckers and azzi fudd get shoutout after shoutout. it’s good, it’s fun— but fuck it.

you think you miss her. maybe just her fingers, or her mouth, but you realize in a weird swell of recognition as the guests are ushered out, your head spinning back every few moments to see if you can catch a glimpse of her, that you do.

you miss the cait you’d met— you just didn’t know the one that sat in the room now.

then, it’s all sorta funny, in a way, considering the situation you find yourself in once everyone begins to disperse, limos and SUV’s pulled up and parked outside of the venue, crowds of fans standing around the barricades to sit for their favorite athletes to pile out of the doors, to go to some super elite, exclusive party that you knew you had no place at.

you don’t expect any special treatment, and you don’t expect a text or a call— which is good, because they don’t come.

no, actually, they don’t come until later.

later, after you’d spent the rest of the night in a nearby bar with a couple of girls you’d met leaving the draft. they’re funny and they’re nice, gushing about the picks, talking miles a minute about all their favorites and making you pretend that the tequila doesn’t burn just a tiny bit more when they mention caitlin’s name.

it doesn’t come until you’re showered, dressed in sweats and pleasantly drunk, scrolling through the shitty channels when your phone buzzes once, then twice, then three times and it almost makes you click the lock button, shove it over in assumption of your friends bothering you about an unsuccessful night to woo a pro athlete— but then it happens again.

you can’t really decipher what makes you look at the random assortment of numbers and it suddenly click. maybe it was because you’d spent the past few weeks in a complete back and forth, scanning over a crumpled napkin with the name ‘cait’ and these specific numbers beside it.

you know who it is, and despite yourself, your heart catches in your throat.

“hello?”

“you made it.” her voice is deeper than you remember, and it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks burn almost immediately. fuck.

“huh?” you play dumb, mostly because it’s more embarassing to admit that you’d came all this way for this, for the slim possibility that she’d fucking notice.

“tonight, i mean. you- i didn’t know— i didn’t know you were coming.” you stay silent, because what else is there to say? had she seen you?

but she continues, “you should’ve told me.” and then, “i, uh— i would’ve liked to see you.”

she’s pathetic, and so are you. a hand comes up to shove back your hair from your face, breath increasing only slightly. “i have a hotel, like, smack in the middle of boston if you’re… like, if this is an offer.”

now, she’s silent. there’s a shuffle on the other end, a murmur of a voice that you don’t recognize, before she’s back, her voice closer, softer. “yeah. yeah, i’d, uh, i’d like that.”

you open your mouth to say something, probably alcohol fueled and embarassed, but she’s speaking now, a bit quicker, “just text me, yeah?”

then the phone clicks, and for half a second, you stare at the home screen as if this couldn’t possibly be fucking real.

but it is, miraculously, and god, it makes you kind of fucking horny to think that she’s willing to see you at half past three in the morning, so your fingers fly over the keyboard in record time— a pin being dropped through imessage with a confirmed ping.

it’s fucking go time after that.

you find the lacy, practically nonexistent underwear you’d brought, forgo a bra entirely, and try to find something a little less boring than your sweatsuit, before you realize with a sickening realization that the revealing dress you’d worn for the draft was the outfit you’d expected to see her in, and as much as you cared, you kinda fucking didn’t— she’d been inside of you, by now. clothing didn’t seem as pressingly urgent as it would otherwise.

it’s only about twenty minutes before she texts you, a simple ‘here’. you send a brief message, just the number of your hotel room, and pretend like your heart doesn’t practically pound out of your chest for each passing moment, eyes flickering from the door, to the window outside, the city bustling even at a time like this.

she knocks only twice, and it startles you enough that it takes your breath away.

the moment the door swings open, it’s like a wave of calm washes over you, a weird sense of solace that you hadn’t realized she could offer, mostly due to the fact that before you stood the caitlin you’d remembered from all those weeks ago, after final four. not the exquisitely dressed, superstar you’d seen earlier that night, in shades and clothing that you could never afford with an attitude you didn’t recognize.

instead, she stands before you at her startling height, in sneakers, sweats and a windbreaker, a hood over her head and her hands tucked into her pockets. once again, looking impossibly small for someone of her stature and it takes all that’s within you to not kiss her right there.

“you got here quick.” you mention, still only slightly breathless as she offers a smile that resembles more of a smirk than anything else.

“i was scared you’d fall asleep,” and it sounds as sheepish as it makes you feel.

you step back, let her walk in and inhabit the space, only slightly making your palms sweat to have her here, in front of you again.

you decide to take the initiative to plop onto the bed, looking up at her as you toy with a stray string from your hoodie, “i wasn’t gonna fall asleep,” you retort, looking up at her, catching a glance that you don’t break, “congrats on top draft pick.”

now, she’s blushing, shaking her head and pursing her lips, “still feels unreal, dude.” she murmurs, looking down at her feet before slowly, her movements unsure, she sinks onto the bed next to you. “you’re unreal.” you say quietly, smirking at her, because you know how she’d cringe at it, scrunches her face before shaking her head. “god, not by a long shot.”

you open your mouth to say something else, maybe tease her about it, but she clears her throat quietly, “but i don’t, uh- wanna talk about that right now?” she offers a mirthless laugh, “is that stupid?”

she turns to look at you, and it happens to only be a couple centimeters from your face once you look up, shake your head “then we don’t have to.” you agree quietly, and it’s impossible to miss the way her eyes flicker down at your lips, back up to your face, and it’s equally as impossible to ignore the flip you get in your stomach before you surge forward to kiss her.

she kisses the same, tastes like what you remember, if not marked by whatever cocktails she must’ve had, whatever liquor still sat on your own breath, and it washes over you greedily that you do fucking want her— more than whatever you tried to convince yourself of during the past two weeks, more than what you’d downplayed to your friends.

“been thinking about you,” it comes out rushed, murmured against caitlin’s lips, shakily from your own mouth as she lets out a slow, wanton breath. you turn to crawl up on your knees, swinging over her hips to push her back against the bed.

she makes a noise like it stems from disbelief, almost like denial, but doesn’t pull away, not even once as her hands, fingers long and palms wide, spread beneath your sweatshirt, span across the expanse of your back and grasp.

“i did,” you insist between breathless kisses, foreheads pressed together hard as her hand races up the front now, over your stomach, palm your breasts and elicit a pitchy gasp from the immediate contact of her cold hands to your sensitive nipples, “every fucking day.”

“shut up,” she denies it again, which only slightly irks you because as cliche as it felt to say during a makeout, it’s not like you would lie about how much you’ve craved this— or more specifically, her.

you try to really expand on the thought, but it becomes almost impossible when her lips attach to your jaw, suckling until her teeth are teasing the sensitive, thin skin beneath your ear, and you make a noise too embarrassing to recount before you can gather your words. “…missed you.”

caitlin makes a noise in her own throat, something between a growl and a groan as she arches her hips up slightly to press against you, before she shakes her head, pulling back only to look up at you from your position on her lap with this sick, almost torturous gaze. her eyes are lidded and feverbright, cheeks pink, and lips glossy, kiss-bitten.

“you shouldn’t think about me.” it comes out quick with her breath, her thumbs still slow in the circles they rubbed around your nipples, making your head arch back with a whimper before you swallow hard, her words almost too quiet to hear, “not worth it to think about.”

the admission surprises you, “fuck off, clark.” you snort, the words fall lazily out of your mouth, “so humble, huh?”

she gets hot at that, and you can tell from the way her face is pressed into your neck, the way a heat radiates from her cheeks right at that moment that makes your stomach swirl, your own hands coming up to tangle into her hair.

“…i‘m serious.” she insists, still mouthing against the same area of skin that you knew would be bruised, and pretend like her totally incognito, self deprecative words weren’t somewhat confusing and worrying you.

she was fucking perfect, didn’t she realize that? how could she not when practically everyone else in the world thought the same? maybe you were being dramatic or maybe you were just horny, but it felt achingly real in the moment that she knew that, even if she wouldn't listen, even if you'd have to show her instead.

“cait, i’m fucking serious.” you counter now, using the hands in her hair to tug, exploring the reaction that it elicits, which is something that apparently caitlin enjoys by the soft whine that jumps from her throat, the way her breath quickens, the wide eyed look she gives you.

it makes your head spin, your thighs clench involuntarily. she seems so fucking innocent, and yet, all knowing at the same time.

“is that… bad?” you continue, your own head ducking to latch your lips against her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath your teeth, “that i… touched myself and thought of you?” maybe it was the cocktails or the fact that this could be the last fucking time you see her, but it’s like word vomit— every thought and emotion that comes to you is spoken without hesitation, and apart of you wonders where you’d gotten such newfound bravery.

caitlin must be wondering too.

“not bad,” it comes out of her weak, weaker than she is right now, melting under your mouth and the tight grasp you have on her dark hair, the way each strand twines around your fingers to where even the most minuscule move of your fingers elicit a huff or a sigh, “it’s… fucking hot, what the fuck.”

it fuels you, in some way, to hear her validation. for some reason, you don’t try to hold off much longer— your own sweatshirt is being pulled off in record time, tangled in your arms momentarily and flung across the room as you go to reach for hers, “off?” you hum in the midst of the movement, to which she nods, quickly, obedient and yet, so unruly.

she was a dichotomy of everything she stood for. a shy girl pretending to be a superstar, and yet, even in moments like this, quiet and intimate, it felt like a superstar pretending to be shy. you knew just how easily she could unload, dominate the situation— pin you down by your wrists and eat you out within an inch of your life, because she had.

but now, she’s relenting, and it makes something within you burn, strengthening wildly to try and tame that beast that you knew sat fervent beneath her skin, to try and prove that caitlin didn’t always have to be caitlin clark, she could just be this.

just a pretty girl you wanted to fuck.

besides, maybe you were making up for lost time, returning favors you’d been too drunk and blissed out to give the first time around when she’d finished you off with fucking ease.

as soon as she’s exposed, her black sports bra yanked off with little effort to reveal her breasts beneath, pale and dotted with freckles, a red line from the band of it standing starkly against it, you find your mouth lowering to suckle on a spot near her nipple, teasing against the bud and licking gently at the skin until you hear her breath increase, breaking only slightly into a whine that makes you swallow hard.

you pull away, just to look at her— dark eyebrows furrowed, focused in a concentration that you can only discern as someone fighting for the need to control, to dictate, to display the same use of her strategic authority that she’s used time and time again on the court.

you decide in that moment, that you won’t let her.

“let me take care of you?” it comes out softer than you mean it to, and you can see the trust building within her, slow to register as safe— and you don’t blame her.

you both are practically strangers, knowing nothing of each other than drunken conversation that had turned too deep, nothing but the sound the other made when they came, the faces they made. it was intimately unfamiliar, and perhaps that’s where caitlin had found the solace.

maybe she knew that at this point in her career she wouldn’t have normalcy. it was practically impossible for any person knowledgeable in sports to not know her, or even just of her. to a further degree, even most, with the exception of being well versed in women’s sports, had at least heard of her, and that was simply a piece of herself that had been taken, one she’d never be able to retrieve.

but this, this might be the one standing, single piece of lucidity and realness that was hers— locked away in a hotel room in a city unfamiliar to the both of you, and it’s enough.

it’s enough for now.

“you wouldn’t even text me back.” she counters, but it’s clear in her tone, regardless of how ragged, that it’s to prod at you, and it works.

“shut up.” you murmur as you press your hands to her shoulders, push her back against the bed to straddle her fully as you brush your thumb over her abused nipple, reddened and too easy to bruise. she moans when you press on it, and it elicits a smirk to your face that’s impossible to hide. “you’re here now, aren’t you?”

for some reason, it causes a sad sort of smirk to her face that’s impossible to miss, regardless of how quickly she covers it with an exhale of want, one that you know isn’t feigned, “where else would i be?”

there’s a million answers to that. press, interviews, sleeping, with her fucking boyfriend, but you settle for a small smile, “good point.”

you hope it centers her a little when the bruising press of your fingers translate into something gentler, more of a caress against her chest that you trail up to her face, and it almost twists something inside of you to see the way her face relaxes, leans against it as if it was some type of treatment or medicine to some ailment you weren’t aware of.

you go to pull away, to begin working at the ties on her sweatpants to unwravel her even more, lost in the softness of the moment and yet still blinded by the hazy lust until she speaks, quiet and barely there.

“did you really think about me?”

it stuns you for half a second, because the simple confession hadn’t registered to you as something she’d recall, something she’d look to expand upon.

but you’d always been honest, brutally so.

“yeah,” you say it as if it was obvious, when truly it wasn’t, and more so, probably wasn’t reciprocated, “i had fun,” a gross understatement, a weak replacement for all that you really wanted to say. then, if not a bit more revealing of your inner voice, “didn’t you?”

caitlin makes a noise that resembles a huff, but it’s not impatient, it’s honest. you wonder how often she gets to do that. “you know i did.” it comes out like an admission of guilt, under her breath, yet her eyes are unrelenting as they are sincere and it makes your eyebrows lift.

it makes your breath halt slightly, “is… not having fun in your contract or something?” you lace it with a quiet chuckle, mostly because you don’t want to make it too deep, too revealing to ask, but part of you thinks it’s expanded beyond that already, had been since she'd called you at three in the morning, just to say that she'd seen you, that she wanted to see you again.

her hands rise from her sides to rest against your thighs, and the touch is welcome, one that you relax into before she manages a half smile, “might as well be.”

but then, you see that surge of confidence again, something in her eyes glimmering as she squeezes at the skin of your thighs, hard, but your eyes remain fixed, even as hers drop, almost shy in her show of strength. “it’s why… i’ve thought about you like, everyday since... final four?”

that certainly makes your breath halt, invoking a reaction in your stomach and between your legs that you choose to ignore as you swallow, thumb still slow in its brush against her cheek.

“yeah?” it comes out of you rough, and she grants you with a nod as a response, then, after only a moment, she whispers, an echo to your words from before. “so... is it bad that i missed you too?”

“god, shut up.” you repeat again, as if somehow that was a valid response to being told such a thing by a girl you’d only had met twice, by a girl you knew nothing about.

you wanna ask her a million questions, know anything and everything: ask her if she’s actually into girls, if she’s actually into her boyfriend. mainly, if she’s actually into this pedestal that she’d been thrust into, if the fame was too much, maybe if it was never enough.

but you settle for shutting her up for now, because you can see the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, can hear the strain that it took to admit, and you realize, selflessly, that maybe you won’t let yourself ask for more.

not now, anyway.

instead, you lean up, uncharacteristically tender as you slide your lips against hers, feels the way she relents against you, slow and subservient.

“can i show you how bad i missed you?” your fingers tease the edge of her sweatpants, and she lets out a creaking groan, head tilting back and eyes closing as if in exasperation, before she nods. “please.”

you get right to work.

it takes only a little bit of adjustment to get her pants off of her long legs, to reveal the simple pair of black boy shorts that she wore, before you can finally tease a finger against the soaked fabric, reveling in the wetness that you knew matched your own.

her hips jump up, caged in only by your legs as you arch your middle finger, riding the knuckle against her heat, watching the way her face twists only slightly, lips parted in silent noises that you wish you could beckon out of her.

it is fun, you realize in the back of your mind, to pull her apart like this. without the inebriation clouding your mind from the last time, you feel almost startlingly cognizant of your own movements, of her reactions.

when you finally pump your middle finger into her, you notice the way her stomach and abs flex involuntarily, the way her voice pitches up and almost keens in her throat, catching with every stuttered inhale.

when you lean down to press your lips against the slickness of her cunt, press the pad of your tongue to her clit, she says your name— loud. it’s something mixed between a whine and a plead, long, dexterous fingers tangling into your hair and holding on tight.

you devour her, tongue slow to slide against her slick folds, to feel the surge of wetness spill out around your fingers, mixed with your own saliva. you drink her in like she’s a potion, or an elixir, something that you swear you can find and savor if you just go deeper, harder.

it isn’t until you feel her thighs tense, clamping around your head as she lets out a sound close to a gasping breath, marked with a moan that makes your head spin— she sounds so fucking desperate, and you’re bound and determined to give her exactly what she wants. what she deserves, really.

she comes on your fingers, in your mouth, and you relish every bit of it, quick to clean up the excess with fervor. she’s sensitive still, her breath huffing out whenever you breach too close to her clit, but you’re gentle. that’s what this was all about, right?

it’s quiet after the storm, your wrist sore and mouth wet as you sit up a bit, eyes careful to observe how hard her chest rises and falls. the way her hair, having fallen from its loose bun, sat in messy waves around her face, nothing like the impeccably straightened strands you’d seen at the draft, and it sort of makes you smile in an off handed way that you can’t explain, especially not when she opens her eyes finally to look at you.

“quit.” she says, and there’s a smile, tired and breathless, teasing at her own mouth as the hand that had fisted your tangled locks finally released, dragging down the side of your head to push your chin away lightly,

you can’t help but snicker, raising a brow, “what?” she rolls her eyes, and you repeat yourself, this time with a snort, “sorry, you’re just— you just look pretty like this.”

it’s hard to pretend that something inside of you doesn’t wince when her smile drops slightly, and you pretend like it isn’t uncommon to compliment the stranger you just ate out with such sincerity and honesty.

she’s slow when she says it, “...you always look pretty.” and it sounds wistful, murmured in a way that you can’t help but flush a bit at, as you roll your eyes now as if to return the favor, “you’ve only seen me twice, drunk, in sweats.”

but for some reason, that makes her smile return and for half a second, you let yourself pretend.

that maybe, this random series of hookups between you two weren’t fueled by some weird attraction slash escapism slash secret infidelity that had to be shared between you, or tucked away from the world. for half a second, she wasn’t caitlin clark, women’s basketball superstar, future member of the indiana fever.

she was cait, a girl you’d met at a bar that you’d hooked up with who just happened to see you again, and maybe, if you were a little dumber, and maybe a bit drunker, you’d admit to yourself that there’s a part of you that likes her, and each time you’d thought about her in the past few weeks, it had become achingly apparent.

but, you’re smarter than that, and definitely not drunk enough, so you pretend that her next words don’t make your heart skip multiple beats, as if it doesn’t cause a flutter in your chest.

“still,” she scoffs, and she’s sitting up a little, her hand having laid lazily against her stomach, reaches over to grasp your wrist, almost absently, “plus, i saw you earlier tonight, in that dress?”

it shouldn’t make you almost stunned into silence, but it fucking does.

“sorry— not to like, be weird and say i was looking for you but, i dunno, i just— i remember you saying something about UCONN, so i just assumed you'd be ther—“

you’re kissing her before even you can register what she’s saying, or why she says it all in this shy, almost sheepish tone that fills you with a flood of endorphins, butterflies being set alight inside of you.

“god, you’re so…” you’re not sure where you’re going with it, but you can’t help the way your hand comes up to hold the side of her face, dip your thumb against her bottom lip as if to make her taste herself, all as your eyes watched, lidded and fixed.

then, you exhale, only a whisper, “i’m gonna get you in trouble.” you manage to say, despite the very obvious fact that watching her suck on your finger is doing unspeakable things to you, before you drag the wet digit out, her bottom lip pulling only slightly.

“with who?” she says it almost as if you both know the answer, both thinking about the multitude of bigger names and bigger people who had long since been the determinant in caitlin’s career— at least from the little that you knew— and it lapses you both in a measured silence.

until she speaks, and it’s quiet, and sincere. “you’re just like… the only thing in my life right now that has nothing to do with basketball.”

it's a compliment, wrapped up in something a lot more sad, a lot more sincere. it shouldn’t make you want to hug her, but it does, so, you do.

your arms twine around her neck slowly, your face lowering to bury against her neck, just beneath her chin, and you can feel her chest vibrate slightly with a chuckle or a laugh, before her arms are around you, squeezing you tight, “don’t go all sappy on me, dude.” she murmurs, but it’s present in the way she doesn’t pull from it, or really, the way she fucking clutches onto you, almost desperately, that you pretend once again that this doesn’t mean anything. that this is traditional, hookup behavior, and that once she leaves this hotel room, everything will shift right back into place.

a place where caitlin clark gets to be caitlin clark and you get to be you, and there’s no overlap.

except, that doesn’t happen.

no, instead, once you pull away from the hug she kisses you again, hungrier this time, her hands sliding from your back to your hips so she can hook fingers in the edge of your panties, urging you to sit up on your knees so she can pull them down.

instead, she lets you ride her thigh— both hands firm and strong, her own biceps lfexing to keep you glued to her thick, muscle corded thigh, your cunt unforgivably wet as she dragged your hips down, over and over.

your head tips forward to press to her forehead, and she kisses you through each desperate cry that escapes your lips, the friction and slide becoming wetter, slicker by the moment, drawing these high pitched noises from your throat that you know caitlin is drinking in, all while she murmurs to you in this soft little voice, “show me good it feels, lemme hear you.”

in the end, you both pass out there, somewhat in a laying position as caitlin lays on her back, arms loosely wrapped around you, who’s laying stomach down atop of her, a thigh lazily hiked up to hang against her hip, your face pressed into her neck.

it’s fucking bizarre when you think about it.

how you both had talked more than you ever had before, and when you look back on it in the morning, nothing but a ghostly reminder of her presence by the sheets that lay strewn about, the undeniable smell of sex and sweat that still hung in the air, you pretend like you don’t realize just how little you still knew about her, and just how much that you wished you knew.

you also pretend like you don’t miss her, or that when you’re gathering your clothes to check out, a soreness in your body unlike one you’ve really ever felt, you’re practically stunned to see her faded, gray, IOWA shirt, thrown lazily over the desk chair that makes you wonder just how accidental it was for her to leave it.

you wear it anyway,

it isn’t until you make it back to connecticut, making up some excuse for your friends as to how you hadn’t been able to meet up with caitlin, how she’d been too busy anyway and you’d spent the night drinking at a bar, that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of you that wanted to keep her protected, confidential.

maybe it was the post-sex fueled lust that wanted you to keep it close to your chest, a dirty secret only for you to enjoy, or maybe it came from somewhere softer, somewhere that remembered how caitlin had such little privacy, that it almost hits you like a pang just how much you wanted her to still have that, even if it was at the expense of not seeing your friends faces when you told them that you guys had hooked up, again. even if she'd never know that you didn't say a word.

fuck it. it’s the least you could do.

you try not to think about her for days really, not until you’re doing laundry and come across the grey t-shirt, deciding only then that you’d pull up your goddamn bootstraps and finally send a message.

it’s cheeky, the wrinkled t-shirt thrown on over your underwear, leaving your thighs on display and the peek of a hip that you know is intentional before you snap a picture, sending it with little hesitation, and subsequently throwing your phone afterwards at the bed.

“you left something”

cc loved your message, “you left something”

“i know”

“guess i’ll have to come get it back”

it’s stupid, you know it is, but it makes you smile, typing with an urgency only known when texting back the pretty girl you like, before you send it, bottom lip teased between your teeth.

“how close are you to connecticut?”

#caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark smut #wcbb x reader #guys is this gonna become a series #im scared #caitlin clark

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mustainegf · 15 days

Note

OK I WASNT GONNA REQUEST CUS ITS MY FIRST TIME DOING SMTH LIKE THIS!!!! okay so basically black album! james and reader are out with the rest of the band at a restaurant or a store or smth and james ends up sneakily like ☝🏻ing her?? IDK IF THIS SOUNDS WEIRD OR U DONT GET IT BUT YEAH

THIS WAS SO FUN YO WRITE I LOVE SNEAKY STUFF LIKE THISSS

The restaurant buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and the murmur of conversations. James, Lars, Kirk, Jason, and I sat at a large round table, tucked into a cozy corner.

It was a rare night off, and we were all enjoying the chance to relax and catch up. I sat next to James, feeling the warmth of his body close to mine as the guys bantered and laughed about their latest tour experiences.

I could feel James’s hand resting on my thigh, a familiar and comforting presence. We exchanged a quick smile, a shared understanding of the bond we had amidst the chaos of the rock and roll lifestyle.

As the conversation flowed, James’s hand began to move, his fingers gently spreading my legs under the table. I shot him a surprised glance, but he kept his eyes on Lars, who was recounting a particularly wild night on tour.

James’s fingers found the edge of my panties, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me. He acted as if nothing was happening, his face a mask of calm as he laughed at Kirk’s joke.

Meanwhile, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against my most sensitive spot. I bit my lip, trying to focus on the conversation around me, but it was nearly impossible with the way James was touching me.

I shifted slightly in my seat, trying to maintain my composure. Jason asked me a question about my work, and I forced myself to respond, hoping my voice didn’t betray the pleasure coursing through me.

“It’s been busy, but I’m managing,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “How’s the new album coming along?”

James’s fingers began to move more insistently, stroking me in slow, deliberate circles. I had to fight the urge to squirm in my seat, my breath catching in my throat.

He continued to act completely normal, discussing the album with Jason while his hand worked its magic under the table.

“I think it’s going to be our best yet,” Jason was saying. “We’ve really pushed ourselves this time.”

“That’s great to hear,” I managed, my voice sounding slightly strained. I reached for my glass of water, hoping to hide the flush creeping up my neck.

James’s fingers slipped inside me, and I had to bite down hard on my lip to stifle a moan. He knew exactly how to drive me crazy, his movements confident and unrelenting.

My heartbeat quickened, and I struggled to maintain a neutral expression as I responded to the guys’ questions and comments.

“So, how are you enjoying the tour?” Lars asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It’s been…amazing,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. I glanced at James, who gave me a quick, knowing smile before turning back to the conversation.

James’s fingers continued their relentless rhythm, and I felt the pressure building inside me.

I gripped the edge of the seat, trying to focus on anything but the pleasure radiating from his touch. It was a cruel game he was playing, and he was winning.

Kirk started talking about a new riff he was working on, and I tried to listen, but my mind was clouded with desire.

James’s hand never faltered, his fingers plunging deeper, and I knew I was close to losing control.

James chuckled at something Lars said, his fingers curling inside me just right. I bit my lip harder, trying to keep my breathing even. The bandmates were none the wiser, their laughter and banter providing a cover for what was happening under the table.

The pressure built steadily, my body responding to James’s expert touch. I squeezed my thighs together, trapping his hand there, but he continued relentlessly, his thumb now brushing against my clit.

It was too much. I could feel my control slipping, the pleasure mounting with each passing second.

James glanced at me, his eyes dark with desire. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. I gave him a pleading look, but he only smirked, increasing the pace. My body tensed, the wave of pleasure crashing over me as I came, my inner walls clenching around his fingers. I managed to stay silent, only a small gasp escaping my lips.

Inlet my head fall slightly, hoping nobody would see.

Kirk’s eyes were on me again, concern evident. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a bit flushed.”

I took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Just a bit cold, I’m fine,” I said, trembling slightly.

James withdrew his hand, casually sucking off his fingers without anyone seeing.

He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze before turning his full attention back to the conversation, leaving me to catch my breath and regain my composure.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. I could hardly focus on the conversation, my body still tingling from the intensity of what had just happened. James acted as if nothing unusual had occurred, his demeanor cool and collected.

As we said our goodbyes and headed out of the restaurant, James leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You did great,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “Let’s get home. I’m not done with you yet.”

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slavonicrhapsody · 9 months

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*opens the sewer grate in leyndell main street in front of your carriage* ok so why are inquisitor ghiza's clothes in the sewer here? Dude's a rykard employee in gelmir.

an EXCELLENT question. In the Subterranean Shunning Grounds, we find the Bloodsoaked Mask and the Bloodsoaked Manchettes:

Bloodsoaked Mask

“Mask formed from tightly-wound bandages soaked through with blood. Even the most ghastly cover is more inviting than the festering face beneath.”

Bloodsoaked Manchettes

“Manchettes formed from tightly-wound bandages soaked through with blood. Any protection is welcome for the festering arms beneath.”

The third piece of the armor set is the Official’s Attire:

Interestingly, we don’t find it in the same place as the mask and the manchettes — it is found on a corpse in a hidden hallway from the elevator leading to the Forbidden Lands.

Given how specific this location is (in a hidden area leading out of Leyndell, which seems to have some connection to Melina through the Blade of Calling?), this specific iteration of the Official’s Attire that we pick up here might not actually belong to Ghiza? Since he was an inquisitor of Volcano Manor, it would be kind of a huge leap for him to have moved back to Leyndell and to be assigned to whatever specific duty the dead guy in the secret room was performing. Rather, I think this Official’s Attire is probably unrelated to Ghiza himself, and is instead just another example of a character wearing the same uniform — similar to how Maleigh Marais, an executioner, also wears the Official’s Attire. Yes, I know the bandages are built into the outfit, but that might just be how they created the asset to fit with the rest of the armor set and it isn’t meant to really affect the lore.

So, going back to the bandages in the sewer, since they’re separate from the Official’s Attire and found on a different corpse, I think it’s very possible that they aren’t meant to belong to Ghiza either and are just generic (their descriptions aren’t specific to Ghiza, too). I’m not sure why they’d be in the sewer though, unless Leyndell had kind of a leper colony situation down there, since the descriptions do mention the “festering” face and arms. I mean, it is called the Shunning Grounds! Perhaps in addition to shunning the omen, they also shunned people with fantasy leprosy

Anyway, these items could still have belonged to Ghiza, but there’s just a little too much going on here for one specific character I think. like… Ghiza on his way to leave Volcano Manor, become a spy keeping an eye on the elevator to the Forbidden Lands, die there, then somehow also go down into the Leyndell sewers for unknown reasons and die there as well but without his robe this time:

#elden ring #asks #inquisitor ghiza #ghiza

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nana2capriccio · 1 year

Text

[Kiryu - Goku Mon - English Translation]

己龍 - 獄門 [Hell's Gates]

JP lyrics: Mahiro Kurosaki | EN translation: me:3

pic unrelated lol. i have all of shuka ensen translated that i did for fun a while ago...so you will see those rolling out soon!

Notes: this song is a lot of nonsense which i think is the point...buuut it's japanese nonsense that makes NO sense in english. sorry in advance but there will be a lot of notes at the end, some of the history came from my head so it may be incorrect but for other things i researched to hell for this😭

Flowers blooming, falling into delusion, under the Yayoi sky... 1

Red and radiant, a kaleidoscope of flowing blood

Crying, once, no consent, twice 2

Roll the dice, round of applause, next!

雁首　once 影踏　twice [this line is untranslatable, see note 3]

We could go on hundreds more...

Flowers blooming, falling into delusion, a cloudy haze...

Twisting, climbing, falling like a wilting flower 4

Crying, once, no consent, twice 2

Roll the dice, round of applause, shogi piece

Wailing, once, sadistic, twice

A smile of both pity and scorn

Crying, once, no consent, twice 2

Roll the dice, round of applause, deviance

Noh mask, once, pull it off, twice 5

Heart of raging fire 6 (notes EXTRA IMPORTANT!!!)

Bow in prayer

Crying, once, no consent, twice

Roll the dice, round of applause, impurity

To the neck, once, to the wrists, twice

Fresh flowers and death makeup 7

Crying, once, no consent, twice

Roll the dice, round of applause, sin

No mercy, no forgiveness, the feast is in full swing

The demons have been freed 8

Notes:

1: this sentence is way too japanese i just. can't. ok so the words 咲く乱 (flowers blooming riotously) and 錯乱 (mental illness/derangement) sound the same and that's the pun, then the Yayoi thing...i think is also a pun?? the kanji 弥生 can refer to either the month of May on the lunar calendar or the Yayoi period which was from 300 B.C to 300 A.D., i doubt its the latter bc there wouldnt be people playing shogi back then but idfk

2: "no consent" is...the best i could do bc the term used isnt a word?? kiryu likes to make shit up but. i interpreted it based on context to mean this is a sxxual scenario w/o consent UMMM can i say that on tumblr.

3: 雁首 literally means goose's neck but it generally refers to anything shaped like that, which could be... the neck of a pipe (like that stereotypical chinese opium pipe), or....umm....penis! IT MEANS penis. 影踏 is a childrens' game where you walk in a circle trying to stand in eachother's shadows

4: another JAPANESE ASS LINE!!! this uses an idiom meaning to fall into pieces like petals falling off the centre of a flower...but thats too long to put in my lyric!!

5: i did some research aaand i think this is referring to a literary phrase similar to "taking off the monster's mask", like pulling off someone's figurative "mask" to reveal their true character. a Noh mask is just a type of mask used in Japanese Noh theatre which is like...ả premodern comedy musical type thing

6: AAAHH A PUN!!! this has me so confused but i think its mixing the phrases for "heartache" and a term used for the body of a woman who died in a suicide pact where her lover betrayed her by not following through. which is an oddly specific term but thats what my research said guys im trying

7: in Japan the dead have historically always been given a fresh face of makeup to make them look alive for the open casket funeral ceremony, the word used is just "death makeup"

8: the "feast" along w this line are talking about hyakki yakkou, a mythical concept similar to pandemonium where all of the youkai and demons escape jigoku (buddhist hell) and wreak havoc through the streets of Japan. this song is about that bc its called...its called hells gates

#kiryu #己龍 #visual kei #vkei #kiryu band #nana's translations #kiryu gokumon #shuka ensen

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modgirlyreposts-revamped · 2 years

Note

Dark fact about every main character in the Christmas Kids AU

TW for child abuse, extreme violence and mentions of suicide.

William: Don’t know if I can say anything not inherent to him being William aside from the thing about him trying to steal a dead raccoon’s guts as a kid.

Michael: Attempted to, shall we say, follow his siblings’ footsteps around 1985. Survived, obviously, and this was part of when Michael finally began to lean on the people reaching out to him.

Amalie: Ok she’s a minor character but she never got to see her children’s bodies. She was told as little of what happened to them as the general public. Elizabeth was missing, and Cassidy died in an accident. That was all she ever knew her whole life.

Elizabeth: I have no intent to compare the siblings’ trauma, but Elizabeth being isolated from her brothers and abused by William fucked her up bad. She became a compulsive liar and people pleaser, and ended up with BPD. She tended to fawn over those she wanted to love her as a coping mechanism making her even more susceptible to her father’s abuse.

Cassidy: Most likely wouldn’t have lived very long even without the bite. William would’ve decided Cassidy wasn’t “fit” to live sooner or later.

Charlie: While Charlie was a sweet girl who took it upon herself to look out for those who couldn’t look out for themselves, she was never treated with that same kindness. The children who locked her out of the restaurant the day she died were her primary bullies, who she considered some of her best friends.

Susie: She saw her dog get run over. She threw his favorite toy out a bit too far when they were playing on a rainy night, and he chased it into the street. She followed William because she wanted to believe he was still there, and it wasn’t her fault. Her throat was slit, and her face mangled so if her corpse was found it couldn’t be recognized.

Jeremy: William set up a “puzzle game” for him and Gabriel, his best friend and basically his brother. Jeremy, excited by the game, ran straight into the trap. He was stabbed three times before having his throat slit and dying. His face was torn up similarly.

Gabriel: He was stabbed almost fifteen times before he finally died. The one blow he took after death was straight through his face.

Mitzi/Fritz: Her cause of death was similar to Cassidy, though a far less gruesome head trauma. William attempted to kill her the same as the others, but she refused to go down without a fight. She made a huge scene, pounding at the walls, kicking and punching William, and even managed to knock the knife out of his hand and run away. She didn’t get very far, though, before William, panicked and angry at her resistance, reached for her and got his hands around her pigtails. Her head was beaten against a wall until she passed out, at which point William stabbed her to “finish her off”, however the head trauma was actually what killed her.

Henry Emily: The darkest fact of all is that I somehow have not fleshed him out yet.

Jeremy Fitzgerald: Cassidy saw the Freddy masked bully in him, which is why his agony drove Toy Chica to bite him. Whether he’s the Freddy bully or unrelated I’m not sure, but I kind of like the parallel of him being the Freddy bully, I just also like the BC Jeremy so-

Scott Leskowitz (Phone Guy): It took him several hours to die in the Bonnie suit Cassidy stuffed him in. His death and the time it took knowing no one was going to help him was practically like being tortured, his body barely held together from dismemberment, and he’d begun to wonder if he’d ever die by the time it finally happened. He knew about the MCI, and realized as he was dying that he would be killed to keep it under wraps if that was what was needed. If calling him insane and gaslighting him over his schizophrenia saying he made it all up wasn’t enough because he was still alive and still knew, then this was how it was going to fucking end.

Caleb Martz: The vengeful spirits often target him for “rebirthing” Springtrap, making his life a living hell.

Vanessa: She acts as almost a mother figure to Gregory due to their own mother being neglectful and abandoning Gregory as a child. While she did lie to her therapist about her trauma, claiming her trauma matched Jesse’s, she still had a sucky childhood as she was neglected by her mother and learned to shrug off her trauma to cope. Furthermore, she was also taken advantage of by a partner in her teen years, and completely distances herself from it to the point of joking about it and insisting “no, it’s funny” so she doesn’t have to feel the pain.

Gregory: Has somniphobia and extreme fear of vulnerability. He tends to break down when he has to be emotionally vulnerable to others.

Jennifer: Her mother died shortly after her parents’ divorce. It was determined she had gotten drunk and died in a self inflicted car crash. Her dad conditioned her to believe this was her fault. She carries a ton of guilt over all these incidents and traumas that weren’t her fault.

Other random not-dark fact: Vanny and Vanessa are parallels to Caleb and Michael. Michael also serves as a similar figure to Gregory as Charlie did to the missing children, especially Cassidy. (Gregory is an obvious parallel to Cassidy lmao)

For everyone else I was like "oh my god, that's horrible" but for Vanessa I was like "hahaha, I do that :D"

#i also make uncomfortable jokes about my trauma to deflect pain #asks #answered #valleyfthdolls

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falinscloaca · 2 years

Text

unhinged rant about recent events in kill six billion demons and how it isn’t actually shitty queer tropes but also very well might be but its also not finished so who knows whats actually going to happen it makes my head hurt a bit i saw a comment on twitter mentioning it and my brain internalized the FUCK outta wanting to bring up that topic somehow somewhere all this is pointless i’m going to explode. SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ksbd: here! have some (questionably oversexualized) sapphics!

ksbd: here! have a character who was continually given transfeminine motifs actually (magic) transition! (for the record unlike the other parenthesis i don’t think this was badly handled much. (magic) is not a wince.)

ksbd twitter: hey i know this is going to look bad and i promise i hate “this trope” (???? everyone assumes it is “bury your gays” but i don’t even know if that was what he was referring to????) but you gotta trust me

ksbd: ok so one of these disappears completely (and is implicitly dead by the others dialogue + not being seen later or anything) or die trying to save protag (also.... fellas devils can revive with their masks and they can have a *chance* at preserving *some* of their identities but. the mask fucking... *melted*. its a pile of sludge. three years in the narrative past. i’m not saying her making a comeback is *impossible* but the common “oh yeah allison will put the mask back together obvi” is so stupid) (also who knows if literally precidenceless angelhumans can revive like angels do. we do not know shiiiit yet)

ksbd: the omniscient character keeps implying that everything is prewritten and is rather ambivalent on whether our “hero” has the ability to still like. DO anything significant in the grand scheme anymore. like on one hand thats sorta implied but also like the insistence that free will is an illusion doesn’t mean that the character can’t actually start trying to Accomplish gay-people-who-died-related stuff anymore LMAO. like theres still an overall “give up and move on” vibe pervading all of this (which.... are we SURE “the trope” isn’t smth about “hero uses power of love to defy death” or some related shit like “hero... is a hero in the conventional sense and saves the day”? are we SURE this is about burying your gays or fridging women or something?? did abaddon say smth on discord or somewhere????)

ksbd twitter: for once please take a character being defined one way (omniscent) at face value jesus christ guys (both related and unrelated to the whole Rocks Fall thing its just. added flavor to that whole last barely-can-even-be-called-a-paragraph)

ksbd: ok now that this whole depressing stint into our plucky implicitly-lesbian-but-never-actually-stated-to-be(PLEASE JUST CALL YOURSELF A DYKE ALICE. I. ACK. AUTHORS USE *WORDS* CHALLENGE) protagonist withering away completely is OVER, its DONE, the ultradepression segment is moving on, here comes *some guy!* (that people are making huge assumptions about being her ex-failed-fling and then making assumptions on top of that about him being here to try to help her somehow)

like, none of this is actually inherently shitty (well, none of the things that are actually the point of this, i dislike how cio and allison were framed since first official Couples Moment but that doesn’t REALLY factor in with this). gay people dying is fucking *fine* if the plot actually works. and i’m not actually worried it won’t! it *might* fucking suck but i’m not nearly as invested in “oh this is the worst thing on earth the author BETRAYED his gay fans” as the like two or three people in comments sections and tweets i saw (thus granting me this god damn thought cabinet affliction). the hyperbole that like three (other) people i’ve seen about “here comes some guy!” (which i will continue to mention like that bc even though i don’t take issue with it its FUNNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) is just *delightfully* misplaced imo. but this is still stuff thats like... i don’t want to say trouble-ING but at the very least a bit trouble-SOME? its the kind of shit that’ll seem completely different (for better or worse!!) once the story actually finishes but for now is just like..... *Ehhhhhh...*

(also a lotta people are more worked up about Cio which like, fair, she just got a god damn collectible statue made and has a massive sub-fanbase of her own, but like. she had arguably the *entire* comic being subtextually sapphic and about ~two books worth of being textually very much bi. white chain meanwhile transitions in a moment of triumph immediately before her moment of triumph gets blown the fuck up sflkdhlsdhlkhlkgsd. one (fucking LONG) fight scene later and she’s completely MIA and we have no *clue* how her dying would work out (though again thankfully for her that ambiguity means that unlike Cio her coming back to relevance one way or another is kiiiinda all but confirmed. like the possibility exists that she doesn’t get to reincarnate she’s a human now Git Gud Scrubs but that writing decision sucks so bad that not even my worst-faith version of the author would pull that lksfdjlkfsdljksfdjkl) so she’s just kinda In Limbo And We’re Supposed To Just Kinda Treat Her As “dead details pending”. it sucks ass.)

but yeah all this is like. seeing hints of genuinely fucking terrible writing flaws but they don’t *actually* exist yet but they do but they don’t yes they don’t no they do </3. (also with a queer author i wouldn’t even bat an eye at this. like who cares. in my writing ideas i have a *terrible* track record at killing anyone but i strive for the guts to just drop pianos on my hapless transsexuals)

so all in all this was pointless but if i didn’t write it i would physically explode

#ksbd spoilers #zanathan book hour #i should have a 'unproofread superego-and-id-fucking-like-spring-rabbits ranting' posts shouldn't i

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gisachi · 3 years

Note

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry, and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #lmk anon(s) if you see this and if you do then yaaay #thank you for requesting!#and thank you for reading!#:')#I have a love-hate relationship with this fic #it's only supposed to be 4 scenes #oh well it is what it is lmao #it's ok ig since this is the last (awww) from the kiss prompts!#😌#I tried so hard with a jealous Ran haha #jealous fics are good reads but writing them is hard :O

133 notes · View notes

ocs-specified · 3 years

Note

Also 🌾 ☀️ ☁️ feed me

wahoo !!! here we go !

🌾- How does this oc get along with people they just met?

☀️- Does this oc make good or bad first impressions?

(Combining the two bc i can’t shut up)

Akimi is very much forgettable to people she just meets in general, especially if introduced in a group. If she's remembered it's just as "the quiet one" since she's too shy to make a big impression. Within the killing game everyone kind of brushes over her as everyone else is so... weird. is a nice way of putting it.

Kinoko doesn't get along with anyone she meets very well. She's stand-offish and other times will flat out ignore them till they go away. Some people (Akimi) will try to be encouraging or carry on despite her ignoring them, but will ultimately give up and leave her alone.

Mitsuyo tends to get along with people well, but they assume she's pretty air-headed or not very smart. When people in the killing game first interact with her they see her as pretty sweet and kind, but probably not worth any intelligent conversation. You'll have a surface level conversation with her and then immediately forget it.

Ren leaves a similar impression to Kinoko, but most people just assume she's awkward and give her an extra moment. After a few moments most people tend to realise she's just being flat out rude when she sighs after you ask her anything and leave.

Takemi has women swooning as soon as they see her. she is so very sexy. aside from that though as soon as people start talking to her she’ll probably say smth controversial in the first five minutes and have them standing there like. huh. what. Akimi’s first meeting with her can be divided into parts. 1. Swooning. 2. ??? 3. ok im going now

Tamae is energetic as hell as soo nas she meets everyone. just immediately all of her energy in ur face. some people are immediately put off by this, some people play along for a bit, but almot nobody can consistently keep up with her. Akimi tries to keep up with her for a bit but eventually leaves mentally and physically exhausted.

Rinne uh. I need to develop her more but it’s kind of like seeing a puppy for the first time. Gets scared. hides. runs back to u. gets scared again. hides. runs back to u. etc etc. Everyone kind of gets hypnotized as they do with a puppy and plays along with it happy.

Kohina is very uh... touchy with people she just meets. mainly cus most people meet her and are like holy shit... pretty.... beautiful... please marry me. And she hates that. But within the killing game with her mask on theres kind of like. a moment of her waiting to see what u say but from there she will be perfectly polite and kind to u. Even without seeing her face u get the vibe that she’s elegant

Kousei gets along very well w like everyone he meets! like the guy u meet that makes u say “wow i rlly suck at social interaction this guy has it down” just seems like a normal nice guy

Youshirou gets along well enough but he WILL bring up religion or something up and people end up just like... slowly backing away. not even bringing up religion like “you should join my religion” but in the way of like “hey did you know Isis used to be Horus’ mother, then became his wife, and then went back to being his mother?” n ur like. no. unrelated i will be going. Akimi is just like “uh huh” nervous nodding.

Souma will ignore people like Kinoko but is less likely to flat out insult u to make u go away. Cus of his mask you dont even know if he’s awake or not which makes most people not approach him at all n others are just like “uhm....” n he pretends to be asleep. If you manage to actually get him to speak to you he’s just slow and is very clear that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t rlly leave a nice impression

Hibiko probably gets along with new people the worst. Immediately like “Haha ur pretty ugly huh” like damn. just a general bastard immediately and either starts a fight or makes people leave.

Sekitarou psycho analyzes u in the first conversation and immediately intimidates people. some peopld get scared and leave while some become kinda stand-offish. despite their differing levels of maturity he honestly gets along with people at first quite like Hibiko.

Konoha will immediately make it known he doesn’t think you’re worth his time and that you’re lower than him. So basically you’re gonna talk to him for all of 1 minute before huffing and leaving. Akimi tries her best but honestly by the end of the conversation is trying very hard not to cry.

Kei is like. People see the bag and how he’s probably covered in dirt and go oh look here’s a serial killer. but he’s a ray of sunshine and i think most people are ready to fight and kill for him and are already filling out adoption forms

Kotsu is terrifying why are you even approaching him

☁️- What is this oc's clothing style like?

Akimi is like... those pinterest outfits that look AMAZING but as soon as u look at it its like. so much stuff. your brain gets overload. She’s good at wearing basically pyjamas and making it hard to tell. Also very good with mixing colours. just general like. kawaaiiiii :3 style

Kinoko wears whatever the fuck she has to she does not care abt looking good or wearing what’s fashionable she just wears what she needs to in order to mess w fungi and whatever is comfortable. Her outfit in the killing game is the most rpesentable she’ll ever look

Mitsuyo will literally wear her bee suit literally everywhere she doesn’t care. who knows when she will have to interact with bees. Also she doesn’t like people seeing her appearance for.... reasons.

Ren doesn’t care much abt what she wears, similar to Kinoko. Wears what she has to for the day whether thats work clothes or something casual, and won’t change her outfit even if she has to go out or go somewhere more fancy.

Takemi wears those pinterest outfits with way too many belts and you honestly don’t know how they get it on but it looks so sexy so you don’t really care.

Tamae wears whatever looks fun! She doesn’t care about matching colours or wearing something that would be considered normal, she’ll just wear whatever she thinks will bring herself or other people the most joy. She has left the house in a monkey suit before.

Rinne doesn’t leave the house too much but she tends to wear very minimalistic black and white clothes that are actually pretty fancy looking. they look complicated but they’re relatively simple.

Kohina wears old fancy victorian-esque clothing. or other old time periods don’t fucking @ me i don’t know anything other than Victorian era. Anyway yeah she looks like she’s just walked out of an old castle museum at all times.

Kousei dresses like a kids show presenter. just puts on shit with as many polka dots, bows, etc as possible. he isn’t here to entertain u it’s not for u dont even look at him

Youshirou dresses like the villain from a manga i dont know. he just wears the most ominous elaborate shit possible I don’t even know where he gets it from. just goes through the bin outside of theatres after they’ve stopped performing the phantom of the opera i dont know

Souma wears exclusively thick warm clothes. just all the clothes you’d see in the shops at winter but after christmas. Honestly don’t know how he survives any other time of year

Hibiko just. throws shit on. if he thinks it has a cool design or is the colour he likes or even if he thinks it makes him look like a character from amovie he’ll just throw it on regardless of whether they go with each other or not. Just typical teenage boy

Sekitarou wears only like... fancy suits. ones youd see men wearing at red carpets n stuff yk. hoenstly too much but whatever he’s kind of sexy

Konoha just wears the mos tomcplicated outfits but only to be pretentious. needs to flex on you poor people how far above you he is. Honestly fuck him.

Kei just wears whatever’s comfortable or practical for his chickens... it’s gonna get dirty anyway so he’s not picky. whatever he does wear you can tell it’s well worn and just . comfortable in the perfect way. Not too worn but not too stiff and new

You will never see Kotsu out of his weird lab coat professor looking outfit. I don’t know i think he’s a cryptid.

#ask #🐍

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chestnut-b · 4 years

Text

Himawari - Chapter 5

A request to kindly reblog if you like the art or the story! (Still not appearing in tags, unfortunately ;_; Thank you so much!

Chapter 5 of a Demon Slayer AU.

“Please don’t go hoisting your parental duties on me just yet, sensei. Do you really want to entrust Naruto’s growth to a guy who reads Icha Icha Paradise?”

Or worse, writes it. Iruka could only laugh. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed this freely before.

He’d have to find a way to live forever now.

------------------------------------------------------------------

All Kakashi had to do was follow the yelling. Naruto’s, specifically.

Swiftly, he navigated the dark tunnels, stopping only to orient himself at the numerous forks along the way. When Naruto’s voice faded, his ears picked up the sound of waves and rushing water. That too, lasted a few short seconds before dissipating into soft echoes, but Kakashi knew he was close. The stench of death was growing stronger with each step.

He arrived just in time to see Iruka, standing seemingly still in a shallow pool of water at the base of a huge cavern, Naruto clinging to his side. Their backs bore signs of having been dragged a distance, Iruka’s more than Naruto’s. Kakashi couldn’t see if they’d sustained any injuries, but knowing the teacher, he must have taken the brunt of it on their way down here.

He gazed at Iruka’s form. That defensive stance… a breath technique?

His curiosity piqued, Kakashi resisted the urge to act, instead choosing to mask his presence. There was barely enough light being emitted from the pool for him to get a view of their grim surroundings. The corpses of beasts, predator and prey alike, littered every nook and cranny, some hung from the stalactite-covered ceiling as skeletal, brittle husks.

Soon, an ominous rattling reached his ears, followed by what could only be described as a grotesque symphony of hisses, groans and moving parts.

“Mare..chi…what a feast...ha..haha...it’s been a while since I’ve had a human meal..”a wretched voice echoed, already drunk with hunger.

Well, that confirmed it, Kakashi cursed inwardly. He’d left the cave obediently at Iruka’s request, and now they were facing a demon that was already salivating at the thought of rare blood. The slayer hadn’t spoken, nor had he moved an inch despite Naruto’s presence beside him. His hands were poised to draw his blade from its sheath at a moment’s notice.

The pool at his feet started to ripple in slow, rhythmic pulses.

There it was again. Kakashi felt a familiar, gentle wave pass over him. His presence had been felt, but Iruka made no appeal for assistance.

Let’s see what you’re made of, Iruka-sensei.

A single piece of rock fell from the ceiling, creating a secondary wave of ripples in the water. Kakashi spied a snaking form in the reflection, and in the next instant, the foe descended upon the pair.

Legs, too many legs. Kakashi cringed inwardly.

He hated centipedes.

A demon large enough to hunt monsters for prey, with a long, segmented body twice as thick as a human adult. The demon’s face and neck were nowhere to be seen, though he had a good idea of where it was hidden.

There was a flash of metal, followed by a terrible shriek of pain. The demon fell and thrashed violently in the water. With a shining blue blade, Iruka had managed to fend off the first strike, slicing off a row of legs in the process.

But there wasn’t enough strength behind Iruka’s blow to have dealt significant damage to the main body, Kakashi observed. If the path of his blade had strayed, there would have been trouble. It had been a concentrated effort, judging from the deep, controlled exhale that followed.

The teacher had taken the chance to jump back with Naruto, increasing the distance between them and their foe. The boy let out a taunt, but was quickly silenced with an extended arm and a hushed admonishment.

Just as the demon found its bearings, Iruka reached into the sleeve of his haori and in the next instant, three kunai had found their marks deep in the crevices of the centipede’s body, this time producing a sputter of indignant rage as tiny streams of blood seeped into the pool.

With a shrill shriek, the mouth of the creature pried open, and out emerged a humanesque head and torso, its skin pale and wet. Veins of purple had started to snake up its neck.

Naruto failed to rein in his cry of disgust.

“You bastard...wisteria?!” The thing screamed bloody murder.

Iruka kept silent, walking towards the demon while staring it down with an unrelenting glare. This seemed to enrage it even more, for it backed up, coiling like a snake preparing to strike. In its delirium, it opted for a head-on attack, lunging straight for the approaching slayer with blinding speed.

“Iruka-nii!”

The slayer’s strike had only opened a wide gash in its torso as it whipped past. Iruka hadn’t expected the change in trajectory. Naruto had already started running his way, and the demon adjusted its course for retaliatory strike.

“Get down!” Iruka screamed.

The boy took to the ground, arms over his head. Iruka shielded him with his own body, bracing for a direct hit.

However, nothing came but a wet crash and an inhuman screech. Iruka lifted his head in time to see one of the severed segments drop onto the ground beside him.

“Iruka-sensei, I don’t think this is what you meant when you said we’d be in time for dinner.”

Kakashi turned his head for a moment to beam moronically at the teacher. Iruka sighed in response, but favoured him with an exasperated smile in return anyway. Kakashi found himself thinking; while a glare was always an interesting look on Iruka, nothing quite looked as natural on him as a smile.

The teacher had taken a few bumps on the way down, a cut on his head bled worse than it actually was, but other than that, Kakashi saw no reason for alarm,

A sharp interruption broke his train of thought.

“Shut up. You’re late!” Naruto berated him.

Kakashi rolled his eyes, as he was prone to doing when around the boy.

He wasn’t late; it was in fact, a strategically delayed entry.

Nevertheless, the Hashira approached the writhing demon, gleaming black blade in hand.

“Hey, where’s your master? I’ll make it a painless death if you tell me.”

There was no coherent or useful answer to be gleaned in the screams that followed.

”That’s a pity. Well, be seeing you then.”

Contrary to his threat, Kakashi took the demon’s head clean off with one silent, clean strike. Soon after, the body started its slow disintegration into black ash.

“May you find peace...and light on the other side.”

He knew full well it wasn’t meant for him, but something in that gentle voice made Kakashi’s heart stir in a way it hadn’t for a long time. For a moment, his father’s visage surfaced in his mind.

He turned back to the pair, only to see Iruka looking into the eyes of the fallen demon. On his exhausted face was a genuinely forlorn expression. The demon stared silently, but a single tear joined the rest of the pool at their feet, creating a final ripple before the last of the body disappeared for good.

“Iruka-nii!” Naruto cried, bearing the now slumped Iruka on his shoulder. He’d lost consciousness.

Kakashi flicked the blood off his sword before returning it to its sheath, doing the same for Iruka’s. He passed the sheathed blade to Naruto before picking the teacher up into his arms. Truthfully, he would have wanted to see the reaction on his face had he been awake, but instead Kakashi was met with another somber realisation; Iruka was a half a head shorter than Kakashi at most, but his weight scarcely reflected it. He didn’t have time to ponder for long before a subdued voice spoke out.

“Is he going to be ok?” It was one of those times when Naruto sounded the most like the 7 year old child he was.

“He’ll be fine. Sensei’s stronger than he looks.”

His gaze lingered on Iruka’s worn face just a bit longer.

When my time comes, will you pray for me too, sensei?

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sound was always the first thing to come to him when he woke up. He remembered the chirping of birds or summer cicadas, his mother’s humming as she laid out breakfast, or his father’s stern but warm voice as he trained at dawn.

In this place was the gentle crackle of a fire, the rush of trees and grass swaying in the wind, and the rhythmic pitter-patter of a light rain hitting stone. On his right could only be Naruto’s soft snoring. The weight of fabric over his shoulders felt like a warm embrace. He wanted desperately to lose himself in the sheer comfort of the composition, but Iruka knew he was not lying in his room or in his bed.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes to see a soft orange glow in the stone ceiling above him.

“Good evening, sensei.”

And there was Kakashi.

Iruka cringed as he struggled to sit himself upright, every part of him ached. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he could feel every bump and bruise all over again. He turned to his right to see Naruto, sleeping like a log, wrapped in Iruka’s haori. Seeing that, he looked down at his own lap to see what could only be Kakashi’s haori. It was a deep maroon that at times shone a silk-like black under the right light. It was beautiful, and, looking at it up close like he was now, easy to get lost in its richness. He removed his arms from under the coat, and was surprised to see the cuts and scrapes that his hands had suffered had been cleaned and carefully bandaged. The red braided cord he used to tie his hair was neatly rolled and left in his palm.

“I had to look into your bag to see if there was anything we could use, sorry sensei.”

The Hashira had saved their lives, and now he was apologising? Iruka wondered if all the pillars were as odd as this one. Iruka shook his head before taking in his surroundings. They were still in the same cave, and judging from the height of the moon outside, it was just after midnight.

The wind brought a slight chill, but the worst of it was fended off by the warmth of the fire and the haori that had been draped over him. His hair, now spilling over his shoulders, protected his neck from the worst of the cold. He turned to Kakashi, dressed in only the standard blacks, gently lit by the moonlight as he sat closer to the mouth of the cave.

He looks cold.

“How are you feeling?”

Like crap, if he was going to be truthful. But it must have been miles better than being a drained shell of a meal for a demon.

“I’ll survive.”

Iruka struggled to his feet. Taking the haori along with him, he offered it back to Kakashi, who merely smiled and shook his head.

“You should get back to sleep. You need it.”

“Right. So we’re sharing then.”

“What?”

Iruka draped the haori back onto Kakashi’s shoulders. But instead of returning to where he’d been lying, he plopped himself bodily next to Kakashi, pressing their shoulders together before wrapping the other half of the haori around himself. Kakashi let out a warm, amused chuckle that vibrated through his battered body. He dug his face into his knees. The heat he felt rising to his cheeks wasn’t from the warmth of the fire.

“That’s what you get for being stubborn about it.”

“Oh sensei, If we’re going to be children here, how about a bed-time story?”

There was a rustle of paper, and Iruka lifted his head to see a very child-unfriendly woodblock-printed illustration shoved right in his face.

“What the hell is this?!” He hissed indignantly, swatting the book away from his face. Kakashi’s hand retreated with it before any damage could have been dealt.

“Jiraiya-sensei’s latest work. Icha-Icha Paradise: Romance in the Floating World! He left the manuscript in his-, I mean, my room, as a way of keeping me occupied while I play babysitter.”

Iruka swore he had never heard the man sound this happy. He looked so satisfied thumbing through the book with the brightest orange washi-paper cover he’d ever seen that Iruka couldn’t help but think himself an idiot. Because, even just for a moment, he’d thought Kakashi looked quite dignified, sitting there in the moonlight.

Iruka had never been so wrong.

Beside him sat the strongest of the Hashira, legendary user of multiple breath-styles; Hatake Kakashi, and he was reading porn in a cave. Iruka was dumbstruck.

Maybe this is all a dream, or maybe I did get eaten by the demon and I’m in hell where I belong.

But Naruto was here too, so that couldn’t be it. He groaned, rubbing his forehead. That had been carefully bandaged too.

“I suppose this is why you didn’t try to get us back tonight.” He’d shown Kakashi the map, he knew where the entry points were.

Kakashi nodded solemnly. “I hate getting wet even under normal circumstances. If Jiraiya found out I destroyed his manuscript, well, I’m not sure if there will be any of me left for the demons, sensei.” He didn’t know if the shiver Kakashi produced was real or mere parody.

“Plus, it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Iruka couldn’t deny that part. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept rough like this, but he felt the same sentiment. He’d remember this night, and not just for the scenery and soundscape.

Jiraiya-sama. It wasn’t the first time he had met the man, but he’d taken the task of observing Naruto even less seriously than Kakashi had at first, spending most of his time in the town taverns or in his room. He’d requested a good supply of paper and ink blocks upon his arrival. So this is what they were for. Iruka sighed, what a waste of good writing materials. As if they weren’t troublesome enough to obtain too.

The books though; he’d seen them as he browsed the town’s bookshops. They stood out in the most indiscreet fashion possible, Iruka’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to them. Kotetsu had been bugging him to buy one on his trips there, but once he saw the title, he decided there were definitely better uses for his limited savings. He never expected the author and the esteemed retired Hashira to be one in the same Jiraiya.

The sounds of water that surrounded them made Iruka realise how thirsty he was. He placed a hand on his throat in an attempt to soothe it. Another article was soon in his line of sight, a bamboo water canteen.

“Sorry I couldn’t get it to you sooner.” He’d sounded genuinely apologetic, and it wasn’t just about the water either. Iruka shook his head. He’d have apologised too, for being this weak, but Kakashi had witnessed it for himself plenty by now. Nevertheless, he took the water gratefully. Gingerly, he reached into his pocket, taking out a small sachet. He emptied its contents into his mouth before taking a large swig of water.

From the day he was born, it never failed to taste absolutely awful.

Kakashi chuckled. The reaction on his face must have been too obvious.

“Mustn’t be easy being a Senju huh, Umino Iruka-kun.”

Iruka blinked at him before bursting out laughing. He was grateful Kakashi had waited for him to swallow before bringing that one out.

How many years had it been since he’d heard those two names in the same sentence.

“You must have been a great student, Kakashi-san.”

“Quite the contrary, Minato-sensei was just about ready to kill me himself. Too many questions can be a problem, apparently.”

If there was a time Iruka could relate to Naruto’s late Father, it was right at this moment.

“When did you realise?” Iruka sighed, he’d laughed so hard, he had to wipe the tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Kakashi turned his head, his one eye, grey as stone, gazed at him warmly.

“Maa, my suspicions were just about confirmed today, actually.”

“Please, do enlighten me.”

Kakashi made a pleased sound, nodding his head.

“Firstly, Sarutobi doesn’t take just anyone as a student. No offence, sensei, but physically speaking, you’re not the strongest combatant. So there had to be other reasons for him to keep you around, especially knowing what happened between you and Naruto that day.”

Iruka nodded slowly. He’d barely made it through every Hashira training session that Kakashi had been instructed to conduct when he was posted at the school. Iruka, like everyone else there, dreaded those days the most,

“Secondly, Your earrings. Sea-glass from the Uzumaki coast, and a bit too expensive for a commoner’s family. It’s not just where the Uzumaki came from, the Senju had long been there before moving further east. Not the strongest evidence, I admit, but there it is.”

Unconsciously, Iruka’s hand had moved to touch the earring on his left ear. The only things he had left of his Mother.

“Thirdly, that troublesome condition of yours. The stuff you take for it, smells just like what they get delivered to the main estate. Not envious of that one at all, sensei.”

Iruka chuckled, and swore to himself he’d sneak it into Kakashi’s tea one day. It would be a difficult task, with his hound-like sense of smell, but he’d find a way.

“Anything else?”

“Hmmm. A man you share your family name with, Umino Ikaku, famously spiriting away Kohari, a Daughter of Senju, even one from a minor branch family, caused a bit of a stir at the time, even though I was a kid when I heard about it. Father found it pretty amusing, like a Shinobi love-story come to life. Maybe that’s where I got it from.” He mused, waving the book in his hand.

That he had the audacity to even mention the two stories in the same breath. It was enough to make Iruka burst a blood vessel, but he settled for a hard shove in Kakashi’s direction. If he was lucky, that book would find itself tinder for the fire by sunrise.

“Also.” Kakashi continued, glancing at the red cord bunched in Iruka’s fist. It had been gifted to him by his Father when he’d hit his first bullseye with a kunai.

“You may not know this, but with your hair down, you’re a splitting image of Oyakata-sama.”

Iruka sighed. He’d never stepped foot on the Senju Estate, never set eyes on the great Senju-Hashirama. Sometimes, his Mother would mention it as she combed through his hair, how much they looked alike. But Iruka had no point of reference, and so had never thought much about it.

But in hindsight, Sarutobi had always been soft on him. The Hashira designation wasn’t that old, and Sarutobi had been one of the first named Hashira, after the great founder himself. Great warriors, all, each carrying part of his name into battle with their sworn enemies.

Iruka started when he felt a gloved hand grab his. Kakashi lifted it up and pulled the sleeve back, looking at his arm as if he expected something to materialise if he stared hard enough.

“I’d ask you for your password, but we both know nothing will come of it. Right, sensei?”

Checkmate.

He’d never been through the final selection, and was thus, a rankless pretender.

Iruka took back his arm and hugged his knees. Despite the fire and Kakashi’s warmth beside him, he felt the chill of guilt spread through his body.

“The Senju lead the Slayers, send good men and women to die for their mistakes, and yet…...we can’t join them.”

“Well, but here you are on the ground. Fighting alongside everyone else. I think that’s pretty admirable, wouldn’t you say?”

Iruka glanced at the sleeping boy, He’d done well today. Despite the chaos of his first demon encounter, he kept himself calm, as calm as Naruto could be, anyway. Children of experienced slayers might not have stood as steadily as he did. His reaction to the wisteria gave Iruka so much hope too, even if the boy didn’t realise it himself.

He’d be a fine warrior one day, if he chose to walk the path.

“Naruto’s going to get stronger and stronger. Eventually, I’ll just be a burden on him.” Iruka whispered, how many times had he regretted his weakness, his cursed inheritance.

“On the contrary, sensei. You showed him there’s someone out there who’s willing to lay down their life for him.” Kakashi’s voice was as warm as the fire. “He kept watch over you until he fell asleep, you know. He’s not going to forget what you did for him. What you continue to do for him, every day.”

Iruka burrowed his head deeper. He was so tired, there were no more tears to let fall.

“Kakashi-san, if I’m not around……”

“Please don’t go hoisting your parental duties on me just yet, sensei. Do you really want to entrust Naruto’s growth to a guy who reads Icha Icha Paradise?”

Or worse, writes it. Iruka could only laugh. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed this freely before. He’d have to find a way to live forever now. He lifted his head to look Kakashi in the eye.

“You know, the Senju are famously short lived.”

“And wielders of black blades and demon marks are said to be short-lived too. Slayers fall in battle every day, sensei. You could say that we are the lucky ones.” He said, tapping his eye-patch.

For the second time that night, Iruka felt tremendously stupid.

“So, if you want to keep me accountable, try to outlive me, won’t you, Umino Iruka-sensei? For both our sakes.” An arm had landed around Iruka’s shoulders.

Warm. Kakashi had stripped him bare, but he’d never felt this way, not since his parents left. But he had no strength left to cry, and so his response was reduced to a single nod.

“Even if I hadn’t been there, I know you would have protected him no matter what, Iruka.” His voice was already slipping away.

Kakashi was a weird Hashira.

Those were his last thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness.

For the first time in years, Iruka dreamt of his parents, still alive, and it was a happy, warm dream.

Author’s Notes:

A nice meaty chapter which much to chew on! A chapter which was a joy to write from start to finish. I’d love to hear what you think about it (and the reveals at the end!)

Terminology:

Marechi: Humans with Rare Blood, drives demons mad with hunger.

Password and Rank: Confirmed slayers have their rank engraved on their arms, it's supposed to appear using a password.

Oyakata-sama: Another term for 'leader'.

#kakairu #iruka #kakashi #naruto #iruka umino #umino iruka

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argumentl · 3 years

Text

The Freedom of Expression Ep 14 - The Party To Protect The People From The NHK (N Koku Party) commences "Same sex, same name stealth operation".

K: Hi this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome....Well, recently, who knows whats really happening?

J: Yeh, its troubling. I've been spending a lot longer looking at my phone and computer. I've been getting a lot of coupons. My favourite shops or brands are all going online...well, no ones going into the shops, so they can only sell online. So i've been getting coupons like, if you spend over a certain amount, you'll get 20,000yen off.

T: I see.

J: I think like, 'Waa, I wanna spend!'..but then I think, actually since April, I've had less work so I need to restrain myself. I experience this conflict every day for about 15mins. Like, whats wrong with me?

T: I see.

J: Thats thier strategy.

K: If you have free time...

J: Thats it.

K: You'll end up spending money.

J: Normally, they have expirations, and I just think 'Aghh', so its really...

K: You can't help buying stuff, right?

J: I do end up buying stuff!

K, T: *laugh*

J: I really do! I bet there are people out there addicted to coupons! Aren't you? Are you ok?

K: Well, im ok. I just shop by mail order.

J: Ahh

T: I see

J: People are shopping like that a lot right now.

T: Hiranabe san, who works at our place, he's got a lot of offers from night time establishments, and he's troubled as to what to do.

J: Oh, to get him to go there?

T: Yeah. He got an unprecedented amount of messages.

K: (quietly) Unprecedented?

T: Like, 'please come, please come, please come'.

K: He only gets them now? Cause he'll be quick to spend.

J: How is Hiranabe san doing?

T: Well, as expected, he seems scared. He's in his 50s, it looks like he finally understands that his life might be in danger if he caught the virus. He wears a mask, he wears pollen protection glasses. When he goes outside he's like..'the virus won't get in my eyes'.

J: Sounds like a terrorist! Thats just like him.

T: He flipped 180°. He used to be the guy who says, 'Im not wearing a mask'.

J: Oh, really?

T: He's that different now.

J: Well, Im a similar age to Hiranabe san...

T: I can't believe it!

K: I can't believe it.

J: So, what was it?..Its risky, if you are over 50 its more dangerous?

K: Ohh right, yeah.

J: If you catch it, there's a higher death rate at this age?

T: Also, men are more at risk, right?

K: Yeah.

T: They are saying the death rate is higher for men.

J: Well, we are among that group. Shall we get on with the main topic? I thought we'd go with a topic that is unrelated to corona this time.

' "N Koku Party's 'same name, same sex' stealth strategy for Shizuoka no.4 district Lower house by-election". With the death of Mochizuki Yoshio, the LDP's former environment minister, candidates standing for election are the LDP's Fukuzawa Youichi, an independent group of the unified opposition's Tanaka Ken, independent candidate Yamaguchi Kenzo, and the Party Against the NHK (N Koku Party)'s Tanaka Ken, whose name is the same as the unified opposition's candidate. N Koku's Tanaka Ken uses the same kanji, and has the same reading as the unified opposition's Tanaka Ken. The opposition parties, electoral commission, and local media are racking thier brains about it. If a vote is for 'Tanaka Ken', there will be no way to distinguish between the two. Its a proportional division system, so ambiguous votes will be split according to the overall percentage of votes. The electoral administrative committee have taken measures to change the rule that makes a ballot paper invalid if it includes anything other than a candidate's name, to allow a candidate's age to be written aswell. As a result of this, with the aim of reducing ambiguous votes, the unified opposition are promoting 'Tanaka Ken - Age 42' in thier election cars, posters, and online in order to attract votes. On the other hand, N Koku's Tanaka Ken surprisingly hasn't taken any action. He has refused pre-election interviews with the media, hasn't published an campaign bulletin, he doesn't appear in election posters, he has no plans to visit the area. There are expected to be people voting who are unaware that two Tanakas are standing for election. As for N Koku's aim, their leader, Tachibana, had this to say.."We want to test how the votes will be split when there are candidates with exactly the same name. We are not appealing for votes either online or on the ground. We are a weak political party, and want to know how we stand *1'.

There's also suggestion of running another female candidate named Koike Yuriko for Tokyo governer. I thought we could talk about this kind of same name/sex disturbance strategy which the N Koku party has set up.

T: Its amazing, isn't it?

K: So are they doing it to siphon votes?

J: It seems like it, yeah. Especially, that would be the aim if it was for Tokyo Governor.

T: They said they wanted to test how the votes would be split, so like you said Joe, for Tokyo Governor, if it was someone else called Koike Yuriko, they would want to get the data of how the votes are split.

J: Well, its not about freedom of expression, but there is nothing illegal about what they are doing in terms of the election, so its totally ok for them to do this. What do you think, Kaoru?

K: Well..*laughs*, even if you ask.....its interesting but...how will it end up? But, well, hmmm...its fine, isn't it?

J: As it happens, I've been on a radio event with Tachibana san once. And also...well, in this kind of election, a candidate who no one is expected to vote for is called a bubble candidate, the most famous example is Mac Akasaka. I've worked with Mac Akasaka before, so I've listened to what these kind of guys have to say. I mean, certainly, these guys are laughed at and made fun of a lot, but apart from the question of what Tachibana Takashi is doing, to be a candidate for Tokyo Governor, you have to pay a deposit of at least 3 million yen. And if you recieve under a tenth of the total valid votes, you have to forfeit your deposit. The Tokyo Governor elections get about 5 million votes, so if you get under 500,000 votes, you will lose your deposited 3 million yen. As for national elections, the deposit is 6 million yen. So you can call it a prank all you like, but they are spending a lot of money to do this. What a lot of bubble candidates will tell you is, its not free, so they are doing this with the intention to win, they do think thier ideas will improve the country, improve thier party. If there was no financial risk, it would end up at the level of annonymous postings on SNS. But after they've actually paid money, most of them will start electoneering. Making election posters costs money, and there's the cost of gas to run a car to go handing out flyers, and all sorts of things like that. It will end up costing another huge chunk of money in election costs. So in doing this, there is another side to these guys other than, 'they are just idiots'. Maybe they are trying to get people to change the way they see elections, instead of just routinely voting for the faces they know.

T: Well this case has great advertising effectiveness.

J: It does, yeah.

T: Tachibana san's name has really been sold with this.

J: It has.

T: Like, with his own business, and on you tube and stuff *2.

J: Well, as for my personal opinion, I remember Uchida Yuuya running for Tokyo Governor. You can still find his political broadcast on youtube, its great. If you compare Yuuya san to Tachibana san, honestly, Tachibana san seems to have more of a knack for it.

T: Its interesting seeing that kind of political broadcast on NHK. ????*3

J: Well, even in times such as these, we are still having elections. From now on, due to corona we'll probably see new ways to vote and new ways to do all sorts of other things.

K: Its created a need to re-think things, like with the custom of personal seals...in Japan there's a big custom of 'You have to do it this way', or 'You need it on paper'.

J: Yeah, as you mentioned Kaoru, the custom of using personal seals...in the end, even Japan's IT minister also stands as the head of the organization to retain personal seals. Somehow in Japanese society, one of the things companies insist on is the personal seal. There are those who ask why they can't just settle things digitally, but if the minister responsibile for advancing IT is also the head of a group advocating to retain the personal seal, there is a clash going on now. This is the kind of time to think about changing the political system.

T: Things would change a lot if we switched to online voting.

J: They would change, yeah. If young people started voting a lot online...

K: Yeah, right now, in the situation we have now, I think people are starting to think about future.

J: Yes, in that respect, although its very difficult with corona around, I feel like we are starting to wake up to the things we have just put up with till now. I mean, what comes next? In particular, with coronavirus, a lot of countries' governments have taken on huge powers, and in some countries its almost like a corona dictatorship. So, its very difficult, but we really need to slightly re-think the way we carry out elections and the way the state operates from now.

T: We, ourselves are a part of it, right?

J: Yes, yes...Yep, so, same sex, same name...it even hard to search for him. I wonder what this candiate actually intends. ?????*4

K: He's not showing his face much.

J: What will he do if he wins? ...Eh? Hello??

K: Is he sleeping?

Kami: Yes, yes.

J: Were you asleep, Kami?

Kami: No, I was waiting till you called on me.

J: Oh, you were waiting? Oh, sorry.

Kami: I've had a thought.

J: Oh, have you?

Kami: I have...Um, Joe should run for the N Koku Party.

J: *laughs*

K, T: Ohhh

J: Me?!

T: Thats a good idea.

J: Would it be ok, though?

T: In the Tokyo Governor election.

J: In the Tokyo Governor election? Which election?

Kami: It would be ok, yeah.

J: Would it?

Kami: Yeah, anything is ok.

J: *laughs* You couldn't participate in the election could you, Kami? You don't have voting rights?

Kami: No, I don't, but instead, I can make myself into substance.

J: What?

Kami: By pretending to be a citizen.

T: Prentending to be a citizen?

J: Oh, is that it?

K: So that means you could pile up votes for someone?

J: Right?

Kami:...No, I can only do it once.

J: Oh, so you can only take on substance once?

Kami: Yeah, yeah...a bit like Devilman.

T: Ah, like Devilman.

J: But if you could do that, surely you'd be able to do it will two or three people? I feel as if you've just made that up.

*K laughs*

J: Did you just make that up, Kami?

Kami:...Yes, I did.

K: *laughs*

J: He did.

K: I feel like his heart hasn't been in it for a while now.

T: *laughs*

J: Kami, has your mind been elsewhere?

Kami: Ye...uh, no no no.

K: He said yes!

J: *laughs*

Kami: Crush the NHK.

J: Yes, crush it.

K: Well, on that note, I think we can finish here. Thank you, please tune in next time. Please subscribe, thank you very much.

J: Please do.

Kami: Vote for Joe!

*1 I think the confusion arises here, because rather than ticking a box, Japanese voters have to actually write down the name of the person they are voting for.

*2 Think thats what he meant.

*3,4 Couldn't catch these bits.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #kaoru #薫

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nightcoremoon · 3 years

Text

so for the first time I saw batman: the killing joke.

...

it was okay I guess. but massively overrated. I expected some fucking masterpiece of cinema but instead it was just two unrelated short films that were more style and flash than substance.

so first off, barbara's storyline was mediocre. franz wasn't a compelling villain; just a creep, and a trust fund brat. oh wow he's a mafia kid who stole his family's fortune by hacking. if it was the falcone family I'd have cared more but it wasn't so it's just some faceless deathfodder rando. who gives a shit. the whole situation was just a vehicle to shove batman's dick into babs. which kinda fucks over bruce's character here and judging by the timeline kinda makes him a bit of a groomer, yikes. bruce and gordon have known each other since bruce was a young boy and we know that bruce is way older than babs so yeah bruce totally knew her from birth until present day, he literally utilized an active power dynamic to police her crimefighting activities, and he should have fucking known better and stopped her when she kissed him because it would (and did) compromise their professional dynamic, but hey, batdick. and at least barbara recognized that she was behaving emotionally rather than logically when it came to bruce and paris and took the high road out. that would be a serviceable standalone episode to write her on a bus in a serialization but THIS IS A MOVIE. so for a waste of an already short runtime it's like having an appetizer before your meal but instead of something like a crab cake before stuffed flounder, you get greasy onion petals that are more fried batter than onion before getting a well done cheeseburger that's just a glorified hockey puck on a sponge with a kraft single on top. the animation and vocal delivery were excellent of course, not gonna disparage that aspect, so it was well made, but the writing was just not very good. a polished turd. quantic dream must have developed it then because it feels like I watched a david cage production.

so in a 78 minute movie, five of which were the credits, we had a half hour Disney/Pixar short except those bring joy and this brought boring. also there were a lot of shots of her ass tits and underwear that were obnoxiously male-gazey and there was a token gay for the sole purpose of dangling a carrot on a stick for the queers. look kids, warner brothers and dc comics cares about the lgbts! give us money! a waste of time before the real reason why anyone came to see the movie that literally only exists to pad out the runtime to make it a feature length (even though paying a full ticket would've been a total ripoff because, again, IT WAS ONLY 78. even 9 was 81 minutes long and that had an amazing storyline so I forgave it, but 78 minutes? ugh.

also, GOTHAM RAGE??? CRINGE. SO CRINGE.

alright now for the joker segment.

*ahem*

what the fuck? that sucked! *throws tomato*

mark hamill and the joker's lines and the art and the cinematography and the choreography was all good and the plot was cohesive. I get it.

but holy shit was the writing weak as fuck.

okay so some rando breaks the J-ster out of Arkham (already unlikely but ugh whatever), he didn't turn a trick or recruit or anything, he just went to purchase a carnival. or, steal one. but wait, he DID recruit, but he went to get all of the stereotypical Circus Freak™ stereotypes. little people, fat lady, bearded lady, wolf man, strongman, diaper man (wait, what?), and the two headed woman. I guess if you don't really think about why all of them were super readily available in the outskirts between arkham and gotham [i just realized they both end with -am] then it makes enough sense. and then literally right after that HE RECRUITS SOME GUYS TO HELP HIM KIDNAP GORDON. and then strips and photographs barbara. um. ew. you can tell the writer and director were men. Alan Moore is constantly molesting women in his comics and this one trick pony should be put down already. but whatever. the plot is weak and it only gets saved by the flashback sequences.

oh.

oh no.

they're not that great.

he's a failed unfunny comedian who just wants some money to move his wife to a better house so he turns to thievery with the mob. OR YOU COULD JUST STOP GOING TO THE BAR AND BLOWING IT ALL ON BOOZE. I mean the cops knew where to find him after all so clearly he's a repeat customer (or moore is a bad plot writer who relies on convenience and shut the fuck up and don't critically analyze it). alright so he gets wrapped up in the mob to perform a heist on a playing card factory. GET IT, BECAUSE HE'S THE JOKER??? and he uses the moniker of the red hood to retain his anonymity. I expected the mobsters to be working for francisco but no the paris storyline was only cooked up screenplay for passing the runtime so why would they do something clever and interesting and make the film cohesive? that'd be really stupid to make the movie feel more like one movie and not two short films. at least when grindhouse & planet terror did it they advertised themselves as an anthology film. whatever. he falls in the vat of acid which melts the red hood to his face and I gotta say that's actually a pretty good idea to get his face white and his hair green and his lips red. I like that part. oh wait I forgot about the most important part! his wife gets shoved in the refrigerator. OH WOW THAT'S JUST SO COMPELLING AND ORIGINAL, TOTALLY NOT SOMETHING THAT ALREADY HAPPENED TO GREEN LANTERN. TWICE. although she wasn't literally shoved into a literal refrigerator like alex was. rip in frozen pieces you absolute legend of a trope namer. alright, so... so the joker is sad because his wife died. you know, the wife we saw for two minutes and knew the moment we saw her drenched in sepia she was gonna die. and she died offscreen. kyle's gf died and he was fine. gordon's wife died and he was fine. batman's parents both died and he was fine. oh boo hoo someone I love died! fuck off. I am so goddamn sick of people trying to justify their evil with "I was sad once". it's a stupid trope and it's not compelling. the only valid version is doctor doofenshmirtz' evil(er) version in the PF movie because it's hilarious that it's because of a toy train because that's the emotional depth that fridgewomen is treated with in all of these storylines. but at least batman said so. oh yeah, I almost totally forgot, batman's in this movie.

batman punches people and nonlethally takes them out. by suffocating them and letting them get stabbed and throwing them into pits of spikes and HEY WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND! okay let's just ignore that bit and hope that the little people squeezed between the gaps in the spikes and the strongman could breathe in the face mask and the two headed women had KO gas and the fat lady was fat enough that the knives only stabbed her cellulite. it wouldn't be the biggest reach one would have to make in watching this fucking disaster of a plot mess.

now I did like that it was actually batman, and by that I mean he gave a shit about the insane because he recognizes that mental illness is not a cause of dangerous or criminal behavior, just a potential exacerbating factor if it wasn't treated. yeah he brutalized mobsters and crime lords but they were mostly in self defense while gathering intel. he politely asked sal maroni and the sex workers for information and they gave it to him without violence- he manhandled maroni but only after he reached into his pocket for a cigar which could've been a gun. also batman says sex work should be decriminalized if only by not ratting them out to the cops. he was a genuinely good person in the second half of the movie. too bad it was ruined by the shitty first half that made him a borderline groomer.

joker's song was... bad. mark hamill performed his ass off but the song wasn't that good. it just tried to be willy wonka if he was a voyeuristic monster. oh yeah have the only girl character be paralyzed stripped and photographed only to give her father ManPain™. again... the fuck? joker and batman were both gross but, again. male writers. if it was a one-off I could drop a thermian argument because, alright one and done makes sense, especially 1988 standards. but it saturated and soured the entire goddamn movie because of abhorrent pacing decisions. so you're goddamn right I'm gonna bring it up twice! joker was a creep, his plan was dumb, nolan and burton and lord/miller and even ayer had better motivations. YES I AM SAYING THAT JARED LETO'S JOKER HAD BETTER WRITING THAN MARK HAMILL'S JOKER. not nearly to the level of ledger nicholson or galifanakis but hamill didn't have a lot to work with here and I maintain that his performance was amazing; honestly I like his the best out of all of them but just... not here. but I think I can cut some slack to firelord ozai and luke skywalker even if he just phoned it in here which he didn't. writing was just weak. and that's all there is to it. don't anon me and threaten to remove my bones ok?

alright so batman and joker fought and joker got the upper hand and was gonna kill him but it was a prop gun. haha. they had a heart to heart and batman tells joker that he wants to help him get better, even after joker killed robin and molested barbara and traumatized gordon and did countless other travesties, he still said he would help. but joker said no, and told a joke that was good enough to make batman laugh. and then the credits rolled.

...

what a completely pointless and empty ending. oh it's deep and meaningful and poignant? ok sure, I guess, movie, but you didn't earn that. shyamalan did the same thing a dozen times. that doesn't make him any less of a shit writer.

I can understand the concept of batman laughing at joker's joke, humanizing him.

I get it. I see what they tried to do. I respect it.

but this movie was massively overhyped and overrated and I expected it to be so much better than it was. but overall to me it was just another batman cartoon to throw on top of the pile. maybe it was influential to graphic novels. maybe it shaped batman into what he is today. it published right as tim burton's movie and I can respect its place in the pantheon of comic history. but sometimes things that are classic...

aren't that great.

citizen kane, casablanca, the maltese falcon, the treasure of the sierra madre, gone with the wind, singing in the rain, all of them are classic and legendary pieces of art. but they're just not that good, interesting, appealing, watchable, or FUN. they were good at the time- I mean come on we all know them today- but on going back you'd have to really appreciate the finer details to still love the movies today. and this belongs there, in the vault, to be appreciated from afar. influential if dated.

but god am I still disappointed nonetheless.

TL;DR

it was just okay. had some good ideas, had some really bad ideas, had some ugly stuff. overall mediocre. first half 5/10, second half 7/10, overall 6/10.

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pra370r1an · 3 years

Text

Lost Santos Dreams - TOH/Fake AH Crossover

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233251 TW: Blood, Violence, Death

New to Los Santos, the Beta crew dream to make it big. However, they're about to learn the hard way why the top gang has an almost mythical status in the criminal underworld...

“I’m not wearing that!”

“Oh, calm down. It’s cute!”

“I said I wanted a lion, Noceda!” Amity snarled.

“It is a lion!” Luz held up the lion mask, complete with a bright cheerful smile and rosy cheeks.

“I wanted a fierce one, not a children’s mask! There was a bloody lion mask there last week, why didn’t you get that one!?”

“Then you should have bought them! Besides this way we match!” Luz held up her own mask, a winking otter with a wide smile. “Back me up here Willow!”

Willow sat driving next to Luz, sunny sunflower mask already on her face. She turned and briefly glanced at Luz, who was half turned around to see Amity in the back of the van.

“This seems like a lot of arguing for something we are going to destroy later, since its EVIDENCE.”

“Oh, you’re both no fun,” Luz sat back and pouted. She tossed the lion mask into the back, “Just wear the damn thing, Blight.”

A voice crackled in her earpiece, “Are you guys done fighting each other? Cuz there’s still a job to do.”

Willow raised a finger to her ear to respond, “They’re fine Gus. Just how they are. Now we’re almost there so codenames people. Illusionist run us through one last time.”

“You got it Venus. The three of you go in. Princess kills security and controls the crowd while Luzura beelines to the tellers and stops the panic buttons.”

“Don’t fuck it up Luzura,” Amity teased from the backseat.

“SHHH, I’m trying to listen,” Luz whispered overly dramatically while pointing towards her earpiece.

“Quiet in the peanut gallery,” Gus deadpanned. “Meanwhile, Venus grabs the manager and grabs whatever she can from the vault.” Willow grunted from the front seat, too focused on driving in a mask to contribute. “All the while, I’ll work my magic and keep the alarms off and the cops off your backs. Simple.”

“It’s never that simple Twerp,” Amity grumbled as she put the mask on, and fixed her hair over it. The dyed green hair forming the lion’s mane around her mask.

“Why do you keep calling me that, Princess?” Gus groaned. “Alright I’m all set up here, ready to go when you are.”

“We’re here,” Willow pulled over outside of Grand National Bank.

“What’s that tag?” Luz looked at some graffiti on the bank by an alley, a green rubber duckie encircled in a green crosshair.

“It’s how gangs claim territory in Los Santos,” Amity double checked her rifle before cocking it. “It’s nothing to worry about. No self-respecting gang would use a rubber duckie,” She scoffed.

“You did check this place with Ed- er… the Owl Lady, right?” Luz asked Willow. “I don’t want our first official act in this city to be piss off a major gang.”

“It’s fine Luzura,” Willow double checked her body armor.

“Would you stop worrying?” Amity snapped. “We’ll be in and out before anyone is the wiser.”

Luz glared back at Amity, “Fine.” She grabbed her bat and opened the door.

The girls exited the van, and Luz took the three in. Willow had her usual trenchcoat on, hair cut short and combat boots, the sunflower mask a sharp difference from her outfit. Amity for some reason wore a bright pink outfit, skirt and all; which with the smiling lion mask gave a vibe of cheerleader at Halloween. Only the spiked bracelets and collar contributed to the danger of the AK she wielded. Luz had stuck with the classic, a striped shirt and green army jacket with a beanie. Of course, the winking otter mask sealed the deal.

With a quick nod, the three hurried up the stairs. Luz was the first to the door bodychecking it open and sprinting inside. Willow hurried in next and Amity strolled casually after, her assault rifle already leveling at the security guards.

Willow raised her pistol and let out a burst into the air, Civilians screamed and cowered away from them.

“HANDS UP AND GET DOWN NOW!” Amity threatened the under armed security guards with her ‘Blight’ voice. A tone which commanded respect.

Luz, running a fair distance ahead, raised her bat and slammed it into a lone guard on the other side as she passed. The man crumpled and Luz kicked open the door to the tellers.

“ALRIGHT HANDS UP! THIS IS A STICK UP!” She shouted as she threatened the tellers with her pistol. The tellers threw their hands away from the panic buttons and towards the ceiling.

“Oh my god, can you be more cliche?” Amity grumbled.

“No fighting,” Willow commanded as she hauled some well-dressed man up off the floor. “Ok, Mister Manager. Time to see the safe.”

“I-I don’t understand! We paid for this month, why are you here!?”

“Shut up and move!” Willow shoved him towards the back.

Luz meanwhile led all the tellers out of their room and had them lay with the rest of the hostages. Amity patrolled the room, her rifle just itching and a growl in her throat.

“Tellers secured,” Luz announced as the last person exited the room.

“Good work Luzura. How’s it going in the vault Venus?” Gus asked.

“This asshole won’t stop blabbing about the Fakes? Ever heard of them?”

“Sounds familiar, but I’m not too up on West Coast criminals.”

“The Owl Lady would know probably,” Luz said into her ear piece.

“Who cares? Let’s just get the money and get out,” Amity shook her head.

“Alright we’re good. Heading back upfront,” Willow gave the call after a few minutes. “How’s the street look Illusionist?”

“Looks good on my end. Wait…” Sounds of rapid typing filled their earpieces. “There’s someone else in the system. Fuck they’re good.”

“What? Who? Cops? Bank IT?” Willow sounded incredulous, as she tossed some bags to the others. Luz slung hers over her shoulder before turning towards the doors.

“Too good for them. Fuck, I don’t know what they want but you might not have too much time.”

“It’s fine we’re done here,” Luz shoved the door open with her shoulder.

“LUZURA GET DOWN!”

The van at the bottom of the steps exploded, knocking Luz on her ass in the open door. Looking around she saw a sports car parked a bit further down, the driver dropping an empty rpg tube into the backseat. He idly fixed his purple suit jacket (over an orange shirt? Who wears that?) and ran a finger along his white Stetson towards Luz with a smirk.

A lanky well-dressed blonde in gold sunglasses grinned next to the passenger seat, but it was when the trunk closed and two more people stepped around to the front that Luz moved.

She scrambled backwards, slamming the door closed and started shouting at everyone, “GET BACK! AWAY FROM THE DOOR! MOVE QUICK!”

She dove over the central desk as bullets started flying through the door, peppering it with holes. Outside the noise was unrelenting as the thick wooden doors were slowly turned to scraps. Luz thought she heard screams but couldn’t tell if it was civilians or her friends as she huddled behind her cover.

After what seemed an eternity, first one then another door fell off the hinges absolutely wrecked. The hail of gunfire stopped, though the ringing in Luz’s ears continued.

Gus’s voice was the first thing to pierce the ringing, “Guys!? What’s going on!? I lost visual feed!”

“I-I’m ok!” Willow sounded unsure for the first time since Luz met her. “Princess? Luzura? What was that?”

“That would be company toasting our ride!” Luz responded, using the lull to check her gun. “No way that was cops! What kind of bank did you bring me to!?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a mob bank. A well-armed one. Ah Fuck!” Amity grunted in pain.

“You going soft on us Princess?” Luz asked with no small amount of concern.

“In your dreams, Luzura,” Amity snarled.

Luz went to say something else but a high British voice called out, “Now that is how you make an entrance Boi!” Gripping her pistol and bat, Luz slowly looked over the counter seeing the four enter the door. The lanky well-dressed man with golden shades was gesturing around with a golden deagle and a grin.

Next to him, a man in a leather jacket scowled at the Brit, “Yeah, that’s why I did it, idiot!” The man’s minigun still smoked from pulverizing the door.

“Aww, Mogar. Let him have his fun,” A redhead woman laughed as she draped herself over sunglasses.

“Can you guys focus?” The color clashing cowboy cocked his AK, “Hey Fuckers! You and your friends are dead!”

“Whelp. We’re screwed,” Luz whispered into her earpiece.

“Giving up already Luzura?” Amity’s laugh turned to a hiss.

“That’s it! I’m heading over! Where the fuck’s my gun!?”

“Chill Illusionist! There’s only four, and if it’s their bank they won’t use that minigun inside. They’re all bluster,” Luz could almost hear the gears turning in Willow’s head.

“They already used it on the door and Princess is hurt, we’re still at a disadvantage,” Luz shot back, trying to keep sight on the four without being seen. The three had started moving further into the bank, while leather jacket (Mogar?) stood guard at the door.

“It’s just a scratch,” Amity hissed.

“Ok, an AK and two pistols. AK is heading left of the doors and pistols are going right,” Willow must have a better vantage than Luz. “Princess move towards the AK and try to get a drop on them. I’ll go the other way and try to draw the pistols away. Luzura stay down and wait for an opportunity.”

“Copy,” Amity responded.

“What about the mini?” Luz asked.

“It’s intimidation Luzura!” Amity snapped.

Luz only grumbled as she checked her pistol for the twentieth time. She could hear someone just on the other side of her cover.

“Come out, come out where ever you are…,” The redhead sang softly. Luz tensed with her pistol, watching the lip of the counter.

Suddenly, Willow’s automatic pistol barked to Luz’s right. “Ahh! Shite!” The Brit’s gun fired twice, “Phoenix, a little help!?”

The redhead groaned, “C’mon Golden Boy. You can’t take one pistol?” Luz saw her moving forward to take cover by the teller windows, not noticing the girl behind her.

“HEY FUCKER!” Amity’s AK barked on the other side of the bank, “ARE YOU COLORBLIND OR SOME SHIT!? I MEAN PURPLE AND ORANGE!?”

“SAYS THE GIRL WHO CAN’T DECIDED BETWEEN PUNK OR PREP!” More automatic fire rang out. “THOUGHT YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND!”

“Ok, OK! I’M IN! …and I’m out…” Gus called out, “Shit. This fucker is good.”

Willow’s pistol let out another burst, and Golden Boy’s gun shot back. The redhead leaned forward to peek over the teller window, and Luz lined up her pistol. As she was about to pull the trigger, Willow’s gun fired and bullets bounced off the bullet proof glass above Phoenix’s head.

The redhead ducked from the fire; her head turned to press against the counter. The girl’s eyes went wide as she met Luz’s stare.

“FUCK!” The redhead spun pulling her gun up. But Luz’s gun barked in panic unloading the gun into center mass.

Behind Luz a wail was heard, before the whirling sound of a minigun coming to speed was heard. Luz hated being right.

She shot up and ran to the left, as bullets started flying shredding her hiding spot. Running as fast as she could, hyper aware of the hot lead that seemed one step behind her.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”

Luz dove into an empty office just as the gunshots turned to clicking of an empty chamber. Mogar screamed again, and a large metal thud sounded as the empty minigun landed close to the office door.

“LUZ!?” Amity shouted in concern.

“Fuck that was close,” Luz kicked the wood door shut then scrambled behind the desk. Gunshots rang out outside the office, and Luz patted herself down looking for another mag. Finding one last mag she reloaded, “Bad news guys, I lost my mask. How are you?”

“Only you Luz…” Willow sighed.

“Dumbass,” Amity’s AK barked again.

“Love ya too,” Luz chanced a peek through the window. Mogar was kneeling by Phoenix, holding her hand. He leaned down and cupped her face for a moment before standing up and firing a bullet into her head. He turned snarling towards Luz.

“Shit!” Luz ducked back down, holding her bat and gun tightly. “These guys are fucking hardcore. He just executed his teammate!”

“Fuck!” Amity growled, “How are we going to get out of here Venus?”

…

“Venus?”

“Oh, sorry. Was that this lovely bird with the trenchcoat?” Golden boy’s accented voice came through the earpiece. “She can’t come to the phone right now. May I take a message?” He asked in good humor.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!?” Gus roared over the coms.

“Nothing she didn’t try to do to me, I assure you mate. Besides, if you didn’t try to rob from the FAKES then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Gus continued to yell and rage but Luz was distracted by the gunfire shattering the windows in the office she was hiding at. Luz yelled in surprise covering her head from the glass.

“LUZ,” Amity screamed over the comms, her gun going off again. “JUST DIE YOU FUCKER!”

“Hey! Ottergirl!” Mogar yelled, “You killed my wife you Bitch!” He fired off a few more times with his pistol, “Come out coward!” His gun clicked empty.

“I’m no coward! Now eat this Sucker!” Luz shot up and unloaded her pistol at the man. He stood there calmly reloading as the shots flew by him, the entire time glaring at Luz. Luz slowly lowered her empty pistol, “So…Would you accept a heartfelt apology?”

Mogar growled, stuffing his pistol back into its holster. He cracked his knuckles and neck as he strode confidently into the office. Luz tossed the empty gun at him, then raised her bat.

Luz swung, keeping Mogar on the other side of the desk. He snarled at each swing, before grabbing a chair and chucking it at Luz. Luz yelped and swung her bat, smacking it away. This was the opening Mogar was waiting for, and he went low driving a fist into her stomach. Quick as a flash, his other fist connected with her face.

Luz’s head rung and she tried to get away, swinging her bat rather weakly in a vain attempt. Mogar easily blocked it and grabbed Luz, throwing her over the desk and back into the bank proper.

Luz rolled to a stop, using her bat to attempt to get up. She wiped some blood from her lip and glared at Mogar.

“HEY!” Amity yelled from the side. She stood there sans mask with a pistol under the cowboy’s neck, holding him hostage. “Let her go or this colorblind idiot gets it.”

“Again, it’s very insulting when you say that. I am not an idiot,” The man slowly reached up and took his hat off.

Mogar huffed and pulled his gun out.

“Hey! I mean it!” Amity shouted, forcing the gun into his neck even harder.

“I’ll see you back at base Rimmy Tim,” Mogar leveled his gun at the pair. Luz tried to stand but fell back to her knees.

“Just make sure you bring my hat this time. Don’t feel like another raid on the evidence locker this week,” Rimmy Tim smiled completely at ease as Mogar pulled the trigger.

Amity looked shocked as Rimmy Tim went limp, dropping his body and looking at the blood that smeared onto her hand. “What the fuck?” Several gunshots rang out and Amity dropped.

“NO!”

Luz drove her bat towards Mogar’s legs, knocking him onto his back. She jumped on top swinging. They devolved into an absolutely feral fistfight. Both giving as much as they got, as they rolled round trying to gain the upper hand.

Climbing on top once again, Luz slammed a fist into his face. In the daze she managed to get her hands around the man’s neck. Mogar snarled up at the girl, his hands trying to break her grip or punch her off. But in her rage, Luz was beyond caring of a few punches.

Pistol-whipping, however?

A shiny gold handle slammed into Luz’s head, knocking her off Mogar who gasped for breath. Luz’s vision swam for a second before clearing back up. Faintly she was aware of Gus yelling, seeing as her earpiece was knocked out of her ear.

“Now, now. None of that Love,” The Golden Boy’s voice casually said. “Too much killing already so I can’t have you offing my boi.” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fuck you and your Boy!” Luz spat out some blood. “He killed my Girl!”

“You killed my wife…” Mogar choked out between coughs. The Golden Boy rolled his eyes.

“So dramatic. Sorry Love, all’s fair and all that,” The Golden Boy leveled his golden deagle at Luz’s face. “That’s just how the milk crumbles the biscuit sometimes.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Mogar snarled at the Golden Boy.

“Oi! Don’t be rude, Micoo!” Was the second to last thing Luz heard.

BLAM

Luz shot up, looking around wildly before realizing she was in the bedroom of her new apartment. She winced at the horrible headache splitting her skull. Her sheets were covered in sweat and she panted from the scarily clear nightmare she had just awoken from. With a sigh of relief, she fell back onto her pillow to stare at the ceiling, cursing the throbbing headache that clearly influenced her dreams.

Unfortunately, her tentative plans to just go back to sleep to avoid dealing with said headache was cut short with a ringing phone. With a groan, she patted her pockets for her cell. Idly she realized she must have fell asleep without changing into her pajamas, as she pulled her work cell out and answered.

“What!?” Normally, she was more chipper but the headache felt as if it sucked all the life from her.

“Christ, Luz! Finally!” Amity snarled with a bit of relief. “Willow! I got Noceda!” Amity called into the background before asking the one question she never asked Luz, “Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah, just got a throbbing headache. And apparently, I slept in my body armor,” Luz’s free hand started unstrapping the Velcro on her armor. “That’d explain that freaky dream I had.”

“That we tried to rob Grand National Bank then were killed by a rival gang?”

Luz stopped, concern forcing its way into her thoughts, “How did you know that Amity…?”

“You should turn the news on Luz…”

Luz sat still for a second, before shooting off the bed. Scrambling into the next room, she grabbed the remote and flicked the tv on.

“-orning gang violence erupted down at Grand National Bank, as two rival criminal factions had a shootout in the front lobby. There are reports of numerous casualties as well as the criminals getting away with thousands of dollars. Eyewitness accounts claim several of the assailants fell during the shootout, but LSPD has refused to comment.”

The blood rushed to Luz’s ears and the news reporters’ words seemed to become distant as they showed pictures and grainy video of the shootout. There her and her friends reenacted the dreams events as they faced off against the FAKES. She slumped onto her couch and just watched.

Slowly she became aware of someone calling her name from far away. Looking down she realized that her cell was still connected.

She put it against her ear again, “What the FUCK happened!?”

#The Owl House #achievement hunter #Fake AH Crew #Luz Noceda #Amity Blight #Willow Park #Gus Porter #Betas #Michael Jones #Lindsay Jones #Gavin Free #Jeremy Dooley #Immortal AU #GTA AU #pra370r1an

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